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wraithdance · 1 month

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Stray Dogs | GHOAP x Reader

Synopsis: You never had a problem with strays, but you should have been wary of the rabid dogs begging to be leashed.

Pairing: Johnny x Avoidant!reader | eventual Ghoap x Avoidant!reader Note: AFAB!Reader, No physical description but reader has background story, no y/n use or gender terms for reader, Reader is LGBT (Bisexual) Content warning: Mature | brief mentions of childhood trauma, avoidant personality, therapy and allusions to mental health issues, passive thoughts of death

Prologue: Foxy Leaves

You told your new therapist that you like putting things into categories because it was fun.

It was half a lie, minuscule really and not enough to be of consequence. You suppose you could have been honest and said the process of grouping things made the endless dread you lived in just a little bit easier.

But you didn’t really like the pitying look Dr. Sanchez gave you when she went over your intake questionnaire. She’d looked down her glasses while you numbly repeated the same spiel about ‘what brings you to cognitive therapy’ that you’d been giving for the last decade.

You’d google her practice on your lunch break scrolling through the reviews and stuffing the last of your sandwich in your cheeks. In your car before the first session you silently prayed to the empty space that this time you could stick with her long enough to fix you.

You doubt it though because her bob bounces as she nods to your explanation of ‘The Chasm’ and how it came to be. The way that it bounces as she hums, being sure to signify her active listening. It really pisses you off.

The familiar sense of despair boils hot when you realize that even though this is an unfamiliar office half way across from town, she’s giving you the look. The one of interest, like she wants to crack open your skull and observe your chaotic wiring in hopes to understand what your fucking problem is.

It’s the same one every other therapist has given you since you were old enough to inevitably stop showing up to mandatory sessions without consequence.

It’s so habitually intolerable that you have a 'Therapist breakup’ text in your notes draft on your phone. It's simple, clinical, contains something vague about not thinking you were compatible as a client. It’s usually enough to keep them from doing a wellness check (or worse a call to your emergency contact.)

When you’re done talking, Dr. Sanchez reaches for your hand in some gratuitous act of extending comfort. Her cold fingers and the sensation of her half rubbed in hand cream, makes you want to vomit. It must not show on your face because she keeps talking and squeezing your hand.

“I think that it’s brave of you to come in and I think we can work on some of your goals.” She pauses accessing you before she says the thing that signs the death of your therapeutic relationship.

“Do you also want to work on mending the relationship with your parents?”

You ignore the receptionist when she asks if you want to make a follow up appointment. You’re combing through your drafts to find the breakup text when you think that you’re glad you lied about the category thing. Your control issues are yours, precious and responsible for your ability to focus on anything but the heavy weight of being. So fuck her and her stupid fucking bob.

Her contact gets blocked as soon as the message reads delivered.

When you were anxious the familiarity of nature documentaries, specifically the ones about apex predators, were a comfort. Duckie, your best friend of nine years, had been squeamish the first time she watched one of your favorites with you.

It was about big cats in the wilds. The man with the Aussie accent narrated with excitement that belied the violence of seeing a lioness take down a gazelle. From behind the safety of your throw pillow Duckie asked why you like watching stuff like that. You shrugged like you didn’t have an answer.

You did though.

It’s because predators in the wild didn’t hide what they were. They didn’t need to pretend to be anything but carnivorous and survival driven. Would never think to explain to the gazelle that they were sorry for hurting you, but they couldn’t help themself.

It would be even more insulting than being eaten alive.

You’re relieved when the lioness finishes the gazelle off, letting out a small sigh of 'finally' that earns you a wide eyed look from Duckie. The death was quick and even if the gazelle didn’t realize it, she was lucky. You’ve been on the end of an explanation for harm and wished you’d have the mercy of death instead.

But you couldn’t tell Duckie that. So instead you tease her about being a big baby.

For a few years now you’ve gotten into the habit of assigning everyone you meet an animal that reminds you of them. It satisfied both of your interests and it was fun. It’s how Duckie got her nickname. She’d crowed over the cuteness and tried to hug you before you threatened to bite her if she touched you.

It didn't matter the amount of time you'd known a person you grouped them. The scrawny teenager at the local Tesco was Giraffe kid, The high pitched woman next door with the ugly dog, Chihuahua.

You’re looking at your girlfriend of 3 months, Foxy, thinking how the name works for her better than Taylor does.

She’s beautiful even while spitting vitriol as she packs her Telfar bag to the brim with stray items she left behind at your apartment.

When she flicks her hair over a tanned shoulder you’re distracted, remembering how it felt when you gripped the long strands that morning, holding her still and demanding to be kissed. Instead of the soft look she wore then, she’s openly glaring at you now. You know your face is doing the blank thing she hates because she searches it for something. You suppose she doesn’t find whatever that something is because she’s yelling again.

“You make it so FUCKING hard to love you and I can’t do this anymore.”

You're frozen, caught off guard with the remote to the television still in hand as the nature documentary drones on. The ‘what?’ you blurt out is one of genuine confusion, you'd both been cuddled on the couch talking before whatever this was came to be. You wrack your mind trying to remember what the last thing you said was and come up blank. To your embarrassment, you'd been on autopilot the whole morning, so there is a gap in your memories.

Taylor, upon your continued silence makes a sound that can only be described as a screech.

“You always have an excuse why I can’t meet your parents!” She cries exasperatedly, “If you’re ashamed of me I’d rather you just say that over leading me on for God’s sake!”

Your body flinches only slightly when she throws her hands up. You’re still defensive when you bite out a sharp rebuttal that makes her frown and drop your spare key on the coffee table. You don't admit to yourself that you can't remember exactly what you say over the cotton in your ears and the dark corners that sink into your neck at the first display of conflict.

It still stings when she leaves though. You spend the next day crying under your blankets, the pillow she slept on still smells like her perfume. The scent clean and floral, one you'd gotten used to seeking out when you did the laundry.

Fuck, you really did like Foxy. But you suppose you’re going to have to call her Taylor now that she's your ex-girlfriend.

Duckie laughs at Taylor’s comment when you tell her over brunch. Your effervescent friend’s giggle tumbles out of her uncontrollably, whilst her mimosa in hand, threatens to spill in her lap. She slaps a hand over her mouth when a loud snort escapes against her will. She shoots an apologetic smile to the couple at the table adjacent to yours when they ask her to keep it down.

You glare until they turn back to their lunch.

Duckie straightens when she takes in your stiff form, having finally realized she’d stepped on a landmine and right into your ire.

“Darling, you certainly don't make it easy to be close to you, you're a bit…”

She pauses in thought, shifting her glasses on her nose and placing the glass flute down on the table. Today her spectacles are fire engine red with rhinestones on the brim. You’d asked her if she was nearsighted or farsighted once and she’d told you the lenses weren’t prescription. She only wore them to seem a bit older and worldlier when out and about.

You don't like how long it takes for her to search for an adjective and say so when she still doesn’t finish her sentence after several moments.

“I just mean that you're purposely closed off,” She makes a panic flapping movement with her hands when your eyes narrow even more “Oh come on! You like it that way!”

“Duckie, what are you talking about?” You grit between your teeth.

You're pushing your half eaten club sandwich out of the way to lean across the table, waiting to hear her explanation. You’d lost your appetite.

Duckie shirks from your unblinking leer and sniffs indignantly.

“It took me nearly a year to get you to call me your friend and I swear I still feel like I don’t know you.” she gives you a pointed look, “If it weren't for the fact that you’re like that to everyone, I’d think you hated me sometimes, so I really do have to empathize with Taylor in this one.”

She’s waiting for you to say something, you can tell by the way she brings her shoulders up to her ears as if gearing for some great big reaction.

But, that wasn’t your style, never had been. So you still don’t know what’s expected of you. To negate her statement?

You suppose you could tell her that's absurd, she was your best friend in every way. Had been since the day she’d laughed at one of your more tasteless jokes during an intro to Psychology class in undergrad. You were softer for Duckie, more than you were- well really anyone.

Your own mother only knew enough about you to identify you on a morgue table if it ever came down to it. But you don’t tell her that.

Instead you do what you do best. You leave.

You’re pushing up from the table gathering your purse and throwing back the last of your mimosa like a tequila shot, before you can think twice about it.

Duckie tries to reach out to you but you flinch from her touch.

“Wait Darling, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, please don't go!”

“I’m just going to the ladies.” you mumble flatly over your shoulder. At least that's what you hope comes out because your throat is closing up with the effort to hold back the stupid tears in your eyes.

You slam into the restroom startling the barista applying lipstick in the mirror. Her owlish eyes take one look at your dark expression and she pops the top back on her lipstick, skirting past you. You check to make sure the bathroom was truly empty before locking yourself in the biggest stall.

As soon as the lock clicks the dam breaks and it makes you so angry it hurts. The level of intensity of your crying is absolutely repulsive. Your jaw aches with the efforts to muffle the sobs that thrum through your body like a struck chord.

You’re pacing the small enclosure with tears running down your face, feeling like the lioness in the nature documentary after it’d been captured. You feel the gut punch of self loathing as soon as the thought comes up. It's insulting to compare yourself to the deadly beast when you’re trying not to get snot on your dress sleeves.

Duckie comes to the restroom after a while tapping on the stall door, begging you to open up.

You feel only half guilty when you tell her to fuck off. She’s quiet for a while and you know she stands with only the thin door between you, you can see her colorful converses from beneath the gap in the door.

You want to let her in. Figuratively. Literally.

What a relief it would be to just let her crawl into the hole you’ve made at rock bottom and let her be there with you.

You want to laugh imagining her taking the time to do that rocking thing she does when she's trying to get comfortable in the decorative chair in your office. You always remind her it was meant for aesthetics, not comfort when she huffs out the same grouchy complaint about the hardness. She scoffs in mock offense anyways.

“Really Darling, you make enough money to get rid of this thing. Ooh let me send you the link to the bean bag I saw on Wayfair, one sec!”

You’re still crying when you consider that she's really the only person who makes the effort to visit you at the office.

Or anywhere really.

You'd gotten accustomed to only hearing from your family when there was a crisis or need for quick cash to keep them afloat.

If you weren’t stuffing tissues into your running nose you’d scoff at the thought of your parents caring, much less visiting. They were still content to be fuck ups well into their retirement age. You’d long stopped bothering to call to make sure they were still alive after the first year of college.

Maybe if you told Taylor that she would have stayed.

The emotional despair rot you call ‘The Chasm’ deepens and you question if you’d ever really gotten used to the loneliness of having no parent to turn to. The years of casual disdain and dismissal. The resentment for being half a child and reluctant third parent to children that weren’t yours. Their desire for all of you and none of you and back again in an endless loop.

Ceaseless demands of a gluttonous beast you could never please, even when you’ve flayed yourself bare.

It stings, the reminder that you’d been living on scraps and toughness disguised as love long before you met Duckie. Long before Foxy- Taylor- or even the parade of friends and disappointed exes, who’d simply had enough of whatever caustic matter made you, you.

Yet, Duckie is the only one who keeps coming back. Time again she comes back to your side with a smile, like she likes to be with you. Like watching nature shows with you on the couch, eating whatever snacks she brings because she knows you forget to eat, acting like it’s the highlight of her day. Never an inconvenience to care for you the way others had said it was. It makes you cry harder until you can’t breathe because you’re trying not to let her hear you.

Duckie in all her color and too big glasses, has always acted as if she can see that weak part of you peeking out from behind the thorns and quick rebuttals bordering on mean. She still stands waiting for you even now, even when you told her to fuck off in public restroom at your favorite brunch cafe.

It’s staring at the graffiti-ed dick on the stall door when you think you can honestly say you love her and it hurts your feelings that she doesn't know that.

You think you can be honest and tell her that it’s not about Foxy or even Duckie’s laugh at your expense. It’s about the revolving door of disappointment that still keeps you up at night. That landed you under the microscope on a a faceless therapist's couch for emergency sessions and the mementos of non-slip socks in your dresser drawers.

The half guilt turns into full fledged self loathing just thinking about how you really needed to get a cushion for your office and let her in. After a beat you think you’re in control of your crying enough to reach for the lock inside the stall. Of course, as always the universe is having a laugh at your expense.

“Darling, I'm going to go back to the table now okay?”

You know she's making that nervous face scrunch she does when she’s anxious, waiting for you to reply. You can’t, you’re frozen in place as always.

“Don't want them to think we skipped the tab, so just come back when you feel a bit better, yeah?”

She says something about her getting the bill and you can talk when you come back. You don’t hear her really because ‘The Chasm’ calls to you first. You keep it together long enough until the scuffling sounds of her shoes quiet before allowing the tide to take you under again.

Eventually, when you’ve stuffed the feelings back into the pit, you’re able to leave the stall. You never go back to the table. Texting Duckie a simple ‘sorry’ along with a money transfer for your portion of brunch. You leave the restaurant for the safety of your home, wondering if this will be enough for her to leave you too.

You half hope it is because it was exhausting loving someone else.

An hour later there's a timid knock on your apartment door. It’s opening to peer down at a shuffling Duckie on your steps, with flowers and the expensive bottle of wine you like, that you know that it’s not. Enough to keep her from coming back that is.

She follows you inside like a chick behind its mother and toes off her sneakers in the hall next to your rows of shoes. She takes your general wave her way as a sign of ‘go ahead’ when she asks if she can put the flowers in water.

You’re sitting on the couch with your knees to your chest, staring listlessly at the nature channel. You know Duckie is taking in your bare face and faux casualness. You know you look pathetic in your too big hoodie and headscarf. You at least hope you've gotten enough of your makeup off to not look like a drowned raccoon.

'Pathetic', The Chasm says.

Duckie carefully tiptoes over your outstretched legs to scrunch herself small on the other end of the couch. After a few episodes of the documentary, this one about penguins, she slowly makes her way to your side and cautiously gives you a half hug and a tearful apology.

“I’m sorry for being a bitch, I shouldn’t have laughed.” She doesn’t turn from the t.v's glow. You’re secretly thankful she doesn’t look at you because you’re embarrassed for crying again.

With gentle prodding she asks you to tell her how you really feel about Taylor leaving. You tell her. You also tell her about your parents and why it was such a big deal introducing Taylor to them. It’s more than you’ve admitted to any therapist and she has the foresight to not make it a thing.

Duckie just hums quietly, listening. As she sleeps on your shoulder, drool wetting your sleeve, you think you can carve her a spot beside you in rock bottom. Maybe another inside the space where your heart should be, just big enough for one. It’ll just be you and Duckie for as long as she wants it that way. You’re satisfied with the thought, drinking the last of the wine.

As always nothing you ever want matters for very long.

Because Soap doesn’t give you a choice when he barrages into your life and demands you make additional space for him and his stray dog.

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#okay slay not tagging this much cuz its more of a personal project #wraith king #simon ghost riley #johnny soap mactavish #mr clean

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pitchsidestories · 1 year

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If I was a man II Mapi León/Alexia Putellas x Readers

warnings: talk about the Rubiales case and it's a longer oneshot than usual

a/n: based off this request

barcelona women masterlist

OCs are sisters, face claims are the women in the picture underneath: Luisa Ruiz Moreno is a journalist and is dating Mapi Leon, Elena Ruiz Moreno is a football player for Barcelona and Spain, she's in a long-term relationship with Alexia Putellas

Her heart was beating fast against her chest while Luisa Ruiz Moreno tried to videocall her girlfriend Mapi León before the final game of the World Cup 2023 in Australia.

The journalist could not help but smile as Claudia Pina spotted her with a wide grin on her face from the small phone screen of the defender: “Lu!” “Move over, Claudia. I want to talk to my girlfriend in peace.”, Mapi asked her to but even she was smiling because the positive energy of the younger player was infectious.

Watching this all too familiar scene play out, Elena could not help but long to be reunited with them again, but choose to greet the footballers for now: “Hi love, Hi girls.” “Shut up, we want to talk to her too, Claudia rolled her eyes, before she excitedly waved into the direction the phone was standing, Hello Lu!”

“How are you all doing?”, Elena asked in a curious tone, trying to braid her dark hair at the same time.

Truthfully Patri answered the question smirking: “We could be doing good if there wasn’t this final coming up.” “Will you watch it later though?”, the Journalist wanted to know from them.

With a tortured smile her girlfriend replied: “We’re planning on watching it together. Claudia already organized the snacks.” “And Sandra got the alcohol, it might be needed.”, Patri added with a mischievously grin. “However, it ends, it will be needed.”, Claudia clarified.

Slowly Mapi nodded: “Exactly, so..” “So, what?”, Elena interrupted her softly. Slightly annoyed Patri looked at her: “Mapi, hurry up. We don’t have all day.” “I need to talk to her under four eyes for a second.”, the defender decided quickly and went into a room without any persons in it.

Amused Elena teased her: “So what do you want to ask without your girls in the background?” “Can I not just talk to my girlfriend?”, Mapi asked back, adding a playful frustrated groan for the dramatic effect. More seriously, the brunette continued: “Of course you can. I miss you; it’s been a month apart from you now.”

To be fair Elena felt extremely grateful for the opportunity to write about the sport she loved the most on the biggest stage that existed for it, and what an unforgettable tournament it has been so far, but equally could not wait to see and hold her girlfriend again.

“I know, I miss you too.“, Mapi replied into the front camera of her phone. “But you know, I have to look after my sister now too.“, Luisa stopped her girlfriend, laughing.

Mapi had to stop herself from rolling her eyes, “Your sister is an adult.“ With a shrug, Luisa answered, “Yes, I know but…“ A small smile tugged on Mapis lips as she finally gave in, “Go and take care of your sister.“ Luisa suddenly turned serious, “You don’t think it’s silly, right?“ „No. I think it’s good that you’re close by and can have an eye on her. I don’t trust this.“

Luisa nodded slowly, taking her girlfriends hint immediately, “You don’t trust him.“ “No, I don’t.“ Everything in Mapi refused to believe that things have changed since the players protested in September of last year. And her former teammates gave her more than enough evidence that they still weren’t happy with the leadership of their head coach. And apparently, her girlfriend must have seen the same because she agreed, “I don’t either.“

“You will tell us if you find out that something weird is going on, right?“, Mapi asked now. “Of course.“ “Good.“ Mapi watched her girlfriends gaze shifted towards the time on her screen before she smiled, “I’ll call you after the game, okay?“ “Okay, enjoy the final.“

Mapi ended the call with a smile and a feeling of uneasiness at the same time but there was no time to think about it because Patri was yelling from her living room, “Hurry up, León, or you won’t get any snacks!“ “You can’t eat all the snacks before the game even started!“, Mapi protested while hopping over the backrest of her sofa and landing right between Claudia and Patri. Claudia was now holding an empty bowl in her hands by, “Oops.“

"Claudia!", Mapi shot a playful accusing look to the younger player. With a red face Claudia tried to cheer her teammate up:" There's still a little bit left for you." "Thanks, appreciate it.", Mapi smiled at her. Softly Claudia answered: "You're welcome."

"Can you guys shut up now.", Patri begged them, because the final just started. With big eyes the younger midfielder decided to apologize: "Sorry." "There's a game going on.", she stated, gesturing her hands into the direction of the TV screen.

A few minutes later Mapi mumbled under her breath: "Shit, Olga scored." With a curious look Claudia turned her head to the defender:" I thought we were neutral?" "Yeah one of your best friends and your girlfriend's sister is in the final.", Patri reminded her.

Not even that reminder from her friend could stop Mapi from swearing:"I still don't want this disgusting asshole to win anything." "Trust me no one does her.", Sandra tried to reassure her. The latter one let out a loud sigh:"I know. Or else you would be on the pitch right now."

Hesitantly Claudia proposed a question to all of them:"True.. do you guys feel like you're missing out?" "No.", was the defenders quick answer. Comforted by it the younger midfielder added:" Me neither, I'm in good company." "Pina, you're adorable.", Patri commented touched by the statement of her teammate. "I know." "But I'd like to watch the remaining part of the game in peace now.", the woman who was born on the Island of Callorca finished her sentence by staring at the two of them.

Laughing Mapi asked:"Why you're looking at us like that?" "Because you two are distracting from the action.", Patri groaned. Swiftly Claudia got to her feet:"I'll get more snacks!"

"It's not our fault you've the attention of a goldfish, Patri.", the defender mocked her friend. "Rude"

In a serious tone Mapi turned to her other teammate:" Claudia, come back. You don't have to get more snacks. It's over."

