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itsbeeble · 4 months

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NO BITCHES?

SUMMARY: When you met Eric, you’d thought he was just another frat boy, looking to get into any woman’s pants (particularly yours at that moment). You never would’ve thought that he was just a loser who really liked FNAF and just thought you were pretty.

GENRE: smut, fluff, crack, mild angst

PAIRING: Eric Sohn x afab!reader (ft hak, sunwoo, sunwoo's gf, and sangyeon)

WC: 10.5k (there go my plans of proving Ally wrong)

SERIES MASTERLIST

PERM TAGLIST: @juyeonszn @winterchimez

18+ MDNI AGLESS BLOGS WILL BE BLOCKED

WARNINGS: um... okay so virgin!eric, kinda dom!reader, eric's a fucking loser, reader kinda makes fun of him at first for being a virgin, reader kinda teaches eric about everything from kissing to uh...yeah, dry humping, kissing, making out, oral (m and f receiving), eric cums in his pants, eric plays fnaf, um...public making out? public fingering?, multiple orgasms, eric goes from little virgin boy to I TOLD YOU WE NEEDED MORE GLITTER real fast, sunwoo slander, sunwoo's annoying in this idk, eric's a dumb gamer boy who needs desperate help from the boy who concussed his gf (cough sunwoo), slight bit of miscommunication?, eric cries (ummmm dacryphilia?), reader also cries (again...dacryphilia?), edging el oh el, sunwoo and. reader know the importance of CONSENT, i think that's all the important stuff

A/N: I'm never gonna beat the allegations... ally will always think i bias eric. Anyway, happy birthday to my little munchkin princess eric sohn 🥰🥰

Eric was practically shaking as he approached you. Scratch that, he was definitely shaking but he could blame the ripples covering the drinks in his hand on the pumping base. It thrummed in his veins, or maybe that was his pulse steadily increasing when he locked eyes with you.

You. His gorgeous, intelligent, perfect…

Lab partner. You were his lab partner and at that very moment, nothing more. At least, not in your eyes. Eric, though? He was enamored by you. The way you laugh, the teasing grin when he does something wrong and you scold him, the way your body looks in that dress—

“Hi.” You look away from your friends and face him, a curious look on your face. He’s starting to feel warm. Was it warm in here? He thinks he’s starting to sweat, and can feel something drip down the back of his neck.

“Hi…?” Your hands are empty, and Eric forces himself not to jump up and down with glee that he doesn’t have to make the excuse of having two drinks for himself.

“I’m— Do you—” He stutters, and heat begins to spread from his neck to his cheeks as your friends giggle. You just smile. A kind smile that has his body slowly relaxing the more he looks at your face. “Do you wanna drink— I mean— fuck, I meant do you want a drink. Not— not do you wanna drink— I mean that could— that is also a question, but—”

More laughter from your friends and Eric suddenly thinks he’s gonna throw up all over you, your dress, and his nice white button-up shirt that he’d forced Sangyeon to iron for him.

“Thank you, Eric.” You say, reaching for the cup in his left hand. Your fingers brush against his, and his knees begin to wobble visibly. Your smile disappears into a concerned frown, and suddenly Eric’s attention is on your lips. He isn’t paying attention to his surroundings anymore. Can’t find himself caring that your friends are still laughing at the scenario, nor that you shoo them away.

“Eric?” Your hand waves in front of his face, effectively catching the boy’s attention. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” Eric says it far too quickly, knowing immediately that you don’t believe him. Fortunately, one of his many charms is that he’s very good at lying to people. “I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?”

You giggle, and it’s the sweetest sound that he’s ever heard.

“You just— you seem a little uncomfortable right now.” You lean close to him, scanning his face under the flashing lights. You can hardly make out his features under the colors. Blue, purple, red, white, green, yellow. All the colors under the rainbow covered his face and changed every few seconds. When they flashed white, you swear you can see a flush in his cheeks.

“Why would I be uncomfortable?” He leans toward you with a sudden surge of confidence that has your heart pounded a bit. “Why would I ever be uncomfortable around the most beautiful girl in the building?”

And there it is, folks, you think. Your eye twitches, something so subtle that Eric fails to catch it. The irritation, the disappointment.

“Ah, I see.” You grimace, and Eric begins to panic again.

“What— did I upset you?” He asks, and you roll your eyes.

“Eric, if you wanna get into my pants you’re gonna have to try better than that.”

Eric’s heart drops to the floor, his face flushing even more as he begins to panic. He stutters, he tries to backtrack, he tries to explain himself. You, however, are hearing none of it. Not a single word that comes out of his mouth reaches your ears.

“Stop, Eric.” You snap and his mouth snaps shut. “Just…Just stop.”

You set the cup he’d given you down on the table, and he stares at it dumbly while you storm away to find your friends again. The amber liquid in the cup sloshes with the base echoing around it and the loud noise of partygoers around him.

He watches it spill over the lip of the cup, and then sets his own cup down next to it, turning around to return to the party but the weight of crushing rejection sits uncomfortably on his chest.

It’s two days later when you see Eric again. Monday morning, an 8AM Physics lecture that no one wants to be in. Two weeks into the semester, and almost twenty people had already dropped the class. He walks in with a black hat covering his head, and a white tee shirt covering his torso. It’s certainly not clothing suitable for the cold air of early February, but he’d been unable to do his laundry over the weekend due to the parties on Friday and Saturday and the neverending clean-up that occurred on Sunday.

He spots you, tucked well into the second row, and his eyes light up. Yours, on the other hand, narrow. You keep your gaze on him while he makes his way up to you as quickly as possible, hoping to have a chance to talk to you before the lecture begins.

“Hey,” he grins at you, gently setting his bag on the chair to his left and turning to face you. Your eyes are still narrowed with suspicion. “How was your weekend?”

How was your weekend? It’s as if the both of you hated that question; one of you cringing with something close to disgust, the other with something like horror. Is he stupid?

“It was fine,” you tell him curtly. Eric frowns, leaning back in his chair when you turn your gaze to the front.

“Did I do something wrong?” He blurts out, and your shoulders sag. Was that the wrong thing to ask? Did he do something wrong?

“Did you seriously just ask me that?” You hiss out, glancing at him from the corner of your eye. He opens his mouth to speak, but he has a hard time finding the words. What is he even supposed to say? What if you think he’s an asshole for not knowing what was wrong? What if you never smile at him again?

“I— honestly I really don’t know!” You scoff and Eric sits up, leaning forward on the table to get a better view of your face. You can see the pout, see the way his eyebrows knit together in what you can only assume is faux confusion. There’s no way he doesn’t know what he did.

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” You look at him fully now and watch the way his body recoils from the words. Hurt, confusion. No anger. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Eric Sohn angry in the two years you’d shared classes with him.

“What— what did I even do?” The professor walks in, and he hushes his voice. “I can’t fix things if I don’t know what I did wrong!”

“That’s your own damn fault then, isn’t it?” You click your pen, and Eric shuts up. You almost feel bad, carefully watching as he takes out his own notebook to begin taking notes. He doesn’t say anything for the rest of the lecture, and you feel a pang of regret in your chest. Maybe he really doesn’t know what he did wrong, you think, nibbling on your lip in thought. No, there’s no way he doesn’t know. He’s the smartest guy in the room, no way does he not know what—

You glance at Eric again, this time turning your head to fully look at him. His blond hair falls over his eyes, even with the hat covering his head. His shoulders are hunched, his hand moving so quickly over the lined paper so that he can at least try to keep up with your professor. For a moment, you think about Eric Sohn. About the frat boy who had been nothing but kind to you since the day you met. About the boy who once gave you notes far more detailed than you’d ever written during the week you were sick. About the boy who—

No, you shake your head and begin to write down more equations you know you’re going to have to ask Eric about later. He’s a frat boy. All he wants is a good fuck and then he’s gone.

But why did he seem so hurt when you spoke to him so rudely? When you turned him away not once, but twice within the past three days.

You liked him, you really did! He was kind, thoughtful, and he was always helping anyone he could. He never refused to help anyone, even if it was a subject that he didn’t know that well. Had you gotten it wrong? Was he just trying to talk to you and you had responded—

Your pen clicks again as you give up on the notes, and you lean back in your chair to squint at the whiteboard in front of you.

Talking with Eric Sohn was inevitable, but it was only a matter of how long you could avoid the topic—

“I want all of you to pair up. These will be your partners for the midterm project.”

Eric’s gaze turns to you uneasily, tilting his head in question. You bite down hard on your tongue, fighting every urge inside of you to turn around and ask the girl behind you to be partners.

Fuck, how could you say no to those eyes?

Your room is brighter than Eric thought it would be. When you originally invited him over to study that night, he had been terrified. Was your apartment going to be almost falling apart? What if it was really nice and he broke something? What if you killed him and stuffed him into a dumpster?

Fortunately, none of those things were necessarily true. Your building wasn’t falling apart, thankfully, although it was arguably nicer than any other off-campus apartments and you could still choose to kill him.

It was nice, though. It was a two-bedroom apartment that you shared with your friend Eunseung, one full bathroom and another half-bathroom, a decent kitchen, and a nice-sized living space. According to what you told him in the last semester, the rent wasn’t too awful either.

The walls of your bedroom were yellow, but not an ugly shade of yellow. It was pastel, not quite bright enough to be harsh on the eyes but not dark enough to make it hard to see. You’d lined bookshelves up to the wall, most filled with books but some with photos and plants and music albums. You had a small desk in the corner, and your bed was aligned with the center of the back wall, a light green comforter covering white sheets.

“I’m surprised we’ve never studied here.” You hum, but your tone is distant. Eric laughs dryly and sets his bag down on the ground next to your bedframe.

“You prefer the library,” he points out. “The lighting is easier for your eyes.”

For a moment, you pause in your motions. How did he—

“How did you know that?” You ask, turning to face him. You can see the flush in your partner’s cheeks, and he ducks his head so that the baseball cap on his head covers his eyes.

“I just— you would always squint when we studied at the library or— or at the TBZ house. I just…I figured that was the reason.” I pay attention. That’s what you knew he meant.

Why does a boy who only wants to get into your pants care so much about you?

“Oh.” You dig your laptop out of your bag and take a seat on your bed, leaning against your pillows with your legs straight out in front of you. Eric joins you, sitting crosslegged at the other end of the bed. He’s careful not to get too close, shifting away from you when you adjust your position. Your skirt flares out to the side, ruffled by the blanket and exposing your thighs a bit more. Eric has to force his eyes to remain on his laptop. You notice, but there’s no anger with it. You choose to not even acknowledge it.

“So what do we wanna do for our project?” His eyes flick over to you, and you shrug.

“We could build something?” You suggest. “Maybe, like, a paper airplane launcher?”

He hums, tilting his head back and wrinkling his nose in thought.

“What about something with electromagnetism?” You nod slowly.

“That could be good. We could keep with the idea of building something and make an electric motor with things people have lying around their houses?”

Eric grins at you. “Now we’re thinking. We’ll have this done in no time at all.”

Eric was right.

The brainstorming and research portion of the project had been completed within a few hours, and the two of you had cast your laptops to the side to search your apartment for things to use. Paper clips, some sort of copper wire (you had no idea why anyone would have a copper wire hanging around their house. Eric, however, said that there were several around the frat house), wood, some batteries. Anything that the two of you could use. The only thing neither of you had was a staple gun.

“It’s getting late,” Eric notes with a quick glance toward your living room window. You hum in response, lying back on your couch with your phone in your hand. “I should get going soon.”

Your eyes flick to him, but he isn’t looking at you. “Do you wanna stay the night?”

Silence. A long moment of silence, and then Eric looks at you with a look nearing scandalized.

“What?” You sit up, draping your arms over the back of your couch and getting a better look at him.

“You heard me.” His face is bright red, similar to the night of the party.

“Why would— why would I want— I mean th— thank you for the offer but— but I can’t stay the night. Why would— where would I even sleep? I don’t have clothes to sleep in!” He throws every excuse he could possibly think of at you, adding to your amusement. He had no clothes, where would he sleep, you had classes earlier in the morning than him, it would be weird if he stayed the night. It was cute.

You’ll admit it, Eric was cute. The puppy-like look in his eyes, the pout on his lips. Everything about him was cute. It almost shocked you how fast you were able to get over the anger that he only wanted to sleep with you. In fact, you weren’t sure that’s what he even wanted from you. Only one way to find out, right?

“Eric,” you finally cut off his rambling and his voice stops, leaving your apartment oddly quiet. “Come here.”

He listens, slowly slinking toward you. Eric is nervous, you can tell. Every step he takes, every twitch when you shift your body. It fills you with pride, or maybe some other emotion.

Eric stops when he’s right in front of you, just a few steps from the back of the couch and both of you (really just him) are all too aware of how his crotch is level with your mouth.

“I wanna tell you something,” you beckon him toward you with one finger and he slowly, albeit a bit awkwardly as well, bends down so that his face is just above yours. Heat radiates off his face, so hot that you may start sweating soon. “Do you wanna know a secret?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, his hands gripping the couch for dear life, short nails digging into the cheap fabric.

“Sure.” Eric’s voice is hoarse, and it makes you smile.

“I kinda like you, Eric.”

Your lips press gently against his. Entirely experimental, just enough to see what he would do. His body seizes up, his breath hitching in his throat. He doesn’t move against you, doesn’t tilt his head or part his lips. He sits there like the lead in a lame drama where the main characters seem like they couldn’t be less into each other. You begin to pull away from him, fearing you’d made him a bit uncomfortable, but a whine is pulled from his throat when your lips part from his.

You look at him, but he’s already looking at you with wide, bulging eyes.

“Eric…” You have a sneaking suspicion that you know why he didn’t kiss you. “Have you…has no one ever kissed you before?”

“What?” The boy’s voice is shrill, and you know the answer. “Of— of course, I’ve been kissed? What kind of question is that?”

Your lips quirk up. “Are you sure? It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, you know.”

“What— why would I be embarrassed?” His frustration and denial are cute. Adorable, really.

“Because you’re a sophomore in college and have been kissed once— by your physics partner, no less.” You smirk playfully and then gasp, pushing up and toward him suddenly. He reels back, nearly falling backward with the suddenness of the motion. “Eric Sohn! Are you a virgin?”

Eric looks like he’s about to cry from embarrassment, and he turns away from you completely. You grimace briefly and climb off the couch to come around and stand in front of him. He avoids your gaze by looking above you, around you, at the floor and the walls.

“Eric,” your voice is gentle now. He doesn’t move, nor does he make any noise. He’s like a deer in headlights. “Eric, can you look at me.”

“No,” he denies, crossing his arms over his chest. You feel a bubble of amusement rising in your stomach. “You’re just gonna make fun of me.”

“I’m not gonna make fun of you.” You promise, your hand grazing his forearm. Eric’s eyes lock with yours, and for once you choose to hold his gaze. “Now, can you tell me the truth so I can help you?”

“Help me,” he echoes with an air of offense. “I don’t need help!”

“Eric, you’re a sophomore in college who’s in the most popular frat on the campus. Add onto that your personality and your good looks, you should be getting bitches left and right.” You say pointedly and the tips of his ears flush red. Or, rather, as red as they can when his whole face is burning up from your prior insinuations.

“What if I’m just waiting for marriage?” He counters. “Or— or the right person?” Your lips draw into a thin line, knowing that statement was bullshit.

“We both know you wouldn’t be hard as a rock right now if that was the case.”

Eric’s heart plummets to the ground, his eyes following it to check for himself. To his complete and utter dismay, you weren’t lying. Pressing against the front of his cargo pants was the solid outline of his member, straining against the seam and begging to be released.

“I— I am so— so sorry,” he stammers, his hands yanking the edge of his sweatshirt down to cover himself, his hands remaining carefully placed over his crotch but he knows it’s too late. “I didn’t— I don’t— oh my god I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” you reassure him, holding tightly onto his sleeve so he can’t run for the door. “I knew you wanted to sleep with me, it was kind of obvious.”

“No I— I don’t want—” Eric frantically shakes his head. “I don’t— I can’t— I don’t wanna sleep with you— I mean I do, I really really do, but not— not like this—”

The hand on his sleeve comes up to grab his cheeks, squeezing them together until his lips are pushed out and he can’t speak anymore.

“You can admit it, Eric.” You hum, and with your hand still on his face, you begin to walk him back and around to the side of the couch. He yelps when you push him back, letting go of his face and watching him fall over the arm and land with an oof on the cushions. “You can admit that you wanted to fuck me from the moment you saw me.”

