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feninina · 8 months

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𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐭𝐞 ༉‧₊˚.⁀➷

therapist! jonathan crane x female reader.

𝘀𝘂𝗺𝗺𝗮𝗿𝘆: when your father decided that you needed therapy, taking you to his dear friend dr. crane to treat and help you, you thought it wouldn't work at all, but it turned out to be everything you needed.

𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀: SMUT(minors dni!!), noncon/dubcon, depression, cursing, crane is a mysoginistic prick, using therapy for unhinged reasons, smut, hair pulling, jonathan just being an creep, choking AND strangulation, dacryphilia, hitting, unprotected sex (safe sex its great sex!!), breeding kink, forced breeding, power dynamics, i think crane should be a warning himself, reader being borderline stupid and naive. also this has a lot of backstory i’m so sorry i got carried away lol.

𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱 𝗰𝗼𝘂𝗻𝘁: 7.1K

𝗮𝘂𝘁𝗵𝗼𝗿’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲: omg my first fic on here!! this is also my first work on english and my first smut ever so i apologise in advance for any mistake!! i hope y'all enjoy it anyways ahahahaha live laugh love jonathan crane👏🏻 feedback its very appreciated so i can improve and continue to publish better works, anyways enjoyyyy 💓

𝘀𝗺𝘂𝘁 𝘂𝗻𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗰𝘂𝘁

It was awkward, to say the least.

You were sitting across from Doctor Crane in the couch at your dad's house, legs crossed as you watched him write on his clipboard, something about it making you feel anxious, a little nauseous, even.

This wasn't your first session, you started doing this four months ago, not long after your divorce that caused you to fall into a spiral of sadness and misery. Your failed— and short marriage was the main reason you started taking therapy with your dad's friend, the chief of Arkham, Jonathan Crane, and still, you couldn't bring yourself to talk about it.

He was patient, you told him several times that he was a saint. Regardless, before you started with the sessions, he explained to your dad that he didn't really do this; therapy really wasn't his strong suit, but for a friend, a desperate one, he would gladly do it.

Your dad came to him, offering a big stack of money if he would talk to his little girl, make her recover her once joyful personality, like you had one to begin with. Jonathan really couldn't say no, and not really because of the money, he had other reasons in mind, unethical reasons.

And there you were now. You were quick to open up to him, eager to talk, to be listened and he, on the other hand, was ready to listen, to give you advice, console you and help you get through the sorrow that was following you since you were young, playing the role of your knight in shinning armor.

"I can't believe you don't actually do this" you said once, sniffling your nose with a handkerchief he gave you as he examined you with a warm gaze, an empathetic grin on his face. "You're really helping me"

Jonathan was quick to wave his hand and tell you that it wasn't a big deal, that he was just doing his job, and if you weren't so innocent, so stupid, you would have noticed the mischievous sparkle that flickered in his eyes for a split second.

You were landing right in the palm of his hand.

Not even thirty minutes into the first session you told him everything about your past; every little thing you thought he needed to know to treat you. And you were slightly right; he did need to know those things, but not to treat you, just to manipulate you and mold your little brain into what he was envisioning for you and your future together.

Truth was, you hated everything about your life, regardless of the fact that you had everything. That's what you've been told since you were a child; a big house, a lot of money, maids taking care of you so you wouldn't have to move a finger and just sit pretty and relax inside the walls of the huge mansion that confined you since you could recall.

You have everything. That was bullshit.

Sometimes, you couldn't help but think that people told you that out of pity, like they knew how miserable you felt, but not daring to say a word about it. Your dad was a powerful man, and you were aware of that, ever since you were born, he had bussines with Falcone and you knew that people feared him, he practically ruled Gotham, that lifeless and dangerous city that you had to live in.

You have everything. You were tired of that sentence. You didn't care at all about these nice things surrounding you, those dresses in your closet, those diamonds in your jeweler, that fancy car you owned since your eighteenth birthday, no, that was useless in your eyes, because all you really wanted, was love.

It was a lonely life; you learned how to do everything by yourself, how to comb your hair, how to deal with your period when it first came, how to dress up properly and do your makeup. You didn't even had to learn about boy problems because there weren't any boys in your life, you were homeschooled. So you were quiet, not really having to talk at all, there was nobody to talk to.

And since Jonathan was the only person you were talking to at the moment, you started to feel like you loved him, the idea sitting right with you without you even knowing it, thinking that this was how therapy normally went.

Loneliness striked your life at a young age; your mother died from a strange disease when you were eight, leaving you with a shattered heart thad bled everytime you walked past her bedroom, or saw a picture of her. You practically watched her die, a witness of how she lost her strength, how her once beautiful skin turned pale and yellow, and lost every little spark within herself, and the worst part was that all the money you had, couldn't even help her.

It was a deep wound that you carried with yourself, with nobody to talk about it.

Your father spent his days locked up in his office, and when he wasn't there, he was out in the city doing unthinkable things that you didn't even wanted to know about, leaving you on your own, having to fill all of those silent and empty rooms by yourself, with nobody to laugh with, nobody to hold you and see you grow. He wasn't really around, working all the time, too busy to know that his daughter didn't seem to care about all the expensive stuff he bought for her, not even taking the time to have dinner with you or hold a simple conversation. He loved you, you knew that, he just wasn't the type to show his affection with words or actions, but with gifts. And you hated everything about it.

But now, Jonathan was there, making you feel listened, finally saving you from falling into loneliness again. Your whole life, you thought you had a horrible sickness, that you were doomed to this awful destiny of sorrow and silence, but now, with his sweet words and good company, you couldn't be more than relieved.

You wished sometimes that you met him earlier, that this whole therapy stuff started before, and you even confessed it to him. And it irked him a little, that you didn't even remember how you two really met each other, hiding his annoyance with a warm smile.

Some months ago, your father started to brought you to parties he attended, parties were all the corrupts scumbags from Gotham reunited and celebrated how they were dragging the city to the gates of hell on their benefit, and you couldn't be more happy to attend them. You knew he was bringing you because he recently broke up with the young girl he carried with him— that was most likely your age, and needed a pretty thing to hang of his arm and take care of the people he didn't feel like talking to.

So you accepted this new life, eating up this role of socialite like it was made for you.

It was a chance to know people, to speak and make new friends, but you learned quickly that those people weren't there for that, and picked up on how mostly of the people who talked to you just wanted to climb up the social ladder and gain some extra points from your father.

He, even, introduced you to a couple of people that seemed close to your age, and you chatted with them, feeling extremely anxious because you weren't used to this, so it was weird to them seeing such a pretty woman, with your status and fortune, acting so shy and quiet in a place that your dad practically owned.

After a couple of hours, you learned the agenda. All you had to do was put on a fake smile, get them off your father's shoulders and pretend you were very interested in what they had to say, hiding your uncomfortable expression behind your glass of champagne, promising them that you would arrange a reunion with your father someday.

One of those nights, your father introduced you to someone, someone who you didn't pay much attention because he seemed to be uninterested too, only being there for the sake of his job.

"Pretty girl, come here" your father said, a cheerful tone of voice as grabbed you by the shoulder to get your attention, snapping you out of your train of thoughts. "I want you to meet my friend, Doctor Crane"

You looked at the man in front of your dad, his pale blue eyes already sizing you up discretely, looking at you up and down in a way that didn't go unnoticed by you, a shiver running down your spine as his eyes finally locked with yours.

You couldn't help but feel small under his gaze, your glass now forgotten in your left hand, the right one extended to take his and stretch it for a quick second, returning to your first position, his expression remaining serious.

"Nice to meet you" he spoke, his voice sounding like velvet in your eyes, not quite sensing the undertone behind it. "Your father told me wonders about you"

You grin, the irony of that sentence making you laugh a little, what wonders could your father know about you? But you kept your composure, the conversation not going any further, and you forgot about him fast enough, when in another of those annoying parties you met the love of your life — or so you thought.

That same night, when you went back home, you were thinking about spending the rest of your life with some guy that flirted with you at the bar, and Jonathan, prayed to whatever thing listening to him up there, that crossed your path with his again.

He practically obsessed with you, because it felt right. You were young, beautiful, wealthy and had a last name that could open even more doors for him, getting tired of saving Falcone's man of going to jail; you were an opportunity, tied to a nice pair of legs.

After a few weeks of stalking, it kinda broke his heart that naive as he expected you, you got married to the guy from the party; he told you then his name was Lewis, and now you doubted it that was even true.

You were finally going to get what you always wished for, a family, love. And it was perfect. Everything was perfect.

It was a dream that you were living in. A dream that shattered in front of you no longer than three months after.

After you contracted married with this man, you took care of the house, now learning all of these housewife duties that you didn't know anything about, but making your best effort to please him, to be the perfect woman ever created, departing from your old life and habits and adjusting them to his own.

You couldn't be more happy, regardless of your bad cooking, the bad-swiped floor and the half-done bed that welcomed you both every night, you finally had love.

It lasted three months. Your wholesome real life fantasy of a marriage destroyed when you found out, accidentally, that this man was just an employee of your dad, willing to get a promotion if he married you. At that moment, you didn't know who you hated more, if the bastard, or your dad who was literally bribing the bastard to love you.

But your dad only wanted to make you happy, tho.

You were embarrassed, not quite sure of how to tell this to Jonathan, because after all, he was there for you, just for the money your dad was paying him. Your cursed the day your dad became rich, because all of it was making you miserable and it felt like it wasn't going to stop.

At this point, a feeling of despite against you was growing within Jonathan, after a few weeks treating you, he quickly remembered why he didn’t chose this path of career, but remembering that he was there because of a major reason; a reason more important than your helpless cries for attention.

He was sick of you, all you ever did was complain in the commodity of your million dollar house, unaware that there were more important problems in the world. It isn’t completely your fault, Jonathan thought one day, you were just an ungrateful brat, and his work was to tame you, and he planned to do just that today.

"So," he startled you, narrowing his eyebrows, an expression in his face that you could only understand as concern. "remember, if you don't speak, I can't help you".

You chuckle and shift your weight in the chair, immediately feeling your eyes fill up with tears as you confronted the fact that you had to speak about it, right now. He was quick to offer you his handkerchief, as he always did and with shaky hands you took it, sniffling onto it, closing your eyes as you felt your whole body shake with each one of your cries.

You felt Jonathan put his hand on your knee, softy caressing the skin that his thumb could reach, opening your eyes and looking at his, Jonathan welcoming you with a pitying look. You put the tissue aside, both him being so close and his scent impregnated on the piece of fabric making you feel a little giddy, a little confused.

Why was your heart racing so much? He was your therapist, here to talk about your former husband.

Jonathan couldn't help but grin a little, knowing he was maybe breaking a rule here, touching you like this, being so close. He couldn't care less, after all, he wasn't here listening to you cry and bitch about your whole life for the sake of your well-being. He was here because he wanted you to break and get on your knees to him. Figuratively and literally.

"It's so embarrassing" you struggled to spit out "He didn't even love me, Doctor"

He hummed, dragging his chair so he was a little closer to you, you looked at him through your teary lashes and tried to keep it together, this wasn't the first time you cried in front of him, but the reason itself was enough to make you feel full of shame.

He didn't say anything, this being a motivation for you to continue.

"My dad was paying him" you murmured, cleaning the mascara off your cheeks. "It was all a lie"

The whole situation was absurd, what happened to you still felt like a sick joke they were playing on you, your dad and Lewis, probably waiting for the perfect moment to tell you the truth.

But that wasn't going to happen, right now the only thing that felt true to you was Jonathan. He set you up to that, and you blindly fell on his silly trap.

"Poor thing" he cooed you, moving his hand a little further up your thigh, noticing the goosebumps on your skin. A mastermind, that's how he felt. "How could they?"

That was all the mendacity he fed you with since you started seeing him, making you believe he was actually empathizing with you, full of loathe against everyone who hurt you, who dared to leave you alone, but now he was there, his task being to pretend to care.

"It's pathetic" you blurted out, leaning into his touch when his prying hand went up to your cheek. You really couldn't say anything more, crying against his hand like it was something you did every monday morning. "I'm so sad. I don't know what to do"

He shook his face, your eyes meeting his with a confused expression, black stained tears dropping on your lap and wetting his hand before he returned it and looked over his clipboard, pretending to think.

You were so vulnerable, ready for him to destroy. He finally got you where he wanted. He then explained you that you were so sad that it made you unaware of a lot of things, blinded by your own pity against yourself that every door that opened, you closed. It all came down to a thing; you needed a diagnosis.

He gave you a moment to process the information, ready to continue with his plan.

"Actually," he started, his tone now more firm, more strict, the one he used when you were approaching the end of the session. On the last one, he recommended you to touch yourself, to liberate oxytocin on your brain or something you really didn't understood.

It was almost evil from his side, he knew that your only thought while doing it would he him ordering you to do so.

"I'm sorry to be the bearer of such awful news, Y/N" he stated, making your heart skip a beat. "But I think you're sick"

You nearly gasped, the air got stuck in your throat, more tears gathering in your eyes. You lifted one of your hands to your chest, a million thoughts crossing your head as Jonathan's clever eyes examined your expression.

Bingo.

"Sick" you repeated after a moment, almost like you were making peace with the revelation. "How sick?"

It was an innocent question, your tone of voice shaking as your inferior lip trembled, holding it with your teeth in an attempt to not burst into tears again, your whole body feeling like it was going to break into a million peaces by how much you were shaking in the couch.

Jonathan was quick, standing from the chair he was on and taking a seat by your side, his hand swiftly placing in your knee. You looked at him confused, he never got this close, maybe your sickness was serious.

"What am I, Doctor?" you whispered, your eyes showing him a hint of fear that made him finally lose all his faked professionalism. "Depressed? Crazy?"

Both of you were dying of anticipation now; meanwhile you feared that you were going to get admitted to Arkham, Jonathan was seeing the golden ticket to the best future he could ever achieve, and all thanks to you.

"Oh, no, no" he purred, his hand making its way up to your thigh. "You're sick, not crazy"

You parted your lips as his hand moved more further, not really sure of what was happening, not daring to stop him, too scared of your mental health to think about anything else, not helping the way your legs started to part too.

A sudden gasp left your lips as his hand squeezed your tight, a smile you never saw on him appearing on his face. The crying stopped a moment ago, the surprise of having him so close making you go a little numb.

"I know what a girl like you needs" he said, almost sternly, like his hand wasn't centimeters away from your panties.

Was in that moment, that you knew this wasn’t about therapy anymore.

"You think so?" you whispered, your voice still shaky, but now for a whole different reason. "And what is it, Doctor?"

"To be fucked stupid"

It almost shocked you how he said that as it was a normal diagnosis, like he gave you a name of a medicine you could go and buy at any drugstore in town. You gulped and didn't move when his grip tightened on your leg, your face growing red.

A loud gasp escaped your lips when at your lack of response, Jonathan grabbed you hard by the jaw and forced you to look at him. Your eyes glistened with nothing but fear, your brows narrowing as you mumbled something that he really couldn't understand, and it wasn't like he wanted to.

"You're sick, Y/N" he repeated, more harshly this time, his hand moving your head as he spoke. "And I'm going to cure you"

He let go of your face to clasp his lips against yours, a kiss very far away from sweet, his mouth moving roughly against yours. You never had been kissed like this, so you tried to play it along, trying to show him some of the love you felt for him, that you thought you owed him.

But he didn't care if you felt loved during the kiss, trying to assert the dominance he held upon you, his hand now holding firmly the back of you neck to prevent you from pulling away.

It was a mess; your teeth clashed, drool was dripping from your chin as his tongue explored every space of your mouth, not leaving anywhere of it untouched. Your movements were a little stiff, unsure of what to do, trying to provide the sweetness that he lacked.

His hand moved to your the front of your neck and squeezed it a little, making you yelp in surprise, the sound muffled by his mouth. You tried to get away from the kiss, confused about his rough actions against you, a little scared of him even, almost like you didn’t trust him every little part of your brain in this same couch for the last couple of months.

But then it clicked on your foggy brain, he knew you, perfectly— you only knew his name, you didn’t know what this man was capable of.

You could only move a few centimeters away from his hungry mouth, your lips parted as tears welled in your eyes from the pressure he was applying to your neck.

“Stop” you managed to stutter, your breath mixing with his. “I can’t- breathe”

You doubted that he listened to you, your voice not coming out of your throat at all and getting stuck in your larynx, your voice-box completely muffled by his strong grip.

“Shut up, brat” he spitted, his tone sounding full of abhor, your eyes wide open as you felt the air leaving your body and your lungs starting to burn. “Always getting what you want”

You weakly placed one of your hands around his wrist, another attempt of gasp elicited from your agape mouth as he lifted his other hand and choked you with both, something in your dizzy mind telling you that he was possessed.

“Crying all the time- complaining” he continued, not caring if you were listening, the suffocation being to much to bare now. “So selfish”

And maybe he was.

Your brain was filled with fear, wondering how it all went from a kiss to this— almost getting killed by your therapist in your couch. You opened your eyes to meet his, feeling like your chest was on fire as there wasn’t any air flowing in, seeing how the blue of Jonathan’s eyes has darkened and his lips were parted as well, the muscles of his jaw twitching as he choked you to death.

Your eyebrows narrowed together in terror as you noticed that familiar tingly sensation in your lower belly and your thighs clenching together. Maybe it was something about him exercising this power over you, how you felt so feeble under his touch, that was probably leaving bruises on your neck for you to carry and show around what he was making you do it.

You didn’t have enough time to think about it, you were practically dying.

“And you are enjoying this?” he said with an amused tone, probably noticing how your thighs fragily contracted against one another.

You felt yourself slowly lose your consciousness when finally the relief came and the air started to flow again to your desperate lungs, taking long and loud puffs of air when his hand let go of your neck. Your erratic breath was interrupted by a loud moan that escaped you when Crane yanked you by your hair and shoved you to the floor.

He was quick yo position you between his legs, looking at you through his unfixed glasses, giving you a twisted smile that made you quiver in fear, that growing wet patch on your panties making you feel like a really sick girl.

“Doctor-” you mumbled, closing your eyes as he pulled your hair, withdrawing a mewl off your mouth. “Hurts”

“You talk when I tell you to talk” he snickered, adjusting the way his fingers gripped your hair. You thought that he might just pull out the strand he was tugging. “I’m sick of your whining”

You felt more tears well up in your eyes; not sure if it was from the pain in your head or how his words felt like a knife that landed right on your heart. You were confused, sad, angry— a little hot, too.

“I pay you yo listen to me” you said, your voice so shaky you were lucky he could understand you. You wished he didn’t understand you.

Another sort of moan left your lips as a hard slap made a landing in your cheek, your face turned to the side because of the impact. You closed your eyes in disbelief, a cry coming out as you felt helpless, wondering if this was some exposure therapy he was experimenting on you.

He repeated himself, instructing you to talk only when you were told so, nodding in defeat as you accepted whatever this was and continued to play along with Jonathan’s sick fantasy of controlling you, without even knowing it.

You looked at him with nothing but inquietude, the look in his eyes giving you the foreboding that nothing good was about to happen now, frightened of what we would do to you.

He didn’t show any hints of letting go of your hair anytime soon, just holding it firmly to keep you looking at him through your heavy lashes, a wicked grin on his smug face.

“Let’s give that whining mouth of yours a good use” he said, and you gulped, understanding what he wanted and quivering in fear, not really understanding why the sticky sensation between your legs grew.

“Undo my pants” he commanded, and you stayed still, your eyes not leaving his even when another slap landed on your tear-wet face. “Do as you’re told, brat. This might be your only cure”

You couldn’t help but sob a little, his tone sounding so definitive, so professional. Your trembling hands reached his belt and unbuckling it ungracefully, taking longer than he expected, you heard him chuckle as you unbuttoned his pants afterwards, then putting your hands back in front of your lap.

“C’mon” he pulled your hair again, causing you to moan in pain. “Don’t make me tell you what to do”

You looked at him again in nothing but shame, trying to resist to this humiliating request of his, but complying it anyways. He said he was going to cure you, but now you doubted it, right now, you only wanted this to be over.

With a last look at his eyes you returned your attention to the growing bulge in his slacks, the shame in your brain being present at all times, not quite helping the way your eyes were fixated on his clothed member. You were quick to free him out after your staring earned you a other harsh pull of hair, your lips turned into a line when his cock slapped his abdomen, causing his dress shirt to wrinkle a little.

“Go on, Y/N” he encouraged you, as you looked at him with pleading eyes, silently begging him for mercy, knowing that even if you screamed it at him, he just wouldn’t listen. “This isn’t about what you want, anymore. Is about what you need”

A tear slid from your eyes and disappeared down your cheek when his free hand placed the tip of his hard cock on your parted lips, gesturing you to take it and not waste more of his time— more than you already did.

“Open up, whore” he said under his breath, using your hair as a device to move your head and help you shove his length down your throat. You complied, the tears in your eyes now soaking in you cheeks by the effort that you were making trying to welcome his thick shaft down your mouth.

You were sure you scratched him with your teeth a few times as he bobbed your head up and down with his strong hand, manhandling you without care for his own pleasure. You placed your hands on his knees, trying not to gag, but when his tip touched the bottom of your throat, you couldn’t help it.

You cried as you felt suffocated again, now for a whole different reason, a more humiliating one, and you almost wished he killed you then. His hips buckled everytime your lips reached the base of his cock, the room filled with the sounds of your mouth and saliva coating his shaft and the soft moans that came out of his poisoned lips.

“Take it, whore” he said, his voice now husky and distorted by the pleasure, the pain that your teeth accidentally inflicted on him turning him even more. “God- you are horrible at this”

He chuckled between heavy breaths, pulling you by the hair and releasing his cock from your mouth, a vulgar pop filling both of your ears at the sudden separation of your lips and his member. Your eyes looked at the floor, feeling such a shame that the mere thought of meeting his face with your fearful face made you cringe, the pulsating pain on the back of your head making you dizzy.

“You can’t suck dick properly” he said, his tone sounding like he was making fun of you. “No wonder why your husband left you. You’re just pathetic”

You finally rose up your face to look at that insufferable smile of his, ignoring the way his cock was still hanging there in front of you, almost brushing your nose. His fingers finally untangled from your hair and giving you some sort of solace, the consolation that this traumatic session was over.

Maybe the remedy was worse than the sickness itself.

