#how many times can I use the word vague challenge

[helpimstuckposting]

I’m a ghost and you are a shadow

Part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten | part eleven

—

When they finally got around to leaving the backyard, once Steve had collected all the little bits of himself that felt tattered and stretched to their limits, he glanced back at his bedroom window. He caught the blinds swaying just a bit, as if someone had been peaking through and just stepped away. It was easy to imagine Eddie, pulling his mess of curly hair over his face to hide even though Steve hadn’t seen him. He wished he’d come back down.

Eddie was the only constant back in his world. He may have been states away, chasing some kind of purpose that Steve had lost among the bodies, but he called at least once a week. Just to say hi. Just to make sure they were both alive. Steve thought maybe he’d been so used to calling Wayne, he just didn’t know what to do without him. If Steve could be that filler in his life, that voice on the end of the line whenever Eddie reached for the phone out of habit, that was fine by him. It was the only thing he’d started to look forward to.

He wondered if his Eddie would be sad when no one picked up the phone this week. Steve felt a little like the small child hiding amongst the clothing racks again. He’s sure Eddie would notice. He’s just not sure if he’d care. Maybe he’d also send the nanny if he could.

Steve steeled his thoughts as they stepped back into the house, trailing slightly behind Robin as if that would delay the inevitable. She told him it was okay, that he could trust this different version of his mom but he wasn’t quite sure he could believe her. Maybe this Linda was different. That still didn’t make her his mother.

Back in the living room, Nancy, Max, El, and Dustin looked up when he entered. Dustin looked so apologetic that Steve almost felt bad for his reaction. He looked like he wanted to tell Steve sorry, that he didn’t mean to blurt that out, or that he didn’t mean to startle him but he couldn’t get the words out. Steve just nodded at him with a small reassuring smile and ruffled his hair as he passed, sitting back down on the couch with Robin.

They were back to the looking at each other thing, so Steve took pity on them and broke the silence.

“I'm okay, we can call her. Did you tell everyone else?” He asked.

Nancy shook her head. “We were waiting for you, we didn’t want to do anything behind your back.”

Steve nodded, heart squeezing tightly in his chest at the reminder that they cared enough to do that, to wait for him. He turned to the kids that were no longer kids, sitting together on the second couch, Dustin on the left and the two girls on the right.

“Still got the walkies?” He asked. Dustin nodded, pulling the two-way radio out of the bag at his feet.

“Always,” he replied.

“Are you ready?” Nancy asked, eyes caring and worried. She emphasized that it was okay if he wasn’t, if he wanted a few more moments to prepare for what was sure to be a stampede. Steve reassured her it was fine, that they’d have to say something eventually, and Robin squeezed his knee to offer her support, letting her hand rest there to keep him anchored to the spot.

“The rest of the boys should be in town. Will and Mike work at the arcade and Lucas is working at Family Video.”

Steve smiled, it seemed like they’d passed down their shitty strip mall jobs to the next generation. It was still so weird to know the kids were the same age he was when Starcourt opened, older than Robin was.

Dustin clicked the radio on and took one more glance at Steve before pressing the talk button.

“Mike, Will, Lucas, this is Dustin, do you copy?” He waited a few seconds, static coming through the other line. “I repeat, Mike, Will, Lucas, do you copy?” Another few seconds of pause. “We’ve got a 10-17, I repeat, a 10-17, do you copy?”

The line clicked in response. “Uh, what’s a 10-17 again?” Mikes voice filtered through the speaker.

“I think it’s a request for a pick up?” Will’s voice responded on the same line.

“That’s a 10-16, isn’t a 10-17 out of service? Why are you telling us you’re out of service? Over.”

The line clicked again, “That’s a 10-7, Mike,” Lucas’ voice responded. “Over,” he tacked on.

Dustin was clearly ready to vibrate out of his shoes in disappointment. The voices filtering through the static of the walkies made something fuzzy in Steve’s brain. The banter and the arguing and the crackling of the speakers, he could remember it like it was yesterday, like he hadn’t been missing it for four years. He was starting to get misty-eyed again and clutched onto Robin’s hand, still resting on his knee. She squeezed back.

“You’re all useless, it’s urgent business! I repeat, urgent business! Over!” Dustin yelled through the receiver.

Max rolled her eyes on the couch next to him and sunk back into the cushions, arms crossed. El followed her example, crossing her arms as well and relaxing into Max’s side.

“You don’t have to repeat everything, you know,” Mike answered back, tone snappy and impatient. The familiar sound of arcade games crackled out vaguely in the background and Steve could picture him leaning against the prize counter, rolling his eyes as he ignored some little kid in favor of answering Dustin.

“My shift is over in thirty minutes, how urgent are we talking?” Lucas responded.

“Uhhh,” Dustin glanced at Steve, eyes looking just this side of manic, “Try back from the dead urgent.”

“What?”

“Dead?”

“Who’s dead?”

“Who’s back?”

Dustin pressed the talk button to cut them all off again, “Just finish your shifts if you have to and meet back at Base Nora, he’s not going anywhere. Over and out.” Mike, Will, and Lucas tried calling out over each other, the line cutting in and out about ‘who’s not going anywhere?’ and ‘what are you talking about?’, but Dustin just clicked the walkie off instead of answering.

Max leaned forward again, arms still crossed against her chest, and looked at Dustin like he’d finally lost it. “That was the absolute worst way you could have handled that.”

“Yeah but how fast do you think they’ll get here now?” he responded. Steve shook his head as a smile pulled at the corner of his lips. He had to admit Dustin was clever. Rude as hell, but clever. Max just smirked back at him.

“Oh they are so fired.”

“I don’t think Keith can afford to fire them,” El laughed.

Keith, Family Video, the kids, it was all so similar to his world. If it was just this, just the party and Robin and Eddie, it would be fine. The fact that his house was Base Nora, that it was clearly well used by many people and filled with laughter and the sunlight of the morning peaking through the windows, it filled Steve with longing for what he’d lost in his world.

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d opened the blinds in his house. It was always dark, quiet. He barely even turned the lights on most days, just fumbled through the house hungover and half blind. If it was just the kids they had to tell, he’d be excited to see their reaction, to know that everyone was safe.

However, with the conclusion of one task, the other much more daunting task was at hand. The lightness in Steve’s chest from the kids’ banter was slowly stripped thread by thread, unraveling the warmth he felt and replacing it with cold dread. Robin pulled him up and they all made their way back into the kitchen.

He glanced again at the picture wall, taking in the images he was too panicked to really see before. He stepped closer. There was a picture of the party at a beach, though Steve didn’t know where. He’d only ever seen beaches from expensive hotel windows, before his parents deemed him old enough to stay home alone. Here, the other Steve was smiling, arms around Eddie and Robin, who both had their hair up in buns, kids fighting in the background. There was another picture of the party in his living room, blankets strewn around the floor, kids huddled around with a movie on in the background. He couldn’t tell which movie, but the kids weren’t looking at the screen anyway, they were all huddled around laughing at he and Eddie, sleeping soundly splayed out on top of each other.

Steve wondered how much happier this Steve was. How much more he had. He did things, went places, surrounded by friends, always touching and talking and laughing. He had the party, all safe, he had his mom. But he’d died, left it all behind and Steve was in his place, taking that spot from him. It didn’t seem fair. Steve really didn’t belong here.

“Steve?” Robins voice called as softly as he’d ever heard her. He turned away from the pictures to where she was standing by the phone, already held in her hand. She tilted her head toward the dial on the wall, silently asking if he’d like to do the honors.

He shook his head but walked over to her, stepping in as close as he could. She wrapped an arm around his waist and held the phone to her ear, inexplicably dialing the Wheeler’s number. He glanced over at Nancy, leaning against the archway to the kitchen.

“Our moms have girls’ days sometimes. That’s where they all are now,” she whispered as Robin finished dialing. He could hear it ring. The phone anxiety was creeping back up on him, clawing at his throat. What if she’s mad they interrupted, what if she’s sad he’s not really her Steve, what if she doesn’t care, what if-

“Hi Karen, can I talk to Linda?” Robin’s voice cut through his spiral. He could hear Mrs Wheeler on the other end calling out for his mom, heard giggling in the background and wondered how many of their parents were there. Linda. Robin Buckley was on first name basis with his mother. The more things stay the same, the more they change or whatever the fuck that saying was.

“Hello? Robin?” His mothers voice called out through the speaker. Robin gripped his waist tighter, squeezing three times. He tapped her hand three times right back. It was okay. He’d be okay.

“Hi Linda. I uh… sorry to interrupt!” Robin responded.

“Oh, nonsense, is everything okay? You’re all there, right?” Her voice was so soft, so kind. The last time he’d heard the same voice it was cold, hard like stone. A frigid ‘We’re very disappointed in you, Steven’ tossed his way before his father threw down job applications on the kitchen table. He blinked back the memories and tried tuning back into Robin.

“-don’t really know how to explain it, we just… uh. It’s about Steve.”

It was silent on the other end of the line. The static counting down the seconds before his mother cleared her throat to respond.

“What about Steve, Dear?”

Robin turned to look at him, a vague panic in her eyes as she didn’t know how to respond. They probably should have thought this through more, figured out something to say before calling. It was too late now.

“Um… uh… Something… happened this morning and we think it’s, you know, campaign related,” Robin emphasized, as if she were adding a wink, wink onto the end of her sentence.

She continued, “There’s some, uh, gates we think have opened and someone’s stumbled back into our lives.” Steve felt her shrug helplessly, letting go of his waist to give Nancy a sort of ‘please help me, I’m drowning here’ look, gesturing frantically to the phone. She marched over to them and slid it out of Robin’s hand, stepping in between the two of them.

“Hi, Linda. We think you should come home and see for yourself. It’s a lot, so just… try not to freak out,” Nancy added. Robin smacked her hand to her forehead, that would definitely make someone freak out.

Steve didn’t hear the end of his mom’s call, just the whispered frantic arguing between Nancy and Robin. Eventually, though, Robin hung up the phone and they all looked at each other. At least that was over now. The actual explaining this though was going to be harder. Where did they even start? Everyone was going to flip out the second they saw him, and Steve was exhausted enough already. He couldn’t wait for this part to be over, he just wanted to rest.

This much energy, this many people and conversations and socialization wasn’t something he was used to anymore. It was a bit suffocating, but that could also have just been the panic. It would take about fifteen minutes to get here from the Wheeler’s house, same for the boys at the strip mall — though, Steve wasn’t sure if they’d finish out their shifts first or just make a break for it. They were never good at impulse control.

He decided to sit on the staircase at the entryway. He figured being right there would sort of rip the bandaid off, so to say. So, he sat on the cold hardwood steps, felt Robin plop herself down next to him, and he waited. The dark wood table against the wall of the entryway was the same in his world, though there was a vase of fresh flowers, recently filled. Alive. In his world, they were never real to begin with. Instead, there was a large vase of scented sticks, some minimalist bullshit decor that meant nothing. He stared at the flowers, outlined each and every one to keep his mind away from the panic, to keep himself rooted to the spot.

He used to sit here after saying stiff and formal goodbyes to his parents. He’d watch them leave, tell them have a safe trip, close the door behind them and then just… sit on the stairs. He’d sit for minutes or hours or whatever amount of time it took him to get over himself and get back on with his life. Who cared about some superficial woes of a rich boy? What was he going to say, that he missed parents he never really had? That he wanted his mommy? It was pathetic. So he’d dust himself off, though a spec of dust probably didn’t exist anywhere in the Harrington house, and call up Tommy and Carol to tell them he had the house to himself again. He could fill it with as many people as he wanted before they got back, he was fine.

Now, instead of shaking himself out of it, he was snapped back by the sound of high heels against the brick steps outside. He held his breath, or maybe he just forgot to breathe all together. Before the handle was touched, a stampede of sneaker noises caught up to the heals on the steps, the panting and gasped complaints bleeding through the door.

“Hi, Mrs Harrington,” he thought it was Will’s voice that filtered in.

“Hi, boys. I’m assuming you got a cryptic call as well?” She teased. She teased. He’d never heard that tone before in his life.

“Yeah, Dustin called right in the middle of our shifts!” Lucas accused, as if Dustin didn’t specifically tell them to finish their shifts before coming over.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble for that?” She asked

“Oh please, Keith can’t afford to fire us anyway,” Mike muttered.

With the greetings out of the way, someone finally gripped the handle. The rattling of the metal put a fire under Steve’s ass and before he knew it, he’d booked it around the corner and just out of sight.

“Wait, Steve-,” Robin shouted after him, though the door finally opened and she was confronted with four startled faces before she could run after him.

“Steve?” Lucas shouted.

He muttered a quiet fuck under his breath and braced himself. He couldn’t just leave Robin floundering around by herself out there, that was too cruel. So, instead of being an absolute coward he took in a deep breath, held it for just a few seconds until his lungs felt stretched to their limits, and then he let it all go as he stepped around the corner.

—

Sorry about that one guys, I hate cliff hangers but I never know where else to stop these lmao you'll meet Linda Harrington in the next one! We'll also hear from Eddie 👀

I'm still adding to the taglist as well, so feel free to ask!

@weirdandabsurd42 @sirsnacksalot @space-invading-pigeon @aliea82 @goodolefashionedloverboi @emly03 @bestwifehaver @mentallyundone @13catastrophic-blues @estrellami-1 @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @likelylad @aellafreya @wxrmland

#how many times can I use the word vague challenge #I hope I'm doing the dialogue okay #I'm much better with emotional descriptions than dialogue or scenes lol #I have so many scenes for this just scratching around my head #I've discovered I just love sad!steve #hurt/comfort #steddie #steddie fic #fanfiction #stranger things #dustin henderson #robin buckley #the party #max mayfield #el hopper #steve harrington #stranger things fic #nancy wheeler #helpimstuckwriting #parallel universe au #stranger things fanfiction #stobin

[ivymarquis]

The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#ocaptainchallenge #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #implied plus size reader #take a shot every time john calls the reader pretty #but dont or youll get alcohol poisoning #also I used ‘turn into a chew toy’ 3 times and I dont care :) #my writing

[thenightcallsme]

Do I Make you Nervous? | Simon "Ghost" Riley

little re-upload from my AO3 :)

Synopsis: When Task Force 141 is betrayed by Philip Graves, they're forced to separate. Y\N fights her way through the foreign Las Almas with a broken radio and no sense of direction. Yet, somehow, she finds herself in the same church her lieutenant, Simon "Ghost" Riley, seeks sanctuary in. As they attempt to brave the storm sweeping through the streets, the infamously unreadable Ghost challenges their professional relationship.

Pairing: Ghost x F!141reader

Contains: fluff, kissing, use of Y/N, hint of angst but resolved in the end, vague mentions of blood/wounds

Word count: 5,874

• • • • •

It was all a set-up. A lie.

Disappointment and anger triumphs any sadness over Grave's betrayal. At first, he came across as over-confident in that stereotypical male way. Over time I had warmed up to him. But Shepherd? The man who has given me the most freedom I’ve had in a long time? I admit that my use as a weapon to him has put a strain on our companionship, but to station me with my own cousin only to lash out unprovoked? He’s crossed a line that he can never come back from. The small liking I had for the man vanished as soon as shit hit the fan. Everything seems to replay in my mind. Alejandro insulted and detained, Johnny shot at, Ghost cornered...

There were too many of them to fight off. I couldn't trust myself to hold my own with my mind worrying over Johnny, Alejandro and Ghost while also plotting Shepherd's death. So, though it pained me, I ran. Ghost and Johnny did the same. 

My radio was damaged in the incident. A stray bullet flew my way, and with a stroke of luck, grazed the radio instead of my ribs. The close call was enough warning to run, which is what I do now. The lack of communication only worsens the worry.

Shadows crawl in the streets of Las Almas like rats in a sewer. From door to door they go, yelling at innocent civilians in the late hours of dusk. From the conversations I've heard, they're looking for two foreign men and their female friend. They don't quite explain why we're being hunted, but the truth wouldn't change much. Every so often, a shot fires, echoing through the streets like a warning bell. A call of sorrow and fear.

With the Shadows forcing their way into civilian homes and raising their weapons against anyone who could harbour us, houses and shops aren't safe. The towering cathedral spires peeking above tin roofs and stacked houses catch my attention instead. Nobody would be inside at this time of night. For now, it's the best I can do. Also to my luck, the church isn't too far away. I take my time and keep to the shadows on my way. With a quick survey of my surroundings, I know I've bet the Shadows to this part of the city. That won't last long. The revelation has me jumping the gate within seconds of making it.

Inside the church is pitch black. Towering windows that tell biblical tales line the walls, casting light in intervals across the empty foyer. Rows of seats begin to emerge as my eyes adjust. Further back is an intricate, circular skylight tens of feet above the marble floor. Illuminating the altar below is a waterfall of silvery light. The giant cross, gold statues, and wooden altar glow like I'm looking through a blurred lens. The view is both eerie and magical...and not meant to be marvelled at in a time like this. My focus should be maintaining high ground. I begin to turn in search of a staircase when something shifts in the darkness.

A figure materialises, tall and built; easily a male physically capable of snapping my neck. My next best option is the gun strapped to my hip to parry the one in his hand. I go to reach for mine—

“Y/N?”

I freeze in surprise, but my mind eases slightly.

“Lieutenant? How—”

“Doesn’t matter. We’re here now.” He looks down at me with searching eyes. “You in one piece?”

“Yes. You—?” At that moment, my own eyes skim his body, only to halt at a worrying sight. On the left side of his waist, just above the waistband of his pants, is a blooming, dark red stain on his shirt. He’s been shot. “Jesus, Ghost. How bad is it?”

“I’ve had worse—”

He stops himself at the distant shouting. The surrounding streets haven’t been quiet since I’ve been in the church, but this time it grows closer. Angrier. Ghost doesn’t waste time ushering me along in search of a stairwell. The one we find leads to the second floor, then a third. Eventually, we discover the central bell tower. The room is dank and cold and decently big. Suspended in the middle is a gigantic bell. Even in the dark, I can see how weathered the metal is. The worn wooden floors creak as we cross it. On each wall are arched openings that allow entry to the cold night air and terrified screams. A small cluster of discarded furniture draped in white sheets huddles in a corner. From here, we have a perfect view of the sprawling city and winding streets. To those down there, we’re invisible.