"Get the alcohol instead!", Sandra requested.

Claudia stopped in the door frame of Mapis living room. With a frown on her face, she turned back towards the TV where the final whistle was just blown. The Spanish player were hugging each other tightly and Claudia understood immediately. “Alright.“, she mumbled before disappearing into the kitchen.

She came back with a bottle of tequila and four shot glasses that she quickly filled up with the alcohol. Mapi took the first one and lifted it towards the screen, “Cheers.“ Patri was following suit immediately, rolling her eyes, “To the World Cup.“ With a hard swallow and glassy eyes, Claudia joined them, “To our friends. Here and there.“ “And definitely not to this clown.“, Mapi added as their head coach was shown. “Honestly.“, agreed Patri. The four women tipped their heads back to take their tequila shots and then continued to watch the celebrations in silence. They all were following the live pictures with mixed emotions.

Until the Spanish players were awarded their medals. In stunned silence, they watched the president of the football federation grab and then kiss Jenni Hermoso on the lips. Patri was the first to find her voice, so she yelled out, “He did not just do that!“ Claudia was shaking her head over the few seconds that the cameras captured this moment, “Please tell me this only looked weird…“ “I will ask Lu about it later.“, stated Mapi, knowing that if her girlfriend had seen this, she would be just as disgusted as they were. Patri nodded, “Please.“

Mapi was still looking at the screen in disbelief, “This man!“ Sandra, in the mean time, filled their shot glasses again, “Way to ruin a perfect night for the girls.“ “They deserve so much better than this.“, agreed Mapi, taking the offered tequila. “Fit rights into their shitty behaviour!“, Patri spat, her shock now turning into anger. Mapi watched with a set jaw as the president lifted another player, touching her bare leg, “But now everyone can see their real face and why we striked.“

Hopeful Patri turned to her:"Not when people ignore it. Do you think Lu could do something?" "I'm sure she can.", the defender answered, knowing her girlfriend and her skills in writing about the ills in society and her calls for change with the use of powerful words. "That would be perfect.", Patri mumbled. Still Mapi did not want to get her hopes too high, knowing the spanish federation all too well, so she said:"We'll see."

"Lu just texted and told me that she's too tired to call but she said the kiss will blow up in the news tomorrow. During a locker room interview Jenni stated that she did not like the kiss.", the defender informed her teammates. Excitedly Claudia stood up:" Yeah, I just saw it on instagram live!" "Guess now they will believe us.", Patri concluded with a bitter undertone.

Truthfully Mapi confessed:"I don't believe it's going to be that easy." "Probably not.. because when was this ever.", the older midfielder sighed. Slowly Sandra nodded:" You've got a point there." "But we keep on fighting.", Claudia tried to stay combatitive. A weak smile showed up on the defenders face:"Of course we do, we did not miss out on the World Cup for nothing." "Exactly.", Patri agreed. That's when Mapi felt the calm before the storm which one could already see up on the horizon:"We'll wait and do whatever the other girls need us to do."

A few hours before the conversation of their teammates in Barcelona, Alexia Putellas hugged her girlfriend from behind with a joyful smile on her face while they were lining up in the players tunnel, anticipating the start of the final:"Ready to write some history, El?" "History, huh?", Elena smirked at her. In a solemn tone the famous midfielder replied:"That's what this is. Spains first World Cup final." "Right.", the brunette woman whispered in awe. That final was full of firsts and they could not wait to make it into the history books as the champions of tonight and the world.

“Let’s go. It’s showtime, lovebirds!“, Jenni called them. Elena furrowed her brow, “Lovebirds?! We were just talking about making history, Jenni.“ “Sure, you two. Stop staring at each other and let’s kick some ass.“, the striker rolled her eyes. Alexia did the same, defending herself, “We were about to.“ “I bet so.“, Jenni answered laughing. Elena smiled at her two teammates, “Can’t wait.“ “We only got a few more minutes, so go.“, Jenni replied, pushing the two of them into the tunnel where they waited for the game to start.

While they waited, Alexia casually slipped her hand into Elenas and hooking their pinkies into each other. Irene, who was standing behind them, leaned forward to call over the row of players, “Jenni, they do the hand thing again!“ “The hand thing?“, Jenni repeated as she turned around. “Yes, look!“ The corner of her mouth quirked upwards while she turned her eyes upwards in feigned disgust, “Annoying.“ “We heard that!“, Alexia yelled out, offended. “Good. I hope you did!“, Jenni laughed as they finally walked out onto the pitch.

For ninety minutes they put everything they had into the game. England fought hard but they fought harder. And when the final whistle blew, one goal was enough to secure them World Cup title. Irene was the first one to speak after the game, still breathing hard and with tears in her eyes, “Girls, we won…“ Elena stood close to her, hugging her from the side, “Yes, we did.“ Her voice was a whisper. She still hadn’t realized what had just happened. Jennis beaming face appeared in front of the two, “I’m so proud of you all!“ “We’re proud of you too.“, Elena smiled back at her. But then her sister caught her eye. She was standing outside of the pitch with the other journalists, her face blank. “If you excuse me, my sister is over there.“, Elena added, turning away from her team mates and making her way over to her sister.

Proudly Luisa smiled at her:"El, hi." "Hi.", the older of the sister greeted back. Nervously the journalist pulled a loose hair behind her ear:"I don't know how to feel, but how are you?" "I'm happy that we pulled that off, Lu.", Elena confessed.

Cautiously Luisa asked her:"Even after all the things that happened? What about the girls at home?" "Lu, we just won the World Cup.", the football player gave the younger sister a grave look. Guiltily Luisa bit her lip:"Sorry, you're right, enjoy your celebrations and lifting the trophy you girls deserve it." "Lu.."

Apologizing she gave her a rushed hug:"El, I'm really proud of you, see you later in the changing room." "Alright.", Elena nodded slowly.

With a smile, Alexia joined them, clearing her throat to get their attention:" Come on, time to get the medal love." "Coming... Lu wasn't happy with us winning.", her girlfriend sighed.

Empathetically the midfielder strode her shoulder:" Don't think about it right now. This is a moment to enjoy." "You're right." A big grin showed on Alexia's face as she catched the sight of Irene's son:" Look at Mateo." "A cutie.", Elena whispered. The mother of the child came up and beamed:"Right?" "Definetly.", the sister of the journalist agreed, knowing that she would want something like that with her girlfriend at some point in the future too. "He's not even tired yet.", Irene giggled.

Softly Alexia called her girlfriend:"El?" "Yes?" "You can be happy now. No matter what Lu says.", the midfielder reminded her. Unhappy Elena looked at her:"It's hard when your little sister is clearly disappointed in you." "She isn't disappointed in you.", Alexia disagreed.

After the ceremenonial part of the evening was over,Jenni excitedly shouted:"Time to party, girls.""We're coming.", Alexia answered with a huge grin on her face.

Immediately Elena started dancing and singing with her teammates. Enchanted by that view her girlfriend was shouting to be heard over the loud music:"El! Smile for the camera." "Where did you get the Polaroid camera?", the blonde football player asked curiously. Casually Alexia shrugged:"Some of the girls."

"Come on you need to be in the picture too.", Elena requested, the highly decorated midfielder followed her demand swiftly as she placed a kiss on her cheek while the couple was taking the photo. "And ? is it a good one?", Alexia wanted to know.

"Yes, I'll put it in my journal." "I want one for me too.", the woman with the pink hair smiled sheepishly. The blonde nodded and took another picture for her, the girlfriend thanking her with a sofr kiss. "Here you go." Alexia was admiring the photo in her hand:"Beautiful, I'll keep it with my medal." "You're welcome."

Like her sister Luisa was in the changing room and approached one of the players in her journalistic manner: "Jenni, can I ask you something?" "Sure", the striker nodded. Before proposing her next question, the journalist cleared her throat:"The kiss from rubiales, was it consensual?"

"It was..I mean..I did not enjoy if that's what you mean?", Jenni answered hesitantly.

The journalist blushed, aware how terrible it was to ask her something like that during the glorioust moment in her career:"Sorry, if you don't want to talk about it, I absolutely understand that."

"I should go and celebrate with the other girls."

"Yes, you should. Thanks for your time, I appreciate your honesty.", Luisa thanked her.

The striker sighed: "Lu?" "Yes?" Jenni took a deep breath before she said: "He grabbed me and kissed me. That's the truth." "And you did not like it?" "No.", the striker answered without a doubt in her voice.

She could see the younger woman opposite of her swallowing hard:"You know this will be a big story by tomorrow, right?"

"Does it have to be?", Jenni asked, clearly uncomfortable about those news. In an honest voice Luisa replied calm:"It depends on his reaction."

#woso x reader #woso imagine #woso #mapi leon #mapi leon x reader #alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas #espwnt #woso fanfics #fcb femeni #jenni hermoso #patri guijarro #claudia pina #woso one shot #sandra panos #futfem #spain wnt #jenni hermoso x reader

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whiskeynwriting · 2 years

Note

Part 2 to eyes on me, pretty please 🙏🏼😩

I freaking love Bones

Welllll if you insist.

(I'm so flattered that you love Bones, and that you adored "Eyes On Me" so much omg)

Lucky

Simon “Ghost” Riley x OFC “Bones”

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Word Count: 8.6k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Smoking, mentions of alcohol use, angst (only in the beginning), size difference, dirty talk, oral (f receiving), mentions of spanking, vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal sex

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A/N: Here's part two to "Eyes On Me" (;

Also dear Jesus I just love this picture of him

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

Join My Taglist!

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Heartbreak isn’t the right word, it’s too childish and naïve for you to use. You’re… surprised. Surprised and a little hurt, honestly. And sad. Definitely sad. But what were you expecting? A boyfriend? A fucking wedding? Just from a one-night stand? Because that’s all it was. And you should really start coming to terms with that.

Three days after you and Simon had sex, he was gone. During those three days, you didn’t do anything else, didn’t touch or kiss the other. But it was still friendly between the two of you; you still enjoyed each other’s company. But when he’d healed fully from his injury he just… left. Without a trace. He didn’t say anything to you, and you haven’t heard anything since. Through the grapevine, you learned that 141 had gone out on a mission. No one knows where to or for how long, which was normal. Their whereabouts aren’t really anyone else’s business. But inside, you’d hoped that he would have at least told you he was leaving. But maybe that night didn’t mean as much as you thought it did.

Feeling a bit foolish, you decide it’s best to just push it aside. You have better things to do, like your job. And with the boys gone, work was easy. Mainly, you filed paperwork, restocked supplies, and cleaned, making sure you were ready for their return. They didn’t always come back with injuries, but it wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, either. So, it was best to just be ready. Especially if you were needed for a rescue mission. Those were extremely rare. The only recovery assignment you’d ever been on was to recover, well… Simon.

“Bones?”

Lifting your head, you see one of your coworkers standing in the doorway.

“What’s up?” You’re still filing paperwork, but you’re finishing up.

“Are you coming tonight? We’re all headed out for a drink.”

“Wait,” Swiveling around, you glance at your clock. “It’s already five?”

“Yep,” Shoving his hands into his pockets, he says, “We all really want you to come.” But then, he takes it a step further. “I want you to come.”

Turning around, you grin. “I know you do.” It’s not a secret that he’s had quite the little crush on you. Maybe with Ghost gone, you could entertain it. But it feels so… fresh, whatever happened between the two of you. So, you decide you better not.

“I appreciate the invite. Maybe some other time.”

“Are you sure?” He prods, taking a step in. “I could pay for your drinks.”

“Really,” Laughing, you nod. “I’m okay. Thanks.” And then you turn away, satisfied when he retreats.

And as soon as he leaves, you feel that familiar sting rushing to your eyes. Why do your emotions have such a tight hold in you right now? Why can’t you just push this shit out of your head? He left, he’s gone. And he chose to not tell you. You got your answer; he doesn’t want to see you.

Before you can think any further on the topic, you hear your coworker come back. His steps are firmer this time, causing you to assume he’s returned with more gumption than before.

“Look, I said I don’t want to go tonight, alright?” But he doesn’t say anything. Fuck, can’t I have some privacy?! Quickly, you stand, spinning on your heels to face him. “Why do you -”

But it’s not your coworker. It’s him - Ghost.

“Oh.” Is how you end your sentence, your tone dropping off.

He’s standing in your doorway, taking up damn near the entirety of it. His arms are at his sides, and he’s still dressed in full gear. His tactical tools still hang on him, his belt looped around the expanse of his midsection. He’s armed, too, guns and knives in their holsters. And it must have been cold where they went, because he’s wearing a light gray quarter zip and gloves, too.

“Um, can I… can I help? With anything?” You ask hesitantly, trying to remain professional. “Do you have another injury?” You’re closing up shop soon, but you’d still help him if he needed it. Of course you would. It’s why you live on base; you’re here day and night for whatever medical help the task force needs.

Yeah, I figured you’d react this way.

All he does is shake his head, taking a couple steps toward you. And the closer he gets, the more your head tilts, looking up, up, until he’s right in front of you. Pressing your lips together in a nervous line, you look at him, unable to see his eyes. He’s wearing his mask of course, but with sunglasses this time, too.

After a long moment, you see his chest rise and fall, taking in a deep breath. And then he lifts his dominant hand, incredibly hesitantly. You look to the side, watching him reach out to you. He lowers it briefly, but eventually decides to continue, stepping forward to slowly, tenderly, wrap his arms around you. Closing your eyes, a wave of emotion washes over you, your arms sliding up his body to wrap around his neck, pulling him further in. Now, he fully embraces you, squeezing you tightly while you do the same to him. You have to stand on your tip-toes to fully wrap your arms around his neck, and that makes him grin.

Simon breathes out a heavy sigh, bending down even further and securing his hold on you. His hands slide down to the backs of your legs, and when he brings himself up again, he’s lifting you with him. Naturally, your legs encircle his center, arms keeping their hold on his neck. And when you’re fully clinging to him, both of Simon’s arms wrap around your back again, hugging you tightly against his sturdy frame. Then, his masked face finds your shoulder, and you swear, you fucking swear, you can feel the small indent of his lips against your neck.

There’s a ton of tactical gear in the way, pressing uncomfortably into your body, but it’s worth it. This is so worth it. A tidal wave of relief washes over him, thrilled to feel you accept his embrace.

“Hey, Bones.” He says calmly, affectionately.

“Hey, Ghost.” You return, smiling giddily.

Just a few minutes ago, your emotions ran angry and blue. But now, you’re filled with nothing but joy. You want an explanation, that’s for damn sure, but right now, you’re letting experience this contentment. Because he really does make you happy.

“You’re not hurt?” Sucking in a breath, you release your anxieties with a deep exhale. Even if you were unsure of where you stood, you still thought about him and his recently healed wound while he was gone.

“No.” Comes that deep, rumbly voice, his head shaking gently. “I didn’t mean to leave.” He mumbles into your ear, his tone low and tender. And it makes you sigh, his words offering you solace. “I didn’t, I…” And now he releases a harsh breath, sounding frustrated. “I didn’t have time to find you.”

It feels so nice, hearing his voice again. He’s speaking so calmly to you, making the moment feel soft, special. And once he says this, you nod your head, still resting in the crook of his neck.

You don’t want to come off clingy, but after hearing him tell you this, you feel he’s allowed you to be open with him. “I missed you.”

Things like this aren’t easy for Simon. He doesn’t express emotion like this, at least not verbally. Saying things like ‘I miss you’, it’s not… him. But while he was gone, he thought of you, and he knows how he feels about you. And he wants to reassure you, so he comes up with a response he hopes you’ll like.

“I… thought about you.”

His words make you smile, giggling briefly. He sounds nervous, like he isn’t sure what to say. And honestly, you find that incredibly cute.

“Will you come back with me?” He then asks, satisfied with your reaction. Now that he’s returned, he wants to go back to how things were before he left. He wants to spend time with you.

Furrowing your brows, you question him. “What?”

One of Simon’s hands drops down to your thigh, his other staying looped around your back. Slowly, he bends down again, releasing you. And when your feet meet the floor, your arms release him, too.

“To the barracks.” Rising to his full height, he towers above you. It makes you release a small, shaky breath, staring up at this man.

“Really?” You then ask, “Am I… am I allowed to do that?”

He shrugs. “Probably not.”

“I don’t know; I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

He smirks at this. “Don’t worry about me, love.” That word sends a genuine tingle right through you. “The boys are out for a drink.” Simon explains, reaching out for your hand. Looking down, you accept his heartfelt advance.

“Or have you got work to do?” He then asks, knowing how important both of your jobs are. But all you do is shake your head, looking back up at him. You’re displaying that pretty, genuine smile that he’s so badly missed. You’re looking at him with so much kindness.

“Then come back with me.” Ghost says, fingers wrapping around your hand.

Nibbling on the corner of your lip, you do your best to hold back your growing grin. But then you nod, unable to deny your excitement. And under his mask, he’s smiling, too. He’s hoping you’ll stay the night; he knows he could get away with it if he tried. And the excitement stirring inside him from the possibility of sneaking you into his room is making him feel like a goddamn teenager. Truthfully though, he likes it.

Simon waited patiently while you closed up shop. It only took a few minutes, organizing a handful of papers and wiping off your desk. And when you were finally ready, he took you by the hand, leading you to the barracks. They’re on the other side of the complex, but Simon still held your hand. With the guys gone, and it being a Friday, he wasn’t worried about anyone seeing the two of you.

He’s the last door on the left side of this barren, dimly lit hallway. It’s getting dark outside, but it’s even darker in his room. And Simon realizes this, stepping forward to turn on his desk lamp once he shuts the door behind you. The small light illuminates the small space, offering a much more amiable atmosphere. You can see more of his room now, too.

You’re not sure what you were expecting, but you’re still surprised by the emptiness of his room. There’s a bed in the left corner, a trunk at the foot of it, and a desk with a chair off to the right. It’s a small space with no windows and only one overhead light.

“I’ve gotta shower. Bit grimey.” He tells you, walking over to the trunk. “Will you be alright here until I get back?”

He’s already undressing, taking off his belt and disarming himself. Kneeling before the wooden chest, he unlocks it, setting each of his weapons inside.

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” You reassure him, walking over to sit on his bed.

“Sorry to make you wait, love.” He grunts, bending over to untie his boots. “I came to the med. room as soon as we got here.”

Now that warms your goddamn heart. “Really?”

“‘Course I did.” Standing, he takes a step over to you, gently tapping your chin with the knuckle of his pointer finger. “Didn’t want you thinking I skipped out on you.” Humming at the pretty smile on your face, he then stands. “Be right back, sweets.”

While he’s gone, you take this opportunity to look around. Not going through his things, of course, but just glancing over his room. There are some files laid out on his desk; clearly nothing too important, or else they’d be locked away. There’s a pack of cigarettes and a lighter on the desk too, not exactly a surprise to you. What does come as a surprise, though, is the way he walks through the door.

Jumping a little, you turn to face the entryway, your anxiety telling you it would be someone else coming in. But it’s just him, a slightly damp, still-masked, shirtless, Ghost. He’s wearing dark gray sweatpants with long socks tucked underneath, his body still glistening. His dog tags are visible too, something you’ve never seen. And Jesus Christ, is every muscle along his body on display. It’s like he’s even more defined than he was before. The scars you’ve seen time and time again litter his body, the most prominent mark being the one near his heart.

“Happy to see me?” He asks with a grin. And even though you can’t see it, you can tell he’s smiling.

Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “You’re so fucking cocky.” Just like that, the air between the two of you is light and familiar again. It’s like he never even left.

“Well,” He gives you a small shrug. “After getting that kinda treatment from you, how could I not be?”

He’s stalking towards you, quite liking the view of you seated atop his bed. And you watch as he walks, eventually coming right up in front of you. Leaning over the side of the bed, he presses his palms into the mattress. His presence urges you back, resting on your forearms before him. And just like that, he’s in your space again, those icy eyes staring into your own. Your heart rattles inside your chest from his closeness; he’s barely an inch away and you can fucking smell him. It’s fresh, his scent filling your nose with hints of spearmint and eucalyptus.

After a moment of gazing into those dreamy eyes, your own dip down, falling on his covered chin. It was so exhilarating to see him before. Maybe he’ll let you do it again.