“But I—” He choked on spit before he could finish talking, eyes widening into saucers when you climbed onto the couch, crawling up to sit on his lap. He’s sitting up straight now, but the risk of falling back again is high with nothing to support his spine. Your hands just rest on his shoulders, not digging in or moving to grasp anything else. They stay there, waiting for him to make the first move.

“Tell me if you don’t want me to continue, Eric.” His hands are trembling, his pulse higher than it’s ever been. He slowly rotates his body, placing his feet firmly on the ground and resting his spine against the back of the couch so that he doesn’t hurt either of you.

“I want—” his voice cracks.

“What do you want?” Your lips are on his neck, featherlight kisses being left in your wake and knocking the breath out of him. He’d never felt like this, he’d never been touched like this save for his own hand in the darkness of his room with an animated video on loop on his laptop screen. At his lack of response, you pull your lips back from his neck. Eric lets out a loud whine at this, his left hand coming to the back of your head to lightly try and push you back into him.

“Keep doing that,” he gasps out, and you smile.

“Don’t you want me to kiss you?” You ask him, and another whine tumbles from his lips.

“I— fuck, I do— god, why are you doing this to me?”

“I just wanna know what you want, Eric,” you’re teasing him and you know it, but you’re pretty sure Eric might fall to pieces if you don’t give him something soon. “Can’t you tell me what you want?”

“Just—” he leans his head back, and you watch the rapid bobbing of his throat as he tries to swallow and take in air and do anything to calm himself down. “Just do something.”

“What’s the magic word?” He raises his head, gasping when he finds your lips suddenly inches from his own.

“Ple— please?” Your lips quirk up.

“Actually, it was—”

You don’t get the chance to tease him anymore. He crushes your lips together with so much force that it almost hurts. There’s nothing coherent about the way he kisses you, although you could hardly call it a kiss at all. It was more him putting his mouth against yours, tilting his head, and squeezing his eyes shut. It’s clear from the moment it started that he’s never been kissed before and that knowledge has you squirming in his lap.

“Eric,” you’ve barely pulled back and he’s chasing your lips as if you’re a glass of his favorite wine. “Eric, hold on.”

“Why?” His eyes flutter open and you have to force yourself not to kiss him senseless, even if he has no idea what he’s doing.

“Just—” You inhale deeply and the scent of his cologne begins to overwhelm your senses, practically intoxicating you. “You’ve never kissed anyone before.”

He nods, his previous embarrassment returning when you say that. “I mean…Yeah, I— I haven’t. But I—I’ve used WikiHow—”

“It’s okay,” you cut him off and choose to ignore the comment about WikiHow, pressing a light kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Just follow my lead.”

When he nods, you press your lips against his again. This time, it’s more fluid. It’s easier for you to kiss him when he’s copying your movements. It’s still awkward, your teeth smacking together painfully, but you can tell he’s getting used to the feeling. You’re able to part your lips against his, to open your mouth just enough for your tongue to slip out and brush against his lower lip. His whole body jolts, his hands digging into the fabric of your skirt hard enough that your skin would be bruised the next day. His hips roll up against yours, drawing a heady moan out of you.

When Eric parts from you, his eyes are hazy. “Did— did you like when I did that?”

“Yes,” you groan and begin to roll your hips down into his, watching the way his eyes roll into the back of his head and his back arches off the couch.

“F-Fuck, okay,” He screws his eyes shut again, lips completely parted as the two of you begin to hump into each other like some damn animals. Your lips meld together again, and you let your tongue slither into his mouth. It’s obvious that Eric has no idea what to do with his tongue— pushing against yours aggressively, shoving it to the side, and trying to push his into your mouth— but as the minutes pass, he begins to understand what to do. He begins to understand what makes your body react positively and what has you unintentionally cringing away from him.

Your lips part from his one more time but you hardly give him time to complain before you place a kiss on his cheek, then the corner of his jaw, and then right below his ear. He emits a nearly wild moan at this, his hips jerking up into yours in such a way that his bulge presses against your clit and punches a moan out of you. Being the quick learner that he is, Eric adjusts his position and rolls his hips up again and again and again, addicted to the way you sound and feel against him.

“Eric,” you whine, parting from his neck. “Eric, oh my god.”

He just huffs into your collarbone, licking and sucking and trying desperately to not cum too soon, but you just feel so good against him that he just can’t help it.

His hips stutter against yours, and he moans so loud you fear that the neighbors hear it. You let him continue to grind into you, to work himself through his orgasm as your slips back and escapes you. It doesn’t matter, you’d get yourself when he leaves—

“You didn’t cum.”

“What?” You blink dumbly at him, and Eric begins to pout.

“You didn’t— you didn’t cum. You should’ve told me. I would’ve held off!” You knew that wasn’t true. He could barely hold himself together from a few kisses, what made him think he’d be able to hold himself off until you came?

“It’s fine, Eric.” You reassure him, but he’s having none of it. You can’t stop him from lifting you off his hips and settling you against the couch cushions. Well…you probably could, but you wanted to see where this went.

You watch as he unceremoniously yanks down your panties, not bothering with your skirt whether out of impatience or because he liked seeing you in it.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” Eric peers up at you, a boyish smile on his face.

“Can’t be that hard, right?” You laugh, choosing not to argue with him. You’d tell him, when it came time, where your clit is but for now? You’d let him work things out for himself.

Your body shudders when Eric takes his first taste, licking from the bottom to the top of your pussy. You’re amazed that he didn’t accidentally go too far down like most (slightly more experienced) men have. It’s almost impressive how much attention he pays to your quivering body, and you flip your skirt up so you can see his face buried into you. Every lick draws out a moan from both of you, and you can see him starting to roll his hips down onto the couch.

“Fuck,” his words are muffled by your cunt, and vile slurping noises accompany him. “Could get addicted to the taste of you.”

“Mm, feels good, Eric.” Your eyes flutter shut, one of your hands slipping down to tangle in his blonde strands of hair and tugging him up slightly. Your other hand taps at your clit lightly, making your body jolt a bit. “Here. This— fuck— feels good here.”

“That’s it?” He drops his head down again, swatting your hand out of the way to replace it with his own. His touch is much rougher than yours, his hands thick and calloused compared to your delicate ones. “Right here?”

You whine for him, and he has to bite on his tongue to not cum again so fast. He’s quick to attach his mouth to your clit, sucking violently and swiping his tongue against it. If you weren’t impressed by him before, you most certainly were now. It hadn’t taken him long at all to figure out what felt good for you. Reading your mind and body was almost second nature to him, it seemed, and it became abundantly clear when your orgasm began to rise again.

“Close, Eric!” You gasped out, “I’m close!”

He groans against you, catching your hips in his hands when they begin to roll into his face. Eric wanted to drown in you. He wanted to feel you shake around him for the rest of his damn life. He wanted to hear you screaming his name until your throat was raw and your voice was gone.

And the sight of you cumming on his face, your essence soaking his chin and dripping onto his sweatshirt?

If he could stay glued to you for the rest of his life, he fucking would.

Becoming a habit came easy for you and Eric. You’re not dating, but you’re unsure of whether the puppy-like boy cares or not. You discovered very quickly that he would do anything for you, would learn anything for you. You’d successfully taught him how to kiss a girl without looking like a dumbass (i.e. the straight-face-to-sudden-kiss scenario you’d faced too many times to count), how to finger you and hit all the right spots, where not to put his mouth and fingers unless explicitly told otherwise. There was, of course, your next problem.

Eric refused to put his dick in you.

You knew he was clean, both of you had gotten tested when you originally began screwing around. You knew he liked you, that much was obvious. He looked at you as if you hung the stars in the sky, he told you how much he loved you every time you gave him head. He just…never went farther than that. Was he scared? Did he not want you as bad as you (very clearly) wanted him? It made you nauseous to think about, but it was getting frustrating how all you two did was make out, grind on each other like teenagers, and give each other head every time you saw each other. Shit— he was even fine with fingering you underneath the table in your lecture the other day!

That’s why you developed a plan. Here you were, standing outside of the Tau Beta Zeta frat house under the guise of needing to work on your project (which wasn’t necessarily a lie) but really planning on getting him to finally fuck you. Yes, you were aware of the fact that he was a virgin but it was obvious from the start that he didn’t give a shit about that.

Unless he did. Your hand pauses just inches from the door, but you shake your head to clear the anxious thought and you knock on the door.

One, two, three…one, two three…one—

On the third round of knocks, a boy swings the door open. His eyes are wide, his hair in disarray.

“Hi.” You wave your hand with a smile, but the boy just stands there with a dumb look on his face. Were all the TBZ boys like this?

“…Hi?” He says it in the form of a question, which draws a laugh out of you.

“I’m Y/N.”

“…Sunwoo…”

“Oh, the star soccer player, right?” He nods and you grin. “I saw your last game, the one where your girlfriend— I’m assuming girlfriend— knocked some sense into you. You really killed it out there!”

“Thank you…uh…can— can I help you?” You rock back and forth on your heels, biting at your lip in thought. The idea of wearing a skirt is choosing to bite you in the ass as a cold breeze picks up.

“I’m here for Eric, actually. Um…Eric Sohn? I think he lives here, right?” Sunwoo’s jaw drops, his head dipping down as well and he steps to the side to let you in. You smile, using your feet to pull your shoes off as you step into the entryway. You see a pile of shoes to your left, the larger men’s pairs shoved into a large pile while some smaller women’s shoes sit neatly. You can’t help but wonder if it was the girlfriends that did this or if one of the frat members cares a bit more about them than the others.

“He’s…he’s on the second floor, third door on the left…” You thank Sunwoo, ignoring how he follows you with obvious confusion and awe. Another boy passes by you, staring in confusion but ends up in the same state as the soccer player when he explains the situation.

You knock before you enter Eric’s room, rocking on your heels again as you wait for some sort of response. You get none, and when you go to interrupt him, the second boy stops you.

“Hi, um, I’m Haknyeon— you can call me Hak, though— Eric’s— he’s— he’s gaming. You can just go in because there’s no way you’re gonna get his attention by— by, um— yeah.” He stumbles over his words in an almost incomprehensible way, but you get the basic idea.

“Thanks, Hak,” you dip your head and twist the doorknob. Sunwoo and Hak both watch you enter the room, only snapping out of their daze when you shut the door tightly behind you.

“You…you saw that too, right?” Haknyeon grabs Sunwoo by the shoulder with a grin on his face.

“My best friend…” Sunwoo’s voice is quiet with confusion. “He’s…he’s getting bitches?”

“What did I say about saying that,” his girlfriend pops around the corner with a scowl on her face. Sunwoo’s face lights up, but it disappears at the scolding gaze she gives him.

“Sorry, baby,” he pouts and she rolls her eyes. “I just wasn’t expecting it.”

“Give them some damn privacy,” she clicks her tongue, eyeing the door. “Lord knows they’re probably gonna need it.”

Eric is facing a large gaming setup when you enter the room. You can see the dark polo sweater which is partially unzipped to reveal some of his chest, the beige hat, and the khaki combo he had, unfortunately, chosen to wear today (you’re going to have to update his closet soon, whether you date him or not. You have to save the next girl he’s with). The lights, shockingly, are purple rather than the red you had expected. You can see expensive monitors and a keyboard, all of which are cleaner than any other gamer’s setup that you’d seen. In fact, his whole room is so much cleaner than you had ever given him credit for. You’d expected to see something absolutely filthy, but Eric never fails to shock you.

What doesn’t shock you, however?

Five Nights At Freddy’s playing on the screens.

You clear your throat, and he barely even spares a glance at you. You wonder if he even recognized that it was you—

“Yo, Y/N!” Oh god, this might not go as planned. “You’re early!”

“Figured I’d come by to hang out before we got started on the paper.” You come up behind him, dropping your bag and jacket by the edge of the bed, revealing the black sheer top you’d chosen to go with your white skirt. You’d also chosen the perfume you know gets his attention the most, the one that always has him practically gluing his face to your neck.

That doesn’t happen this time. He stays glued to his game, his legs spread wide open and tongue sticking out from the corner of his lips.

“Feel— fuck!” His body jerks when an animatronic (Foxy, maybe?) comes out of a vent and gives him barely enough time to start protecting himself. “Feel free to make yourself comfortable, I might take a while.”

You hum, not moving from your spot. Your hands are on the back of his gaming chair, your eyes focused on the screen with fake intrigue. He doesn’t acknowledge you, so you let your hands begin to sink onto his shoulders. His chin tilts toward you a bit, but he corrects himself and goes back to ignoring you even when your nails graze the skin of his collarbone.

“What are you doing?” Eric asks, but it’s more dismissive than anything.

“Just watching you play,” you reply with a sly grin. Another jumpscare appears, and he grunts when you intentionally dig your nails into him (something you’ve learned he loves over the past two weeks).

Part two of your scheme begins when you sink to your knees beside Eric and slip under his desk. This grabs his attention. Eric watches as you get comfortable, no longer paying attention to the screens in front of him when you run your hands up his thighs, grazing the button of his khaki pants.

“Y/N, this—” his breath catches in his throat when you finally undo the button and pull the zipper down. You can see his member already hardening, twitching in his boxers. “You don’t have to— I don’t— why—”

“Jus’ play your game, baby.” You purr, your fingers hooking under the band of his boxers to tug them and his pants down at the same time. His jaw is hanging open, eyes wide with awe, but you stop your movements. “Play your game, Eric, or I’m leaving.”

His response is immediate, sliding his chair closer to you and lifting his hips to let you work. Your smirk is wide, and you yank his clothing down in one go, letting them rest around his ankles. Eric’s knee begins to bounce, and you rest your hand on top of it to steady him. His member, in just a few moments, has completely hardened. You can see the slick precum beginning to leak from his tip, and you lower your mouth to catch each drop on his tongue.

The moan he emits is loud, and you pull your mouth back just an inch to dig your nails into his thigh.

“Stay quiet and don’t cum unless I say so.” He whimpers in response, and you bring your mouth back onto him. You begin by suckling at his tip, letting your tongue swirl around him like a lollypop, and listening to his barely restrained moans. You hear clicking and tapping on his keyboard, as well as random noises from the game

You take him a little deeper and his thighs tense, but he’s good at staying quiet. He’s good even when his tip hits the back of your throat and you gag around him. Even when you take him so deep that you’re choking on him and spit is dripping from your mouth and onto his skin. Even when you begin hollowing your mouth and bobbing your head, and swallowing around him a few times when you take him all the way down so your nose is against his pelvis.

Another jumpscare and his hips jerk and force him farther down your throat. You moan around him, your eyes rolling back at the feeling, and that elicits a whine from him.

“Y/N,” he pleads. “I’ve been s-so good for yo—you right? Haven’t— Haven’t I been good? Ple—please let me cum. Jus’ wanna cum, please?”

Eric sees you look up at him through your eyelashes, and just the sight of you slobbering all over him has his eyes rolling back in his head.

Then you pull off him completely, leaving his dick twitching and lonely against his stomach.

“Why did— why did you pull off?” His eyes are dazed, and you flash a coy smile at him.

“I told you to pay attention to the game, didn’t I?”

“I— yeah, you did but— but I just— you—” Eric is tearing up as you begin to push your body out from under the desk to stand in front of him.

“Poor baby,” you cup his cheek and your stomach churns when he leans into your palm with a sigh. “Should’ve just paid attention and beat the night, then, hm?”

“Please,” he whines, leaving little kisses on your palm and working his way to your wrist, your forearm, your elbow, and then he’s pulling you onto his lap so you’re nearly sitting on his dick. You can feel it pulsing against your core, and you can’t help the tiny rolls of your hips to gain some sort of friction. “Please, just— I’ll…I’ll do anything you want. I’ll— I’ll eat you out, I’ll finger you, fuck, I’ll— I’ll let you sit on my face if that’s what you want.”

You hum, tapping your fingers against his chest in thought. “What if I want you to fuck me?”

His body tenses and his cheeks begin to flush, his eyes refusing to meet yours.

“Eric,” you say softly, moving your hand to his chin and forcing him to look at you. “Eric, talk to me.”

“I— I don’t—”

“I’m not gonna force you to do anything, Eric,” you reassure him, stopping the ministrations of your hips and bringing your free hand to the side of his neck. “I just want to know why. I want to understand. Do you— do you not want me? Do you wanna save yourself for another girl?”

“No!” He snaps, his voice a bit harsher than he’d intended for it to come out but it has you flinching away from him. In a moment of panic, he brings his hands to your waist and tugs you closer to him. “I— sorry. It’s not— it’s not that at all.”