Simon leans back against a wall and grunts, his hands brushing over the bullet wound. He pulls back his hands to inspect the fresh blood. However bad it is, it’s still bleeding.

“Show me,” I say. My voice comes out more demanding than I intend.

He gives me a brief exasperated look but doesn’t push back.

Ghost sits against the wall with his shoulders slumped just enough to reach my level. His jacket is unzipped, his black shirt rolled up halfway. Those tired, piercing eyes and muscular arms are the most I've ever seen of him. It feels like a reward when the weather is unforgiving enough to chase away his usual long-sleeve or jacket. His arms are tanned and muscled, with a tattoo sleeve working from the wrist of his left arm up to his elbow. I’ve begun to accept that it’s the closest I’m ever going to get to seeing him. But now I stare down at his bare abdomen.

The waistband of his black cargo pants sits low on his hips, offering a distracting view of a pronounced V-line and abs. In the moonlight, I can make out the reminders of war that mark his skin; a few silvery scars, some clean-cut, some gnarled and twisted; an old bullet wound healed closer to his ribs. The fresh one with the most of my attention is buried in a more acceptable spot. It nestles into the far right side of his waist, thankfully nowhere near any vital organs. However, it’s still a bullet wound and it still bleeds. That’s enough to worry me.

“Do you reckon it’s bad?” I ask.

He shrugs. “I wouldn’t say I’m dying.”

“But we aren’t in the position to get proper help. Maybe sit down for a bit.” Surprisingly, he does so without question. I get to my feet, draw a small knife from my thigh holster, and rip a strip of fabric from the white sheets. When I drop back down beside him, I take a deep breath. “Here"

He takes it with a mumbled thank you and wraps the fabric around his waist.

“You heard from John?” I ask.

Simon winces as he adjusts the torn sheet. “I radioed him multiple times. Never got an answer.”

“Are you surprised by all this?”

Simon leans back against the wall. “I tend to be less surprised by betrayal. But I had some respect for Shepherd.”

I sigh, shuffling around him so that I can do the same. “What are we supposed to do now?”

“Survive,” he says. “Shepherd wants you alive. Graves will see to that. He can’t kill Alejandro, either. But Johnny and I…” He shakes his head. “Graves won’t sleep until there’s a bullet in our heads and Shepherd won’t care enough to stop it.”

There’s a moment of silence as I fold my arms and look away thoughtfully. How are we supposed to do this? The blanket of night and the ensuing storm may offer some cover, but getting out of the city will be a mission. I can’t bring myself to leave without John, either. My heart hurts when I think about him. He could be anywhere, alone and outnumbered while I sit uselessly in a bell tower.

“What do we do about Johnny?” My voice is quiet. Fearful. “My radio was damaged so I couldn’t reach out to him. Maybe his is the same. But not knowing… He’s the only family I have left. My only real friend.”

“Don’t worry about Johnny. He’s one of the most resourceful and strong-willed Sergeants I’ve dealt with in a while. Have faith in him.” He looks at me then, tilting his head to the side. “I wouldn’t say he’s your only friend.”

“I do quite like his girlfriend…” I murmur.

“And Alejandro? Ronaldo?”

I purse my lips as his question draws thought. I’ve been considering Alejandro and Ronaldo as allies. Companions. But I’ve grown quite fond of them. Considering them as friends would set me up for heartache if anything were to happen. So I haven’t… At least openly. Despite my attempts to create some distance in our relationships, my subconscious has decided for me. Those two are my friends. It explains the immense distress I’m battling over Alejandro’s capture.

“I guess so.”

“Me?”

Silence ensues from both of us.

His question stuns me; I was prepared for him to stop at Alejandro and Ronaldo. There’s nobody else in Las Almas or back at home that I pay attention to. Besides Ghost, at least. I could answer him in a second. I almost do.

Ghost is infamous for his detachment. He’s quiet, short-tempered, dangerous and mysterious. I’ve heard the comments that he suits his code name. Spiritual beings do not communicate through speech but through action. Ghost is the physical embodiment of the epiphany. Anybody able to coax a few sentences from him outside missions is admirable. Outside of that, his physical emotions require deep analysis and theory to understand. The mask only makes things more difficult. I’ve never seen him show palpable kindness through his aura or words to anyone, never heard him allow the use of his name, never heard him offer others insight into the raging whirlwind of his mind.

And yet he lets those things slide around me.

He lets me speak his name when no one is listening. He offers me comfort when I need it most — if not through limited words, through soft gazes and a hand on my shoulder. I’m usually able to get him talking. Sometimes I receive short answers, sometimes I receive enough to help me understand more of that whirlwind mind. He even occasionally shows pieces of himself that take away from the guessing game I usually play.

I shut people out because the last people I let in betrayed me.

I never consider answering personal questions, but you tend to have a lot of them. And every time you ask…I almost answer

I guess you and I are more alike than I thought.

All of it has me wanting more. More of his mind, his words, the soft gazes I’ve noticed are reserved for me. What I already have is nothing compared to every naked truth he could be telling me. However, what I’ve managed to coax from him seems to be more than he’s told anyone in a long time. At first, I marked it down as me being the only female on the team or Ghost considered me fragile. But I've proved myself, and nothing about being a 'fragile female' (which I very well am not) does not automatically give me all these passes. I now realise it is much more than that.

Never once has he called me his friend. I already have. Now it’s his turn.

“I don’t mind you, Simon, but friendship can’t be one-sided,” I say. While it’s a simple statement, a silent question hides between each word. Are you my friend?

“If it was as one-sided as you think, you wouldn’t be calling me Simon.”

My heart skips a beat. There. It’s an answer to my unspoken words, but it’s not plain as day. As usual, Simon tells me something that is anything but straightforward. There’s room for interpretation in his answer—something that is beginning to tire me. It’s almost as if the honest answer is criminal and he’s trying to cover up his tracks. Almost as if not speaking that honest answer can allow him to deny it.

I don't bother concealing my annoyance. “That’s not what I want to hear and you know it.”

“Fuck sakes, Y\N, I said it,” he says. His voice comes out both argumentative and exasperated.

“No, you didn't. All I ever get out of you is stuff that works around the truth. Stuff I have to think about to understand.” I'm crossing a line, I know. I just can't help it. “What’s so hard about admitting it?”

“Don’t.”

His tone is final. I don’t care.

“Does the truth scare you?”

His eyes squint, becoming barely visible against the black paint, the mask, and the low light. I can clearly picture a scowl jumping across the many faces I’ve imagined. While I want to flinch away, I don’t. Not for a second do my eyes lower, and not for a second do I grow offensive. I remain calm and collected, which I think annoys him more.

“You want the truth?” he growls. The accent of Manchester seems to thicken. “Fine. I’ll tell you the truth. I don’t want to admit I think of you as a friend ‘cause I bloody well want to ignore it. For years, it’s only been me and I planned it to be for the rest of my life. Then all of a sudden you and your annoying cousin appear and jeopardise everything. The only person with an inkling of anything was Shepherd and I was fine with that. But now you’re catching up to him. You’ve so effortlessly undone everything I’ve worked hard to maintain.” The growl in his voice dies down the longer he speaks. In the last sentence, his voice is quiet, defeated, but a little begrudging. “And I knowingly let you.”

“If it was bothering you that much, you should have told me,” I say with a voice equally as quiet. “If I knew you didn’t want me to know so badly, I would have respected that.”

He shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I think about telling you everything. I may get pissy at you over your questions, but…” A sigh. The truth is shameful to him. “I look forward to them.”

“If it makes you feel any better…” I laugh a little. “It’s really annoying how intriguing you are. Not just your past and your face… When I’m not trying to guess what you look like, I’m refraining from asking you stupid questions. Shit like if you’re a cat or dog person.”

“Dog person,” he replies. Any hint of anger or annoyance has disappeared. “Cats have too much attitude.”

I squint. “You just don’t appreciate them.”

“You strike me as a cat person.” He pauses in thought. “You just remind me of a cat, really.”

I raise my brows, giving him an exasperated look. “Are you going to tell me I have an attitude?”

“Maybe. But there’s more to it.”

I cock my head in question.

“Cats are friendly. Independent.” His eyes shift and I wonder if there's a smirk beneath the mask. “Curious.”

“Was that another dig at my questions?”

“Yes. Now shut up and listen.”

Before he continues, I find myself turning my body so I can fully look at him, my shoulder against the concrete walls and my legs folded beneath me.

“There’s that look in their eyes that they know your worst thoughts. Your secrets. They’re also graceful. Got that high-class elegance about them. But they can be unpredictable, striking out when you least expect. Once they sink their claws into you…” His eyes search my face. “You can’t get rid of them.”

I look up at him in wonder, my mouth slightly agape as I try to find a suitable response. Nothing I could say would express the way his words sink in. I’ve always coined Simon to be the observant type, keeping to himself and remaining silent. But I never expected him to relay his finds. His usual short, sharp answers contrast the compliment greatly.

“I think…” A small smile curves my lips upwards. “…That was the most meaningful compliment I’ve ever gotten.”

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Never. Now I have a question.”

“The floor is yours.”

“Do you have, like, Queen Elizabeth tattooed on your face? The British flag?” I grin. “Something mask-worthy, you know?”

“Why does it have to be something British?”

“Because there’s no way you’re the only Brit I know that isn’t somewhat stereotypical.”

Simon huffs a laugh. “No stereotypical tattoos. Sorry to disappoint.”

“A big scar, then?”

He tilts his head. “No scars that make me want to wear it.”

I raise my brows. “So you do have a scar?”

“Only one big one.”

“Good to know.” I nod my head with thoughtful eyes. “I’ll add that to a mental note.”

His eyes widen a fraction. The skull sown to his balaclava only offers the view of his painted eyes and nothing. Not even his eyebrows. I guess he’s raising them in question.

“How often do you think about this?”

I let out a long breath. “You have no idea. I change what I think you look like every day.”

“What do you think I look like.”

I go quiet in thought for a moment. As I said, the image changes… Only more frequently than I want to admit. Sometimes the change is small. Sometimes the change is big. I know I’m not the only one stumped by this, either. John and I joked over it once. He said things eluding to him being unattractive. A crooked nose, a huge scar, broken teeth. Every time he made a guess I would laugh, but never did the ideas seep into my mind. Nothing in an unattractive sense, anyway. Despite the possibility, I can never picture him as ugly.

“It varies, but…” I take one last second to collect my thoughts. “Without that skull piece, you have dark eyebrows. I imagine your hair is brown. And you’re eyes…it’s hard to tell with the paint, but they’re more deep-set and heavy-lidded. The balaclava is tight enough to make me think you have a straight nose, high cheekbones, strong jaw…” I shake my head. “Beyond that, I’m stumped.”

I can tell he thinks deeply about each characteristic. I sit patiently and almost wait for confirmation, but I know better than that. If he’s not going to show his face, he’s not going to—

“My hair is brown.”

I’m about to backtrack on my previous thought when he reaches towards the space between my neck and shoulder. In the frenzy that has been the last hour, my hair has come undone. The braid was unsavable, making me pull out the band and attempt a ponytail…only for it to snap in two. My hair now falls in dishevelled waves. A small part of my hair falls over my shoulder. Simon gingerly reaches for it, curling it between his finger and examining it in the low light. …Can he hear how fast my heart is beating?

“Not like yours. A few shades lighter, maybe. And that scar…”

Even more gingerly, Simon pulls one of my hands from its folded position, and I pray my expression doesn’t betray me. Rough, calloused hands press against the back of mine. The size difference is almost comical. He guides it to his masked face, working his fingers working around mine to spread them out. He drags my hand over his right cheekbone, across the hollow of his cheek, and towards his jaw. My mind is hyper-fixated on the shape of his face.

“Right along there.”

His eyes continue to search my face. There’s nothing but curiosity in the blue-grey of his irises. Curious at what, I can’t tell. Everything about this has my mind raging. The way he looks at me, the way he holds my hand against the black balaclava, the way he towers over me even when sitting down... The thoughts that surface are shameful. He’s your lieutenant, for Christ’s sake. Have some respect. The remembrance of his position has little help.

If anything, it strengthens the fantasies.

His hold shifts on top of my hand, the pad of his thumb swiping across my skin to stop on the inner side of my wrist and press down. He may not have been able to hear my heartbeat…but now he can feel it at the worst possible moment.

“You’re heart is beating fast.” He inclines his head. “Do I make you nervous, Y\N?”

God, is my breathing even? I can’t tell.

“You just caught me off guard, is all.”

Simon hums thoughtfully as his hand breaks away from mine and reaches forward. His fingers connect with my collarbone before finding my neck, exploring upwards in search of a pulse point. A shiver of excitement and nervousness runs beneath my skin like a ripple. His other hand slides over my knee and up my thigh. If my heart was racing before, this is a life-or-death sprint.

Slow are his movements. Calculated. He knows exactly where my heartbeat reverberates in my neck. Instead, he drags the moment out, coaxing out his desired reaction. But there’s something else in the slowness: a window for me to flinch away and draw the physical line neither of us has ever drawn. We’ve brushed shoulders and hands. We’ve sat with our bodies aligned in cramped cars. He’s held my hair back in a bathroom as I threw up after a panicked episode (something I would like to forget if he wasn't so surprisingly understanding). He's placed a hand on my shoulder for many different reasons. All are excusable moments. The ones that surpass professional boundaries can be marked as friendly. However, the intimacy of this moment is new. Scary. Exciting.

“Did you know your bottom lip twitches before you lie?” Simon asks. I find myself at eye level with him. When did he get so close? “I don’t like lies. Try again.”

“Sometimes…” I breathe.

“Sometimes, what?”

Bastard. “Sometimes you make me nervous.”

“Why?”

“Because…” I frown. “I don’t know.”

He’s definitely leaning closer now. Not just with his head, but with his whole upper body. Out of the nerves Simon is so adamant on understanding, I retreat, only making it a few inches before my back hits the other wall. Simon half hovers over me, the hand that was on my thigh now bracing himself on the floor. There are only a few inches between our chests. Even less between our faces. Not once does he lose his connection with my pulse.

“Another lie.”

“I don’t know how to word it. That's not a lie.”

Simon drops his head so that his covered mouth hovers beside my ear.

“Good girl.”

Never has praise sounded so seductive. It takes every inch of concentration to reign in my self-control. I might have ripped off his mask then and there…

Only, I think he’s beating me to it.

From where his head hovers, I can’t see his masked face. The wide, strong shape of his shoulder obscures most of my vision. He retracts his hand from my neck to reach somewhere I can’t see. The sound of moving cloth widens my eyes and upsets the rhythm of my breathing, the uneven rise and fall of my chest barely brushing his.

Maybe he’s adjusting it, I convince myself. He has only ever offered you little pieces at a time. What he’s offering me now is more than he ever has at once. While my body screams for more, my mind knows I can’t expect too much from him. Whatever he’s doing now is more than enough.

“You’re breathing funny.”

The feeling of breath skims the shell of my ear and down my neck like a warm, ghostly waterfall. It takes me a second to notice a difference in his voice. It’s low, it’s rough, it’s teasing. All are easily noticeable and nothing new. What is new is the enhanced clarity. An added sharpness lingers in his accented words. The slight muffle is nowhere to be found.

I was wrong. He’s lifted his mask.

“Because you’re taking off your mask." My answer comes out in a weak whisper.

He doesn’t speak about the mask, instead repositioning his hand to my neck to find my pulse.

“If you can’t tell me,” he murmurs, returning to the previous topic, “your heartbeat can.”

A warm feeling presses into my neck. A gasp slips past my lips as my heartbeat continues to quicken and stumble beneath his thumb. Against my skin…I think Simon is smiling.

Nothing about this seems real. Simon plants slow kisses on my neck with his bare lips. They’re a little rough, yet soothing. Whether they’re full or thin, I can’t tell, but the lack of obvious signs paints an image of something in between. His nose brushes the base of my jaw. Just above the pointed tip is where the balaclava begins. I can feel the hard edges of the sewn-on skull pressing into my left temple. Light stubble covers his jaw.

As his mouth works slowly against my neck, my jaw, and my collarbone, my hand slides up and over his chest. I slowly feel his bare neck. Beneath my fingers, his Adam's apple bobs. Further I explore, feeling the planes of his skin. The stubble scratches against my curious hand. Raised skin runs in a line over the right side of his face; the scar. It’s thin and generally clean-cut. He pulls back slightly as I feel his face. A deep chuckle rumbles in his chest as my thumb traces over his lips. I was right, they are something between full and thin. His lower lip feels slightly fuller with a deep hollow beneath that curves into his chin.

When I find it in me to speak, my voice is breathy.

“Kiss me.” He seems to still at that. When his reply isn’t instant, I continue. “You don’t have to… But I won’t look. I swear it.”

Silently, he reaches for my hand. He holds his over mine for a moment as he did with the mask moments earlier. Then he gently pries it away. Cloth shifts in my air as he fixes the mask and pulls back. I can’t say I’m not disappointed, but I respect the decision. Simon looks down at me with lust-blown pupils. Mine must be the same.

He takes a second to examine me. My heavy-lidded eyes, my slightly parted lips, the way I slump beneath him, the glistening wet spots left on my neck. He whips it away before he speaks.

“Can I trust you?”

We both know the answer to that, so instead of saying the obvious, I one-up him.

“Do you want to trust me?”

Silence passes for a heartbeat.

“Of course I do,” he says softly. “I want to trust you. I want to touch you. I want to kiss you. …Undress you. I’ve wanted to for so long.”

Then he moves.

My thoughts go quiet as Simon’s hands reach upward. When his fingers brush the base of his mask, I reach out and still his hands. The action takes both of us by surprise. For months I’ve been thinking about this moment. Just now I’ve admitted how much what he looks like takes up my mind. Now I find myself stopping him, but not because I’ve changed my mind. I worry that this will be something he’ll regret.

“Simon,” I say. “You don’t owe it to me to show your face.”

“But I do.” He inclines his head. “Now keep your pretty eyes up.”

My breath catches in my throat as he pulls it off in one swift motion. I take in everything I’m seeing in amazement, wonder, and bewilderment.