“I am happy to see you.” But he doesn’t say anything, because you’re starting to lift his mask. “And I’m so happy you wanted to see me…”

Closing his eyes, he inhales a steadying breath, allowing you to lift his mask. Letting go of all his worries is a hard thing for him, but he does it in an attempt to trust you. You told him before that you’d never take it off all the way, that you respect his privacy. He’s waiting for you to prove that now. And the trust that’s currently wavering in the air is suddenly placed into your very hands when you lift it, revealing only his lips. Along with a small, growing grin. Immediately, you lean forward to kiss him, and he meets you with a bout of eagerness.

Simon’s mouth moves against your own, slowly, firmly. He’s enjoying you, his smooth lips a satisfying sensation now that they’ve returned. And when both of your hands find his face, he fully moans, releasing a heated sigh against you. He wants so badly to reach out and touch you, slide his hands over your body again. But his broad palms are still holding him up, preventing him from doing it. And that’s fucking killing him.

With slow and calculated movements, he drops to his knees. And you lower your head, moving with him, but you’re forced to stop when he pulls away. Shuffling forward a bit, he settles his midsection right between your legs, wrapping his arms around your waist. Pulling you in, he hugs you to his body, pressing his face to your chest. This makes your heart pound, now entirely full of emotion. You can’t believe he’s being so sweet.

“I thought about you, love.” He repeats his words from earlier with much more intention this time. One of his hands retracts, moving to your waist and squeezing you kindly.

“Really, baby?” Embracing him, your arms lift to slide around his neck. And when you do, he releases a contended breath, nuzzling further into you. He missed this, missed how you touched and cared for him. He needs that in his life; he needs you.

There it is again, that affectionate word. The sound of it makes his chest tighten with emotion, with a sense of utter elation. He thought things were ruined when he left. But they’re not, they’re just like before. Hell, it’s better than before.

“‘Course I did,” Comes that low tone, his accent thick and gruff. “I thought about your pretty face, the way you kissed me.”

You can’t believe that a man like him is saying these things. He’s being so loving with you, and in ways you never expected him to.

“You’ve got me to fancy you.” He murmurs against your chest, his eyes closed as he relaxes. His words make your face heat up, absolutely overjoyed to hear his admission. And ever so slightly, he rubs his face into you, right in between your breasts.

“Yeah?” Fingers running over the back of his head, you discover soft bumps beneath his mask. They’re no doubt from his hair, and you find yourself wondering what color it is.

“Yeah,” He nods. “You’re pretty, sweetheart.”

“Oh,” You sigh out, replying cockily with, “I always knew you loved me.”

Chuckling deeply, he lifts his head, looking up at you from between your breasts. Tilting your head down, you meet his gaze, grinning.

“Pretty fucking annoying.” He finishes in a cheeky whisper, feeling your thumbs swipe over his covered face.

Looking down at him, you can see so much of his body, the muscles in his shoulders and biceps more than prominent even in the dim light of his room. Some of his back muscles flex, showing themselves off, too. And the sight alone makes you drop any and all attitude.

“Baby, you look so good.” Eyes leaving his own, they roam his figure, making him laugh.

“Okay,” He declares, dominant hand reaching up to grab your chin. “I’ll say it.” Yanking you down with a gentle sense of dominance, he meets your eyes with a passionate gaze.“I fucking missed you.”

That’s all it takes for you to kiss him again, hands holding his head while he leans into them. He’s so much taller than you know though, that even on his knees, he doesn’t really need to reach up to meet you. The hand he’d had on your chin holds your cheek, his other wrapping around your lower back and pressing you to him.

“You know what else I thought about?” He asks between heated breaths. But you’re still kissing him, feeling him smile against your lips.

“What, baby?” He’s happy you asked.

Hand sliding around to the back of your neck, he leans in, pressing his forehead to yours. “I thought about your pretty pussy.”

That sends a shiver right through your very being. Closing your eyes, a harsh breath is forced out through your nose, trying to control the arousal that is suddenly building. And while your lids remain closed, Simon’s mouth eagerly returns, tongue sliding over your bottom lip. Easily, you open for him, feeling the wet muscle glide over your own.

You can’t seem to get a grip on reality; it’s like you’re drunk on him. “How do you know it’s pretty?” He pulls back, chest rising and falling rapidly. “You’ve never even seen me.”

“What do you think I’m asking for?” He returns immediately, now moving.

Simon’s arms hook beneath your legs, bending forward and urging you back in the process. You fall onto your forearms with a small, surprised breath. His hands come to rest on the tops of your thighs, bulky biceps now beneath them. It’s at this moment that his fingers find the hemline of your pants, tugging gently while kissing the inside of your covered thigh.

“Can I see you, darling?” Simon asks, lips running over your thigh. And you nod, already breathless from him.

Lifting your hips, you allow him to slide your clothes down your legs, leaving your bottom half bare before him. Easily, he drops your garments to the floor, eyes trained on your now naked skin. It takes the breath from his lungs, the sight of you, of your pink and sensitive lips, the delicate space of your sex. And then he moves in, lifting your legs to rest them over his shoulders, holding your thighs again.

“Perfect little thing.” He mumbles, groaning quietly. “Felt so good wrapped around me…”

“I want that again.” You admit to him, earning his immediate response of, “You’ll get it again.”

Broad shoulders spread you wider than before, a feeling of exposure creeping across your skin. Already, your heartbeat is pounding in your ears, washing waves through your sex. You’re nervous, full of anticipation, but you’re also unsure. Has he done this before? What if he doesn’t like it? And suddenly, you’re more worried than you are excited.

“Don’t go rigid on me.” He can immediately sense your anxiety, his fingers wrapping under and then caressing your thighs. It makes you breathe a sigh of relief, settling into his hold. “That’s it,” Simon praises happily, exhaling over your very center. “That’s good, love. I like that, much better.”

“Simon…” Hearing his praise makes your eyes roll back before closing entirely, fingers reaching for him. They find his hands, and then his forearms, wrapping around the muscles there. And he hums happily when you do this. He loves the feeling he gets when you hold onto him.

Leaning in, he gives your very center a kiss. It’s heated and firm and you can already hear him moaning. He likes your smell, inhaling it deeply. The subtle action makes your back arch, his arms fully wrapping around your thighs when he sticks his tongue out to give you his first real lick. It’s tender, running up your seam and just barely nudging your clit. And then he grins. You’re already shaking for him.

“Relax for me.” He coos sweetly to you, dominant hand rising and sliding beneath your shirt. It rests over your stomach, fingers stroking you lightly. “Let me taste it.”

Your thighs tense around his head when he licks you again, and the hand not on your tummy squeezes your leg, his mouth humming against you. The hot muscle of his tongue moves languidly over your sex, that deliciously wet noise already growing in the room. It’s only now that he gets a true taste of you, his tongue slipping between your sensitive lips. He licks into you with deep and heated strokes, his hurried breaths repeatedly forced out of his nose.

“Simon,” Involuntarily, your hips buck up against him, body shivering when his tongue dives inside again.

“Missed the way that sounds,” He mumbles, turning his head and kissing the inner skin of your thigh. “My name comin’ outta your mouth.”

“I missed the way you touch me.” You breathe out in response, a high gasp then leaving your throat when he lays that wet muscle over your clit.

Simon flicks the tip of his tongue over it, feeling you jerk in his hold. His head rocks rhythmically as he begins to truly mouth at you, lips and tongue now focusing on your delicate pleasure center. When he wraps his lips around it, he leans in even further, rubbing his face against you. He wants to be as close as he possibly can to you.

Every swipe of his tongue feels electric, his moans sending wave after wave of arousal through your hips. And by now, he’s practically drinking from you, lapping at your cunt’s dripping entrance with a sense of voracity you’ve never before seen. But in the same sense, he’s slow with it, taking his time in showing his passion.

“Oh my god…”

“Sh…” He then hums, slowing down to talk to you. His breaths are heavy, and when you look down, you can see his eyes. From between your legs, they’re staring right back at you. “Don’t know when they’ll be back, love.”

“I can’t help it.” You reply in a slight whine, and he can’t fight the groan he releases when you look at him with those pretty eyes.

“Well, you’re gonna have to.” And then, while keeping your gaze, his tongue lays out, running a firm swipe over you. With a dramatic moan, your head returns to the bed, hands still holding onto him. Your hips buck up against his face, eyes drifting shut as you enjoy this.

“Fuckin’ love your pink little pussy.” He grunts out, stopping the movements of his mouth entirely. Listening closely, you hear him suck a finger between his lips, the thick digit now prodding at your entrance.

“Ohhh my god,” It enters you slowly, the small stretch making you moan until it’s in entirely.

He keeps his finger still until his tongue returns, small kitten licks stimulating your nerves. And when he begins these motions, he moves his finger, too, pulsing the tip of it up inside you. It forces your hips to move, rolling pleasurably as you experience him. You never would have expected him to be so good at this.

“B-Baby,” You try to whisper, telling him, “You’re gonna make me cum.”

Simon doesn’t respond, he’s too focused. His eyes are closed, his breaths even quicker than before. That finger glides seamlessly into you, curling every time it’s fully inside. And his tongue doesn’t let up, either, now completely suctioning his mouth to you. He intends to keep this pace, but then you moan his name. It’s so sweet-sounding, so light and airy. Simon, please. And now, he’s ripping his finger from you, both palms finding a place beneath your thighs and shoving your legs up. Knees pressing into your chest, you gasp, having not expected him to do this. And with this new position, Simon dives in. The sounds he’s making are loud, fucking lewd, his tongue incessant and moving much quicker against you.

Your face burns from the brazenness of it all, of being so exposed and experiencing this new side of him. Tongue running over your clit once more, it sinks into your entrance, curling slightly and gathering your slick. He then drags it back up to your tingling bud, circling it.

“Simon, f-fuck.” With your fingernails digging into his forearms, he grins, purring pleasurably against you. He’s still holding onto your thighs, enjoying the reactions you have in response to him.

“Tell me what you want.” His voice is gruff and rumbles over you, your hips rolling up to chase his face. Immediately, he complies, returning his mouth to your center. But when you don’t answer, he taps your thigh, reminding you.

“I want to cum, baby.” It comes out as a whisper, your back arching. “I want you to make me cum.”

The hand that tapped your thigh now squeezes it, a pleased moan vibrating from between your legs. With practiced motions, he sucks on you, mouth working hard to overstimulate you. And you’d count his actions successful, because within seconds, you’re crying out for him. He’d tell you to be quiet if he didn’t overtly adore every single sound that’s coming from you. Hell, who cares if the boys hear? As long as it’s not Price, he’s in the clear.

“Fuck, Simon!”

His entire body weight is pressing into you, pinning you down. Your hips rut over his face, feeling his head move with every motion. The incredible sensation of your high rolls through you, the muscles in your body tensing before they inevitably unwind. The sparks flying through your system make you gasp, make you fucking sing, hands now reaching out for his head. You hold him against you, and he lets you, moaning from your taste. It washes over his tongue, a sensation he happily accepts. And when you finally release him of your intense hold, and he pulls away, he smacks his lips.

You don’t even have to see it to know what he just did, the noise more than noticeable. Smiling breathlessly in the near-darkness, you shake your head. “Cocky.”

“Sassy.” Comes his instant return.

And then he’s crawling up between your legs, his body hovering over you. His covered nose runs along the curve of your jaw, wet lips kissing your skin. With your body still feeling limp, you rest beneath him, smiling from his affectionate kisses.

“You ever tasted yourself?” He wonders aloud, turning his head and breathing against you.

“Mm-mm,” Shaking your head, you turn and lock eyes with him.

Immediately, he leans in, dominant hand taking hold of your chin. His open mouth meets your own, his tongue sliding in. And now that he’s close again, you reach up to hold him.

Simon drags his tongue over yours, the roughness of his taste buds clashing with your own. And his tongue and spit are laced with you, the tanginess of your arousal coating his entire mouth and his chin, too.

“You like it?” He asks huskily, pulling away.

“Yes.” Nodding eagerly, your hands bring him in again. “More, please.”

He chuckles, his lips already returning to you. For someone that wears his mask like it’s his second skin, how is he so damn good at kissing? How is he so good at everything?

“Lay down for me, gorgeous.” Already moving you is the strength of his broad hands, sliding you further up on his mattress.

“Dang, this is your pillow?” You tease, wincing dramatically. “You need something softer than this to sleep on, shit.”

“Well,” He says, cocking his head. Moving his legs to the inside of yours, he spreads you with his knees, resting his pelvis over your own. Those wonderful hands slide up your form again, this time paying special attention to your midsection. “You’ve got some pretty nice pillows there for me.”

Furrowing your brow, you’re confused for only half a second. He smiles when he witnesses it, your realization, his palms now on your covered chest.

“Maybe I’ll get to sleep on those tonight.” He continues on, mumbling. “Lean up for me.”

You do as he says, but not without your mind wandering. Did he… did he mean what he just said? Does he really want me to sleep here with him? But then you’re plopping back down, thoughts bouncing right out of your head when you hit the mattress again.

“Look at that…” Now that you’re entirely naked for him, he can’t tear his eyes away from you. His calloused hands smooth themselves over your breasts, cupping them while he inhales deeply above you.

When you look up at him, you feel like you can’t catch your breath. When standing in front of him, it was obvious how much bigger he was than you. But right now? Right fucking now? He’s dwarfing you.

“Simon…” Reaching up, your hands slide along his abdomen, feeling his muscular skin.

He’s towering over your smaller form, eyes full of passion and intense focus as they rake over you. His dog tags are hanging forward, just barely off of his chest as he leans over. Out of the corner of your eye you can see his tattooed forearm, the muscles bulging as he fondles you.

“Fuck,” Hissing out the curse, he squeezes you briefly before sliding down. Now, his firm, naked chest is pressing into the softness of you, holding himself up on that tatted forearm. Impatiently, he mouths at you, hand sliding around to hold the back of your head.

“You want me again, yeah?”

“Yes.” Your feet slide up on his bed, soles planting firmly on the mattress. It encases him between your thighs, feeling his hips sway against yours in response.

Before Ghost can say anything else, the two of you begin to hear noise. Specifically voices, many of them, four of them.

“Ghost!”

The booming voice and pounding knock on his door make your body jump beneath the weight of his. Usually, he’d be annoyed, but your reaction distracts him. He finds it cute, chuckling above you.

“C’mere,” He then says, climbing off of you and standing. “I’ll take care of this.”

There’s nowhere for you to hide in his room, and the knowledge of that makes you nervous beyond belief. Where are you going to go? Where is he going to hide you?

When you look up, he’s reaching his hand out to you, and you take it. With one gentle yet firm tug, he hauls you up, leading you over to the door. Holy fuck, is he going to let them see me?! But then he proves your anxious thoughts wrong. Placing both hands on your shoulders, he maneuvers your body into the corner beside the door, leaning in right beside your ear and whispering, “Stay here.”

While reaching for the knob, he keeps one hand on you, an affectionate gesture. His palm is on your face, thumb stroking your cheek. And when he opens the door, his teammates can barely even tell that his left arm is stretched out to his side. Before opening the door, though, he remembers to pull his mask down, not wanting to draw any suspicion.

“Yeah?” Simon answers questioningly.

“Where’ve you been?!” Soap asks loudly, clearly drunk. “We missed you!” Staggering in, Ghost’s broad palm in the center of his chest stops him.

“You just now comin’ home, Johnny?”

“Nah, we’re coming back to get you!” Suddenly, Gaz pops on the scene, right next to him.

“Fuckin’ pulled my muscle, you did!” Soap jolts to the left and away from Gaz’s arm, the one he’d just swung around his shoulders.

“Alright, boys.” Ghost intervenes. “Better get some sleep.”

“You reckon that lass is still around?” Johnny asks, ignoring his friend. And at this, your eyes widen. Is he talking about me?

“Lass?” Ghost repeats, raising a brow.

“Oh, Bones!” Soap finally remembers. “Heard she’s called Bones.”

“Yeah, our medic.” He almost sounds offended. They should all know your name by now.

“She’s a cute one, isn’t she?” Turning to the side, he offers Gaz a wide grin.

“Stop thinking you have a chance, pendejo.” Finally, Vargas chimes in. (Dummy)

“She lets me in on those ice baths,” Johnny continues, looking at Ghost with a wink. “Think she’d give me a sponge bath, too?”

When he says this, the hand on your jaw tightens, almost protectively. And immediately, you lift your hands, holding onto his forearm and giving him a reassuring squeeze.

“You might wanna keep your comments to yourself, Johnny.”

Furrowing his brow and frowning childishly, he asks, “Why?”

Simon wants nothing more than to haul you away from that corner and show each and every one of them that you’re by his side. You’re such a pretty thing and right now, you’re entirely bare for him. Wouldn’t that be a sight for them? But he won’t do it, he won’t ruin his reputation or more importantly, yours. Honestly, he hasn’t had a woman in years, hasn’t really cared to. But you? He’s not letting you go.

Clenching his jaw and releasing an aggravated huff, he decides on responding with, “Don’t get your hopes up on that sponge bath.”

“What? You don’t think she finds me sexy?” He asks, moving back to flex. But then the idiot winces, feeling the pulled muscle in his shoulder.

“It’s time for bed!” Price snaps loudly from further down the hall.

“Yes dad!” They all four shout back, and you almost release a chuckle when you hear that.

“Come out with us next time, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Ghost nods, thumb brushing over your cheek. Maybe he’ll bring you.

Johnny reaches forward then, giving him a pat on the shoulder before turning in. Vargas and Gaz wish him a good night, Ghost just nodding in response. He waits until they’re all out of sight, making sure none of them have plans to return. And he counts himself lucky that he didn’t hear from Price.

When he shuts the door, he doesn’t let go of your face, using his free hand to lift his mask as he instantly returns to you. In a flash he’s on you, mouth covering yours and hands now sliding down your naked waist. Closing your eyes, you sigh against him, palms gliding up his chest and onto his broad shoulders. Passionately, he paws at your lower curves, his tongue diving into your mouth to tangle with your own.

“Sorry about that, love.” And then he’s picking you up again, wrapping your legs around his waist and pushing your back up against the wall.

“Simon,” You breathe out, stopping for just a moment. “Are you okay?”

“I’m more than okay.”

While he mouths at your neck, you slink your arms around him, smiling. “Did you not like what Soap said about me?”

“Johnny can have his fun,” Ghost mumbles over your skin. “He’s all talk.” And then he looks up at you. “I’m the one gettin’ lucky with you.”

Rolling your eyes, you can’t help but grin. Falling for his cheesy words, you bring him back to you for another kiss, his covered hips grinding into your pelvis.

“I want you, sweetheart.” He tells you, knocking your head to the side with his covered nose. Harshly, he bites into your neck, sucking on you. “Been waitin’ a fuckin’ week for ya.”

“Baby, you’re gonna leave a mark.” You’re trying to stay quiet, but the way he’s biting you is making you squeal. Your hands find either side of his head, lightly pulling him back, but he shakes his head loose of your grasp. “You think I fucking care about that?” It comes out as a growl, his mouth returning to your bruising throat.

“They’re gonna see.”

“Fuckin’ let them see.” He grunts out in response. “You know I want them to.”

This makes you perk up, shaking you out of your lusty haze. “You do?”

“Yeah. I do.” Leaning in, he brushes his lips over your cheek. “Want them all to know you’re with me.”

“I… am?” You ask in return, heart pounding in your chest.

Lifting his head again, he looks into your eyes. You’ll never get tired of that frosty gaze. “Do you wanna be?”

After a moment, you breathe out your anxiety. “I do.”

And then he smirks, briefly chuckling. “It’s not a marriage yet, sweetheart.” And this makes you smile, eyes darting to the side. “But for now,” He continues, that gravely voice absolutely mesmerizing. “You have me.”

Adjusting his hold on you, he breathes out a rough sigh. “Now,” He says, briefly grunting. “Think you can be quiet for me?”

“I’ll try.”

But he shakes his head. “That’s not good enough.” He’s met with another whine, a small and frustrated one. “Sergeant's right down the hall, sweets.”

“Okay, I promise. I promise I’ll be quiet, I’ll be good.” That last part comes out as a slip.

“You’ll be good, eh?” He teases, the arousal in his body heightening upon hearing your small admission.

“Simon,” You groan out, a bit louder this time. “Please.”