“Then why?” Your hands are playing with the ends of his blonde hair, and Eric swallows once. Twice. And then he tucks his head into your shoulder.

“I…I don’t know.”

You nod, disappointment filling you, but you don’t let it show.

“Let’s work on the project.” You slide off his lap, ignoring the somewhat heartbroken gaze he shoots you. “The paper is due in a couple of days, so I grabbed a few sources and drafted an outline.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. He just tucks his member back into his pants and comes to join you on his bed. The air is tense and you know he wants to say something. You wait for him to say it.

He doesn’t.

“Eric, you’re fucking stupid.” Sunwoo throws himself onto his best friend’s bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sound of Eric hitting his head on his desk.

“I know…”

“I mean, we already knew this from previous incidents. Ahem, giving my then-crush-now-girlfriend a concussion. But holy shit I thought it couldn’t possibly get any worse than that.”

“I know!” Eric whines, sitting heavily on the gaming chair he’d gotten head on almost four hours ago, and could have gotten laid in had he not been a damn moron.

“I mean, you’ve been trying to get laid by this chick for how long? And you cockblocked yourself because…” Sunwoo trails off, his eyebrows knitting together as he sits up. “Wait, why did you cockblock yourself?”

“I don’t know, man!” Eric huffs and leans his head back. “Fuck, she was so nice about it too. Too nice. I know damn well she’s pissed at me but she’s too fucking nice to say anything.”

“Well yeah,” Sunwoo shrugs. “Sex 101— don’t force yourself onto anyone. Hello? Why would she do that to you?”

Eric crosses his arms over his chest, using his feet to spin his chair back and forth lightly. You had been really sweet about everything. You could’ve gotten mad at him, especially since this wasn’t the first time this had happened, but you didn’t. You wanted him to be ready.

And he was. He was so ready! He just— he gets nervous around you! What if he’s a disappointment? What if he’s so bad that you have to fake an orgasm? What if he doesn’t fit? What if he hurts you?

“Eric,” Sunwoo claps his hands together to snap Eric out of his thoughts. “Stop getting distracted while I’m trying to help you in a way that won’t lead to injuries.”

The poor, self-cockblocked boy lifts his head with a pout.

“There’s a party this weekend, right?”

“Yeah…” Eric tilts his head.

“Make sure she’s there. Use whatever excuse you need to, and make sure she shows up. Then, ask her to talk. Go somewhere private, talk to her, tell her you’re ready, and then fuck until the sun comes up.” Sunwoo claps again, throwing his out to the side in a cocky I just made the best plan ever manner. “First of all, gets you laid, second of all— free revenge on Sangyeon.”

Eric drums his fingers against his legs in thought. The plan was good, he’d admit that. Of course, not out loud. No, he would never let Sunwoo know that he was right about something.

“Fine,” Eric agrees. “But if shit goes south, it’s your fault.”

“Deal,” Sunwoo grins mischievously. “And if shit goes right, you owe me and my girlfriend dinner.”

“Deal.”

Eric doesn’t see you at all that week, something that has him nearly crying on the ground in Sangyeon’s bedroom. He’d texted you, asked if you were okay, sent you notes, told you about the party but didn’t outright invite you. Nothing. No sign of you in lectures, no texts from you aside from a confirmation that you’d submit your written portion of the midterm.

“Take a damn breath.” Sangyeon rolls his eyes and tugs a formfitting black mock-neck shirt over his head, sliding a silver chain around his neck afterward. “She’s probably busy.”

“But she never goes this long without texting me! Or being in a lecture!” The youngest member of the frat holds his head in his hands, staring down at the white buttondown shirt that hung somewhat loosely on his body.

“Maybe she hates you, I don’t know!” Sangyeon exclaims. “Stop bothering me about it!” Eric pouts up at the TBZ president.

“But you know how to handle these things!”

“Not when you’re on my ass about it all day every day for a week straight.” Sangyeon’s lip curls and Eric huffs, laying back on the hardwood floor. “Dude, just be patient. Who knows, maybe she was sick? Maybe she’ll show up today and you’ll get laid. Just. Be. Patient.”

And patient he was.

He lurked around the party, a drink in his hand and a ripped red baseball cap covering his head and shielding his red-rimmed eyes from the public. They didn’t need to know he’d cried over his two-year-long crush ghosting him.

“Who pissed in your cheerios?” He turns his body slowly, ready to crack a corny joke, and walk away from whoever yelled in his ear, but he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you. You’re in another tiny little black skirt and a black bralette that was used as a poor excuse for a shirt with a leather jacket thrown over it. He nearly crumbles in front of you, ready to worship you and the ground you walk on, ready to take you in front of all these people so they know that he’s yours.

“Oh my god.”

You laugh at the dumbstruck look in his eyes, at the way his eyes are stuck on your chest, and the way your bralette pushes your boobs up just enough to catch attention.

“You okay, Eric?” Your hand is on his arm, and in an instant his cup is thrown to the side and his lips are on yours, his tongue shoved into your mouth. You gasp at the sudden intrusion, and, really, the suddenness of it all, but you don’t complain. You love how frantic he is for you, love how he’s ready to risk it all after just a week of not seeing you.

When he parts from you, there’s a string of spit connecting your lips that only breaks when you swipe your thumb across his lip.

“How’s that for a hello?” You say just loud enough for him to hear it.

“We need to talk.”

“We do.” You confirm, but his lips are on yours again, and you’re so glad that everyone is distracted by a game of beer pong on the other side of the room. You let your eyes flutter shut, moaning into his mouth when he pushes his tongue against yours. They dance together, swirling around each other but not fighting for dominance. No, this kiss isn’t about that. This is two people being addicted to the taste of each other, two people who could never get enough of what the other has to offer.

You have to force yourself to part from him, turning away so you can find somewhere more private— preferably his bedroom. He doesn’t stray from you, gluing his lips to the side of your neck as you try to weave through the crowd. It’s not easy, especially with Eric on you and refusing to let go, but you don’t mind.

Not when he shoves you against his dresser as soon as his bedroom door is shut and locked.

The handles of the drawers dig against your spine, but you’re too distracted by Eric’s lips on your chest to care. His hat is missing, likely somewhere on the staircase. Your jacket has been thrown to the opposite side of the room, the straps of your bralette shoved down and both breasts freed from its confines so Eric can lick and suck and bite at the soft mounds.

“Eric,” you moan out, arching your back into his hunched form. He groans against you, sucking hard at your nipple and eliciting a loud moan from you. “Eric, pick me up.”

Without even pulling away, he does, plopping you unceremoniously onto his dresser and moving his lips to the other breast, replacing his mouth with his hand. Your hand comes to the back of his head, and you find yourself smiling at the desperation your lover shows.

“Missed me that much, huh?” Your composure is crumbling, but you don’t care. “Might have to disappear more often.”

He rips away from your chest, eyes narrowed into a glare. “Don’t even joke about that. I thought you died.”

You kiss him again, both hands holding his face to yours, and your legs wrap around his waist. Eric’s hands find your thighs and he lifts you off the dresser. He sucks on your tongue, biting on your lip when you start to pull away and you whimper at the sting of pain.

“Thought I died, hm?” You brush back the blonde strands of hair covering his sweaty forehead and smirk. “It’s a good thing I didn’t then, hm? What would you have done? Fucked your fist for the rest of your life?”

A muscle in his jaw feathers and he throws you down on his bed. You yelp, eyes widening at the personality change. A week ago, he would’ve been begging you for any touch, would’ve been falling apart just for one look at your dripping pussy. But now?

Now he looks like a starved animal, and you’re the first helpless creature he’s seen in weeks.

“Eric,” you warn, watching him unbutton his shirt. “Remember what I said.”

He eyes you, smirking at the way your jaw drops when his shirt hits the floor. It’s odd, isn’t it? You’d probably been bare in front of him countless times but you’d hardly seen him with his pants down.

“Holy fuck.” You stare at his torso, at the chiseled abs and biceps, at the veins in his arms, at the trail of hair leading down to his dick. “You’re— you’re fucking shredded.”

“Shredded?” He quirks an eyebrow, undoing his belt and the button of his pants so he can push them down and kick them to the side. “That’s the first word you thought of?”

“Well—” you clear your throat and turn your gaze away from him. “I mean— you are.”

“Cute,” He coos and crawls over you, hooking his fingers into the hem of your skirt. “May I?”

“You may,” you look at him again, then down his body and swallow hard at the sight of him. You’ve seen him many times. You’ve held him in your hand, in your mouth. You know what to expect.

So why does it make you so nervous now?

“You’re getting distracted,” Eric kisses his teeth, lowering his face to yours but not kissing you. He traces his nose across your cheek, light kisses from his lips going with it. His nose nudges against your jaw, urging you to tilt your jaw up so he can kiss you there. You do, and his lips feel like fire against your skin. “I thought you liked it when people pay attention?”

“I— I do!” You gasp out, and Eric laughs against your skin. Where the fuck is all this confidence coming from?

“Then why aren’t you paying attention to me?” His fingers press against your sopping-wet entrance and you lift your hips in a weak attempt to get them inside of you.

“I am!” Tears are welling in your eyes. “I am paying attention to you, Eric, please!”

He juts out his lip in a mocking pout, using the hand that’s not against your heat to wipe the tears away.

“Okay baby,” he says softly, sinking two thick, calloused fingers into you. “Don’t cry, not yet.”

The intrusion has you crying out and Eric does his best to hush you, to soothe you, and then he’s thrusting his fingers in and out of you at a fast pace. Your fingers cling to his shoulders, feeling the muscles tense and shift with every movement of his arm. Eric grins when your eyes finally flutter shut, when you finally give in to him. He praises you when he slips a third finger into your core, and then a fourth. He praises you as he works you through the sting, curling his fingers gently to search for the spot he knows would have you falling to pieces under him.

Eric finds it easily and is oh so pleased by your wail of his name. He grins almost maliciously, when you begin to shake, when your body begins to thrash, and your nails dig into his shoulders and drag down his back.

“Always so easy for me,” he hums, staring in awe at the wrinkle between your eyebrows and how your tongue practically hangs out of your mouth. When he knows you’re about to cum, he crushes his lips against yours again and begins to move his hand faster. You’re sobbing into his mouth, unable to kiss him back between your cries and moans, but Eric doesn’t mind.

He lets you grind against his hand until you’re not shaking anymore. Then, and only then, does he pull his fingers out of you, watching with curious satisfaction as your cum drips from his fingers and onto the blanket below you.

“Don’t— don’t sit there staring at that shit.” you hiss, but Eric just smiles.

“So you can speak coherently now?”

“Shut up and fuck me already, or do you need me to teach you how to do that too?”

Eric’s gaze hardens, his tongue pushing against his cheek. You push yourself to sit up, but Eric pushes you right back down and uses his hands to push your legs apart.

“I don’t need you to teach me anything,” he grunts, lining his member up with your entrance.

“Really? That’s not what it looked like three weeks ag—oh fuck!” Your back arches off the bed when he suddenly sinks into you. Four fingers seem to have been just barely enough, the sting fading just as fast as it came. Or maybe you just like the pain so much it turned into pleasure. Whatever the reason, you’re quick to tell Eric to pick up the pace.

You’re both shocked and impressed by the movement of his hips. He alternates between smooth, sharp rolls and harsh, pointed thrusts that have your body forced up the bed and the headboard knocking against the wall.

“You think I need your help?” Eric growls, digging his hands into your thighs and spreading them farther apart, lifting the lower half of your body a bit to change the angle. This brings a new pleasure to both of you. Something that you’ve never felt before, and has your mind reeling. “I didn’t need you. I wanted you. I wanted every part of you. I craved you, craved your taste. It was pure fucking luck that you wanted me too.”

“Eric,” You gasp out, sinking your teeth into the side of his neck to leave another mark on his skin. “Eric, feels so good, god it feels so good please, please don’t stop. Don’t stop, oh my god!”

“Look at you,” he yanks your head out of his neck by your hair, staring down at your fucked out face as he continues to plow into you with no remorse. “All fucked out for me. I did this. Your little virgin boy. Isn’t it embarrassing?”

You whine in response but apparently, that isn’t what he’s looking for because he slows down at your lack of response.

“Answer me,” he hisses.

“I— I don’t— Eric I don’t—” You don’t even know what he’s trying to ask. You stopped listening as soon as he pulled your hair, the sting of it feeling too good. Eric laughs, picking up his pace again and dropping your head back down onto his pillows.

“What? Too fucked out to answer me? Who would’ve thought that I was the virgin and not you? What would people think if they walked in here and saw me fucking you like this?” He doesn’t expect an answer this time, not that you’d be able to give him one anyway.

Your legs draw tightly around his slim waist, holding him close as your orgasm approaches again, but Eric doesn’t seem to be even close to cumming. Even when your second orgasm washes over you, and then your third. He fucks you through each one, sweat dripping from his hair and down his torso until his body is sliding against yours. Your body feels numb, but at the same time, you can feel everything. Every drag of his length against your walls, every punch of his tip against your cervix. Your arms curl around his neck, but your grip is loose.

When Eric’s hips finally begin to stutter, you’re about four orgasms in, the fifth about to wash over you. Your voice is hoarse, a puddle of drool on the pillow under your head. You can’t find it in you to make any more noise, just gasping breathes and quiet whines. You cum together, and the feeling of his cum filling you has your back arching again. This time, Eric catches you and holds your body against his. He kisses you gently, uncaring that you can barely breathe let alone kiss him.

“That— that was a good talk,” he jokes, and you say nothing at first. “Um…are— are you okay?”

“You just—” you clear your throat, but it does nothing. “You just fucked me within an inch of my life, as a completely inexperienced virgin, and you’re asking me if I’m okay?”

Eric frowns, settling down on top of you, but careful not to lay his full weight onto your obviously aching body. He can see the bruises he’d left all over you— on your chest, your neck, your hips. Anywhere his lips or hands touched, there was a bruise left in his wake. He imagines, however, that he looks no different. He can feel the scratches you left on his back, marring every inch of his skin and likely drawing a bit of blood, he can see a hickey on his arm that you left at some point and can imagine how the front of his body looks.

“So…so you’re not okay?” He tries and you huff, throwing an arm over your eyes.

“Eric, I love you, but you’re such a dumbass.” You groan, shoving him off your body so you can breathe properly. “Go draw a bath. I’m gonna need one after that shit.”

“Before I do, can you answer one question?” You pry your eyes open to scowl at him and his damn puppy-like eyes.

“What?”

“Are we— are we dating now?”

“We won’t be for long if you don’t get that fucking bath going.”

“Aw, yeah!” Eric cheers, jumping off the bed and running to the bathroom to start the bath like you asked. “Guess who isn’t single anymore, Sunwoo!”

“What’s your problem?” Haknyeon peers at Sangyeon over the lip of his mug. The frat president is glaring at you and Eric with something murderous in his eyes, which seem to have dark bags under them.

“My bedroom is right next to Eric’s.” Haknyeon raises an eyebrow, and Sangyeon clears his throat. “My bedroom is next to Eric’s.”

“Okay…oh. OH. Oh, shit man, I’m sorry.” Haknyeon turns his gaze to the two of you, grimacing at the thought of how long Sangyeon could have been kept up, but smiling when he sees how the two of you are cuddled on the couch. The grimace returns when he sees the state of your necks, neither of you having bothered to hide what you did to each other.

“I mean,” Sunwoo sits on the counter, a bowl of cereal in his hand. “You kinda deserved it after what you did to him.”

“What the fuck— what did I do to him?” Sangyeon exclaims, and Sunwoo quirks an eyebrow.

“You fucked your girlfriend for, what, seven rounds straight? The poor man didn’t get any sleep that night. Be glad you were able to rest after that.”

Haknyeon raises his cup, and the three frat boys return to “subtly” watching the two of you.

“Do you at least know if he was good? You know, for a virgin.”

“Oh my fucking god, Sunwoo, shut up.”

“You shut up, Hak! It was just a question!”

“You two are fucking nasty,” Sangyeon’s lip curls into a sneer, trying to block out the memories of last night. “But I’m gonna need a shit ton of bleach if I wanna forget that bullshit.”

“Hot.”

“Sunwoo, shut UP!”

741 notes · View notes

portgasdwrld · 7 months

Note

Strawhat reactions to a chiropractor or massage therapist joining their crew? (Sfw) I know they get injured and could use it.