“Jonathan, stop it, plea-”

Your imploration was completely ignored, followed by another slap on your wet cheek that made you cry even more, not understanding how this man could’ve been the same one who made you felt loved and finally listened. You fell for a lie once again.

“Get on the couch” he simply said, his words were like a bucket of cold water fell on you. “Stop the bitching, don’t want to hear it”

“And I’m your doctor. Not Jonathan” he reminded you, making you feel even more ashamed.

You did as he told, again, half-standing from the floor and sitting next to him, trying to take as much space from him as you could before he grabbed you by the waist and pulled you closer, your face growing red as his face was now centimeters away from yours.

“You look so beautiful when you cry” he whispered, caressing your face but trying to nor wipe the tears away, almost like he was admiring you. It made you melt into his touch, glad that his kind demeanor was there again. Even if his words made you cringe— and the fact that his cock was still out, you felt your heart grew warmer by the way he tenderly touched you.

It didn’t last much longer, when his lips twitched into a malicious smile and went down to nibble your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses around the bruised skin and bitting where his fingers hurt you previously, making your fingers wrap on his hair and cry for mercy, trying for him to stop hurting you this much.

“Shut up, stupid brat” he repeated that same insult, making you swallow your cries, closing your eyes in disbelief as he continued to injure your already suffering skin.

You arched your back in surprise when all of the sudden his hands reached for your breasts, groping your tits like his life depending on it, stimulating you through the fabric of your shirt, but all you felt was fear and anger, impotence flowing through your veins because you just couldn’t scream and push him away, fear was freezing you on the spot.

The worst part? You maybe didn’t wanted to push him away. Because maybe if he gets what he wants now you would be cured and he’ll be back to normal, returning you the sweet Doctor Crane that you met once, not this monster that was groping you like a piece of meat.

He clicked his tongue and dropped both of his hands to spread your legs open, forcing your back to drop onto the hand rester of the couch. You looked at him with big eyes, your heart felt like it was going to jump out of your chest and scream to Jonathan that enough was enough, you just couldn’t take any of this anymore.

But your heart stayed there, between your lungs that seemed incapable to hold any air, making your breathing erratic. So nobody screamed Jonathan to stop, and he continued with his profanation against your persona— your dignity.

He bit his lip at the sight of your fucked-up face, your legs open as it showed him the dark patch on your baby blue panties, darting his eyes from your half-exposed crotch to your teary eyes.

“God, keep crying and I might come now” he growled, lowering his face to meet your pussy, kissing it through your underwear, making you mewl, closing your eyes at the sudden attention your core was getting.

You felt embarrassed at how much you enjoyed when he moved the fabric to the side and started making out with your cunt, swallowing your fluids like a starved man.

“So wet” he mumbled against your labia, the vibration making your eyes roll back, bitting your lip to prevent any moan to come out; he was raping you, why did he make you enjoy it? “I bet you like this, to be treated like a whore”

You shook your head, more tears falling out of your eyes as you felt nothing else but humiliation, pleasure washing over your body everytime his tongue brushed your clit, your back arched against nothing.

“You like it?” he said, finally pulling out and pushing his body up so his face was in front of yours, his cock grazing against your now stimulated pussy, a gasp leaving your lips, a gasp that quickly turned into a hurting moan when his hand slapped you again, this time in your throbbing cunt. “Answer me”

“I- I do” you whispered, gripping his shoulders when you felt him align the head of his member with your whole, scared of how it was going to fit. You had trouble taking it when he face-fucked you, how the fuck it was going to fit down there?

“I’m going to fuck you so good” he whispered between pants, jerking himself off before entering you. “You’re going to forget that pathetic husband of yours”

You couldn’t help but cry, trying to push him off by the shoulders, a terrified look on your face. “It won’t fit, Doctor” you pleaded, a crooked grin on his face as you keep on calling him that. “I beg you, don’t-”

“Yes, beg me” he said, starting to push his member inside you with a slow but relentlessly pace, not giving you enough time to adjust, just to scream and hit him weakly on the chest, face and shoulders before ge grabbed your hands and pinned them down, on the sides of your body. “I’m going to cure you- do you so good”

His voice was low, as he barely could speak when he felt just how tight you were, your walls hugging his cock just the right way, his pulsating head making your mind dizzy, the stinging pain starting to be forgotten.

But when he slid out and entered back it, the hardness of his movement made your insides burn with pain, a loud cry echoing in the walls of the living room as he started to trust into your pussy with a fast pace, not caring at all if you felt good.

He snapped his hips against yours with an animalistic force, growls escaped from his mouth every time his cock was welcomed by the warmth of your stretch whole, the sensation making him go even more feral, making you cry more.

He let go of one of your hands and grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at his eyes as he fucked you vigorously, the blue on his iris not existent anymore, only his widely dilated pupils meeting yours, your blurred vision distinguishing the depraved expression in his face.

“You- so tight” he snarled, his voice barely audible, covered by the sound of skin slapping and your loud cries. “I bet your stupid husband didn’t fuck you like this”

You felt nothing but shame as you felt his cock now sliding in and out more easily, the wetness of your cunt growing as he spoke to you like that, that familiar heat flourishing in your lower belly as his words degraded you, your cries quickly becoming moans.

“This was all you needed- fuck” he said, his spit splashing your face as he talked, his words full of disdain. “A good dick, that’s all it takes to keep bitches like you quiet” You nodded, thinking that if you agreed he would stop. How wrong you were.

In a quick movement Jonathan took his cock out and spun you around, not giving you time to get on your ass up by laying your chest down before he stabbed your hole again, pushing your skirt all the way up to see how his pelvis came into collision with your ass.

You were moaning like a bitch in heat now, sure that the maids were listening, not really caring about it anymore. Jonathan was fucking you nice and hard, your mouth wide open as his tip brushed your cervix, screaming to him to keep it right there.

“I’m close” he said, pulling your hair back to press his chest to your back, his other hand going down to play with your swollen clit, wanting your to come around his cock like the slut he knew you were. “Come with me, you whore”

“Yes” you moaned, your tongue out as his cock hit the right spots, making your hips to move against his, grinding against his hand and dick, feeling your wetness drip down to your thighs. “Yes, yes, I want to”

He laughed, approaching your ear with his tongue to bite it, leaving a long and wet kiss underneath it that made you grow hotter, your eyes closed as you let him use you; the only thought in your mind being him and his wonder-working cock.

Truth was, he was fucking you stiffly, every slam of his hips stronger than the last one, but you were so deprived of touch, so dick-starved, that even if Jonathan was fucking you like a lifeless doll, only for the sake of his pleasure, you loved it, even when it hurt you.

“I’m going to fill you up” he said against your ear, his hand leaving your clit unattended as he grabbed your hip to increase the velocity of his thrusts, ramming your hole like a demented man, making your head drop against his shoulder and scream at the ceiling, now knowing what he meant by curing you.

“Going to get you pregnant” he said, more to himself than anything “so you don’t have to bitch about being alone anymore”

You opened your eyes with terror, you didn’t want children, you were so young. The idea made you frightened, the moaning now sounding like little nos and pull outs, but Jonathan didn’t listen.

“Doctor please, please, pull out” you pleaded, reaching for his hips and trying to push him away, one of his hands slapping your ass and pulling you down by your shoulder blade so you wouldn’t fight anymore. “Doctor Crane please”

“I will fucking fill you up, Y/N” he chanted, laughing at the idea of your round belly and your swollen tits, carrying his baby all day and feeling all worked up and needy all day, only waiting for him to fuck you all day. “You won’t be alone again. You won’t be sad again”

Then you realized it.

When he came, your hot walls creamed every single drop of his cum, making his thrusts sloppy and slow, his moans filling your ears as you sobbed under his touch, feeling his seed paint your walls and load your insides with his sperm.

That was your cure.

His hot release that now flooded inside your leaking cunt, that was your so-promised antidote. He took away your solitude by giving you his and yours firstborn, a bastard baby that would give you the company that you lacked.

You felt him chuckle as he rode out his high, the chase of his own climax made you forget yours, so now there you were, your swollen cunt looking for its release while his rested among your insides calmly, like it was meant to be.

He didn’t pull out immediately, taking his time to appreciate the sight of your skirt resting in your hips all rolled up, your bruised neck and messy hair, the way your ass was exposed to him by the way he had you arching your back. All for him— for him to wreck.

He pulled out and rolled his eyes when you started crying, now being annoying instead of hot. You sat on the couch and saw him button his pants and fix his hair, hissing when you felt nothing but pain growing in your worn-out pussy. You explained through your weak voice how he ruined your life, that he was the worst person you’ve ever met and that now you had to carry the product of his sick and twisted rapist-fantasy, even tried to hit him, but your pathetic tantrum only gained you another slap in the face, and a stern look.

When he tried to stand up and leave, you grabbed him by the wrist and begged him not to, he couldn’t just leave you, not now, not ever.

“Don’t be so ungrateful” he said, a smile that made you feel nothing but trepidation in his face. “You’ll never be alone again”

You couldn’t help but feel scared. Scared of him, of what just happened, of what’s going to happen next, scared for your future son with this evil specie of a man.

When you continued to cry, and he pulled you for a hug as he assured you that he would never leave you; and how could he? He had a long life of success waiting for him now, giving a girl of your status his last name, his children. Oh, it’s going to be wonderful, he just needed to tame you and make you the perfect slave for him, and that wasn’t going to be hard.

You were sure that you’ll never be loved, but at least now Jonathan was going to be with you. You’ll never be alone again.

thanks for reading. w/love, fenina;)

taglist: @lovesickxcherries @genini @ilunapb @ostricx @devotedlyshadowytheorist

if you want to be added let me know, it’ll be my pleasure🫶🏻

#cillian x fem!reader #jonathan crane x reader #cillian murphy x oc #cillian murphy x reader #cillian smut #cillian x reader #cillian x y/n #jonathan crane fanfic #tommy shelby x reader #jonathan crane x you #cillian one shot #cillian fic #peaky blinder imagine #batman fanfiction #scarecrow x reader

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talks-with-the-void · 1 month

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Fluid kintypes - identity doesn't need to be static

I used to be a wolf, once. Not in a past-life sense, but in a therian sense - I was a wolf therian and then I wasn't. Sounds weird to you? I'm not surprised!

Something that I have repeatedly been told by other therians and otherkin is "you are what you are and if you find out you are something else - well, then you never were the first thing at all." Especially when I joined the community several years ago, I saw this statement everywhere. But let me tell you: it's not true. I had several different kintypes over the years (side note: we are plural and for the sake of this post I am simplifying some internal structure things. if you want the complicated details, feel free to ask! /gen), started as a wolf therian, then I was a cryptid, a dinosaur, a dragon and some kind of monster. Now I am Khhanivore (from Love, Death and Robots) and Mewtu (from Pokemon, Mewtu is the German spelling) - and a raptor kintype is coming back. (I am also a werewolf, but that's not a kintype, that's just Purely Me And My Whole Essence)

"Okay Istasha, but isn't that just questioning or maybe flickertypes?", you might ask. Fair point, but no.

I honestly never really questioned my kintypes - if I truly question something, it turns out to either be a hearttype or Nothing at All. As for kintypes, I just know - all of us just know what we are, it's like chilling and one day, suddenly, one of us is like "oh, I am a horse. alright, carry on" and that's it. Our kintypes stay with us for several months at least, theoretically they could stay forever but tend to change along the way - which brings me to the next point. They aren't flickertypes either. We only really get fictionflickers and sometimes animalflickers and those are extremely short and always tied to media we are currently consuming - they feel, technically, like kintypes to me. For example, if I watch a lot of Supernatural, I sometimes get an intense feeling of belonging there, of being a non-canon character, of being part of the story, etc. I am this non-canon character in that moment, I might even get pseudo-memories or shifts, but as soon as I don't engage with that show too much again, it instantly fades.

Our kintypes don't work like that. Take my re-emerging dinosaur kintype as an example. I was walking somewhere a few days ago and suddenly had a pahntom sensation in my legs and feet and in the same moment I knew "ah shit, new kintype". I gave it a day because maaayyybe it's nothing? But deep down I already knew what was going on, so I have an Utahraptor kintype now. I am this. I identify as this through and through and it feels like I've always been this way. But it wasn't - a week ago I wasn't a dinosaur and now I am. I did not choose it, I did not engage with any dinosaur media at all, it just happened.

My kintypes have always been changing and trust me when I say I had a complete identity crisis when my wolf kintype first went away. But over the years Ive learned to accepot it - my identy is not static, it never was and it never will be and that's okay!

It doesn't make my kintypes less important or less real and it also doesn't mean I never was a wolf. I was. And then I wasn't.

I honestly think it is so, so damaging to still have this "kintypes are static"-sentient floating around in the community, because that's simply not true for all of us. For me, it honestly even makes more sense this way. Our brain has always been unstable, I lacked a true identity for so long. We grew up with untreated BPD andf although the symptoms are 95% under my control now (read: it's in remission), our brain still has a ton of habits from that time, like clinging onto different things to try and form an identity, to try and fill the void where a person should be. And the fact that the void is filled now, that I finally am enough of a person to fill it, this habit never changed. Our brain still randomly grabs things and makes them one of us, leading to fluid kintypes.

Let me end this with saying: being wrong about a kintype is fine. Figuring out you are X instaed of Y and never were Y is fine. But it is also fine to be X today and Y tomorrow.

I think I've said this before but I'll say it again: we, as a community, need to take our identities less and more serious at the same time. Let's stop the gatekeeping and policing others, let's stop overanalyzing ourselves so much. Let's stop looking for rules and asking "is it possible to be this?" over and over again - because the answer is yes. There are literally no rules as to how, why and what you can be. In order to be otherkin you need to do exactly one thing: identify as The Thing in question. Nothing else. On the other hand, we need to kindly educate those who confuse identify as and identify with, we need to kindly educate young therians who "choose their theriotypes", we need to make sure we are not watered down to being "a fun thing you can do".

I sometimes feel like the focus and effort of this community is in good faith but in the wrong place - static kintypes is one of them.

There are no limits. Be who you are today and if you are something else tomorrow, be that then. <3

#alterhuman #otherkin #alterhumanity #nonhuman #nonhumanity #plurality #psychological otherkin #therian #fluid kintypes

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willowser · 6 months

Text

you had only to look at me—

part one.

bakugou x f!reader

wc: 7.4k+

tags: nsfw (18+), childhood best friend bakugou, oral (f!receiving), m!masturbation, lots of "first time" talk, more angst, more virgin bakugou.

even before i was touched, i belonged to you; you had only to look at me. — the burning heart, louise glück.

this is a repost.

you and bakugou avoid each other just like you did in middle school, only it's a little too easy this time around.

he's terrible at texting back in general, and because you're not initiating any conversations on your own — or sending funny memes or bringing up all might in some capacity — the radio silence draws ever on and on.

the closest you come to interacting with him is getting a snapchat from his mom, his figure in the background at their kitchen table. all you can see is the floof of his hair and the outline of his shoulders, but you're so bothered by the fact that he's home and didn't tell you that you don't even respond.

it officiates things in a bad way; he's really, actually not speaking to you.

and it's — fucking annoying.

at least in the past the distance was mutually and wordlessly agreed upon; you didn't talk because you were busy or didn't have time or anything new to say, but whenever he's come home — because he so rarely does — bakugou has always made his usual, god-honest attempt to irritate you.

and he still is, but this time he's doing it all wrong.

you go through the five stages of grief rather quickly, jumping from denial to anger overnight. several times, you type out something to text him, each message different than the last:

i know you were at your mom's jackass ☠️

it's really not a big deal and i think we should just forget about it, if that's what you wanna do ?

if i crossed some kind of boundary with you then i'm sorry and i won't say that again so you better call me before i put your baby pictures on the internet. i'm serious.

you're my best friend and i don't think it's weird that it happened. if you're being dumb because you're embarrassed, then don't be because i thought it was really hot

unsurprisingly, you don't send any of these and instead just stew in your own aggravation. lunch with him after the whole thing had been just as empty and awkward, and you think he chose the place near your apartment just so you could walk home and he didn't have to spend another second with you.

three months go by, which isn't long compared to other stints you've spent not talking to one another, but this one drags. like a lot. the only good that comes from it is that you graduate from anger to acceptance, finalizing a future without him in it.

except for the few times he invades your brain like a little parasite, red-faced and shuddering, gripping you like a lifeline, and then your stomach flips so hard that you feel sick and it takes genuine effort to check out of that daydream and back into a bakugou-less reality.

and then he shows up at your apartment, uninvited.

his mom hosts a sunday dinner that you don't go to, for several potential reasons. one would be that you'll have to see bakugou and pretend like nothing's happened even though you're still a little peeved; two is that you'll both ignore each other, and that'll reverse all your progress because he's been ignoring you already.

three is that he might not show up, and then you'll have to pretend that it doesn't bother you all night long.

none of that sounds better than watching trash television and falling asleep on your couch, so you tell mitsuki that you're very sick and very sorry, and that you'll make it up to her later.

because of this, the first thing bakugou says to you after you swing the front door open is, "you're supposed to be fuckin' dead."

suffice to say, you're surprised to see him; still outfitted in his hero costume, mask shoved up his forehead so that his hair is wilder than usual. there's kohl smudged around his eyes, messy, and they look brighter and harsher because of it.

there's also a family-mart plastic bag in his right hand.

"what?"

he just grunts, eyes snapping over your figure, dressed down in a too-large sweater and athletic shorts meant for running even though you've never done so in them.

in his hands — still gloved — the plastic crinkles obnoxiously as he holds it out. "old hag told me to bring this to you."

a can of low sodium soup, two apples, gatorade, and something over-the-counter for nausea. there's something else at the very bottom that you don't get the chance to inspect before he interrupts with his big, fat mouth.

"y'look fine to me, so why the hell didn't you go?"

you frown at him and — don't know what to say. clearly, it seems he's going the pretend-it-never-happened route, which is infuriating because he could just as well have done that months ago. even still, he won't hardly meet your gaze, staring for only a moment before rolling his eyes and huffing, sticking them anywhere else. if you peek close, real close, you'd say his ears are a little red, but maybe you're just looking for — something.

you shrug. "didn't feel like it."

he shakes his head like that's the stupidest thing he's ever heard, eyebrow arched. "why the hell not?"

"because, bakugou, i just didn't feel like going, i don't know what else to tell you." you huff, shrugging again when he doesn't say anything. "thanks for the stuff. is that it?"

his lips twist as he thinks, giving you another once-over before sighing. under his tank-top, you watch how his chest expands, the grimace that ripples over his face as he reaches a hand to lightly feel at his right side. "need your help with somethin'."

now you're just being petulant; you snort, raising your eyebrows as his eyes narrow at the sound. "me? are you joking? you need my help with—"

he groans loud enough to drown you out. "y'gonna let me in or y'just gonna run your mouth?" and so you step aside to wave him in wordlessly.

the backpack on his shoulder dumps to the ground by the door and he strolls into the kitchen like he owns the place, despite the fact that he's never been here before. you've lived in the unit for a year, but meetups are so infrequent and showing it off to him was never considered — until now; watching him shuffle through the bag on the counter, your nerves spike at the reality check.

alone together, again. in your apartment. well after dark.

that image of him is so — invasive, sweeping in at the worst times: between your legs, face as red as his eyes, the little moan he kept trying to swallow. how embarrassed he seemed when you asked if he felt good, if you felt good, and the fact that he still admitted it despite everything.

your entire body blazes like a flame to gasoline, and you try to focus on what else he's taking out of the bag, oblivious.

does he think about it at all? the way you have? at the root of the situation, that's what has been most bothersome: is he grossed out? simply embarrassed? does he feel taken advantage of? did he enjoy it and just doesn't know how to say it? the not knowing is driving you insane.

"i got—" bakugou awkwardly angles his body, gently touching at his side again. in his hands is a simple pack of first-aid supplies, like a wound wash and bandages and medical tape. "need you to change this shit for me."

"oh?" is all you can manage to say, still distracted, and whatever is obvious in your voice has his eyes snapping to you from across the kitchen, adam's apple bobbing. you clear your throat, struggling for normalcy. "the hell did you do?"

he's — going to take his shirt off. clearly, by the way he stretches out his shoulders and then slowly reaches behind himself to grab the material by the back, carefully pulling it up over his head with a low, stinging hiss.

bakugou's always been a lean kid — guy — but pulled so taut like that, after years of working out muscles you didn't even know he had, he looks — stupidly shredded, and the slow reveal of his tight stomach is not helping you to focus.

you just never realized how hot it was, because you never looked at him like that. until recently.

his mask comes off with his shirt and he tosses both onto the kitchen counter — again, as if he pays the bills here — and his hair is a mess and he usually doesn't care, but he runs a hand through it several times before finally looking back at you, eyes outlined in black.

"y'gonna help me or...?" he shrugs, trying to appear impassive — but it's too obvious; something's shifted, for the both of you.

you don't trust your voice anymore, so you just shuffle over to him, frowning at the dirty, worn bandage that's already unsticking from his skin. with his teeth, he pulls off his gloves and it's a wonder why he even wears them, really, because his hands are filthy underneath, covered in soot and black-stained grease.

standing like he is, arm slightly raised, you can see all his sweat, muscles shifting under his skin as he breathes, and his hairy armpit is staring you in the face and you don't know when he stopped being 12 and started being 20 and when he became such a man. it's not fair, that he should suddenly be so — attractive.

"you're disgusting," you tell him — and mean it — and it's met with such hot and irritated surprise that you have to keep talking before he explodes. "you should probably take a shower before putting on a new bandage."

it's road-rash up his right side, still shiny and wet and blood red. still raw. just looking at it is enough to make you cringe.

bakugou huffs, exasperated. "okay, gimme a towel then."

"i didn't mean take a shower here!" you squawk, taking a step back as if to further yourself from the suggestion.

detonation imminent; bakugou curls his hands into fists and the same muffled warning you've been getting your whole life crackles. "okay," he says, voice thin and razor sharp. "you're coming back to mine then?"

your whole life flashes before your eyes — or at least the few minutes it took for him to lose his shit between your legs. "what? no, why would i?"

"i need your help with this, dip-shit!"

"you're saying there's no one else that can—"

"if you want me to fuck off, just say so!"

things go silent, startlingly so. totally still, except for the rising flush across his face, one that you used to read as annoyance but are now translating into something else you never could have expected from him: embarrassment. it's starting to give you whiplash, how much you're discovering despite knowing him all your life.