He’s handsome. He’s really handsome.

The ruggedness and confidence he carries seem to be etched into the planes of his face. A light stubble shadows his angular, defined jaw. Just as I had imagined, the bridge of his nose is straight and strong. His high cheekbones, deep-set eyes and smudged black paint create deep shadows. His mouth is wide. The shape of them is a physical manifestation of what I had imagined. With an average fullness, his upper lip is slightly smaller with a soft cupid’s bow. Tracing the angles of his right cheekbone is that straight, silver scar. His hair isn’t as short as most other military men’s. It’s a little messy from the mask and, true to his words, a few shades lighter than mine. I can tell that, the longer it gets, the more it curls.

I stay silent as I take him in, eyes wide. Somehow I find the courage to slowly reach out. His blue-grey eyes dart to my hesitant fingers. When he doesn’t deny me, I close the space, this time feeling him without needing to imagine his image. I apply a little pressure as I brush his skin, feeling the warmth of his cheeks, the scar tissue on his cheekbone, and the stubble on his jaw. His eyes train on me. This is one of the few times I cannot understand what I see in them.

Whatever he’s thinking, it doesn’t matter. All that matters is that I stare back at Simon. Not Ghost, Simon.

“I was starting to think you weren’t real,” I say jokingly.

He laughs softly. One side of his mouth quirks up into a skewed smirk. My heart flutters at the sight of it. When he speaks, it’s with that teasing tone that always had me imagining a smirk. Matching his expressions to his tones is a strange thing to see, but I love it.

“Is this real enough for you?” he asks.

I hum in agreement. “You’re a lot better looking than I imagined.”

He raises a brow in mock offence. “Do I radiate unattractiveness? I’m offended.”

“I never said I imagined you ugly.”

I draw my hands back, taking another good look at him. My amazed smile remains. So does the awe in my eyes. Now that I know how good-looking he is, it’s going to be hard to get him out of my head. At least I can’t scold myself over falling for a faceless man anymore.

“I guess if I die tonight… I can go a little happier.”

The way he tilts his head and looks up through lowered brows sends my mind into a frenzy. I’m used to the action with his mask on, usually with the sewn-on skull. Now, with every part of his face laid bare for me, the feeling it stirs comes tenfold. He gives me a fake accusing look. Beneath the teasing air he gives off, that desire remains.

“A little?” he murmurs. His face grows closer, giving me a better view of the hollows and curves and marks of war.

“A little not enough?”

His eyes dip to my lips. “Not by a longshot.”

Then Simon kisses me.

Eyes fluttering closed, I sink into the feeling of his lips against mine. Gently. Hesitantly. Does he expect me to pull away? How could he think such a thing when I almost seemed desperate when I asked him? My hands slide over his chest, slowly linking behind his neck as the kiss deepens.

For a moment, everything fades away. The gunfire, the screams, the impending death we may face any moment... All of it reduces to a meaningless blur. Suddenly all that exists is me, Simon, and the secret embrace we share. In our kiss is a million unspoken words; a tidal wave of passion laced with a bittersweet sadness. The talk of ‘dying happy’ is no exaggeration. We very well may die, and seeing his face and feeling his touch eases the painful thought. Maybe this way I can find him in the afterlife - seek out his mysterious eyes and lopsided smirk and spend an eternity together. Or perhaps there is no afterlife, and this is my last stroke of luck.

Satisfied with the knowledge of what he does to me, Simon lowers his hand from my neck. The pressure reapplies near my belt. His fingers timidly skim the bottom of my tanktop, pulling the tucked part from my waistband. My own fingers weave through his brown hair as his hand slides further beneath. My kiss falters when he finds one of my breasts. His hand comfortably rests over it, his palm slowly kneading at the flesh. A low groan builds at the back of my throat.

After a moment, we pull away, chests rising and falling as we take deep breaths. His forehead rests against mine and suddenly I'm wishing we could do this over again. Except I picture less sadness to tinge every word and action. I picture the safety of home, the warmth of a bed, a carefree air that allows us to just enjoy the other's company. Reality comes back in a painful rush.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper.

His hand retreats from my breast at my words. Instead, he takes a hold of my waist, giving me a comforting squeeze.

“You are not going to die. Not today. Not when there’s so much more I want from you.” He adds the last part with a teasing, suggestive smirk.

He looks down at my lips again—

“Ghost, how do you copy?”

We both freeze at the sound of a voice, so caught up in the moment that the radio is forgotten. Both the unspeakable things and sorrowful thoughts flooding my mind suddenly vanish at the sound of a familiar voice. There’s an equally received look on Simon’s face as he reaches for the small radio.

“I read you loud and clear, Sergeant,” he says. “What’s your location?”

“I…don’t know,” John replies solemnly. “Streets are crawling with Shadows. Where are you?”

“You see church spires above the houses?”

There’s a second of silence. Then…

“I see them.”

“Good. Head straight there and come inside. No Shadows here yet. They’ll be busy going door to door.”

“Affirmative. I’m on my way. Have you got any word from Y/N?”

Simon looks at me, silently giving me the floor to speak. “I’m right here, Johnny.”

There’s a sigh of relief on the other end. “Oh, thank fuck. You in one piece?”

“I’m all here. You?”

“Got a shot to the shoulder. Nothing I can’t handle.”

For the next while, Simon and I sit huddled side by side, guiding Johnny through the radio. I generally leave the talking to Simon. Listening to him speak and sinking into his warmth is good enough. Every so often, he'll say something that takes me by surprise. Sometimes it's a dad joke, either really good or incredibly bad. Sometimes it's something that alludes to Simon not minding Johnny. He never outright admits it, but saying 'I like you alive' to Johnny's 'so you do like me' speaks for itself. I smile at that. I have sunk my claws into him, and he's not going to be able to get rid of me till the day I die.

#call of duty #call of duty modern warfare 2 #modern warfare 2 #modern warfare ii #mw2 #mwii #ghost #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley x y/n

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 5

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Thank you for all the love on this little series guys! Literally makes my day seeing you guys interact with it. Little bit of a shorter one, but I hope you like it. Been thinking about maybe taking requests? Obviously I am still quite new to this so I may not be good at writing everything. But if you have any ideas feel free to throw them my way :) The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

Challenges only happen once a week, so the next few weeks I continue to feel Imogen’s gaze on me every time we’re in the same room. Which is only a few times a day for meals and battle brief. But every single time I feel her eyes on me, watching my every move. I get the feeling the only reasons she hasn’t tried to start a fight already is us being on the same squad, and the fact I am Xaden’s sister.

As we stand around the mats watching the matches take place, I can practically hear my heart beating in my ears. I know I can hold my own on the mat, but something about the prospect of me being called up with Imogen terrifies me. The boys have assured me its nothing and I am over thinking. But the looks they give each other, mainly Garrick, do not convince me in the slightest. And despite how many times I had asked Garrick directly, he would not budge. I hadn’t talked to him or the others in the last few days, mostly keeping to my fellow first years in my squad. I wasn’t the only one who had noted their annoyance at me ignoring them. With Violet and Rhiannon commenting on it. Multiple times Garrick had tried to get me alone between classes or at the end of the day.

The moment I’ve been dreading is here. Emetterio points a finger at Imogen and I with a smile on his face. “My two best female fighters. Lets see what you can do.”

I’m kind of glad Garrick and Xaden are busy with their own fights to see us called up. But Bodhi is not. He goes to move but I give him a look, trying to convey I do not want him to interfere. He falters for a second before nodding and staying in his place. He’s probably going to get an earful from Xaden and Garrick later. But I don’t care. I need to know why she’s been acting the way she is. And if Garrick and Xaden get involved before the fight starts, they have the power to call it off.

Imogen starts circling the mat as if I am her prey. As if she’s out to kill me. As much as I would like to think my squad and being Xaden’s sister keeps me safe, the reality is people die in the riders quadrant. Nothing keeps you safe here.

”You need to keep away from what’s not yours Riorson.” She spits out at me.

What's not mine? Her eyes flick to Garrick a few mats away who is still focused on his fight to see Imogen and I have been paired up. That’s when it clicks. There is either history there, or she wants him. And here I come, essentially back from the dead and either put a divide between them, or wrecked any hopes she had of being with him. She’s jealous. And honestly who wouldn’t be. As per usual he is fighting without a shirt on, and its definitely a site to see. All the girls near his mat are watching him. She thinks I’m his. If only her words were true.

I don’t get a chance to respond back. In a blink of an eye Imogen has run at me and starts berating me with punches I can barely keep up with. Occasionally she gets a hit on my ribs, stomach or the side of my face. She’s coming at me with every thing she can. She tires for a second and I step back before launching a well placed kick to her stomach, sending her stumbling back before I am on her again. She not as lucky as I was when it comes to blocking punches and I manage to her a few decent hits on her. One of them lands on her nose, sending blood down her face and across the mat.

I vaguely hear male voices yelling that sound like Garrick and Xaden. But I block them out, focusing on the fight at hand. My luck runs out and she gets a well placed knee into my stomach causing me to double over, earning me a knee to the face and a sickening crunch to my nose. The familiar taste of blood trickles into my mouth. She pushes me to the ground and I have enough time to shield my face before she’s punching me again. Someone tries to pull her off but they are pulled away. I use the distraction to flip us over so I am on top. She comes at me with her knees and elbows, and manages to get a foot up and kick me off her. I land on my back and my head hits the hard ground in stead of the mat with a loud thud. I barely hear Imogen approaching me with the ringing in my ears. I look up in time to see her foot coming for my face, barely rolling out of the way in time. Her eyes flare with anger as I get away and am able to get back on my feet. I need to end this fast. The knock to my head has definitely given me a mild concussion paired with the knee to the nose I received earlier. If she gets another good hit on me I’m done. I need to win this to get her off my back.

She screams and runs at me with all she’s got. I can use her anger against her. She won’t be thinking straight. I plant one of my legs between hers, duck under her arms and use my ground foot to pivot around her locking my arms around her neck in a choke hold and locking both her legs between mine. My extra weight throws her off and we land on the mat with her on top of me, but I manage to hold on.

She claws at my arms and tries to kick her legs out. It takes all my energy to keep her locked in place. But slowly I feel her become weaker and weaker. Around the mat others yell for her to fight back and yield. If she’s anything like me, she wont yield. This is personal. After another minute her arms fall away and she passes out in my arms. I don’t even hear Emetterio call the end of the fight due to the ringing in my ears. But I know its done. I push her weight off me and do my best to sit up.

I look to my right and see Imogen coming to on the mat next to me covered in blood from where I got her in the nose earlier in the fight. We just stare at each other for a few second before she nods her head at me. Once we’re both healed and recovered I’ll have to find her and talk to her. A few other second years come and help her up and lead her towards the doors, most likely to the healers quadrant.

I go to stand but a big pair of arms wrap around me and pick me up as if I weigh nothing. I don’t even have to look up to see who it is as their familiar scent invades my senses despite my nose feeling like it should no longer work. I look up into Garrick’s hazel eyes as he walks with me bridal style in his arms out the doors and towards the healers quadrant.

Part 6

@riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt

#fourth wing #fourth wing fanfic #violet sorrengail #xaden riorson #garrick tavis x reader #the empyrean #bodhi durran #garrick tavis #garrick tavis imagine

[wannaeatramyeon]

Hi, there it's so great to find an amazing writer who enjoys Lookism so much! Please keep at it, your HC's are so much fun to read! If it's not too much to ask for the boys like Gun, Samuel, and Vasco with s/o who is a foreign girl, a very capable fighter, and honorable in combat but outside the fight she is quite self-conscious and a bit naive.

Not me reading the first part of this and thinking you're being sarcastic af lol

Thanks for being so kind anon :') I'm glad you're enjoying it, I have SO much fun writing them and putting my stupidity out! Thanks for the ask! I had a little difficulty writing it.... this really isn't very good but hope this hits the spot.

Lookism with non S. Korean S/O

You're from somewhere vague and overseas. Scenario with your partner (Gun, Samuel, Vasco, Jake)

Gun

Your boyfriend was asking you to fight yet again. You're getting pretty tired of it.

You only moved to South Korea not too long ago and ever since he discovered you picked up your skills from overseas, all he makes you do is fight him. And he doesn't go easy on you.

What happened to dates? What happened to romance?

You thought your boyfriend was growing colder towards you, now always in his own head or just studying martial arts.

"...Gun?"

He peers at you over the top of his sunglasses. Your words are hard to say aloud.

"Do you ... do you not want to be with me anymore?"

"What makes you think that?"

"All we do is fight... Literally! I can't remember the last time you even asked me for anything else."

He pulls you into his arms, "You're actually challenging me. Do you know how rare that is? I'm more turned on than ever."

Samuel

You transferred from overseas after helping source partners to help grow Workers into the behemoth it is today.

Back in your field days, there wasn't anything that couldn't be solved with some violence, but your morals and fairness made you stand out amongst would-be enemies.

Even with the 3rd and 4th Affiliate President as your boyfriend, no one could deny your competence or throw around accusation of nepotism.

But you still had to get your head around the working culture in this country.

"Sammy, do I really have to call you Mr. Seo in the office?"

"Yes."

"Isn't that a bit weird? People have seen us together."

"No, I'm your boss. You need to show respect and address me properly here."

"Oh... Do you actually not want anyone to know I'm your girlfriend?"

Samuel pinches the bridge of his nose, can't quite believing he's going to give in on this.

"Fine. You can call me Samuel,"

"What about-"

"Not Sam. Not Sammy. Samuel."

Vasco

You had agreed to meet in the park for a date with Vasco.

The first time you kissed him, he nearly jumped out of his skin claiming that wasn't how dating worked in South Korea. You found out later it was just his eccentricities.

Vasco texted you that he was running late when a group of guys start harassing you.

You threaten to call the police, but when they put their hands on you, you weren't left with many options.

"Y/N?!" Your boyfriend was staring at you in shock.

"No! Euntae, I didn't want you to see me like this!" you hide your bloodied fist from him.

"What! That was amazing!"

"Thank? you?"His compliment made you blush, you knew it wasn't what 'ladies' do but he liked it?

"Y/N! I thought people only had street fights in South Korea! Do they fight overseas too?"

Jake

You think this might be the first time Jake treated you to a meal. A job well done, he had said after you beat up some thugs who were harassing the girls.

Jake's often running off to god knows where to get god knows what done, leaving you to look after the street.

Is this the supposed Girlfriend Privileges? You having to fight in his stead? You reckon you're getting the short end of the stick.

You stare at the violently red pot of stew in front of you, with some unidentified vegetables floating around

"Jake...? What is this?"

"Oh! You've never tried many Korean dishes, right! It's kimchi stew, my favourite. Here." He spoons some into a bowl for you.

With your boyfriend's loving gaze on you, you had no choice but to take a sip.

"ACK!" you spit it out immediately and grab your glass of water to wash the vileness out of your mouth

Jake rolls his eyes at you, "You've got no taste" and takes his own mouthful.

"I know, I'm with you."

#this is so badly written im so sorry #lookism #lookism headcanons #lookism hc #lookism x reader #lookism fic #lookism fanfic #gun park #gun park x reader #vasco #vasco x reader #samuel seo #samuel seo x reader #jake kim #jake kim x reader #wannaeatramyeon

[romana-after-dark]

Finish the Job

Yandere!Jake Lockley x GN!reader

Join Dark!Romana's tag list

Dark!Romana's Masterlist

Summary: After months living in a room with only Jake, Steven and Marc as company, you can't say you aren't content most of the time. Sometimes, however you make a little trouble and Jake reminds you that he is the only one who can keep you safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Yandere!Jake. Reader is kidnapped. Implied/referenced rape (reader 'never said no' according to jake, but rather just gave in after an unclosed amount of time bc they were lonely/manipulated. The circumstances of this are v vague but remember, if you feel like you have to, its not consent.) Jake Lockley typical violence. Referenced past abuse.

A/N: I began writing this fem reader, as most of my fics are since I am fem, but I realized there was no reason this couldn't be gender neutral. So, that's what it is. If I missed changing anything that makes it seem like reader is fem presenting, lmk and I'll edit it but I looked through this several times.

*************************

You couldn’t say the bed was uncomfortable. You couldn’t say the room was bland or boring. You couldn’t say you had nothing to do. It was a great room, actually. If you were being honest, you loved it here…

The problem was you couldn’t leave. When the man had taken you, it took a while to figure out what was going on with him; it was Steven that explained it, the DID. Honestly, maybe the mental disorder should have scared you more, but you were well versed in different disorders so it wasn’t something that phased you, rather than just made it a challenge to navigate your situation. You were given book after book after book to read, to entertain you when outside of Marc Steven and Jake’s company; it didn't matter how many you went through, you just had them. If you were feeling brave, you made requests but honestly after the boredom of the first month while you were still fighting it, you took what you could get. You were even given a laptop, although it couldn’t possibly connect to the internet, but you were writing. They didn’t even make you show them what you wrote, but Steven would often sit on the bed while you read to him your poems or short stories. You were saving your novel for when it’s finished.

Some days were better than others. 

Some days you and Steven talked for hours.

Some days you and Marc marathonned Star Wars.

Some days Jake held you so warm and so tightly you forgot they kidnapped you.

Today was not one of those days.

You were angry, you were upset, you missed your friends and you missed the outside, you wanted fresh air and you didn’t want to spread your legs for a man that took you away from everything you knew and wanted. 

“Why are you giving me so much fucking attitude today?!” Jake shouts at you, pacing the floor of your room so aggressively he had your throw rug all twisted up.

You were sat up on your bed, shouting back. “You KIDNAPPED ME, you HURT ME you RAPE ME-”

“CALLATE!” He screamed, storming towards you so fast you flinch and scramble back to the wall. “You know I don’t like when you call it that!”

A sardonic laugh. “What? Rape?”

“I never forced you! I never held you down! I never got you too drunk or high to resist-”

“YOU TOOK ME AWAY FROM EVERYTHING AND EVERYONE, WHAT OTHER OPTION DID I HAVE!”

His face is suddenly right up to yours, so close your nose brushed his briefly as he speaks in a dark, quiet voice. “I never heard you say no, mi vida”

He was right. You hadn’t. But they had worn you down, twisted your mind so much that eventually you just began… giving in.