You don’t care that he’s teasing you, not anymore. All you know is that right now, in this moment, you want him inside you. For days after your first time together, you felt a delicious burn between your legs. He filled you so completely, especially since you had been sitting on him. But his cock wasn’t the only thing that felt good, it was his entire body. His smooth skin, his firm and flexing limbs, his strong hands and talented lips.

“Shit,” He hisses, taking you off the wall and fully into his arms again.

In two strides he’s at his bed, leaning down to set you on the mattress. What he really wants to do is just throw you down on the sheets, toss you around like the little rag doll that you are to him. But he’ll save that for another night, for a time when you won’t have to worry about making too much noise.

“Fuck me.” His eyes are glued to your soft breasts, gaze unwavering as he undoes the ties on his sweats. Sliding his pants and boxers down, he discards them, taking off his longer socks, too.

“Baby…” You’re leaning up and reaching out, the hand not holding you up touching his abdomen. And slowly, your hand slides down, fingertips brushing the side of him.

Simon’s palm falls over your hand, urging you to wrap your fingers around him. “You like that, love?”

“I fucking love it.” You wholeheartedly admit, no longer concerned with holding yourself back. “I love it…”

Slowly, he guides you to pump him, and you’re nearly drooling from it. You didn’t get a great look at him before, but now, you can see the entire length of him. How he felt accurately represents how thick he is, the veins running up the underside of his shaft making you nibble on your lip. His tip is dripping slightly, and his hips jerk when you run the pad of your thumb over his slit.

“Alright,” He then tells you, breaths picking up again. “You can gawk at me later, sweetheart.” Grunting, he takes your hand away so he can crawl over you on the bed. While positioning himself between your legs, he says, “And don’t you dare roll your eyes at me.” Looking up, he makes locks in your gaze. “I know you want this.”

While holding his stare, you smirk, rolling your eyes anyway. And then he reaches up, grabbing your chin. “You can be so goddamn cheeky.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

Your sarcastic comment and the smug look on your face make him groan, ducking his head down. He really does love it.

Resting his head in the crook of your neck, he maneuvers his forearm to rest beside your head. His other hand then drops, wrapping around his erection and holding himself at the base. Lifting your legs, you encase him, feeling him settle even further against your pelvis. Gently, he taps his tip against your sex, about a handful of times. And the last time he does it, it hits your clit.

Sucking in a loud gasp, your hands instantly wrap around his neck. “Sh…” He coos to you, turning his head. “Sh…”

Closing your eyes, you quiet yourself, taking a breath to calm down. And that’s when he starts to slide in, head notching at your entrance and throbbing upon feeling the familiar warmth of you.

“You’re still so wet.” He comments, humid breaths washing over your neck.

“Fuck,” Comes your quiet gasp, arms tightening around him.

Halfway in, he pauses, inhaling to steady his own breaths. All too easily, he knows he could get carried away. After feeling your beautiful body and then being gone for a week, you’re all he’s been craving. And now that he has you, he feels like his mind is fucking reeling.

“Keep going,” Lifting your hips, you pulse around him. “Please, baby.”

Forcing a deep sigh through his nose, he does, shifting forward even more as he continues sliding into your heat. “Love when you call me that.” He admits to you, pectorals flexing to keep himself quiet once he’s fully sheathed inside.

“Mm,” Pressing your lips together, you muffle your whine, feeling the slow but firm grind of his hips directly into your pelvis. The feeling of fullness you get from him is like no other. “You like when I call you baby?”

“Yeah,” He nods, already panting beside you. “Nobody ever calls me that.”

And inside, you’re thinking, well who the hell would? The main people in his life are his team. But you know from the way he says it that he’s confessing something heartfelt to you, something you don’t want to make fun of or tease.

“I’ll call you baby,” Cooing sweetly to him, you run your hands over the back of his head, sliding down his mask. “For as long as you’ll let me.”

“Jesus,” He mutters, rotating his hips before pulling out slightly. Gracefully, he dives back in, huffing out over your skin. “How do you have such a hold on me?”

And then he moves his head, dropping it to your chest. Emotionally, he feels something snap, mouth opening to lay his tongue over your soft curves, flicking the tip of it over both of your pebbled peaks. And as soon as he starts doing this, his hips pick up their pace.

“Simon,”

“Quiet,” He pants, “Quiet, love.” Wrapping his lips around your nipple, he sucks it inside, now swirling his tongue around it.

“Jesus Christ,” You’re lifting your hips with his thrusts as they continue growing in pace and strength, feeling the heavy drag of him against your delicate walls. And he’s stretching you again, just barely feeling that little burn. The way he’s thrusting into you makes you feel every inch of him, his erection long enough to reach the deepest parts of you.

“That’s it, love.” Simon praises, smiling from the movement of your hips. “That’s it.”

But just as he truly begins enjoying your combined rhythm, the bed starts creaking, and rather loudly. A deep groan rumbles through his chest, hips slowing until they’re completely stagnant.

“Bloody fucking bed.” He mutters harshly, lifting himself from you.

It surprises you how quickly he slides out of your insides, stepping away and leaving you by yourself on the bed. But he doesn’t go far, dropping to his knees and leaning over to grab your sides. He pulls you off the mattress and onto his lap, his free hand yanking the blankets onto the floor.

“Get on your hands and knees.” He orders, placing a hand on your back to guide you down quickly.

He’d put the blankets down for your comfort, watching you get into position for him. It’s shameless, it’s brazen, not even questioning it as you bend over for him. Instantly, his hands find your ass, smoothing his palms over your curvaceous cheeks.

“This good for you?” He asks quietly, fingers pressing into your plump flesh.

“Yeah, baby.” His heart throbs when he hears that word. Both from affection and excitement. “Yes.”

You’re leaning down on your forearms, shifting your hips even higher into the air for him. And he seems to enjoy this, because he grips you harshly in his hand. You’d bet anything that if you didn’t have to be quiet, he would’ve smacked it.

Easily, he enters you again, feeling even bigger this time as he slides in from behind. Muffling your cries is the scratchy blanket beneath your face, your body experiencing his now returning pace. It’s even quicker than last time, the strength of his hands holding your hips as he fucks into you without an ounce of regret. He’s fully giving into himself, shoving himself into you as hard as he’s always wanted to. It rocks your body on the ground, his impressive physique towering above your submissive form. From this angle he can see some of the marks he’s left on you, one on your shoulder and neck.

“G-Ghost,” It’s getting hard to hold back your shrill gasps and small squeaks, and you can tell he’s struggling, too. The noises he’s making are no better when considering their volume, his grunts and groans echoing in the room.

“Uh-uh,” He puffs out, shaking his head. “That’s not my name.”

“Oh my god,” He’s ramming himself into you from behind, and by now, the sound has got to be too loud.

Huffing out a brief laugh, he says, “That’s not my name either, love.”

“Simon,” You groan, blood draining from your knuckles as you grip his bedsheets.

“There you go, sweetheart.” Leaning down, he kisses the center of your back, right on your spine. The action makes you shiver, rolling your hips back against him. “Atta girl.”

“Fuck me.”

“Almost there, princess.” He promises, “Almost fuckin’ there.”

Unfortunately, he knows he won’t make you cum with his dick, not this time around. He’s gonna blow too fast to let you do that.

“Where do you want it, sweetheart? Tell me.” His voice is rumbling behind you, hips unrelenting in their brutal pace against you. “Right now.”

“Fuck, b-baby, you know I like it inside.” You’re stuttering, your voice high and damn near delirious at this point.

“Yeah? That wasn’t just a one time thing?” Simon inquires, truly curious.

“Mm-mm,” You whine, shaking your head against his sheets. “I want you inside me.”

“You safe, sweetheart?” He then follows-up, knowing this will now be a regular thing.

“Yes, I promise.” You’re panting beneath him, feeling the full brunt of his body’s weight repeatedly rut against you. “Please, just cum inside me.”

Doing as he told, he allows himself to let go, jaw dropping as he feels the euphoria of his high shoot through his insides. He’s staring down at you, gawking at the way your ass jiggles every time it’s shoved back against him. And the way he tries to hold his breath makes him feel like he’s about to pull a muscle in his chest. Abs and arms flexing, he holds you against him, keeping you flush against his pelvis. Instead of thrusting into you, he keeps you close, grinding himself in as deep as he can get.

Allowing him to rock you gently along the sheets, your fingers loosen the grasp they once had. Breathing through your ecstasy, you wiggle yourself back against him ever so slightly. And when you do, his hands grab onto your hips, holding you steady.

“Easy, sweets.” Comes that ragged voice, clearly catching his breath. And then he smoothes a hand down your back, sighing. “Such a beauty.”

“You care if I smoke?”

Glancing up at him, you display your graceful grin. Calmly, you shake your head. “You know I don’t.” You respond quietly, having been around him far too often to care about that.

He doesn’t want to leave you, but does so briefly to grab the lighter and pack of cigarettes. Slumping back into his bed, you lift yourself, allowing his arm to slide beneath your head. Slouching, he allows you to cuddle into him, placing your hand on his chest. It’s similar to how the two of you slept. He’d held you through the night while sleeping on his back, his gentle snores lulling you to sleep. Last night, your fingers felt his muscles. Right now, they’re tracing his scars. It makes him smile, your tender touches, those icy eyes lowering to watch you. Once the cig is lit, he inhales a breath, exhaling the smoke upward toward the vent in the ceiling.

“You sure you don’t have to go soon?” It was already past his normal wakeup call, and you were starting to worry for him.

“Nah,” He takes those worries and brushes them right off. “It’s my day off, sweetheart.”

When that door closed behind you last night, it’s like an entirely new man was revealed. He’s starting to let his guard down, and only around you. He let his emotions feel free, allowing himself to be soft with you. And you feel lucky to have seen him this way. You doubt even his teammates have. In a way, he’s given his faith to you, placing it in your hands and is now trusting you to handle it carefully. It may take some time, but you’ll show him that you’re worth having. You won’t ever be a weakness for him, you’ll only be an addition to that lengthy list of strengths.

#Ghost #Simon Ghost Riley #Ghost cod #Simon Riley #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Riley cod #Simon Ghost Riley cod #Cod fanfiction

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dfortrafalgar · 5 months

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I'm Losing You... (But We're Filling the Cracks)

Having a family isn't always as easy as fairy tales make it seem.

Warnings: Read chapter 1 for warnings. This chapter also has some suggestive themes and language

Taglist: @phsycochan | @mirillua | @augustanna | @chaixsherlock | @whore-of-many-hot-men

Chapter 20

[Prev] [Next]

Law’s grip on your sweaty hand was grounding for you as you fidgeted in your seat. Across the table from the two of you in the tiny medical conference room was Robin, who was silently shuffling through papers in front of her. The room was so silent you could almost pick out the sound of the clock hands ticking away each passing second, each interval seeming to grow longer and longer. You anxiously bit the inside of your cheek as you watched your doctor diligently sort through your comprehensive patient history.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally looked up. “I think IVF will be a good method to try. The success rate for women with endometriosis successfully conceiving and carrying to term with IVF is much higher than going without. Additionally, you have undergone some treatment for your condition, which improves your chances much more substantially.”

You breathed a heavy sigh of relief, the tension seeming to roll off of your shoulders. You glanced up at Law beside you, whose face was contorted in confusion. The sight made you stifle a chuckle.

“Sorry, can you, uhm… explain what IVF is?” he asked Robin. “Sorry I’m a bit useless with gynecological stuff.”

The question made Robin smile, appreciating his candidness. “Of course, Law. IVF stands for in vitro fertilization. It’s a procedure where a mature egg is fertilized outside of the body and is then implanted into the uterus, thereby increasing chances of successful conception and embryo growth. Of course, that’s the layman’s version of it. But once I have your official go-ahead, I will explain in much greater detail.”

You could see the gears turning in your husband’s head, making you grin. You loved the way he was clearly dissecting the mental image of what Robin had just explained. He silently nodded.

“I would like to go through with it,” you affirmed. “If it will increase our chances, then I’ll do anything.”

Robin organized your patient files in front of her, a content grin on her lips. “I’m delighted to hear that. If you’re ready, we can begin discussing the full process, since I imagine you would like to begin as soon as you possibly can.”

You eagerly nodded. “Yes, absolutely.”

Law was counting in his head. “How long has it been since the last miscarriage?” He was growing so nervous in the stifling room that he was losing track of time. You started to worry that he might be the one to pass out this time.

“Almost six months, I think,” you answered, rubbing the surface of your glass ring with your thumb.

Robin nodded. “I believe that’s correct. That’s a good amount of time for your body to heal, so you should be ready to conceive again with little issue.” The black-haired woman reached into her bag in the chair beside her and procured her laptop, opening the device and clicking through a few windows. “Are you okay if we begin discussing the procedure?”

“Yes I am,” you confirmed. Law nodded beside you.

“Perfect. The entire process could take anywhere between six to eight weeks, so I want you to be prepared for that waiting period. Because, trust me, there will be a lot of waiting,” she explained. She turned her computer around, displaying an illustrated diagram of a uterus and ovary. She used her finger to point around the screen. “I’m sure you’re more than familiar with what you’re looking at, so I won’t have to explain the anatomy. We’ll monitor your menstruation cycle briefly, and then the process will begin with ovarian stimulation, which alone can last anywhere from eight to fourteen weeks. This will ensure that multiple eggs can grow to maturity, instead of just one. We will most likely use an injectable hormone medication for you, considering your condition. Are you following?”

You once again nodded your head, laser focused on her words as her fingers moved around the diagram. “Following.” You weren’t so sure about Law, but you thought somewhere in that thick head of his he was absorbing your doctor’s long-winded explanation.

“Alright. After ovarian stimulation, we’ll be monitoring your eggs while they’re still in your body every few days to ensure they are maturing properly with the medication. 36 hours before the retrieval, you’ll be given what’s called a “trigger shot,” to stimulate your eggs to complete maturation. Egg retrieval will be done as a minimally invasive procedure, so you will be put under general anesthesia, but the process is quite short. A suction tube will be inserted through your vagina with the help of an ultrasound, and a small needle will be placed through the tube to puncture your ovary and extract a small amount of mature eggs. The eggs are stored on a petri dish and placed in an incubator to prepare them for fertilization.”

“Kind of like chicken eggs,” you joked.

Robin snapped her fingers with a chuckle. “That’s a good comparison. Once they’re ready to be fertilized, a single sperm will be injected into each egg on the dish. It’s likely that not all the eggs will successfully be fertilized, but having the multitude of mature eggs greatly increases the chances that at least one will form an embryo. You’ll have to wait a few days while the embryos develop on the dish, but once they have progressed far enough, they will be able to be transferred. You also have the option to freeze unused fertilized embryos, in case you want to conceive again in the future.”

You and Law nodded along with her words.

“The embryo transfer itself is a very quick procedure, similar to a pap smear. A speculum will be inserted into the vagina, and a catheter will be used to insert one or more of the fertilized embryos into your uterus. Your body will usually take care of the embryo from there, having it latch to your uterine wall and form a placenta. After about 14 days, we’ll give you a blood test that will determine if the pregnancy was successful. If it is, then we’ll go about the usual pregnancy monitoring. If not, we try again after a few menstrual cycles. Understood?”

You and your husband leaned back in your chairs, taking deep breaths. The explanation of the process was almost as exhausting as actually carrying out the procedure, but something in your chest told you that this was a good idea. You had a giddy feeling develop deep within, almost begging you to go through with the long, arduous process, somehow promising that it would be worth it.

“I understand. I want to go through with it,” you once again confirmed.

Robin smiled, amused by your willingness. “I’m happy to hear that, we’ll be there constantly to support you and monitor your progress. Let’s officially begin the process in a week. We’ll need to do a comprehensive full blood panel, infectious disease screening for both of you, an evaluation of your reproductive system, and a male fertility test. It’s just a formality,” she explained.

Law became slightly rigid in his seat, alerting your attention. He appeared nervous as he asked, “Will I have to go back to the fertility clinic?”

Robin looked confused at his question. “Yes, is there a problem with that?”

You thought briefly about why your husband would be so uncomfortable with returning to the clinic, until a sudden memory flashed into your brain. The sight of Law, hunched over your kitchen counter with his head in his hands, guilt plaguing his entire being as he informed you he couldn’t ejaculate into the cup at the fertility clinic until he watched 15 minutes of porn on his phone with the volume as low as it could go. You had laughed at his misery then, and you had to fight your entire body to hold in your laugh now.

Law quickly shook his head, collecting himself. “No, no problem at all.”

The gynecologist’s eyebrow tilted up in confusion, but she dropped the subject as she wrote a list of instructions on a piece of paper before handing it to you. “Take this to the reception desk to schedule your appointment for next week. Most of the tests on you we can perform in this clinic, but your blood panel will have to be done at the outpatient laboratory. I’m also going to file a prescription for estrogen patches so we can begin regulating your cycle. Once all your tests are done and approved, we can proceed to the next step!”

You enthusiastically took the paper from her, reading over her guidelines and dates. You smiled at your doctor, standing when she did and shaking her hand cordially. “Thank you so much, Dr. Robin, I really appreciate it!”

“Of course, I’m more than happy to be able to help you two with this. I’ll see you next week, alright?” she asked as she gathered her papers and laptop into her bag, preparing to leave the room and let you two continue on with your day.

You and Law gave her an affirmative nod as you departed, your husband following you like a lost dog to the reception desk so you could schedule your next appointments. The only thing in his mind at that moment, however, was the dread of returning to the fertility clinic. He did not want to have to deal with Dr. Franky again next week.

—

“HEYYYY, TRAFALGAR! It’s good to see you again, welcome back!”

The booming voice of Dr. Franky made Law wince as the giant man entered the small room, another clear plastic cup clutched in his abnormally large hand. The cardiac surgeon looked at the fertility doctor differently now that he knew that your gynecologist was this man’s wife. What a small world.

“How are those swimmers doing, huh?” the blue-haired doctor asked, a bright smile on his face as he plopped himself down in the swiveling stool that rested below the medical counter. He clacked a few times on his keyboard, looking up Law’s patient info. “Here for another sperm sample, I see.”

“Just part of a protocol,” Law muttered, his face growing red with shame.

“Ahh, got it, got it.” Dr. Franky nodded a few times as he typed.

Law felt his phone buzz a few times in his pocket, but ignored the urge to reach in and check his device while the boisterous man was in the room.

“Well, you know the drill! Just–”

“I know, Doctor, I know…” Law mumbled, fighting the reflex of pinching the bridge of his nose with his fingers.

With a pout, Franky passed over the clear cup, gave his regards, and left Law alone in the room. Finally surrounded by silence, the man slipped his phone out of his pocket to see who had texted him during his brief yet horrendously awkward discussion with the fertility doctor. His spirits immediately brightened upon seeing your name on the screen, followed by slight confusion upon reading your messages.

Wifey

Good luck at the clinic today baby!!!

Wifey

Thought these might help you ;)

Wifey

[3 Image Attachments]

Wifey

[1 Video Attachment]

Wifey

See you later darling <3

Law felt his face grow heated upon seeing the images you had sent him. Suffice to say, he was not expecting it.

But his wife’s beautiful body was always worlds better than porn.

—

“Hey, I’m home!” you called into your apartment, kicking off your shoes. The excited tapping sounds of Bepo greeted you, your cloud of a dog skidding across the floor into your entryway, his bushy tail wagging a mile a minute while his pink tongue lolled out of his mouth as he smiled up at you. “Look who’s happy to see me!”

“Hey, hon,” Law called from around the corner, leaning against the wall as he watched you be smothered by the thick, billowing fur of your four-legged baby. He had a smirk on his face as you stood to greet him, a surprised gasp leaving your throat as he grabbed your arms in his calloused hands and brought your lips to his, kissing you dumb.

When he finally pulled away, you flashed him a knowing grin. “I take it you appreciated the ‘help’ I sent you?” You used air quotes to punctuate your sentence.

“Oh, I more than appreciated it,” he hummed back, pressing a kiss to the side of your neck where he knew you were the most ticklish. He delighted in the giggle that left your lips as you fisted his shirt in your hands.

Bepo eagerly butted in between your pairs of legs, demanding the attention to be on him. He had spent so much time with Shachi and Penguin as of late that he was desperate for the love from his parents. His big, beady eyes gazed up at the both of you as he silently demanded you to go to the living room and sit on the couch so he could curl up next to you.

