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yellowsuitcase · 4 years

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In the Prefect’s Bathroom Part 4 // Draco Malfoy

A/N: Guys!!! It's the FINAL part, yay!! I'm super proud of this and I think it's super cute and just AAHH I really hope y'all like it. Lemme know what you think of it and if you expected any of it. Thank you so much for reading, and Happy Thanksgiving (if you celebrate it)

Summary: Draco has been trying to get Y/N to talk to him since he confessed, but he hasn't had any luck. Until, he finds something she left in his dorm.

Warning(s): SMUT! Unprotected sex, lots of fluff, swearing, angst

Word Count: 5k

Masterlist & Taglist

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Three weeks had gone by, and now Draco was on his bed, toying with the idea of giving up. Y/N had been avoiding him ever since that day he confessed. No matter how hard he tried to get her to warm back up to him, she kept her distance. He had tried everything. He'd sit next to her in class; she'd move seats. He'd wait outside the Gryffindor tower; she'd strut right past him. It seemed as nothing was working, so of course, he was getting a bit discouraged.

Just a couple days ago, the two of them had been in Charms class, and on his way out, Draco noticed that Y/N had dropped her book. This is my chance, he thought to himself. He quickly bent down to pick it up since he assumed she would've been already halfway down the corridor by the time he got back up. But when he arose from the floor, she was standing right in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest. Draco knew he had to stall for time, try and get her defenses to weaken. He turned the book over in his hands. "The Tales of Beedle and Bard," he read aloud. Y/N blushed and averted her eyes. He opened the cover and read the first few lines to himself.

There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot.

Draco shut the book and said, "I've actually never read them. My father didn't permit me to. Said it was written by a muggle lover. Supposedly he filed an official request to remove it from Hogwarts's shelves." Draco chuckled as he ran his finger along the spine of the light blue book. But his laughter died when he glanced up at Y/N. She looked rather upset, causing Draco to panic and quickly backtrack. "That isn't to say I don't want to read them now. I mean, I'm sure they're not as bad as Father thought they were," he sputtered. Y/N remained silent. "Perhaps... we could read them together, maybe?" he asked hopefully. He knew it was a shot in the dark, but he did it anyway. Draco hadn't heard Y/N's voice in weeks, and it was making him grow desperate.

Softly, she reached out her hand, and Draco held his breath. But then her fingers grasped the book, and the Slytherin felt his heart shatter. He cleared his throat, trying to push away the lump that had formed in it. His grip loosened, and Y/N pulled her book towards her chest. She didn't even look at him before she turned around and rushed down the hallway, leaving Draco feeling stranded, hopeless, and, quite frankly, stupid for even trying.

Since then, he hadn't put in nearly as much effort into rekindling their friendship. It was painfully obvious Y/N wanted nothing more to do with him, and as much as it hurt, Draco had to accept that. But that didn't stop his thoughts. It couldn't. Every night, he would lay awake, worrying. Worrying about Y/N's wellbeing. Was she happy? Did she make any new friends?

Did she still feel alone?

Draco didn't know. From the little he'd seen of her, he assumed she was alright. He hoped she was. But he had no real way of knowing. He had tried reaching out to her roommate multiple times, but all Stephanie would tell him was that she thought Y/N seemed fine, just a bit quiet. That answer never sat well with him. During those few weeks, before he confessed, he had learned so much about Y/N. One of those things being that she was not quiet. She had talked his ear off many times, telling him funny stories from her childhood. Like how, after one of their study sessions, she told him about the time she had made her pet fish turn yellow just by looking at it. Draco remembered that day clearly.

"My mum was terrified! One moment my fish was blue and the next he was yellow! I mean, imagine that." Y/N laughed. Draco shook his head in disbelief. "Sounds like you were quite the little mischief-maker," he replied as he twirled his wand between his fingers, it was becoming a bit of a habit. Y/N continued giggling, kicking her legs as she did so. "You should've seen the look on my dad's face when he got home. That was the day he sat her and me down and told us he was a wizard. My poor mum. She had no idea."

Draco sat up in shock. "Wait, wait, you're a half-blood?" he asked, eyes wide. Y/N cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a problem, Malfoy?" she questioned as she began to sit up. Her tone was somewhat threatening. Draco raised his hands to show his lack of ill intention. "No, no. I was just surprised," he quickly explained. Y/N chuckled and waved her hand towards him. "Relax, I'm only playing with you," she assured him. Her words piqued Draco's interest. He wiggled his eyebrows and licked his lips, staring suggestively into her eyes. "Well, I'd sure like to play with you," he husked. Y/N gasped loudly and swiftly removed the pillow from behind her back and chucked it at the blonde boy sitting across from her. "Draco!" she screeched. "Joking!" he mumbled. "Just joking...unless."

Y/N crossed her arms, and obnoxiously shook her head while clicking her tongue disapprovingly. Draco snickered before throwing the pillow back at her, making her giggle. His heart skipped a beat as he watched her eyes twinkle. She looked unreal to Draco, ethereal almost. However, he was torn from his trance by her continuing the story. "Anyways, as I was saying, my lovely mum had the shock of her life. I was surprised as well. I mean, I had just found out I was a bloody witch. Although I was much more delighted than she was. Come to think of it, she might've cried," Y/N said with a small frown. "Wow..." Draco muttered. "But what does she think of it now? What with you being at Hogwarts and all."

Y/N hummed to herself, recalling that last time she and her mother spoke about Hogwarts. "Well, I think she thinks it's a bit surreal, you know? She always imagined I'd graduate and go off to university to become a doctor or something, but here I am at a school for wizards and witches," she said while gesturing to the castle walls around her. Draco nodded although he was a bit confused. "She just doesn't understand, right?" he asked. Y/N pursed her lips. "I think she will, with time. Maybe I can introduce her to you and your family. Now that would be really fun," she suggested with a mischievous glint in her eye. Draco furrowed his eyebrows. "And why is that?" he questioned, staring at the giggling girl. "Just imagine me introducing you. I'd say, hey mum, this is my best friend and his wizard parents who dress like they're going to a funeral every single day. Oh, and they also own a mansion in the countryside because they're rolling in galleons!" Y/N bellowed, nearly falling over as she clutched her stomach, erupting in laughter.

Draco would've berated her for the slander towards his parents, but his mind was fixated on three words, "My best friend." He waited until Y/N ceased laughing before asking her, "I'm your best friend?" She looked at him as if he had grown a second head. "Well, duh, you're my only friend, Draco." The Slytherin did his best to hide his blush as he looked to the floor. "You're mine too," he mumbled. But Y/N didn't hear.

Draco sighed as he sat on his bed. He missed her. He wished so badly that she'd walk through his door. But she wouldn't, and he knew that. Slowly, he pushed himself off the green covered mattress and walked over to his wooden desk. A piece of parchment was already on top of it, so he took a seat, and he reached for his ink bottle and quill. His nimble fingers unscrewed the cap, and he dipped the point inside it, drenching it in black liquid. He'd written letters to Y/N many times, but every time he finished one, he'd get scared and chuck it into the bin. Draco knew he'd probably do the same tonight, but he wanted to try. So he pressed his quill to the paper and began.

"Dear Y/N, I hope you are doing well. I'm writing to you to give you my apologies. I should've known better than to confess my feelings for you at such a time. I really hope..." he stilled his hand, not knowing what to say next. His head was reeling as different thoughts and feelings flooded his brain, none of which he knew how to convey in words. She made him so dizzy. But, ever persistent, Draco started again.