He continued talking, his voice rumbling with the low octive “I only hurt you in the beginning, carino. Just until you began to listen. You needed it, didn’t you? Someone to take you away from everything, take care of you, feed you. Baby, we adore you, and it hurts us when you fight like this.”

Your eyes wheeled up with tears at his words. It’s true, you had become so dependent on them… you weren’t sure you could even shower alone anymore. You’d be lucky if you remembered how to toast bread. Sickeningly, a part of you liked it. You liked he cared for, pampered, adored, and fuck, worshiped. You had time to write, time to listen to music and podcasts. If you need to look up something for a book or research something from a podcast that interested you, you just asked, and the boys would monitor you. You didn’t really need anything except some goddamn freedom. What was that they said in The Handmaid’s Tale? There’s freedom too, and freedom from… They offered you freedom from, and made that clear.

“The world is dangerous, precioso. You know that as well as I do… perhaps better.” With a cocked eyebrow, Jake referenced your past trauma’s, forcing the tears to spill over. “You are too precious, too perfect to be put at risk again. Your family didn’t protect you, but I will.”

Still, you are ever-defiant, shaking your head. “N-no… you aren’t protecting me. You’re hurting me…” but even then, you couldn’t manage much conviction. You hadn’t so much as burned your tongue since Steven, Marc, and Jake took you, and he was right… the rest was just discipline. 

Jake frowned, but simple stood up. He went over to your desk, taking out a Glee notepad he’d found on ebay for you and a pen, tossing them in your direction.

“Write them down, all the names.”

You look at him confused. “W-what names?”

He stalked forward, once again close to you.

“Give me the full name of anyone who has ever hurt you or touched you without your consent.” His gaze was focused, intense. You knew he was on a mission when he looked at you like that.

“I don’t… I don’t know all their full names…”

“If you have workplace addresses, any identifying information that’s helpful. I promise you, I’ll take whatever you give me and I will find them. Every single person who has ever caused you pain.”

“What are you going to do?” You didn’t really need to ask, but you did anyway.

“You and I both know. Now write.”

The list was long, longer than any one person’s list should be. A few, you only remembered their first name so you wrote down what you knew… Jake had his ways. Still, you had some cheek in you, and when Jake looked at the paper, he frowned.

“What the fuck is this.” He smacked the paper with his hand. After the list of people who had violated or harmed you before you came here, were three names Jake recognized right away.

Jake Lockley

Steven Grant

Marc Spector

“You told me to write the names of anyone who hurt me or touched me without-” SMACK! Your head flung to the side from the backhand, and when your turned back to face him, his hand gripped your throat.

“You think this is funny, carino?” His face pressed against yours. “How do you think Marc would feel if he saw his name on that list?”

Your lip quivered at that… you didn’t want Marc to see. Marc was special to you, and Jake knew it; he often exploited your relationship with his alter for his own benefit.

“I’m sorry” You cried, apologetic.

His grip on you loosened, and he looked back at you with sympathetic eyes. Letting go, he tore the bottom three names off the paper and tucked the offenders into his pocket. “I know you are, amor. Now, you sit here pretty, and don’t worry about a damn thing for the rest of your life, si?”

It took about a month. He never left you for more than one day at a time, but he always made sure you had food and were provided for, even giving you access to the bathroom. You didn’t dare even look for an exit; they wouldn’t have left anything vulnerable, and you were on camera, you knew. It would just cause trouble.

It was after one of those such nights where you were alone that he came back to you, still somehow looking put together after being out all night. You knew he hadn’t slept. You awake to his footsteps, heavy boots on your polished hard wood floor. As you stir, a piece of paper is placed on your pillow.

Sitting up you rub your eyes. “Jake, what’s- ” But you are stopped in the middle of your sentence. Every single name is crossed out on the list you had given him. “Does… does what mean they are dead?”

He steps forward, slipping to stand between your knees and bedding over, placing his hands on your thighs. His face was intensely close to yours, dark eyes piercing yours. You lean forward, accepting him in, existing in his precise. Jake did this for you. You were safe here, none of these people could hurt you… but because they had, whether months ago or decades, it didn’t matter. They were dead because they had crossed you, because they had dared to touch what Jake Lockley laid claim to. Jake, Marc and Steven… they were where you belonged.

 “Jake Lockley finishes the job.”

**************

@my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @howaboutcastiel @the-fox-den @fandxmslxt69

#jake lockley #yandere #yandere jake lockley #dark jake lockley #dark!jake lockley #dark moon knight #moon knight #yandere moon knight #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x gn!reader #gn!reader #gn reader #gender neutral reader

[aromacaque]

Something I don't think a lot of queer people understand because the aro/ace community is very online-oriented is how little people actually know about aromanticism.

I feel like if you're predominantly in queer spaces (especially online) then of course you have at least heard of aro/ace identities, but IRL I have only met like 2 other aro people. Ever. In my entire life. Most people I meet tend to only know a little bit about it, or more than likely know nothing at all. Most people I meet have never met an aro person ever in their life (that they know of), and it Really shows. Because I think generally speaking most people know of other sexualities and trans people to some degree (i.e. gay, bi, trans). If they don't they definitely know of them. But that's not the same for aromantic people. So whenever I talk about myself, unless I explicitly give the label out to them so they can have a word to associate with my "abnormalities" or the things they think are strange (or even wrong) about me, then they just stare at me like I'm an anomaly.

I have been stared at like an anomaly. I have had many moments with people where me just being vaguely honest about my love life (or lack thereof) has been met with confusion and discomfort from the people around me. Multiple times where I can tell people are uncomfortable and HAVE A PROBLEM with me for either offhandedly mentioning I've never had a crush or just not having much of anything to contribute to a conversation regarding that stuff.

I have also had people claim they could be the exception or that they could "fix me." From both straight and queer people by the way.

My entire existence challenges so much of these people's concept of how social conventions work and so they immediately pinpoint me as being different.

To add to this, that feeling of alienation is very present in queer spaces as well. Being the only aromantic person in the room of other queer people, who claim to be accepting, yet you're always the afterthought? If even thought of at all? That's.. not really acceptance, is it? I don't think so.

I could get into more detail with this but the gist is that I've always felt more comfortable in queer spaces as a trans person than I ever have been as aromantic.

I genuinely don't think other queer people actually grasp how alienating and oppressive socially the experience of being aromantic is. They just see us as "basically cishet" or "QPRs are basically just dating!" when that couldn't be farther from the truth. The way I experience attraction is fundamentally different to the majority of the population, cishet AND lgbt sexualities combined. And it's really annoying to be treated as if we don't ever experience prejudice due to it.

#aromantic #asexual #spin the wheel of: what did skull just remember and/or experience to make this post?

[magicalbats]

Day 14: Orgasm Denial

Rating: R-18+

Word Count: 7925

Warnings: Afab!reader, (lots of) gendered language, social power dynamics, boss/employee, upperclass/lowerclass, tbh I’m not entirely sure how to tag some of this xmdkxkdnd, manual masturbation, dacryphilia, I wanted reader to be a bit of a bimbo in this one so if she seems stupid that’s why lol

A/N: sorry this one is late! I am officially behind on my prompts now but regardless of how long it takes I WILL be completing this Kinktober challenge! Unfortunately the real world demands attention sometimes but I’m not giving up 😤

⭐

Stamping down the urge to nervously fiddle with your hands, you clutch at the front of your arpon to keep them still and try very hard to focus on what the man in front of you is saying. The Palais Mermonia housed a great many regular faces, some of which you only saw from time to time and could not seem to commit to memory, and yet you’d been seeing mister Danon’s more and more often than anyone else’s recently. You didn’t understand why that would be though, and had at first written it off as mere coincidence. A simple matter of happenstance and nothing more. 

But then it kept happening at an ever increasing frequency until it seemed like you were running into him almost every day now. Only then had it occurred to you, in a far off, distant sort of way, that he must have been making a concerted effort to talk with you like this. That was the only reasonable explanation for it that you could glean, because the one person you saw at the Palais with any amount of real regularity was the honorable Iudex himself and certainly not the man who’s job description you could not seem to recall. But that didn’t exactly explain why. 

You wanted to understand what would make him seek you out like this, so you attentively listen to mister Danon when he speaks even though you sometimes find him a bit difficult to follow. He seemed like he was probably a good person and respectable enough, but he had a strange habit of jumping from topic to topic without much rhyme or reason that you could discern. One moment he would be talking to you about matters of work, about documents he needed to have signed or the latest gossip that had everyone all in a buzz, and the next … why, he would suddenly say something off hand about recreational activities to do in the city or places to dine, a book he’d read recently and even the types of food he fancied. 

It was all very strange, and listening to him talk does not help in the slightest. In fact, it actually seems to make it worse. 

You didn’t have the slightest idea why he would want to discuss upcoming stageplays with you nor why he should feel the need to announce that his favorite dish was aspic as if it was something that should be of great interest to you. It was all really quite strange. 

“You see, if you take a few fish when they’re still flopping around and fresh,” He tells you, eagerly gesturing his way through an explanation you hadn’t asked for. “That will guarantee their taste and ensure your aspic comes out just divine. Like something straight from the Gods themselves, if you want the honest truth of it. I don’t think I’ve ever tasted anything more sumptuous!” 

“A - ah,” You make a valid attempt to smile politely but it was difficult to keep up with him like this. What did you care for the precise steps to make such an unappetizing sounding dish? 

“You know, if you were interested, cherie … I could make it for you to try, if you would like. Ah, what I mean is — it might be nice if we can sit down together and chat over a meal at my residence. Just the two of us.”

Your brows slowly crawl straight up to your hairline. “Oh.” 

Before you can think to say anything else, an attention grabbing thud against the marble floor makes you spin around and a smile quickly overtakes your face. 

“Monsieur Neuvillette! It is a pleasure to see you today.”

The kindly man sends you a slow, vaguely bemused half-smile. “Good afternoon, mademoiselle. Mister Danon. You looked like you were having a rather lively conversation just now. I hope I didn't interrupt anything important?” 

“Of course not, monsieur. It was nothing important at all.” You beam up at him, eager and happy to hang on his every word no matter how benign or minuscule. Much to your surprise, though, he sends another unreadable look over your shoulder and when you turn back to Danon you’re more than a little surprised to find him slouched as if in defeat. Your eyebrows quickly make the climb up to your hairline again. “Mister Danon, are you alright? Goodness, you suddenly look quite unwell.” 

“Yes, everything is fine. Nothing to worry about.” He waves off your concern, but it doesn’t escape your notice that he makes a concerted effort not to look directly at you now and instead turns his attention towards monsieur Neuvillette. “Forgive me, your honor. I’m afraid I must be going now. My break is almost over and my presence will be sorely missed if I fail to show up on time.”

The stately Iudex inclines his chin in a brief nod of acknowledgment. “You needn’t apologize, mister Danon. On behalf of all of Fontaine, thank you for the hard work you do.” 

Giving monsieur Neuvillette a stiff bow, he turns to do the same to you. “Mademoiselle.” 

You quickly bob a perplexed curtsy back. “Monsieur?” 

Ignoring or perhaps not hearing the question in your voice, Danon pivots on his heel and makes a hasty retreat down the long corridor without so much as a backwards glance. You can’t seem to shake the feeling you’ve said or done something wrong though, and you watch him go with a tiny flutter of anxiety in your chest until another soft thud of monsieur Neuvillette’s cane on the marble floor pulls you around again. 

With a small frown in place, you tip your head back to look up at him when he comes to stand next to you. “Monsieur Neuvillette?” 

He offers you a small, gentle smile, no doubt meant to placate and soothe, though it does little in the way of good. “Please do not look so put out, mademoiselle. Would you like to accompany me to my office?” 

Nodding, you fall into step beside him. You find yourself listlessly fiddling with your hands now, unable to stop it when it felt like you'd made some horrible faux pas, and they anxiously flit over your front to smooth out invisible wrinkles. What a strange and confusing situation to end up in, and with no idea how to navigate it either. It seemed like you’d done the exact opposite of what you’d initially set out to do … you didn’t understand it in the slightest. 

“Forgive me for asking you such a strange question so suddenly, but … did I say something to offend mister Danon just now?” 

Noising a quiet sound of consideration, monsieur Neuvillette thinks on that for a brief moment. “I am certainly no expert on the topic, mademoiselle, but if I am not mistaken I do believe mister Danon harbors a romantic interest in you. I believe he may have felt slighted when you said what you were discussing was of no importance, and he took it as a sign of rejection.” 

You jerk to a sudden halt with an inelegant scuffle of your heels. “Romantic?” Eyes widening in mute horror, you feel your cheeks start to grow uncomfortably warm. That did make sense, you were more than just a little stunned to realize. The way he made the effort to find you wherever you were working, stop you and talk to you; the way he would casually sprinkle in bits and pieces of his personal life and subtly suggest food, diners, places to go and things to do … had he really been laying out suggestions this whole time hoping you would show an interest in him back? But — “But he never said … oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I had no idea!” 

He looks at you with a soft, sympathetic smile where he’d stopped half a pace in front of you. “It is alright if you didn’t know. Situations like these can be difficult to — parse sometimes, and I do not think you acted with malicious intent. Come, let us continue this over a cup of tea.” 

Embarrassed and roiling with a crushing sense of guilt, you slowly trail after the Iudex to his large, exquisitely furnished office where you quickly fall into your usual habit of preparing the chinaware while he situates himself on the ornate lounge. It is muscle memory alone that sees you through your task, motions practiced and subconscious after working at the Palais for so long, which comes as a great relief in that moment. You were far too preoccupied with this startling revelation to give the pouring of the tea much thought. Mister Danon’s intentions were shocking enough but, perhaps even more so, you’re surprised at your own lack of awareness on the matter. 

You felt rather bad now, for listening to him so attentively and humoring the conversations he was always keen to share with you. Had he mistaken it for budding affection on your part? Have you unknowingly encouraged him to keep trying or, somehow worse, made him believe you were merely toying with his feelings this whole time? What a terrible thing to do to another person, intentionally or not. 

Monsieur Neuvillette silently regards you when you bring the tea over on a silver tray but you can’t bring yourself to look at him while you set everything down on the low table in front of him. He was always nothing but kind to you despite your lower station of housekeeper, just as he was with all of the staff that kept the Palais functioning as it should. Everyone from the notarizers and the title clerks right down to even the janitors were treated with nothing but respect and dignity, and that very much included you. But you were a bit too ashamed, too guilty to meet his gaze right now, and you quickly shuffle back a polite distance once everything is laid out so you can further avoid his eyes. 

A stretch of quiet settles over the room, and you have to try very hard not to start fiddling with your uniform again. 

“Won’t you make yourself a cup and join me?” He ventures at last. 

“I couldn’t, monsieur Neuvillette. But thank you.” 

He seems to deliberate over something for a short beat before half turning his body on the lounge to look up at you. “I must apologize for prying like this but what about the situation with mister Danon has you so upset? If you didn’t know what his intentions were then you certainly cannot be held responsible for not acting accordingly.” 

You hesitate to discuss this matter with him, well aware that it was improper and impolite to talk over such things with not only the aristocracy but also the man who was effectively your employer. It felt very much like an unspoken boundary that should not, under any circumstances, be crossed but … when you take in monsieur Neuvillette’s imploring expression your resolve starts to crumble. He was a wise and exceptionally astute figurehead who always treated every case laid out before him no matter how small or insignificant with the utmost care and consideration. Perhaps he would have some insight to share with you, or at least some advice. 

“Well,” You finally relent, tipping your chin down to shyly regard your buckled shoes. “I’m aware that this might sound a little odd but I just feel so guilty about everything … I should have realized sooner why he kept seeking me out like he did. As silly as it is, I can’t help but feel like I tricked him somehow.” 

“That is a silly thing, isn’t it?” He agrees in a soft, endlessly patient tone. “How could you have tricked someone if you weren’t aware of what they wanted from you? In the unlikely event that a case such as this were presented to me, I wouldn’t even be able to rule in favor of misrepresentation on the defendant’s part. You have to act with knowing and intention to be held accountable for trickery.” 

You despondently mull that over for a long stretch. Logically, you knew what he was saying to be true and you, as everyone else in Fontaine, trusted his judgment implicitly. It wasn’t so much that you doubted him but, rather, your guilt was so great that it couldn’t accept this answer. The thought alone that you might have broken mister Danon’s heart after stringing him along for months almost brings tears to your eyes. 

“Does that mean you wouldn’t deign to punish me for it?” It’s barely more than a whisper. 

“No, not unconscionably. No one in their right mind would.” 

It feels like you're withering on the spot. You didn’t understand it yourself, why you were so upset to hear this rather than relieved at finding you hadn’t broken any laws or regulations that would hold you accountable. Even if mister Danon were to try to file a suit against you to mend some of his bruised ego it sounded like he wouldn’t even have a case to stand on — and that was good. 

So why did it feel as if you were skating by without making proper amends for the transgression?

“Mademoiselle?” 

You finally bring your head up to look at him. “Do you think mister Danon will forgive me if I apologize?” 

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression softens, taking on a truly remorseful edge. “I don’t know, little one. He might. I can’t see into the future any more than you can, but I think if it’s something that bothers you so much then it certainly wouldn’t hurt to talk to him about it.” 

Blinking back a sudden deluge of tears, you take an impulsive step towards him with the tray clutched to your chest. “Oh, monsieur Neuvillette, I don’t know what to do! How can I possibly ameliorate my actions if he might not even accept my apology? I — I didn’t mean to lead him on!” 

Very neatly, calmly, monsieur Neuvillette folds his gloved hands on his lap and studies you for an indeterminable amount of time with that closed and shuttered expression. You aren’t sure how many minutes pass when you’re a right mess inside, all your emotions kicked up into such a veritable whirlwind that it’s all you can do just to hold it together. But, at length, he eventually draws a careful breath. 

“What I’m hearing is that your guilt over this matter will not be dissuaded until you feel appropriate action has been taken against you to right what is, in your mind, a very serious wrong, intentional or not. Is that correct?” 