"closet is at the end of hall," you say in surrender. "bathroom will be on your left."

bakugou mutters a quiet, angry little "jesus" before stalking back to the front door to get his bag, and then he's disappearing into the dark of your apartment.

you slump down on your couch and — struggle. watching the tv and absorbing nothing; it's a rerun anyway. the sudden, overwhelming urge to cry washes over you as the shower spray sounds in the background, followed by a low-timbered swear and the clatter of several bottles against the tub.

it's easy to butt heads with bakugou. you don't think there is any other way to interact with him, really, because he's so argumentative and that used to be okay, but now things are — off. you don't know what he's doing, what he wants, why he's here and in your shower when he could be at home or getting patched up at his agency. all the conclusions you can come to are frightening, a little, and they're hard to fathom; is he — does he want more?

is this just because he's a guy that got some action and is looking for a second round, or is this because it's you?

this stupid situation has only added an unnecessary amount of drama to your life, and you think maybe the pretend-it-never-happened route is the smartest path, even if you can't stop thinking about him and the strength coiled in his biceps, in his shoulders, and how tall he's become and — when did he lose most of the baby fat in his face, and when did he get such a sharp jawline?

how much is he working out, to get his body like that? he used to be a skinny, scrappy little thing and now — he can probably lift a truck over his head. must run all the time, though he's always been active, and you've never looked before, but you wonder how nice his ass is.

what he looks like under the shower, soapy and wet.

furiously, you blink out of your daydream, feeling like a foreign body in your own skin; if someone would have told you only a handful of months ago that you'd be having weird, sensual thoughts about your best friend, you would have laughed so hard you'd cried. or puked.

but if anyone else stands in that picture with him, your heart squeezes painfully. traitorously. already, you've shared so many memories with him; the start of elementary school, learning how to swim, giving each other equally bruised faces, staying up all night to study for important exams, tackling middle school graduation side-by-side, him making himself at home in your first apartment, just as you had done in his.

the devil on your shoulder asks: what's a few more firsts?

it seems like the shower stops in record time, but when you hone back in on the tv, the episode has changed and new drama is settling in. distantly, the rattle of the doorknob is more aggressive than it needs to be and when the echo of a swung-open door trails down the hallway, your heart suspends in your throat. never have you had to think this much just to be around him, and it's bothersome.

clean and relaxed, he's — softer; you spare a quick glance at him when he comes to stand beside the couch, distracted by the show on screen, and his hair is damp, starting to stick out again the more it dries. his muscles aren't made of marble anymore; still there and rippling, but he breathes calmly and his skin is baby smooth, tender. you eye his tummy and the line of fine hair running down into the waistband of his sweats, and do your best to ignore the sudden desire to kiss right above his belly-button.

"since when are they talking again?"

just as he looks at you, your gaze shoots back to the screen, eyes narrowing as you try to rapidly remember what's happening in the day-to-day for stay-at-home, pro-hero wives.

"uh," you blink, distracted — and he notices, "what do you mean? they've been hanging out, like, all season."

bakugou watches the tv in silence, occasionally glancing down to the bandage in his hands as he carefully spreads it out, as he dampens the towel with the antiseptic and dabs at his wounds.

"even after she hit on whatshername's husband?"

"yeah, that was a misunderstanding," you frown at him but he doesn't see it. "remember when they went to that dinner party and all hell broke loose because—"

his flat look serves for a rude interruption. "they go to a lot of fuckin' dinner parties."

"i know, but," you scoff, annoyed, "have you even watched this season?"

bakugou scoffs, mocking and over-dramatic, "yeah, as if i've got all day to sit on my ass and watch your stupid girly—"

"you're watching it right now."

"because you've got it on!" he huffs when you sink into the couch, resolutely trying to ignore him. “start it over then, if you’re gonna cry about it.”

you gape up at him, going as far as to pause the show so that maybe he’ll acknowledge you and all your annoyance; he doesn’t. “start it over? this is, like, episode 26!”

“so? got a hot date or what?”

he’s not at all interested in the answer and that’s obvious when he spins around and holds out the bandage expectantly, staring down at the scrape — glowing red and angry, a mirrored wound you can feel scabbing across your own skin; itchy and irritating.

finally he looks at you properly, frowning softly and — you see him then, can feel the tension lining his body as you carefully tape on his bandage. trying to hide how uncomfortable he is, though you he’s never had to do so with you in all of — forever. it’s nauseating, and again you're struck by the image of him, only now it's of the horror that had been on his face afterwards, at what you’d done.

it pushes everything over the edge; quietly, so that your voice doesn’t expose anything, you say, “you haven’t spoken to me in three months.”

silence weighs in the air immediately, heavy, and you watch him try to appear unbothered, shrugging as he stares back at the unmoving tv, jaw tight. “phone works both ways.”

“yeah, but,” your hands drop as he steps away to pull on a loose shirt, and you curl your fists into your own. just as he has. “i’m always the one having to reach out—”

“so why didn’t you?”

“what?” frustrated, you massage your temples, trying to soothe the nuclear headache threatening to incinerate you. “are you seriously trying to—”

“what’s the big deal?” he huffs, slumping down into the far corner of the couch before cringing, swearing as he gently touches at his bandage. “you’ve gone longer than that without talkin’ to me, so…”

the tone of his voice is infuriating, as if this is somehow all your fault — and maybe it is, because you shouldn’t have crossed such a boundary with him, but — he can be such a dick.

“it’s not just me bakugou, you could have just as easily picked up the phone, too!” your teeth grind when he shrugs again, leaning his head against his fist as he looks anywhere else. it almost looks like guilt that's dragging his expression down, but you know better than to assume he could feel such a thing. “you always—”

“jesus, if i always do this—”

“shut up for a second, damn!” and then because you can’t stand the stupid look on his face, you kick him in the thigh for good measure; it garners a warning glare, his teeth bared.

he easily catches you by the ankle when you try to kick him again. "tell me what the big fuckin' deal is."

"the big deal? oh, you mean besides the fact that you totally came in your pants?"

it stuns him for a second, eyes wide and face pale, before he's yanking you across the couch, narrowly avoiding the knee aimed for his gut. "you—fucking—!" a smack lands across the back of his head when he ducks and he plants a heavy hand over your face, forcing you to close your eyes and turn away.

"you're gonna blow my head off!"

"if i wanted you dead, you—" he intercepts the hand you blindly reach up with, crossing it awkwardly over your chest so that you're pinned down like a wild animal. "you would be!"

"kiss my ass, katsuki." you snark, and it does something to him, your use of his first name, because he's still for a moment before sitting back and collecting your wrists correctly, to hold against the couch arm above your head.

"you're such a fucking—" he swoops in so low that his nose almost brushes yours and he grabs the front of your sweater with his free hand, like he's gonna shake you down for some lunch money. "fuck, i could just—" and then he groans long and loud, so annoyed he can't find the words.

"yeah, well—"

"shut up," he lightly knocks his forehead into your cheekbone with another dissatisfied sound, letting out a heavy sigh as he sinks his face down into your neck.

all your muscles tighten on instinct, waiting for the sharp bite that's due any second — but his fingers only uncurl from the material of your sweater, slowly slipping around to tangle into the hair at the nape of your neck. his pull there is a little tight, enough for you to know he's got you, but not so much that you're head is aching; you can't imagine you have a sensitive scalp, anyway, after growing up around him.

you want to say something — which is an annoying realization because now you feel like too much of a talker — but you just focus on the heave of his chest over yours, the breath that moves through him. the minute jostle of his hips as he settles further into the space between your legs, almost comfortable. the slight swell of something unfamiliar against your inner thigh.

bakugou presses his face a little further into you, warm, and the tip of his nose drags along the column of your throat. successfully sedating you, distracted by the feel of his parted lips against your skin.

your body is hot all over, very suddenly; the sweater now feels like a death trap and hopefully you don't smell weird, though it's never been a worry before, not around him, and your adrenaline is rushing and you're kinda tired of acting like you don't know why that is.

fuck pretend-it-never-happened. it's been a long three months.

he's almost entirely pressed against you, but there is a small gap of space that closes when you open your legs a little wider, hitching them around his waist as his breath stutters against your neck.

it's happened so quick, so effortlessly yet again; you give a purposeful roll of your hips upward and are lost in him all over.

only — it's different than it was before because straddling his lap hadn't done much for you, but now the weighted outline of him is right against your center and the pressure that drags across you sends tingles up your spine and has your toes curling in your socks. when you let out a tiny gasp at the stomach-flipping sensation, tension coils in every curve of his body and the grip around your wrists and in your hair only tightens.

you can't help it; you let out a "katsuki" in the same heady tone as you did in his apartment and it has him falling easily into the slow grind you've been unable to stop thinking about. what shifts across his face is obvious, against your throat, like the scrunch of his brow and the slow drop of his mouth. he tries to muffle his breathy "oh" into your skin, but it echoes throughout your entire body, has an ache beginning between your thighs that he's already soothing.

the nip comes then, teeth sinking gently into your neck as you weakly cry out in surprise, but it's only for a moment before his tongue — wet and heavy and wide — is tasting over your jugular, lips closing around your skin as he sucks experimentally. you let out a proper moan then, squirming against his hands and up into him so that the pressure doubles for the both of you.

katsuki finally relinquishes your wrists, carding his hand down your body before coming to squeeze your hip, your thigh, locking your leg tight around his waist. "yeah," he rasps, voice deeper than you've ever heard it as he presses his forehead into yours. "how do you fuckin' like it?"

being bitten, he means, vengefully, but you're spread open beneath him and he's rutting the hard length of himself against you roughly, eagerly, and panting open-mouthed and you tighten up at the aggression in his tone and in his hands and his very being and —

"fuck," you gasp, loud and wanton, "fuck, katsuki—"

and then you are kissing your best friend.

the boy from down the street that always ruined your hair and taught you where to place your thumb if you were gonna throw a punch. that used his empty pen cartridge to blow spitballs at you and mocked you for losing crane games, even though he ended up giving you the stupid stuffed animal anyway. that had to be king of the castle, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield. that demanded you be his queen, weeds he picked for you woven carefully into your hair by his hands.

katsuki kisses like he's shy — another term you've never thought of in relation to him and all his fire and brimstone; it's slow and a little delayed in comparison to what his hips are doing, as if he's in his head too much and is trying to figure how to move his lips and when. tentative and chaste, until you run your tongue along the seam of his mouth and pry him open a little more.

it's making you hungry; that possessiveness from before is creeping back in, eager to have him in ways nobody else has. you arch into him, biting at his lips and sighing into his mouth as goosebumps break out across his skin.

with a slant of his head, he deepens the kiss and you can feel his nostrils flaring, the fingernails scratching against your scalp, the bruises he's probably leaving on your thigh. he lets up only to breathe, panting into your ear when he begins to bite and suck on your skin again; your earlobe and neck and even the cut of your jaw. like maybe he's hungry, too.

you fist a hand into his shirt just to tug it up his body, feeling the strong contract of his stomach when your fingers ghost against him. katsuki gets the hint quickly, rising up to his knees to tear the material off — much more harshly than he did before, which has you eying his crinkled bandage — and you move fast to take advantage of the new space.

it gives him pause when you yank down your shorts, pulling your legs back to slip them off and fling them somewhere across the room. his face goes red again, and his heaving chest, too, and his eyelids flutter as he takes in the sight of your flimsy, damp cotton underwear. you start to pull the sweater up your stomach, but he's watching so intently — so ravenous — that you get shy, without a bra underneath the too-hot fabric.

in any other situation, katsuki would have grabbed onto this moment, your hesitation, and held it over your head to come back and poke at. cataloged this little weak spot for future arguments, but now —

not once has he ever been gentle with you in anything; it's enough of a surprise that that's even a possibility for him, for the two of you, but he presses his body back into yours and kisses you deep, calloused fingers tracing over the new skin exposed to him. he doesn't try to push the sweater up any further, but one hand slips up your back, to splay between your shoulder-blades like it had before, and he's so close and you've never known him to be this — careful. with anything.

"y'r so—" katsuki rolls his hips again and groans, whispering against your lips. "fuckin' soft."

his sweatpants are still on and you don't know why, but when you reach down to help tug them off, he grabs your wrist before they can go too far.

he presses the heat from his cheeks into your own, like he wants to share it. "you done this before?"

"have you?"

he frowns at your non-answer. "i asked first."

you have. three times, technically, though a phantom pain echoes in your stomach at the memories, and you feel an odd emptiness in your chest that makes you really glad to have the sweater still on. your answer leaves you a little ashamed, under his gaze, and you purposely turn from it. "would...that bother you?"

before, you wouldn't have cared, didn't care, nor were you even thinking of him when it happened. wherever he must have been; u.a, probably, getting ready to make his lifelong dreams a reality while you trusted a boy that didn't look at you the way katsuki is now. that didn't hold you and touch you and kiss you the way your best friend has.

he scoffs, though it doesn't sound as careless as it usually does and he squeezes his eyes shut so you can't read them. the truth that's hidden there. "no," he lies, "why would—" but he doesn't finish, just sighs.

"it was awful anyway," you tell him, offering a small smile when he peeks down at you. he doesn't say anything, so you kiss him once, twice, until his tension is melting away. "should have been you."

the grip on your thigh turns almost painful and he grinds into you so roughly that you both gasp, loud in the tight, barely-there space between you. "yeah," he rasps, sucking another bruise into the hollow of your throat. "fuckin' should have."

you try to imagine it; eighteen and nervous, naked in front of him for the first time since you were seven and got into paint from his mom's workshop, when she made you both strip down in the same room, furious. how different he might have been with you then, how much more unsure. kinder than your ex, without a doubt, even for katsuki, and he probably wouldn't have even gone through with the whole thing, considering how uncomfortable the first time is.

or maybe it wouldn't have been, with him; maybe he would have looked into it, taken the time to wind you up the same way he is now so that you were eager and wet and ready. looking down at you with his wide, almost-black eyes in the dim light of a table lamp. another first to share.

"if i'd have just," he huffs, allowing his sweats to slip down past his hips. shoulders trembling when he makes you moan out his name again. "fuckin'—grown a pair 'n told you—"

the weight of him becomes more obvious, the straining bulge he's rocking into your core, and seeing it is — really getting to you; wearing such tight boxers, you can tell just how close the pink tip of him is to his waistband, nearly peeking out from just how hard he is.

it takes a shrug to get him out of your shoulder, so you can press your lips back to his. "can still be you, katsuki," you breathe, biting on his bottom lip until his tiny frown is gone. "if you want, it can still be you."

for a minute, he indulges himself in the greedy kiss you're giving him, testing strokes of his tongue against your own as his hips stutter out of rhythm — but it's when your fingers brush through the hair at the base of his stomach, trying to slip a hand into his boxers, that he's gasping into your mouth and pushing his body up and away.

determination settles over his face then — along with his vibrant flush — and he doesn't say anything as he grabs you like it's nothing and scoots you up the couch so that your back is pressed to the arm, propped up. once he settles between your thighs, he just rests his face into the plush of your stomach — which is humiliating and has you squirming, but the firmness returns to his hands; holding your hips so that you'll still, so that he can kiss right above your belly button, just as you wanted to do to him.

heat flares in your own cheeks — and down your chest and in your ears and searing on the back of your neck — when you feel the first puff of his warm breath against your underwear, where you're sensitive and slick and aching.

this is completely new to you; your ex-boyfriend probably never considered tasting you here, certainly not with the same desire that's painted across katsuki's face. you have to slap your hands over your eyes and bite your lip, embarrassed, suddenly, at how desperate the simple press of his mouth to your underwear makes you.

"hey, hey," katsuki grunts, pinching at your hips until you peek at him through your fingers. the highlights of his cheeks are crimson and his eyes are black, glaring with an intensity that makes you shiver. "it's my fuckin' turn."

to make you fall apart, he means, just as he had.

at the first hot drag of his tongue against the material, you squirm, leaning your head back so that your expression is hidden. another grunt comes from him, you think in dissatisfaction, but he continues, laving until your mouth is falling open and the fabric between you is drenched.

he's gone just long enough to be replaced by the ghost of his thumb, touching you much too-gently. hunger has you stealing another look at him, watching behind your hands as he stares, blatantly, at the mess he's already made of you, stroking the pad of his finger against the sodden material in interest.

discovering; a curious swipe over where you're aching has you sighing and trembling and his eyes jump back up to your covered face, open mouth curling into the faintest smirk as he does it again and again and again. it's bullshit — how quickly he's figured you out, almost as if your body was meant to be unraveled by his hands — but then again, it didn't take you long either, did it?

"katsuki," you hiss, digging a hand into the hair at the crown of his head, tugging on it until his smile is dropping and his eyes are lidding. your body is on fire and your legs are trying to close around his head, hips squirming as he toys with you, like the little brat he is.

deadly serious, he grabs your underwear and holds it tightly in his fist so that you can wiggle one leg free, and then he's tugging it out of his way and devouring you whole.

it's sloppy, the mixture of spit and slick as runs his tongue through you, wet and wide, and you're so sensitive that you squeak out in surprise, fingers tightening. a groan punches from deep in his chest and your hips buck at the vibration of it, drawn so tight already.

"oh my—" you gasp, dropping your other hand from your face to grip the couch; eyes closed, you're somewhere else entirely, lost in the clumsy swirl of pleasure between your thighs.

katsuki raises his head to breathe, reaffirming your grip in his hair by wrapping his fingers tight over your own. at the shiny sight of his mouth, you can't help but to whimper with a needy roll of your hips, until he's simply sticking out his tongue and allowing you to ride it, to use it as you need to. it's embarrassing, how desperate you are, but his eyes are knife-sharp and trained on you and you've never experienced anything like this.

he moves then, slipping one hand further up under your sweater, cupping your breast carefully as his lids flutter — and the other is shoved between his hips and where they're pressed into the couch. you tighten up at just the idea of him rutting into his hand while kissing your messy slit, moaning openly, head falling back as your eyes start to roll.

this is — fuck — you've never been so turned on in all your life and it's driving you crazy; at one point in time, the thought of bakugou like this would have grossed you out, but now you think it's only like this because of him. anyone else wasn't right, not the way he is, and he's maybe a little impatient and unwieldy, but it's katsuki. between your legs with his mouth on you — something he wanted — and his fingers are brushing over your nipple and the other is down his pants, wrist flexing and —

"fuck, oh fuck, i—" you try to sit up, chasing blindly after the high, but he forces you back down. a long groan is muffled by your skin and when he lifts his chin just a little, a glob of spit falls off his lips and the sight makes your toes curl before he presses back into you and sucks.

everything goes blank as you free-fall into him and you cum quietly, muscles so taut in your body that your voice can't even squeeze out of your throat. the minute you're able to breathe, he's biting a mark into your thigh and yanking you back down under him, lips slick against yours.

tasting yourself on his tongue has you coming out of the heady haze, ravenous; katsuki helps you to shove his boxers down, though he can only gasp tightly when he grinds against you, coating himself.

"'m not—" his soft hair tickles your face when he shakes his head, arms trembling beside your head. "i won't be able to—"

"keep going," you breathe, smearing your mess over the tip of him and down his length as he groans. "i don't care, keep going."

he smashes his lips to yours, though he's only able to meet the pump of your hand a few times before dropping his forehead to your shoulder, spine curling, fingers digging into your hair. katsuki swears long and low, eventually letting out a soft sound you wouldn't have expected from him as his entire body tenses and he spills onto your stomach.

"goddamn it," he moans into the fabric of your sweater, weary, after a long moment. "now 'm fuckin' tired."

and for some reason that makes you laugh, though the lust is dissipating and your nerves are trembling at the memory of how this ended last time. katsuki pulls away suddenly, making your stomach drop, and he doesn't look at you as he detangles himself, awkwardly shuffling away from the couch and out of sight.

you frown down at the mess on your stomach, the way it's pooling in your belly-button — and you'll be damned to let him leave you like this, but just as you finishing reciting over and over what you want to say, he appears, towel in hand.

it's still damp from his shower and you tense on instinct, waiting for him to start twirling it with that stupid grin on his face, but katsuki only arranges your legs so that he can sit between them, carefully wiping you off as his cheeks burn. and you just watch him, the way he runs a hand over your skin to make sure he got it all before helping to finagle your underwear back on properly.

then he just looks at the tv, unmoving. if he's trying to appear casual at all, it's a piss-poor job — but he's never been able to keep his fat mouth shut for long.

the look he gives you lacks its usual heat, though you can't tell if that's just because he's drained or if he's withdrawn for another reason. "what now? six months, a year before you talk to me again?"

and you're annoyed all over again.

"what?" you return his weak glare, sitting up properly so that you're right in his face. "are you kidding me? you didn't talk to me either."

"the hell did you want me to say?" he scoffs and — you could slap him, for ruining everything so quickly. wipe that stupid look off his face with your fist. "'sorry i busted a nut, you free for dinner?'"

"yeah!" the shrill tone of your voice makes his eyes widen, and you throw your hands up in the air, incensed. "that sounds wonderful in comparison to coming home and avoiding me."

"i didn't avoid you," he mutters, though his eyes drift back to the tv. "just didn't have shit to say."

"bakugou," you slap your hands over your face for the second time, though this one is much worse than the last. "how is that fucking fair? what did you want me to say?"

and now — his eyes are full and furious, mouth curling down into an ugly frown that you've so rarely had the pleasure of seeing on his face; every time his mother made you go home and when you told him you weren't gonna try to test into u.a. when he overheard your girl friends teasing you for liking an older boy in your school.

when he was losing you, you realize.

"'m not doin' this shit with you," he mutters, definitive, before swiping his shirt up off the floor and standing. "not doin' this bakugou shit."

"oh my god," you groan, rising, too, because your stomach is twisting at the thought of him leaving again, no matter how angry he's making you. "what does that even mean?"

you trail him as he stomps into your kitchen to grab his work shirt and mask from the counter, trying to interrupt him at every turn, and the scowl on his face only grows when you shoot to stand in front of the door, just as he reaches for his bag.