"Dear Y/N, Are you doing well? I truly hope that you are. I write to you to tell you that I'm sorry for everything. I said and did so many foolish things that day, and if I could take all of them back, I swear, I would. I know I must've frightened you that day, but Y/N, I fear you don't know how much I miss you. I've never felt this empty before. But I know it's because you're not here. I need you..." Draco, in his frustrated haze, crossed out the last line and crumbled the parchment in his fist. He then tossed it across the room, watching as it hit the wall next to his door, and bounced on the foot of his brass coat rack. He stared at it, thinking about donning his coat and taking a walk around campus. But then, he noticed something underneath. He jumped to his feet and rushed over to the rack. Curious, he lifted his black coat off the hook to reveal a brown cardigan underneath. His chest tightened; it was Y/N's. She must've left it in his room after one of their study sessions. Come to think of it, it was probably from the night before Draco confessed.

Hesitantly, the boy reached out and touched his fingers to the cardigan. It was soft. He lifted it up and held it in his hands, letting his emotions settle. Then, he brought it to his nose, breathing in deeply. It still smelled of her: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon. Draco felt tears begin to gather in his eyes, but he hastily blinked them away. With care, he hung the cardigan back up and retreated to his desk. He got seated, pulled out a new sheet of parchment, and began writing for the third time that night.

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Dear Y/N,

I hope this letter finds you well. I'm writing to you to inform you that I've discovered your cardigan in my room. The brown one that is. I suppose you left it after our last study session. I can return it to you tomorrow morning at breakfast, or if you'd prefer, you can fetch it tonight. The current password to the Slytherin common room is Jobberknoll. Hopefully, you remember where my bedroom is, but should you have forgotten, it's at the very top of the stairway on your left. Please knock three times before entering.

There's no need to send an owl with your reply. Just make sure to come before 9:30. If you don't, I'll assume you wish to receive the cardigan at breakfast, in which case, I shall wait for you by the door.

Draco

Y/N clutched the parchment tightly in her hands. She had been scared half to death when an owl landed right beside her while she was sitting by the open windows. But now, she was more afraid of getting her cardigan back. She glanced around her room frantically, as if she'd find an answer to her dilemma upon the walls. Her eyes then drifted back to the parchment in her hands. She looked at where Draco had signed his name. Above it was a dark scribble as if he had scratched something out. What did he write there? It was probably just 'sincerely,' but what if it was something else. What if it was 'with love'? Y/N wondered. She closed her eyes; she needed to calm down. There was no way she'd be able to make a rational decision with such thoughts running through her brain.

But Y/N had nobody to consult, nobody to refer to. Ever since she'd pushed Draco away that day, she'd been alone. Her roommate spoke to her on occasion, but only about school-related things. Almost the entirety of her house had shunned her. And the whole school knew what she did, so making friends had proven to be difficult. But because of this, Y/N had been able to do a lot of thinking. Truthfully, she missed Draco. She hated herself for rejecting him that day. She hated herself because she liked him. The only reason she had rejected him was that she knew she wasn't ready for another relationship. And on top of that, she didn't think she deserved one. Draco wasn't someone she deserved, not in her mind.

But here she was, being forced to make a decision. Should she just wait until tomorrow, or should she go to his room? Her brain was telling her to wait until tomorrow; that way, she could take the cardigan, thank him, and be on her merry way. But her heart screamed at her to go to him. Go to him, confess to him, bring him back into her life. Y/N glanced at the clock; it was nearly nine. "Fuck," she muttered before pushing off the window seat; her loneliness had gotten the best of her.

She rushed towards her closet and flung the doors open. Her eyes scanned the array of clothing for a few moments before she pulled out her favorite pair of light grey sweatpants along with her pale green crewneck. She threw them on and tucked her wand into her pocket. Then she checked herself in the mirror. Her hair was already pulled back, and she had light mascara on. It was good enough, in her opinion, so she slipped on her shoes and turned her doorknob with a shaky hand.

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Draco was sitting in his armchair with a blue book in his hands when he heard three distinct knocks at his door. His breathing began to hasten; surely, it couldn't be... Only one way to find out. "Come in!" he called. The door swung open to reveal Y/N. She looked nervous as all hell but nevertheless, stepped inside his room and closed the door behind her. Neither of them said anything. They simply stared at one another. But luckily, Draco came to his senses. "Right, your cardigan," he said as he dropped his book and stood up. He grabbed the cardigan off the back of his chair and walked over to her, holding out the garment. "Here you are." Y/N took it into her hands and examined it. "Thank you, I thought it was lost forever," she told him with a smile. Draco faltered for a moment. He'd forgotten how sweet her voice was. But then he nodded, and the awkward silence returned. It hung in the air for a few moments before it was broken by the two of them simultaneously blurting out, "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry, Y/N," Draco insisted while shifting his eyes to the floor. "I acted like a fool that day a-and I frightened you, and I made you so overwhelmed. I should've known better, and I am so sorry...I've missed you so much," he said, whispering his last few words. Eventually, he found the courage to look up, and when he did, he saw that Y/N was crying. His heart clenched, and he felt regret pool in his gut. But before he could apologize again, Y/N spoke up.

"I've missed you too, Draco. And I'm not sorry I rejected you that day, I'm sorry that I kicked you out of my life. I thought I was protecting myself because I just knew I would've gone back on my decision if I had let you stay. I liked you too, I still do, but I just wasn't ready. You're too good to be true. I don't deserve a second chance; I don't deserve you. But you didn't deserve to be shut out, and I really hope you can forgive—"

Y/N was cut off by Draco smashing his lips against hers. He held her face in his hands as she gasped, allowing him to sneak his tongue out and run it along her lower lip. She moaned into his mouth as he started to nibble. His hands traveled downwards until they settled on her hips. He pulled her closer and groaned when his hips touched hers. God, how he had missed this. Then, Y/N reached up and ran her hands through his hair, successfully messing it up. Draco knew he wanted more but pulled away from her lips. She breathed heavily and looked into his eyes, puzzled as to why he stopped.

"You're mine...right?" Draco asked anxiously. Y/N smiled and pulled him close for another soft kiss. "I'm yours," she whispered. Draco kissed her again, and she eagerly returned it. Hesitantly, Draco sneaked his hand underneath her shirt, merely letting it sit there against her hot skin as he slipped his tongue into her mouth again. Then, he began to slide his hand up her torso, all while paying attention to her reactions. She seemed to be kissing him harder as he gently ran his thumb along the underside of her breast. He took that as a sign he was doing good, so he placed his hand on top of it and squeezed. Y/N let out a loud moan and pulled away from the kiss. "Draco, please," she whined. He snickered as he studied her pleading face. "What do you need, princess?" he asked in a sultry voice. Y/N squirmed and continued to whine. Draco clicked his tongue. "Always so scared to tell me what you want. There's no need to be embarrassed. I'll give you whatever you want. I just need you to tell me," he reminded her gently. She bit her lip and stared at the floor before finally answering.

"I wanna have sex with you," she whispered. Her face was crimson. Draco felt his heart squeeze; she was too cute. He put his hand underneath her chin and tilted it upwards. A gentle kiss was planted on her lips. "I wanna have sex with you too, darling," he murmured. Y/N couldn't hide her smile as she swiftly took his hand and led him to the bed. Draco smirked and, with sneaky hands, pushed her onto the bed, making her squeal. "Draco!" she yelled with her back now pressed against the mattress. The Slytherin wasted no time; he jumped on top of her while mimicking a roar, causing Y/N to burst into laughter. Her laugh was music to his ears.

Draco tugged her shirt up and off her body, throwing it to the floor. His hands immediately traveled to her back where he unclasped her bra, throwing that away too. Draco felt his dick twitch in his pants upon seeing her nipples harden in the cold air. He leaned down and latched his lips onto one of them while twisting the other between his fingers. Y/N's gasp sent a shiver down his spine, and he sucked her even harder.