I love those random ideas lately 😭helps me out if my writer block💕

📂Strawhat + chiropractor/massage therapist reader joining their crew

Mostly them reacting to you proposing them a session

Luffy

He’s so fucking excited. He’s jumping everywhere, begging to be your first client. He’s already laying down in your office to have his body cracked, but then you realize as you do it that his body is literally made of rubber and it’s impossible for you to work on him. When you tell him the news, he’s whining and tells you to try again😭 He’s all pouty so you decide to massage him and that put him out to sleep real quick. He went from sulking to sleeping. When he woke up, he commented about how good this was and truly he never felt this alive in a while.

Zoro

He would totally refuse at first and complain about how he doesn’t need it and how he only needs to rest a little (a good nap), and he will be fine. But then you actually try to convince him to do it, as you saw how much his body had to go through with his training, the battles, his poor sleep position… He finally agrees only after Chopper tells him how it can better his performance and make him feel more relaxed. He barely admits that it did in fact made him feel better, but now he jumps to the occasion whenever you propose it 🚶🏻‍♀️

Nami & Robin

The girls are so freaking happy especially Nami. She pretty much asks you for a session whenever she feels sore after working hard on maps or when she had to fight. She chats to you about life and tell you some gossips. She loves to make conversation and treat it a bit like a spa day.

Robin was down to try it, but she usually use her devil fruit if she feels sore somewhere and need to release some built up tension, because of stress or battles. Basically, she never needed someone for that, but after Nami told her how amazing you were, she gave it a try. She’s mostly silent and take this time to relax her body and empty her thoughts.

Usopp

He’s a bit scared at first because he heard some people talk about horror stories at the chiropractor. He heard some people got their bones cracked with no going back to normal or how some doctor were secretly psychopath 💀💀💀 To say the least, he really didn’t see the appeal to risk his life like this 😔 If you poke fun at his ego, he might do it just to prove it to you that he isn’t scared (his legs are shaking the moment he enters your office). He has difficulty relaxing which put you off , You have to wait for couple minutes, make him sips some relaxing tea. When it finally happens, he’s bragging about how cool it is and how everyone should do it🙄 there is legit nothing to be scared off pfff???

Sanji

I don’t know why, but I get the feel Sanji would somewhat be shy 😭 When you ask him if he wanna have a session to help with his stress, he would just look at you like 😳?? He would try to make analogy to food, like it’s a bit like how he hit(?) the meat before cooking it so it’s tender, but in that case it’s gonna make him relaxed. You kinda just stare and nod because whut 😭 He honestly could use it with all the cooking he does and the fights. He loved it but he got flustered a lot. He was red-shy when he left 🚶🏻‍♀️

Brook

He’s a skeleton.

Franky

Finally FRANKYYY, this man was BORN for this. He is so excited and is so talkative. He asks you when you started and why did it became your profession. He pretty much tell you to only focus on the back of his body because it’s less solid than the rest of his cyborg body. So you went in for a massage and he’s really vocal through it. As it ends, he tells you he’s happy you joined and he will be a regular which makes you laugh because you two are literally on the same boat lol 😭

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scribefindegil · 1 year

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Rewatched Confession Arc recently because I love crying and also feeling all the weird calcified emotions around my heart shatter in real time and I found myself really focusing on Toichiro's line, "I just need to do what he did for me last time." The actual thing he says this about (turning himself into a vessel to absorb Mob's energy) doesn't happen, but the concept, the idea that everything people do for Mob during this arc is a reflection of what he's done for them, is I think a really crucial component of the narrative.

Mob tells Teru that he's just an average person (and sees through the "protagonist of the world" fantasy to recognize the insecure part of himself he's subsumed), and later Teru tells ???% that he's just an average person (and sees through his rampage to recognize that "Mob" is still in there, which is what wakes him up). Mob sees Ritsu reject their entire relationship after getting carried away with his powers but unflinchingly affirms that they're brothers and he loves him, and later Ritsu is the first one to accept that ???% is truly his brother and not a separate entity. Mob refuses to let Toichiro escape the consequences of his actions by dying, and then Toichiro does the same to him. Mob looks at Reigen on the bridge in Separation Arc and knows the best and worst of him and accepts him for who he is--but not completely.

That's the thing about all of them; what Mob did for them wasn't enough at first. There's this block that keeps it from being resolved until they're able to turn around and offer it back to him. Teru couldn't help but put Mob on a pedestal, which kept them from truly connecting. Ritsu couldn't communicate with Mob in the way he needed to in order to resolve their traumatic history. Toichiro still thought that the best way to make up for what he'd done was to sacrifice himself. Reigen couldn't come clean about his lies, so as much as Mob tried to accept him, all the hurt was repressed instead of resolved, and it didn't do anything to help Mob accept himself.

That can only happen at the end, when everyone takes turns reflecting back what Mob had given them in a way that lets them finally reach apotheosis--and gives Mob the tools he needs to resolve his own character arc.

Teru knocks him down from the pedestal, realizes that he's average and tells him so, and although ???% can't accept that yet, it's true. He's just another person like everyone else. His powers don't make him a god or a monster. And Teru also wakes "Mob" up, recognizing that trapped part of him and fighting tooth and nail to reach him.

Ritsu finally faces his trauma and accepts that it was his brother that hurt him way back then, refuses to let himself be hurt again, and vows that they'll stop avoiding their problems out of fear. And it's this that finally makes Mob face the fact that ???% is a part of himself.

Toichiro chooses not to sacrifice himself to stop Mob, forcing both of them to continue to live despite the hurt they've caused instead of taking the easy way out.

And Reigen tells the truth.

Reigen breaks open the huge unspoken gulf between them and tells Shigeo the same thing everyone else has been saying: You're just like me. This isn't unique; this doesn't make you special or monstrous or divine. This is what every single human has to deal with. We are all made of contradictions, and we all try to hide from them, but that's no way to live. You just need to accept yourself. So he does. And he accepts Reigen too.

#mp100 #mob meta #threw this in my drafts for like a month bc i was afraid it was incoherent but i think it says what i want it to

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babyyweebbitch · 1 year

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Helping simon with a panic attack

:3 the flashbacks are dark btw 🧍🏾‍♀️

content warning : female reader , childhood trauma , panic attack , crying , flashbacks ,

simon gets panic attacks and flash backs a lot — sometimes it’s just one and most of the time it’s both at the same time. it’s PTSD from his childhood and he never got help for it because he didn’t wanna be looked at as “weak” or “a sissy” in people’s eyes. he was always told men deal with their stuff by themselves and he now knows that’s not true after dating you for so long and you takings him to the doctors every so often and signing him up for therapy. he usually has you schedule the therapy sessions for when hes home for long periods of time. they even gave him medicine that he forgets to take alot

simon was home for about a few months since he had a pretty bad injury and he needed to heal. you somehow got your job to let you work from home so you can take care of him and work at the same time. recently he’s been doing pretty good on his own, he’s been able to walk himself, eat, bathe and he even started working out a little bit just to get some strength back slowly.

one night you were working in your office, typing away at your laptop and going through paperwork. simon was left in the bedroom trying to sleep and he knew you were working later tonight so he tried not to bother you, but he wasn’t feeling well — mentally. he was alone so his mind wandered. at first it wasn’t bad. he was thinking about innocent things at first that slowly turned into dark thoughts and then he got flashbacks of his childhood… to when he was being hurt by his father and how he made him do things he hated.

simon tried his hardest to not think about it so he got up and went to go make a sandwich. on his way he passed by your office seeing a glimpse of you working made him feel slightly better. he almost went in to check on you and start a conversation but he again didn’t wanna bother you. while he was getting out all the stuff to make a sandwich he looked down at a slice of meat and got a flashback to a dead animal his father made him kiss. he closed his eyes and shook his head before slowly backing away from the counter and leaning against the fridge. he heard his father’s voice

“c’mon simon! it’s just a dead snake! wont do nothing to you” the voice said. simon put his hands over his ears trying to block out the sound but it didn’t work. he started breathing heavy and felt tears form in his eyes

“go away…. go away — fuck go away!” simon yelled out and his yelling alerted you in the office. you got up to see what was happening and when you entered the kitchen area you saw the sandwich stuff laying out and then as you got closer you saw simon against the fridge in a panicked state. he slid down the fridge and put his head on his knees as if trying to protect himself from something. you know it’s never a good idea to touch him unless he asks or does it for if he’s having a panic attack so you speak instead, inching closer to him

“simon? what’s happening?”

“h…he won’t leave! he won’t go away! please make him go away!” he looked up to see you and he was full on crying now. when he got like this he felt like a kid — a defenceless child, not the big scary man with military experience and has killed hundreds. in the state he was in right now he didn’t know the difference. you immediately went over to him and once you were close enough he grabbed onto your arm as a way of protection.

“simon, nobody but us are here right now — what you’re seeing isn’t real, my love. you’re having a panic attack and it’ll pass by soon” you used that kind voice you’ve used with him over the years. he wrapped his arms around you and placed his head on your chest. he started crying — full on sobbing into your shirt and you held him as tightly as you could without suffocating him. and honestly at this point he probably wants to be suffocated

after a few minutes of him crying and saying how he was being hurt but you immediately put him back on track and told him nobody was hurting him he calmed down a bit. he obviously didn’t let go of you though

“what’s on your mind now, honey?” you asked rubbing the back of his head with one hand and making little circles on his back with the other

“you have to get back to wo—“

“work can wait, Simon. you’re more important”

“but i — your boss will get mad at you”

“and? i don’t care — you are the only thing on my mind right now. you are the most important thing to me. i will always help you and make sure you are okay before ever thinking about anything else” simon looked up at you and then he hugged you once again. these are moments he feels he doesn’t deserve such a nice person like you. he took a deep breath before he sat up all the way and you wiped his eyes for him “now — i can make you something to eat and drink and you can sit in my office until about 1:30 or i can stop work early and we can go sleep”

“the first option sounds nice…” he said. you smiled and helped him up from the floor. you went to make him a sandwich and made him some tea the way he likes it, simon kinda just lingered around you until you were finished. you put everything back in the fridge/cabinets before you and simon waddled back to your office like little penguins. simon had the tendency stick around you for a long time after a panic attack because you made him feel better. he also didn’t want to sleep because he was scared of having a panic attack mid sleep. it’s happened before and he hated it because he wasn’t home around you (he lingered around soap for a few hours after because he was the only one he trusted besides you)

during the rest of the night you and simon talked about random things as you worked to ease his mind. he was staring at you every time you spoke about something from work or mumbled something on your computer/paper to yourself during moments of silence. he was admiring you and he still thought he didn’t deserve a person like you. you were literally the definition of perfect to him and he couldn’t trade you for the world. he honestly wonders what you saw in him to be this nice to him

✨Bonus✨

the next morning you ended waking up before simon. he had the habit of sleeping in pretty late and he was also a deep sleeper at home, so unless you were in danger and he sensed it or the house got broken into to or the house is literally burning to the bone — he’s not waking up. he also sleeps hella heavy meaning he’s like a sand bag, if his arm is over you while he sleeps your fighting demons trying to get him off and if he senses you’re moving his arm off you, he’ll plamp it back on you and somehow it’s heavier than last time

after you were done wrestling his arm for about 20 minutes you got up, took a shower and went to go make breakfast — but not any breakfast his favourite breakfast. you had the tendency to baby him after a panic attack — you both don’t know why but simon likes it, even though he pretends he doesn’t but we all know he does.

simon woke up to the smell of bacon and the sound of you singing to yourself. he got up dragged himself to the kitchen, he was rubbing his eyes and saw you dancing around in the kitchen, singing and waiting for the toast to pop up from the toaster. he literally felt like he was in a movie and this was the opening scene.

“whatcha makin?”

you jumped at the sound of his voice randomly behind you and you turned to see he was standing there. he chuckled at your getting startled and he went to sit at the table

“your favourite breakfast — also you gotta give a girl a warning!” you joked as you got the toast from the toaster and went to make his plate “how’d you sleep?”

“good — but you were wrestling my arm for 20 minutes”

“you were awake?!”

“yep — i gave you a hard time on purpose”

you stood there with your hand on your hip and one hand on the counter tapping it with your finger

“what? it’s funny” he said half laughing

“hmph — maybe you don’t get breakfast today” you said with a fake attitude

“that’s rude — i was shot… seven times”

“guilt tripping?”

“and it’s working”

you both stared at each other for a second before you laughed and gave him his plate

“dork, eat up and eat as much as you want — i made alot because i’m gonna have to go to the office today for some stuff and i’m not gonna be home until one.” you said grabbing your bag and putting your shoes on “if you need anything call me and i’ll change your bandages when i get back”

“you just changed them yesterday”

“simon, i changed them monday”

“what day is it today?”

“friday”

“ahh….”

you went over to give him a kiss on the cheek and you went off to the office. simon watched as you left and he got up to try and clean up a bit so you came home later to a clean house

in conclusion — he big boi and he loves you

#call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #call of duty x reader #call of duty headcanons #simon riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley headcanons #ghost #ghost headcanons #ghost x reader

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niyabiblioteca · 1 year

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i can help

PAIRING: best friend!hyunjin x fem!reader

WARNINGS: not exactly smut cuz i have horrible writers block, dirty talk, manhandling?

you’re so deprived and you have yet to receive the treatment you deserve. how could hyunjin not help you?

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you love hyunjin so much.

you love that as your best friend, you can always confide in him. even with the most personal or embarrassing or pathetic stories.

hyunjin has heard stories from you that most people would take to the grave, but he has made it clear in your friendship that he would never judge you and will always lend an ear or a shoulder when it’s needed.

you have taken complete advantage of that promise, hence why you’re in his kitchen for the 3rd time that week, scraping the remaining ice cream from the bottom of the tub after yet another ruined hookup.

“i swear it’s like i’m cursed hyunjin. why does your species just fail to know basic fucking female anatomy?”

hyunjin chuckles in amusement but also remorse as he watches you frustratingly take bites of the vanilla ice cream he’s bought for this occasion especially. he’s even designated a spoon for you at this point because after the amount of times you’ve ended up in his kitchen just this week, he figured you’d need one.

“like how hard is it to find a girls sweet spot or her clit or her g-spot? especially when i fucking tell you where all three are! if i have to experience a man rubbing on my fucking inner thigh again i’ll lose it.”

hyunjin listens intently, nodding and you’re honestly impressed at his ability to engage in these kinds of talks with you as if it’s so casual.

he has to admit though, this is getting old.

not the whole having you in his house talking about your problems thing. no, he promised you could always count on him and he really meant it. but the fact that all week it’s all been about how your sneaky links just completely leave you high and dry makes him feel so bad for you.

“i don’t think i’ve faked this many orgasms in my life. maybe it’s me, my vagina is broken or something. because there’s no way this keeps happening to me and i’m becoming more and more strung up by the hour.”

he let you continue to go on as he disposed of the ice cream tub and spoon for you, listening and plotting his response when you’re done. the crazy thing is, he doesn’t feel shy or weird about what he’s about to offer at all. he feels that he’s actually a very good friend for considering this because he’ll be damned if his bestie is without a proper orgasm for the rest of the week after the hell she’s been through.

“i just can’t do this anymore, hyunjin. it’s actually causing me so much stress and anger i might explode.”

you almost feel bad for going on like this because you think this isn’t even a serious issue. you just wanna have a goddamn orgasm. a real one.

hyunjin thinks it’s a very valid reason though.

“i can help you.”

literally hyunjin hasn’t said this much the entire time you’ve been over. so this definitely caught you completely off guard.

your eyes widen as you almost choke on your saliva.

“y-you can help me what?”

“ i can help you cum.”

ah. so you definitely weren’t fucking hallucinating.

you couldn’t exactly react as hyunjin grabbed your hands and pulled you out of your seat so that the two of you were standing not even two inches away from each other.

“tell me. what could i do to give you the most mind-numbing orgasm ever? what did those men do wrong?”

he put his hands on both sides of your face as he looked you dead in the eyes waiting for your answer. he was very serious about this and he was taking your pleasure seriously. that alone made your whole body hot, especially between your thighs.

“t-they were too soft with me. i wanted it rough and they didn’t give that to me.”

hyunjin gave a cute eye smile in response to that as this information was all making sense to him. he was glad he was given this insight about what makes you tick so that he could accommodate you properly.

and that he did.

not even 30 seconds after you said that, he spun you around and pushed your upper body against the countertop so that you were bent over in front of him.

he wasn’t gentle either. he had used every bit of strength and aggression to get you where he wanted you and oh did it work so goddamn well.

you whimpered as you felt his bulge press against your heat. you couldn’t see him, but just the image of his lean figure pressed against your body as his hand reached forward and gripped your hair to pull your head up made you so fucking wet it was actually surprising to you.