"you can't—"

"this," he seethes, gesturing to you and then himself before gritting his teeth so hard that they should shatter. "this is why i didn't wanna fuckin' talk to you."

you knew he didn't. the minute lunch ended and when you made out his shape in mitsuki's snapchat: you knew. but hearing it from his mouth is as much of a confirmation as it is a kick in the gut.

there's more he's struggling to say, mouth shifting as he chews on the words and the skin of his lips. his gaze jumps from you to the door to something on the counter before he's swallowing again, staring down at you with brand new eyes.

the light in the kitchen makes them shine, angry and sad. "i can't—" he sighs, nostrils flaring like he's mad at himself for struggling. "go back to bakugou, not after—" a vague hand waves toward the couch. "maybe this is just, i don't know, whatever to you, but i — fuckin' can't."

tell me what the big fuckin' deal is; earlier, he'd demanded it of you, why the silence mattered so much this time when it didn't seem to matter before. in the midst of your anger, you didn't think twice about his wording but now —

he wanted you to say it. katsuki wanted to hear you say that it hurt to be without him for so long, and he kept his distance because he was afraid that you wouldn't.

"you're so stupid," you mutter it quietly, and his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, enraged, but before he can get another dumb word out, you loop your arms around his neck and just — kiss him.

not crazy or wild or lust-driven, just your lips to his, slowly working him out of the shell he's tried to hide behind.

the bag in his hand hits the ground with a soft thud and then his arm is wrapping around your back, tugging you to him as he finally breathes and opens his mouth — and lets you in.

when you cup the sides of his neck, katsuki inhales sharply through his nose, pulse jumping under your fingers, and his lashes flutter against your cheeks as he opens his eyes. he pulls back enough so that you can stare at each other and you realize that eyeliner is still clinging to his lids, making him seem sharper than usual.

you're a little stunned, then, at how beautiful he is.

"i can't go back to bakugou either, dumbass." gently, you knock your forehead into his, smiling at the pout on his face. "you've totally screwed that up for me."

"yeah, well," he huffs, "about time. only took you all my goddamn life."

"sorry i'm late."

"what else is new?" he rolls his eyes and you squeak, indignant, before sticking your tongue out at him, patience worn thin already.

you expect a bite or a pinch to the cheek or another rough violence that falls along the lines that have made up your relationship thus far — but instead there is only something soft that reflects in his eyes and the shy kiss he presses to your lips, something that he's kept safe just for you, guarded, with his stick-sword and cardboard shield.

#narrator voice: willow did not have the spoons to extend the ending #whoopsie #okie okie part 2 #✿ willow writes #✿ one shot: bakugou

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mo0nfairy · 1 year

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😍😍 OMG, I'm gonna be needing a part four to that Leon post stat.

(Love your writing it's amazing just like you are) ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜🤎

part 1. part 2. part 3.

tw :: re4 spoilers, obsessive!leon, yandere!leon, violence, knives, tasers, guns, explosives, framing, murder, abuse of power, death of a character, physical restrainment, noncon touching, thoughts of suicide, being knocked unconscious, shit goes down basically.

⸺ thank u, honeybaby !!!!! i've been vv busy these past few days, but this man has been HEAVY on my mind. i've also been listening to playing dangerous by our lord and savior lana del rey on repeat and it had my brain conjuring up some ideas... (also this part is long so buckle up friends)

you see, you've been praying everyday to earn back those damned memories that slipped from your mind 6 years ago. but in a attempt to do so, all you can feel is a gun against your head, an explosion against your body, and dust permeating your lungs. all before the classic cut to black welcomes you. no crying mouse-ley, no crying guard-dog. just empty darkness. through the abyss, however, you are now able to unveil memories that were buried deep within you. and whether the return of these past events is a good thing or not is up to you.

you remember a late august evening. the cool air and descending leaves would calm you, but your current circumstances prevent you from any serenity. an anonymous tip to the RPD claimed that you were in possession of illegal substances. and somehow, those said drugs had magically appeared into existence within your home. this leaves you here, being driven to the station by the officer of the month, marvin branagh. despite everything, you're grateful marvin was the one to arrest you. you happen to favor him and his basic understanding of boundaries, as opposed to a certain mutt you know far too well.

it's safe to say you've now got quite the reputation in the RPD with how much trouble you get into. and especially with how quickly the problems seem to fade away. you're being escorted through the station until another officer complains to marvin about some kids with fake ID's. he leaves you by yourself at an empty desk with one hand cuffed to the armrest. the desk right beside leon's. you look to the blonde beside you. his head is rested against his arms folded upon his desk, deep in slumber. his cheek is squished against the surface of his arm, pushing his lips out into a duck-like pout. your mugshot peeks out from beneath his sleeping form. you swear through his unintelligible murmuring, you hear a gentle whimper of your name. marvin had mentioned during the drive how he was up all night looking through your case (wouldn't be the first time), but you can't find it in yourself to feel bad for him. you don't trust him. even several years ago, something within you has always prevented you from trusting him.

you fiddle with a mr. raccoon toy as 20 minutes slowly tread by. completely overcome with boredom, you peak over leon's shoulder to see your case file beneath him. maybe you could find something useful inside, like the bastard responsible for all these false claims. using your free hand, you manage to slyly slip your case folder from under his weight. not without a quiet whine of "no, y/n/n... don't leave me..." good god, was he cuddling your mugshot? (it would be the closest he could get to you physically, after all). you ignore him entirely, thanking the heavens that this man is such a deep sleeper.

opening the file, you find standard information about your case. you read through the notes leon left behind, which causes nausea to then stir in your stomach. he jotted down his worries of your case closing and not being able to keep you in the station any longer; there was ideas of any potential loopholes in the system he could take advantage of and prove your innocence. beside his rambling, there was a long list of certain ways he can frame you for crimes to reel you back into his clutches. what in the actual fuck? and just when you thought this situation couldn't get worse, you find he used pictures of your friends at the shooting range, bullet holes piercing through their paper faces.

you read through the evidence in shock, until a sickeningly-sweet tone gasps your name and pulls you out of your trance. you look over the folder to see those familiar blue eyes peering into yours. leon lights up like a golden retriever with a bone when he wakes up and you're the first thing he sees, metaphorical tail wagging and all. to dream of you and to be the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, it is pure heaven! only, instead of the early morning, love-drunk haze within his dreams, he is instead met with the heartbreaking look of horror on your face. his eyes trail down to see you holding his notes and his heart sinks to the pit of his stomach. no, no, no, it wasn't supposed to be like this! it was never supposed to be like this! you were supposed to fall in love with him! you are supposed to be with him forever!

you are supposed to love him! you have to!

and you thought you've seen the worst, you thought you reached the bottom of the iceberg. but you were so, so wrong. it had been 2 weeks since you learned the truth about leon. since then, you were able to find solace within an old friend, claire redfield. not only do you adore her, but the layer of protection she had given you when you complained about the clingy cop on your hip was just the cherry on top. without leon, these 14 days were the most peace you have felt in what feels like months. you didn't know how the man who acted like he needed your presence more than air felt about this sudden separation. and to be completely honest, you didn't really care.

now, with your arm hooked around claire's, you two walk home after a night out in raccoon city. you're repeating old inside jokes and clutching your chest in heaps of rib-straining laughter. everything is full of high-spirits until you notice a certain cop car sitting in the street. claire enters your estate first, guarding you protectively while you follow her footsteps. you find (you guessed it!) no other than leon kennedy rummaging through your belongings. and the look on leon's face when he sees you with someone else is nothing short of pure anguish, sheer betrayal. he is jealous — so much so that it practically suffocates the room. you've seen plenty of emotions expressed by leon and the consequences that followed, but you've never seen first-hand what jealousy may compel him to do. considering the pictures of your friends he used as target practice, you feel as though the outcome won't be any good.

claire breaks the silence, "you disgusting pig! i'm calling my brother down here and he's gonna kick your-" her roar of anger is cut off with a sharp groan.

leon stands, taser gun in hand, as the electrodes strike into claire's body. she then falls to the ground with a loud thump, her form convulsing from the electric shocks waving through her. rushing to her side, you attempt to help her. but, you then cave into yourself when leon walks over in three large strides. and you now realize he is absolutely terrifying when he is jealous. his voice drops to a low husk as he demands you tell him who the fuck this is, a major contrast to the bubbly-puppy you're grown familiar with. you are left flabbergasted and are unable to mutter even a syllable.

you aren't even granted a mere second to compose of yourself before leon pulls a knife, plunging it deep into claire's chest. a scream of pure terror erupts from your throat. you're painted red as he relentlessly stabs your best friend, curling yourself into a corner and hiding your face in your arms. through your tear-stained vision, you see the lifeless body of claire and leon standing above her, huffing with fury like some blood-thirsty creature. something in his gaze perceptibly softens when he sees you, so scared and feeble. and it shatters his heart. after all, leon would take every life on planet earth just to see your lips curl into a smile, even once more. but, nothing could have prepared you for the words that would then leave his mouth.

he turns his body cam on. "y/n l/n, you are under arrest for the murder of... whoever this was. you have the right to remain silent. anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law." you stare at leon entirely flabbergasted, but you're too exhausted to fight against him.

he bends down to you, light whispers of "you're ok, it wasn't your fault" and "i've got you, sweet angel" doing little to comfort you. with his gentle hands against you, leon proceeds to cuff you with the same softness you would use to handle a baby bird. and you let him take you away, because you are too caught up in looking at your best friend who was laughing with you just minutes ago now dead on the ground. you cry to yourself in the backseat of the cop car the whole way to the station.

by the time you get there, you are entirely in a state of shock. tears of dread stream down your cheeks, but your face is nothing short of emotionless. you are so caught up in your head, you don't even notice the whispers of other officers there. they gossip about how considering your track record, it's no wonder you'd end up here for good. a sharp glare from the man guiding you through the department is enough for them to shut their mouths. you're then brought into an interrogation room, with cameras off and no other presence besides you and this mad-man at your beck and call.

cuffed to a chair once again, leon locks the door behind him. he then drops to his knees and ties his arms around your waist, burying his head into you. it takes several seconds for reality to hit you, but you soon realize he is crying. and if you weren't restrained currently, you would've pushed him off and made him suffer a fate far worse than what claire endured. now, the two of you are sobbing together, but for entirely different reasons. you, full of grief over someone you love being murdered just moments ago. leon, full of agony over how the gleam of emotion he was so infatuated with left your eyes. all because of him.

you muster enough strength to plead to the blonde, your voice coming out through hoarse, slurred sniffles. but much to your dismay, your cries fall on deaf ears. if only leon had more morality than he did love for you.

"i'm so sorry, y/n, i just needed to hold you. even for just one last time” he picks his head up to look at you, face breaking out in a pitiful smile. “and i can't lose you. not again.” he grabs hold of your hands from behind your back and begins caressing the digits of your fingers. and the contrast between his smile and the crazed look in his eyes has you shuddering in apprehension.

"you're stuck with me to the end."

your eyes then flutter open to see a blinding white light; you begin to hear the quiet chant of a monitor beside you. where the hell am i? despite your current confusion, all you can think about is how you grieved for your best friend in the grimy cells of the RPD, how everyone turned into undead creatures just a week later, and how leon protected you from anything as small as a paper cut. you remember how several zombies overpowered him and how you took advantage of the opportunity, running like hell away and out of raccoon city. you remember the burning of your lungs, the rain on your skin, the hope of getting far, far away from this nightmare. you also remember the fear you felt when umbrella snatched you into their possession, to where you would soon forget everything that happened. including leon kennedy.

you're in the present now, as you can tell by the sheepskin jacket around your form and the hospital bed you're laid upon. it takes you too long to realize that you're safe, out of the hellhole that is los iluminados. looking down, you find a gun sitting by your hip (leon made the declaration that if you were to never wake up again, he wouldn't hesitate to end it all right then and there). you shift your train of sight to see leon at your bedside with his head in his hands while his entire body trembles with trepidation. the sight of this lovesick maniac at your side causes you to spring forward with a harsh gasp. his heartbeat skyrockets at the sudden occurrence. you're alive, and leon can't stop the tears of relief that fall from his eyes.

"hi, pretty... i'm here, you're safe now..." the smile on his face is borderline terrifying. his hands cup your face, practically clinging onto you like a lifeline.

"i remember... i remember everything..." the statement is entirely said to yourself, your gaze distant and not entirely there.

his eyebrows scrunch upwards, gaze softening (if it can even soften more than it already has). leon then pulls your face to his and molds his lips against yours aggressively, desperately. it isn't soft, sweet, or romantic in any sense. it is inexperienced, but overflowing with raw passion, need, and obsession. he only stops when the two are you are breathless and gasping for air. a dreamy sigh escapes leon's lips once he parts from you, gazing into your eyes as if you were something holy (which you are, obvi, but i digress). leon is so horrifically, irrevocably, disgustingly in love with you. and you can feel everything in his all-too overwhelming kiss.

he then engulfs you and melts into your arms like a noodle in boiling water. his light-headed, lovesick laughter fans against your neck. leon somehow pulls you impossibly closer to him, almost as if he were trying to morph the two of you together. it is too much; he is all you can feel, smell, touch. but, without a sliver of strength in your body, you are entirely vulnerable to him and his captivation.

"ashley... she didn't make it..." there’s a certain tone in leon's voice you can’t explain, but you shudder beneath it, anyway. he tells the information softly, but his voice is full of too much exhilaration to be normal. with these newfound memories, that dread returns to your stomach at the thought of what leon is capable of. what leon may have done to ashley while you were out cold.

through the abyssal darkness, your wish has been granted. you have now retrieved all lost memories.

and now, you know why you never were able to trust leon kennedy.

the end !! hehe, thanks for the fun ride babes.

HOWEVER……….. this is surely not the end of my resident evil stained brainrot. so i will not be continuing this series, but i will most certainly be pouring out everything in my RE-obsessed brain. only if u would like to see it, of course. if u do, pls send me some asks!! and thank u again !!!

#this is the end hehe #resident evil 4 #re4 #re4 remake #resident evil #leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy imagine #yandere leon kennedy #yandere resident evil #yandere #gn reader #gender neutral reader #venus’ brain #moonfairy

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love-byers · 2 years

Text

it’s been a year, mike. (MAJOR BYLER REVELATION INCOMING---MUST READ)

mike and will constantly saying "a year" or "all year" when talking about the time since the move when it's only been six months keeps me up at night

i saw people talking about how they say a year when it was only 6 months because they’re idiots in love and are being dramatic. as cute as that is, i didn’t really buy it until RIGHT NOW. i just saw it as a cute headcanon, but now i see that the writers could be enabling you to make this realization by use of subtext.

allow me to explain

^ these are the three times they say it

at first i thought the writers may have just used year because that’s less confusing for the audience because 1 year time jumps have been used before in stranger things and are super popular in books/movies/tv shows. BUT, it clicked for me that that doesn’t make sense. the timeline in stranger things has always been acknowledged. throughout s1 we hear the amount of time will has been missing several times (as far as i remember). in s2, mike counted the days el had been gone. he called her every night for 353 days. when el and hopper argue in s2, el uses specific numbers to tell us how long she’s really been with him. in s3 hopper specifically says ‘6 long months’ when talking about how long he’s been dealing with mike (lol). that's the same amount of time between s3 & s4, yet mike and will don't say 6 months, they say year. there’s a date at the start of every season. and in s4, el says this in her letter to mike.

185 days = 6 months (almost on the dot)

the writers have specifically told us how long it’s been since they moved, down to the amount of days. and it’s 6 months, not a year. this makes it very hard for me to write off mike and will saying ‘year’ as just the writers slipping up. also in el’s letter, she says this:

this is INSANE.

mike and will are saying the wrong amount of time. the writers aren’t stupid, they know how much time has passed since season 3. THEY WROTE IT. i’m a writer as well, and i know how much time is passing between what im writing because I CREATED IT. IT CAME FROM MY BRAIN. and like i said, the stranger things writers have proven to be very keen on dates and time. all of this happening in the same season is not a slip up, its on purpose. stranger things 4 had a 30 million dollar budget PER EPISODE. do the math--that’s 270 MILLION DOLLARS. and yes, i know they supposedly forgot will’s birthday, but that’s different. his birthday is a date that was mentioned one time and served no purpose aside from creating emotional tension in that one scene. none of their birthdays are important to the plot, hell, will’s is the only one mentioned in the show and it wasn’t even on his birthday. one date that was mentioned one time and never brought up again is NOT the same as continuous attention given to timelines/time jumps over the course of all four seasons. and some fans theorize that they’re lying about forgetting his birthday anyway. either way, its not the same.

so....the writers want us to know that emotions can make time speed up or slow down....and that el’s week has felt very fast because of her emotions....and then show us mike and will SPECIFICALLY deviating from the timeline established in the SECOND LINE OF EPISODE ONE “yeah, but you knew she was having problems for months and didn’t tell me.” “its been six months, mike.”, or “it’s been months, mike.” or not even including that line at all, or “the past couple months have been weird” would’ve worked and stayed in check with the timeline we’ve already established. but when writing those scenes, they chose to say year. which is flat out wrong and way off from the actual time they’ve been apart.

and what did el say makes time speed up or slow down? emotions? oh, okay got it

the first two times mike and will say it’s been a year are in the same scene: the rink o mania fight. emotions are high. they’re in a pretty serious fight. its not about something dumb, it’s about their ten year friendship and how they’ve grown apart. their friendship is VERY important to both of them. (remember when mike said asking will to be his friend is the best thing he’s ever done?) the third time it’s said is when mike is opening up to will in episode 4. it’s a very emotional scene. mike is being honest and vulnerable with his feelings. in this conversation he apologizes and admits that will didn’t deserve how mike had been treating him, which mike never does to anyone else. he admits his relationship with will is different and home isn’t the same without him, and that he feels like he lost will and wants to be best friends again.

and the obvious: emotions making time speed up or slow down doesn’t just apply to in the heat of the moment occasions. (in theory) mike and will are in love. the six months they’ve been separated felt like a year to them because of their emotions, just like el said in the letter. and mind you, will is canonically in love with mike, yet they’re both acting the same way about this. it’s not just will. it makes sense for six months to feel like a year to will because of his emotions, because he is in love with mike, right? well, mike feels the exact same way. this isnt even about the characters as people. narratively speaking, mike and will both doing this doesn’t make sense if it’s unrequited. one way writers show how characters aren’t on the same page about something, a relationship for instance, is whether they’re on the same emotional page about different plot points. something major and emotional happens to all the characters---now we watch how they react to it. and i don’t mean small disagreements & such, characters are allowed to feel differently about things. i mainly mean when whatever happened is painful and important to one or more of the characters. for example, steve and nancy. steve and nancy didn’t feel the same about barb, barb’s parents, and everything that happened in general. steve wanted to keep on like nothing happened while nancy was literally eaten up with grief, guilt, and trauma. jonathan was the one who was on the same page as her and made her feel better about carrying that baggage around all the time. they understood each other. and who was nancy in love with? jonathan. narratively, that makes perfect sense and even further sways the audience into understanding they’re in love.

so...what? the emotions that made mike and will’s six months apart feel like a year to them is....friendship? not a fucking chance. mike and el are a couple, and according to mileven fans, they’re the main couple of the show who are in love and are going to be an endgame couple. why save this incredibly romantic coded trope for will and mike, the best platonic bros? idk, you tell me. and the fact that the line about emotions came from someone in the love triangle?? and it was said to someone else in the love triangle?? not a coincidence.

edit: someone reblogged and pointed out how el said 185 in her letter to mike that we SEE him reading. there is no reason for him not to know how long it's been. so either he isn't paying attention to a damn thing el says in her letters or he is just extremely in love with will

another edit: i keep seeing reblogs of people saying they're probably referring to the time since mike and el started dating, which i used to think too. but the context when mike and will say a year makes it hard for me to believe.

"but you knew she was having trouble for like a year and you didn't tell me"

here mike is specifically talking about el's bullying problem which has only been going on since the byers have been gone and she enrolled in school. what he's talking about is something very strictly related to the time since they moved, and it's been six months, not a year.

"you called maybe a couple times. it's been a year, mike. meanwhile el has like a book of letters from you."

will is again, very specifically talking about something that strictly happened between the time since the byers left and the start of s4. he's saying how crazy it is that it's been a whole year and mike has barely called. but it hasn't been a year, it's only been six months.

"the last year has been weird, you know? and you know, max and lucas and dustin, they're great, they're great, it's just..it's hawkins it's not the same without you. and i feel like maybe i was worrying too much about el...i don't know maybe i feel like i lost you or something."

this one i will cut some slack, i think he could be talking about literally the last year, as in since the beginning of 1985. but immediately after he starts saying how home hasn't been the same without will (and separates his relationship with will as being different than his relationship with max dustin and lucas and even el), something specific to the time since they byers have been gone, six months, not a year:

in conclusion: mike and will referring to their time apart as a year when it’s only been six months is not a mishap on the writer’s part. they go out of their way to make sure you know exactly how much time has passed, down to the number of days, and they put this much attention on time in every season. and in the same season mike and will do this, there is a line in the SECOND LINE OF THE OPENING SCENE OF THE SEASON about emotions making time go by faster or slower.

byler is going to be a s5 surprise, but its not coming out of nowhere. there’s piles of subtext in every single season---enough that when you look back, it all makes sense. small details like this aren’t outlandish because this is without a doubt the length writers will go to keep something hidden, and in byler’s case and many other tv show plots case, to keep something a surprise. and for christ’s sake, WATCH THE SHOW! the amount of attention to even the TINIEST details in stranger things is insane. they put so much thought into everything---not just ships, and not just byler. idk how many times the writers are going to have to say details matter and that there are no coincidences until people believe them.

anyways, byler is endgame. thanks for reading :)

#another day of proving byler endgame done #all in a day's work #they are in love and they are dramatic #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #byler s4 #byler s5 #byler endgame #byler is endgame #byler is canon #mileven is bones #milkvan is bones #stranger things #byler analysis #stranger things analysis #stranger things 4

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crheativity · 6 months

Note

Can we get a part three of This with riddle and Ruggie?? Thank you! 💜 it's fine if you can't do it btw!

SUMMARY: Someone's picked a fight with Prefect! But he isn't going to let anyone hurt you anymore. Not on his watch. Part 3! Part 1 w/ Cater and Azul can be found here, and part 2 w/ Vil and Silver can be found here.

WARNING: Riddle calls someone a coward. Also the words idiot and jerk are in his part. People get hurt in Ruggie’s part but it isn’t really gory or anything

COMMENTS: I’m so sorry this took so long, my hands have been in a lot of pain the past couple months and are only starting to get better 🥲 I hope you enjoy it! Ruggie and Riddle were super good ideas for this prompt, this was so much fun to write! Thank you for the request! Also, if anyone has any ideas for more characters they’d like for this series, feel free to send in a request!