“Okay, okay, let’s go sit down,” you relented, laughing as your dog immediately sprinted to his favorite couch cushion. You followed your furry baby, Law’s hand in your own, a pleasant, content grin on your face. You flopped down next to your dog, your husband following your lead and pulling your body down on top of his, your ear resting over his heart. You could hear it thrumming away, endlessly excited about the concept of holding you.

“You know what I like about you, Law?” you asked, adjusting yourself to be more comfortable.

“Other than the fact that I’m married to you?” he teased.

“Yes, other than all the obvious things that I like about you,” you joked back, poking a finger into his side. “I like that you still treat me like you did when we were dating.”

Law’s eyebrows furrowed, trying to deconstruct what your words meant. “What do you mean?”

You sighed. “I don’t know… I was just thinking about it today. Like, some married couples drift apart after they have kids or after big life tragedies, but you didn’t do that. And I like that about you.”

Law wrapped his arms around you, linking his fingers together as they rested over the small of your back. “Couples who leave each other after having kids probably didn’t have a spark to begin with,” he replied. “Same with couples who give up on each other after bad events happen to them. But that’s not us, it never has been and it never will be.”

“So you’ll still like me when I’m old and shriveled?” you asked, your voice holding a hint of sincere insecurity along with your joking tone.

“I’ll love you even when we’re decaying skeletons six feet underground,” he replied, planting a kiss to the crown of your head. “Who knows, maybe the 80-year-old you will be even sexier than you are now. Only one way to find out.”

“Law!” you yelped, laughing at his flirtatious remark. A few more jokes were tossed between you two, lighthearted giggles floating through the air as you cuddled before you finally relaxed in his embrace.

“How did your tests go today?” your husband asked, idly trailing his hands up and down your sides.

“They went well, my blood panel was completely normal, but the nurse said I should try to up my Vitamin D intake,” you explained. “My ultrasound and saline sonogram were fine, there was some endometrial tissue on the outside of my uterus but Robin said it shouldn’t pose a problem. And my infectious disease panel…”

The way your voice trailed off made Law pick up his head to look at you, concern bubbling in his chest.

You gazed back up at him with a cheeky smile. “No tuberculosis.”

Law barked out a laugh. “I sure as hell hope not!”

You giggled along with him, dropping your head back down onto his test. “Aside from my texts, how did your test go?”

Your husband grinned, though you couldn’t see with your current position. “It went fine, thanks to you I was out of there much quicker. Nothing abnormal with my semen, and I hope to whatever’s up there in the universe that I won’t have to go back there again.”

“Is it really that bad?” you asked, holding in your laughter.

“It’s just that Franky guy. He’s so… loud. He’s always the last person I see before I’m supposed to jerk off into a cup,” he lamented.

“Fertility doctors don’t get you hard?” you teased.

“Not when they call semen ‘little swimmers,’' he griped back.

The conversation was making you giggle uncontrollably, your body trembling in your husband’s grasp as you poked fun at his misfortune before finally getting your energy out and settling down. “Well… for your sake, I’m happy you’re done with that, too.”

Another comfortable silence settled over the two of you as you lay back on the couch, your dog snuggled with both pairs of your feet.

“Are you feeling ready to start this whole thing?” Law asked.

You pondered your thoughts briefly. “I’m… I’m definitely really nervous, but I think I’m ready.”

Law’s hand rested on the back of your head, supporting you against his chest. “I’m not leaving you, baby. I’ll keep promising that until my tongue falls out.”

His words made a relieved, content grin crawl to your lips as you buried your head further into the junction between his shoulder and neck. “I love you, Law.”

“I love you, darling.”

#x reader #reader insert #fem reader #law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #one piece x reader #trafalgar d water law x reader #op x reader #trafalgar d water law #trafalgar law #i'm losing you

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belovedmusings · 11 months

Text

Your Cult Leader

18+ Explicit Smut 🚫minors DNI🚫

Cult leader! music producer! Geto x AFAB! popstar! reader loosely inspired by The Idol (just the dynamic between the two, but in this AU Suguru’s not a psycho POS like the guy is in the show, so no gross themes) where they have sex in the studio.

Relevant tags: light dirty talk, oral sex (AFAB! reader receiving) penetrative sex, missionary/mating press, established relationship of sorts (not together but not not together either…you have a situationship with a hot, rich, talented producer/cult leader Suguru so), he uses the term of endearment “love” once, addresses you without the use of “y/n”

Recommended music while reading: One Of The Girls (The Weeknd, Jennie, Lily Rose Depp), A Lesser Man (The Weeknd), and Double Fantasy (The Weeknd, Future)

Read below cut:

“Ugh,” you groan in frustration, hitting the spacebar on the keyboard in front of you to pause the track. Beside you, Suguru shifts to lean on his knuckles, looking at you curiously.

“Hmm? What’s the matter?”

“It’s not sounding right,” you answer, “Something’s off but I can’t quite place it.”

“Mmm,” he hums, sucking in a breath. “Well, you have been at it like this since after lunch. It’s almost midnight now. You haven’t even eaten yet. Maybe you should take a break.”

“No,” you shake your head, “It’s right there, I just…”

Suguru’s hand slides over yours, thumb gently running over your knuckles. “We talked about you overworking yourself. It isn’t good for you or your creativity.”

You look at him and frown. “Suguru, I know you want me to take better care of myself, but—”

“Your body is your temple,” he interrupts you, pushing his chair closer to yours so that they touch. “Didn’t I teach you that? You need to treat it as if it was sacred. It is sacred. Starving yourself and working off of fumes is only going to drive you to burnout.”

His dark eyes hold yours, and that familiar flutter inside your stomach starts up again—Suguru is a beautiful man, and you thought so the minute you met him at that party for your friend’s album release a few months ago. Right now, under the dim, warm lighting of the studio’s LED lights, he looks just as mesmerizing.

His long, dark hair falls in layered tendrils down his shoulders, beside his gauges, framing his face perfectly, making for the perfect precursor for his gentle eyes, perfectly centered nose, and soft lips. His black shirt lays over his muscular chest unbuttoned at the top to show off his collarbones, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his black slacks, held up by an expensive belt. As always, he just exudes power. It drives a thrill through you that only he is capable of producing.

“Did I lose you in there?” He asks with an amused smile, bringing you back to yourself. You avert your eyes, shaking your head.

“Sorry. Got distracted.”

He’s silent for a moment. “I think I have a way to solve all of your problems.”

You return your gaze to his face just as he moves his touch down to your thigh, bare due to the shorts you elected to wear this morning. His hand is hot, spreading tingles up your spine like he’s firing off every single one of your nerves on purpose.

“What is it?”

“I’ve talked about it before,” he begins, “But creativity comes from the Sacral chakra. You know where it is, right?”

You draw in a breath, starting to realize where he’s going with this. You two have talked about Suguru’s unique beliefs before. He draws from many different religions and philosophies to create what he calls ‘the one true religion’, one he insists would solve all world conflict if everyone just subscribed to it. So far, everything he’s said makes sense to you.

The human body is, as he said, a temple for the soul, a special sort of energy taken from a piece of the Universe so that it can experience itself. There’s a lot of things he’s said, but right now, the important thing is that he believes bodies have energy points where different types of energy can interact with a human and either take away or give to their soul if activated. These energy points are chakra points, taken from Hinduism and Buddhism, the latter being one of Suguru’s favorite philosophies due to how ‘true’ it is.

You remember he said there are seven chakra points. The one for creativity is…

He moves his hand up your thigh slowly, causing you to breathe deeply, palm slinking up your hip to your abdomen just below your navel.

“Right here,” he tells you. “The sacral chakra is the energy point for both creativity and sexual pleasure. Do you know why that is?”

You blink. He had just explained what they are, but not why or how they’re connected. “No. Not exactly.”

“This is where your womb is,” he explains. “You create there, don’t you? If you were to accept someone’s seed, you’d create life. That’s why it’s both.”

You breathe out, starting to feel a little warm. “That…that makes sense.”

“Doesn’t it?” He agrees with a smile. “Now. You’re having trouble figuring out how to create this song, right? What we need to do is stimulate it.”

Ah, you think. That’s his point. You look at him, taking in the relaxed glint of lust in his eyes, and decide to play along. “How do we stimulate the womb?”

“Well, sacral chakra is all things pertaining to sexual pleasure. So if I make you feel good, I’m activating it.”

You nod, biting on the nail of your thumb. “Well…I have no creativity right now. So do your worst.”

A grin spreads across his lips. “My worst? Are you sure?”

Sex with Suguru is always a wild card. You never know what you’re going to get with him. Sometimes he’s sweet and slow, praising you like you’re his personal divine deity, and sometimes he’s railing you within an inch of your life, bent over the nearest surface, filth spilling from his lips.

“Or your best. Whichever you prefer,” you reply, subtly challenging him to take his pick, to chose how to make you fall apart. The control is his to have.

“Mmm,” he smirks. “I like the sound of that.”

Faster than you can comprehend, he’s out of his seat and grabbing you by the hips, hoisting you up and onto the coffee table where your manager and other producers sit during the day, right behind the mixing table.

He has your shorts off in record time, tossed to the floor unimportantly, and his right hand goes right for the apex of your thighs, rubbing his thumb over your underwear-clad sensitive center in teasingly gentle strokes.

You feel every time his nail grazes that spot, the pearl he seems to know how to work as if only he was given the manual to it.

“Suguru,” you breathe, leaning up on your elbows to see him. He smiles softly at you, lazy gaze fixed on your face.

“Relax,” He tells you, “Just focus on my touches.”

You listen, letting yourself lay back all the way. You even close your eyes, hearing him shuffle, keeping his hand on you. It only moves when it hooks at the fabric and pushes it out of the way.

Exposed to the air abruptly, you gasp quietly, but that gets replaced by an even louder gasp as a hot, wet tongue slides right over the neediest part of you.

“Suguru,” you exhale, biting your lip as he does it again, hands bracing your hips to keep you still.

“You’re so beautiful,” he says, hot breath fanning over your pelvis. “And you taste good, too.”

Your face gets hot. “Don’t stare. It’s embarrassing.”

“Like I said,” he replies, wetly kissing your mound. “Your body is a temple. And I intend to worship it.”

His face is buried in you in the next instance, licking a fat stripe over you before flicking his tongue rapidly, stimulating all of your nerves at once.

“Suguru,” you gasp. “Oh fuck…”

He slurps lewdly, groaning, swirling his tongue in the way he knows drives you insane.

“Suguru,” you mewl again, arching up. He sucks intently, right hand moving down the inside of your thigh to where wetness has been pooling since he started touching you.

When his finger prods at your folds, you flinch, sensitive to the touch, and he becomes more bold, slipping two inside at once.

“Ah,” you moan loudly, pushing your hips down on his hand. His fingers are long and thick inside of you, curling up and fucking at a focused, teasing pace.

“We should record your sounds,” he states, “I’d use them in a track. Hmm…but then I’d get jealous when other people hear them.”

He adds a third finger, wrapping his lips around your pearl and running his tongue up and down, pulling another ragged moan from your throat.

“You’re mine,” He continues in a pant, coming up for air. “All mine. Aren’t you?”

“Yes,” you reply without hesitation. This man is all you could ever need. No one else could satisfy you like he can.

“Beautiful,” he breathes, rewarding your loyalty by flicking his tongue again, causing you to tighten around him. He fucks his fingers harder, getting excess slick on the table. You grind down, feeling that coil wind tighter and tighter in your core.

When he flattens his tongue and flutters it over your mound at the same time he curls his fingers up, you’re done for, orgasm hitting you in a dizzying wave of pleasure.

“Suguru, Suguru,” you drawl out, hands threading in his hair as he kisses your puffy apex through the bliss. When he lifts his head, his mouth is covered in your essence, and he looks impossibly fucking hot.

“How do you feel?” He asks, “Feeling inspired yet?”

You blink. Inspired? Who the hell knows. You’re horny as hell and you want this gorgeous man to fuck you so hard you see stars, being one be damned.

“I still feel stuck.”

He feigns a pout of sympathy, raising himself up on his knees.

“We can't have that, now can we?” He asks you, and now that he’s kneeling on his knees, you can see his body clearly. Your eyes draw onto the obvious, big bulge under his belt buckle, and heat surges through you. You want that. Now.

“I need more inspiration.”

He grins, standing up and scooping you up into his arms, stepping around the coffee table to lay you out on the leather sofa behind it. He pulls the waistband of your underwear down your legs, letting them fall to the floor.

You then watch as he undoes his belt, hands working at the buckle expertly to unlatch it. He then pulls it open, not bothering to take it off before he undoes his buttons and zipper, pushing his boxers down far enough to let himself spring free.

The sight of his red, hard cock never ceases to fan the flames of your fire for him, no reservations in your heart as he kneels on the cushion, getting between your willingly spread legs.

He smiles down at you and grabs his member, guiding it to rub against your dripping folds.

“Mmh,” you breathe, grinding against him needily.

“This way, I can transfer some of my creativity to you,” He says, “How does that sound?”

Anything to make him enter you.

You nod, reaching up and grabbing his firm biceps through his shirt.

“Please, Suguru,” you say, “Need it.”

And you don’t mean the creativity.

The man above you grins, letting his tip catch on your entrance and pushing in without hesitation.

He sinks in slowly, letting you feel the stretch of his thick girth, the heat of his bare cock inside of you.

“Fuck,” you curse, and he leans down, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“So tight,” he murmurs, pulling back and thrusting back in languidly, doing it again a few times to get you used to him, a dull ache seating inside you at the sensation. The fact that it hurts a little bit makes your heart beat faster, and you angle your hips up, desperate to give him better access.

He huffs an amused laugh, putting more energy into his movements and speeding up.

“Ah,” you gasp, nails digging into his arms. “Yes, Suguru…”

“Does that feel good?” He asks, slightly winded, and you nod, swallowing thickly.

“So good,” is your response, one of your hands running up the expanse of his shoulder to his neck, up to cup his jaw. He leans into the touch, even turning his head to kiss your palm. It causes you to flutter around him, and he groans at the feeling, picking up his pace even more.

You pull your knees back more towards your chest as best as you can without your hands to help, making room for him to go deeper. It causes his tip to push against your cervix, and it pulls a high-pitched gasp from you.

“That’s it,” he pants, leaning down over you, sliding his hands underneath your arms to grip your shoulders, balancing on his elbows to drive harder into you, hitting that spot every single time he pushes in. “Oh, fuck yes…”

It’s breathy, and the knowledge that you are the one making him lose his composure heightens your euphoria. You look up into his eyes, which are only a few inches from yours now.

He gives you a loose smile. “Getting inspiration?”

You laugh despite yourself. “Yeah…fuck yeah I am…”

“Good,” he grins, “Never hurts to give more, does it?”

You wonder what he means for a mere moment before he stops thrusting for a moment to hike your legs up, hooking your knees on his shoulders and then leaning back down to grab your waist, effectively bending you in half.

“Shit,” you hiss, eyes widening when he starts a grueling pace up. “Suguru!”

“Fuck,” he curses, the slap of your wet skin meeting over and over again bouncing off the sound-treated walls along with your mixed pants to make a song only the two of you can create together.

His dark hair hangs down over your face, hot breaths hitting your skin rhythmically, and he lowers himself fully to kiss you, tongue sliding into your mouth to claim you in yet another way. Your eyes shut to enjoy the sensation of two parts of him inside you, kissing back greedily, fisting your hands in his hair.

He groans lowly when you pull, knowing he likes it, putting more vigor into the way he kisses you, almost like he’s trying to devour your soul.

His hips keep slamming against yours, walls sore with the exertion of having been pushed to the limits. He’s relentless and you think about how you’ll feel him there even tomorrow, and what a welcome thought that is.

You pull harder on his hair and he responds by biting your bottom lip, feeding you a winded groan. The primal scent of your kiss buzzes around in your senses, melding with his heady jasmine cologne, concocting your own personal brand of heroin. You feel him everywhere, and the weight of his firm body covering yours is something you could never recreate without him.

You’re so lost in your own pleasure that you don’t notice his thrusts starting to turn erratic until he breaks the kiss to gasp for air.

“You feel so good,” he pants, “Now I’m inspired.”

That does something to you. This man, who is always at the top of the charts, collaborating with A-list artist after A-list artist is inspired by you, by the sex that you’re giving him. It inflates your ego to a staggering point and you brush his bangs from his eyes, looking deeply into them. A warm feeling spreads through your chest, that familiar danger zone when you’re around Suguru for too long coming into sight once again.

You know he’s off-limits. Between balancing the group he’s leading and his full-time job as a producer, he’s busier than any other man you know, and you aren’t naive enough to delude yourself into thinking he reserves himself solely for you.

He’s a gorgeous man. He’s talented, charismatic, and as a result he has people worshiping the ground he walks on. He can have anyone and everyone he wants, and as a man as powerful as he is, who would he be not to indulge himself? He’s a god among men, and you’ve resigned yourself to being one of his earthly concubines with the self-assurance that you’re among his favorites.

He spends a majority of his free time with you, and when he’s busy he calls when he can. He texts you to ask how you are, makes sure that you stay out of trouble, and he protects you from slimy industry heads ready to take advantage of you. You go to his penthouse so much you’ve started leaving clothes and belongings there, but you know he could switch up at any moment, so you refuse to acknowledge what is trying to burrow its way into your heart when you look at him.

Except, when he smiles so charmingly at you like he is, pupils blown and lips kissed swollen, it’s so hard not to fall for him.

His eyes slide shut and his brows furrow, sucking his lip between his teeth as he concentrates his thrusts to hit that one spot inside of you that has you seeing the cosmos.

“Ah!” You cry, “Suguru, Suguru…”

The pleasure undulates up your body like electric currents, making you over-sensitive. You can feel his big hands holding your waist so tightly you know it’ll bruise, yet another future reminder he was on top of you.

“That’s it,” he praises, “Come on, I know you’re close, love.”

Love.

Your eyes snap open again and he’s back to watching your face with a gentle expression. You want to say something but find your words robbed, an intensifying heat building and building deep at your center.

“Suguru,” you gasp, hands grappling at his shoulders, nails digging into the flesh there for purchase. It won’t stop, your climax approaching faster and faster, and he doubles down on his thrusts, aiming his cock so precisely you think for a moment you might die of pleasure. “Suguru…”

“You’re right there,” he urges, warm baritones lighting you up from the inside, “Come on, come on, show me how good it is…”

It hits you more abruptly than you’re prepared for. Your entire body tenses up and you throw your head back, arching up as you shout his name desperately, “Suguru! Oh my god, Suguru, Suguru…”

You tighten on him and gush around his length, the sensations faltering his pace, and he moans loudly above you, hips stuttering. Then you feel it. A ticklish, warm sensation inside of you, his release spilling right against your cervix as he presses as far as he can go.

“Fuck,” he groans brokenly, rolling his hips languid against yours, burying his nose in your neck and leaving sloppy kisses there. You wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close, relishing in the sensation of him in and all around you. He’s never finished inside you before—you’ve always had protection. Blearily, you wonder what it means that he has, but you don’t want to bring it up right now. It would just break through the veil of bliss you’re in, and you don’t want to leave it yet.

The two of you stay locked like that until the stiffness of your muscles starts making itself known, and he pushes himself off of you, pulling out carefully. You wince in sensitivity, and he rubs your thigh soothingly. His eyes fix on your entrance, thoroughly used and dripping with your mixed releases.

“Shit,” he breathes, “You look good like this…”

You feel your face heat up, legs closing now that he’s not between them anymore. “We need to clean up.”

He laughs softly, leaning over and grabbing some tissues from the coffee table.

“You’re right. I’ll get to it.”

He painstakingly takes care of you first, wiping up all of the fluids you two exchanged from your body and then the leather couch before taking care of himself, tossing the tissues into the trash can by the door. He bends down and grabs the underwear you had on from the floor, fixing them in his hold to slide you back into them.

“How do you feel?” He asks, sitting beside you as you slowly get to a seated position.

“Thoroughly fucked,” you reply bluntly, and he laughs, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you into his lap. You curl into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. “But also…very inspired.”

“Yeah?” He asks, rubbing the outside of your leg gently. “Good.”

You want to stay in his arms for the rest of the night, but you are in the studio to work. So, you summon the willpower to get off of the couch, moving to go back to the desk when he pulls you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?” He asks, a playful lilt to his voice.