“mmm. this is better. so tell me, y/n. how else can i make you cum so hard that you forget about every last hookup this week?”

you were downright embarrassed of the response you managed to let out, but hyunjin felt there was no need when we was doing everything in his power to make you feel good.

“s-spank me. slap me. choke me. fucking ruin me, please.”

hyunjin let out a low growl at your tone and pressed his bulge even harder against your core, causing you to whine and push your hips back at the same time.

“please, what?”

you knew what he wanted you to say. he knew what he wanted you to say. so badly. the moment he heard it, all hell would break lose and he would give you every last inch of him if you wanted it.

“please, jinnie. fuck me.”

god, hyunjin is such a great friend.

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#stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids #hyunjin smut #hyunjin

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whateverisbeautiful · 3 months

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♥️ Ranking Richonne

#11: I See Things (S3E12)

Something I appreciate so much is that Richonne's journey is a love story, not a fairytale. Their story feels grown and grounded, healthy, and realistic, while also feeling perfect and aspirational between two flawed people doing their best in a broken world. And through each season of their slow burn, we got to organically watch the many building blocks of what makes their love so genuinely strong and special. So I cherish these early moments that laid Rick and Michonne's foundation, especially here in my favorite scene from the masterpiece OG Richonne ep that is Clear...

Rick, Michonne, and Carl pack up to leave King County after a stellar episode with both Rick and Morgan’s storyline and Carl and Michonne’s storyline. The acting was superb all across the board in this ep. 👏🏽

The three really do look like a family as they pack up and head out. And in their own ways, this scene has Carl and Rick both telling Michonne...

I love that it just took one trip for Carl to be completely warmed up to Michonne. And he admits this in the best possible way to his dad. Because Rick, in such a dad way, asks if everything went okay with her, and again, I always feel like Rick really really wants the answer to be yes because deep down he knows he wants Michonne around.

And to me, it isn’t just Rick asking if everything went okay on their trip but if everything is okay with Michonne as a whole. This episode was about Rick and Carl beginning to truly accept Michonne and learn that not only does she not have a problem, but in fact she is the beautiful solution to so much in their life.

It’s also just great to watch this scene back knowing Rick is asking Carl about the woman who will become his wife and mother to all three of his children. 🥰

And then I will forever love Carl saying, “I think she might be one of us.” Just the absolute best. 😭 That statement is the gospel truth too. And it’s so meaningful because of how much Michonne will end up being not just a vital member of tf but a true blue member and matriarch of the Grimes family.

Michonne truly belongs in this group and this Grimes family, and I love that intuitive little Carl picked up on that so quickly. That seal of approval from him is huge because it allows Rick to feel like he can slowly but surely stop fighting the clear undeniable connection between himself and Michonne.

I also absolutely love Rick’s dramatic reaction to Carl saying Michonne is one of them. He can’t hide that this is great news to him, and you know Rick's extra side is so loved by me. 😋

Rick acts taken aback and asks, "What?" and I think part of it is actually being surprised that Carl made such a big statement because he could have just said 'yeah she was cool' but instead Carl lets him know she’s truly meant to be with them. And also part of the reaction is because our man Rick has for sure been catching some sorta feelings, even if just the earliest stages of attraction.

I know Rick's happy to hear his son likes her as much as he deep down wants to like her too. Also I really don't think Rick would be having a low-key tickled reaction like this over just any newcomer getting a good report.

Then Carl is just the cutest when he gives a little laugh and tells Rick "Everything went okay." This is all just so precious, especially after Michonne helped Carl retrieve a photo of his family all while planting the seed of Grimes 2.0 at the very same time.

And think about it - this moment is occurring so freshly after losing his mom. Carl probably hasn’t had many smiling moments since then, so I know it means the world to Rick to see that Carl and Michonne bonded and that she brought some joy back into his son's life. She's the best. 🥰

Then, because our lovely leading man is always expressive when it comes to his kids and Michonne, Rick has the biggest smile hearing this.

And again, we gotta be so for real for a second because this smile from him is not just cuz it in-general worked out with a newcomer. I feel this is specific to Michonne. Because like I said, Rick really wanted Michonne to check out (partly so he could keep checking her out🤭) and so he’s really glad to hear that she more than did.

I love that even this early, Michonne is putting smiles on Rick and Carl’s faces. After everything they’ve been through leading up to this ep, it’s refreshing to see.

So Rick is happy, but then he pauses as tho he’s seeing something - likely Ghost Lori. And my theory has long been that Ghost Lori stayed showing up in moments like these to let Rick know his soulmate had now arrived and he should get with Michonne, just like Lori got with her soulmate while Rick was in a coma.💁🏽‍♀️ 😋

Like I just know in this moment Lori's ghost was looking at Rick like...

It’s interesting how we the audience don’t see what he’s hallucinating like we have in other episodes. I like this choice tho because in just seeing Rick staring off it shows how much Michonne was able to read and understand him.

Like all Rick was doing was standing there, and from the outside looking in, it could easily be missed that he was having another hallucination - but Michonne knew Rick was having a moment of seeing things cuz she gets him. Always has. 😌

So Michonne notices it right away and her look of care and concern is really sweet. Throughout the series, Michonne so often looks at Rick like her heart is tugged by this honorable man in all his humanness.

I also love that she brings it up. She could’ve just noticed him seeing things and not said anything, especially because it’s personal and they're still mostly strangers. But this choice to bring it up immediately established that she and him can talk on a deeper level, even this early in the relationship.

And it shows Rick that he doesn’t have to feel misunderstood or ashamed for these episodes he's been having. Someone else sees it, and not only that - relates to it too.

So she gently asks if he saw something and Rick silently looks surprised that she could tell exactly what was happening.

Michonne says, "I know you see things - people." And then in one of the first examples of Richonne doing their signature thing of leveling with each other through being vulnerable, she tells Rick she used to talk to her dead boyfriend. Saying reassuringly, “It happens.” I repeat, Michonne is the best. 👑

It is lovely to see Michonne open up about this, and I love how innately she knew she could share this with Rick. We saw in a s3 scene by a fire with Michonne and Andrea that Michonne was not the type to fully open up about her past family, and yet here with Rick she's willing to share something personal and offer up this part of herself. It just further suggests that Rick and Michonne have a different and uniquely intrinsic connection. And I repeat - they trusted each other before they knew they trusted each other.

It’s also sweet that Michonne is willing to be vulnerable to help Rick feel less alone. This is such a big reason why their union is so special. With each other, they're never in it alone.

They are cut from the same cloth and understand each other deeply. And despite living in a world that would suggest you should always have your guard up, I love that Michonne and Rick instead allowed themselves to open up to each other, slowly but surely. 🥰

Also, more and more, I realize that the making of Richonne was actually so obvious from season 3 forward, and especially here in Clear.

Like this episode really plants the seed of Rick, Michonne, and Carl becoming a whole family because that family theme runs all throughout.

I mean even just the fact that the episode takes place in Rick and Carl's old hometown, bringing only Michonne on this run where she gets to gain insight into the past of her future husband and son, R&M essentially co-parenting together when Michonne offers to go with Carl to get the crib, and then Carl wanting the family photo and needing Michonne's help to retrieve it, and then Michonne finally opening up a bit about her family.

Richonne was looking like Morgan's apartment in this ep because, honey...

So then Rick is quiet for a sec after Michonne addresses him seeing things and letting him know it happens, and I know deep down he appreciates this moment from her. It's a rare moment of someone looking at him not to lead or provide an answer but simply to know he's not crazy or on his own.

And then Rick definitely gets flirty as he asks her if she wants to drive. (and again, letting Michonne drive is another establishment of trust) Also, I just love that throughout their pre-canon era, Michonne is the one Rick most wanted to be sociable with from team family.

I adore this scene for being the first moment of flirting between them as he asks if she wants to drive and she smiles and says "yeah." Rick then says "good" and takes the scene to new levels of adorable with his playful flirty energy when he adds, “Cuz I see things” and hands her the keys to his heart and the car. 😊

It’s a nice way for him to admit Michonne was right that he sees things but still keep things light. And it's adorable how quickly Rick would go into flirtation mode with Michonne, even this early on.

(Side note: Y'all sometimes I used to want a body language expert who has never seen TWD to analyze these pre-canon Richonne scenes because I just know they'd confirm that Rick and Michonne's pre-canon moments read as more than platonic. But truly there is no body language expert needed for it to be known that Rick's energy is flirtatious here.)

And same for Michonne's energy afterward because I love how she smiles as she holds the keys and watches him go. #SmittenKitten 😋

They’re both real fond of each other, y’all. Even in season 3. Like this moment lets you know Rick and Michonne really do have “common interests” lol.

And while of course Rick and Michonne are still on their own individual healing journeys atp so they aren't yet aware that they're meant to be, it's still nice that in this scene they at least now know they like each other as people.

I love that Michonne who can read people so well, knew Rick was a good man doing his best in this world as a leader and father, and as she closes the trunk she looks like she knows she might have found her new home with these people, which I love that for her. 🙌🏽

This beautiful scene is just such a great and foundational moment in Rick and Michonne's love story and gives an excellent peek into how their dynamic will be going forward as they evolve into a husband and wife. 👏🏽

And how spoiled are we that Gimple was planting the Richonne seeds back when he was writing for Season 3 (before Richonne's journey had even aired for us to see), and now here we are 11 years later with Scott, Danai, and Andy having created a whole miniseries dedicated to Richonne and constantly confirmed to be an epic love story. 🤩🥳🤗

Like this is me and every Richonners' energy for a reason lol...

I'm forever thankful to Danai, Andy, and Scott for loving Richonne like we do and returning to give Rick and Michonne Grimes closure. And I'm grateful that we stan a married ship that always flourishes within the actual franchise. #WinningSinceTheBeginning 🥰

There's also just something so poetic about the fact that way back during the season 3 Clear days, Scott said Danai was able to pick up on the Richonne trajectory because she was a writer - and now we'll have the privilege to watch a whole TOWL episode written by the illustrious talent Danai, herself, as she gets to help shape the final chapter of Richonne's years-long love story. What. A. Journey. 😭🙌🏽

So as the classic and fitting 'Home' song concludes this phenomenal 3.12 ep and the three drive away, it shows how these three entered that town as strangers and left as a family more than they could ever imagine. They didn't know it entirely yet, but after Clear, Rick, Michonne, and Carl were on pace to become home to each other.

Imo, Richonne was written in the stars from the moment they laid eyes on each other at at that prison fence. But after Clear, it was set in stone, with no going back, that Richonne was bound to happen. They were too perfect together, too much passion and attraction emitting from them in these early stages for it to not eventually blossom into more.

Rick and Michonne were destined to be Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. And heartwarming scenes like this just made that so, well, clear. 😌🤍

#thank you Clear 🥂#thank you birthday girl Danai & Andy & Scott 🥳#and thank y'all for reveling with me from 30-11 🙏🏽#now let the top 10 begin! 🎊😏#richonne #top 30 #number 11 #rick x michonne #twd 3.12 #reveling in richonne #twd towl #the ones who live

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em-dash-press · 2 years

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Tons of Reasons Why Writer's Block Happens

Lately I've seen a few posts on social media platforms being shared that are (supposedly) quotes from well-known authors. The quotes generally stick to the theme of: writer's block isn't real! No worries! It's just in your head!

Like...

That is so unhelpful for me and if I had seen those people (again, supposedly) saying that when I was much younger and newer to writing, I would have thought something was wrong with me.

So here are a few reasons why writer's block IS real for many people and what you can do about it. (Warning—this is a long text post but I tried putting all suggested solutions in bullet points and have lots of resource hyperlinks!)

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Tired

Sleep affects the entire body. There’s no question that when I don’t get enough of it, my brain isn’t working as well as it normally does.

Let’s start this section with what everyone should acknowledge—mental health conditions absolutely prevent people from being able to use tips like Just turn the lights off earlier! or Think calming thoughts while taking deep breaths!

If those work for you, great. Fantastic! But if they don’t, your doctor is the best person to get advice from. They can work through symptoms with you to rule out conditions like depression and insomnia so you get the best help possible.

Besides your mental health, there are a few other ways you might not be able to fall asleep or stay asleep:

You enjoy drinking afternoon coffee (most have a half life of 3-5 hours, so the caffeine doesn’t actually leave your system for a long time!)

You have a diet soda with your lunch or dinner (most diet sodas have the same amount of caffeine as a half cup to a whole cup of coffee)

You eat a midnight snack or a dessert after dinner (the extra digestion works against your body’s circadian rhythm and prevents a normal sleep cycle)

Potential Solutions

Swap your afternoon coffee/sodas for caffeine free sodas instead

Eat high-protein snacks shortly after or during dinner (protein keeps you full longer so you can eat them earlier in the evening)

Follow some tips from sleep experts with the Sleep Foundation

You Can’t Write Because: Your Routine Is Changing/Has Changed

When my life has gone through routine changes, my creativity has always slowed (if not stopped altogether). Switching from high school to college, from college to graduate life, and even from apartment to apartment is a big deal. My writing slows when I change jobs, see my friends less/more often, and even when the holidays come and go.

If you think this might be a repeat experience in your life, my best advice is to give yourself grace. Your brain is only trying to conserve energy and process everything that’s going on.

Potential Solutions

Resting and gently reattempting to write without expectations of what will come out of that writing session is sometimes the best thing to do until life settles back down.

If you can’t come to peace with changes, I’d suggest talking with someone. You can access help for free at:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Grappling With Indecisions

Indecision is a creativity killer for sure. I’ll address a few ways I’ve experienced it and how I know my friends have struggled with it:

You only have a few story ideas and don’t want to commit to any of them in case some idea comes along that’s more interesting (I hate leaving unfinished drafts too!)

You wonder how you should format your story and never start because you can’t decide (it might be the point of view, past/present tense, etc.)

You can’t nail down how a character looks, what sets them apart, what drives them.

You can’t decide on a theme because there’s so much you want to write about.

You don’t know how long the story should be, so it never starts.

Potential Solutions

Try new things to come to peace with unfinished drafts (I have a folder on my computer specifically labeled “Unfinished Stories” because I’m more comfortable when they have a home).

Practice writing one page within your story’s world from a different point of view or tense. See what feels most natural or authentic to you.

Do character research by looking at pictures of people on stock photo websites or Pinterest.

Story length is often found after someone just starts writing. You’ll naturally find a rhythm and come to a conclusion at the right length for your first draft. Revise/add if needed!

My most important tip might be—

Give your gut 24 hours (go with your gut on whatever you’re trying to decide, then set your work down. Come back in 24 hours to see if you feel as strongly about your creative decision).

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Got Too Many Ideas

When there are too many creative ideas in your brain, it leads to anxiety and potential writer’s block. I know I’ve had the fear that I’ll commit to the “wrong” story and another one will come to life in my mind, but then be gone by the time I’m ready to write it.

Potential Solutions

Write all of your ideas down in a list (bold, highlight, or star whichever ones seem super promising at the time so they stand out when you’re ready for a new project)

Try stream of consciousness journaling for 30 seconds (set a timer! Whatever you write will reveal with emotions/thoughts/issues are on your mind and may create stronger stories with similar themes)

Write 500 words of a story idea (or another number you’re comfortable with; if you don’t like what you write, you know you can move onto the next idea).

Flip a coin (assign one idea heads and the other tails—then flip a coin or use a coin flip generator).

Number your ideas and use a random number generator to pick one for you.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Not Eating a Brain-Supporting Diet

I’m not here to tell anyone how to structure their diet. Everyone’s body is different and what you eat will change throughout your life. Your doctor and/or a licensed nutritionist are the best people for that job.

However, I can give you a few pointers that I definitely didn’t learn until way later than I would have liked:

Iron: if you don’t eat enough iron, you can feel super sleepy or stuck in brain fog. Iron comes from meat, but it also comes from these foods like spinach, watermelon, beans, whole wheat bread, and many more!

Vitamin D: vitamin D enhances brain function, especially for people with major depressive disorder. Drink that delicious Sunny D juice from your childhood or get it from foods like salmon, tuna fish, dairy fortified with vitamin D, and egg yolks.

Omega-3s: omega-3s are also known as fatty acids, which improve communication between brain cells by fortifying their membrane health. Fish is an excellent source of fatty acids, but you can also enjoy more omega-3s from foods like chia seeds, kidney beans, walnuts, and fortified foods.

You Can’t Write Because: Your Responsibilities Are Too Important Right Now

As you get older, you’ll have varying responsibilities that sometimes you have to take care of on your own. Maybe you’re taking on new roles at your job or you’ve just become a parent. You might move into a new home and have a long list of projects to finish before you settle in.