It must be raining.

You were just out in a storm. That’s all.

That would explain the crack of thunder that collided with your face and gave you a throbbing headache. The warm liquid blurring your vision and dripping out of your mouth and nose was just the rain, not some unholy mix of blood and tears. The chills that froze you where you stood was just humidity and the cold, not adrenaline and raw fear.

And yet, even with your desperate brain trying to come up with some reasonable explanation, the only thunderstorm you could see in front of you was a student you couldn’t recognise. Not with your head pounding like this. Not with the thunder in your ears.

There was something about the boy that scared you. That wasn’t uncommon - this school was full of terrifyingly promising mages. But the scariest thing wasn’t how he wielded his magical pen with deadly accuracy, or how strong he so evidently was.

It was just how much he seemed to be enjoying the mix of horror and pain, of blood and tears, that must have been so evidently and delicately splashed across your face.

His smile twisted as he raised his pen again, something in those cruel eyes of his setting off alarm signals in your aching head.

“This’ll teach you not to meddle where you don’t belong.”

The pen glowed, pure magic surrounding it as he prepared to shoot. His sadistic eyes were alight with entertainment. He knew what he was about to do. He didn’t care.

You squeeze your eyes shut and braced for the lightning.

“OFF WITH YOUR HEAD!”

Your eyes snapped open just in time to see the lightning, arcing gracefully yet violently through the air.

Aiming straight for your assailant’s neck.

“What the- hey! Get this thing off of me!” The boy snapped, tugging at the heart shaped collar that had just appeared around his neck.

“I most certainly will not!”

Spinning around, you saw two boys making their way towards you. One was tall with short green hair, glasses, and a familiar symbol - a club - painted just below his left eye. He looked worried, his gaze flicking from you, to your assailant, to his companion and back again.

The second boy made your heart skip a beat.

His small frame shook with rage. His face, twisted with anger, had become as red as his hair. He marched straight past you, heading towards your assailant, his magical pen gripped tightly in his hand.

Uh oh.

The moment Riddle Rosehearts decides to get involved, heads roll.

“How dare you?!” He yelled. “Using magic in a fight is a clear violation of the rules! Did you think you could just shamelessly flaunt your rule-breaking and expect me not to see it?! And attacking the magic-less prefect of all people! If you really must break the rules, at least fight someone on an equal footing as you, coward!”

The courtyard was dead silent as Riddle verbally ripped into the student, chewing him out for several rule violations and other discourtesies.

“But the prefect started it-!” Your assailant protested.

“I don’t know what history you and the prefect may have, but in this instance you attacked without provocation and without warning!” Riddle huffed. “And don’t try to lie to me. I saw the whole thing.”

The boy visibly deflated. There was no getting out of this for him.

“I want to see your student ID. Now.” Riddle ordered.

The boy sighed, pulled his ID out of his bag and handed it to Riddle.

“Ah, Pomefiore, hm? Be thankful you’re not in Heartslabyul,” he snapped, handing the ID back to the student. “Although,” he added, “Vil Schoenheit is certainly not the most lenient of housewardens. He will deal with you appropriately.”

You felt a hand rest on your shoulder. Looking up, you realised Trey Clover had stopped next to you.

He gave you a small, strained smile. “Are you alright, Prefect?”

Riddle glanced back over at you, a little startled. It appeared he had forgotten you were here.

“I’m alright… I think.” You managed, sending both the dormleader and vice-dormleader a smile.

Riddle’s face somehow got even redder and he looked away. You would’ve thought it almost funny if the world hadn’t started spinning. You quickly grabbed Trey’s arm to steady yourself.

“Maybe not.” You added.

Trey reached over to support you. “Riddle, you know more first aid than I do. I’ll take him to Pomefiore and explain the situation to Vil, but maybe you should take care of the Prefect or something?”

“Very well.” Riddle made his way over to you, reaching out to support you. He gently led you over to a bench and pulled out a handkerchief.

“Please pardon me, I’m going to administer first aid to you now.” He spoke stiffly. You nodded dazedly, and then felt a pang of regret as your headache tripled in intensity. You focused on breathing steadily as he cleaned the blood from your face and examined your injuries.

“You’ll have a couple of bruises, but nothing serious, thankfully.” He sighed in relief and instructed you to apply pressure to your nose and angle your head downwards to stem the bleeding.

Slowly but surely, the bleeding stopped. Riddle sat with you quietly the entire time, silently supporting you. You got the impression that he didn’t quite know what to say or do, and just how close you both were wasn’t helping matters. That was alright, though. Just having him here was enough.

“Prefect…” Riddle spoke so quietly you weren’t even sure he’d spoken. He was looking away from you, his face a light pink colour. He seemed embarrassed.

“What’s up?”

Riddle took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “I… apologise for losing my temper back there. And also for not arriving and stopping him sooner. I’m truly sorry.”

You stared at him for a moment, then cracked a smile. “It’s alright. Although it would’ve been nice not to get hurt in the first place, it’s not your fault at all. You aren’t the idiot who tried to hurt me anyway.”

Riddle flinched at your ‘swear’. “Prefect!”

You grinned mischievously. “Wha-at? There’s no rule against calling someone an idiot, is there? Besides, you called him a coward earlier. If I’m going to get in trouble for calling someone an idiot then you should get in trouble for calling someone a coward.”

Riddle smiled and shook his head, his cheeks slightly pink. “Well then, I suppose I’ll have to watch my tongue. As Heartslabyul dorm leader, I simply must set a good example for my dorm members. Which means I must refrain from calling people… jerks.”

You gasped and clapped your hand over your mouth, trying so hard not to burst out laughing. “Riddle!”

His eyes lit up as you said his name. He looked at you so gently, so lovingly as you struggled not to laugh that you felt your face going warm.

Wouldn’t it be nice to stay like this forever….?

A yell of pain shot through the air, wrenching your eyes open in fear. Stumbling backwards, you drank in the scene in front of you before realising in horror what had happened.

Someone had jumped in front of you.

A beastman, to be more specific.

The boy stood protectively in front of you, breathing hard, hackles raised. He had dirty blond hair and an outfit much too big for him. His right hand was gripped tightly around his magical pen, his left was holding his right shoulder. Blood was beginning to fall at his feet.

Wait, blood?

Scanning him again quickly and you saw them: shards of ice crystals stuck out of his shoulder at every angle. Your stomach twisted and you felt the bile rise in the back of your throat.

“Prefect, go!”

“But-“

The boy turned at you and snarled. “Run!”

You stumbled backwards, stunned. A spell - another gift from your assailant - flew by your ear. Scrambling backwards, you cast your eyes around to find a place to hide.

There!

Sprinting over and sliding into the hiding spot, you peaked your head around and watched.

It was brutal.

The boy who saved you - the boy you now recognise as your crush, Ruggie Bucchi - fought viciously, yet his opponent was not the kind to give up easily. For every spell Ruggie had, this boy somehow managed to dodge or deflect almost every single one of them, and fire off a few of his own.

Come on, Ruggie. You thought. Please be okay.

Ripping your gaze from the fight, you pulled a packet of wipes from your bag and forced yourself to clean your wounds. Anything to distract from what was going on.

After all, there was no way you could help. You were magicless after all, so it was probably best to just leave things to those who could fight, right?

…Right?

A yell of pain forced your attention back on the fight. Both boys were now breathing hard, blood strewn across the courtyard. From the looks of things, neither boy could beat the other. Ruggie couldn’t break a hole in his defence and the other boy could barely hit Ruggie, who was sprinting and dodging like his life depended on it.

“Stay still, mutt!” The boy snapped, firing off spell after spell.

Ruggie didn’t even respond. His concentration remained on dodging and finding a weak point, but your assailant didn’t leave him time to cast a spell.

He just needed an opening.

Steeling yourself, you grabbed a rock and snuck around the two of them. You adjusted your grip on the rock.

Please, don’t let this hit anyone. You prayed, then stepped out into the open.

“HEY DIPSTICK, OVER HERE!” You yelled as loud as you could and then hurled the rock in his direction.

The boy whirled around and deflected the rock with magic in an instant. Seeing you, he seized his chance and prepared to fire off another spell. You squeezed your eyes tight and held your hands in front of your face.

“Laugh with me!”

No spell came. Opening your eyes, you saw the boy in front of you, clearly angry. He walked towards you rigidly, as if he was trying to do anything but that. He pulled his student ID out of his bag and handed it to you.

Then he turned around and walked away. Your eyes followed him as he walked a ways off, then stopped.

The boy whirled around, his magical pen aimed directly at you and began to cast-

And then was immediately knocked off his feet from a blast of wind magic.

Someone grabbed your arm. “C’mon Prefect, now’s when we run-“

Ruggie ran hard, tugging you along with him as you dodged through crowds of people, eventually slowing to a stop in front of some empty classrooms.

You gasped for breath and put your hands on your knees, trying to recover from your sprint. Glancing up, you saw Ruggie leaning against the wall, breathing hard.

He looked awful.

His shoulder looked worse, his uniform was singed and he smelled of smoke. He had countless scratches and scrapes. Yet despite all this, he caught your eye and smiled painfully.

“What… whatcha starin’ at, Prefect?” He panted, clearly exhausted.

“Your shoulder…” you managed. His smile fell and he shrugged - then grimaced.

“‘S fine. Don’t need to worry, shishish-“ he cursed and winced.

You walked over to him and looked him over. His face was ever so slightly pink as he looked away. He shook slightly as you tugged off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.

Pulling out your packet of wipes, you looked up at him. “This okay?”

He glanced at you briefly, his face still pink, his ears flat against his head. He looked away again. “‘S whatever.” He mumbled.

You gently cleaned up his cuts and scrapes. Looking at his shoulder injury, you sighed. “I can’t do anything about that one. I’m taking you to the nurse’s office.”

“But-“ he protested, but fell silent when you cut him off.

“No buts. That’s serious, Ruggie. I’ll buy you doughnuts if you let me take you.” You added, hoping the bribe would work.

He hesitated, then smiled at you. “Fine. Shishishi, if I didn’t know better, I’d guess you’d care for me or somethin’.”

You simply stared at him.

He went red. “P-prefect-? Got somethin’ you wanna say? Haha…”

“Come on,” you said with a smile and a sigh. “Let’s get you to the infirmary.”

“Okay.”

What a dummy. You thought as you pulled him along. I think I love him.

♥Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed it!!♥

#Rhea’s TWST fics~!#twisted wonderland #Riddle Rosehearts #TWST #TWST x reader #TWST fanfic #riddle rosehearts x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #ruggie bucci x reader #rheasks!#twst fluff #Ruggie bucchi #riddle x reader #Ruggie x reader

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cno-inbminor · 1 year

Text

repertum

plot: no matter how much you want alhaitham, you don’t think you can ever have him. he may or may not try to prove otherwise // ft. lumine and nahida

warnings: afab!reader, 3.4 spoilers, smut but reader and alhaitham get blue balled, angst, fluff and comfort later. probably some incorrect game lore and timing/mechanics.

a/n: :)))))

EDIT: Part 2 (FINAL) | AO3 Link

“I don’t–” You rush out before your breath hitches. “-- think this is a good idea, ah–”

Alhaitham keeps you pinned to the wall of your apartment, pelvis undulating against yours in an erratic beat. He drinks in every gasp that leaves your pretty little mouth, the same lips that have haunted his passing thoughts for the past month. His fingers dig into your waist and he leaves subcutaneous blooming sore spots on your shoulder and collarbone, relishing in your hisses of pain and pleasure, if the grip you have around his neck is any indicator.

Your words send a spike of adrenaline – he vehemently denies the possibility it may be fear instead – through his veins, to do anything to keep you right where he wants you, and he gives into the primal urge to dig his teeth into the very shoulder he’s been nibbling and sucking onto for the last ten minutes. The resulting yelp from you keeps him sated, and he places a soft kiss where he’d bitten you; a stark contrast.

Alhaitham lifts his head to look into your eyes, pupils swallowing over your irises and your eyelids half-open. He takes pride in having been able to push you towards such a state of inhibitions. “And what would make you think such a thing?” His lips ask against yours, tone dark with an alarming amount of clarity that you find absolutely unfair and unjust.

Despite his protests, there are several reasons why this isn’t a good idea. To be a scholar and also involved with the Akademiya’s former scribe? You’re practically begging to be academically slaughtered by the masses, as everyone knows Alhaitham has the ears of the General Mahamatra and, at times, Lord Kusanali herself. It goes both ways – having always been regarded as the level-headed, purely rational individual, most would agree that his current actions are the complete opposite. Those traits themselves are a recipe for disaster – sure, you could be witty and hold your own, but it was clear to you that you could not give him what he needs, he neither for you.

The sexual tension between you two is palpable. You briefly remember the day you first exchanged words with the man right before his new promotion. Both of you had reached for the same textbook one early, early morning, and being that it was the only copy in the entire library, you were determined to get your hands on it.

“I believe my hand was here first,” you said in a matter-of-fact tone. Part of you was screaming at yourself for even thinking about going against Alhaitham in any way, but this research paper is due next week and you will not let anyone hinder your progress. “I can give it to you when I’m done with it.”

Annoyance with a hint of amusement had crossed his features as he crossed his arms in front of his chest, the action drawing your gaze. The man had always been a great distance from you, but now seeing him up close, you can understand why some of the other scholars made it a point to mention just how attractive this man was. The brains, brawn, and looks all in a single individual? The archons were quite unfair, if you had anything to say about it.

“I believe the scholars understand they should not hinder any work of mine. It would be best for me to take it, and I will return it once I no longer need it.”

You wanted to wipe the smugness of his face. With a kiss or with a book thrown at him, you don’t care to differentiate – but the confidence he exuded was starting to irritate you, and you ignore the beginnings of an unwanted heat swirling in your core. “Well if the Scribe would so kindly lend it to me, I only need it for the next 36 hours and it will be all yours afterward. Surely your work can wait for that long?”

He took a step towards you to level with your impertinent gaze. Part of you thought you had had the higher ground, granted you were standing on a step ladder so you could reach the book, but you then saw that even with the extra centimeters, you were simply at about the same height as the man. Again, unfair.

“What is your name?” He interrogated.

“What is it to you?” You snapped back. If he really wanted to, he could demand to see your student identification credentials. But part of him wanted to hold back, to watch you bend to his will.

“I may consider granting you your wish if I can learn of your identity.”

The look of surprise on your face had been the beginning of his downfall. Normally the other scholars would have cowered beneath his presence by now. Yet the little spurts of fight from you had elicited some excitement from within, a feeling he hadn’t felt in quite a bit of time. Such emotions were for the weak for they clouded one’s judgment and logic.

“And if I don’t?”

“Then I will take this and, once again, will return it when I am done with it.”

He outstretched his hand to lay his claim on the book’s spine, fingers pressing gently against yours that were still adamant in your pursuit. Both of you made it a point to ignore how the touch made goosebumps form on your arm, thankfully hidden underneath your clothes. The Akademiya’s Scribe knowing you by name never boded well, but it was 2AM and you were perhaps too desperate.

In a state of unfounded confidence and irrationality, your fingers moved to intertwine with his. Watching his jawline slack the slightest bit fueled you, and you dragged your hands off the shelf and pressed them against his chest. With it, you leaned into the bounds of his personal space, using everything you had left in you to keep his eyes on you. Perhaps his pupils had become dilated, you can’t remember at this point, but it was enough distraction for you to use your other hand to snatch the book from its confines between other hardcovers. Once acquired, you disentangled from his grasp and took hurried steps off the step-ladder, clutching the book to your chest. You backpedaled some decimeters away to create some much needed distance. Alhaitham seemed stunned into silence. Or perhaps he was plotting your murder.

“(Y/N).”

And before you disappeared around the corner, he called out to warn, “I will see you in 36 hours.”

For many weeks afterwards, he made it a point to alert you of his presence whenever you were in the Akademiya’s building. If you were furiously annotating notes from multiple annals spread across your table, he would saunter by and subtly brush his cape against your clothes. If you were simply reading for pleasure, a knee pulled up into your chest because fuck Akademiya propriety, he would make sure to sit at the table across yours and in a chair on the side facing you head on. Did he let himself stare at you too much, finding some enjoyment in watching your facial expressions as you read? Perhaps. If it was late at night and you looked incredibly stressed, he would invite himself to look over your shoulder and observe your information, only to point out some details and offer tidbits of advice. Sometimes you found yourself in deep, research-heavy conversations and got a taste of Alhaitham’s inner workings, which only made you want more.

Tonight after a big project, he invited you to a drink at Lambad’s Tavern, though it was under the guise of needing some help bringing food back for his roommate afterwards, and you were going there anyway. Tucked in the corner, you, aided by alcohol, had let your inhibitions fall. You would need to be passed out to not feel the heat and weight of his gaze on you for the entire night, and you found yourself reveling in it. Yet it didn’t make sense – why would he find an interest in you, out of all the people within Sumeru? Alhaitham could have his pick of anyone, yet he decided to put his eggs in a basket with your name and face on it.

The thoughts stewed inside, even as he made a nonchalant offer to walk you to your apartment. “It is late, and you have no means to defend yourself.” That had been the end of it as he walked towards the path leading to the outskirts of the city, and you had no choice but to follow. At your doorstep, underneath a waning gibbous and cloudy skies, Alhaitham’s body language communicated his hesitancy in leaving you alone for the night, and with a swallow, you had invited him in for a cup of coffee.

He gave a nod. The door clicked shut. And as soon as your eyes with hints of lust met his, he made his move – surging forward to pull you into a kiss, and then spinning to press you against the wall with his thighs slotted between yours. The faint, yet unbridled moan for just mere kisses made his chest swell, and he swiped his tongue against your bottom lip.

“It’s just not – Haitham – a good idea,” you pant, thoughts back in the present moment.

“I disagree,” he retaliates, pulling back to remove your shirt. The rate of his disappearing self-control only increases when he does everything to commit this moment to memory. You’re so beautiful, he laments, torn between wanting to maintain the sanctity of your figure and forcing you to succumb and accept his attempts to claim you. He wants you to feel his kisses and bites for days, so you would never forget and inevitably crave his touch.

You don’t want to argue with him now, not when you finally have him in your hands. Your lips desperately meet his again as you unclip your bra and shrug it off. He follows suit and undoes his cape so he can pull his sleeveless shirt over his head, groaning when he pulls you close and his bare skin takes in the heat emanating from yours. Feeling your hardened nipples slide against his pectorals should not be so alluring, yet he finds himself wishing you two could stay in bed for eternity, naked and entwined and drunk on each others’ touch.

Fingers dig into his silver-gray locks and tugs, to which he answers with a punishing nip on your neck. “Bedroom,” you plead so prettily and he can only let you draw back to lead the way. He wastes little time in pressing forward until the back of your legs hit the bed frame, causing you to fall back. From mere kisses and heavy petting, the look on your face is already so sinful, and Alhaitham can’t help but imagine how you’d look once his cock was inside you.

“You siren and minx,” he sighs in faux displeasure, planting gentle pecks down your chest and abdomen until he hovers over the band of your pants. He tugs them and your underwear down with the aid of your lifted hips – and doesn’t miss the glossy thread of your slick from your vulva to the damp cotton. When it eventually breaks, he feels twinges of regret for not being able to catch it on his tongue and have a taste of you, like a man dying of thirst in the desert.

His hands have a firm grip underneath your thighs and pushes them towards your chest. Alhaitham curses when he has the full view of your pussy, puffy and wet and demanding any attention. “Haitham, please,” and you sound like you’re on the verge of tears.

“Hmm?” His voice teases as his fingers spread and his thumbs are so, so close to where you want them to be. Your pitiful cry is answered with– “Use your words. You surely have never had a problem with that.”

You beat a fist against his chest in retaliation, though there is little to no force behind it. The pathetic attempt at communicating your embarrassment is not lost on you.

Yet despite the heated blood in your veins, the near desperation to climb this high, your heart stills at the smirk sitting devilishly on his lips. You suddenly become hyperaware of every part of your body that he is seeing and touching, and the rational part of your brain returns once more to remind you, again, that this is not going to end well.

In the years that Alhaitham has roamed and trudged through the hierarchy and floors of the Akademiya, everybody knows he is not one for intimate relationships, whether it be deeper friendships or romantic partnerships. So for him to spend his precious free time with an ordinary scholar such as you, no legacy or prestige to your name – it made no sense. You are more than ready to understand that if this night were to run its due course, the end result would be the same if it were to never happen.

The dread that settles into Alhaitham’s body is murky and viscous as he watches sobering clarity fill your system, most noticeably in your eyes. Irises expanding, pupils shrinking, the life and spark from earlier swept away, don’t make much sense to him as you gently remove yourself from his grasp. “Y/N?” He inquires with some of the most uncertainty he’s felt in the last ten or so years. Adrenaline dissolves into veiled panic as he watches you slip on a new pair of underwear and an oversized sleep shirt.

“I’m sorry, I’m not feeling too well,” you supply in a meek voice, looking around and eventually finding his shirt from earlier. The man appears as dumbfounded as he can behind such a blank and austere face such as his, pulling the material back over his head and looping his arms through in a trance. He doesn’t remember following after you but finds himself back in your living room where his cloak had been haphazardly thrown onto the ground. With the way you slide it over his shoulders and make no mistake in securing it properly, he feels as if ice cold water has been dumped over his head.

And then you’re both at the front door and all he knows in this precise moment is that he really, really doesn’t want to leave.

“Thank you again for the drink,” you say, voice cracking near the end and gaze avoiding his at all costs. “You didn’t have to.”

Alhaitham chooses to say nothing, and despite how much the inner turmoil is wrecking your nervous system, you know this is for the best.

Right?

“Did I do anything wrong?”

Yes. No. Of course. Not at all. Maybe.

“No, I just don’t feel well. Maybe the alcohol isn’t agreeing with me.”

At the same time you twist the doorknob and pull, you stand on your tiptoes to plant a shaky kiss against his cheek.

“Goodnight, Alhaitham.”

It’s clear that he’s being banished now, door wide and a clear signal for him to leave. While he may want to slam the door back closed and demand all the answers he needs to the sudden change in your behavior, he simply nods and steps over the threshold, pausing when he fully steps into the hallway. The man doesn’t have the gall to face you straight on, but he lets you take one last look at his side profile, eyes glancing briefly over his shoulder.