“To work,” you answer, heart racing as he smiles at you.

“So soon? Let me hold you for a little while.”

You want to ask what it means that he wants to do that with you, but a larger, more prominent part of you wins out, and you don’t say a thing. Like this, you can imagine it means what you want it to, even if it doesn’t.

You settle back in his arms, burying your face into his neck and closing your eyes, content to let him cradle you in his big arms. His scent wraps around you like a blanket, and your heart settles down as you relax.

He presses a kiss to your hair, and you decide that as long as you get to keep having this with him, whatever it is, you are content.

_ _ _

a/n: what's funny is that Suguru isn't even my main jjk guy, I just had a demon come over me and wrote this out.

edit: after I re-read i think i’m gonna make this a series bc i can see drama going down and i want to write it 😈

please do not repost or copy my work, but feel free to reblog and share. hope you enjoyed!

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itsgrimeytime · 1 year

Text

The Nurse (Part Seven) || Rick Grimes (TWD)

Part One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Taglist: @strnqer @1985bitch @curlycarley @imaginemyfavoritefics @t-uroboros @crazytxgradstudent @addisonnie @whos6claire @taylvvrr @quicksilversg1rl @catt-leya @1tsk1tty @pascalshearts @hopefulatrocity @xoyouronlyamorrxo @fuseburner @idkseraphine @all-for-kpop @carlgrimeskisser @emo-potato-virgil @timotheesrealgf @mcuclintasha @8crazy-freak8 @peepeepoopoobutt

Summary: Before all this, you were a nurse. A nurse who had patients, one of which was a man in a coma. A sheriff, you think, it was all kinda fuzzy now. When it all went sideways, you set up what you could for the man - but had to leave. You’d always wondered where he’d ended up; until in your search of shelter, you run into a familiar face.

TWS: Blood, gore, mentions of death, gun violence (just violence in general), sickness, vomiting of blood, blood from the eyes, animal sickness, mentions of quarantine, swearing, and all things typical of TWD.

[[A/N: A plot heavy chapter???? In this economy??? It's more likely than you think. I did actual medical research on this one, so... Also, 'there's only one bed trope' except there's no bed. I will not be taking any questions at this time. Thanks for reading :)) ]]

That day really started midway through you cleaning up a few of your tools, it was an extensive process -especially considering the circumstances. Infection was not an option here, so you usually took a few hours to soak some of your materials in some antibacterial you'd recovered from the few runs you'd been on.

The fumes were a bit much, so you'd done it near the prison but not inside -dedicating a space distant from the crops and where the others strayed outside. Without a mask, you couldn't imagine the long term effects of inhaling the mass of well... germ-x that you accumulated to clean things. You'd been a stickler on using it as often as you could, even taking times within the day to run by everyone with it and having them run it over their hands. It got, let's say, varied reactions, but you knew with what ease an outbreak of any kind could frolic through the prison. So, they just had to deal with it.

That day, you were almost done cleaning your last scalpel -the coating washing away in some of the bottled water you hadn't quite finished. When you'd seen the smudge of a figure coming up to you.

You dunked the rest of the water over your hands and placed the scalpel on the rag -quickly folding it on the stool you'd taken out to use as an extra surface.

When you looked back at the figure now, they were much closer like they were running to you. You squinted, trying to see through the sun, and made out the edges of a cowboy hat -Carl?

Before you could so much as say a word, Carl was barreling up to you -eyes glossy (just a touch, you hadn't seen him cry since you got here) and eyebrows furrowed into so much worry that you only found fit for an adult.

He simply wrapped his arms around your middle, nestling his head into you -effectively knocking the hat off, and immediately felt a spike of worry shoot up your spine. Despite your head buzzing with questions and worries, you exhaled a shaky breath and gently held the back of his head against you.

"Everything okay?"

"No," he muttered into you -before pulling back to look at you with a seriousness that you found easily matched Rick's, "-you have to help."

Your worry spiked, help. Still, you coached yourself -crouching down to his level, "Help with what? Is someone hurt?"

Carl started then -tumbling over the speed of his words, "Violet, Dad says she's sick. She's laying around, she won't eat and she always likes to e-"

"Carl," you laid your hands on his shoulders -hoping to soothe the nerves out of him, "-breathe. When you say Violet, do you mean-"

"The pig," he answered, after exhaling a deep, long breath -something you taught him just out of habit once.

So, that was why you were now by the pigs' pen -carefully watching the one he called Violet with Rick, Hershel, and well... Carl. You hadn't known much about animals, but you knew some of the basics of something not feeling well. And Violet was... well, she checked all those boxes.

"How long has it been since she ate?" Hershel asked, his gaze just a bit more analytical than yours -he was a veterinarian after all.

"Just the past day," Rick answered, his hand passively rubbing along his son's back -he still seemed a bit shaken, "-Looked at their food, and there was more than there shoulda been."

"Okay, well," you added, turning to Rick and Carl "-it's early then. Any sort of early is better than too late. I'm just not sure what it could be, other than the basics."

Rick questioned, "Which is?"

"Swine flu," you answered, flickering to Hershel for his opinion, "-but it's not my specialty, I could be wrong."

Hershel hummed, rising back to his feet with his cane where he seemed to be looker closer at Violet, "Could very well be. It's not like we have any medicine for 'em either."

"Do we need to go straight for medicine?" you asked, watching Violet as she slowly seemed to inhale and exhale, "Are there other options?"

Hershel rubbed at his beard, "Not much without some sort of medicine."

You pursed your lips, "Should we risk it though? What if it's not whatever we may assume it has and it gets worse?"

"Guess that's true," Hershel spoke, looking at you now -intent on discussing your point of view, "-what's your idea?"

"Well," you started, a bit hesitantly, "-I'm not a vet but if this was people, we'd quarantine them. Try and limit the contagion, if it was even contagious. It's how we... It's how we started investigating when the walkers showed up."

"It's a good idea," Hershel agreed, and you felt a piece of you relax, "-singles Violet out so we can try and get more information on whatever she's sick of. And sometimes quarantining 'em can help 'em heal."

"What, so-" Rick responded -looking to the two of you, "-we get more pens?"

"Yeah," you answered, following your own thought process, "-just do a few resource runs? There should be enough containers to individually feed them around the prison. And just as a base, we wait a week. It's a typical time for human sicknesses, so I imagine it's long for animals? If any one of them gets worse, we cut it short and look for other options."

Rick and Hershel were just staring at you -eyes wide and a bit astonished. You hadn't been quite one to order others around, or make plans, or anything of the nature. But you'd been passionate about nursing -knew all you could, you were trained for crises and problem-solving.

"Sorry," you echoed, trying to recognize any of the emotions in either of them's eyes (all you could get out of Rick's was wonder and that really was not helping), "I didn't mean to just... take over. I just-"

"No, no," Hershel shook his head, gently placing a hand on your shoulder -soothing whatever idea that he had felt overstepped in your head, "-you got that brain of yours, best you use it."

You smiled, a bit bashful because well nursing had been a big portion of your life for so long -you were glad to be doing it well.

"Just hold back a little," he teased with a touch of a chuckle, "-or I think Rick might be out of a job."

Laughing, you turned back to Rick whose eyes were still steadily focused on you. It was always a little odd, but you were getting more used to it.

"I'll ask around, see what we have around the prison. Rick-" Hershel cleared his throat, effectively knocking Rick out of his daze -you bit back a smile, "-you wanna see if you can gather up some people to help build? The quicker they're built, the better."

"Yeah, yeah. I can-" Rick blinked, shaking his head just a touch like he was clearing his head -eyes disconnecting from yours, "-I can do that. Carl, you wanna stay with Y/N for a bit?"

You rolled your eyes, teasing, "You're lucky I'm free, cowboy."

Rick grinned, and you felt your stomach flip, as he brushed past you, "I'll owe you one, fair?"

"Fair," you bit back the grin that threaten to split across your lips -solely to limit his ego. Carl was beside you now, so without much of extra thought, you crouched down and asked him what he wanted to do for the rest of the day.

That had been a week ago, and your life had become significantly more difficult since then. Maybe you should've expected it.

It had started when someone, who you hadn't really individually known too well, had come into your office. He'd just said he was tired, much more than usual and you'd figured it'd been his body fighting off an infection. You gave him a few antivirals and sent him on his way.

He hadn't come back to see you after that initial visit, why you didn't know -it had only been just a few days but someone in a nearby cell had approached you. They were the ones that told you that he'd been throwing up blood.

Needlessly to say, when you rushed to his cell, you were too late. For two lives instead of one.

So, here you were, frantically writing on every scrap of paper you could find -detailing symptoms as they arose. It was the outbreak you really had dreaded -you'd last heard Glenn had been struck with some of the symptoms last night. And that had spurred the current frantic writing spree you were in.

Early in that week, you'd sat everyone down at respectable distances and told them of the quarantine plans. Everyone who had felt sick must be distanced and is to rest until further notice. They were most likely to heal with more time for their body to address it.

Still didn't stop you from focusing on the symptoms, running through different options with Hershel -who didn't have as much experience but enough to bounce ideas off of.

It was late, Hershel had headed to get some rest and you'd let him -still scratching away at the paper, and noting somewhere deep in your head to request some iron supplements from the next run. If someone was going to lose blood, they'd at the very least need the iron replaced -maybe that would help with the weakness? That was about as far as you'd gotten. You were sure it was something easily taken care of, just needed a little bit more time to even-

"Hey," the drawl echoed into the room, and you jumped a bit in surprise -you hadn't been expecting anyone, especially at this hour. You spun to the door as quickly as your body would allow it.

"Didn't mean to scare ya," Rick clarified, hands up in the air for a moment before his look smoothed into one of concern -blue falling to what you assumed was your eyebags, "Have you not been sleeping?"

"Rick," you blew an exhale through your mouth -your eyes heavy and clothes disheveled, "-what do you think the answer to that question is?"

He raised his eyebrows, retorting -probably noting your snappy comeback, "So, you haven't..."

"I just-" you sighed, tapping your pencil against the paper that currently held all the noted symptoms and a few of your ideas so far for the disease, "-it's right here, I can feel it. I'm almost there."

Rick pursed his lips, sidling up beside you -pulling up a spare stool to sit directly in front of you, "And this can't wait until just a few hours of sleep?"

"They're-" you swallowed, your hands shaking slightly, "-they're dying Rick. I can't- I can't lose another one. What if you get it, Rick? Or god-forbid, Carl or Judith? I don't know what I'd do-"

"Look at me," he placed his hands -calloused fingers brushing against your chin tilt your eyesight to his, "-that's not happening. Me, Carl, and Judith are all fine."

"But," you urged -tears prickling at the edge of your eyes, "-that could change."

"It could," he agreed, rubbing his thumbs under your eyes -maybe you'd actually started crying, "-but I think a few less hours of writing the same thing over and over again on a piece of paper won't make it worse. You said it yourself, it exhilarates over a few days."

"Rick," you whispered, eyes connected to his, "-I can't."

He sighed, pulling your head forward, and brushing back your hair to leave the gentlest of press of his lips. You hummed, letting your eyes flutter close -just to relish in the warmth there.

"One hour," he hummed against your skin.

You laughed, barely there but it still counted, "Cowboy, I know what you're doing-"

"45 minutes."

"Rick, it's not going to-" you sighed, the smile growing on your face -even just for a second.

"30," he offered, breathing against your hair -you could feel the grin seep across the words.

You pulled back, raising an eyebrow at him -as if testing how far this would go, "Really?"

Rick wasn't one to give up, though, "15."

"Rick," you groaned, "-I'm serious..."

"We all are," he interrupted, leveling a more serious gaze on you, "-it's not just you. Look, what if we have Hershel work on it while you rest, so no time is wasted? That work for ya?"

"I can't wake him up," you answered.

"Y/N-" he started, and you could tell in the infliction that he really wasn't going to give this up. It was his lecture voice, and that always meant business with Rick Grimes.

You caved, and maybe the allure of sleep convinced you a little too, "30 minutes, and you wake me up."

He rubbed at the bridge of his nose -a sort of frustration radiating from him which was unsurprising, "Okay, anythin' is better than nothin', I guess. C'mon-"

"Oh, Rick, no-" you clarified, "-I'll sleep down here."

He furrowed his brows, scanning the space for anything that you could've squinted at, and thought would be okay to sleep on, "What? Where can you sleep down here?"

"That bench will do fine," you spoke, digging around for something to lay on and another to use as a blanket.

"Y/N, you can't be serious," Rick responded, looking around, "-you even have a pillow down here?"

"I..." you faltered, scrunching your brows together, "-I think so."

He sighed, fingers brushing against his temples, making his way over to the bench, "Okay, no, that's not happening. I'm not letting you hurt your neck like that."

"Well," you huffed, "-what am I supposed to d-"

Rick, instead of passing by the bench to look for something close to a pillow, sat at the left side of it -a look in his eyes that said he'd found a solution, as he patted his shoulder, "C'mon, the clock's ticking."

You blinked, was he going to let you cuddle him? Were you going to cuddle?

You were more awake than you had been in the past week at the mere idea of that.

"Look," he started, explaining himself, "-I know it won't be the best, but it's better than the cheapass cushion, I swear."

Good, he didn't really know why you hadn't responded. You couldn't realistically wait much longer though, if that excuse was to hold. He was very persuasive, but could only convince you so many times before it got ridiculous.

So, you grabbed an extra blanket you had stored away and moved to his side. It was agonizingly slow, mostly because there was a part of you that was scared he'd suddenly change his mind. You knew the two of you touched, a lot. It was just... This was more long-term, not a 'heat of the moment, it just felt right' kind of touch. It was all casual things, brushes of fingertips, forehead kisses, spare moment motions. This was new.

Wonderfully new.

"Okay," you whispered, barely a breath and gently leaned onto him.

You were hesitant and didn't want to overstep in any sort of way -afraid of losing this closeness, you went rigid against his skin. Not necessarily because you were uncomfortable, but rather because you didn't want to make him uncomfortable.

Rick's breath stuttered in his chest as you pressed into his shoulder, you could hear his heart beating fast under your cheek. Without another word, to soothe you maybe, his hand wrapped around you -pulling you tighter against his side.

You relaxed, breaths coming out slowly through your nose -his scent filling your brain it made you fuzz up a bit, then. The deep wooded scent buzzed against your eyes, and you let them flutter shut -just absorbing well... him.

Still, your mind was humming against the darkness -facts and symptoms fluttering past your mind. It was all consuming.

"Can you-" you faltered, feeling a bit out of place to ask something, "-Can you just talk? Tell me something, anything."

"'Course," Rick hummed, you felt it in his chest as you lay against it -his fingertips brushing up and down your arm, soothing, "-let me think."

You opened your eyes, tucking yourself more gently into his side -the gate was open already, and you found it easier to relax with the knowledge he had offered this himself. He had wished to be this close, and that made your heart beat faster.

"I got my first pair of boots when I was 6," he started, and you laughed into his skin -still intent on listening, "-my Dad told me it was a rite of passage."

You smiled, "Yeah?"

"Yeah," he agreed, laughing at himself, "-couldn't walk in 'em for months."

"Mmm, well-" you hummed, teasing -as your eyes fluttered along his boots, "-you seem like a professional now."

He grinned, drawling low -as his hand began to brush his fingers through your hair, "Thanks, sweetheart."

And you exhaled, relaxing into his touch -as his fingers massaged into your scalp. The name was new, but you weren't quite awake then -your head filled with the fuzz of sleep and eyes faltering heavily. Maybe you could sleep for just a little while.

"Violet's feelin' better," he hummed, and you could feel his breaths against your temple -he was so close, "-ya must've done somethin' right."

You froze, body rigid -the sleep dissipating from your brain, sitting up enough only to dislodge yourself slightly, "What?"

Rick stared at you -a bit in disbelief, "Violet's okay. It's a win."

"Oh my god," you stood, the blanket falling to your feet -frantic and hopeful as you siphoned through the piles of books and papers scattered everywhere, "-oh my god."

"What-" he stood with you -hesitating to reach out and touch you, "-you alright?"

"No, no, it's not-" you stopped searching to lock eyes with him, "-I'm fine, I just... How long have they been quarantined?"

"'Bout a week."

That was it, that was it. You laughed, wide and bright, "I... That's familiar, I read it somewhere."

"Y/N," he spoke, watching you flutter through the papers -trying to keep his tone calm, and soothing, "-what is this about?"

"I had this theory, remember?" you explained, skimming across some of the pages in books you'd marked, "-Violet got sick and then some of the group had, so maybe it was from them?"

"What, so you were right?"

"Maybe, I just have to-" you corrected, finally finding the book that read 'Swine Flu: The Farmer's Guide', "-bingo."

You skimmed through the words, on edge -waiting for the familiar words. For the words that had buzzed over the bouncing in your head, you knew they were there. You just knew it-

And there it was. Quarantine for a week.

You grinned, wide and bright, tapping along the paper -god, you had been right. You jumped up, rushing up to Rick -grabbing his face, and pushing your lips against the stubble of his cheek. You laughed, bright and joyous, rushing over to the book -spinning around with it pushed to your chest.

He stood shocked still, before blinking out of a daze -eyes twinkling bright and grin wider than yours, a blush barely brushed across his face.

"I've got it!" You yelled out, before pausing, faltering, "...I got it. Shit, I have to-"

"Hey, hey," Rick whispered, stepping forward to press his hands on your shoulders -eyes seeking yours, "-talk to me. Let me help ya, I want to."

"Okay," you hummed, inhaling slowly, "-okay. I'll... We'll just need hydration, lots of hydration-"

"Got it," he spoke, scribbling down on a little notepad he must've found around here somewhere.

"-and still quarantined. For at least a week. They just need some rest. That's it. And keep an eye on their iron and protein intake, keep it balanced-"

Rick didn't speak this time, hand fluctuating through the page -handwriting messy but somehow organized all at once. He was intently listening -it took you aback almost with all the attention he laid upon you, but you were still on a train of thought.

"-and painkillers for whoever needs them. Um, maybe some lesser ones? Aspirin, something smaller, it doesn't-"

"Okay," Rick answered, scribbling down the final note, "-right. I've got it."

"Wait," you started, as he gently placed his hand on the small of your back guiding you, "-what are you-"

"Y/N," he leveled, turning you to face him, "-you need to rest. I've got it all in here, I'll wake Hershel up if I need help. I've got it."

You sighed, matching his eyes -he really wasn't going to give up on this, "Are you sure? I can rest after-"

"No," he echoed, seriousness etched into his face -and the warmth of his hands on you was alluring, almost made you want to sleep there, "-rest. I'm not jokin'."

"Okay," you responded, exhaling and leaning further into him, trusting him to guide you, "-okay."

Carefully, he leaned forward -sliding his lips onto your cheek. It sent goosebumps to your toes, at the soft pillow there -it was new, wonderfully new.

"I'll check on you in an hour, 'kay?"

"Okay," you spoke, breathless with heavy eyes -droning with sleep, "-you gonna take me there?"

"Yeah," he pulled you to his side by the waist, muttering into your hair with the cusps of a grin, "-I'll take ya there."

#rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n #ricky dicky doo dah grimes #twd #twd rick #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #the nurse #nurse!reader #doctor!reader

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chaikachi · 1 year

Text

Little Red Riding Hood, The Big Bad Wolf, & The Silver Bullet

Aka I did an Oscar as The Little Prince analysis and now I wanna do one for Ruby's allusion in honour of the 10th Anniversary.

I know most if not all of us are familiar, but I'm still going to start with a summary.

Little Red is a story about a young girl in a red cloak who is sent into the woods at her mother's behest to bring baked goods to her sick grandmother. There, she meets a malicious wolf that asks her many questions, to which she answers all truthfully and without hesitation. The wolf takes this information and uses it to beat the girl to her destination where he then swallows her grandma whole and disguises himself in the woman's clothes. There he waits for the child to arrive and come closer so he can swallow her up too.

There are actually two popular versions of this story with different endings that we often look back to.

In Perrault's story, there is no happy ending. They're both eaten up, the wolf is content. The end. But in the Grimm version, there is an additional character... the Huntsman (aka the woodsman). He hears the wolf snoring after its meal and ends up cutting the beast open & saving the victims. Then, with the help of Little Red Riding Hood, he kills the wolf before it can do anymore harm.