"Draco..." she moaned. Draco let go of her tits and sat up, admiring her flushed face. Then Y/N suddenly sat up and grasped the bottom of his shirt and proceeded to yank it off him. Draco only watched as she did this. Her hands then traveled to his pants. She unzipped him and pushed his waistband down, exposing his briefs. He helped her out by maneuvering himself off his knees so that he could kick his pants off.

Once the pants joined the rest of the clothes, Y/N reached for the top of his underwear. But before she could go any further, Draco stopped her. She looked at him, confused as to why he wouldn't want her to touch him. "Tonight is about you, darling. Lie back for me now," Draco instructed. Y/N's face turned red, but she did as she was told and lowered her body onto the bed. Draco's hands grasped her pants, and he slowly pulled them down, stopping to press kisses to her thighs as he went. They were both in only their underwear now, and he could see Y/N was getting impatient. "Speak princess, what do you want?" Draco asked. Y/N pressed her thighs together and rolled her hips a bit before she spoke. "Finger me, please," she begged. Draco smiled at her and immediately pressed his fingers to her pussy, still covered by her panties.

"So polite," he purred as he gently rubbed her clit through her underwear. She closed her eyes and hummed in pleasure. "That feel good, princess?" Draco asked. Y/N nodded and opened her mouth to reply, but a long moan quickly replaced the words on her tongue as Draco applied more pressure to her nub. He continued to swirl his finger around it for a couple minutes, then he slid a different finger past her panties and slowly pushed it inside, feeling her thighs clench as he did so. "So tight," he mumbled before leaning down and giving her a sweet kiss. The intrusion of another finger caused her to gasp into his mouth. Draco groaned and pressed down on her clit, making her hips jump.

"Did you miss this? Did you miss my fingers inside you and my kisses on your body?" he questioned as he thrusted into her. Y/N clenched her walls around his digits and nodded eagerly. "So much. So fucking much," she mewled. Draco added another finger and increased his pace. He noticed Y/N's breathing beginning to get quicker, and he knew she was close. So he finger-fucked her hole for a minute more before withdrawing his hand. Y/N cried out in frustration and glared at him angrily. "Why did you do that?" she whined.

But then, without warning, Draco lifted up her shirt and pressed his lips to her soft stomach, blowing a raspberry onto it. Y/N instantly screamed and wiggled violently underneath him. "STOP, STOP!" she shrieked, trying to get away as her giggles became uncontrollable. Eventually, Draco took mercy on her and ceased his torment. He leaned up to see Y/N was out of breath, and her hair was a mess. "Quit playing games and put your dick inside me, you twat," she ordered. Draco's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "If you say so," he muttered, taking his cock out of his underwear. Y/N's eyes widened, but before she could say or do anything, Draco slid all the way inside her, burying his dick in her pussy. "Ohhh, fuck," she moaned. Draco grunted as he adjusted to the tightness of her hole. He had the instinct to begin slamming into her, but he controlled his urges and allowed her body to adapt to him as he positioned his hands next to her head.

Y/N's walls clenched around him, and she bucked her hips. "Move, please," she pleaded softly. "As you wish," Draco said as he slowly pulled himself out and thrusted back in, setting a slow but consistent pace. Y/N let out quiet mewls as he moved in and out. Her legs found their way to his waist, and they quickly wrapped around it. This pulled him closer and forced his dick deeper inside her. "Fuck," Draco moaned as he leaned down for a kiss while continuing to thrust. Y/N hummed into his mouth and flicked her tongue against his. "Shit, you feel so good," she purred. Draco's cock twitched at her words, and he increased his pace. A harsh grunt escaped him as Y/N reached up and dug her nails into his back. "You're so gorgeous, Y/N," he breathed. "So goddamn gorgeous."

Suddenly, Draco's sensual thrusts were halted by Y/N calling his name. "Yes, darling?" he replied. "You can be rough, I don't mind," she told him gently. Draco smiled down at her and pressed quick kisses along her jaw. "I know, but I can do that another night. Right now," he angled his head so that his lips were by her ear, "I'm making love to you," he whispered, feeling her shudder beneath him.

Y/N's eyes grew soft, and she moved her hands to his face. "You're perfect," she mumbled before pulling his lips to hers, where they shared a passionate kiss. "So perfect." Draco started to thrust again, resuming his slower pace. The force of his cock rocked the couple back and forth on the plush pillows. But then, he had an idea.

He moved his hands from their spot beside Y/N's head, slid them underneath her back, and lifted her up. "Shit," she cursed as she was now on Draco's lap, his dick still buried deep inside her. Slowly, Draco raised her off him and turned her around so that her back was facing him. He then repositioned her hips above his cock and gently lowered her onto it. "Ohhh," she moaned as she once again became full. She was about to lift herself up and fuck herself on his dick, but Draco's hands stopped her. He pushed her legs wide and placed his hand over her pussy. This didn't please Y/N. She started to squirm and buck her hips forward, causing Draco to groan as she stimulated his cock. "Stay still, princess. I'll take care of you," he assured her. His fingers pressed against her heat and slowly spread the upper lips, exposing her clit. With his other hand, he touched his fingers to her nub and slowly began to circle it. Y/N's head fell back onto his shoulder, and a long, deep groan escaped her throat.

"Oh my god," she whimpered as her breathing became ragged. Draco's hands never stopped or stuttered, not even when Y/N's walls squeezed him tight. He just kept rubbing and rubbing; her soft pants sounded like heaven to him. Suddenly, Y/N's thighs began to tense. "Draco, fuck, I'm close," she muttered. Draco turned his head and once again hovered his lips next to her ear. "Cum on me. Cum with me buried inside you," he ordered. Y/N gasped and rolled her head on his shoulder. He could tell she was almost there. "Oh, god. Fuck, fuck, fuck, just a little more," she begged.

Draco kept circling her clit until finally, she inhaled sharply, and her walls clenched him hard. His finger didn't stop; it continued to rub her throughout her high. It only ceased when Draco felt her body jolt from overstimulation. He then pushed her forward onto her hands and knees and began pounding into her, chasing his own climax. The sounds of skin slapping combined with the tightness of Y/N's pussy lit a fire in Draco's abdomen, and soon, he was pushed over the edge. "Cumming," he warned her before he released inside Y/N with a deep groan. The couple remained in that position for a good minute, breathing heavily. Then Draco pulled himself out and laughed as Y/N immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed. He gently flipped her over and kissed her cheek. "You alright, darling?" he asked. She smiled and turned to him. Then, without thinking, she blurted, "I think I love you." Immediately, Y/N slapped her hand over her mouth. But Draco only grinned and said, "I love you too, Y/N."

She lowered her hand and averted her eyes as blush filled her cheeks. "Draco, are we..." she trailed off, looking apprehensive. "Boyfriend and girlfriend?" he asked. Y/N nodded. "I'd love to be your boyfriend, darling," he said sweetly. In less than a second, Draco was attacked by a forceful hug from Y/N. He wrapped his arms around her still naked body and held her close, breathing in her scent: apples, hazelnut, and cinnamon.

"Thank you for not giving up on me," she said softly. "I don't know what I would've done with myself if you had just stopped caring one day," Y/N confessed. Draco gently pulled away from the hug and cradled his girlfriend's face in his hands. "I never would've stopped caring. Y/N you were all I thought about," he assured her. He watched as her tears began to fall from her eyes. "Don't cry, sweetheart, I'm here now; I've got you. There's no need to cry," he said sweetly, trying to comfort her. But Y/N kept on crying, so he dragged a blanket over his lap and pulled her on top of it. "Look at me, darling," he instructed lightly. She rubbed her tears away with her arm and looked into Draco's eyes.