“Have a better lie next time.”

This is for the best, you repeat to yourself minutes later when you’re curled underneath your blankets.Your breath shudders as the tears begin to stain your pillowcase, and before you slip into a fitful slumber, you worry about what dreams will greet you.

Alhaitham doesn’t see you for a whole week.

For seven agonizing days, 108 frustration-ridden hours, you are nowhere to be found or seen, as if you decided to hole up in your apartment and never leave your own self-made prison. It’s embarrassing, to a certain degree, just how much he’s been around the library, constantly on the lookout for your figure. Kaveh caught him reading the same page of a history book for at least ten minutes on one of those days, but chose to keep his mouth shut for once and snarky remarks to himself.

On day 8, Alhaitham wonders if he’s begun to hallucinate when he sees you in plain view at the market stand, attempting to barter with the owner to get a better deal on some vegetables. But it’s your voice he hears, your hands he sees, your hair that makes his fingers twitch in a thinly-veiled hidden desire to run them through. He’s left standing in the middle of the street looking like an idiot, yet others perceive his heavy gaze upon your figure to assume that you’re about to get into some trouble and the General Mahamatra was calling in a favor of some sorts.

On day 11, he catches you running up the pathway that leads to the Sanctuary of Surasthana, which is bewildering and confusing in its entirety. What business do you have being anywhere near the residence of Lord Kusanali? Even he as the former Scribe, favored and the most unwilling Acting Grand Sage, and one of the saviors of the Dendro Archon, has not been there since the whole hubbub died down, and it’s been months.

On day 14, you run into the traveler who seems to be making her rounds of saying goodbye to various citizens. Alhaitham had spoken a number of times about her and her travels and you knew her next destination was Fontaine. Not far from home, but far enough away to rid yourself of all these ugly, human emotions and get over this huge crush on the aforementioned man. With unfounded confidence, you call for her attention with shaky breaths.

“Can I help you?” She questions softly, not missing the clear distress in your body.

“My name is Y/N and, um, I’m a scholar at the Akademiya. Though I guess my attire gave that away,” you laugh nervously, gesturing to said clothing. “I’m, uh, an acquaintance, I guess, of Haitham’s? Anyways, that’s not really important, but you’re going to Fontaine, right?”

Lumine nods and stays silent.

Well, here goes nothing. “This might sound really weird but…can I come with you?”

Perfect, golden eyebrows rise in surprise – it’s not everyday a mere stranger so brazenly asks to travel with her, especially to another nation.

“I have some research that is taking me there, but I’d prefer not to travel alone. I was going to leave soon, but just now when I heard you telling people goodbye, I thought I’d try to ask? I’ll pay for your help, and I can even help you find and cook food! Hopefully you don’t find a Vision-less person like me a burden but I promise I won’t get in the way.”

Lumine looks you up and down once more while her thoughts process. You look harmless and it wouldn’t be a bad idea to have another set of hands along the way. Fontaine really wasn’t that far away once they crossed the border. It was becoming clearer to her that you truly did need to get to Fontaine, and not just for research. Perhaps –

“Could it be that you’re running from something?” She asks with curiosity.

“...wow, nothing really gets past you. It’s more like…someone,” you confess, sheepish and embarrassed.

“Are you in danger?”

“Not at all, no!” With hands waving in front of you, you speak with clear denial. “I’m trying to figure some things out and, well, I’d rather do it when I’m not constantly at risk of bumping into him.”

“Clearly I don’t know the details of your situation but…wouldn’t it be better to just be honest with him?”

You take a glance in the direction of the Akademiya and allow a bittersweet smile to grace your lips. “I think my honesty would simply be a burden for him.”

“And you know that because…?”

“Because he is that kind of man. There is no need for him to have a place for me in his heart. But I’m really bringing the mood down – could you please consider my offer? I forgot to mention I can be quite handy with a dagger if need be.”

Lumine and Paimon exchange a look, the fairy shrugging. “We leave tomorrow at first light,” the traveler speaks up. “Is that enough time for you to gather everything you need? If not, as long as we leave by midday, we don’t mind waiting.”

Perfect.

“It’s more than enough time. I pack light anyways.”

“We’ll meet in front of the Sanctuary then. Paimon and I need to meet with Lord Kusanali before we depart.”

You barely get any sleep that night, a ball of nerves and excitement. Your neighbor has been kind enough to hold your spare key to check in on your apartment every once in a while, waving you off when you begin to discuss forms of repayment for their generosity. The last time you ventured out of the main city and its surrounding areas was perhaps a few years ago to get a look at the famed Palace of Alcazarzaray. Alhaitham had briefly spoken of Kaveh a few times, though his tone was an odd amalgamation of genuine respect and scathing admonishment. In fact, you met the architect once when he came to the Akademiya to ask (more like loudly demand) for a copy of their house key. That was one of your first deep dives into how much of a teasing asshole Alhaitham could be, and you had already been spending most of your hours with him.

Fontaine has only ever been presented to you in sketches and paintings, so for a chance to see it in person…you can’t wait.

When your alarm goes off, you practically jump out of bed, throwing on your travel attire that you had set out the night before. With your research materials in a bag and travel essentials in another, you give one last look at your apartment. Who knows when you’ll be back?

#alhaitham x reader #genshin impact smut #al haitham x reader #alhaitham #genshin impact angst

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alicerosejensen · 14 days

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I love your page so much omg. I‘m literally obsessed with your work😭🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

Also I have this imagination in my mind going on about how Leon would try to help his girlfriend from recovering from her mental health issues since she’s always helping him. I was recently thinking about how he would react finding her not moving on the bathroom floor and trying to bring her back! I rewatched American horror stories and the scene with tate and violet in the first season episode 6 (ig?) is always in my head. I‘m still recovering from my past and my unhealthy habits and tbh recovery never felt better.

If this is too much for you or triggering please ignore this.🫶🏼❤️

I had a terrible period in my life when I was a few steps away from doing something like this in my life and unfortunately this shit often comes out. I'm not sure that such texts help me work through my psychological traumas, which were, in fact, inflicted on me and continue to be inflicted by close people who do not consider me a person, but at least such works help me to vent my pain, which I cannot permanently bury in myself.

I have been postponing this request for a long time because I was probably waiting for the right moment to write this text.

There are mentions of suicide, psychological trauma, severe self-doubt and anxiety, so if this is not acceptable to you, then please just block it.

Perhaps there is a similarity with my previous texts, but I am writing this with strong emotions now that I am trying to cope with it again.

the text is chaotic, I repeat, written while I was under the influence of strong heavy emotions. Maybe I'll delete it later, when my brain gets back to normal a little bit.

If a songbird doesn't sing well, they wring its neck.

Maybe it was the costs of Leon's profession and the result of his constant missions, after which something human is gradually dying in him despite the constant struggle to save everyone. Raccoon City was supposed to teach, if not to survive, then make him begin to understand that some are doomed to die.

Leon Kennedy was taught not to offend, but to protect the weak, especially weak women. But it is difficult to calm the flow of disordered thoughts and put aside the fear that has seized him in order to clamp bloody wrists and apply something to them to stop the blood. Leon knew many strong women: Ada was perhaps the first among them, he did not know either her past or her real name, only the present that pushed their foreheads against each other; Claire, a fighting friend of misfortune that he met in that ill-fated city; Ashley, who turned from a baby eagle into a proud eagle; Angela Miller and others…

Your strength dissolves in the water, coloring it scarlet while your heart stubbornly still beats, let the rhythm noticeably shorten.

In truth, over the past few months it became clear that this was the only way out. When even your loved ones considered you an expired product and did not hesitate to remember this and remind you every time. In the end, their words turned into an obsessive worm that settled in your head, slowly day after day, month after month, devouring you and the circumstances seemed to be not in your favor. Instead of support, you somehow faced reproach, as if the universe was screaming that you were an wrong person, nature's mistake who had no right to live.

Escape attempts were doomed to failure. At first you tried to suppress it in yourself, helping Leon, because, in your opinion, he was the only one who had the right to complain about life, although he did not do this in front of you, because everyone said that you had no problems: you have everything limbs, there are no fatal diseases, all loved ones are healthy and there is a roof over your head, as if this is enough to not fall for nonsense and not walk around forever with a sad face.

This was the last time you shared your experiences. You didn’t even bother telling Leon, but everything inside was torn from constant pain. The feeling was as if you were being beaten by two extremes that led you to the edge of an abyss where you ultimately voluntarily jumped.

no, you really loved him, it was just other people’s words and your own speculation that convinced you, despite your strong relationship with him, that Leon would find someone better, someone more confident in himself, someone who would not be you because you had already missed the chance for a good life because it moved too slowly. Ultimately, a couple of sips of alcohol with sleeping pills and a sharp blade in his hands simply promised to correct the mistake in the form of you with your own hands.

You didn't have the courage to do it any other way.

But you really didn’t think that if you could try to open up to your loved one, you would meet support and not condemnation. Perhaps in a mad world he would be the only one who would heal your wounds as you healed him in your time. Leon clenched his teeth, feeling tears flowing down cheeks, seeing these crimson stains, when he pulled your body out of the bath, holding you close to him, repeating “I’m holding you. It's allright"

He so carefully laid you on his lap, managing to pull out a first aid kit and then bandages to tightly, albeit carelessly, wrap them around your wrist in order to somehow stop the bleeding. At least you were still breathing, thereby giving him hope that everything could still be fixed. the darkness and emptiness came to life, calling in a whisper to dissolve into eternal silence where there is no pain or condemnation. Your body will be in a grave under a gray stone, while the remains of your soul will float like a small grain of sand in infinity.

For Leon, everything happens in a fog; he tried more than once to save people, but he had no right to lose in this battle, even if you yourself surrendered to death. Shaking his head, brushing away the tears, he wrapped your body in a large terry towel, kissed your temple and picked you up, trying to somehow warm you, pressing you closer to him. the ability to provide first aid in the field and pull suicides out of the other world is not the same thing. Leon would have thanked God if he had believed in him, convinced that blood loss was the least of the evils that you had caused yourself, until he saw the remains of some substance at the bottom of the glass that stood on the table along with an almost full bottle of alcohol.

You really didn't give him a chance.

The ambulance took several minutes, which seemed like an eternity. In fact, Leon wasn't sure if it was worth trying to make you vomit when you'd already lost so much blood that it was already seeping through the bandages. Surely you would need a transfusion and Leon is ready to give you all his blood if only you would wake up. Holding his breath, he carefully looked at your chest, watching whether you were breathing and fortunately, your heart was still beating, slowly, but it was still fighting for life.

He stroked you on the head, kissed you, promised that he would take you somewhere else, quiet, where no one would dare to offend you, even if it was your family. You could have just asked him for help, just cuddled up to him and he would have protected you from other people’s attacks, but you preferred to remain silent. Kennedy was tired of waiting for the medical staff to let him in, although relatives should be allowed to see the patient first, but the position of a government agent sometimes had its advantages, and they concerned not only the high salary. When he was let in to you, it seemed to him that you had become half your size while you were lying on the bed, curled up under the blanket. It didn’t work out to pull off a beautiful suicide, which meant that soon angry relatives would come here with new sweat of bile especially for you. They won’t care about your feelings, but Leon sat down next to you, trying not to intrude too much into the space in which you imprisoned yourself, as if this blanket cocoon could be a separate world where you could hide. He spoke to you carefully, hating himself for not being able to understand in time what was wrong with your behavior; perhaps if he had been more attentive to you, the incident could have been avoided. You would see a psychotherapist, take a course of medication, and your environment would definitely be taken care of.

You cry, not letting him come to you, hating how you weren't just left to die and how much you hate this world. Hysteria after hysteria, nervous breakdown after nervous breakdown, in the hospital you repeatedly tried to commit suicide, but the attentive staff managed to prevent this before you inflicted fatal injuries on yourself, and if after some time Leon still managed to carefully break through your armor, then your loved ones This did not concern relatives in principle. You only allowed one person to visit you while you were undergoing psychological treatment and you behaved calmer and calmer, listening to the velvety words that soon all this would be behind you.

“We’ll go home soon,” Leon smiled, gently holding your hand and kissing your forehead, just glad that you’re alive, that you’re breathing and that your psycho-emotional state is slowly but improving. “You know, I have a surprise for you, I think you’ll like it when we get home.”

Soon what happened will become another nightmare in his life, a blessing with a good ending, but for the sake of this happy ending, Kennedy is ready to descend into hell at least every day.

You nod at him and smile a little, fearing that the gift is some kind of party on the occasion of your discharge. In fact, the last thing you want is to see someone’s faces, especially those who diligently hammered into your head how insignificant you are. Why do you even hope that the doctor will postpone your discharge, but the plans for your further treatment were completely different.

On the other hand, after taking antidepressants and psychological help in a special medical institution, how many men are ready to stay with their girlfriends who have been there for several months? For Leon, it seems this was not a significant problem, or he simply carefully did not show it. However, there were no parties, no calls, you simply returned now to his home where there were new interior items. it became somehow more comfortable... but something else surprised you.

Puppy. A small puppy of a couple of months old ran towards you and Leon to meet both of them, but stopped and began sniffing your shoes, while something thawed in your heart.

“Animals seem to help us well, They feel when we feel bad, it seems to me a good idea to get us a little companion,” Leon said quietly, stroking your back while you were busy with the puppy, rejoicing at the little living soul who will love you with the same pure and devoted love.

Ultimately it should have a happy ending too. Leon is ready to go to great lengths so that his beloved songbird starts smiling and singing happy songs again, even if it is necessary to remove other birds from her family who sleep and see how to pluck all her wings again.

You and he also have a chance for a happy ending.

#leon kennedy #leon scott kennedy #leon s kennedy #resident evil #leon kennedy x reader #leon x reader #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil x reader #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy resident evil #leon s kennedy x fem!reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon scott kennedy x reader #leon resident evil #resident evil leon

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im-not-an-object-ok · 11 months

Text

For three months this year, I bled nearly every day. My doctor doesn’t know why. Google doesn’t know why. The condition is simply called “postmenopausal bleeding,” and medicine’s best guess as to the cause is that the postmenopausal hormone-replacement therapy I started last November suddenly made my endometrium, the lining of the uterus, “unstable.” All scientific knowledge added up to “If it’s still happening in six months, get back in touch.” (I’m still bleeding intermittently, and I don’t know why.) This is the kind of massive medical shrug that anyone with female anatomy has probably encountered.

Despite major advances for women over the past 100 years—the invention of the contraceptive pill, greater access to safe abortions—much of female biology is still woefully underserved by science. There are reasons for this, most notably the historical exclusion of women from medical and pharmaceutical trials, partly because our awkward hormone cycles were thought to skew results. There’s also the fact that some scientists still project findings from research on men onto women, seeming not to realize that women aren’t just small men: Women are different down to the cellular level, meaning that many of our immune responses, experiences of pain, and symptoms (including, for instance, those that accompany a heart attack) may be different from men’s. Are you having a nasty, unexpected side effect from your medication? That could be because most drugs were developed with male bodies in mind. A 2020 review of 86 common medications, including antidepressants, cardiovascular drugs, and painkillers, found that women were likely routinely overmedicated and suffered adverse reactions nearly twice as often as men.

The lagging science is particularly apparent when it comes to periods and female hormones more generally—the subject of the anthropologist Kate Clancy’s new book, Period, a scientific and cultural history that purports to tell the “real story of menstruation.” Clancy’s book makes clear that a lack of data is to blame for many of the ills that women and girls face concerning their reproductive health, like doctors’ failure to diagnose painful conditions such as endometriosis.

My severe endometriosis was discovered only when I was 41, accidentally. For decades, I had been given prescription-strength painkillers, and my doctor never seemed to wonder whether the amount of pain I was in was abnormal. When I published an essay about my menopausal depression in 2018, a deluge of women wrote to tell me that when they were going through something similar, their doctors had told them they were imagining their brain fog or panic attacks, or had put them on antidepressants that didn’t work because many depression drugs are inadequate to treat the symptoms of fluctuating estrogen.

#feminism #save #menstruation #Medical misogyny #Period positivity #When I went to type in menstruation 'menstruation tw' was the 1st result

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l-littlebird-l · 8 months

Note

Hello, little bird🥰✨ I hope you’re doing well! I wanted to thank you once again for the masterpiece “The Blind Dance”, that was breathtaking!❤️‍🔥

If you don’t mind, I’d love to share with you some of my thoughts, they might be veeery stupid, I’m sorry in advance, that’s just what happens in my feverish brain (Ominis’ been filling my mind completely for several months🙈)

So, personally I’m into powerful and let’s say dominant Ominis hehe. What do you think about it:

Ominis and MC are friends and of course both of them have hidden feelings for each other. One day, MC appears to have a bruise on her neck from some regular fight she had. Ominis can’t see it obviously, but hears some ambiguous remarks about her neck. He gets super jealous and storms to his beloved Undercroft/dormitory/any empty classroom to let off some steam, she notices his state and follows him. And when she asks wtf with you, he bursts out. Like... slams her up against the wall, holds her neck where the bruise is and smth like “who the hell was he?!” (maybe some assumptions that it was Sebastian, cause he knows they spend a lot of time together), basically revealing his dark intimidating side a bit. There can also be insults and some parseltongue spilling of course cause this boy can’t control himself hehe. She’s outraged, trying to push him away, but he realizes how stupid he was, apologizes passionately and then.. no less passionate and possessive sex with parseltongue as well🔥

Gooods I just needed to share it with you, and maybe you will find some ideas inspiring for your incredible talent! And it’s totally fine if you find it an utter rubbish, my brain’s just not working properly when it relates to Ominis😂

Thank you again, we’re all so happy to have you in this fandom!💕

Thank you so much for your patience with this piece! I loved writing it and I had a lot of fun playing around with Ominis’ emotions. 😉 Rest assured, your prompt for this piece was amazing. Thank you so much for being my first request, and I really appreciate all the kind words you give me. The Blind Dance is one of my favorites as well. Ominis just has this way about him. 💕 You definitely piqued some ideas for later stories. Thank you again, and enjoy!

• Jealousy Is a Terrible Thing •

Ominis Gaunt x MC (Smut)

— Requests are Open —

Summary: Ominis’ jealousy flares up when Sebastian returns to the common room well past midnight, carrying your scent. The accumulation of lies and excuses reaches its breaking point, leading to a heated confrontation between you two.

—

Ominis is a master at finding every possible opportunity he can to get closer to you. He's like a magnet, whether that means strategically choosing the seat next to yours in class, skillfully appearing in the same hallways as you, suggesting lunch dates at The Three Broomsticks, or inviting you to join him for study sessions in a cozy corner of the library.

For him, every minute spent by your side fills his day with an unparalleled sense of happiness. It's as if the entire world around him had shifted since you entered his life. He now has something, or rather someone, to look forward to greeting every single day.

But today, however, things took an unusual turn. Ominis had hardly slept, and his mood was decidedly foul. All night, his mind had raced, tormented by the question of why Sebastian had returned to the common room so late last night, bearing the unmistakable trace of your scent. He wrestled with this enigma throughout the night, and what compounded his distress was Sebastian's blatant falsehood. Sebastian was notorious for brushing things off and fabricating the flimsiest of excuses. But that scent, Ominis recognized it all too intimately—it was unquestionably yours. A fire churned within him, a spark of jealously aflame.

(Recap)

As the clocks hands inched past curfew, Sebastian clandestinely slipped into the common room, his movements shrouded in secrecy. His arrival, however, didn’t go unnoticed. Ominis lifted his head from his book as he drew a deep breath, catching a tantalizing trace of your scent emanating from Sebastian's clothing.

Without missing a beat, Ominis confronted Sebastian, his voice laced with an unmistakable sharp edge. "Sebastian, you're out past curfew. What were you up to?"

Sebastian, however, was quick on his feet. He met Ominis' gaze with a feign air of innocence. "Oh, nothing much, just a late-night stroll. Clearing my head, you know."

Ominis slammed his book shut and rose from his seat, his brows knit together with irritation. "Late-night stroll? Clearing your head?" he scoffed, his voice tinted with bitterness. "Don't insult my intelligence, Sebastian. I can smell her on you."

Sebastian tried to maintain an air of nonchalance, beads of sweat formed along his forehead. "You're imagining things, Ominis. Just a bit paranoid, aren't we?"

But Ominis was having none of it. He took several steps forward, his words biting through the air. "I know the scent of her perfume, Sebastian. Don't think you can play the fool with me."

Sebastian's mask of indifference began to crack as Ominis' possessiveness pressed in on him. "Fine," he spat back, the veneer of politeness shattering. "I was with her. So what? She can choose who she spends her time with."

Ominis' patience wore thin, and his anger flared as he leaned forward. "You're playing a dangerous game, Sebastian," he growled, his jealousy unleashing. "She's mine, and you'd do well to remember that."

Sebastian, seemingly unfazed, crossed his arms with a smirk, his voice edged with false nonchalance. "Why do you care so much, Ominis? What I do with her is none of your concern."

Ominis gritted his teeth, his temper burning from within. He wanted to shout, to demand answers, but his pride kept him restrained. “Just answer the question, Sebastian. What were you doing with her?”

Sebastian leaned forward, his tone a venomous whisper. "Maybe you're just not man enough to satisfy her."

Ominis clenched his jaw, his jealousy scraping the forefront, but he couldn't bring himself to reveal the true depth of his feelings.

Sebastian leaned back, a smug grin playing on his face. "You're so possessive, Ominis. It's pathetic. She's not yours to control."

Ominis, his anger boiling over, shot back, "You're just a playboy, Sebastian. You don't understand what it means to truly care about someone."

Their words hung in the air, charged with tension and unresolved emotions. The common rooms quiet atmosphere seemed to amplify, and neither of them was ready to back down.

Sebastian's eyes narrowed, as he leaned in closer to Ominis, his voice dripping with venom. "And what would you know about caring for someone? You've never even seen her face, let alone know what it's like to be with someone like her."

Ominis couldn’t take it anymore. The frustration, the jealousy, the pain all swirled inside him like a tempest. He had been holding back, trying to maintain some semblance of control, but Sebastian’s taunts and insinuations were pushing him over the edge. A dark, sinuous whisper echoing within his head.