Sometimes responsibilities are acts of self-care during challenging times. Those are all valid. It’s okay to step back and take a break if your situation is going to drain your energy until your routine becomes normal or you get used to the responsibilities. You’re a writer even when you’re not actively writing. Nothing can take that skill and passion away from you!

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Uninterested In Writing

It’s totally normal to sometimes feel like you’re completely uninterested in writing. That feeling might last for months or even years. I went through a good 5-6 year period where I didn’t think I’d ever write again just because I didn’t care to.

That may indicate that you’re in a period of self-growth. You might be discovering new parts of yourself that result in new hobbies you’d rather spend your time doing. That’s okay too!

Possible Solutions

If that’s not the case for you, ask yourself—are you still reading? My writing always grinds to a halt when I’m not reading a good book. Ask a friend what was the last book they couldn’t put down. Find out which books are currently taking the internet by storm and find them at your local library.

You can even research “Books like ___” and insert the title of a book that’s incredibly special to you. I promise there are going to be articles looping it in with other titles that you might enjoy more than branching out into a totally new genre.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Bored of Your Story

Life can get boring. People are sometimes boring. Stories get boring too.

It’s okay to step back from an idea if you groan at the thought of spending time in that world or with that character. You can always come back to see if the feeling has passed.

Possible Solutions

If your story is still dull when you come back to it, what can you add or change about it? You might need a plot twist to get things going in a new direction or another character to shake up existing character dynamics.

When all else fails and you still don’t care to continue writing what you’ve got, go ahead and scrap it. Consider what you’ve learned from the experience and move onto your next creative adventure.

You Can’t Write Because: Your Story Is Stuck

Maybe you’re writing a story and it reaches a point in the plot where you don’t know how to move your characters forward. They may have gotten themselves into a sticky situation you can’t think a way out of or the plot device that was working isn’t relevant anymore. Getting stuck is a form of writer’s block, but it’s not permanent.

Potential Solutions

Give your protagonist a different goal at the start of the story or a new goal after accomplishing their last one.

Add a new character (they’ll naturally make different choices than your protagonist and challenge them in various ways that are relevant to your themes).

Pull the rug out from under your protagonist (maybe they think they’re an incredible parent, but overhear their child complaining about them to a friend during a sleepover while walking past the living room).

Other Resources

12 Techniques for Getting Un-Stuck

17 Ideas to Continue Writing Your Novel When You Get Stuck

6 Methods to Unstick Your Story

You Can’t Write Because: Your Characters Aren’t Real Enough to You

Sometimes characters don’t feel real enough and it makes writing about them boring. Everyone encounters this eventually! Think about if your writer’s block is happening because you don’t enjoy spending time with your characters.

If that’s the problem, it’s time to make them more real. There are a few ways to do that! (If you try these solutions or others like them and your characters are still uninspiring, it might be time to walk away for a while/permanently.)

Potential Solutions

Give them something inspired by a real life person (add a personality trait that you love about your best friend, hate about a public figure, want in yourself, etc.).

Add a few flaws (perfect characters don’t feel real because no one is perfect)

Give them a face (this goes back to character research—save a stock photo that looks like your character or draw them. Post the picture on your wall where you write or in your phone for continual inspiration.)

Rework your plot (maybe you’re not starting them at the best possible point in their journey—start with an action scene, shift events around, or add a new twist that challenges their growth in some way.)

Complicate their relationships (maybe they have a fight with their best friend, clash with their teacher, form different opinions than someone they admire and learn from that experience, etc.)

Other Resources

9 Signs Your Main Character is Boring

5 Ways to Make Your Characters More Realistic

4 Bland Character Problems and How to Fix Them

Easy And Effective Ways To Make Your Characters More Memorable

You Can’t Write Because: You’ve Set High Expectations for Yourself

Your creativity will stop feeling as natural if your expectations of yourself or your writing are too high.

When it’s time to write, where do your thoughts go? You may need healthier expectations if your thoughts center around:

Getting every word or scene perfect

Knowing exactly where the plot goes in every chapter

Worrying that your story won��t be receptive to future readers

Wondering if you’re the right person to talk about a certain theme

Making your characters or story the first of its kind

It’s good to challenge yourself, but not with unreachable expectations. Give yourself room to try things, to possibly fail, to learn from your mistakes.

Every chance you have to write is another opportunity to hone your skills by learning from the experience.

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Burnt Out

Burnout happens all the time, creatively or otherwise. Creative minds can push themselves too hard, just like you can throw too much of your energy into work or school.

See if you’re experiencing any of these common symptoms of burnout:

Constant exhaustion, even after a “good” night’s rest

Headaches

Changes in appetite

Frequent illnesses

No motivation

A general negative outlook on life

Feeling trapped

Loud thoughts of self-doubt or failure

Not feeling satisfied with things that used to bring you joy

Feeling alone

Starting unhealthy coping mechanisms

Isolating yourself from people, even your loved ones

Potential Solutions

Talking with a therapist is a great way to handle burnout. Here are the resources for budget-friendly therapy again:

7 Cups of Tea (chat with volunteer listeners and professional counselors)

Get in-person or virtual therapy through Open Path ($30-60/session with a one-time membership fee; aims to close the financial gap that keeps people from accessing mental health professionals).

Check out other budget-friendly therapy options recommended by the medical community.

I have absolutely been the person who can’t afford therapy. I get it. You can also get some mental health help with these resources:

Self care apps—I use the (free) Finch app every day to redirect negative thought patterns!

Burnout recovery strategies recommended by health care professionals

Burnout resources recommended by the American Psychiatric Association (APA)

You Can’t Write Because: Your Writing Routine Isn’t Working Anymore

I used to write short stories literally every day while I was in grade school. Being stuck in classes for 8 hours a day was great for my creative writing because the sounds of the teacher talking, whiteboard markers writing, and students asking questions became background noise that tuned me into my stories. (I highly recommend paying attention to harder classes though 😂)

When I had fewer daily classes in college, my writing basically stopped. After I graduated, the environment that helped me write most easily completely disappeared.

It took a long time for me to learn why I had writer’s block—I wasn’t experimenting with my writing environment.

Potential Solutions

Try changing when you write to see if it’s a time issue. Get up earlier in the morning, write after eating lunch, or sit down after you’ve completed your responsibilities for the day.

Switch your scenery. You might write better at a coffee shop, the library, a park bench, your living room, your bed, or even your bathtub.

Change what you’re hearing. Try writing in complete silence. Use noise-blocking or canceling headphones and listen to lyricless music. You can also try background noises that often help people focus, like:

Background Noise—Coffee Shop

Background Noise—Tavern Fireplace

Background Noise—Rain Shower

Background Noise—Cozy Fireplace and Rain Shower

Background Noise—Forest Sounds

Background Noise—Blizzard Sounds

Background Noise—Interior Plane Cabin White Noise (The pleasant hum of a plane cabin is what I often write to—weird as it admittedly is!)

Background Noise—Christmas Music From Another Room

Background Noise—Lo-Fi

Ambient noise apps

Background noise apps

You Can’t Write Because: You Don’t Feel Motivated

Your story may not feel as captivating as you thought because you’re not as motivated with this one. Does it have a centralized theme? You can always search for your theme or pick one while figuring out what your story is supposed to convey to readers.

Some popular themes are:

Coming of age (discovering something about yourself/the world/both)

Survival

Corruption

Power

Courage

Love

Heroism

Death

Prejudice

You may find your motivation by writing about something very personal to you or something you want to tell other people. Write to the person in your life who needs to see something from your perspective or needs to learn from another person’s perspective.

Write about the thing you can’t stop talking about. Write about what you’re going through or want to figure out. Even if your story goes from a novel to a short story to flash fiction (anywhere from 4 words to 1,000 words), you’ll likely find it easier to write.

Other Resources

10 Most Popular Literary Theme Examples

Story Themes List: 100+ Ideas to Explore in Your Novel

100 Story Ideas Categorized by Theme

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Doubting Yourself

Self-doubt can pull the emergency brake on your brain. You may not think you’re good enough to write a story the moment you think of it. Self-doubt can come into play after you start writing or just before you finish a manuscript.

No matter when it hits you, it can cause another form of writer’s block. You’re the only person who can figure out where that doubt stems from and address the root of the problem, but everyone can practice daily positive affirmations to encourage themselves. With daily practice, you’ll chip away at your writer’s block.

While talking to a mirror or writing in a journal, tell yourself things like:

Writing is my hobby because it’s part of me.

I’m always a writer, no matter how often I actually write.

My voice and ideas deserve to exist.

Every word I write makes me better at writing.

No matter what comes out of my brain, stories are always my artwork.

Other Resources

Positive Affirmations for Writers

60 Affirmations for Writers, Authors, and Creatives

77 Positive Affirmations for Discouraged Writers

336 Affirmations For Writers Who Needs Support

60 Affirmations for Authors, Writers, and Poets

You Can’t Write Because: You’re Literally Out of Ideas

Ideas come and go. Sometimes your brain just can’t think of anything. There’s nothing wrong with your creative spirit—you may just have other things going on (like one or more of the above challenges).

When you really want to write something but can’t come up with anything off the top of your head, use a few generators to get things started.

Potential Solutions

Prompt Generators

Writing Prompt Generator by Genre

Prompt Generator

Random Prompt Generator

Story Generators

Plot Generator (Twists, First Lines, and More)

1 Million Plot Combinations

1000s of Plot Ideas Generator

Character Generators

Character Generator

List of Character Generators (Zombies, Fairies, Ghosts, Murder Mystery Victims, etc.)

Character Profile Generator

Plot Twist Generators

Plot Twist Idea Generator

Randomized Plot Twist Generator

Either/Or Plot Twist Generator

—

I hope this helps someone feel more at peace with their writer’s block, even if you can’t think your way through it yet. Sit with the uncomfortable feeling and it will gradually lose its power over your creativity.

You’ll start writing again sooner than you think. 💛

#writers block #writing resources #writeblr #writing tips #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing advice #writing help #plot creation #character creation #writing prompts #writing generators

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xjustakay · 7 months

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(10/5) prompt: eerie — 1,436 words (literal haunted house date night; 0/10, james does not recommend - cw: talk of death/murder, ghosts, general creepy weirdness) @jegulus-microfic

James is a weak, weak man, he’s decided.

Because, here’s the thing: ghost stories? He can usually laugh them off; he’s got no real life experience with the concept of the supernatural or the dead sticking around with the living. He’s watched movies, seen some stories told online, but there’s a degree of separation from them, you know? A screen. A promise that it’s not actually happening to him.

But now? Now there’s no screen, no separation; he’s walking right through one. Checking out an old abandoned house that’s supposedly haunted by the family that died there isn’t at all James’ idea of a romantic evening, but there he is. All because Regulus batted his pretty eyelashes at him with his lip caught between his teeth. All because Regulus hit him at just the right moment with a sweetly murmured ‘please, baby, I want to check it out.”

Ergo, James is a fucking weak man, because he’d been powerless to say no to his boyfriend in the moment.

The old floor of the 19th century mansion creaks beneath their every step. It’s clear that very few other people have been brave enough to enter the blocked off old home —there’s a thin layer of dust coloring everything a muted grey beneath the blue-white glow of the moon slanting through partially-boarded windows. There’s still furniture covered in moth-eaten sheets in each room they pass, too.

It’s eerie, how there’s still a whole life left behind there, despite the fact that it’s been ages since anyone called the place home. James swallows through a tight throat as he follows at Regulus’ side, each of them with their phone in hand, flashlights on. Regulus is too excited, even as he tries to disguise it —an unstoppable enthusiasm in his continued curiosity about all things spooky and strange when he peers through every doorway to see what’s there.

“How are you not freaking out right now?” James asks, whispering on instinct.

“It’s just a house,” Regulus replies at a normal volume, shrugging.

He points his flashlight up at a family portrait hanging over the fireplace in the musty-smelling library that they’ve entered. A man and woman stand stiff-backed behind two identical twin daughters in the painting, five years old at most. The mother has distant eyes and a forced smile on her face while the father looks too serious, obviously tense. The two little girls both smile, one with teeth, one tight-lipped; the only thing that seems to notably set them apart.

James swears that when he takes a small step to the left that all four pairs of eyes follow him. Oh, he’s going to throw up.

“What happened here, again?” He asks. Hates himself for doing so, but his own curiosity can’t seem to be helped.

“Winifred Manning went mad after having her daughters. She’d been told by a doctor she wouldn’t survive having one child, much less two. She ended up convincing herself not long after their birth that they were sent as an omen from the devil,” Regulus explains calmly, head tilting as he looks up at the painted family. “She tried to kill them.”

James gulps. “Tried to?”

“Well, suppose she was successful eventually, considering,” Regulus says. “She tried to poison them for a little while, but the nanny caught on, told her husband, Nicholas.”

James stares at the tense-looking man in question, wondering if he wasn’t looking so uneasy in the pose for the family portrait because he knew. Knew what his wife thought, knew she was trying to get rid of their children.

“So how did they actually die then?” Again, James hates that he’s asking, but he’s clearly blocked out the couple other times Regulus has told him bits of this story before coming here.

“Well, ultimately she drowned them in the bath.” Regulus delivers the news so casually, ignoring the way James winces. “Just left them in the water afterward and returned to playing the piano in the sitting room, that’s where Nicholas found her when he came home. Then he heard the water left running upstairs, found the girls there. And in a madness of his own, having his daughters taken from him and knowing his wife was insane, he stabbed Winifred to death.”

“Jesus,” James wheezes.

“Not a lot of that here, I’m afraid,” Regulus snorts.

It might be a good joke if James weren’t feeling chilled down to the bone at present.

“What happened to Nicholas after all that?” Evidently he’s just going to keep digging himself deeper.

“He hung himself in the attic,” Regulus answers simply. He turns from the fireplace and shines the beam of his phone’s flashlight over the covered furniture leading toward the attached sitting room. “Now people think this place is cursed. That because of the nature of their deaths and the madness they all stemmed from that their spirits just… stayed here. That’s why no one’s touched it in a couple decades.”

“And you wanted to come here?” James lets out a nervous sounding laugh.

Regulus glances at him over his shoulder, lips curled in a smirk. “You’re terrified right now, aren’t you?”

“The fact that you’re not is also of concern to me, but we’ll address that at a later time.” James can’t help the way his lips twitch when Regulus laughs at that.

Turning to face him, Regulus tucks his lit up phone in his back pocket and steps closer. He smooths both hands up and down James’ chest, head tilted back slightly to be able to look up at him.

“I never did thank you properly for coming with me,” Regulus murmurs.

James gives a tilted nod of his head. “True.”

“Should I do that, you think?”

“Here? Now?” James chuckles, nerves still present in the sound. “Bit disrespectful, don’t you think?”

“I think if the ghosts were actually still around, they’d have let us know by now.”

“Okay, hate that you just put that thought in my head.”

“Let me distract you, then.”

Regulus lifts one hand to rest at James’ jaw, easing up on his toes to bring their lips together. And honestly, James does have to give it to him —it fucking works, it’s an excellent distraction. Hard to be afraid of ghosts when his free hand is curling around Regulus’ hip. Hard to be worried about much of anything when Regulus is trailing his tongue over his lower lip before licking right into his mouth.

His hand moves from Regulus’ hip to slide along the small of his back, encouraging him to arch his back the smallest bit. Regulus hums into James’ mouth the moment their bodies press firmly together, his arms both looping securely around the back of James’ neck. A cool breeze passes outside, cutting through shoddily boarded windows and making James shiver just as much as the feel of Regulus sinking his fingers into his hair.

But then, distantly, there’s the tinkling sound of a piano. A slowly building sound that travels along the high and low keys in a melody somehow both pretty and eerie at the same time. It’s Regulus tensing in the curl of his one arm that tells James it’s not just his looming anxiety making him think he hears it. It’s real. Regulus clearly hears the piano, too.

They ease back from kissing, wide hazel eyes on Regulus’ face as his dark brow furrows for a long, anxious moment. The piano continues to play. Sounds like it’s in the next room over; the sitting room attached to the library.

“If this is a joke, it’s not funny,” James whispers shakily, some small part of his brain hoping that it is that simple. That his boyfriend thought it would be hilarious to play a prank on him, hide a speaker in the other room before they came —James might even be proud of him for it after the initial terror wears off.

“James, that’s not me…” Regulus whispers back, grey eyes staring past him, over James’ shoulder toward the open doorway into the room the piano seems to be playing from.