"I love you. I love you so much. Do not waste your tears on the mistakes of the past. All that matters is that I've got you, and you've got me. Alright?" Y/N continued to wipe her tears and nodded. "Alright. I love you too," she replied.

Draco pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, slid her off his lap, and stood up from the bed. He grabbed some tissues and cleaned himself off before doing the same for Y/N. Then he pulled on his underwear and tossed Y/N hers. As she was getting dressed, Draco strode over to his armchair. In the seat of it sat a small blue book. He picked it up and took it with him as he went back to bed. Y/N was already under the covers; she looked at him quizzically when she noticed the object in his hand. Her mouth opened to speak, but Draco quickly shushed her. He slid under the covers and cozied up next to Y/N. Then, he cracked open the book, cleared his throat, and began to read.

"There was once a kindly old wizard who used his magic generously and wisely for the benefit of his neighbours. Rather than reveal the true source of his power, he pretended that his potions, charms and antidotes sprang ready-made from the little cauldron he called his lucky cooking pot."

The End

Taglist: @beiahadid @pastelpuffbar @cutie1365 @dracoxmgg @lumlfy @sambucky8 @emilianamason @orangecrayon @obsssedwithjustaboutanything @hustlinhufflepuff @goddessofgames @dracocanslytherin8 @superbturtlemakerathlete @raplinethereal @mllzhxrrz44 @dixiethemorab24 @prongsandprancer @azkabanlexi

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mysteriesgalplusdamianthings · 3 years

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Homeward Bound (NSFW)

This is a small snipit from my damimaps oneshot. This was based on a prompt wish list from @gumbloodygirl I really like, there were like eight other prompts that I might take a gander at later down the road but this stood out to me.

This one was where Maps and Damian venture back to Gotham with a little surprise for the fam, after a whole year of raising their child away from home.

So a big thank you @gumbloodygirl for the prompt.

Warning: it has smut obviously, so read at your own risk.

Here's the link if you want to read the rest of it: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32561929

Happy Reading!!!!

Maps felt uncomfortable.

Very uncomfortable.

She breathed laboriously shifting awkwardly in her bed, groaning as she did, her eyes slowly fluttered open to be faced with her ceiling. She blinked away the sleep in her eyes, reaching up to rub leisurely at them. Maps wanted to spread out her aching body but found that she couldn't, what she first had noticed was that she felt somewhat pleasantly warm. The second was a substantial weight laying on her bare chest.

Ah, now she remembers, Maps thought fondly.

She sighed contently as she reached down to run her thin fingers through his soft hair, she heard a soft moan from the man on top of her as he snuggled up closer to her, wrapping his arms securely around her waist. Maps placed a soft kiss on his head before she looked over at her clock and read two-thirty in the morning.

The soft glow of the moonlight casting through her window was the only source of light she had, permitting her to turn her attention back to Damian, studying the defined lines and contours of his face to her heart's content. His head rested comfy buried between her breasts, as one of his legs was tucked snugly in between both of hers; so she's entirely and utterly wrapped up in his warmth.

Enwrapped in him.

She couldn't help but chuckle lightly at how cute he looked sleeping on her like this. She ran her thumb across his swollen lips reviving their last-night activities that lead up to this cherished minute. They had basically planned to have a late pizza date night, by starting the evening off with watching a whole marathon of shark week together. Not even ten minutes into the first episode did they venture off into something else... now laid a half-empty box of cheese pizza on their nightstand and a still paused shark week on their tv.

Maps contemplated reaching over for the remote to shut the tv off, but feard waking Damian up in the process. So she settled for leaving it on, they could continue it later on if they had time.

Especially since Damian had promised they'd finish the episode after they were done with their lovemaking, but he had immediately fallen asleep after a few rounds of them tumbling unitedly between sheets with sweet nothings and desperate kisses.

Although, Maps couldn't find it in herself to be upset or even annoyed at their plans being ruined. Moments like this were somewhat of a rare occurrence in their day-to-day life, however, it's not so much due to work or patroling that's been necessarily keeping them busy.

So this was a welcoming atmosphere; or the calm before the storm.

Maps let out a weary sigh.

She knew the conversation she was going to have with him wasn't going to be an easy one, but it was something she needed to address. She can't keep putting this on hold anymore, it wasn't healthy and they both knew it is the right choice for the three of them, for everyone.

She gazed in thought up at the ceiling, pondering on how to go about telling him.

Maybe she could get Dick to convince him? Or Alfred? They always knew what to say to get Damian to compromise.

Maps slowly maneuver her hand from his hair and down his back, her fingers rippled over the many scars and burns he's obtained over the years. She sighed again, as she gets to thinking about the new chapter in their life.

Leaving their new home in Arlington for Gotham.

It was a big step, an overwhelming, terrifying, and nerve-racking step, all at a cost for various reasons.

The main one relates to the boy who is at the moment using her as a body pillow; namely the life he left behind to start a new one with her to be exact. It had happened about a year ago, when she had discovered she was pregnant with Damian's child.

It had been the happiest moment of their lives, knowing that there was a life growing inside of her. It was at that realization that they decided to move, to find a place that wasn't surrounded by its own corruption, a place with new beginnings, a place where they can just leave everything behind and start anew.

They had found that place here in Arlington, yes, of course, it had its pros and cons but it was nice and it was theirs.

But unfortunately, they had moved before their son Isaac was born.

So the family had never gotten the chance to meet him. Their little bundle of joy; the light of their life. And that was something Maps wasn't too thrilled with, no she was absolutely not having any of it.

No matter what happened in their past, or what Gotham consisted of, the bats were Isaac's family too and they have every right to see their nephew and be a family with him.

Damian was just going to have to accept that.

She didn't care if she had to move back to Gotham by herself. Isaac was going to meet the people she now calls her family. Although she will admit, she couldn't help but feel a bit apprehensive about what the future holds for them, all of them really.

Moving back to Gotham could mean chaos and trouble, but dammit' it was still her home, she grew up there with all her friends, and had even found the love of her life in that godforsaken city.

Gotham may be an eternal damnation, but she had so many treasured memories there. Even if it was a shared agreement between the two of them to leave the city, it hadn't made the move any easier.

And it's not like she wants to leave without her husband... but he can be so selfish and stubborn at times. Maps chewed on the inside of her lip anxiously, or maybe she was the one being selfish?

She glanced down at Damian's sleeping form, so peacefully, completely unaware of the war going on in her head.

"Stop thinking already," he mumbles into her chest.

Or maybe not.

"Damian, did I wake you?" Maps asked, watching him shift lightly.

"You're pinching me," Damian grumbles shifting again and away from her hand.

She looked over and found herself pinching at one of his prominent scars, something she had picked up a year into their marriage, it was a small habit she did when she was thinking hard about something. She smoothed her hand down his back then up to his hair again, pressing another gentle kiss to his head.

"Sorry, I can't help it." Maps whispered, pressing another kiss to his forehead. Damian settled back into her as he sighed into her bosom. Maps felt his hot breath spread up to her neck, she slightly shivered as heat spread throughout her body.

"What's wrong?" he asked, voice sleep-laden and spent.

Maps pause for a moment, now is a good of a time as any to tell him. Better rip the band-aid off now before she chickens out.

She breathes in then out to calm her racing heart, her chest heaved with effort. She let the silence settle in to collect herself some more before answering him.

She breathed then said, "I want to move back to Gotham," she quietly declares into the silent air, hoping her rapid beating heart would just calm down already. Damian stays silent for a moment or two, laying completely still, listening to the beats of her heart.