With furious colors, Ominis lunged at Sebastian, his control slipping away like sand through his fingers. He grabbed Sebastian’s collar, his fingers digging into the fabric as he shoved him forcefully against the wall. His face was contorted with rage as he leaned in closely.

Sebastian was caught off guard by Ominis’ sudden loss of control, despite being pinned against the wall and faced with Ominis' seething anger, he managed to taunt one last time. He grinned, though there was a nervous edge to it.

"Ominis, you're blind in more ways than one," he sneered, digging in with a final jab.

Ominis' grip on Sebastian's collar tightened, his knuckles turning white. He was on the verge of losing control completely, his anger and jealousy driving him to the brink of madness. The whisper inside, growing louder with each passing second.

As Sebastian's taunting words hit Ominis, they seemed to strike a deeper chord. Ominis' anger slowly faded, replaced by a wounded look in his eyes. He slowly released his grip on Sebastian's collar, taking a step back and facing away.

His voice, when he spoke, was filled with a poisonous blend of hurt and resignation. "Fine, Sebastian. Have it your way," he muttered, his anger now overshadowed by a sense of defeat and pain.

Sebastian held his gaze on Ominis’ back for a moment longer before breaking away, storming off to bed with Ominis' words echoing in his ears.

Left alone in the dimly lit common room, Ominis couldn't quell the burning jealousy that gripped his heart. His mind raced with turbulent thoughts, imagining what you and Sebastian were doing together. Each passing minute felt like an eternity as his possessiveness over you gnawed at him, making it impossible for him to find solace in sleep. The scent of another man, bearing traces of you, lingered in the air, a reminder that he couldn't shake off.

As the day dragged on, he found himself in the library, waiting for your arrival. The evening had been earmarked for a study session between the two of you. He positioned himself in a secluded corner of the library, setting the stage for a mental game amidst the book-lined corridors. Aware of the intricate nature of his little mind game, he knew that extracting answers required meticulous finesse. Every move, every word was a potential gambit on your friendship. His mind was a turbulent sea of unanswered questions, each wave threatening to consume his thoughts. The stakes were high, and the risks, even higher. But his determination burned in red. He needed answers, and if Sebastian wasn’t going to give them to him— then you will.

Even moments before your arrival, his mind raced with restless thoughts, the relentless curiosity within him clawing at his very core. A low grumble slipped from his lips, his fingers sinking into the pages of his book, an unsettling image flashing vividly within his thoughts.

"There you are," a familiar voice greeted him with enthusiasm, the sound of your steps weaving around the bookshelves as you plopped your stack of books on the table.

Ominis, drawn by the melody of your sweet voice, lifted his head, and his countenance transformed. His features softened, and a smile, one reserved solely for you, gently curved his lips. The crashing waves of his mind finding ease.

"So you decided to come after all," he teased, deliberately averting his gaze back to the book in his hand as his grip softens.

"Of course I'd show up, I'd never miss our study time together. It’s too precious," you playfully retorted, settling down next to him.

As you opened your books, the sound of the pages turning harmonized with the subtle waft of your scent, enveloping the space around him. That same, familiar scent, lingering in the air, stirring something within.

The library was unusually hushed, the subtle sound of his nails picking at the corners of parchment, bending them with a nervous energy. Your gaze instinctively followed the sound, an elegant dance of curiosity shifting between his fidgeting fingers and his pensive expression.

You sat there, quietly studying him for a few moments, pondering on what’s occupying his thoughts. Something about him seemed amiss, though you couldn't quite pinpoint it.

You leaned into him, your body brushing against his as your lips drew close to his ear, your voice a soft whisper. "You're not typically one to fidget with your hands. Is something on your mind, Ominis?"

Your closeness seemed to have a calculated impact, causing his demeanor to subtly shift. The sound of the parchment ceased as he turned his focus toward you, his face adorned with a serene mask of calmness. "Hmm? Oh, no. Nothings on my mind."

Your concern etched lines of worry onto your brow, still convinced that something weighed heavily on his mind, but he wasn’t budging.

"Ominis..." you hummed, your hand gently finding its place against his thigh, your voice carrying a soothing, reassuring tone. "You know you can talk to me."

In a fleeting moment, all his defenses crumbled. A lump formed in his throat, your sweet, captivating scent enveloping him like a warm embrace. The gentle brush of your hand against his thigh ignited an indescribable sensation deep within him. In that moment, he wished for time to stand still, for this instant to stretch into eternity. Just you and him, a world apart from everyone else—a world far from Sebastian. It all faded into obscurity. It was as if only the two of you existed in that space.

You couldn't help but notice how your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him. Your fingers traced a gentle, reassuring path up and down his thigh, and a soft, affectionate grin danced at the corners of your lips as you observed him intently. He looks so sweet…

In this sanctuary, Ominis felt a newfound comfort, an urge to confide in you, to lay bare everything that had tormented him, and perhaps even to express the emotions he'd kept concealed for so long. He yearned to spill it all out, to finally lay his heart on the table.

Just as he was about to speak, a subtle squeeze from your hand against his thigh brought him back to reality. His lashes faltered, and with a soft, deliberate hold, his hand grazed against yours, seemingly hesitant to speak.

His lips were parted, and for a brief moment, he seemed as if he was on the brink of saying something, but his lips drew a line. Instead, he took in a deep breath, casually flipping to the next page in his book with a flick of his wand.

"You needn’t worry about me, I'm fine," Ominis insisted, his words carefully neutral. "I just couldn’t find sleep."

You sighed, not entirely convinced by his statement, but willing to go with it. "How come?" You inquired gently, your fingers naturally gravitating toward the comforting warmth of his inner thigh.

His breath hitched for a mere second, the feeling of your hand tantalizingly close clouded his mind with your sweet, intoxicating presence.

"Sleep often seems to evade me more times than I care to count. So I opted for some light reading in the common room last night," he began, his voice steady. A momentary pause followed as he carefully considered his next words. He taps his nail against the parchment with an unsettledness. “Just as I was wrapping up on my reading, a rather… perplexing encounter held me.”

His eyes lined up with keen perception as he sensed your hand twitch in response to his words, a restrained, sly grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He knew he had you hooked.

"Oh? And… who might’ve that been?" Your words faltered, your heart beginning to race as the realization set in, that you had unwittingly walked into his cunning little trap.

"Sebastian," he stated firmly, the pretense of an unruffled countenance still in place as he smoothly turned to the next page in his book.

"S— Sebastian, huh?" You gradually withdrew your hand from his thigh, fingers curling around the contours of your book as you anxiously flipped through several pages.

"Any thoughts on why he might have been up after curfew?" He nonchalantly twirled his wand between his fingers, deliberately taking his time as he keenly detects your composure slowly unraveling beside him.

"No— not at all. Why would I have any insight?” You brought your hand to your lips, your teeth nibbling nervously at your nails as your thoughts begin to race.

"Really, now?" He leaned back, drawing in a deep breath as he meticulously assessed the situation. "I had thought you two were rather… close. Mayhaps I judged wrong," he mused, his finger idly tracing the edges of his book, waiting for your next answer.

You cleared your throat, collecting your hair in your hands as you lifted it up off your neck and sweeping it aside to cool off.

“We should get back to studying, Ominis.” You mumbled quietly, adverting your attention back to your books.

A pit formed within his midriff, an uneasy sensation coursing through him as he discerned that you had just lied to him and casually brushed aside his inquiry. Lost in his thoughts, something had sparked his attention, a faint, distant sound emanating several tables away. His ears perked as he found himself inexplicably drawn into the poison of hushed whispers and muted laughter.

"Did you see that mark on her neck?"

"Gods, what is it?"

"Isn't it obvious? It's a hickey!"

"Merlin's Beard... who do you think it was?"

"I bet you 5 Galleons it was Sebastian Sallow."

"What— no way."

"You think she's been snogging Sallow?"

"By the looks of it, she's been doing more than just snogging." The subdued group of students snickered amongst themselves.

"And…. guess what I saw last night… I saw the two of them leaving the castle after curfew."

"What, really..? That's foul... and she has the audacity to put her hands all over Gaunt— are you going to report it to the Headmaster?"

“Not yet, I’m waiting for the perfect moment.”

“You sneaky little minx.”

“She deserves it. I can’t wait to see her crumble.”

"She should be ashamed of herself...”

"Isn't one enough? Leave the rest of them for us."

“She’s such a slut.”

A flush of crimson spread across Ominis' face as his anger surged like a rising tide within. His fists clenched together in a white-knuckled grip, his imagination running wild with scenarios from last night, each one more maddening than the last. Thoughts became an impenetrable fog, clouding his usually sharp mind. His jaw clenched as he slammed his book shut, the resounding thud echoing throughout the library. He stormed out, leaving behind a wake of turbulent emotions.

Ominis could hear his heart ringing in his ears. The whole world around him fading into a distant blur as he pushed himself through the crowded halls. His nails dig into the handle of his wand as anger, frustration, and jealousy envelopes him whole. The thought of you doing something so vile with his best friend tinged his heart. He felt as if the air was sucked right out of his lungs, his own emotions strangling him.

You sat there, bewildered by his sudden outburst. Trying to make sense of what just happened, you close your books in a hurry, leaving them behind as you quickly followed suit. Your eyes glued to the back of his pristine button-up as you chased after him, deftly slipping through the turbulent sea of students and nearly stumbling over an outstretched foot.

"Om— Ominis, wait…" your voice caught as you hastily found your footing, resolutely following his swift path into an unassuming classroom, leaving behind a clear path of confused faces.

As you enter the classroom, your eyes swept across the empty space, finding no trace of Ominis. You take a hesitant step back, perplexed. Suddenly, the wooden doors behind you click shut. You quickly pivot around to find Ominis standing there, blocking the only exit out.

“Ominis…” you muttered, standing there frozen and confused as an uneasiness settled within your midriff.

His eyes almost gleamed with a shade of green, as if a dormant darkness within him had awakened. A pure-blood Gaunt, a direct descendant of Salazar Slytherin, the snake with no eyes, now revealed itself. His once-hidden frustrations surged to the surface, directed towards you. His body burned with resentment, hands trembling at his sides.

"Tell me," he demanded, his voice low and tinged with a threatening edge, leaving no room for evasion or lies. "What were you doing with Sebastian last night?"

A sudden chill runs down your spine, as if he could actually see into your soul. You stagger back, your heart racing in response to his probing question.

"What do you mean..?" you stammered, desperately searching your mind for any little thing to grab at.

Your heart pounded in your chest, caught between the fear of angering him and the guilt of keeping the truth from him. You hesitated for a moment, feeling the weight of Ominis’ words pressing down on you, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it, not yet. The room seemed to close in and crackle with tension, clashing with your desire to protect the truth.

"I— I was…" your words faltered as Ominis took an intimidating step forward. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip, struggling to find the right words. Your tongue felt heavy, surrendering yourself to complete silence.

Suddenly, he lunges forward, his fingers wrapping around your jaw, pivoting you around, and slamming you against the closed doors. His breath brushes against your lips as he leans in, his eyes effortlessly locked onto yours.

You winced, your eyes squeezing tight from the sudden force, his hold around your jaw softening as his fingers grazed down your neck.

"You were?" He asked, his voice baring a darkness you hadn’t seen before.

"I... I was just... studying," you muttered, attempting to maintain the facade, but the heat of his body pressed against yours and his possessive hold shattered your composure.

Your mind raced, torn between your desire to protect Sebastian and the overwhelming presence of Ominis. His demeanor was suffocating, hard to resist the urge to spill the truth, but you stubbornly clung to your feeble lie.

Every word you spoke, every lie you told, was like fuel to the fire. His fingers encircled around your throat, tightening with warning. "Tell me then, what's this?" he inquired, the pads of his fingers pressing into the tender, bruised skin below your jaw.

You yelped, your hand reaching for his wrist in a desperate attempt to relieve some of the pressure. He took your hand in his, pinning it against the wooden doors. With a low, frustrated growl, he eased his grip from around your throat, his fingers still remaining over the mark.

“Speak,” he said, as if you were some pet of his to command.

You gasped, finally able to breathe, your head spinning. "Ominis, what's happened to you?" you whispered, your voice colored with confusion.

He grew tired of waiting for an answer. His mind filling in all the details on its own. He pushes your jaw to the side with his thumb as he leans into the crook of your neck, his breath scraping against your skin. His soft lips brushed across your bruise, that same dark whisper filling his head with poisoned words.

“You like this?” He growled, his lips barely transgressing against your skin.

Your voice caught in your throat as Ominis' grip tightened, preventing you from speaking.

"Have something to say, do you?" Ominis’ voice dripped with irritation at your feeble attempt to speak.

An agonizing silence enveloped the room as you nervously shook your head in response.

"I didn’t think so." He sinks his teeth into your bruise, eliciting a pained wince from your lips. The warm caress of his tongue against your skin, paired with his piercing teeth digging into your neck sent an indescribable sensation pooling between your thighs. His hand snaked from your throat and down your waistline, gripping into your hip. A sharp gasp escaped your lips as his knee stopped you from squeezing your thighs together.

He had you within his grasp, a pretty little thing trembling against the doors. In this moment, you were unequivocally his, a possession to be claimed. The air felt thick and heavy. He relished in the power he held over you, knowing he could do anything to you. It was crystal clear: You were his to mark, not Sebastian’s, his. And he intended to make that known.

"You like being a little slut for me?" He drags his lips agonizingly slow against your skin, catching your breath.

Despite the fear and the turbulent emotions, an undeniable surge of desire coursed through you. Ominis' dominance had awakened a primal longing within you, and your response was unmistakable. Your breath hitched, and your body caved into your desire, your hips arching slightly against his knee.

Ominis was acutely aware of your response. A sly smirk curled his lips as he felt the subtle shift in your body, the way you arched against his knee, the way your arm fell limp within his grasp, and the subtle wavering within your breath. It was evident of the power he held over you.

Ominis couldn’t help but taunt you further, his voice dripping with possessiveness and a hint of cruelty. “You feel that?” he whispered, pressing his knee against your damp knickers.

Overcome by lust, you found yourself writhing in place, unable to contain the fiery yearning that coursed through your veins. Your heart hammered within your chest, a relentless rhythm of anticipation and longing, each beat echoing the insatiable need for more. Every inch of your skin felt like it was burning, burning for his touch.

Ominis, consumed by his desire, pushed your thighs apart with a dominating force, making it clear who was in control. He pressed his hips into you, his hunger evident in the way he held you against the doors. There was no denying the raw and burning need he felt for you in that moment.

“You like being fucked so hard there’s bruises all over your pretty little skin?” He growled through gritted teeth, his grip around your wrist constricting. The anger in his voice sent tremors through your body, leaving you almost afraid to utter a word. A barely audible gasp escaped your trembling lips.

He couldn't fathom how you could lose your self-control so easily under such circumstances. His mind seethed with jealousy and anger. Were you always this easy to rile up? Is this what you and Sebastian do when he’s not around? Is that what you want from him? Unable to contain his rage any longer, he lashed out, slamming his hands against the wooden doors, staggering backwards.

"Is this what you want? Isn't Sebastian enough for you? You think you can go around putting your pretty little hands on guys and expect us to fuck you? You're— you’re such a..." He growled, his voice a mixture of anger and hurt.

Ominis leaned back against an empty desk, running his fingers over his jaw, a look of shame crossing his face. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he attempted to collect himself, but the damage was done. He knew he had lost control and shattered any chance of friendship that remained between the two of you. With a heavy sigh, he buried his face in his trembling hand, overwhelmed by the strangling feeling he has in his heart.

You were left speechless, your heart aching at his distress. With cautious steps, you moved towards him, your hand finding purchase against his shoulder as your thumb brushed with a soothing comfort.

"Ominis…" you whispered softly, your voice wavering with concern and immense sadness. "Please, just talk to me… What's going on with you? Why did you say such hurtful things?"

You settled down next to him, your hand gently gliding down his back. "This… this isn't like you, Ominis..." You pressed your forehead against his shoulder, wrapping your arm around his waist, embracing him from behind.

The softness within your voice melted away all his defenses. Unable to contain his turmoil any longer, he began to unravel, pouring out the torment that had consumed him. His voice quivered. It sounded like he was on the brink crying. Your embrace around him tightened, unable to bear the sound of his shuddering voice.

"Please…" your voice trembled as you pleaded in him, the agonizing prick of tears welling within your eyes.

Ominis drew in a deep breath, attempting to regain some semblance of composure. Slowly, he lifted his head from his hand, his gaze, blankly fixed upon the floor.

"It was him, wasn't it?" His voice held a note of anguish, as if he didn’t want the truth at all.

"What was him?" You asked gently, lifting your head from his shoulder and resting your chin against its curve.

He took a few moments, taking in deep, shuddering breaths as he tried to come to terms with it himself. “That bruise along your neck… It was Sebastian.”

"What?" You furrowed your eyebrows, your fingers instinctively brushing across the mark that adorned itself just below your jaw. "This?" Confusion filled your voice as your mind raced with questions. “No— Sebastian never hurt me, why would you think that?”

He leans forward, elbows resting against his knees, his hands clenching in visible disarray. "Not hurt you…" he uttered with an evident struggle in his voice. His head turns toward you as you break from the one-sided embrace. Your eyes traced along his pained face, tears glossing over. You tenderly cupped his cheek, urging him to face you.

“Ominis…” you murmured softly. “What then?”

He slowly picked his arm up, his fingers gliding over your caress with gentleness, nuzzling his cheek into your hand. This warmth was what he so desperately needed. His gaze lowered with somberness, his other hand reaching out to hold yours within your lap.

He shifted towards you, his hand falling from his cheek, finding purchase against your thigh. He appeared hesitant, at a loss for words— his mind wrangling with itself to even speak.

"That mark," he started, his head still lowered. "It was from making love, wasn't it?"

You sat there, blinking for a moment, caught off guard by his accusation. Speechless, you almost let out a baffled laugh but quickly restrained it. "Making love?" you retorted, your hand lowering from his cheek as you wrapped your fingers around his nape, drawing him in closer.

You pressed your forehead against his, gazing into his soft ocean eyes. "Listen to me, Ominis… There’s nothing going on between me and Sebastian,” you hushed, your voice filled with sincerity.

He pulls away with furrowed brows, disbelief etched across his face. You clasped your hands around his, pulling him back in. "Ominis, please… This bruise here, it was from an encounter with goblins. Sebastian and I… we snuck out of the castle last night. We wanted to have a little fun, go for a midnight adventure,” you paused briefly, a heavy sigh filling the air. “But I… I got into a little trouble. I messed up my footing and a goblin attacked me. I was exhausted. Sebastian had to carry me back to the castle… I’m so sorry, Ominis. I should’ve been honest with you… I had no idea how much this pained you."

He felt ashamed, he felt hopeless, and he felt so, so indescribably ignorant. The weight of his emotions hung heavy within the air.

“I promise you, there’s no other man out there that has my heart,” you continued softly, your words piquing his interest. Ominis slowly lifted his chin as his gaze fell upon you.

Your lips curled into a sweet smile, brushing your thumb in soothing circles over his hands. “No one else, but you.”

His lashes faltered, and that very pit within his stomach had completely vanished. He felt all the heaviness within him lifted, the venomous whispers within his head— gone, replaced by a sense of clarity and peace."No one else?" He asked softly, his voice broken.

“Ominis, I love you… I love you so much that it pains me. It pains me to see you like this. I fell in love with that very sweetness you hold so deep within your heart. You’re someone special to me…” you wavered, the weight of your confession hanging in the air, your heart pounding within your chest as the gravity of your words settled between you both like a weightless plume.

He gently withdraws his hand from your grasp, his fingers tenderly tracing along your jaw as he clasped his hand just below your ear. His soft touch sent a shiver down your spine as he tilts your head back, his thumb brushing against your cheek, pressing his longing lips against yours.

Your eyes fluttered shut, savoring the sweet taste of his affection, your lips molding together in a tender, passionate kiss. In that moment, the world around you faded into insignificance. Everything that had just transpired, gone. All that remains now is the unyielding confession of love. The kiss lingered until he finally pulled away, his lips hovering just an inch from yours.

His warm breath caressed your lower lip as he spoke in an unwavering, gentle, and remorseful tone. "I've loved you from the moment I met you, more deeply than I could ever express. I've tried to hide it, to bury it, but it's always been there… burning within me. You mean more to me than words can convey, and I can't imagine my life without you."

Ominis’ voice quivered with emotion, "I love you with everything I am, and I always will, no matter what. I love you, all that you are, my dear little bird. I’m so… so so—"

You cut him off before he sank back into his darkness, your lips locking together in a fervent embrace. His brows furrowed as his lips followed suit, firmly. The kiss deepened, a passionate, unending surge of emotion that left you both breathless. In that moment, it felt like everything had finally fallen into place, and your hearts were bound together as one.

You wanted to reassure him, to make him understand that he had nothing to worry about. Your heart belonged to him and him alone. You hooked your leg over Ominis’ hip, gently lowering yourself into his lap. He wrapped his hand around your waist with a tender embrace.

With a shared urgency, you captured his bottom lip between your teeth, eliciting soft sigh past his lips. In the midst of your heated kisses, soft whispers of, “I love you,” flowed freely between you both. It was as if those three words had become a cherished refrain, a reminder of your unwavering love for each other, and neither of you could get enough of it.

Your kisses became a sweet storm. Peppering his lips as your hands cradled his jaw, your hips moving in a rhythm of their own, swaying with the desire that coursed through your veins.

A burning sensation snapped you back to reality, a tantalizing stiffness pressing against your knickers, awakening you from the flames. You were acutely aware of the desire that had burned between you.

Unable to resist, you both tumbled against the desk, your lips still locked in a fiery embrace. The kisses turned heated, sloppy, and wet as you explored eachothers cavity with unbridled hunger. His grip around your hip tightened, pressing you firmly against his arousal, a quiet moan of pleasure escaped your lips. Desire pooled between your thighs, wetting his trousers from the friction.

With a final, lingering kiss, you gradually poised yourself up, straddling him with your hands pressed against his chest. Your cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, but something about his presence made you feel safe and unashamed. The embarrassment you anticipated seemed to melt away in his soft, gentle touch.

A sweet, contented smile graced your lips as you began to roll your hips, a gentle grind that pressed your soaked knickers against his clothed arousal, eliciting a soft, quiet hum from Ominis’ lips.