You blink, more than a little surprised at how concisely he’s grasped your thoughts on the matter. It almost sounds foolish when he puts it like that, in such blunt terms, but there is no denying the pang that resonates within you. “Yes, monsieur. I feel terrible for what I’ve done …” 

He seems to hesitate, his brows drawing inward almost imperceptibly. “Guilt can function as its own form of punishment as well, and a very effective one at that. But you must understand something, mademoiselle. The law simply is not applicable here. There is no legal recourse and, therefore, no system in place to enforce any sort of repercussions against you.” 

You take another step closer, feeling fervent and hot. “Then will you punish me, monsieur Neuvillette?” 

Abruptly, he goes very still. “I am hardly in any position to mete out such discipline,” He says slowly, carefully. “And, far more importantly, I’m not quite sure what you would have me do. I don’t believe this situation would call for a monetary fine or even any corrective action on an employment level … and I’m certainly not going to spank you over my knee like a child.” 

Flustered heat crawls up your neck to settle in your cheeks. You hate the way your knees grow weak and knobby at the thought of that, but you were decidedly in agreement with him. It would have been inappropriate for him to strike you in any capacity, least of all over something like this. Still, though … 

“Isn’t there something to be done?” 

Monsieur Neuvillette’s expression settles back into that somber mask again, eyeing you for a drawn out beat before he finally issues a clipped sigh. Leaning back to recline against the lounge, he stiffly crosses his legs and once more settles his folded hands atop the bent knee. “Come here, little one. Stand next to me.” 

Your feet almost don’t want to move from the spot but you force them to uproot so you can cautiously shuffle forward. You aren’t sure what to expect when your cotton stuffed head was such a mess, but all he does when you come up beside him is hold out an expectant hand. It takes you a moment to realize what he wants and you flush even hotter as you pass him the tray. Taking it from you, he sedately sets it aside on the cushion before fixing his attention on you once again. 

“This is another topic in which I lack expertise but I might have something in mind that could satisfy your need for penance. However, I will not force or otherwise coerce you into it, and you will likewise be free to walk away at any time. Once you have decided you’ve made the appropriate dues for leading mister Danon on, as you put it, then this arrangement will end immediately. Is that agreeable to you?” 

You bob your head in a quick nod. “Yes, monsieur Neuvillette. Thank you.” 

Squaring his broad shoulders, the usually kindly disposition with which he carried himself outside of the courtroom fades and is replaced by the stern set of his mouth, the slight tension along his brow, to indicate that it is the Chief Justice sitting before you now. A chill runs up your spine at the change in him, so subtle yet unavoidably obvious, and a sharp look from pale lavender eyes stops you from saying anything. You’d never before been subjected to such a hard expression from him and you can’t quite stop yourself from sympathizing with whoever was unlucky enough to find themselves standing before him in court. It really wasn’t any wonder why he held the title of supreme judge in all of Fontaine when you saw him like this. 

“Do not thank me yet, mademoiselle. If you would be so kind, please lift your skirt for me.” 

Your spine stiffens with a tremor so powerful it very nearly bowls you over on the spot. Obediently, though, you reach down with numb hands to gather the full, flouncy material of your uniform and shyly hike it up along with the lace petticoat underneath. 

“Higher.” He commands, intently observing the slow ascension of your skirts. “That’s it, up around your waist. Good.” 

Sucking in a faltering breath, you sway unsteadily on your feet and try not to lose your nerve. The thought that you would be able to alleviate your guilt with this steels your resolve though, and your hands start to shake as your stockinged upper thighs are revealed to him, the simple garters holding them in place and, finally, your lace panties. Your face is on fire while you nudge everything up a little further to make sure it was satisfactory and to his liking despite still harboring some very real doubts about this in the back of your mind. 

He did say he wasn’t going to spank you … didn’t he? 

Casually, monsieur Neuvillette reaches out a hand to slip long, elegantly poised fingers into the space between your thighs and you suck in a sharp gasp when he nudges them up against your cunt just so. The touch is featherlight and barely there, but it makes more blood rush into your face to leave you rattled and a bit dizzy. But you don’t pull away from him as he takes his time petting over the apex of your fleshy mound and the slit running along your body, determined to see this through. Somehow having him touch you like this was not nearly as embarrassing as the way his expression doesn’t change while he does it, you’re quite ashamed to realize. 

“Are you sensitive here?” He asks you softly, prompting you to swallow. Hard. 

“I … I don’t know. I’m not sure.” 

Quietly clicking his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette presses up against you a little more firmly, gloved fingertips digging into your defenseless clit to make you jolt and give a startled yelp. “You seem responsive enough to me. I only know of this particular activity in theory but … well, it doesn’t really matter. I believe we should have no problem at all using this method for your penance.” 

“W - which is, monsieur?” 

“I believe I’ve heard the people call this ‘edging’ before. It sounds rather dreadful, doesn’t it? Like some sort of barbaric torture technique.” Carefully observing your face, he pushes up even harder to grind tight, mean little circles against that sensitive pleasure button, and your eyes grow big as you stiltedly rock forward on your toes. “I suppose it could still be called that, depending on who you asked. The instigator or the receptee. I’m sure they would have drastically different opinions on the matter.”

Whimpering, you numbly readjust your hold on your skirt to make sure it stays up and out of his way while he’s doing this. Not that you were entirely sure you liked this specific method in terms of punishments when it was so obvious your body was eagerly responding to it – from the way your pussy clenches around nothing and starts to slick for him and even to the way your nipples stiffen against the inside of your shirt – but perhaps that was a good thing. Would you have really been able to say your penance was paid in full if this trial were not appropriately challenging?

“Wh … where?” 

Blinking at the little mouse squeak noise, monsieur Neuvillette just keeps rubbing over you with that steady motion of his hand. “I beg your pardon?” 

Trying valiantly to keep the fluster off of your face and failing miserably at it, you shyly avert your gaze. “I was just curious … where did you hear of this?”

“A reasonable question.” He relents, allowing the smallest note of humor to color his voice. “While it is true I don’t often partake in such crude conversations, it can be a little hard to avoid at times. Even here, in the Palais Mermonia. I believe they refer to it as ‘water cooler talk’.”

“Oh.” You’d overhead such things before too, now that you thought of it. The other women who worked at the Palais were more prone to gossip, joint complaints about their husbands or beaus, fawning over babies and first days of school, and academic achievements, while the men … they would sometimes change topics when they saw you coming but more than once you’d caught snippets of inappropriate conversations. A recent visit they’d had to a brothel or perhaps how they fantasized about doing certain things to their partners. You always felt mildly scandalized whenever it would happen, shocked that such discussions were being entertained at the Palais, and yet — 

Letting out a slow, stuttering breath, you carefully glance down at yourself to look at monsieur Neuvillette’s hand disappearing between the soft pudge of your thighs. This was vastly more inappropriate than any ‘water cooler talk’ and that realization embarrasses you a great deal. Your cheeks feel a little hotter, your blood pumping harder, and you whine, very low in your throat. Was this really an acceptable form of punishment? 

You think it probably is, because the shame that comes with it is potent and cloying, especially when your hips give a weak judder at what he’s doing. To think that the Iudex himself was touching you like this … 

“Does that feel good, little one?” 

Twitching at the sound of his voice, you give a stilted nod. “Yes, monsieur, thank you … but — but I don’t think I quite understand. Are punishments supposed to feel good?” 

“Not necessarily, no. But this is only a part of it. Relax, sweet girl. I will ensure your guilt is appropriately mitigated in due time.” 

You still don’t truly understand it, but you allow yourself to ease into it anyway. Relax into his touch. Slipping your eyes closed, you just take a moment to feel the sensation of him rubbing over your cunt. The press of his firm fingers pudges your lips to highlight how soft and pliable they are, the blunt tips of his gloves sinking into the slit. Even the thin layer of your panties is not enough to lessen the drag in any meaningful way, and it doesn’t seem to take long at all for you to start feeling sticky with arousal. It’s copious and excessive, almost implausibly so considering that he’d only touched you in this one specific spot thus far. Hardly at all. 

You hadn’t thought you would be so easily excitable and yet the proof of it is in the way you tremble for him, the way your breathing gradually picks up to make your breasts heave under your blouse, and it quickly becomes difficult just to stay standing in place. You wanted to twist and pull away, give your drooling cunt even a moment's reprieve, but you don’t give in to the urge. That wasn’t what he’d agreed to, and you trusted his judgment … 

So you stand there, trembling, while your stiff nipples cut up into your shirt in search of the same friction, and you try not to cry out. Your pussy tingles against his hand, the pressure it exerts so constant and steady that it rapidly starts to feel like the building pressure in you is reaching critical mass. Much sooner than you could have anticipated or guessed, it was as if your body was particularly weak for monsieur Neuvillette’s dutiful attention. 

Softly wheezing when your legs buckle and threaten to give out, you subtly tip your pelvis further into his hand and it becomes that much more apparent how wet you really are. How stiff and engorged your clit had gotten. A violent shudder tears through you at the meaty, swollen drag of it under his fingers, head tipping back and. - - 

He retracts his hand so suddenly it leaves you lurching in place. Raggedly gasping at the sudden loss, you turn wide, wild eyes on monsieur Neuvillette but he merely gives you that same somber expression as he interlaces his fingers on top of his bent knee once again, unfalteringly casual about it. 

“That will be all for right now, mademoiselle. Thank you.” 

You just gape at him, stunned and confused, with your skirts still hiked up around your waist like a shameless fool. “Wh - wha —“ 

A look of sympathy flashes across monsieur Neuvillette’s face. “This is the penance you wanted so badly. As many times as you like, I will bring you close to orgasm but I will not let you actually reach climax. It is the only suitable punishment I could think of for your specific … transgression.” 

It takes a great deal of effort for you to do it, but you suck in a slow, shuddering breath to steady yourself. “I … I see. Thank you, monsieur. I understand now.” 

“Very good. Now, run along. I’m sure you’ve got work to do elsewhere.” 

He offers you a small smile that you think is meant to be reassuring but it does very little to distract from the throbbing ache in your cunt or calm your pounding heartbeat. Numbly, you drop your skirt and petticoat back into place and run your hands over it to smooth out the (now real, not imagined) wrinkles as you slowly make your way towards the door. It was like you were in a trance. 

“And mademoiselle?”

You pause, turning to look back at him. “Yes, monsieur?” 

“I would like to see you in my office again around noontime. Please do not forget and don’t be late.” 

~*~

It hadn’t taken you long to realize just how insidious and cruel this strange brand of punishment truly was. You left his office such a sticky mess between the legs that even trying to clean yourself in the powder room did little good against the slick oozing out of you to stain your panties and make them stick to you, moulding against your cunt. It serves as a near constant reminder of how close you’d been to climax, how monsieur Neuvillette’s fingers had felt touching such an intimate part of your body, and how torturous it had felt to have that friction taken away so suddenly. 

The wisdom of the Iudex impresses you even now though, for you did indeed see why he’d deemed this the only appropriate corrective measure that would fit the crime. You had unknowingly strung mister Danon along with your feminine charm and wiles, so it did indeed make sense to turn that back around on you in some way. 

And although it does take a while, the distracting pulse in your cunt slowly fades into an afterthought in the back of your mind while you flit about the Palais tending to various tasks and seeing that everything was as it should be. At some point you even start to forget how your damp panties cling to you and that makes it much easier to view this trial as an easy obstacle to overcome. You would simply allow monsieur Neuvillette to carry out this task a handful of times, consider your self flagellation completed and then move on with your life. 

Yes, this really was the best method of making your peace with the situation. 

Comforted in your conviction, you return to monsieur Neuvillette’s office at the appointed time and issue a gentle rap at the door. His voice filters through without missing a beat, calling for you to come in, and you enter without reservation. 

Perhaps you should have been more wary of underestimating him or this game you were playing but you think nothing of it as you make your way across the room to stand in front of his stately desk. He looks up at you with a brief smile that inexplicably makes your pulse thrum a little faster, and that surprises you slightly. Catches you off guard. 

“Thank you for your punctuality, little one. I have a meeting scheduled after lunch is over so I wanted to tend to you before I got too busy.” 

Self consciously, you avert your gaze. “Are you sure this is alright, monsieur? I don’t want you to go hungry because of me.” 

“Nonsense. I planned accordingly and already ate before you came by.” Not lingering on the thought for very long, he takes a moment to straighten a stack of papers and neatly set them aside, out of the way. Nudging his high backed chair out from under the desk, he half turns and situates himself first before reclining against the backrest and finally looking up at you again. “Come. No need to feel shy.” 

His words have the opposite effect of making you feel ten times more shy than you originally did, and you can feel yourself starting to blush again as you slowly round the desk to come up beside him. Standing just a scant few inches from him like this it occurs to you, suddenly, that you probably should have been a bit more apprehensive about returning to his chamber like this. He was going to touch you again … oh, perhaps you had not thought this through all the way.

“Here.” He says, drawing you back into the moment with a gentle pat against his leg. “Sit on my lap, little one. This should make things a bit easier for both of us.” 

The flush that crawls up your face is an intense and overwhelming one. “M - monsieur, I — I couldn’t possibly be so presumptuous!” 

“Is it presumptuous if I’m telling you to do it?” 

Your spine stiffens at the slightly hardened tone in his voice, the edge that seems to cut across any of your weak excuses, and you quickly realize it is once again the Chief Justice sitting before you now, not the kindly monsieur Neuvillette. And he was looking at you very expectantly. 

Swallowing your nerves, you reluctantly shuffle closer and turn to lower yourself onto his leg with a slow, stiff motion of your body. The firm pressure and warmth of him underneath you is almost enough to send you running from the room in hysterics, but before you can even think to change your mind his arm comes forward to secure itself around your middle. A surprised little yelp bursts out of you when he hauls you back against him to settle more firmly on his lap, completely disregarding how you tense up and shudder on top of him. 

“There. Isn’t that much better?” He softly coos at you, tugging you back to lean against his front. Your face feels like it’s on fire but you don’t fight it, only whimpering quietly when he at last has you situated how he wants. 

“M - monsieur …” You mewl into the suddenly statically charged office, unable to stop it, but he just quietly tuts at you as he turns his head to press his mouth against your hair. 

“Now, now, you’re alright. I’ve got you. There isn’t any reason to be so nervous.” A violent tremor tears through you when you feel his lips purse against the side of your head in what you think must be a brief kiss — but you don’t get the chance to fully process the significance of that as he bends a little closer to put his mouth near your ear now. “Spread your legs for me, little one. Let me see you.” 

Dizzy with the surge of white hot arousal that abruptly crashes into you with all the force of a sack of bricks, you give a weak, twitchy roll of your body against him and reach down with trembling hands to grab at your skirt. Slowly inching it up, you tip your chin down to watch with him as more and more of your thighs are revealed. The soft pudge around the tops of your stockings embarrasses you somewhat but not nearly as much as your panties do. Even from this angle you can see a dark, wet spot staining the crotch when you ease your legs open and you whimper softly at the sight of it. 

“Goodness, you certainly soaked yourself earlier didn’t you? Poor thing,” With a quiet click of his tongue, monsieur Neuvillette reaches down past cotton and lace, and voluminous frills to slide his hand over your mound. Your breath hitches as you watch him do it, cupping your pussy with an almost apologetic squeeze, and you quickly turn your head away before you can say or do something else you’ll regret today. 

You had to admit, it was very naive and shortsighted of you to consider this an easy penance just because it was not a constant, pressing concern at the forefront of your mind. How very foolish you had been. 

“I was thinking about it earlier and I found myself quite curious,” He admits, still just holding your cunt in the palm of his hand. “Would it be too impolite of me to ask how often you usually pleasure yourself?” 

Your chest dramatically heaves with the ragged gasp you suck in. “Monsieur Neuvillette, that’s … why would you ask me something like that?” 

“Oh dear, I hope I haven’t offended you. That was not my intention, little one. Please forgive me.” A pause, while he turns his head to press his lips against your hair again. “It is just that you are so shy and your body is so sensitive. I wondered if perhaps you were too ashamed to take care of your own needs in this manner, that’s all. I’ve heard some women are.” 

Lungs painfully constricting inside your chest, you stiffly lift your hands up to cover your face. Having the Iudex pet you so intimately was one thing, but discussing such matters with him was something else entirely! 

“P - please forgive me, monsieur … you haven’t offended me it’s just — I have no experience with this sort of thing. I do it, sometimes. Pleasure myself like that. But I’ve never had anyone else t - touch me in that way before …” 

“I see.” 

Silence settles over the room for a long, drawn out stretch that soon starts to ride the line of being uncomfortable. You can just start to feel the sting of hot tears creeping through at the corners of your eyes when he gently pats your cunt with the flats of his fingers, startling a surprised noise out of you. Lowering your hands enough to see, you gape down at yourself as he somewhat possessively cups his hand around you again and gives the pudge of your labia a light squeeze. 

“Such a silly thing you are.” He says against your head, displacing some of the little flyways there to send them dancing at your peripheral. You barely even notice it though, trembling at the faintest hint of a growl in his voice when it sets your guts to vibrate and seems to reverberate inside your chest cavity. You’d never heard him sound like that before but don’t get the chance to linger on that thought or question it, because he nuzzles further into you until it feels like he’s speaking directly into your ear now. “In the future you should try not to be so forthcoming with your body when it comes to men. Had I been any less honorable I could have all too easily taken advantage of you earlier and I could still do it now had I wanted to. I understand your desire for wrongs to be appropriately righted as that is the very foundation Fontaine was built on but this is not the way to go about it, mademoiselle.” 

Your mouth warbles open but nothing comes out. All you can do is sit there, quaking on monsieur Neuvillette’s lap, while his fingers slip into one side of your panties and tugs them aside. The sight of your own cunt lips, puffy and flushed with arousal, surprises a faltering animal noise out of you that seems to echo endlessly inside the room. He pays it little mind though and simply curls his thumb to brush over your slit and the clitoris hiding within, smearing sticky slick with that fine leather glove and nudging your body into opening up to him. Legs twitching, you jerk your hands down to latch onto the arm locked around your middle, clutching at him even as you fitfully writhe against the sensation. 