Maps bit her lip hard as her nerves rush up in her stomach and then into her chest, she was always making declarations like this in the worst times.

Maybe she should have waited until he was fully rested... but then he'd have more energy to argue back with her if she did.

Her hand stills in his hair as she franticly tries to backtrack her statement, but stopped in her mid-panic attack as she felt him move to sit up, now he's staring down at her with a serious look coating his eyes.

He doesn't look mad... but he doesn't look too happy either.

"Why?" he asked the question simply as if he was trying to understand, voice taught and probing. Maps reached her hands up to wrap one around his neck and the other to stroke his cheek gazing up at him with warm pleading eyes.

She smiled as he leaned into her touch, "I want your family to meet our son, I want him to have a life with the people we love Damian, I want them to share these precious moments we have with Isaac with everyone else, that's why." Maps replied back in a soft tone to let him know that she was genuine about what she stated, showing her concern for their son's future.

Damian frowned gently, his gaze intensified.

After a moment of quietness, he uttered, "No," with a sharp tone removing her hand from his face. "And that's final, go back to sleep."

"What?" Maps exclaimed hurt and confused, she knew Damian wasn't going to agree so easily but to reject her proposal without so much as a reason why made her angry. And Maps wasn't one to back down so easily, she hastily sat up glaring at him, and shouted.

"Why not? This will be good for him, for us, why can't you see that?" She threw her hands up as the covers slid down to their waist, the two unmoved by the sudden chill of the room hitting their naked bodies.

Damian straightens back his shoulders to appear taller as he glared down at her with equal fervor.

He crossed his arms against his broad chest, "We had both agreed that we will raise our son somewhere that wasn't Gotham, somewhere far away from the caps and cowls and now after building a stationary life here, you want to go back?" Damian shouted back as his eyes glowed a familiar shade of green, Maps wasn't discouraged by it.

"Yes," Maps replied plain and simple, folding her arms across her chest as well. The two stared down at each other, daring the other to back down, but neither was budging.

"No," he repeated again with more power to his voice, Maps rolled her eyes.

"Give me one good reason why we shouldn't?" she snapped back.

"It's dangerous," he replied.

She scoffed, "Everywhere is dangerous Damian," she spat back rolling her head animatedly, flattening her hands to her hips as if challenging him to continue.

His glare hardened, "Because I said so," he hissed.

"That's not a good reason," she shouted back.

Damian growled, feeling agitated by the minute. He wasn't fully awake to be having this conversation with her, he'll need to turn the tables in his favor. With that idea in mind, an idea pops into his head.

Damian leans in and presses a soft peck to her lips, surprising her for a millisecond before he leaned in further to give her an open-mouth kiss. Maps gasped as she backs away in shock, Damian places his hand on her shoulders gently pushing her down back into the mattress.

Maps had to blink a few times because this was not what she had expected from him.

Maps indistinctly tried to stifle a small groan, as he was now vigorously sucking on her neck, ugh he was being such a complete moron, her stupidly cute moron. Oh God, she loves this man so much, but she's all but ready to punch him in his stupid face.

"D-Damian," Maps shrikes as Damian rubs his thumb against her left nipple.

"Shh, you'll wake Isaac," he muttered into her neck, repositioning himself so he's fully situated between her legs again, which she subconsciously made room for him to do so.

He lies his full body weight on top of her's so the hard planes of his chest was pressed against her soft plump bust.

"I doubt that," she whispered, unsure at the moment, glancing at the door connected to their bedroom that was hosting their child's nursery.

"Anyways we were talking about- ah!" Maps gasped out loud, observing Damian move to bite at her nipple.

"I said no already, will you just drop it," he said kissing the gap between her breast, Maps whined. He pressed his kisses down the valley of her breast, to her navel, all the way down to her pelvic.

He sat upon his knees and forced her legs apart, staring at her wet pussy hungrily, she watched him bow his head between her thighs and gasped as his nose met her hot skin.

Maps clawed at the blankets closing her eyes tight before dropping her head onto her pillow, "H-hey would you sto-mph," his warm breath warned her a second before he brushed his lips against her cunt, spreading her folds with his tongue, he dragged his hot tongue slowly along her clit and teased her.

Humming as his tongue slid in and out of her, running his large hands up and down her quivering legs.

She pulled desperately, trying to pull away, feeling herself become undone by his skillful lips by the second, he grabbed her hips and held her in place keeping her trapped.

She tensed as his tongue flicked over her clit again causing her to jerk upwards, "Ah, Damian!" Maps whispered breathlessly.

He ignored her pleases, pushing a thick finger inside of her, adding another in after hearing a sharp gasp leave her lips. Moving them in and out in time with his mouth, his motions intensified hearing a long sluty moan echo in his ears, he smirked.

"A-at least give it a-ah chance, a month and oh! mph... if you don't like it we could always just m-move back." Maps pleaded, hoping he'd stop distracting her long enough so she could think properly.

But at last, she wasn't going to get such a request any time soon, as Damian moved from her cunt, back up to her neck, then finally her lips. Placing random kisses on her nose, cheek, and forehead still pumping his fingers in and out of her at a vigorous pace.

He was playing a dirty game here.

"Damian-mph" Maps was silenced by his lips connecting with hers grazing a path along her bottom lip with his warm tongue and nips gently with his teeth. Causing her to open her mouth for him so he could deepen the kiss.

Without thinking, Maps wraps her arms around Damian's neck pulling him in closer as their tounges intertwine in a fight for dominance.

Damian won.

Getting lost in the sensation that is Damian, he pulls his fingers free from her throbbing walls causing a short whine from her into their embrace, naturally, he starts grinding into her, creating delicious friction between the two, drawing a deep moan from them both.

Maps couldn't help but grind back into him as their bodies moved like waves together, creating a smooth rhythm. He reached down to knead at her hips and one of her breasts, rolling his index finger and thumb over her right nipple giving it some much-needed attention.

"Damian please," Maps whined breathlessly, Damian couldn't help but smile.

"Please what?" he said teasingly, knowing he now has the upper hand.

"I- you... this- ah! this isn't fair," Maps half-cries and half-moans out loud as he enters her.

"This is fair love," he whispers into her ear as he starts to move in and out of her in slow motions and the occasional roll of his hips, dragging out his thrusts. Causing slight grating against her clit, generating yet another familiar vulgar moan to escape her lips, prompting Damian to moan as well.

Damian sighed heated and sharp in her ear finding her little groans the most enraptured noise to ever grace his ears.

Damian moved his hands down to grip her hips as he thrusts up into her hard. And for a while, the only sound that filled their room was their bodies slapping against each other and scattered breathy moans from the both of them.

"N-no, I-" Maps slides her hands up his chest for leverage as he speeds up his pace, she just couldn't get a single word out for every time she did he'd bottom her out completely stealing her breath away, forgetting what she had wanted to say in the first place.

Damit, she wasn't going out like this.

Maps frowned and leaned up to bit his shoulder, prompting Damian jerk in pain. She quickly shoved him off pushing him to the side so his back was now laying flat on their mattress.

She wastes no time shifting their positions so she was now straddling him, placing both her hands flat on his chest, she looked down at him with dark determined eyes.

"Listen here you idiot," Maps snapped, watching Damian's eyes widen with shock and if she wasn't mistaken... a bit of pride too. "We're doing this whether you like it or not, I already bought the tickets so you can either stay here and sulk while I and your son leave or you can come with us and be a family." Maps huffed angrily, as Damian silently, begrudgingly, contemplated his options.

He sighed closing his eyes, "Fine, but only for a month," he brooded looking like a pouty child.

Maps squealed excitedly leaning down to shower him in kisses and thank you's.