All in all, it's a story about childhood innocence being lost, learning not to trust strangers, and being mindful to always follow the correct path. For if you stray too far, you may lose track of time, invite unwanted danger, or find yourself lost.

In RWBY, we have some very clear allusions here since it's the basis for so much of the show as a whole:

Little Red - Ruby Rose

The Mother - Summer Rose

The Grandmother - Maria

The Hunstman/Woodsman - All Three of Them

The Wolf - Salem and her Grimm (but ESPECIALLY The Hound)

They're all pretty self explanatory.

Ruby has the red cloak, her og trailer is clearly inspired by the tale, she loves baked goods, she's referred to as "Red" and "Little Red" by Torchwick & Cinder. She's also a huntress. And, by and large, her entire arc is about losing that childhood innocence and the view that life "is like a fairytale" as well as struggling with what the "right path" to follow is.

Summer is the mother (baker of cookies) and also the huntsman (slayer of giant monsters). The battle axe being her weapon choice alludes well to the alternate name, Woodsman, as well.

While Maria as the grandmother makes the most sense. Another silver eyed huntress that becomes a mentor figure for Ruby.

And while Salem, her war, & the Grimm (that are all emblematic of that loss of innocence) can absolutely symbolize the wolf... There's a reason why I want to focus on The Hound.

All three previous characters are connected by a very specific common denominator: Silver Eyes.

And the hound is no different.

Just another huntsman... but one devoured by the malice of a canine. And, if Ruby's theory is right, that's the same fate that Summer met as well.

And if you think about Silver Eyes specifically... What is one of the most famous lines from the original fairytale?

"My, what big eyes you have grandmother." "The better to see you with, my dear."

Which, when applied to the grimmification of SEWs, is HAUNTING.

Terrifying when you remember "Woah... you have silver eyes". Also thanks to Behind The Scenes content, that Ruby's hair design was always meant to "be a bit wolf-y". And that since Volume 4, Salem has been interested in capturing Ruby alive... I am WORRIED ABOUT HER.

Some interesting things about silver though that ARE worth noting...

1. "In folklore, a bullet cast from silver is often one of the few weapons that are effective against a werewolf or witch."

2. "The term silver bullet is also a metaphor for a simple, seemingly magical, solution to a difficult problem."

3. "In the Brothers Grimm fairy-tale of The Two Brothers, a bullet-proof witch is shot down by silver buttons, fired from a gun."

The lyric "Yeah I'm a girl but I'm also a gun" from Triumph really tells us point blank (lol) why Ruby is so important to this war against Salem, huh.

I'm gonna end this meta on a fun little easter egg; a hidden fifth character allusion to the original Red Riding Hood fairytale: The Woods.

Now I know what you're thinking, the woods aren't a person, they're a location. But they're INCREDIBLY important to the story.

Overall, the woods are the world outside of the cabin that Little Red grows up in. Whenever she travels beyond it, she's liable to meet all sorts of horrible tragedies and monsters. But I want to talk again specifically about The Hound & just where Ruby first meets them: Atlas.

Or, more specifically, Ironwood's kingdom.

For those unfamiliar, while Jimmy's main allusion is the Tin Man from Oz, his last name gives us a hint to another subtle allusion: Járnviðr. Aka the Iron Wood of Midgard in Norse Mythology (a mythos that's been alluded to a lot in RWBY).

Whiiich if you look at a stanza (40) in the infamous Völuspá, a historic poem which is chalk full of Norse myths, you get the following passage:

In the east sat an old woman in Iron-wood and nurtured there offspring of Fenrir a certain one of them in monstrous form will be the snatcher of the moon

A poem that talks all about the Biggest Baddest Wolf of the Norse pantheon, Fenrir... who is the offspring of a powerful Witch...

and is destined to eat the moon...

All within the Iron Wood, a character Ruby spends an entire volume contemplating on whether or not she can trust...

And the moment she does finally tell Ironwood the truth? The secrets she was keeping? The woods become unsafe, the witch and the wolf appear, and everything else falls apart. Resulting her and her team lost and very far from home.

Say what you want about analyses like these but CRWBY knows what they're doing, okay?

#rwby #ruby rose #rwby meta #analysis #rwby analysis #chainalysis #little red riding hood #did I wanna tie this into warrior in the woods to make it about rg? yes #was i able to? no #that'll have to be its own thing #greenlightvolume10 #long post

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 8 months

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Mmmh I also don't agree much with the "Crowley is Malleus's dad" theory because it doesn't have solid proof or makes sense (yet) plot wise and because I believe Lilia would have recognized him. I think Crowley is somehow related perhaps? Given how his card dropped in the middle of chapter 7, maybe he has some sorta involvement without being Malleus's dad? Do you have any theories/thoughts yourself Miss Raven?

[Referencing this post!]

I like “Crowley is Malleus’s dad” as a crack theory, just because the idea feels so ridiculous and feeds into “Crowley is a deadbeat dad” jokes that have been circulating in the fandom since the very beginning.

In terms of canon though?? I feel like the theory makes a lot of sense if you don’t squint too hard and just assume vague details are solid evidence. Once you do start squinting, then a bunch of plot holes arise that would take several parts to explain 💦 Questions like, “why wouldn’t Lilia automatically recognize him?”, and, “why did he run so far away and/or never go home?”, “why doesn’t his voice sound similar to Malleus’s?” (something Lilia comments on), “why is he now the headmaster of NRC?”, “why does he continue to neglect his son?”, etc.

If we have to start making up convenient explanations (that don’t even have a solid basis most of the time) like convenient amnesia, the mask is enchanted to hide his identity, Crowley is purposefully putting on a fake voice, or, "it's magic", I think it can detract from the overall credibility since it only leads to more questions rather than concrete answers. I’m open to the idea if it does become canon (my beliefs have definitely been proven wrong before), but then TWST sure does have a TON to explain about Crowley’s history and intent 💀

(Sorry if you were hoping for an alternate theory from me, but right now the main story is way too vague with details about Malleus’s dad for me to draw a strong opposing theory. I’ve heard some suggest maybe Crowley is someone who knows of/is in contact with Levan, or maybe is even his familiar?? But that doesn’t seem entirely right either, particularly the latter since we don’t yet have a set of rules for how familiars work in TWST. Are they even able to assume human form like how Crowley presents???? Can they even legally hold jobs like headmaster???? So yeah, unfortunately I got nothing until the main story gives me something substantial and super relevant to chew on 🍖)

#twst #twisted wonderland #Dire Crowley #Malleus Draconia #disney twisted wonderland #disney twst #spoilers #notes from the writing raven #question

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ahgasegotarmy116 · 7 months

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what was jk’s initial reaction to the revelation? Like after oc went outside to cool off and he was left with Jared and Jina. Did he tell them off? I really wanted to see what he would tell Jared since he was apperantly giving him the stink eye for a while now

"Jina" I call after her as I watch her stalking towards Jared as he walks back into the house after chasing y/n. "What?" she spits out, whipping her head back around to face me.

"Wanna try that again?" I ask, cocking a brow at her and she stiffens after realizing what she had done. "I'm sorry dad I just...well Jared he-" "What were you thinking Jina? Sneaking around with your best friend's boyfriend? Oh I'm sorry her fiancé" I say, throwing it back at her again to instill further guilt. "I raised you better than this and you know that" I growl out, trying to keep my anger at bay.

"How could you do this? Y/n was your first and from what I can see only true friend you've had since we moved here. Why would you do something that cruel?" I ask, clearly not understanding how my own daughter could cause someone that we both care about such heartbreak.

"I don't know dad it just happened okay. There's nothing I can do about it now so can we just drop it already?" she says, her head on a swivel, no doubt looking for where Jared had disappeared to. "No we can't just drop it. I expect to see you and Jared in my study. Now!" I bark out and her whole body stiffens in fear before running off to find him.

~~~~

I hear a faint knock at the door and grant them entry without even glancing up.

"You wanted to see us?" Jared asks with that all to familiar arrogant tone. "Sit" I bark out and they both take a seat at the two chairs I have placed in front of my desk. I stand up and glare down at Jared thinking about how easy it would be to snap his neck right now.

He's been a thorn in my side ever since Jina brought him and y/n over to the house for the first time and I've been waiting for the day I could put him in place. Although I wish it was under different circumstances.

His gaze always full of lust towards both of them when they weren't looking but oh how I saw it. I saw it every damn time and I kept my mouth shut mistakenly thinking that my daughter would stay as far away from him in terms of anything more than a platonic friendship and even that had me grinding my teeth at the thought.

"You're lucky you're not six feet under for what you did to y/n and Jina" I growl at him, holding myself back from hurting him. "Are you serious? She came onto me" he claims but I know without even looking at Jina that it's a lie.

"Oh yeah and so I guess you really don't have much of a brain if you couldn't tell her no or get her off of you. Or did you even try?" I add, cocking my head, cracking my neck in the process to gain some form of relief from the stiffness that come over me after I heard those devastating words leave y/n's mouth.

"Right" I say, filling up the silence Jared had left, all of us knowing he would be lying if he said otherwise. I take a deep breath before turning my back to them to compose myself before saying another word.

"I'm keeping the baby dad" she says, making the choice I was sure she would've made anyway, at least this way one less person has to suffer. Life might've been seen as being 'better' if she had taken the easy way out but we all know that we would've felt their absence everyday if she had.

"Did he force himself on you?" I ask her, not daring to look him in the eye otherwise I might snap. "Are you seriously asking if I raped her?" Jared says, getting up out of his chair and after that I'm at my limit and loom over him and look him dead in the eye, this time asking him the question since he so eagerly jumped in before she could answer.

"Yeah Jared I am. Did you rape my daughter" I growl out, praying to anyone who might hear me that the answer is no. "No I didn't fucking rape her" he grits his teeth and flares his nostrils, clearly trying and failing to intimidate me.

"He got me drunk dad but I said yes" Jina admits to me and before Jared gets whatever insult that had been bubbling in his throat out my fist collides with his face, leaving him falling to the floor and coughing back the pain from the blow.

"Fuck" he groans out as he staggers up to his feet.

"If I catch you anywhere near this house. If I see you touching either one of them I will gut you from the inside out you hear me?" I bark out at him and he flinches back at the volume, now knowing that violence is not beneath me when it comes to my girls.

"Yes sir" he says, hissing at the sting of his busted lip. "Get the hell out of my sight" I say and turn my back to him again and hear him stalk out of my office and out the front door.

"Dad why-" "Why did I what? Punch the guy who got my daughter vulnerable enough to be able to convince her to have sex with him and is now pregnant with his baby? Are you really asking me why I did that?" I scoff and she tries to speak again but I cut her off before she can say anything else.

"How long?" I question, waiting for the answer and dreading the number. "Wha-" "How long have you been sleeping with him Jina for fucks sake just answer the question" I shout and watch her cower back into her chair.

"Why are you talking to me like this? You've never yelled at me before" she asks, making my heart break as I see glimpses of the broken little girl I know she hides inside of her but not letting up because I know she needs discipline and not sympathy right now.

"How, long?" I say again, emphasizing each word. "Six months" she whispers out, cringing at revealing the shameful amount of time they had spent together. "How far along are you?" I question, this time a bit gentler. "Two months" she says even quieter than the last.

"Do you have a doctor?" I question, wanting to make sure that she and the baby are being looked after properly. "Not yet" she says hanging her head, finally letting her shame consume her entire being. "Get one and tell me the name so I can cover the costs" I say, my back turned to her, trying to withhold that part of me that wants to hold her and tell her everything is going to be okay. But she fucked up, and she deserves to feel the guilt and the shame of her actions for a while now that it's out in the open.

"Dad I can-" "This isn't open for discussion Jina. Find a doctor and send me their information or I will find one for you myself. Now leave, I don't want you coming back here until I say so" I say, keeping my voice as level as I can.

"But dad I-" "No Jina, go. We'll discuss this later" I say, leaving the room before I have a chance to lose my resolve and go to the nearest bedroom to calm down before seeing the rest of our lingering guests out.

~~~~~

Hope this answered your question hehe

Thanks for the ask love 🥰

#just take it #just take it ask #just take it drabble #jti #jungkook fanfic #fanfic #kpop #fanfiction #jungkook #bts #bts jungkook #kpop fanfic #jeon jungkook #ask

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shuttershocky · 1 year

Note

I have now finished Mahoyo.

What the FUCK is the Fifth Magic? Do we seriously have no idea other than "It can be used for time travel and Aoko using it contributes to the eventual destruction of the universe?" Also, I was previously under the impression that the term "path to the Root" as it relates to True Magic simply meant ways of using magecraft to make contact with it, as I would expect that the Root is metaphysical and omnipresent in nature. It would then follow that reaching the Root is more of a spiritual act than a physical one, but the text says that grandpa Aozaki discovered a path to the Root in Misaki, and then sealed it off, implying that it's a physical location you can just walk to?? Hello????

I'm also still baffled by the notion of how True Magic is actually inherited, because while the Fifth Magic and the Aozaki Magic Crest are talked about in tandem as far as the Aozaki inheritance goes, I can't remotely imagine that you could pass on Magic through a Crest — that would feel almost like reducing it to the same level as magecraft, and it's mentioned that there are conditions for its use that Aoko doesn't meet until the finale. I'm just hrgrjrgrjegrnhrnr

I did enjoy the finale of Mahoyo, and I'm not surprised that I walked away without a lot of answers, but it's very frustrating. It feels akin to like if UBW progressed all the way from start to finish without explaining what Unlimited Blade Works actually is and why Shirou can do it

The 5th Magic is Not Actually Time Travel like the TM wiki and the other Magics might have you think, but Consumption, though it might be easier to think of it as entropy. Aoko is able to burn through even time itself in order to manipulate time. In this case she burned a hole through the last five seconds (or was it 10? i forget) in order to accelerate herself 10 years into the future (Aoko is incredibly magecraft efficient) where she exists at her prime, and then tosses the burnt time far into the future where she doesn't have to think about it.

Touko angrily says that such an irresponsible manipulation of cosmic forces will surely cause the death of the universe if not fixed, but Aoko's not the thinking sort of girl. She definitely screwed up and has to fix that now, but until Nasu writes any Mahoyo sequels we will never know exactly how badly. If you think the concept of generating enough energy to burn through time in order to manipulate it sounds very familiar to a certain 72 Demons in a Trenchcoat, then congrats, you now know where FGO got it. Without the 5th Magic and with a MUCH larger target in the beginning of time however, Goetia needed a far more elaborate ritual with a year and a half's worth of execution time.

You are right in that the Root is not a physical location. However, unless you are Kokutou where the Root is your wife, any attempt at accessing it requires land capable of sustaining whatever ritual you are planning up. This is why the Fuyuki Holy Grail War is specifically in Fuyuki, otherwise a backwater town populated by the mage equivalent of country hicks—the Tohsaka's land was rich in mana and could sustain something as intensive as the Holy Grail War. Misaki is similar, a piece of land where a high amount of leylines cross through AND not under the ownership of the Mages' Association, meaning that a mage on it could do what they pleased in complete privacy. Whatever Grandpa Aozaki did, he found both a method to access the Root and a location in Misaki that would allow him to do it, and then sealed it off (whether physically by preventing access to the location or metaphysically by deactivating the ritual is not clear), but before he did that he got his prize of the 5th Magic before getting the fuck out so that no one else could use it.

The condition for Aoko to use the 5th Magic is simply her will to do it. Ever since she was first able to cast the 5th (implied to be a traumatic event of some kind, possibly by her Grandfather bringing her to the site of the open path), she's been stalked by the Red Shadow. Whether it is the Counter Force seeing her destructive Magic as an abomination or Death itself, Aoko sees it whenever she's alone, and it makes her afraid. She refuses to use the 5th even when fighting the Flat Snark or when her throat is being torn out by Beowulf because she would rather die violently than find out what exactly that thing is. She only finds the will to cast the Fifth to save someone else she cares about (see: Illya casting the Third to save Shirou), but some quick thinking by using the time she was erasing to time travel to her prime also allowed her to fight off the Red Shadow's attack, even if she might have just doomed the universe by doing so.

An interesting thing about Mahoyo's finale is that it kind of implies Aoko and Tohno Shiki's meeting was more than just random chance now. Aoko's powers are a danger to the world, a Destroyer figure to contrast her sister, who is an architect, a dollmaker, a doctor, etc. Essentially, a Builder. That she runs into and then mentors Shiki who acts as a Death figure in Tsukihime's narrative is a bit too fitting to be a random coincidence anymore, especially now that the Tsukihime Remake moved the setting out of Misaki entirely.

#Mahoyo

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sirfrogsworth · 10 months

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Hi Froggy,

I hope you've been well! I wanted to reach out and first say that you inspired me many years ago to rescue a corgi! She was a grump, I think she may have taken her name (Elphaba) too literally. She recently crossed the rainbow bridge, but she was such fun and a joy. I hope our pups are playing together, somewhere peaceful.

I have a question unrelated to stumpy Corgis. I'm a veteran birth doula and an aspiring birth photographer! I've been trying to research cameras, lenses, and all sorts of technical stuff. I'm leaving towards purchasing the new Nikon ZF, because of the purported low-light capabilities.

Lenses are throwing me completely.

Do you have any guidance or resources to help a newbie like myself? Not really looking for an in-depth answer (I know how complicated things can get), but maybe a general push in the right direction?

If you don't want or can't answer, no hard feelings! I enjoy just seeing your posts on my dash and I hope the rest of your year is amazing and calm!-Steph

(continued...)

My budget is pretty flexible, since I am an independent contractor the expense would be tallied towards my taxes. But that being said, maybe $1-3k? I know it's important to invest more into lenses!

Usually, I am in a hospital, and lighting is extremely variable. I would be shooting mostly in low-light before baby is born. During delivery and after there is usually a spotlight or fluorescent lighting. The low lighting is exactly why I was looking at the new ZF, but if you have suggestions on that too I'm happy to hear them!

It's very cramped when the baby is born, most medical and support staff are clustered around the laboring person.

Warning! A lot of birth photos will have baby crowning or blood. It's a messy business, so I don't want to trigger you if you're sensitive to those sorts of images.

I will not be able to be directly next to the laboring parent, more than likely I'll be a few feet away, possibly behind the parents or standing on a stool.

After the baby is born, I'll be able to get closer to both parents and baby!

Here's a portfolio that is close to what I would like to provide (once again TW for blood and crowning):

https://www.sarahginderphotography.com/birth-photography-north-new-jersey

I cannot thank you enough for any help or advice, this whole endeavor is like learning a new language!

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

Note from Future Froggie...

I went way overboard on this response, as usual. I have decided I'm going to break it up into 3 parts.

First, an encyclopedia of lens terminology.

Second, a camera and lens buying guide.

Third, practical advice for shooting in cramped rooms with tricky lighting conditions.

While this will be geared towards the original ask, I think this could be helpful to a lot of people. So, let's learn about lenses!

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

Lenses throw everybody, just because there are so many options. It can be overwhelming to look at a picture like this and wonder what will suit you best.

It's a lot of pressure too, because lenses are more important than the camera in a lot of ways. Interchangeable lenses are probably the biggest advantage big cameras have over smartphones these days.

But I think I can help get you up to speed.

The following terms are photospeak you might hear in camera and lens reviews and if you aren't familiar with them, it can make it difficult to figure out what camera and lens to purchase.

I tried to put these in an order that makes sense, but some terms relate to other terms and you may have to read the list twice to make sure you understand how everything mushes together.

Froggie's Encyclopedia of Lens Terms

Lens Mount

Every camera has a specific lens mount. Sony calls theirs the E Mount. Nikon has the F Mount (older) and the Z Mount (mirrorless). So you need to make sure the lens you are looking at is compatible with the mount on your camera.

Mirrorless cameras all upgraded to a mount with a "short flange distance." Going without a mirror allows the lenses to be closer to the sensor.

Long story short... Short flange distance = easier lens design = sharper/lighter lenses.

However, if you want to use older DSLR lenses, there are adapters for Nikon and Canon that allow you to do that.

Aperture

"Aperture" is an opening at the front of the lens. It gets bigger to let in more light or smaller to restrict light.

Wider apertures have a shallower depth of field, causing blurry foregrounds and backgrounds outside the plane of focus. Smaller apertures expand the focus area to keep more stuff from being blurry, but they let in much less light and are difficult to use in dark environments.