He tilted his head back with a warm moan, the sharp contour of his jaw capturing your attention. You reached for his hands, delicately intertwining your fingers with his, guiding his touch as you circled your hips. A quiet sigh of pleasure escaped your lips, filling the thick air around you.

Ominis’ lips parted, eliciting an unrestrained moan as his cock twitches beneath you. He lost full control over his hips, incapable to stop them from moving in rhythm with yours. This was everything he had ever yearned for— your sweet hands in his, the soft, quiet moans that slipped past your lips, the constant whispers of affirmation. Yet, amidst this symphony of pleasure, there was one thing he longed to hear… the sweet sound of you moaning his name.

Feeling your hands withdraw from their loving embrace and hearing the subtle rustling of fabric above him, Ominis reached out, gently clasping your hands in his once again.

"Allow me," he whispered in a tender tone, his desire to adore you evident in his gentle pale eyes.

Your hands slowly dropped as he began to unbutton your blouse with a tantalizing slowness, savoring every moment so he could etch this memory into eternity. His fingers brushed across your shoulders, unable to resist the urge to whisper with admiration, "So soft..." He slid your blouse over your shoulders, allowing it to pool around your elbows. Your fingers curled under the rim of his trousers, eagerly reciprocating the desire.

Ominis, however, wasn't met with the expected sensation of a bra strap along your shoulders. Instead, he found himself intrigued, his fingers tracing down your collarbone until they reached the supple, sensitive flesh at the curve of your breast. His feather-light touch sent a cascade of goosebumps dancing across your skin, eliciting a subtle sigh of approval from your parted lips. His large hands then enveloped your breast, gently squeezing and kneading without hesitation.

Your eyes locked onto his almost devious grin. You unhooked your fingers from under his trousers and smoothly shimmied the rest of your blouse off, your gaze then moving toward his buttoned shirt, relinquishing it’s hold. You pushed open the flaps of his shirt, your eyes feasting on the sight of his well-formed figure. Your teeth sank into your bottom lip as your fingers trailed down his chest, tracing the dots that adorned his pale flesh in a playful zigzag pattern until they reached his hip. He was truly a vision of beauty, and in this moment, you couldn't fathom how he could doubt your desire for him over anyone else, even Sebastian.

"Ominis… I want you," you whispered, the words dripping with desire.

"Then take me," he dared, his expression sweet and inviting, in stark contrast to everything below.

Your cheeks blazed with a deep, rosy hue as you bit into your cheek, his words leaving you breathless with desire. With a sultry grace, you lifted yourself onto your knees, your hands working deftly to tug down his trousers and briefs just enough to reveal his hard, throbbing cock. It was much larger than you had imagined when you were grinding against him, and the sight left you speechless. Even his length was adorned with a scattering of freckles.

His hands, warm and tender, snaked up your thighs, just under your skirt, cradling them with a gentle hold. He showed incredible patience, letting you take your time and go at your own pace. You reached below you, your fingers curling around the soaked fabric that clung to your heated flesh. Pulling them aside, you wrapped your fingers around his base, slowly lowering yourself onto him.

The pink crown of his arousal glistened with pre-cum, slipping between your slick folds as you guided him into your eager core. His length squeezed into you inch by inch, eliciting a joined shudder. Ominis tightened his grip around your thighs as he felt your cunt slowly enveloping his length, drawing him deeper inside you. A hushed wince escaped your lips as he pushed you firmly against his hips.

A low, guttural curse slipped from Ominis’ tongue, the agonizing sensation of your tight cunt gripping around his cock with raw hunger.

With slow, deliberate movements, you took control, lifting your hips and sensually lowering yourself onto him, savoring every inch of his throbbing desire as it filled you completely. Finding a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure coursing through your bodies. Ominis' hands ventured further under your skirt, his fingers clasping possessively around your hips, pressing deeply into your skin as you surrendered yourself to the veil of desire.

The sensation of his pulsating cock reaching deep within you, hitting the depths of your cunt and clenching around his cock in a strangling hold. It was everything he had ever fantasized about. The tantalizing stride and rolls of your hips, the softness and warmth of your skin touching his. The labored breaths and sweet moans he elicited out of you, it felt so fucking good.

The way you rolled your hips and took his cock like it was meant for you. How your body trembled every time he hit that sensitive spot. The desperate moans escaping your lips as he started to force your movements quicker by your hips. It drove him mad, mad for you. He craved more, wanting to hear those pretty little lips of yours gasp and scream his name, and he knew exactly how to make that happen.

With a firm grip around your hips, he easily maneuvered, rolling you onto your back and positioning himself over you. With one hand supporting his weight, his other guided the underside of your thigh until it was pressed against your side.

"Ominis, wai—"

He silenced your protests with a deep, penetrating thrust that sent a loud moan spilling from your lips. His nails dug into the soft flesh of your thigh as a sly grin curled at the corners of his lips. Your slick cunt tightened around his cock as he continued with long, measured strides in and out of your slick heat, drawing a soft yelp from the depths of your throat. Your hand clutched around his forearm, anchoring yourself as he quickened his pace.

"Ah, fuck..." you winced, furrowing your brows in pleasure as he drove into you relentlessly.

A deep, guttural groan reverberated within his throat as he reveled in the tightness of your cunt. He shifted his hand from your thigh to support his weight against the desk, looming over you with a demeanor that made you feel small and trapped beneath his towering figure.

He may be blind, but Ominis was attuned to your every desire, intimately aware of what turned you on. A sly grin danced along his lips as he continued his relentless thrusts, each one hitting that sweet spot that drove you mad.

He swooped down, burying his face into the crook of your neck as his labored breaths crashed against your skin. The sweet sound of your whimpers riled something familiar within him. "You like that?" he growled against your neck.

You gasped, your nails digging into his forearm as your body shuddered from his words. A subtle sneer lathered your tender neck with hungry kisses and soft bites.

His lips trailed sensuously along your neck, planting soft, teasing kisses against your earlobe. “I know you like this,” he grunted, his hips driving into you with hard, measured thrusts that left you gasping with desperate approval. The needy whines that escaped your lips were all the affirmation he needed. His tongue traced the contours of your ear, soft nips and low growls that sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh fuck, Ominis..." you pleaded, gasping for air as he relentlessly pounded into you.

“You’re so tight…” he snarled, his voice thick with desire, peppering your ear and neck with a trail of hungry kisses and licks. His pace slowed into long, tantalizing strides, all the while bearing knowing smile.

"Ominis, please..." you whimpered softly, your nails digging further into his skin.

"Please, what?" His voice shuddered, sinking his teeth into your neck as he maintained his steady pace.

"Oh, fuck… please—"

He hummed against your skin, seemingly oblivious to your intent, relishing in the sweet desperation of your trembling voice.

"Please… fuck me harder," you exasperated, writhing beneath him.

He gripped your hip in place, preventing your movements as he continued with his slow, ruthless strides.

"What’s my name," he demanded, his voice a heated whisper against your ear.

You panted heavily, your thighs trembling at his hips, your voice a sultry plea, “Fuck me harder, Ominis…” Before you could finish the rest of his name, he slammed his hips into you with a hungry growl against your ear. You bucked your hips with an arch of your back, eliciting a yelp that echoed within the halls of the castle.

“Good girl,” he whispered, sending an intoxicating blaze of fire coursing through your body. With every forceful thrust, a torrent of pleasure surged within you, an unrelenting tempest that threatened to consume your very being. A knot of insatiable desire coiled deep within your midriff, pulling tighter with each invasion of his hips.

Sweat glistened across your entwined bodies, his movements a fevered dance of untamed lust and longing. Your nails etched fiery trails along Ominis’ back, branding him with your passion. The pain that etched along his back soon became pleasure as he lost full control of himself. The classroom echoed with a crescendo of fervent gasps and uninhibited moans.

As he surrendered to his primal desires, his voice became a sultry serenade, a soft trail of parseltongue with unbridled lust slipping from his lips like a seductive spell. He teetered on the precipice of release, the moment of climax drawing tantalizingly near with each scorching thrust.

His head hangs low, driven by an insatiable need as he plunges deep into you, his hips etching a delicious soreness into your supple flesh. Your thighs trembled against his hips, helpless to resist the throbbing sensation as he fills your needy little cunt to the brim, spewing threads of his warm, sticky desire that claimed you as his.

Exasperated curses punctuated the air, escaping your lips as your body contracts beneath his rigid thrusts. Your back arches with a deep curve, your hips locked in a drunken lust as he fills you to the rim. Ominis hovers above you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath, his thoughts lost in the intoxicating haze of euphoria.

A heated warmth seeps from your defiled cunt, dribbling sensuously against the smooth wooden desk beneath you. Ominis, with a heavy and contented sigh, begins to slowly withdraw, his cock sliding out with a wet, suctioning noise that lingers in the air.

You gaze at him through half-lidded lashes, your face carrying the unmistakable weight of exhaustion, each breath labored with fire. Ominis' well-satisfied cock twitches, strings of cum dripping from his tip.

With an almost inconceivable smirk, Ominis runs his fingers through his tousled hair, his freckled cheeks flushed from exertion. “You’re mine, you know that?” He said softly, delicate beads of sweat tracing along the contours of his midriff, a captivating sight only for you to see.

You nodded obediently, with a soft, weary sigh, “I’m yours.”

He left you utterly spent, your body feeling heavy against the wooden desk. Your legs remained parted, trembling from the aftermath, as you struggled to catch your breath, your mind remained shrouded in a tantalizing fog of lingering lust.

“Ominis…” your voice wavered, still carrying the heat of the fervent moment.

A mischievous chuckle escaped his lips as he gazed at you with desire-fueled hunger. “Round two?” His suggestion hung in the air, a tempting invitation to plunge back into the depths of pleasure once more.

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femmefatalevibe · 7 months

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Hello darling! I’ve tried several times to do time blocking and have my app calendar organised but it never works. I have adhd so it’s like I don’t know how to keep it up because I never found a method that it works for me. Can you share how you do it in case you do it? And some tips? I feel like it’ll help me to organise my life but I feel stuck every time I have to do it. Thank you <3

Hi love! Sharing my method below. Hope it's somewhat useful xx

To-Do List Planning:

Spend an hour or so on the weekend to list all of the important assignments/errands, etc. you need to complete during the week. Fill your calendar with your school/work/activity obligations first see an overview of how you will need to spend a considerable amount of time dedicated to each non-negotiable activity. Use this overview to help you map out the "free" time" you have and pre-schedule when you will do specific work projects, study for a particular exam, when you will run certain errands, engage in leisure activities, etc.

Before bed/dinner, use this weekly framework to finalize the next day – your agenda for the upcoming day. Determine the big 1-3 tasks you want to complete the following day and when throughout your day you will focus on these specific tasks. Giving yourself this pre-assigned schedule will eliminate decision fatigue and allow you to go into a more "autopilot" mode by completing the action you've already planned to take at any time of the day.

Important Date Reminders:

Utilize your Google Calendar and sync it to your iCloud (make sure it's private!) to allow you to write down any important dates available for viewing on your phone, computer, etc. at all times.

Create a color-coding system to organize your calendar (i.e. make any big projects due in blue, regular/smaller assignments to complete in red, important job reminders in yellow, errands tasks in green, family/friend obligations in purple, appointments in orange, etc.)

If you need to remember to submit certain paperwork, run an errand, etc., use your Reminders app to alert you at the time when you're able to complete this task before a deadline, going home, etc.

Use the location function or invite other participating members on a specific Google calendar event for any obligations where you need to be at a certain place at a specific time and/or are working on a group project, having a meeting, or need to be at a location with someone else.

I'm very into my "bookend" routines aka the rituals I do before I start my tasks for the day and how I wind down at night.

In the morning: Skincare, outfit, makeup, 2 big mugs of black coffee, reading articles & newsletters

In the evening: A long walk outside or a 15-30 minute YouTube workout/dance party session when the weather isn't optimal. Shower, skincare, get into sweats, make dinner, clean up around the house

To plan out my work week/days:

I use the 3-Month Productivity Planner by Intelligent Change (linked here). It's been my holy grail while building my business for the past 3-4 years. I also love having a physical "To-Do" list notepad next to me for tasks that come to mind or come up throughout the day that I want to organize/come back to later. (I always try to plan my week out on Sunday evenings and for the next day either before my evening routine or after dinner) I was gifted this one from The Daily Edited a few years ago and love it. Very much worth refilling the inserts.

For meetings: I use Google Calendar that's linked to my iCal. The notes section is essential for me.

For small tasks/bills/errands: I set scheduled Reminders for the day/time I need to pay a bill, write an email, schedule something for work or life, create a reminder for something I need to take before heading out to a meeting or appointment, something I need to buy at the pharmacy, etc.

As someone who in certain ways completely embodies the stereotypical "creative" type, my brain naturally goes in a million directions at once, so streamlining everything has become an important, deliberate habit and way of life for me. People think I'm naturally organized at this point in life, so I hope this system works for someone else out there too! x

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julianalvarez9 · 1 year

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one nail drives out another / joão félix

summary: it had all started as a mutual favour: you weren't over your ex, and neither was he. but the old saying one nail drives out another proves to be true. author's note: had this in the drafts for too long and just needed to get it out, even if i just couldn't finish it in a way that i liked :( hope it's still good tho.

warnings: smut with a plot. wc: 2.2k words

the deal was simple: he calls you when he feels alone, and you do too.

in reality, it's simpler to say that you call him to avoid calling your ex. this is what you said to yourself every time: it was for a good cause, really. anything to help you avoid the man who broke your heart several times.

joão was one hundred percent better than that man could ever be, and you knew it was safer: at least, he wouldn’t break your heart. above every single adjective he could be described with, he was kind. and after knowing him for such a long time, you also were aware of how hard it was for him to let his past relationship go, no matter if he knew it wasn’t good for him, no matter how much she actually hurt him. he was in the same situation as you: heartbroken and on the verge of falling, again.

the kiss was heated, tongues meeting and battling each other for dominance, while letting you taste him. you still could feel the vodka on his lips, intoxicating, although you doubted if what was making your brain go into overdrive was the alcohol, or joao’s ragged breath. “i need to stop thinking about her for a second,” he pleaded, warm brown eyes normally turning a shade darker. he continued the trail of kisses, messy and wet over your neck. “please, help me”.

tonight, it was your turn to call joão.

you were about to call your ex, again, for the second time after six months, until you thought otherwise. it wasn't rocket science to understand that you were feeling alone. the flat in which you lived in now was the same one you once shared with your ex boyfriend, and sometimes, no matter how many hours you try to spend out of the four walls, you can't forget what happened. how it all went wrong, so suddenly. the doubts start to creep in when the sun sets, and you start doubting whether it maybe was your fault, after all. surely, nothing you could have ever done could excuse his cheating, but why weren't you enough?

[12:11] you said: are you awake?

[12:11] joão said: yeah

[12:11] joão said: i was just about to text you

[12:12] you said: mind if i come to your house?

[12:12] joão said: it would be my pleasure

it's been a few weeks since you've seen him, with the international break getting him away from you and his schedule just being crazy in general. and even though you were thankful for it, as a way of getting your feelings on check, you also found yourself missing him. which made everything worse. after almost four months, he knew you like the back of his hand. knew how to rile you, how to touch you, what you liked. you craved him in a way no other guy would fulfill.

you had tried it.

you barely make it through the door before joao's planting his lips on yours fiercely. it's been too long, he thinks, while sinking his fingers hard onto your hips and backing you onto the main door, hard.

"you don't know how much i missed this," he says, and the warmth starts to seep into your bones, not only where you would expect it to when a pretty boy like him has his hands on you. the effect he has on you it's incredible, and you can only moan in response, legs almost giving up when he sinks a bit to grab the back of your thighs, signaling you to jump. you've got your legs clamped around his waist while he gets both of you into his bedroom.

he lays you onto the bed carefully, with him on top of you while the heavy makeout session continues. his hands roam your entire figure like he has forgotten the trace and wants to remember it. as if he could ever forget, he thinks to himself, before focusing right back into your taste. "do something, joão," you beg, your hands going to the top of his head and slightly tugging on his hair when he starts to trail down his kisses, wet lips tasting all the exposed skin he has available, before growing impatient and pulling the end of your shirt softly. although he's desperate to taste you, he remains calm, helping you take the clothes off before he proceeds to do the same.

he cups your heat through your underwear, and your hips bucked instinctively against his hand. he smirks, the little devil, when he feels how wet you are for him, even though your core remains clothed. you know it's been too long, and you're chasing this fix like he was the most addictive drug. "you're so wet, princesa, so needy. is this all for me?".

he wants to edge you, he wants to make you beg for him, but who's he kidding? joao's almost as desperate as you, not even being able to take off your undergarments fully, and instead, moving it to the side. he slides two fingers inside of you at once, your slick coating his fingers instantly as he feels you clenching around his digits. soon enough you're almost there and he notices, instead taking your fingers off your entrance and savoring your taste in his mouth, humming contently. he wants to feel you tightening around his length instead of his hand, and he hurries to extend the condom over his hard on.

your lips part when you feel his tip at your entrance, right where you need him most, and your fingers grab onto whatever skin he has close to you to remain grounded. his biceps are the ones suffering the attack of your nails on them, pleading him silently to, finally, make his way into you. he's slow at first, with you so tight after a few weeks apart from each other, and his eyes flutter shut, trying to maintain his composure until he bottoms out. you can't even think straight at this point, small whimpers leaving your mouth pleading him to move. joao finds the rhythm that has you moaning his name nonstop soon enough, like he always does, and you grab him by the nape of his neck to get him to kiss you and swallow your desperate noises.

“i won’t last long,” you warn, voice barely audible while your back arches away from the bed, creating a gap from the mattress. “go ahead,” joao encourages, keeping the pace that is driving you mad, and soon enough, you come undone under him. he helps you ride out your high, and thanks to how you’re clenching around him, he lets go too, not long after you.

the air is tense once the moment has seemingly broken, both your staggered breaths, the only sounds heard through the four walls. joao knows he has to say something about the elephant in the room, but still, he doesn’t know how. you’re the first one to move, not sparing him a glance as you start to collect your things to leave, wanting to avoid the question repeating in your head. what the fuck are we?

"why do you never stay over?" he asks instead, resting his back over the bed frame. his hands pillowed under his head in a relaxed gesture, but he’s anything but calm while the question floats in the air.

"what?" you call, not having heard his ask: you were too busy trying to find your underwear to pay attention to what the portuguese was saying. still, he continued. "it's like you run away from me every time,” he says, frowning at the thought.

once he realizes that he won't be having an answer until you find what you're looking for, he focuses on your surroundings, scanning the poorly lit room until he finds your undergarments. they're dropped by his side of the bed, serving as a reminder of what had occurred between you two not too long ago.

joão hooks the piece of lace cloth on his fingers, catching your attention, before you go and take them from him, slipping them on almost effortlessly. “is there a problem with me?".

now, with you not completely naked, you can answer him, although still refusing to dive into his warm brown eyes. "absolutely not”.

“and here you are, running away,” he laughs bitterly while getting up from the bed to grab his shirt. god bless, you think. the mere sight of him, laying on his bed, in just his black calvins was almost enough to get you back on the bed. but you can’t, you remind yourself.

“i thought it was what you wanted, no?” you counteract. it’s like joao doesn't remember the talk you had before it all began. “part of the no feelings attached thing you talked about," you remind him, and he huffs annoyed, before going back to being seated on the edge of the bed, back towards you.

you can see the marks your fingernails made on his tanned skin, still red from your doings. you’re tempted to bring it to his attention, maybe to avoid his teammates catching them tomorrow morning when he has to go back to training, but the words die on your throat.

he mutters lowly, gripping his hair like he’s about to pull some strands off. "you don't think we fucked it up already?”.

"what are you talking about?".

of course you know what he’s talking about. the deal made it clear that it was just sex: but you were friends first and foremost, and you couldn’t avoid your friend group, which you shared with him. you couldn’t avoid the questions they asked. who has you smiling so big lately, y/n? are you seeing anyone? no, of course not. i can present to you a friend, then.

the mere thought of you with someone else made joao see red, and that's how he noticed something had changed, and that he had to do something about it before what he feared became a reality. he initially had said he had enough of relationships, and just didn't want the complications it brought. and after what he went through, it was safe to say his trust issues were at their worst. just like yours. that's why it was such a good deal at first: to get the benefits of a relationship without the problems of actually keeping one.

“i missed you while i was away,” he begins, and your stomach turns when you hear what he has to say next. “you don’t see a problem?”. you want to say that you missed him too, but the question leaves you feeling uneasy. of course it’s a problem for him, you think. he has grown attached, like you have, but doesn’t want any of it.

“good thing that i’m leaving then, no?”.

joao's quick to stand on his feet and go over to where you are, almost turning the knob and exiting his bedroom. “stay. please," he begs, hand softly grazing your wrist to avoid you getting away from him. at this point, you're confused and hurt enough to start regretting even getting here in the first place. “you’re not making sense right now, you know, right? saying that this is a problem and then asking me to stay the night”.

through your years being friends, you realized that joao wasn’t the best one at explaining his emotions with words. maybe, because the words weren’t truly his -having to find the words, in a language that wasn’t your own, sure made things more difficult than they needed to be-. "you and i not being together is the problem", he gets to say, almost like a last resource to get you looking at him again. "what about what you said before? that you're not ready for another relationship?".

it work in his favour, because the sentence previously muttered by joao as you turn to face him again. you’re looking into his eyes now, trying to find even an ounce of doubt that would make you leave again. you didn’t want to force him into being with you: you knew the risks when you accepted this fucking deal. you didn’t want him to feel trapped into a relationship he had never intended to start.

"i guess i'm ready when it's you,” joao smiles, softly caressing the skin of your cheek with his thumb. you feel yourself melt under him, his sweet touch and his thoughtful words. “i know you're not her. and i'm not him. but i get it if you-".

the kiss is needy, again, like it had been when you first arrived, but this time you are the one to initiate it. your hand found its way into his hair, and you pulled him impossible closer, hoping that this would clear up all his doubts without you having to say anything. of course you knew he wasn’t him. you had never dared to make the comparison, not even for a second. once the kiss is over, you rest your forehead against his, before softly whispering onto his lips. “we can take it slow. i just need you, nothing else”.

“whatever you need, princesa”.

#joão félix imagine #joao felix imagine #joao felix x you #joao felix x reader #joao felix fanfic #football imagine #football x you #football x reader

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