"I promise you won't regret this and this way Isaac can see his uncles and grandpa and-" Damian reached up behind her head smashing her lips against his, he pulled back with a smug smirk.

"Why don't we continue where we left off before you go on your little amusing rant," he suggested placing his hands where her thighs and ass meet.

Maps nodded with a giggle, as Damian began moving her up and down while simultaneously thrusting up into her, picking up his pace where he had left off.

Leaving nothing but soft moans amidst the couple, echoing all throughout the night.

#damian wayne #damimaps #gotham academy #dc comics #fanfiction #batman #batfamily #bruce wayne #jason todd #tim drake #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #alfred pennyworth #maps mizoguchi #damian x maps #smut

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cherrysha · 4 years

Text

Lesson Learned

Okay so it’s canon that nobu is not not the sharpest. Motherfucker locked the door when two kids smashed thru a wall to break out. So I was sittin there like 🤔 what typa yandere would he be? Like if he didn’t want to use force what would he do instead? I think he’d stall trying to think it through until it was too late to be subtle.so i wrote abt it.

Summary: Nobu helps you through a breakup. Also the reader is very naive

Word Count: 2.8k

My requests are open atm

Warnings: Alcohol, drunk sex, unprotected sex, Vaginal fingering, yandere themes, dubcon/noncon

18+ Only

Taglist: @ramwrites @prettycutebunny @absolute-flaming-trash

Nobu meets you there, a small rundown looking bar on the outskirts of town. As he enters, he sees you sitting at the bar, a small smile on your face as you vacantly stare at the wooden countertop. That, along with the half empty glass in your hand, makes it clear that you’ve started without him.

“What are we celebrating?”

“Ahh, a waste of four months of my life! Rejoicing the end of a shit relationship.”

You’ve already managed to make a scene, much to his dismay. The bystanders around you seemingly more boisterous as you raise your shot in cheers.

“I’ll buy us a round for that!” The tall brunette next to you chuckles. Older, maybe in her late forties, and a little drunker than you were right now. As she hands you the drink, he can’t help but think of the ten different ways she could’ve spiked it with something, how trusting you were when you truly shouldn’t have been. Of course, he wouldn’t let that happen to you, but the thought alone is enough to irritate him.

He’d manufactured the breakup, of course. Planted a seed in your mind that the man was seeing someone else and carefully placed evidence when he knew he wouldn’t be caught. It was surprisingly easy. The cheap plastic lock on your window wasn’t all that sturdy; He’d told you to change it before he left but you’d just shrugged and told him that there wasn’t anything in your apartment worth stealing. So naive. Couldn’t really blame you for finding someone though. It seemed somewhere along the way he’d miscalculated. Thought maybe if given time you’d come to realize just how much he meant to you, how much you meant to each other. Obviously, his mistake was giving you a choice in the matter.

“You gunna drink Nobu?” You giggle, hands tugging and getting lost in the folds of his robe. Always so handsy when you drank; At least your affection was focused on him this time.

“Not tonight sweetheart” he smiles at the pronounced pout on your face, lip jutting out at him.

He wraps an arm around you to the other side of the stool and pushes you closer.

“Hey, if I’m drunk too then who’s gunna watch out for you? Can’t defend your honor if I can’t see straight right?”

His teasing and light poke of your nose makes you giggle again, burying your head in his side. Nobu had always felt safe, one of the few men who wouldn’t read your affection as flirtation. You could hug him the same way that you did with your girl friends and not have to worry about it being misconstrued.

It didn’t take as long as he thought it would for you to call him, if anything you’d messaged him maybe two hours after he planted the women’s clothing in your apartment. Sure, he didn’t expect you to go and get wasted, but he could work with this. So sweet, that’s what infatuated him in the first place. Trusting and affectionate and so, so gullible. Couldn’t tell when a man wanted you, when he wanted you.

As per your earlier request to “keep ‘em comin’” The bartender slides you another drink. Something fruity from the looks of it. He smiles as you play with the condensation on the side of the glass.

“Can I ask you something?”

You’re hesitant and he wonders if it’s because he may say no, or because of the answer you may get.

“Shoot.”

Your apprehension is almost palpable, but he ignores the little squirm of your body against his.

“D-D’you mind if I stay with you tonight? I mean I gave him a couple of days to move out and all and I -“

“It’s fine.” He tries to make his voice sound irritated, but follows it up with something sweet to discourage you from backtracking. “What are friends for, right? You can stay until he’s gone.” Offers you a kind smile to subdue any apprehension you felt.

When he left you’d found someone. Some bland looking man who had a desk job and promised you a plain life. As if that’s what you wanted.

He can’t help but smile as you take shot after shot, body swaying with the boom from the overhead speakers. It’s only when you get really loud that he decides it’s time to go.

“Y’don’t wanna dance Nobu?” You slur as he practically carries you out.

“No, baby I think it’s time we left” you start to whine but he hushes you, stopping in front of your car to dig through your purse for the keys.

“Hey Nobu?” You whisper, eyes blank and staring at the wet concrete.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

You don’t respond so he figures you’ve already forgotten the question and focuses on getting you in the vehicle and securing your belt. Head resting against the seat, you close your eyes, only speaking again when the car is pulling out of the lot.

“Nobu?”

He doesn’t respond. Focuses on the road as you work through whatever you had to say

“Nobu...I think maybe I wasn’t good enough.” his eyes flick to you as he gives you a sigh.

“Any man that thinks you’re not good enough is a fucking idiot.” He expected this. Made a list of answers to your self-hatred so he wouldn’t get angry in the moment. Such a stupid thought, he blames it on the alcohol to soothe the irritation in his chest.

“Why did you wear a dress anyway?” He questioned, sitting on the edge of his bed as you take your hair down.

“Cuz then I can take it off easy! Pants are too hard when you’re drunk.”

He’s seen your panty-clad ass multiple times tonight. Teasing him with every sloppy movement you made. Getting on the stool at the bar, getting off of it, getting in and out of the car. He got a good look at the pretty lace covering your womanhood. As you pull it over your head, he gets to see a little pink bow that rests at the top of the underwear this time.

So brash, in all the years he’d been by your side he’d never seen this much of you. He knew it was the drinks, but It’s almost like you wanted it.

“Nobu?”

He hesitates, taking in the way your body looks as you stretch your arms above your head, yawn falling from your open mouth.

“Yeah?”

“D’you have something I could sleep in?” You ask it like you know he’s willing to give you something. Like he doesn’t want to see your naked body in his bed, fucked out and delirious with pleasure.

“What if I don’t?” He tried to mask the lust on his face with indifference and watches as you cross your arms.

“Not even a shirt?” He shakes his head no.

Too tired to really care, and too wasted to have any modesty, you crawl into his bed with a huff.

“Fine! Be like that then!” So cute when you were mad, face scrunching up as if your reaction alone could sway him. To be fair, it usually did.

He’s deftly untying his robe when he speaks over his shoulder to you.

“I don’t want you throwing up on my stuff... lucky I’m not making you sleep on the couch.” He mutters loud enough for you to hear.

He expects you to get angrier, but his fingers halt when he hears your giggle.

“What’s so funny y/n?” He stands, taking his pants off before coming to sit next to your body sprawled across his bed. You acted as if you belonged. A breathing sculpture made for his eyes only and soft skin forged just for his hands to enjoy. In his bed. Giggling and almost naked.

“You wouldn’t ever ever make me sleep on the couch!”

“And why’s that?” He grunts

“Because I’m your best friend” And you say it with so much confidence it pulls a smile to his face.

“Ah, I guess you’re right there.”

After a few beats he lets his hair down and comes to join you, laying to rest next to your body as you begin to squirm with a frown.