All at once your earlier arousal comes crashing back with a vengeance, temporarily forgotten but not near as snuffed out as you would have liked it to be. Your clit thrums under his stilted caress as if the climax you’d been close enough to taste but not able to experience had lain dormant this entire time while you ensured the water pitchers were filled, the snack tables stocked and the fireplaces were appropriately stoked wherever they were needed. It shocks you a great deal to realize how powerful your arousal truly is, and you buck your hips with a whiny moan that would have embarrassed you under better circumstances. 

But better circumstances would not have found your cunt absolutely flooding with a deluge of fresh slick, nor would your clit have been swelling as eagerly as it does. You can feel the meaty, engorged drag of it under the soft petting of his thumb, almost idly drawing it back and forth with a total lack of urgency that makes your head spin perhaps even more so than the sharp stabs of pleasure do. You wanted to cum, and the knowledge that he would not permit you to just makes you want it even more. 

“Please, monsieur —!” 

Softly humming, he presses his thumb down a bit more firmly. “Are you already getting close, little one?” 

You tip your head back to rest on his broad shoulder, panting up at the ceiling while shuddering waves of yet unrealized ecstasy crash over you, each somehow more powerful than the last. Instinctively, you inch your legs further apart even as they tremble fiercely for him and you think, idly, you probably would have vibrated right off him had he not been keeping you pinned against his front. You’re helpless to do anything except sensitively quake like this, and you do so with great enthusiasm. 

“It is too much … I - I can’t take it!” 

“You will.” He assures you, his voice soft again but it still carries that subtle hint of an edge underneath the surface. You didn’t understand it, why he would sound like that. What had brought it on. Was he even more displeased with you than he’d suggested? 

The thought alone brings tears to your eyes almost as much as the cresting pleasure making you writhe on his lap, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep them at bay. You didn’t want to make him feel bad for causing you to cry when you were the one who had asked for this … but oh, it was so very hard not to give voice to the sobs threatening to wrack your body when it was all so much. The firm, weighty pressure of his thumb petting over your cunt, his other fingers idly teasing along your slit where they were still holding your panties aside. The smell of him, the taste of him lingering on the back of your tongue, his sturdy weight underneath you. It was all too much, and it felt like you were drowning in him. 

“Let this be a lesson to you,” He continues, unconcerned with the way you twist against him and choke on stuttering gasps. “Even more pressing than the matter with mister Danon, I’m far more concerned about how easily you gave yourself up to a man to do with however he pleased for the sake of penance. Needless self sacrifice is not justice, sweet girl. I do hope you’ll remember that.” 

Bending his head close once more, monsieur Neuvillette presses his mouth to your hammering pulse, and you mewl at the contact. It is not so much a kiss, you abruptly realize, as it is a not very subtle threat. Like there was a beast lurking beneath that kindly gentleman facade … 

“Oh, monsieur, I — I’m going to —“ 

“No, you are not.” He cuts across you, practically hisses it against your jugular, and you nearly jolt right off him when the arm around your middle slides up to lock across your front at an angle. Suddenly he pinches your nipple through your shirt where it’s stiff and straining against cotton, giving it a mean little tweak to make your back bow. Trying to twist away proves futile and you yelp at the pleasure laced pain even as your cunt drools even more obscenely in response. 

You felt like you were going crazy. Truly wild with potent, cloying arousal so powerful, so overwhelming, you can’t even process what’s happening to you while you shake right to the edge of your release. 

And just like that, the hand on your pussy retreats, pulling away altogether to leave your panties shamelessly askew in favor of latching onto the swell of your inner thigh and keeping them spread when you frantically buck your hips in search of that fleeting touch. You heave and groan, reeling at the total loss of friction, but it is useless. Monsieur Neuvillette is an unyielding presence at your back no matter how earnestly you squirm against him, and his gloved fingers give your aching teat another cruel tug to further stave off your release. 

You’re more than a bit horrified, in a delirious, hazy sort of way, to find that the pain serves its purpose in chasing away your climax enough to leave your pussy absolutely throbbing in the wake of this denial. No longer teetering right on the precipice, it seems to force you back a pace or two and all you can do is look on longingly at the promise of oblivion beyond with yearning and desperation. Wanting, but not allowed to have. 

You truly had underestimated just how tortuous this punishment technique could really be … 

Through the murky fever you feel monsieur Neuvillette brush his mouth across your cheek to press at the corner of your eye, effectively drawing you out of your groaning stupor. Sucking in a ragged gasp, you clutch at his arm all the tighter and try in vain to lean away. 

“M - monsieur?” 

“You’re crying.” 

Noising a soft sound of confusion, you blearily blink your eyes open to realize that they were in fact clouded with a swimming sheen of tears making them burn. Sniffling sadly, you start to reach up to swipe them away in shame but the hand on your breast comes up quicker and locks under your jaw, physically turning your face towards him. 

Laying spread out on top of him with your head forced back against his shoulder, you look up at monsieur Neuvillette from just a scant few millimeters away. His expression is still somber and unreadable but … the glint in his pale lilac eyes makes your chest hitch. It wasn’t hunger the same way you’d on occasion caught other men looking at you — men like mister Danon, you realize in retrospect — but it is a hunger all the same. Something old and primal, from a long forgotten dark age that inspires a slow curling tendril of uncertainty low in your gut. You don’t think it’s lust per se, not in the usual sense, but a kind of lust,  perhaps. One you didn’t have a name for. 

One you weren’t sure if you wanted to learn the true nature of. 

After silently studying you for a long moment, he finally drags his gaze from your face to regard the tall, stately clock standing sentry in the office, the only witness to this lurid state of affairs. “I still have some time before my meeting. I think we should be able to squeeze in one more session before I have to go.” 

You very nearly give voice to a hysterical, broken sob, just barely managing to choke it back with a frazzled whine instead. “Monsieur —“ 

“Hush, little one.” He murmurs and leans close again, stunned surprise washing over you when his tongue flicks out to lick up a wet tear from under your eye. You gape at him in shocked disbelief when he pulls back enough to look at you again, leaving behind residual moisture on your skin, but he doesn’t even look the least bit put out or sorry for it. Like it was a perfectly normal thing for him to be doing. Perhaps it was. You had no idea – and if he recognizes your surprised reaction for what it is, he certainly doesn’t show it. “You have nothing to fear from me. I will ensure your punishment is properly administered and then we shall further discuss your other behaviors in greater detail. Rest assured, you will be appropriately corrected in time. I will personally see to that myself.”

⭐

Crossposted: here

#genshin impact #neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #self insert bullshit

[wayfayrr]

aaaaaaahhh all i can think of is like- most isekai fics I've seen for some reason [i mean understandably] the reader is wearing their pajamas, but after visiting the modern world they can finally show the chain what they actually like wearing, [i can see this going in so many ways, depending on who is reacting, and especially depending on what aesthetic the reader likes to dress in. for the sake of the request ill keep it as dark academia, cause i love it so muchhhh [not so much in the summer, but i make it work lol] with time? [just imagining reader with a tie and just wearing business casual w a trenchcoat frrrrrrrr- might draw this kind of thing and send it to you lol]

Anon I hope you know this ask had me in an absolute chokehold. OUJDFNBJNF ✨I LIVE FOR DARK ACADEMIA AESTHETICS!!!✨ My trenchcoat is one of my favourite things I own. So I get your pain in summer as well 🥹

“Hey Time, have you seen Wild anywhere? He borrowed my laptop and I really need it back.”

“I haven’t sorry [nam]-... Is that what you wear normally? You look incredible.”

“Pretty much, yeah? Why, is there an issue with it?”

Time’s blushing. Is what I’m wearing really that impressive because I know he’s not blushing over what I’m wearing being revealing. A trenchcoat that goes down to my calves with the rest of my clothes? Does he just think I’m attractive or something? 

“No, no issue. You look good in it, it’s just very different to what you arrived in Hyrule wearing.”

“I know, like I said then those were my pyjamas. These are my casual clothes.”

Well, his blush has only gotten worse from that, so he is clearly struggling with how my clothes look on me. Dark academia doesn’t exist in Hyrule I know that, but really he’s struggling far more than anyone else has with my fashion sense. 

“Do you think you could help me choose some clothes like that? I’d like to match wit.. I think that style would suit me.”

“If you’d like, we can go shopping for you later. After I get my laptop back and finish off this report I have due.”

Laughing at how he's stumbling over himself to ask me these questions simply isn't an option, no matter how hard it is to hold myself back. He's asking so genuinely and so sweetly and who knows maybe getting some new clothes could help him adjust to this world more easily, I mean it certainly helped me when I was in Hyrule. How different could it be for time?

It didn't take too long to find wild after talking to time, and even less to finish off the work I had to do, now it’s just down to taking time shopping.

“So you want to look like you belong with a shot of espresso in an artisanal coffee shop while writing a research paper?”

“I only know what half of those words mean [name.], even less with how you’re using them.”

“Right, sorry. I’m still getting used to all of the differences in our cultures. Hopefully, you’ll get more used to the terms we use here sooner rather than later. Ready to go out though?”

“I am, it’ll be nice to get some new clothes. Not that I’m complaining about the excuse to wear yours.”

The nearest place that sells things like these isn’t exactly the closest to where I live, making it the perfect opportunity to adjust Time to my world’s transport. Well, more than he’s already seen anyway. Actually, now that I’m thinking about this, what size clothing even is he? Not that it’s an issue but not knowing a vague size is gonna mean he’s going to have to try on a lot of different fits. Then finding the right colours for him is a whole different challenge… And we’re already here… Time to find out the answers to those questions of mine.

“Where would you like to start?”

“A coat exactly like yours perhaps?”

“I don’t see why not. Any colour in mind or just the same style?”

A shrug was NOT what I wanted as an answer, but he does know what he wants which means that I’ve got somewhere to start. Trench Coats are somewhat pricey but with how some of the others are chipping in towards living costs now there’s no issue with spending out occasionally. He seems to be gravitating more towards things that are similar to mine, isn’t that charming? He sees something he likes on me then decides that’s what he wants for himself hopefully, he just stays away from the expensive ones. 

“You ready to try those on then, old man?”

“Just a moment more love, I can’t find quite the right colour yet.”

He just… How red is my face right now? It has to be crimson, doesn’t it? That’s the first time Time’s ever called me something like that naturally it’s when he’s looking at clothes like my own, is he trying to kill me with his charms?

#starting uni soon and you can guess what my aesthetic will be #It doesn't help the place I'm likely going fits it so well #links✦react #linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe x reader #yandere linked universe #link x reader #moss✦answers #lu time

[shurisneakers]

a writing challenge? in 2024? you bet

Hi! Hello! Hey!

I've been going through A Time and have chosen to cope by going back to the specific vibes of 2016 to 2018. That happens to include an incredible resurgence in my love for MCU fanfic, the community around it and all the love that goes into them. I've felt a bit distant from here for a while, but I still see so many of my old friends writing, ones who want to get back into it, and a whole lot of new writers I am dying to meet.

I've floated this idea vaguely on my blog and people seem to be interested so I figured it was worth a shot!

So yeah, welcome to Ari's Old School, Nostalgia Jam, Why-The-Hell-Not MCU Fic Writing Challenge 2024!

Prompts, rules and whatnot under the cut:

Requests:

If you could reblog this post to reach someone who might want to participate, I'd really appreciate it! No need to be following me, it's open for anyone.

Reader-inserts, OCs, solo character fics, character x character-- absolutely no limitations

Any and all MCU characters are allowed

Anything above 500 words should have a read-more/keep-reading tab. Series, multi-chapters, one-shots, drabbles, etc etc. The sky's the limit.

Please tag me in your fics (@shurisneakers) so I'm notified of them, and post them with the tag #arisoldschoolwritingchallenge . It may take me a while to get back to you due to the circumstances I find myself in currently, but I absolutely will. Please send me a DM if I haven't responded within 10 days.

Send me an ask with the prompt you would like. Feel free to pick up to 2 prompts

The only thing I request of you: no RPF and no dark fics. Smut is welcome, but non-con/dub-con/incest or anything along those veins is something I'd ask you not to submit for this challenge. Thank you for your understanding!

I know I've called it an MCU fic challenge as it's the community I've grown with, but if you feel like any of these prompts resonates with a character from another fandom, please go ahead and write it. This challenge really is just about the fun of writing fanfic and love for Your Little Guys

No submission cut-off date. Take all the time you need.

Prompts

I've tried to have a mix of classics and uncommon tropes/dynamics, so I hope everyone finds something they connect with!

Relationship Prompts

1. Enemies (taken by @theysaywhatasadsight)

2. Best friends/childhood friends

3. Coworkers (taken by @jaaneymann)

4. Internet friends

5. Neighbours/roommates (taken by @angrythingstarlight)

6. Fake dating (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

7. Commuters

Alternate Universe Prompts

1. Florist AU (taken by @hungryforpowernotfood)

2. Showmance AU (taken by @bombsonboard)

3. Social media/streaming/gaming AU (taken by @splintered-emotions)

4. Thieves/Heist Group AU

5. Time travel AU

6. Pirates AU

7. College AU (taken by @lovelybarnes)

8. Apocalypses/dystopia AU (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

9. Chef AU

10. Roadtrips AU

Some rarer miscellaneous ones for those who are so inclined!

1. Shipwrecked together on an island

2. Meet Ugly (opposite of Meet Cutes) (taken by @barnesandco

3. Both of you are ghosts but don't know the other is

4. Treasure hunters AU

5. Faking death

6. Professional cuddlers AU

7. Time loops/Groundhog Day (taken by @sxrensxngwrites)

8. Orpheus and Eurydice

9. Villain x hero

10. Hitchhiking

11. Carnival of Horrors

12. Robin Hood

13. Matchmakers AU

14. Insomniac x narcoleptic

15. Intergalactic Coffee Shop AU

16. Doomed By The Narrative

17. Enemies to Lovers to Enemies

18. Subversion of Classic Hallmark Movie Tropes

Dialogue prompts

You can tweak them as per requirements, but be sure to keep the underlying message!

Angst

1. "I should have trusted myself. I should have stayed far away from you." (taken by @waywardcrow)

2. "Has it occurred to you that how I feel matters too?" (taken by @jaaneymann)

3. "We failed. I would do it again."

4. "You do not deserve my forgiveness."

5. "You make me feel so alone." (taken by @reidishh)

6. "I'm not giving up on us." "I did. You should too." (taken by @targaryenvampireslayer)

Crack

1. "Ohhh, you wanna kiss me so bad it makes you look stupid." (taken by @pinkthick)

2. "I think you and I make the worst choices together." "Yeah, but it's always entertaining."

3. "I trusted you." "Terrible decision, really."

4. "I know I'm smiling but I want to push you off a very big cliff." (taken by @pepperonijem)

5. "I'm hilarious." "You're traumatised."

Fluff

1. "This is the only thing I look forward to everyday." (Taken by @bombsonboard)

2. "I think we should do that again. For the sake of the world and my sanity."

3. "You're all I think about." (taken by @waywardcrow)

4. "Don't go anywhere I can't follow." (taken by @iguess-theyre-mymess)

5. "Don't smile at me like that." "Like what?" "Like that." (Taken by @lovelybarnes)

Word Prompts:

Flesh

Strawberry

Bruised (taken by @juvenilearson)

Groovy

Jump

Sunflower (taken by @barnesandco)

Alchemist

Wayward

Offerings

Mischief (taken by @supraveng)

I hope you'll join in! Please do tag anyone you think would be interested, I'd love for this to have as wide an audience as possible.

Lots of love <3

-Ari

#tagging for reach #mcu fanfic #mcu fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader #sam wilson x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #jake lockely x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tchalla x reader #loki x reader #stephen strange x reader #matt murdock x reader #clint barton x reader #tony stark x reader #bruce banner x reader #pietro maximoff x reader #shang chi x reader #shang qi x reader #kate bishop x reader #peter quill x reader #gamora x reader #thor odinson x reader #jennifer walters x reader

[bagopucks]

M. Marner - The Best Recovery

✄————————————

Mitch Marner x Reader

Requested ✨

Word Count: 3.5k

Warning(s): I don’t think it’s a warning, but the reader has ADHD and Autism. Reader is overwhelmed, and nonverbal as a result.

I left this one vague in certain areas for all types to interpret and see through their own eyes! If that makes sense. I tried to make it personal to the request, but also loose enough for others with these two disorders to see themselves in as well!

—————————————

ADHD and Autism is like cold and hot. Sweet and sour. Excited and bored. Energetic and tired.

Having those two disorders, is something that can cause great deals of mental exhaustion.

I never knew for sure what it was, which disorder was taking the lead or which was bothering me on a particular day. I hated it. I especially hated it, on the days I had to go into work, and my brain was practically arguing with itself. One half wanted to take a new road and see new sights, but the other part of me wanted to keep things the same knowing it was efficient. My mind argued over playing music or basking in silence. Changing my sheets or keeping the same ones, trying new clothes and remaining secure in knowing the old ones worked.

I faced many challenges with those two disorders. Some worse than others. Like moving away from home and into my first apartment. Meeting people at work for the first time, and having to meet new ones when people were hired. Opening up in social atmospheres when people didn’t understand why I chose not to. And meeting my boyfriend.

Mitch was something else, and with him, my mind could never make a decision.

When we met, impulse control decided to fly out the window. He paid for my coffee at a diner, and I had gone to thank him, only to end up at a table with him for an hour. He was sweet. He was really sweet. He had beautiful eyes, and a light soul. He had a few flaws. A little too much energy for my taste, and maybe a little too fidgety.

Aside from those factors, he had gotten my phone number.

On our first date, I struggled between choosing a blue or white dress to wear. The symbolisms of both colors had me uncertain. In the end, I chose red, because it brought out my complexion nicely.

It was a simple dinner, but I found myself interviewing Mitch like he was trying to get a job. There were many pros, and a handful of cons. It stressed me out that certain words I used, he did not understand. I also hated the way he would clench his hands into fists every so often. I learned later, it was a nervous habit of his. I also learned, that he’d done it so much on that date, because I intimidated him immensely.

Mitch told me of his dog, which I was iffy on, and in love with at the same time. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, displacing the brown locks with each pass of his hand. He told me of his career and his friends. Then we had gone out for dessert. Something as simple as ice cream, but I struggled to make a decision. When I’d asked him, “can I get two?” He looked at me with a smile and a questioning expression, but nodded nonetheless.