Aperture can be a creative decision or it can be a technical decision or it can be a mix of both. If you need a blurry background, use a wider aperture. If you need everything in focus, use a smaller aperture. If you need more light in a dark scene, open it up.

F-stop

"F-stop" is a number representing how big the aperture is. A lower number is a bigger hole. Higher number is a smaller hole. It is helpful to memorize f-stops as they are not easily divisible. Cameras generally allow third stops, half stops, and full stops.

These are all a "full stop" apart.

Stop Down/Open Up

When someone says to "stop down" a lens, they are telling you to make the aperture smaller or use a higher f-stop number.

If they say to "open up" they are saying to make the hole bigger or lower the f-stop number.

Depth of Field (DoF)

Depth of field refers to how much of the photo is in focus. Things in front of the plane of focus will get blurrier and blurrier and things behind the plane of focus will get blurrier and blurrier. A shallow depth of field means only a tiny sliver of your image will be in focus. A deep depth of field means almost everything will be in focus.

The wider the aperture, the shallower the depth of field.

The smaller the aperture, the deeper the depth of field.

Focal Plane or Plane of Focus

The focal plane is the sharpest point within the depth of field. You can imagine an imaginary section of 3D space where things within the depth of field are sharp and things outside are blurry. The farther away from the focal plane, the blurrier they will get. But the focal plane is not always dead center of the depth of field.

Typically, at close distances, things will be sharp half in front of where you focused and half behind where you focused. As things get farther away, that changes to more 1/3 in front and 2/3 behind. The ratio changes even more at greater distances, but the 50-50 and 1/3-2/3 ratios are typically what photographers try to remember.

Shallow Depth of Field

The focal plane is something you need to be very aware of at close distances with a wide aperture—as the depth of field can end up as a tiny sliver.

Let's say you are only a few feet away from a baby and you have the aperture set at f/1.2. You focus on the nearest baby eye, and then you notice its ears and nose are out of focus.

The plane of focus and shallow depth of field are causing this issue. This might be a worthy compromise if you are in a dark room and your ISO is very high and you are worried about too much noise.

However, if you can use a flash or some kind of lighting, you can stop down your lens and increase that depth of field around the focal plane.

Bokeh

Bokeh is the quality of the blurriness. Some people are more obsessed with how good the blurry parts of the photo are more so than the in focus parts. Bokeh is typically judged by "bokeh balls" which are just out-of-focus lights in the background. While I like attractive bokeh balls as much as the next photographer, I will admit this is one of the sillier aspects of photography.

Field of View (FoV)/Angle of View

This is how much stuff you can fit in frame at a given distance. Wide angle lenses can fit more stuff in at a shorter distance and telephoto lenses can fill the frame with stuff that is farther away. The focal length of the lens determines the field of view. The focal length is designated by millimeters and the field of view by degrees.

Focal Length

Technically, this is "the distance between the lens's optical center and the camera's sensor."

In simpler terms, this is how you determine the field of view of a given lens.

A short focal length, like 10mm, will have a wider field of view. You have to be very close to your subject to fill the frame with them.

And a longer focal length, like 500mm, will allow you to fill the frame with your subject from farther distances.

Typically all lenses are designated by their focal length. If someone says, "Hand me the 50" they mean a 50mm lens.

35mm Equivalent

Not every camera has the same sized sensor. So when we talk about lenses, we need a reference to help us understand how a given lens will behave. A 50mm f/2.8 lens does not have the same field of view or depth of field when placed on different sensors. So, we need a standard for comparison.

The standard that is used is the "full frame" sensor which is roughly the same size as a 35mm piece of film.

Anything smaller is considered a "cropped sensor."

Those cropped sensor cameras have a "crop factor"—a simple multiplier that helps you understand how lenses compare. And when you use this multiplier it tells you the "35mm equivalent."

Confused yet? Yeah, sorry, it would be easier if camera manufacturers chose metrics that didn't change depending on the sensor, but this allows them to make their cameras and lenses seem more impressive in the marketing.

There are two main cropped sensors for ILCs. (Interchangeable lens cameras.) APS-C and Micro Four Thirds. They have a "crop factor" of 1.5x and 2x respectively. The Micro 4/3 sensor is half the size of Full Frame, therefore it has a 2x crop factor. And when you apply this crop factor to the aperture and focal length you can determine how a lens will behave.

For example, a 50mm f/2.8 lens on a micro 4/3 sensor would behave the same as a 100mm f/5.6 lens on a full frame—as 100mm is 2x 50mm and f/5.6 is 2 stops above f/2.8.

As you can see, the Micro 4/3 lens is not going to do as well in low light. The iPhone boasts an aperture of f/1.8 on its main lens, but when you figure out the 35mm equivalent, it's more like an f/8 lens.

I went to all the effort to explain this because it demonstrates that larger sensors allow you to work in cramped spaces with less light. If you want to use a 50mm in a hospital room, you probably can on a full frame. But on a Micro 4/3 you might need to be out in the hall because your lens is acting like it is 100mm. So the Zf would be a good choice in this regard.

Camera Shake

This is the bad kind of blurry. Humans are not tripods, so when you are handholding a lens, you need to make sure your shutter speed is fast enough to freeze the action of your image. Camera shake is very easy to control on wide angle lenses and very difficult to manage with telephoto lenses.

Reciprocal Rule

The reciprocal rule states that in order to get sharp photos without blurry camera shake, you must set your shutter speed to 1 over twice the focal length of your lens. So if you have a 100mm lens, you need to set your shutter speed at 1/200 to be safe.

This rule breaks down at a shutter speed of 1/50 if there is anything moving in your image. So if a dog is running or a car is driving by, it will have a motion trail, but at least it won't be due to your shaky hands.

Image Stabilization

This is a feature some lenses have that helps reduce camera shake. Image stabilization can counteract shaky hands and let you get sharp photos with a much slower shutter speed. Newer cameras have sensor stabilization which does the same thing. And if you pair up a stabilized sensor with a stabilized lens, it is almost as effective as using a tripod.

Stabilization is measured in stops. You might hear a lens has 4 stops of stabilization. That means you can handhold the lens and not get camera shake with a shutter speed 4 stops below the reciprocal rule. So for that 100mm lens, that 1/200 becomes roughly 1/12. And if your sensor has 4 stops, you could handhold a shot for nearly a second without any shake.

However, at shutter speeds that slow, if anything in the frame is moving, they will probably have motion blur. But for still life scenes, or maybe a sleeping baby, this can be very handy if you don't have a tripod with you.

If being able to handhold at lower shutter speeds seems important, then you might want to seek out a lens with stabilization and pair it to a camera with sensor stabilization for maximum stable-osity.

Lens Compression

Lens compression is kind of a myth, but I think we still call it compression because it is easier to explain to beginners than optical physics. The lens doesn't really compress anything, it's actually a matter of distance and the aforementioned physics. But I'm going to go with the easy explanation for now.

Lens compression is a phenomenon seen with different focal lengths. If you take a photo with a 500mm lens, the background will seem to compress with the foreground. Thus objects in the background will seem much larger in size.

This also happens with faces.

Wider lenses exaggerate distance. At 10mm, the lens would only be a few inches away from someone's face.

From the lens's point of view, the ears are several times farther away from the lens than the tip of the nose. So the lens is like, "Your ears are really far away! And far away things are really small, right?" So the lens gives us a big nose and small ears and makes us look a bit alien.

But at 100mm, the lens will be several yards away.

From this perspective, the lens feels like your ears and your nose are nearly the same distance away. And the lens is now like, "Things that are the same distance away do not get bigger or smaller." The lens seems to compress or flatten the face, causing a more flattering appearance in the image.

Minimum focus distance

This is sometimes called the working distance. This is how close you can get to your subject while maintaining focus. If you get too close, your camera will just hunt and freak out perpetually until you back up and it can lock on again. This isn't always advertised prominently for lenses, so you need to make sure the lens will be able to focus in the space you plan to use it.

Extension Tubes

Sometimes called "macro extension tubes." These are spacers you put between your camera and lens to decrease the minimum focus distance. In some cases you can even turn a normal lens into a macro lens. These tubes are able to stack and the more you put on, the more into the macro realm you can go. They come in smart and dumb versions. The dumb ones require you to manual focus whereas the smart ones can still use the autofocus system. I highly recommend the smart ones, as they are not too much more expensive.

Lens Imperfections

There are a few imperfections that can plague all lenses and their quality is sometimes judged by how well they mitigate those imperfections. Here are some of those attributes.

Lens Distortion

As lenses get wider, they allow a larger field of view by accepting light rays that are coming from the side of your lens. Let's look at this image again.

Your lens then has to correct those rays and send them to a square, flat sensor. If you look at the 180 degree fisheye, that entire arc has to be flattened and made square. And as good as optical engineering has become, the wider the lens, the harder it is to keep the image from distorting.

This is typically called "barrel distortion." Minor distortion can actually be corrected in editing software. Every lens has correction algorithms. Though sometimes it is best to embrace the distortion, like on a fisheye lens. Make the distortion a feature and not a bug.

Chromatic Aberration

This is the fancy name for color fringing. This is a defect in the lens that cause false colors to contaminate certain objects in a photo. Typically this happens around dark skinny things against a bright background, such as tree branches.

Modern lenses have nearly eliminated this, except for the super cheap models, but if you do end up with fringing, this can be easily corrected in Lightroom or Photoshop. And many lenses even have that correction built in and all you have to do is check a box.

Sharpness

You might not think of sharpness as an optical flaw, but no lens is perfectly sharp. And the quest to make a perfectly sharp lens involves engineering those optical flaws to a minimum.

A "sharp lens" is one with incredible fidelity. Even zoomed in beyond 100%, sharp lenses will show great detail. If you can't get close to the subject and need to crop your photo later, having a sharp lens can make up for the loss in resolution—as you can upscale without much loss in quality. If you plan to make large high quality prints, a sharp lens will help more than tons of megapixels.

That said, if you truly want to get the most out of a high megapixel camera, a sharp lens comes in handy here too. A smartphone may boast in the marketing as having 200 megapixels, but it has a tiny plastic lens. So even though it technically has 200 megapixels on the sensor, the lens will give it the equivalent of maybe 8-10 megapixels worth of detail. People forget, the lens has a resolution as well, and if the lens cannot resolve 200 megapixels, you aren't going to get a 200 megapixel image.

A sharp lens will allow for more detail than higher megapixels. In some cases you need to double or triple the number of pixels to see an increase in detail. Whereas you can put a super sharp lens on a 12 megapixel camera and blow any smartphone out of the water.

And if you put a sharp lens on a 50 megapixel camera, you can almost see into skin pores.

So... sharp = more detail. And more detail gives you greater cropping power for when you can't get close to babies.

Now, I am obligated to say that some photo nerds chase sharpness as if it is some holy grail. They need the sharpest lens so all of their pixels are perfect at 100% zoom even though no one ever looks at an image that close. There are amazing photos that have been blurry. There are amazing photos taken with 50 year old vintage glass. Sharpness is just another tool. If you need to crop. If you need to upscale. If you need to print large... it is a great help. But nearly every lens made for a modern mirrorless camera is "sharp" to some degree.

So, if you need extra sharpness for certain situations, do your research and find a lens that is sharp as can be. But sharpness should be like 8th on the list of priorities.

Soft Lens

A "soft" lens is how a non-sharp lens is referred to. Most modern optics for mirrorless cameras have some degree of sharposity.

Sharpitude.

Sharp...ness.

So you don't need to worry too much about getting a detrimentally soft lens unless you go super duper budget. This is why I usually recommend people skip the "kit lens" unless they absolutely can't afford anything better.

Though sometimes people purposely get vintage lenses because they don't like sharpness and prefer the "character" of older lenses. The imperfections can achieve a different artistic goal. Though this can also be achieved through lens filters... or Vaseline.

I'm looking at you, Barbara Walters.

Sharpness at the Corners

When I read that in my head just now I said it the same way I do "Panic! at the Disco."

Engineers will prioritize sharpness at the center of the lens since that is where most of the interesting stuff tends to be. But also, the light rays at the center tend to be the most parallel as they head to the sensor, so they don't need as much correction. The rays coming from the sides have to be bent and manipulated to correct for distortion, so keeping things sharp at the corners can be a challenge.

Now, knowing that, and knowing how the aperture works, you can infer that when you stop down your lens and make the hole smaller, all of the light rays are constricted to a smaller area. This makes them easier for your lens to deal with, so if a lens has problems with corner sharpness, you can usually stop down to improve this. So if a lens is soft at the corners at f/1.8, you might be able to go to f/2 or f/4 to get better results.

Vignetting

Vignetting is a circular area of darkness at the perimeter of your photo. This is another side effect caused by the same things as soft corners. When correcting those non-parallel light rays, it causes them to travel an ever so slightly farther distance getting to your sensor. And the inverse square law tells us that light becomes dimmer as it travels longer distances.

This is very easy to correct. Usually your camera has a setting to correct vignetting if you are outputting JPEG files. And if you are shooting RAW photos, your editing software should have a check box to fix the vignetting—usually the same one that fixes chromatic aberration. This is usually called "lens correction" in most menus.

Also, same as with corner sharpness, stopping down your lens will usually fix this optically rather than with software algorithms.

Contrast

Contrast is probably the most important attribute to determine lens quality. Good contrast can make a soft lens look good. But lens contrast is not always consistent. It can get better or worse depending on the lighting in your scene.

The best way to test the contrast of a lens is to take a picture of something that is backlit. A person with the sun behind them is a great indicator. If they have no light on them, the person should fall into inky darkness. But if a lens has poor contrast, they will seem like a faded gray.

Focus Breathing

Focus breathing is a phenomenon where your focal length changes depending on how far away your subject is. It's usually not a big deal and most people don't even notice it, but if you ever do video, it can cause a few headaches. Some people can get annoyed because they feel they aren't getting the advertised focal length on the lens they bought. Like, if you get a 300mm lens and it only goes to 250mm for things super far away, that can be annoying.

This video explains it in detail.

youtube

Lens Types

Prime Lens

A "prime lens" has a fixed focal length and cannot be zoomed. Typically prime lenses are "faster" (wider max aperture) and sharper. Weirdly they can be very inexpensive or the most expensive. They can be extremely lightweight or weigh a ton. And if you want the sharpest lens possible or the fastest lens possible or both, it will be expensive and heavy.

Having at least one fast prime is usually recommended for any professional photographer.

Zoom Lens

A "zoom lens" allows you to zoom. Obviously. But there are few that go below an aperture of f/2.8, so less light gathering and you sacrifice a bit of sharpness. However, if you don't know how much space you will have to work with, the flexibility of a zoom can be invaluable.

Be warned, while a cheap prime lens can still take fairly good photos, cheap zooms are usually pretty terrible. There are plenty of reasonably priced zoom lenses to choose from, but if the price seems too good to be true, I would trust that intinct.

Wide Angle Lens

A "wide angle lens" is any focal length below 35mm. Wider focal lengths allow you to get more stuff in the photo at shorter distances. A theme you might notice with photography is that every benefit has a compromise or consequence to go with it. Wide angle lenses are wonderful if you are in a cramped space. They also make it easy to keep everything in focus. But as you go wider, distances become exaggerated and barrel distortion becomes more pronounced and harder to correct.

Things that are close to the lens seem huge and things farther away seem tiny. One trick to remember is things in the center of the frame will be less affected by distortion. Something to take into account when taking those smartphone selfies.

If you look, the ball looks huge in frame because it was only a few inches from the lens. Otis was literally smaller in frame than the ball despite only being about 2 feet away. However, he doesn't look all stretchy like the ball because he is centered.

Standard Lens

A "standard" or "normal lens" represents about the same field of view as the human eye. Generally around 40mm to 55mm on a full frame camera (there is some debate on this, but close enough). This is right about where you can take pictures of faces without the unflattering side effects of wide angle.

Telephoto Lens

A "telephoto lens" allows you to stand farther away and still fill the frame with your subject. Usually lenses 200mm and above are considered telephoto. These are often heavy and expensive.

Specialty Lenses

Ultrawide

This is just an extremely wide angle lens. At this point, you just except the massive amounts of distortion and embrace it. These lenses are extremely fun.

Medium Telephoto

These are sometimes called "portrait" lenses as well. They are a little more tele than standard and not quite tele enough for long distance photography. Usually in the 70-200mm range. This is the focal range that allows you to still be close to your subject but you are far enough away to get extra flattering lens compression on faces.

Superzoom Lens

A "superzoom" has an extremely large focal range. It can go from very wide to very telephoto. These are usually not wonderful lenses, although they have improved on mirrorless cameras in recent years. There are a few that could even be used professionally now. But most are just a huge mediocre compromise for vacation pix.

The cheap ones aren't fast, they aren't sharp, and every time you zoom people think your camera is having an erection.

If you are traveling and you have no idea what you might be photographing and carrying around a bunch of lenses is impractical, these have utility. But the larger the focal range, the more mediocre they get. Typically if the zoom range exceeds ~150mm you will start noticing that mediocrity. So a 70-200mm can be fantastic. But an 18-300mm will be very mid.

Macro

A macro lens is any lens that has 1x or more magnification. 1x magnification is a designation that relates the sensor size to how much of the subject fills the frame of your image. For 1x, that ratio should be 1:1.

So if you imagine a quarter lying on top of an image sensor, that's how big the quarter should be in your photo. 2x magnification would be like if a quarter doubled in size and you laid it on top of the image sensor. And so on.

Beware of lenses claiming to be macro and really only having a short working distance. 0.5x is not macro, but is sometimes advertised as so.

Tilt Shift Lens

This is a very niche lens. Most people know of it from the photos that make everyone look like they are in a miniature land.

For every other lens, the focal plane is perpendicular. If you move the camera at an angle, the focal plane will match that movement. So what the tilt shift lens allows you to do is angle the focal plane so your depth of field goes in bonkers directions.

Product photographers love this because you can take a photo of an array of products from a 45 degree angle and keep everything in focus.

This image would be impossible to maintain complete focus of all the objects without a tilt shift lens.

In this example, without tilting the lens, the tip of the multitool is out of focus.

And now you can see the camera hasn't moved, but the lens is at a steeper angle. And you'll also notice the entire tool is in focus.

But wait, there's more! Did you forget about the shifting? Architectual photographers can use the shift function of the lens to correct perspective distortion and keep buildings looking straight.

Will this lens help in the photographing of infants?

Probably not.

But I bet you thought it was cool and are glad I included it.

Recommended Essential Lenses

I didn't know what to call this section. These are just the collection of lenses most photographers will try to acquire as they build out their kit.

Nifty Fifty

This is probably the first lens everyone should buy. Almost every brand has their own version. It is an inexpensive 50mm lens with a sub f/2 aperture. Canon's Nifty Fifty or "Plastic Fantastic" is probably the most famous example. It is only $125 and has an f/1.8 aperture.

This lens may not be the sharpest and it might have a lot of plastic-y, cheap feeling parts, but it is a wonderful way to get started with photography. You can use the wide aperture to experiment with bokeh and shallow depth of field. And the 50mm focal length is probably one of the most versatile. Not too wide, so people look normal, and not too tele, so you aren't a mile away from your subjects.

The Holy Trinity

The "Holy Trinity" is meant to describe the 3 lenses that can handle nearly every photographic task while maintaining professional quality results. Typically these lenses are all f/2.8 and are high quality zoom lenses. The 16-35mm, the 24-70mm, and the 70-200mm.

Most photographers can accomplish just about any task with these lenses in their bag.

Froggie's Holy Hexagon

That said, if I had an unlimited budget I would actually have 6 lenses to cover everything. Beyond the Holy Trinity, I would get a fast prime, an ultrawide, and a macro lens.

A fast prime can see in the dark and has more background blur. The nifty fifty would work great for this.

An ultrawide is one of the most fun lenses you will ever use, even if it distorts everything to a crazy degree and isn't useful very often. It is great for breaking you out of photographic ruts and can really get the creative juices flowing.

And a macro lens is not just useful for making tiny things big. It also allows you to focus at any distance. Sometimes you just need to get a tad bit closer than your other lenses will allow. Macro lenses are also pretty great portrait lenses and can serve multiple functions.

And if anyone is interested in sports or wildlife photos, a nice telephoto lens might be a seventh lens to consider.

I think that is the end of part 1.

I hope this was helpful. And I look forward to posting part 2 soon.

#photography #lenses

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