“What’s wrong now?”

“My bra... I need a shirt... can’t take it off without a shirt.. cuz then -“

“Take it off y/n.” His tone is clipped and the way he’s staring at you, you read it as annoyed. He’s right, he’s your best friend. It’s only weird because you’re making it weird. The alcohol fuzzes any concept of propriety from your mind.

You sit up and try to unclasp it yourself but, in your state, the tiny hooks are a puzzle you can’t quite figure out. Just fucking asking for it, he thinks to himself as you allow him to unclip it for you. He takes the initiative to trail his fingers down your arms with the straps, watching goosebumps raise on your flesh.

“Thanks nobu” You smile, quickly covering yourself with the blanket before he has a chance to get a proper look.

It’s maddening. He’s painfully hard, has been painfully hard since you took the damn dress off. He takes a few moments to collect himself, propped up on the bed with an elbow, he pinches the bridge of his nose. Closes his eyes and breathes.

“D-Did I do something?” You whisper, face half hidden under the comforter as you stare up at him.

“No. It’s just -“ he pauses, thinks of something to say besides ‘you’re being a fucking tease and it’s taking everything in me to be patient with this’

“You know how many people could’ve taken advantage of you tonight?”

He looks for a response and finds you shaking your head ‘no’, blanket tucked around your chest as big watery eyes meet his.

“Fuck me” he groans.

Having enough, he pushes you flat on your back, arm coming to cup your face.

“Don’t cry. Just answer me.” He still sounds annoyed, so you obediently lay there and listen. What if you annoyed him so bad that he forced you to leave? It’s not like you could go home, or even get there in this state.

“What if someone touched you like this?” His hand keeps caressing the side of your face, thumb swiping down to your bottom lip every so often.

“Someone bigger than you... you couldn’t do anything, huh?”

“I could try to get away..” and it comes out as more of a question.

His hand travels down your throat to lightly grip your neck.

“What if they were faster?”

You whimper and it takes a moment for him to realize that it’s not from pain. He’s used to being a little too rough, so he checks his grip. You liked this. His hand around your throat, panting at it even though he didn’t apply enough pressure to leave you breathless.

“I - could scream”

“Ah…”

His hand pulls the blanket down, giving you a sharp stare when you try to cover yourself up again. With the object out of the way he can finally see them. Pert nipples and plump skin, they look like they’d be heavy in his hand and with a grunt he confirms his suspicions. he shifts his weight and frees up his other hand, you mewl as he cups both of them. Squeezing them softly he asks you “What if you couldn’t scream?”

Your mind is fried. Torn between being uncomfortable with your best friend softly palming your breasts, okay with it because he was only teaching you a lesson, and shamefully turned on at the warm pressure of his hands on you.

“I....I..” you squeal as his pinches your nipples, eyes narrowing as he rolls them between his fingers.

“Stop moving... I’m trying to teach you something here.”

Like a good girl, you try to still yourself. You look unsure, as if you don’t know what to do, how to feel. When his hand travels to play with the waistband of your panties you finally collect yourself enough to wrap a hand around his wrist.

“No... wait!” You’re wet, embarrassingly so, to the point you can feel it sticking your panties to you. If he went any lower... if he saw it..

“Let go” it comes out as a growl, actual anger making its way into his face. And you do, because he’s already mad at you and now you were just making it worse.

His hand cups you through the fabric, eyebrows raising at the wetness dampening the cloth there. Shame fills your face and you can’t stand to look at him. It’s not that you were trying to stop him. Seeing the look in your eyes he can tell you’re embarrassed by it. This was what you were trying to hide? He scoffs and pushes the scrap of fabric to the side. Wants to warm you up, play with your clit until you’re a mess underneath him, but once he feels just how wet you are, he abandons that plan. Instead he opts to shove two fingers as deep into your pussy as they can go. Moaning, your back arches as he starts to curl his digits up into that little slice of heaven inside you.

“What if someone got their fingers in you like I did? What if they weren’t your friend and you didn’t want it?” He’s growling lowly as he nuzzles against your neck, teeth nipping at the soft skin as he sucks bruises.

“Nobu!”

You try to wriggle away from his mouth ravaging you, moving down to your breast and grazing his teeth against your nipple.

“Nobu…Nobu...” his name becomes a mantra on your lips as you grab a fistful of his hair. A thumb roughly circles your clit and the pressure continues to build. A few more minutes, a few more curls of his fingers and you’re close... so close your muscles start to tighten, whimpers getting lost in the open air as they escape your throat.

Before you can, though, he pulls back. Pushes you onto your belly, hands pulling hips up until you’re in the position he wants. Gently rubs circles into the small of your back and before you can even understand what’s going on, his cock is filling you up from behind.

“Fuck” he grits out. You’re still mumbling his name strewn along with quiet little whimpers. “Someone could’ve fucked you like this” he bends down to your ear as his hips slam into yours.

“Taken you like a bitch in heat.”

His hand squeezes tight to your throat and it makes apologies fall from your mouth. So tight he loses himself in the feel of it. Slows his hips down until all he’s doing is grinding up into you. Closes his eyes as his teeth clamp around your shoulder. So much wasted time waiting when it only would’ve taken him one night and a few bottles. He rocks into you quick, loving the sharp cry of his name you let out, followed by apologies.

“Stop sayin you’re sorry” he grits out, feeling the way you tighten around him at the sound of his voice.

“Just tell me.... would you want someone else doin this you?”

You yelp as his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip, not so subtly pushing you back and forth on his cock.

“No!” Your voice cracks when his hips make contact with yours again.

He smiles “But it’s okay because I’m your friend, right?”

You nod fervently, heat building up in your core at an alarming rate.

“Wanted my cock in you…” you keep nodding, incoherently agreeing to whatever he has to say as he pinches your nipple.

Such a good girl, so submissive already. His other hand pushes against the small of your back, deepening the arch until your face is smushed against the pillows.

He keeps hitting your cervix, the tip of his cock forcefully bumping into it with every movement. Already knows how sore you’re going to be tomorrow, but that’s what he wants. Wants your legs to feel like jelly, thighs sore and cunt aching from being filled so well. Wants to hear you beg as he tries to soothe the ache with his tongue.

The bed muffles the screams as you cum around him, arms shooting back to desperately shove him off. It’s no use, hands grab your arms and he uses them as leverage to fuck you through it. When he’s satisfied, he wraps one arm around your stomach as the other settles at the hollow of your throat. Fucks up into you as he peppers kisses to the side of your face.

“So good for me” And the praise makes a sweet little cry escape from you. So pretty, and all his. The realization makes his thrusts more urgent. A few more jerky movements and he stills himself deep inside, slightly lifting you off the bed as he forgets to be gentle. He doesn’t want to, but fuck if he can control himself, he cums inside with a shaky moan. He rests there for a beat, enjoying the warmth around him, before he pulls out.

Nobu sets you down, laughing softly as your legs give out underneath you. “You learn your lesson sweetheart?”

#nobunaga #nobunaga hxh #reader x nobunaga #yandere nobunaga

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actuallybarb · 3 years

Text

The Aftermath ~ Part 6

Summary: y/n does nothing to discourage morgan stark from swearing, senior year officially starts, and y/n never considered herself stiles but when peter is lydia she’s alright with it

Pairing: peter parker x reader

Warnings: swearing, angst, fluff, y/n fixing everyone’s problems, trauma

Word Count: 3023

A/N: shit shit shit i love it i’m here for it i shamelessly stole it from Teen Wolf

///////////

I stayed at the compound that weekend, working with FRIDAY and Pepper to get the rest of the footage salvaged and try to clear Spider-Man’s name.