I had to explain to him, that I wanted to try something new, but needed a backup plan if it backfired. So the second flavor was my go-to. My favorite one. It was on that date that I realized I didn’t have a backup plan if whatever Mitch was to me went south.

That frightened me away from him for a while. He tried to reach out, so much so that I hated how sporadic his texts could be. I hated that he couldn’t just choose one time of day to be a bother. It was only when my coworker spotted the messages, and helped talk me into it, that I decided to go on another date with him.

Mitch might have been a little lacking in common sense, but he wasn’t a complete lost cause. He often commented things like, “you’re weird,” or “that’s different,” when it came to my behaviors. Those words were always spoken with giggles and smiles, so I never took them to heart. But I knew he was right, and I knew he knew I was different. But for once, he made me feel like ‘different’ didn’t have to be a bad thing.

Mitch and I had odd ways of getting to know each other. I asked him endless strict questions, ones that often branched off whatever the answer was to a previous question. And Mitch often listened. He didn’t have to ask as many questions as I did, because he learned I always explained things in depth or I did things with no reason at all. He liked to call me, “unpredictably predictable.”

It took me some time to warm up to the idea of dating, but once we got together, I saw it through.

Mitch was a guy who liked to live life in the fast lane, but I learned that he often changed those lanes for me. He was willing to slow down and wait when I needed him to.

I attended a few of his hockey games. Depending on which disorder was more prominent those nights, I’d be down by the glass, or in a personal suite. I met his team on a few occasions, but I sometimes struggled to hold conversations with them.

Too many people would want to hold too many conversations, and I’d be in the midst of talking to one, only to derail myself and get lost on a sidetrack, and I’d completely forget what was going on.

I usually found Mitch in those situations, and one instance had been the first time where he realized I tended to just.. not speak, when I was overwhelmed. There was something so safe and secure about not engaging, that I had a habit of sinking into those nonverbal tendencies when there was a lot going on around me, or in my head.

When we moved in together, we experienced a lot of that. The actual moving in process had gone surprisingly smoothly. Despite all the change being such a stressor, I had so much excitement inside, that I managed to remain talkative enough to help Mitch get my things where I wanted them. It was the time after I was officially in, that tended to be difficult. I had to get used to a place that wasn’t my own, and didn’t feel like my own for the longest time. I avoided the throw pillows on the couch because the texture was horrid. I didn’t like the fact that I could see dog hair on things at times, and I certainly hated the way he had his towels organized.

There were days Mitch would come home from games and practices, only to find me on my love seat in the corner, a pair of headphones in staring off into space while I had one of his athletic sweatshirts on. One of which I always enjoyed pulling my knees up into, and hugging them while the arm sleeves hung loosely and unoccupied by my sides.

The first few times it happened, Mitch would think nothing of it, pop the earbuds out of my ears, and start talking about his day. Sometimes it aggravated me, and once it even stressed me out enough to snap at him.

Over time, he learned that it was easier to gesture for me to scoot over so he could squeeze his body in beside me. I would be the first to initiate contact if I wanted it. If not, we would sit in silence until I shared an earbud with him, or until I wanted to talk.

It quickly became a routine between us. Something Mitch also learned that I enjoyed. Routines. On the days he came home and I was talkative and excited, we could live and love smoothly. On other days, we learned how to make things work.

Mitch had an off day after winning the game his team played the night before. It was always a weird occurrence when I had to leave him in the mornings, but I’d done fairly well at adjusting to his horribly unorganized hockey schedule. I never would have expected exposure to so much change, to be so helpful for me. But it truly was.

I had bid my lover goodbye that morning with a smile and a hand through his hair as I kissed his cheek. He flashed his pretty teeth at me, and promised to text on my lunch break, unless I wanted to reach out sooner.

As it turned out, I never reached out before then. And I didn’t answer his messages when he reached out during my lunch hour.

People had been laid off at my workplace. Something that sadly happened in many places sometimes. Losing coworkers and gaining a new workload wasn’t necessarily something I was thrilled about. It meant I’d have to rearrange my whole schedule and the way I handled my work. It meant I’d have to redistribute my work hours so I could fit all of my additional projects in a normal day and successfully finish it.

In short, it meant everything had to change.

Only this time, there was nothing to be excited about.

I played with my hair all day, I lost focus, I blankly stared, I ignored people and any kind advances of small talk. I even ignored Mitch.

I stayed at work well past the time I was scheduled to clock out. I didn’t expect extra pay, I just wanted to efficiently reconstruct my schedule. I only clocked out to go home, after I had that sorted. Which was four hours after five. The end of my usual work day.

I’d only texted Mitch once when he asked if I was okay around six. I told him, ‘I’m fine.’

My stare was blank but my mind was running rampant all the way out of the office and back to our shared home. I ignored anybody and everybody, in the lobby, in the elevator, in the hall. Inevitably, I even ignored Zeus when I stepped through the front door of our modern home.

The poor lab was so excited to see me, but I couldn’t have been bothered to pet him. I kicked my shoes off and lined them up against the edge of the shoe mat by the door. I made sure to lock it before I stepped away.

“Babe?” Mitch’s footsteps fell on selectively deaf ears. I didn’t want to be in his presence. I just wanted to be alone. I slipped down the hall and into the kitchen to escape him, and I thought it had worked when I heard his movement stop.

“Babe?” He repeated. My shoulders fell as he peeked into the kitchen. My intense stare was a telltale sign of my inner turmoil. He looked unfazed. He also looked like he’d just gotten out of bed. His hair was a hot mess, and his eyes had that dazed sort of look that a child has when they’re woken up from the nap of a lifetime. His sleep schedule was absolute shit anyway. That’s what happens when you drink too many energy drinks through the day.

“Hey. Did they have you on overtime tonight?” He smiled at me. I couldn’t answer. I physically couldn’t force myself to open my mouth. I hated that I did this to him.

“Okay.. I can do this too.” Mitch adapted quickly to the silence. “I figured it was one of those nights.” He voiced as he walked across the kitchen, opening my snack cabinet. “You always text me back, it’s pointless to have a planned hour to text if you’re not going to text.” He wasn’t insulting me, he was restating sentences I said once. Reasons I gave for why I always responded to him. He was backing up his theory on why I’d had a bad day.

Mitch pulled out a bag of chips and pushed the cabinet shut before he made his way over to the fridge. He pulled out one of my favorite cold drinks, and went about the kitchen grabbing a few other options to snack on. He knew me so well, I almost thought it unfair.

“Will you come lay in bed with me?” His question was asked with a set of puppy eyes I had to roll my own eyes at. But I gave in nonetheless.

Mitch led me back to our room, and I was surprised to find the dark area lit up with the orange glow from our bedside lamp. My weighted blanket was already laid out on my side, and one of my favorite books was on the nightstand.

“I know you don’t want to talk, and that’s fine,” Mitch made his way around the bed to set the snacks on my nightstand, as well as the drink he grabbed. “But was it a really bad night, or just.. just a little overwhelming?”

He remained tentative, only pursing his lips and letting out a sigh when I stared him down.

“Not even gonna give me a nod?” He pried with a hopeful smile. I decided I was done with the eye contact too, my gaze met the floor. “Alright. Why don’t you just come lay down then.” He pulled back the weighted blanket, and I met him on my side of the bed. I reached for Mitch’s hand as I climbed into bed, and he held mine, keeping me steady as I got in. I was quick to break the contact after I decided I no longer needed it.

Mitch slipped his way back around to his own side of the bed, and climbed in next to me. He leaned over the edge of the bed, and his actions caught my attention momentarily.

“Zeus wants up.” Mitch looked back to me for approval. I gave a curt nod.

Soon enough, I heard him tapping his thigh, and the whole bed shake when the big dog hopped up. Zeus tried to quickly step over Mitch to get to me, but my lover was swift in tucking a finger beneath the dog’s collar to stop him.

I never minded Zeus cuddles on bad days. Well sometimes I did. But I never enjoyed him in my face. Mitch only let the dog go once Zeus settled. I slowly shifted to lay down, and the lab found his place by my feet, his head rested on top of my ankles.

“Good boy.” Mitch praised before he slipped his phone from his pocket. He checked the time, then set the device on his own nightstand.

I rolled onto my side and grabbed my book, opening to the page I had marked. I felt my weighted blanket shift, only to realize Mitch was pulling it up over my body. So caring. So gentle. I’d watched him hit guys and cross check them. I’d watched him let teammates’ bodies crash into him for pregame rituals. Mitch was such a rambunctious guy, that I sometimes liked to playfully question if he had an alter ego at home.

I don’t know how long I laid there, reading and flipping through pages. What I did know, was that my lover had not once left my side. Nor did he make any noise. He had the tv on, playing old episodes of Friends, but the sound was muted and the captions were on.

I slowly rested my book on the bedside table, turning on my back to peek at the tv before I looked up at Mitch. I sighed. Before I wanted to be left alone. Now, I wanted him.

I shimmied to his side and carefully rested my head in his lap. Mitch looked down at me, a smile slow to form on his lips. His hands found my hair, gently carding through and scratching at my scalp.

My eyes focused on the tv, one of my hands tucked up close to my chest while the other rested on Mitch’s leg.

“Can I lay down with you?” His soft voice earned a nod from me. I lifted my head and moved away while he pulled his shirt off and slipped beneath the weighted blanket with me. Our bodies faced one another, and he was hesitant at first to reach for me. So I instead, reached for him.

I tucked myself into Mitch’s chest, and he wrapped an arm around me. I felt his chest heave with a sigh, and I rested one of my hands there to feel his heartbeat. He pressed kisses to my head and temple, gently ran his hand up and down my back.

Sometimes life could be overwhelming, but one thing I never minded being overwhelmed by was Mitch. He wasn’t like a hurricane, or some devastating storm. No, he was the ocean, coming in waves. Some harsher than others, but if one knew how to face those waves, and surf them, they could stay afloat.

I had Mitch figured out like an intricate word problem. I knew every variable and obstacle, and every possible solution. I got used to his predictable behaviors, and learned to cope with the unpredictable ones. I was always thankful that Mitch was such an open book when it came to anything. His communication helped me and our relationship.

“I know you had a really bad day.. and just- just let me know if you don’t want me to talk..” he paused, and gave me enough time to protest. I didn’t. The sound of his voice was soothing.

“You’re doing so good, you know that? Every day you’re conquering something new, and I am so proud of you. I know it seems big, but right now it’s just a bump in the road. Whatever you’re going through.” His words of encouragement fell from his lips in faint whispers. I buried my head further into Mitch’s chest. His embrace tightened around me.

“And I’m always here. Whenever you’re ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.” Mitch carded his hand through my hair once again. “I love the sound of your voice.” I could hear the coaxing tone- the smirk on his lips, the way he tried subtly to get me to open up.

It almost worked.

“I love your laugh too.” He pressed a kiss to my head once more. His hand left my hair, and I soon felt it tickle my side. I gasped and reached down to swat his hand away.

“No.”

When I looked up toward him, I could tell that singular word lit him up like a Christmas tree.

So Mitch brought his hand back to my side, and I wasn’t swift enough to push him away before he earned a quiet giggle from my lips. An involuntary giggle. But it did distract me from my own brooding. I couldn’t decide if I was mad at him for disrespecting my boundary, or mad that he knew me well enough to test those limits because sometimes it worked.

“Yeah.. that laugh right there.” Mitch winced when I grabbed his hand, perhaps a bit harsher than I meant to. I pushed his hand away and turned back over, simply to escape his contagious happiness.

He didn’t let me go very easily. He was quick to shimmy his body up against my own, his arm wrapping around my hip again. I tensed in anticipation.

“I’m done.. I’m done. I promise.” I nodded very slowly, and eventually melted into his embrace.

Sometimes I had trouble communicating it, but Mitch was easily my favorite person to be with. My favorite person, period.

I basked in our silence and the occasional sound of Mitch’s soft giggles. I assumed he was laughing at the tv, but my lack of knowing for sure, had me turning in his arms and onto my back. I just had to know what it was. Sure enough, I found his eyes glued to the screen. I rested my hands by his own on my stomach, and gently hooked my fingers beneath the rubber wristband he wore. I ran my thumbs against it and felt the smoothness on one side, likewise the divots of words on the outside.

My eyes settled on the tv, and when Mitch caught on, he reached for the remote to unmute it, but still kept the volume quiet enough to not bother me. Zeus seemed to have enough of all the moving and shifting, as he hopped onto the floor and curled up in his own bed near the corner of the room. The dog bed poor Zeus had to be evicted to when I moved in.

I heard Mitch yawn, and it only took moments before my body returned the gesture. He smiled at me.

“I love you.” Mitch pressed one last kiss to the corner of my lips, then pulled away. I didn’t have to respond. We’d been through this enough times for him to know I felt the same.

I always knew he could tell, because there was a sincere look of fondness that followed the hopefulness after he spoke. He was never disappointed on nights when I didn’t say it back. Instead he was simply happy to know I heard him. To know I felt loved.

Nevertheless, I liked to try. I felt he always deserved that after being so patient and loving.

I leaned forward and pressed a hand to his chest. I opened my mouth to say the words, but my breath fell short.

“It’s okay.” Mitch met me halfway, his gaze dropped to my lips as his nose bumped mine. He pressed a chaste kiss to my lips, one that was soft and smooth. One that had me melting into his embrace as he rolled onto his back and slipped an arm beneath me. I curled into his side and rested my head on his chest. Seconds, minutes, a few episodes of Friends passed, before my breathing slowed and my consciousness escaped me. The last thing I heard before I fell asleep, was the faint sound of Chandler’s sarcastic laughter, and Mitch whispering another,

“I love you.”

✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾❀✾

#nhl imagine #nhl x reader #mitch marner imagine #mitch marner x reader #mitch marner #nhl hockey

[hisui-dreamer]

Hello hello! I hope you’re having a great day! This is kind of a sad and heavy request and I don’t know if you’re comfortable with angst/comfort but if you are, would you be okay writing Idia, Lilia, and Malleus with an s/o who came to Twisted Wonderland already having c-ptsd, but they’re dealing with the overblots and anniversary effects of past things so they’re having kind of a full shutdown? How would the boys react and how would they comfort their s/o? I completely understand if you’re uncomfortable with this as it’s a heavy topic!

times of peril

Characters: Idia, Malleus, Lilia

Synopsis: When you're met with a glimpse of the past, you feel your entire body trembles as dizziness rushes to your head. The next thing you know, you're crumbled up on the ground, and your lover is right next to you.

Tags: hurt with comfort, panic attack, angst with fluff, bot proofread

Word count: 611

Notes: uh I kinda interpreted shutdown as a panic attack so I hope that's ok? and the trigger is left vague so it's more inclusive

Disclaimer: I am not in any sense a professional nor do I study psychology, so my depictions of a panic attack may be entirely inaccurate, especially since everyone has different experiences, so do not use the following as a reference for solutions.

Masterlist

he's also had panic attacks because of what happened to ortho

when he sees you crumble onto the floor, he's pretty quick to know what's happening

he also wants to panic, but tries to stay calm for your sake

will only give you physical reassurance if you let him, he's careful not to startle you

surprisingly he's not using his tablet to communicate, knowing you would feel better if you heard his actual voice

if you want, he'll distract you with anime or video games

would tell you stories from his past so you know you're not alone

also doesn't pry about your past

his reassurance is a little bit forced, since he's always been cynical and hates motivational stuff

but don't worry, he does care for you, he's just not good at expressing it verbally

Idia's face is devoid of the usual cynicism, he seems sincere. "Hey, prefect, I know this feels like a tough level to beat, but remember, you're the hero of your own story. You've faced challenges before and come out victorious." He takes a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. "Y-you can do it again, you've got this. And I-I'm ri-right here with you."

he's so worried about you

panics and thinks it's a human thing

slowly approaches you and asks if he can touch you, giving you space if you need it

calmly reassures you, is super careful about making noises that might trigger you

he's super patient and willing to comfort you for as long as it takes

uses his magic to distract you from whatever triggered you, summoning fireflies and such

if you want him to distract you, he'll start talking about gargoyles passionately, though his focus is entirely on you as he watches you for any signs of discomfort

if you just want him to stay with you in silence, he'll be glad to offer his presence

respects you if you don't want to talk about your past

this man is ready to lay the world at your feet as long as you keep smiling at him

Malleus' grip on your shoulders is firm, but gentle. "I'm here with you, Child of Man. You are not alone, and I won't leave your side," he whispers, his emerald eyes staring into yours. His brows were furrowed with concern for you. "Take your time, there's no rush. I'm here to support you, no matter how long it takes."

having been on the battlefield once upon a time, he's seen many soldiers have panic attacks first-hand

once you let him touch you, he'll carry you away to a safe and comfortable space, careful to be gentle

all the while whispering words of reassurance, his voice soothing and comforting

his eyes are on you always, and he makes you focus on his presence

he's entirely serious throughout and it's almost a different person from his normal playfulness

offers you physical comfort, tiny gestures like holding your hand, hugging you, or providing a gentle touch on your back

when you're calmer and in a better state of mind, he'll encourage you to express your feelings and thoughts

doesn't pry too much, and when he listens, he does so with empathy and without judgment

he'll make you feel like nothing in the world could ever harm you, because he'd do everything to protect you, physically and emotionally

Despite his small stature, Lilia firmly cradles you in his arms as he takes you somewhere else. "You're not alone, Beastie. You're safe right now. Take deep breaths with me, in and out, just like this. You're doing great," he says, his voice comforting like a lullaby.

Masterlist

if you liked this post, don't forget to reblog!

#twstnexus #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #disney twisted wonderland #idia shroud #idia shroud x reader #twisted wonderland idia #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #twisted wonderland malleus #lilia vanrouge #lilia vanrouge x reader #twisted wonderland lilia

[transmascpetewentz]

A Rant About Masculinity, Cisnormativity, And Cis Gay Men

I was going to write a longer post about my ex-mutual, but I feel no need to put him specifically on the spot here because the issue is so much larger than just him, and because I really hold no ill will against him that I don't hold against all the TEHMs that reblog from him in complete support of what he says despite him claiming to be a trans ally. I think that there are two main things that contribute to the existence of a blogger like him, those being the intersection of how society feminizes both gay & trans men, and how a lot of cis gay men will perform trans allyship to make themselves feel better while still participating in a deeply transphobic culture and taking no action that targets cisnormativity in the gay community.