There’s a sudden loud creak followed by a thud upstairs, a door thrown open maybe, that makes them both jump. The piano continues, undisturbed, in the other room. Past the rush of his heart in his ears, James thinks he can hear running water now, the pitter patter of dripping on the hardwood floor above them.

Regulus fists a hand in the front of James’ sweatshirt, yanking as he hurries out of the library the way they came in. “Alright, time to go.”

“Yeah. Yep. Yes, absolutely.”

#jegulus #jegulus microfic #when the ghosts haunting a house crash your already creepy date #this got away from me #but it was fun so lmao #good job guys #kay’s microfics #kay’s writing

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mxtantrights · 7 months

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Famous dc!au (dick's version)

TRACK EIGHT: POPROCKS AND COKE

The offer is staring you right in the face. You could literally pay for a year’s rent with this opportunity. You could have a little bit left over for fun or for a big emergency. You could do so much with this offer.

But you really don’t want to take it. You feel like if you do, whatever is happening between you and Dick can’t happen. If he keeps kind of being your boss, you cannot ask him out. There is no way.

You’d probably look like a fool. And maybe you’d be laughed of the industry, having to find a normal job somewhere doing things you don’t like. Could you see yourself being a music video actor for the rest of your life? Of course not. But since you’ve started you want to see it through.

You sigh and shut your laptop. The stress had been lingering since you got the notification on your phone last night. Just thinking about it turned you in knots. Did Dick not see you in that way? Even though Theo theorized that he might feel the same way you do, you aren’t sure that’s true. And if he wants you to work on another video with him how could it be true?

You pick up your phone from the couch and decide to leave your apartment. Working on autopilot you lock up and take the elevator down, and there on the sidewalk in front of your place is an older man with a box.

“Can you help me?” He asks you directly.

You look up and down the block first. There is no one else outside on this street but the two of you so it would be mean to ignore him. Then again this could be som weird stunt and you didn’t want to get yourself hurt.

You look at the man again, “What’s in the box.”

“She’s all yours if you want her.”

You want to back up and walk away from the man. But he’s quicker then you and leans the box down so you might look inside of it. Your eyes catch a glimpse of something moving inside , underneath a read blanket. Your mind thinks the worst.

“Sir, is—if that’s a baby maybe we should drop it off at a firehouse.” you say. He shakes his head, “it’s a puppy.”

And sure enough the pup pokes it’s head out of the blanket. It’s not facing you at first. It’s head turns left then right and then all of a sudden the pup looks at you. A gray and white puppy with familiar blue eyes.

You were done for.

Dick is listening to the final mix of the song and he feels like something is missing. The words are great and they feel real and authentic. The production is like nothing he’s ever tried before and yet it works. But there is something that is glaringly missing from the overall song.

He sits back in his seat.

Then he turns to the producers, Dinah and Constantine. He can’t believe he’s sitting in room with Constantine but stranger things have happened. Zantana recommend him seeing as this was a new sound in his wheel house.

“Something is missing.” Dick says.

“I agree, but I can’t pin point what it is.” Dinah replies. Constantine suddenly gets up from his seat with out another word. He’s up and then he’s standing right in front of Dick. Dick isn’t sure why but honestly the three of them have been the studio for four hours now so he’s not thinking clearly anymore.

“The person you wrote this song for, do they know it’s about them?” Constantine asks.

Dick sheepishly looks around, “No, but I was planning on telling them—hold on what does that have to do with anything?”

Constantine smiles, “It has everything to do with it. Music is a secret langue between people. If you’re making a song for someone there needs to be something in there to let them know it’s for them.”

Dick shakes his head, “I’m not changing the lyrics.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying maybe there’s an instrument they like, or a sound. Something you can include in the song that would only be between the two of you.” Constantine says.

Dick sits and thinks to himself. Well, he can’t go asking you what your favorite instrument or sound is now. You’d for sure know the song was about you, and he wasn’t sure he could do that yet. Not with the offer hanging over your head too.

Was there something else?

Constantine walks away, further into the studio. He has a bag of chips, halfway gone already, that he wants to finish.

Dick shuts his eyes to think. He knew your favorite color. He knew how you took your tea. He knew plenty of things about you. But that would be too forward. What was one thing the two of you shared that wouldn’t make this whole thing weird?

Then it hits him. He knows exactly what the song is missing. He opens his eyes and fishes his phone out of his pocket. He starts texting his assistant for b footage from the music video.

“Dinah, it’s the intro.” Dick says.

Dinah doesn’t say anything. She just moves the track to the beginning and presses play. The start of the song floods the room and Dick doubles down on his idea. His assistant sends over a folder of videos. He knows which one to look for.

The one he took of you standing in the middle of the blocked off street. He had managed to record it while you were staring off into the distance, and no one on set was making noise. It was just the sound of wind on grass, a faint airplane maybe.

“Let me airdrop this to you, maybe we can put it at the begging and have it fade into the song.” Dick says.

Dinah nods, “Alright Richard, I like where you’re going with this.”

“Me too.” Constantine says with his mouth full.

You’re scrolling on your phone trying to find the nearest pet store when you see a link to one of those trashy news sites. You don’t want to click on it but you feel like you have to when you see Dick’s name.

You wish you hadn’t.

The article, if you can even call it that, is just a run down of his former relationships and some speculation. But another thing catches your eye. Once towards the beginning and then again at the end. Donna Troy and Zantana. You look at the images again and then it hits you.

Those pictures are new. He went to Donna’s house. Zantana went to his house. Theres one of him and Donna hanging out at a food place. And there is one of him leaving the studio with Zantana. Your whole body deflates.

A part of you, a very small part, thought you had basically no chance with Dick. It was the more ‘realistic and sensible’ part. The part that told you to not over spend incase you might need the money later, and to not over drink because no one likes a hangover. That part of you is almost always right. And these pictures all but confirmed it.

You exit the news site and tap your way on to your email where you draft up a response to accept the offer. Yes it’s really going to suck to have to be all lovey dovey in a video with a guy you know you have feelings for. But on the other hand at least some of your bills would get paid.

A soft whine comes from your side. You look down at the gray baby pit bull laying on your couch who is looking up at you.

“I’m gonna find a name for you, I promise.” You say, as if the puppy can understand you.

And yet, she yips and runs off your couch like she does. You sit back and type on your phone. Maybe this will be the last time you see Dick Grayson and you can let your heart move on. Maybe you weren’t cut out for this business at all if you fell in love with a heartbreaker.

#dc x reader #dc imagine #dc x you #dc fic #dick grayson x reader #dick Grayson imagine #dick Grayson x you #dick Grayson fic #famous dc! au (dick's version)

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gvtted-ratz · 2 months

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What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?

Edward Nashton (The Riddler) x Ghostface!Trans!M!Reader

Last Edited: 06/04/2023

TW: gore, blood, murder, stalking, dead bodies, transphobia, foul language, body dysphoria, phone harassment

Requested: no

Word Count: 2,381

AO3 LINK -> HERE

Notes: literally rewatching the batman 2022 as i make this lel. also, kinda think of the ghosftface from dead by daylight as i love that costume/look so the outfit that’s described. i finished this shit on 1 hour of sleep btw so hope u enjoy

He’s an odd man. His schedule used to remain constant until it didn’t. You’re unsure of what changed. He’s still a forensic account by all means. He forged those documents to get the job so of course he wouldn’t simply just quit. That part stayed the same. It’s after work when he deviates from his original schedule. Going out at night, spying on people, and getting odd information. There’s also his online presence getting stronger. You see him on his computer more and more. Sometimes he’s typing, other times he has some sort of outfit on to do live streams.

No matter what, he’s always busy with something. That something has gotten more and more odd these past few weeks. He’s obsessing over a vigilante. A man dressed in black who goes around beating people down until they cannot get up to fight anymore. A “Batman” is what they call him. For someone so many fear, little ol’ Eddie surely loves him. It makes your stomach twist in disgust. How can this man obsess over this random vigilante? Sure, he fights crime but he’s not going for the bigger people. He lets cops run around, nabbing the criminals only to let them go after a bit of bribing. Some saviour he is. Plus, to see this somewhat nerdy and dainty-looking man go for a man who appears to be jacked screws with your head.

You can’t help but want to maul your own skin at this observation. The mousey man wanting the dark, mysterious, and bulky body type makes you think of your own figure. You don’t have the exact body type so may want after all the struggles to so much as get the medicine you needed for your transition. It takes time, ranging from months to years. And the first man you see him obsess over is the usual “jacked” and “hot” man makes you angry. That original figure you had has changed over time, into something you’re more comfortable with. While some changes haven’t been made yet due to the lack of money, you feel better; like you can actually live in your own skin now after so long of feeling like your body was out to destroy you.

But that feeling does fade now and then, especially when you see someone you’ve been watching and pinning over for months wanting the one thing you feel like you can’t be at times. Sometimes it’s your mind, other times it's old words from people you knew. The majority is the people you see online spouting nasty things, all ranging from hatred to fetishizing; there are even times when it’s a mixture of the two. A “real” man is what they want. For some reason as well, a “real” man isn’t someone who takes hormones or changes their body. A “real” man isn’t someone who says they are a man, even if they don’t transition. If they don’t pass their assessments, they’re not a “real man”. But how can they be one? How do they know what a “real” man is? They call those bulky hunks in bars real men. They’ll call the men from the army real men. The men from the gym are real men. But the moment a man so much as acts, looks, sounds different or doesn’t have the “right” body, they’re fake. And to you, it’s all bullshit. No one has any right to tell someone they’re not a “real” man, especially when they themselves know nothing about you or others in the same boat.

So to suddenly see such people in his streams? You can feel yourself losing it. While you wouldn’t kill them for such a thing unless they preached or even tried to kill people for being different or “unreal”, it’s the fact that so many were actual shitbags added to it. From people who wanted to simply kill innocent people, to people wanting to do awful acts to those they hate, you can’t allow that. Spying from the rooftops and alleyways turns into watching him from his very own streams.

Your username on the streams is Gh0stFac3, read as GhostFace, is usually caught in the streams, never saying a word. You let yourself lurk while he’s online, letting out passionate rants about Gotham and some sort of “renewal plan”. You don’t necessarily watch him on these streams. You do listen though, taking down notes on his words. You do have other people to watch and kill later on, of course. Some from his streams, others from night outs. A few are even from your times at bars, hearing their nasty talking or genuine disgust about certain groups of people who’ve done nothing but live their lives.

Another name is jotted down in your notebook, a multitude of pictures clipped to the page with the target. You scratch at your neck from under the mask, sighing. It’s just another asshole really. This one is from one of Edward’s streams. From what you found out, the guy had been sending nasty messages to a coworker who rejected him. Pathetic in your case. But you can feel that itchy feeling creeping up under your skin. You’ll have to kill again soon. It’s like a drug and it makes you feel powerful in a way. From people seeing you as some dainty girl back in the day, nothing more than something to be used for bearing kids and eye candy to look at, to feeling like a man after treatment, meds, and eye-opening articles; along with blogs talking about their own experiences, you feel like you can actually feel and do the things you felt you deserved to do. The people who looked down on you or disowned you disappeared in just a blink. All you needed was time away to find yourself, who you truly are, before returning and dealing out the same amount of pain to them they forced you to go through for so many years.

You snap the notebook closed, rubbing at the face under your mask. All this thinking about how your body is, alongside was, is giving you a headache. It doesn’t help that you have more than just that man as the next victim either. You’re not sure who to choose just yet. Or, well, you do. However, all the constant thinking, together with your inner voice reminding you of all the transphobia you’ve faced thus far, is killing your mood. A snort leaves you. Killing your mood. You’re truly a riot with your own jokes.

You grab the flip phone closest to you, flicking it open. It’s a burner you picked up a bit ago. There were plenty of others but the satisfaction of snapping the phone shut after a call is enough for you to keep it around. You look at Edward’s stream; he’s still going. You give a sharp grin under your scream mask before dialling his number.

You can hear it ring from the stream. Seeing him go silent immediately is satisfying. He looks like a mouse again; a confused one at that. He starts up his rant again, seemingly going to ignore it. Narrowing your eyes, you end the call before texting him. The ding he gets is ignored. Another ding. Another. Another. His hands are shaking, eyes wide and crazed. Finally, you type in chat.

> Hello, Mouse.

The chat, usually fast, stops for a moment. They seem to notice something is off.

> Will you answer your phone?

> I’m calling.

> I’m texting you, Mouse.

People in the chat start to type, sending in a multitude of messages. Some are asking Edward if he knows you. Others are asking if you know him. You don’t answer them at all.

> Answer. I won’t stop calling.

He looks mad, grabbing his computer. “Who do you think you are? You know nothing! You’ve said nothing until now! You’re just someone trying to bring me down aren’t you?! You’re trying to destroy everything I’ve been working for to help Gotham!”

> Answer the phone, Eddie.

Everything stops. It’s like the entire chat froze as well as Edward. You know no one has any idea what his name is. The fact that you know it and suddenly type it with no hesitation only shows you know more than does. With shaking hands, he lets go of the computer and sits back in his chair. “I’m sorry everyone… But it looks like we have a leak. I’ll be making sure to get rid of the mole and that they are dealt with accordingly. I’ll host another stream next week after all of this is fixed.” His voice is eerily blank, almost like he’s bored or in shock. With those final words, the entire stream ends. You sit for a moment before calling him once more. Edwards finally picks up this time.

“Oh, Eddie… Did you really have to take that long?” The voice changer in your mask disguises your voice. From what you’ve been told by many victims before, you sound like a very attractive young man.

“Who are you?” His question, asked in a cold way, makes you hum.

“Ghostface. What about you, Eddie? Are you Edward Nashton? The Riddler? Who are you?” His breathing has changed; he’s panicked. You’ve heard that type of breathing so much that you don’t do much beside coo at him. “Don’t worry, Dear Eddie. I don’t want to hurt you. I don’t want to destroy all that you’ve been working on. After all, you’ve changed your schedule to fit this odd thing now…” You sigh, leaning forwards in your chair. You prop your masked head on your gloved hand. “After all, you spent so much time and resources on it. It’s honestly been the most interesting thing I’ve seen in years.”

“Why are you calling, Ghostface?” He asks, wanting to get this call over with. You don’t want that though. You like how he sounds in your ear. You like how you can make his breathing change with just a few words.

“What’s Your Favourite Scary Movie, Eddie?” The teasing way you say it only adds character, or that’s what you tell yourself. You want Eddie to like you. You want him to obsess over you as he does Batman. You want him.

“I’m not playing your games!” He’s stressed, practically about to cry from the frustration. You’ve ruined his stream, teased him over the phone, and called him Eddie in front of people who don’t know his name. In his eyes, you’re out to destroy him.

“Eddie…” You feel slightly bad. You really do want him to like you and this is the only thing you had thought of. It’s clearly not working. “I like you, Eddie. You’re doing what others can’t or won’t… How about a deal?” The idea of a deal to possibly end this talk seems to get to him.

“What’s the deal, then? Or are you going to keep talking to me in circles and messing with me?”

“I wasn’t trying to mess with you. As I said before. I like you. You’re the only person who went from a possible victim to something else entirely… You should be proud! No one has ever gotten that far! Usually, I’d be in their home by now, hiding and waiting for the right moment to strike…” As you talk, it seems he’s intently listening to you with genuine intrigue. “The fighting is always hard but so, so fun. And the moment my knife meets their flesh and blood spills? It’s beautiful.” You let out a sigh, one could almost call it dreamy with how you talk about your deadly hobby. “The screams are a bit much, not going to lie there, Eddie. They’re so loud.. But the moment the life is gone from those shitbags, I can make them oh so pretty.” You’re out of your chair, pacing around your apartment. Your combat boots are heavy against the wooden floors of your home. One of your hands moves as you ramble, giving more passion despite the other man unable to see it. “A few more cuts, maybe some mutilation, a bit of stabbing.. Then I have to set them up how I want and take a few selfies. The selfies are always fun… I can send you a few if you’d like. They always turn out great, I make sure of it.”

The silence on the other end snaps you out of whatever state you had been in when talking about your hobby. You don’t hear anything, not even Edward’s breathing. Your hidden lips pull into a frown. Here you are, pouring your heart out and he’s said nothing! No congratulations. No good job. Nothing. The squeaking of your gloves is heard as you tighten your grip on the burner.

“How does this help me? How are you going to help me with some pictures of your pinned-up dead bodies?” You grit your teeth, hating this call more and more.