This ex-mutual is a person whose opinions, actions, and activism (or lack thereof) exist in a weird position. He often goes between fetishizing trans men to erasing us, to policing how we talk about our history. When I asked him whether he was transphobic, he replied talking about how he wanted to have sex with trans men, but I saw that he also made a post around the same time where he tried to "call out" a gay trans man for "fetishizing trans men" by... replying to several photos of trans men with "they're just some guys."

As you can clearly tell by now, he seems to be far more interested in feeling right and in trying to find problematic subtext in the words and actions of gay trans men than he is actually protecting us and being an ally. This is quite common amongst cis gay men who want to be progressive while not taking a stance against the TEHMism and toxic masculinity that poisons the community. And the reason behind this pattern of behavior is really simple: these men, due to their relative privileges not just for being cis but often for things like being white, thin, and perisex, oftentimes have other friends with those privileges, and if you have a large group of privileged people with relatively few people who do not have those privileges, you will likely develop bigotry. So the simple reason that these types of cis gay men do not want to confront their transphobia is because they are surrounded by others who have fallen further down the transphobia pipeline who may abandon them if they call it out.

While things like cisnormativity and toxic masculinity among cis gay men definitely do them a lot more harm than good, many will still uphold these ideas due to the way that cisnormativity benefits them relative to trans men and their lack of exposure to intersectional queer liberation movements. In my opinion, this phenomenon is what is behind cis gay men's performative allyship. They'll go on and on about how valuable gay trans men are to gay culture, but will be actively hostile to gay culture that first developed among gay trans men. They'll go on long rants about how the "toothpaste flag" is the worst thing to happen to the gay community. They'll distance themselves from gay trans men in any way they can when we're real people and not just words on a screen.

And due to many cis gay men's performative allyship clashing with their personal interest in upholding cisnormativity, they'll try to compensate for that by policing gay trans men. They'll accuse us of being the real transphobes if we step out of line or if we tell them that they're being transphobic for using obvious dogwhistles. They'll call a vague group of gay trans men "women" and call us the real transphobes for "hearing someone say 'women' and thinking 'trans men.'"

This brings me to my next point. Due to a lot of cis gay men (especially mascs/gender conforming, though fem/gnc cis gay men aren't entirely exempt) feeling hostile to the idea of having their masculinity challenged, they may contribute to feminizing other gay men who they perceive not to be as masculine as them for any number of reasons. One of these reasons being transness. Not to vaguepost about my ex-mutual even more, but he literally made a post saying "isn't it annoying when women will comment under a picture of any man saying that he's trans and gay?" This guy literally calls himself a trans ally.

I don't think that headcanoning someone as gay and trans is particularly female behavior, [redacted]. but again, this isn't a callout post of my ex-mutual. This is merely an example of something I've seen quite a lot of. This is exactly the reason behind my statement "the transandrophobe/femphobe/misogynist venn diagram of cis gay men is a circle." Because it truly is a circle. Toxic masculinity and misogyny lead to wanting to separate oneself from women, which causes one to see trans men as potential women necessary to separate oneself from. And, many times, this will lead to a hatred of feminine men, as the misogynistic gay man will see feminine men as being like women.

I don't know if I'm onto something about there being something to do with severe, collective trauma in the gay community causing a sort of "crisis of masculinity" within the community. But as I keep thinking about this, I think I am realizing that there is a lot more to this issue than at first meets the eye. Something to think about.

#wentz.txt #long post #transandrophobia #queer discourse #tehms die faster challenge #this is one of my longest posts ever #intersectionality

[kairiscorner]

hmo

you and miguel have been friends for the longest time, you two know each other like the backs of your hands; you can remember everything there is about each other, have been through many fights and challenges together–but no matter what happens, you were both still there for each other.

he used to be funny, he used to be teasing, he used to be sweet and open about how he felt, even if he sounded so self-destructive when he got obsessed with the every little thing–such as loving you.

you loved him, you loved him with a love that transcended the word itself, you loved him like no love was any real before you two admitted you had always seen each other as more than friends a long time ago–

but little did either of you know that'd be the worst mistake of both your lives.

sure, the make-outs and love-making were blissful moments of when you two could lose each other in each other's company–and though you two started off slow, there was just an aching feeling about this whole relationship thing between you two.

every morning felt like it was dragging, and even when he's across you from the table, you don't feel like he's really there. but that's ridiculous, right? he's... just there–and yet, you feel you can't even see him, let alone touch him. it's like the world of yesterday was a completely different universe, and the world of today was... somewhere entirely different.

though, this is no variant of miguel–this is him, your boyfriend, your partner whom you love dearly, yet hate seeing every morning, every day, because... it feels something's missing, something's out of place; like the way his eyes look at you now that you're together is so vague–it's like you don't even recognize him behind those eyes.

and that pain you get from dwelling on the thoughts of little things like this... it hurt you.

it hurt you even more when he stopped being all loving,

when he stopped being all joking,

when he stopped being miguel o'hara.

he was a stranger.

a stranger in your bed.

a stranger in your arms.

a stranger who took the place of the miguel you once loved in your heart.

a miguel who lost a daughter.

a miguel who carries the weight of the multiverse on his shoulders.

a miguel who can't remember how to love–

but you don't know that.

he forgot how that he could tell you everything.

or maybe he didn't forget, he just didn't realize that not everything... you won't under everything he's going through.

he can't make everything your problem.

a miguel who had the guts to say,

"it's over.

i can't keep hurting you anymore.

i can't keep lying to you.

...i can't do this anymore."

the water streaming down your cheeks doesn't feel real because this is the first time he's ever made you feel anything close to discomfort, to pain, to unease–he made you cry for the first time ever;

because, unknowingly, he made you believe you weren't worthy of being loved by him–

you felt that you weren't that lovable to begin with, which was why he had to end it.

he never explains why, and you don't wanna pry.

before you leave, you ask him to do one thing for you–

even if it's just in his wildest dreams.

you hope he remembers even a glimpse of you.

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #miguel o'hara x y/n #miguel o'hara angst #miguel o'hara fanfiction #miguel o'hara imagines #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #spiderman 2099 fanfiction #atsv #atsv miguel #atsv x reader #atsv x you #atsv x y/n #atsv angst #atsv fanfiction #atsv imagines #spiderverse #across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse #spiderman across the spiderverse x reader #spiderman across the spiderverse fanfiction

[kanmom51]

I have things to say

I’ve been thinking for some time now to put this out, but now seems to be a most appropriate time if ever.

Blogging on Tumblr is not a profession, it’s a hobby.

Blogging is about wanting to share your passion with others and enjoying the little community that is built around that shared passion.

No money to be made here folks, well not by me nor any of the blogs I follow or am in touch with.

It’s time consuming and can most definitely be emotionally challenging.

I, for one, when I joined Tumblr late 2020, was unaware of the little community I would discover here.  We gather here in this little space we have created, each to themselves, but also through interaction, together, and created this little bubble where we can share our thought and feelings and respect and support each other.

We don’t do this for money, nor fame, nor even appreciation.

But, and I can only speak for myself here, I am no spokesperson for anyone else, I do expect civility and respect and even kindness at the very least.  Even when disagreeing. 

Words are powerful things.

How you put those words to action is also so important.

You may not think you are disrespecting another or saying something hurtful. Perhaps, because you are saying it from your heart, or because you think that if you aren’t using derogative words, you think what you are saying isn’t hurting, disrespecting or even making another person feel uncomfortable or intimidated.

I don’t expect people to mince words.  But I do expect them to be thoughtful of others as they would others be thoughtful of them.

Do not do to others what you do not want done to yourself.

I most definitely understand that when you have passionate feelings about an issue you can get carried away.  I most definitely have at times.  But, I try my best.  And if I am out of line and it’s brought to my attention, I will take responsibility for my actions.  I am not infallible.  I am human.

We are all human.

Owning up to your mistakes is key.  Being able to admit you are in the wrong is key.  Being willing to listen to other’s opinions is key.  Sometimes, who knows, you might even be convinced.  I was.

We cannot grow as human beings and be better people, if we are not open to listen and hear other opinions than our own. 

I’ve said this in the past, I came from a more conservative background.  My life beliefs now as an adult have changed immensely from what they were even in my 20s.  And they are still changing, I can tell you that!  But, if I wasn’t open to hearing others, weighing their words, without being dismissive, I would have never become the person that I am today. 

I am sharing this with you, probably unnecessarily, because I feel that the world would be a much better place, this space of ours will be a much better place, if only we could be open to listening to others without dismissing them.  This, I will say once again, being within the limits of respect and civility towards each other, and towards the people we are actually writing about.

You all know JK and JM are my faves, no secret there.

What is it that young intelligent man had to say about what people should have?

Respect

Understanding

Consideration

Three words that are really not that hard to follow.

And in order to be clear and not too vague: 

Hating, calling names, disrespect as a whole (these are thing I’ve seen happen and will not accept: mocking one’s gender, looks, weight, colour of skin, religion, ethnicity etc.) and aggressive behavior/writing is unacceptable.

Criticism, calling out perceived bad or problematic behavior is, on the other hand, acceptable.  

**Just a thought:  If the person you want to call out is within this community, try reaching out to them via DM’s before you post it in public.  At times this could be perceived as shaming them and the road from there is definitely downhill.  DM’s are a great space to speak openly, privately, without being held to public judgement.  Once again, it’s about putting yourself in their shoes.**

This is where the respectful discussion comes into place.  Because there will be those who feel differently than yourself, and that’s fine, that’s ok.  We need to know how to listen, think it over and sometimes accept the other’s opinion or sometimes not, but at the very least weigh it through and not dismiss them, nor their arguments off hand.   

I am far from perfect and I know that I at times have sinned.  If someone out there is reading these lines and thinking they were wronged by me, I do apologize.  Could have been a bad day, could have been a bad mood, could have been too many annoying anons, could have been just me being an idiot.  Like I said, I am far from perfect.  Human, just like JK and JM and Tae and Hobi and Suga and RM and Jin are.  HUMAN (psst… you see where I’m going there right?  I’ll leave the math up to you this time).

Yah – it doesn’t mean you haters that show up in my blog once in a while.  You deserved every word of it.

I know I’m babbling here, but I guess I need to get all of this off my chest.

So, where was I?

Ah, yes, our community. 

Like I said, it’s built on our little individual personal spaces.  This is supposed to be a place where we find a form of joy or contentment, because otherwise, why did we start it all? 

And as such, we each have the right to curate our space, build it to our own liking, share what we feel the need to share. 

If we want anons on and have the time and patience to answer the onslaught of asks that land in our inbox then great (I can tell you that having my anons on for less than 24 hours leaves me with hundreds of asks in my inbox, including some very nasty shit, as people love to hide behind the screen of anonymity). If we feel that it’s just too much for us and we would rather spend the little spare time that we have doing our blogging on creating content, then so be it. 

If we decide to follow blogs we think might be interesting to us or unfollow blogs we feel bring us no pleasure or even cause us displeasure, so be it.  I can tell you that I too unfollow blogs, I am sure each and every one of us does. 

Personal space, personal decision.

Going to a blogger and calling them out for writing a post about a and not b, well dah, it’s their blog.  You feel you need something to be written about b, go write it yourself in your own space. 

Calling out a blogger for something they wrote, if you feel is problematic, not in their DMs, but publicly, is A-OK, as long as you are ready for a clap back as to why they or others feel that it is ok and are ready to have that discussion about why maybe, you yourself are wrong.  Saying what you think or believe in is grand, but you need to accept the fact that others may think/feel differently than you and will tell you so.  Be ready to have a respectful discussion.   

Your blog, your beliefs.  100%. 

Be respectful towards others beliefs too.  Agree to disagree but don’t belittle them or call them names.  I can tell you that nothing boils my blood (well almost nothing) more the loose use of the term delulu among ourselves.  This is a term that is used widely to describe each and every one of us Jikook supporters, because we are considered out of our minds to believe that JM and JK may be queer and in a romantic relationship with each other.  So turning this on another Jikook blogger is just not right in my opinion.  It absolutely infuriates me as to how easily it’s thrown at others here, within our Jikook community. 

I’m not sure that I’ve said everything I wanted to.  You know, I’m not getting any younger, have been writing so much that by now I think I might have forgotten some points I wanted to make.  But what can you do?  C’est la vie.

I will end by saying that I, for one, consider myself as a JM/JK (Jikook is so much easier to type out) supporter.  I believe these two, beautiful both in and out, young men are a long-term couple.  I am not a shipper and do not hold shares in the shipping company.  If one day they turn around and tell us “hey fuckers, fooled you, it was all fanservice and we ain’t no couple”, or if it turns out that they are no longer together (because let’s be real here for a second, that first scenario is never happening), then so be it.  All I want is for them to be happy (not that I don’t want the others to be happy, but I have a very special place in my heart for those two. Maybe because JK reminds me of myself, maybe because they remind me of my daughters, idk the psychological reasons for it, it just is what it is).

I also love ALL of the other members.  Be it not the same level as JM and JK (like I said, special place in heart), nor same way as each other.  Each and every one of them is different, special in their own way and I love them for it, differently and specially. 

All 7 are loved.  None are beyond reproach. 

Loving someone, in my books, is also being able to call them out when you think they are misbehaving or doing wrong.

I did/do that with my daughters and I will continue to do that here.   And that includes you guys too.

And one more thing:

Thank you for being here.

Thank you for reading my content.

Thank you for reaching this far and reading this long winded post.

Thank you for all the love and appreciation you give me.

Love y’all.

#my blog #my space #Let's cherish this little community of ours

[eldritch-spouse]

Good morning!! I’m just thinking about your demons again. I ADORE the new additions. 💕

What kind of traits do demons typically find appealing romantically? Like, I know how to woo these folks for the most part, but what passive traits do they find impressive?

Like, I know they’re diverse and no two people like the same thing. Just wondering about “beauty” standards in the circles (not beauty, we know about beauty, I can’t think of the right word). Like, I assume gluttons would appreciate other big eaters, or good cooks, and concubi can appreciate promiscuity of all sorts, or on the flip side, find purity appealing and/or cute.

(I especially would love to know what pride demons typically find attractive.)

[Thenk you! <:7]

That's a little bit vague, I'm not too sure where to go from here, so I'm kind of going to ramble. Not that it's hard to guess. I'll stray from physical descriptions.

There's a trick to this I'll explain at the end.

Wrath demons tend to romanticize hard-headed bulls who never back down from a challenge, as you might imagine. People who stick by their values and exude determination, not easily swayed. People hardened by time and their environment, who rise from the lowest lows to the highest of platforms with grace and respect.

Others may enjoy someone whose fury is subtle yet extremely well calculated, strategized, flawless. Of course, many of them fetishize murderers, violent miscreants of all kinds, serial killers and the aggressively insane;

Greed demons will naturally flock to anyone who's financially "abundant". People who spend carelessly because they earn carelessly. Though many of them will also keep a sharp eye on stingy people who count everything down to the last penny. Sometimes saving a huge chunk of money by executing a series of cheap and clever exploits is enough to have these demons fanning themselves;

Many other greedy demons have fallen for notorious heist authors, prolific robbers, successful scammers, and all sorts of scummy people;

Gluttons do gravitate towards chefs, big eaters and those who own large chains of food, maybe well-known restaurants or even some brands of snacks that they really like. It varies. Those who are always hungry are obviously picked sooner, followed by those with a variety of eating disorders;

Although not as common, some more well-off gluttons pick partners who are extremely thin or otherwise unable to satiate their hunger due to a less genuine drive to "fix" that, or somehow captivate that person by letting them overindulge;

Envy demons tend to hover around those with great social influence. People that fawn attention, people who can start shit in public and get away with it. Celebrities, moles, those who spread their roots everywhere and have way too many connections. A good ability to adapt socially in short spans of time is also extremely coveted in partners;

Likewise, those at the very bottom of the latter, practically foaming at the mouth with their jealousy, ready to perform the most heinous of acts to attain even a crumb of their desires, are also appealing to these demons. The perfect cup-sized storm ready to burst;

Discussed plenty already, concubi are lovers of shameless sensuality and high-libidos. People who control chunks of the porn industry are highly sought after, those who own sex shops, who design the toys they use and abuse, those who write eroticas or administer large kink communities. Where perverts gather so do they, always ready to pick and pluck their favorite heathens;

Still, the fantasy of purity and corruption is very present in many concubi alike, which is what leads them to infiltrate communities of sexually frustrated people and drive them insane with want. Many go a step further and seek to scandalize people of faith, engaging is rancid displays inside sacred locations because the thrill of getting someone so disciplined to give in makes their heads spin with pleasure;

Sloth demons are into soft-spoken people. Those who live very comforted lives with little to get in the way and all the pleasures they could wish for at the tip of their fingers. Those whose hands are uncalloused because they've never had to work for anything in their lives, who might even take it all for granted;

In stark contrast, many will also seek people who are exhausted in all senses of the word. Who can never seem to get enough rest, who work themselves to the bone, frail and weathered and so chewed up inside, the plight for a break present in those heavy bags under their sunken eyes;

Pride demons covet the image of perfection. Whether or not that immaculate presentation is true or not matters none so long as it appears that way outwardly. They seek someone who can elevate them, someone who usually has others trailing after them, people with titles and so much arrogance it might physically hurt to be near them for long periods of time;

Many are also opportunistic however, willing to pick a partner who is down in the slums, dirty and ridden of all dignity. Someone who can't afford to say no to them, can't leave them, will see them as very center of the universe because what would they be without that demon? Nothing. The truest form of adoration for them, total worship, total dependence.

As you might have already guessed, there's contradictions here. The reason why is simple.

Demons of lower rank will usually choose those who are more true and successful representations/reminders of their sin. Because they have a lot to gain from pairing with them.

Demons of higher rank are already after those who desperately need their services, who covet what the sins can offer. Because people in their service and debt make for good lovers, in their eyes.

Mid rankers are a bit of a toss up.

This is not to say that there aren't exceptions to these tendencies, or that they can't exhibit completely opposite tastes, it's the general rule, the norm so to say.

#general tce #vaya-mernda