“I’m saying that I can be your blade, dammit! You can sit in your messy lil’ apartment, talking, coding, streaming! I’ll hunt down whoever you want! I’ll mutilate them! I’ll leave clues or riddles, I don’t care!” You’re yelling into the receiver, finally tired of listening to the man’s complaining. Taking a deep breath, you try to calm yourself. “I do all the killing and you continue doing whatever it is your doing.”

“But what are you looking for? What do you get out of it?” A hum leaves you, letting all that rage go. A nasty smirk crawls over your features.

“I get to watch you work… I love seeing you put your pretty lil’ head to use after all, Baby.” You practically purr, the distorted warmth filling you. It’s unhealthy how much you like him paired with how much you want him to like you. Unhealthy or not, you don’t care. If he can have unhealthy views and plans, so can you.

You hear the end of his line go dead, having hung up on you. You give a mocking put from behind the scream mask. Quickly, you let your thumb fly over the numbers. You snap the phone closed, happy to see that this is the start of something very exciting.

> Can’t wait to work with you, Sweetheart ;))

#my fics #edward nashton x reader #edward nashton x male reader #x reader #x male reader #the riddler #the riddler x reader #the riddler x male reader #x trans male reader #the riddler x trans male reader #edward nashton x trans male reader

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sisterspooky1013 · 6 months

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Gaslight, Chapter 15/48

Rated X | Read it here on AO3

PART THREE

Ellicott City, MD

The moment she pulls Abby’s bedroom door closed, she feels tears sting her eyes.

She’s beginning to seriously consider the possibility that she’s having some kind of psychotic break. She was so sure, so sure that her dreams were real memories, that Mulder was a real person. But that man in the coffee shop saw her as a complete stranger. There was no flicker of recognition, no I swear I know you from somewhere, I just can’t place it.

But the moment she begins to accept that conclusion, all the questions come tumbling up and knock her off kilter again. What about the medication? Who orchestrated her taking it, and why? If Mulder isn’t real, where did her dreams come from? If Michelle isn’t hiding something, why is she so doggedly trying to keep Dana under her thumb? What about the song, and what Abby said to her at the bus stop, and every other little thing that doesn’t quite make sense?

She’s bent over the sink in the master bathroom, splashing cold water on her face to calm the puffiness in her eyes and wash away her tears. What does she do now? She certainly has no intention of seeing Michelle again, nor taking the medication, but what if her dreams just keep getting more frequent, more intense, more…revealing? What if she’s never sure whether the people in her life who claim to love her are lying right to her face every day?

“How was your appointment?” Cal asks, and she startles, reaching blindly for a hand towel.

She blots off her face, trying to decide what angle to take. Should she interrogate him, or play dumb? She could let him hold her, try to find some kind of comfort in his gentle touch, but she suspects that her distrust will hold her back from actually receiving it.

“Um, okay,” she says blandly, tossing the towel back over the rack and reaching for her moisturizer. She avoids looking at him, both in their reflection in the mirror and the flesh and blood man, her husband, standing beside her. “Actually, I think I may stop going. I don’t think she’s the right therapist for me, in terms of client-provider compatibility.”

“Oh?” Cal says, and she can hear the concern in his tone. “You sure that’s a good idea, mija? She helped you before. And you seem…you seem like you’re having a hard time.”

She flicks her eyes to his in the mirror and her belly twists. He looks bereft, much like he did in her first days home. Lost, and hurt, and missing his wife so badly. She was here for a moment, but she’s gone again, and either Cal is genuinely concerned for her or he is putting on an Oscar-worthy performance.

“I am,” she says softly, looking at the sink. “I feel like…like something’s not right.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, taking a step closer.

The hair on her arms stands on end, cortisol spiking. Danger.

“I don’t know,” she says shortly. “I don’t—I need some space.”

Her heart is thrumming, and she flashes her eyes to the bathroom door. Cal is standing in her path to it, and she’s not sure if he’ll try to block her from exiting. She’s not sure of anything, anymore.

“From me?” he asks, wounded.

How she can concurrently feel so much affection, empathy, and wariness for the same person is nauseating. She stares at the countertop, hot tears running down her cheeks. She wishes she could go back to his birthday, to that little sliver in time where she knew who she was and her place in this world. When she let him hold her, and touch her, and love her, without wondering if those touches were born of deceit.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers.

She hears him suck in a shuddering breath, followed by a sniff.

“What did I do wrong?” he asks tightly. “Just tell me, and I’ll fix it. I just want—” A pause, a series of sharp breaths as he tries to regain composure. “I just want you to be happy, Dana.”

Her face contorts. What is happy? Where is happy? Another place and time, perhaps.

“I’m sorry,” she says again.

She steps away from the counter and avoids his eye as she passes by him and exits the bathroom. He doesn’t try to stop her, nor does he come to her in the guest room, though she’s sure he can hear her racking sobs and the start of her waking from another dream. He gives her the space she requested, and it feels like a bottomless chasm.

His fingers are twisted up with hers under the soapy water. He lifts them up and out, wrapping both their arms across her torso as he takes two steps back, towing her along with him. Dishwater runs off her elbows as he spins her around and then pulls her close, his hand on her waist and hers on his shoulder. She looks up at him, finding that impish half-smile on his mouth that makes her heart ache. Overwhelmed, she rests her head on his chest and listens to the rapid flutter of his nervous heartbeat. They sway in lazy circles around the kitchen and she feels the heat of his mouth against her scalp, a featherlight kiss followed by the brush of his breath as he sings.

“At first I thought it was infatuation, but ooooo, it’s lasted so long. Now I find myself wanting to marry you and take you home.”

A flash flood of every emotion shocks through her veins, heightening her senses. Fear, excitement, arousal, love.

“Fuck, Scully. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Dana heaves a sigh as she walks through the sliding glass doors of St. Agnes, tepid vestibule air ushering her from the antiseptic halls of the hospital into the warm, sun-drenched afternoon.

She moves mechanically through the motions of her day while a storm rages just beneath the surface. Outwardly, she is wan and unemotional, smiling when social convention calls for it and forcing dry laughs from her throat in response to Tiffany’s jokes. Internally, she is raw and unsettled, on the constant verge of tears. She has no plan, no next steps, other than to keep living this life that she woke up to one chilly April morning. She’ll get Abby from the bus, pick up Peter, make dinner. She’ll live, in a literal sense. She’s been shocked to learn how much living can feel like dying.

She’s passing through the narrow space between cars in the parking lot en route to her BMW when she senses the presence of another. Instinctually, she lifts her head and squares her shoulders, projecting confidence and strength. Fishing her keys from the pocket of her lab coat, she readies them between her fingers like talons.

“Dana Scully,” says a male voice, and a cold wash of fear runs down her back.

Still walking, she turns her head in the direction of the voice and sees a man. Thirties, clean shaven, short, dark hair and a narrow jaw. He’s standing near her car, one hand in the pocket of his leather jacket, which strikes her as an unseasonable wardrobe choice.

“Can I help you?” she asks, freezing in the middle of the aisle. If she comes any closer, he could pull her between two parked cars, obscuring them from view.

“I was actually thinking that maybe I could help you,” he says haughtily.

“Please leave me alone,” she says, taking one step back in the direction of the hospital. If she can make it back inside, she can ask a security guard to walk her to her car.

“I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say,” the man says, taking a step forward as she slowly retreats.

“About what?” she asks shortly, prepared to turn and run.

“About Mulder.”

Her ears short out and then begin to ring. She looks at the man, scanning his face for clues. She must know him. He called her Scully. Her survival instincts war with her need for answers.

“You know Mulder?” she asks, and the man smiles.

“Quite well. I know you quite well, in fact. I know you don’t remember me, but we go way back, Agent Scully.”

Agent?

“What do you want?” she asks, her tone petulant and childlike.

He shrugs.

“Nothing, other than to tell you what I know.”

“What do you know?”

The man looks around, then back at her.

“Not here. We need to go somewhere more private.”

Dana scoffs.

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” she says firmly.

The man sighs.

“Fair enough. How about…there’s a little park near here with chess boards on the tables. Meet me there in twenty minutes?” he suggests.

Dana waits a moment, trying to read him. He doesn’t seem as though he wants to harm her, but he also doesn’t strike her as someone with good intentions. But if her options are to die trying to find out what happened to her or keep living the way that she is, it suddenly becomes an easy decision to make.

“Okay. Twenty minutes.”

The park is busy on a summer afternoon, children slowly trickling in as they finish up their school day. She’d called Amanda from across the street on her way over and told her that something came up, asking if Abby could go over to their place after school for a while. She’s not sure what to expect from this impromptu meeting, and decides to wait a bit before worrying over who will pick up Peter from daycare.

She spots the man already at one of the small cement tables with a chess board etched into the surface. He’s arranging the pieces with black on his side, white on hers, using one hand with the other tucked into his lap. She approaches cautiously, waiting until he sees her and motions to the seat across from him before she sits down.

“You any good at chess?” he asks, and she stares at him.

“Who is Mulder?” she asks, unable to keep the desperation out of her voice.

“I’ll tell you,” he says, “but you have to at least pretend to play. It’s risky meeting in public like this, and I can’t afford to draw attention.”

Once he’s finished setting up the board, he looks up at her and lifts his eyebrows. She picks up one of the pawns on her side and moves it two spaces forward.

“Who is Mulder?” she asks again.

The man picks up one of his own pawns and moves it one space forward.

“He’s your partner. Or he was, anyway.”

“Partner?” she repeats. “We were in a relationship?”

He nods towards the board and she moves another pawn.

“Well, yeah, actually. But you also worked together.”

She blinks at him.

“Is he a doctor?” she asks.

The man gives her a perplexed look.

“Fuck, I think I need to start at the beginning,” he says, shaking his head. He moves a pawn and then sits back.

“Who are you?” she suddenly asks, realizing that it might be helpful context.

He tilts his head to the side, pondering.

“You can call me Alex,” he finally says, motioning for her to take her turn.

“Okay, Alex,” she says, making her move. “Will you please tell me what the hell is happening to me?”

Her voice is tight and shaky, and he seems to realize that continuing to obfuscate won’t be fruitful.

“Your memory has been erased,” he says coolly, casually, like it’s a thing that happens all the time. “Going back to 1992, before you joined the FBI.”

“The FBI?” she repeats. “I didn’t—I missed my interview,” she tells him, remembering what Cal told her at O’Blarney’s.

“No, you didn’t,” he corrects.

She continues to move chess pieces when it’s her turn, and Alex quickly collects all her pawns as she does not have the wherewithal for strategy. Memory erased? How is that possible?

“You were partnered with a man named Fox Mulder, working in a division known as the X-Files. The two of you investigated unexplained phenomena, and after an impressive number of years, you finally got around to fucking.” He pauses, looking up at her to gauge her reaction. “Or so I’ve heard,” he adds with a smirk.

Her mind feels like an oversaturated sponge. Unexplained phenomena? Memory erasure? What about Cal? What about the kids?

“Anyway,” he continues, “earlier this year you got a little too close for comfort in terms of obtaining tangible proof regarding one of their more nefarious programs, and the guys at the top decided it was time to find a permanent solution to what they called their ‘Mulder and Scully problem’.”

She waits, her chest heaving. The questions are so innumerable she can’t decide which to ask. She just wants him to keep talking. She advances a knight.

“There’s a project that’s been in development for decades, known as Spurious by those involved. After Roswell, it became clear that there would be a need to alter the memories of the general public in order to keep state secrets safe. You and Mulder became guinea pigs, in a sense, and the big guys are shitting their pants right now because it clearly didn’t work.”

He looks up at her and she stares back. She could not have anticipated that actual answers would leave her even more profoundly confused than a lack of information.

“I don’t understand,” she says quietly, her eyes wet.

“I underestimated how hard this would be to explain,” Alex huffs, running his fingers through his hair. “Everything you woke up to in April: Cal, the kids, the job at St. Agnes, your swanky colonial in the ‘burbs, none of that is real, Agent Scully. It’s a farce, a fabricated life designed to keep you from remembering.”

The validation is sickening. Even though she knew, in her heart of hearts, that something was off. She knew in her very bones that they did not belong to her. And still, she feels a gut-wrenching surge of grief.

“Then who are they?” she croaks.

Again, Alex shrugs.

“People no one would be looking for. I don’t know, exactly, but I’d guess they came from the prison system, foster care. It’s not a bad deal on their end, to be honest. I’m sure they’re much better off than they were before.”

“But they know me,” she counters, finding herself disbelieving despite everything. “They remember things that happened before. And my mother—”

He holds up a hand to stop her.

“You’re not understanding the scope of this, Scully. To pull this off, they had to act on a national scale. Every person you’ve ever encountered has had their memories of you erased, and sometimes replaced with new memories, depending on how closely you knew them. Everyone, Agent Scully, including your mother.”

Her mouth hangs open, rooting for words. It’s incomprehensible.

“How?”

“A combination of things. I won’t claim to understand the tech, but they discovered a way to selectively block memories in the brain. Once that procedure had taken place, they found that daily medication to suppress long term memory recall helped keep things from triggering the memories back into the conscious mind.”

“Numerol,” Scully says quietly under her breath.

“Hm?” Alex says, then continues talking. “That’s just on the memory suppression side, but in order to create new memories, there’s a chip implanted in the base of the neck that stores them. Between the procedure, the chip, and the medication, their trials were highly successful.” Dana’s hand moves to the back of her neck, feeling the small, raised scar there. “It’s also a tracker, so they can locate you if they need to. As long as that thing is in your neck, you can’t hide from them, Agent Scully.”

Her eyes snap up to his, finding a genuinely stern expression on his face.

“But to answer your question, they did it with the Manatua virus outbreak.”

Dana narrows her eyes at him, recalling what her mother said.

The vaccine was awful. People were vomiting, passing out. It was so painful, they started using general anesthesia to administer it. But the virus was so aggressive, it had to be done.

“Why?” she asks, flabbergasted. How could she, Dana Scully, be important enough to fabricate a national pandemic?

“To keep you and Mulder separated,” Alex says, capturing her queen. “Together, you’re a threat. He’s got his own little set up out in Philly, a wife and a dog and all that shit.”

“His wife has had her memory erased?” Dana asks, comparing her life to Mulder’s.

“No,” Alex answers flatly. “They actually did know each other before. You knew her too, and didn’t like her much. This is a big redemption for her, given how badly she fucked things up last time they brought her in. They faked her death just to get her the hell out of there, and I guess this was her way back in. She gets Mulder, and a chance to get back into the inner circle. My guess is that she’ll be willing to go to great lengths to keep it that way.”

Dana absorbs this, realizing that her greatest fear—that Cal is somehow involved—is Mulder’s reality.

“Why not just kill us?” she asks.

Alex sits back and smirks at her.

“Valid question. They wanted to, but someone in the ranks preferred to keep you alive. Seems like he successfully made the case that doing a test run on the Spurious Project was the best of both worlds. They get to separate you and Mulder while proving out the success of the program. Or at least that was the hope, but your little run-in with Mulder in Baltimore has them scrambling.”

A cold slice of fear cuts through her.

“Why are you helping me?” she asks, still not trusting him.

“Let’s just say I have a bit of a bone to pick,” Alex says as he re-sets the board. “Despite my significant contributions to this effort, I have yet to be fully compensated.”

“You want money?” she asks, wondering if this is all a twisted attempt to extort her.

“Not necessarily,” he says with a one-shouldered shrug, “though it wouldn’t hurt. I just want to see them go up in flames.” He looks up at her and his expression softens. “And I’m somewhat attached to you and Mulder, as a duo,” he admits in an apparent moment of earnestness. “It’s kind of…wrong, you two not being together.”

Dana swallows, thinking of her dream.

“What do I do?” she asks. He’s given her many things, but a way forward is not one of them.

“That’s the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Alex says as he stands. Dana stands as well, feeling alarmed. “I guess that’s your call. But the reason I contacted you is to make you aware that you’re no longer safe. They know you remember Mulder, and that you aren’t taking your medication. It’s only a matter of time before they come for you.”

“What will they do?” she asks, a wave of nausea rolling through her.

“Not sure,” Alex answers honestly. “They might try to run you through the program again, or they might just kill you.”

“I should find Mulder—”

“That’s probably the worst thing you could do,” he interrupts. “Mulder doesn’t remember you, and they’ll do whatever it takes to keep it that way. If you try to contact him, they will kill you, Agent Scully.”

After holding her eye for emphasis, he turns and begins to walk away.

“How can I find you again?” she asks, panicked.

Alex turns around, walking backwards as he calls to her over the din of the park.

“You can’t.”

Tagging @today-in-fic

#the x files #x files fanfic #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #xf fanfic

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