“‘Morning, FRIDAY,” I yawned out as I slipped back into the desk chair in the lab Friday morning. “Any progress on the footage from EDITH?”

“We got footage from the bridge, but it doesn’t look too good for Peter.”

My eyebrows furrowed. “Show me.”

I sipped Sokovian tea (Wanda was a genius with tea leaves) as I played the footage over and over again. “Of course it doesn’t look good for Peter, it’s his face.” Peter’s face was telling EDITH to stop all of the drones. But the whole point was so Spider-Man wouldn’t get charged with murder, not proving his true identity. “Well shit.”

“Shit.” I turned in my chair and saw Morgan Stark at the door, a proud grin on her face.

Pepper had brought Morgan by last weekend and she and I had become fast friends. After nearly losing her mind over where her daughter was, Pepper found Morgan happily chasing mini tornadoes I made in the training room. After that, she would ask FRIDAY for periodic updates, but mostly Morgan and I got to run free around the compound.

I pointed a finger at her. “I refuse to be blamed for your foul mouth, got it?” She nodded then ran over and climbed onto my lap, looking at the videos.

“Peter?”

“Yup. And that’s the problem.”

“Why is that a problem?”

“Because in this moment we needed him to have his mask on.”

“But he doesn’t.”

“Now you see the problem.”

“Why can’t we just put his mask on him?”

“Because, Young Stark, that would be considered tampering, and would completely nullify the evidence in a courtroom.”

“So Peter’s stuck being Peter?”

“Peter’s stuck being Peter.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.” I looked at her sternly. “No swearing in front of Pepper, got it?” I stuck out my pinky and she wrapped her tiny one around it, squeezing hard. “Let me just email your mom about this, then we can go on an adventure, okay?”

The email took twenty seconds, then Morgan and I were racing through the compound, brushing past anyone who got in our way. We had just turned down an unexplored hallway when we heard sniffles. I screeched to a stop. “Wait right here, Morgan.” One tap of my foot and I ‘saw’ them in a coat closet. And I was pretty sure I already knew who it was. I knocked very lightly on the door. “Peter?”

There was a lot of shuffling, then silence. “Who is it?”

“Y/N.” Morgan stomped her foot. “And Morgan.”

“Oh. Hey, guys.”

“Can I open the door?”

Before he even answered I could tell he was uncomfortable. His heart rate picked up and his fingers started tapping on his knee.

“Hey, Morgan. I’m going to talk to Peter for a little bit. Can you find Wanda until I get back? We can go on our adventure after.” She looked between me and the closet before nodding, running off the same way we came. “Keep an eye on her, FRI.”

Then I opened the door.

How I managed to squeeze inside that closet with Peter already in it was an absolute mystery to me, but I eventually closed the door on myself and let the space be dark.

“Hey.”

“Hi.”

“What’s up?”

“Not much.”

“Really? That’s good news.”

“Yup, just peachy.”

“Huh, could’ve fooled me. Why are you crying in a closet, then?”

“Oh, you know, just…” He stayed silent.

I nudged his knee with mine. “Talk to me, Pete. It’s just us.”

He sniffled again. “MJ called. She - she, uh. She said— She can’t be with me right now.”

“She broke up with you?” I couldn’t believe my ears. Was I excited? Disappointed? I wouldn’t know.

“She said, with all of this Mysterio stuff still going on, it’s best if we’re not together.” His head dropped to his knees. ”School starts in four days, Y/N. How am I going to face her? How am I going to face anyone?”

His voice and my heart cracked at the end of his sentence. “I don’t know.” I stretched my hand forward and held onto his forearm, slowly running my thumb back and forth. “I’ll be there. Ned will be there. I’ll happily hit anyone in the face who says anything to you.”

He snorted. “You wouldn’t.”

“You weren’t there when I punched Flash.”

His head shot up. “You punched Flash?”

“You see what you miss when you get stopped at the airport?”

He laughed. “That stupid banana.”

I smiled and leaned back, letting my hand fall from his arm. “Have you called Ned?”

He stiffened slightly. “A couple days ago.”

“You should call him. Now you guys have something else in common.” His eyebrows scrunched together. “You both have had girlfriends and broken up with them in the same summer.” He visibly cringed. “Too soon, sorry.” I ended up in a squatting position, one hand on the knob. I grabbed his arm and gave it a small squeeze. “You’re going to be okay, Peter.”

I probably shouldn’t have left him in the closet, but I had a call to make.

“Hey, Y/N.”

“What the fuck, MJ?”

“What?”

“Are you fucking kidding me? You broke up with Peter?”

Did I want Peter to be single so I could eventually shoot my shot? Yes. But not like this.

I found a different closet to hide in, pushing myself as far against the wall as possible and hopefully muffling my voice enough no one could hear me.

“You’ve seen everything on the news, Y/N. Spider-Man’s identity revealed, then Spider-Man killing Mysterio, it’s- it’s-“

“You know it’s not true. You know Peter’s Spider-Man and you know he would never hurt a fly, let alone kill Beck, no matter how hurt he was. Beck tried to kill you, and you’re punishing Peter for this?”

“I don’t know what to think! All of this shit about holograms and hallucinations, I can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t. You saw how real that Elemental looked in Prague, you can’t say you’re not a little bit freaked out about this.”

”No, I can’t, but I can’t say that breaking your trust with Peter is the best option right now either.”

There was a deep sigh on the other end of the line. “Take care of him, Y/N. You get him and all of this superhero shit more than I ever will.”

Then she hung up.

She hung up.

Take care of him? What did she think I was doing, huh? What have I been doing this whole time?

I left the closet and made my way to the living room, ready for a six year old distraction. “Morgan?”

“Y/N!” She was sitting beside Peter on the couch, the afternoon sun filtering through her long eyelashes. “Come watch a movie with us.”

“How ‘bout some lunch first?”

“How about lunch and a movie?”

I laughed. “You’re convincing, I’ll give you that. Chicken nuggets?”

“Yeah!”

“Peter, chicken nuggets?”

“Sure.”

Morgan picked Disney movie after Disney movie, her attention never wavering. Once the sun went down, though, my eyes were getting heavy. After so many days of no sleep, my body insisted darkness meant it was time for bed. We were on movie number 4 (Sleeping Beauty, go figure) when my eyes couldn’t stay open. Before I knew it, my breathing had evened out and I only saw the insides of my eyelids.

I woke up the next morning on one of the most comfortable pillows I had ever had, which was saying a lot, ‘cause I had one of those memory foam ones. I could’ve slept on it forever, but then it shifted around and my neck got squished, and—

Wait.

Is this thing moving?

I opened my eyes, and sure enough, it was. I just so happened to be using the legs of none other than Peter Parker for a pillow. How I ended up like that, I have no idea, but my heart was in my throat the second I realized it.

It’s like I was frozen. (I had accidentally frozen myself on more than one occasion, it’s about as fun as you think it would be.) I couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, all I could do was watch his chest move as he inhaled. It slowly started to move faster until I could feel his heart rate speeding up, and I knew something was wrong.

“Peter?” I sat up and turned to face him, one hand moving to his shoulder. “Wake up, Peter.” I shook him probably a little too harshly and he started awake, his eyes wild. “Hey.”

“Are you real?”

A nightmare. No wonder he was freaking out, he wasn’t sure he wasn’t dreaming.

“Yeah, I’m real.”

“Can- Can you prove it?” He saw the flash of distrust in my eyes and backtracked instantly. “Sorry, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“It’s fine, Pete. Seriously.” He didn’t look like he believed me, so I had to think of something quick that would prove I was real. “Last night, we watched Sleeping Beauty, ‘cause it was Morgan’s fourth request, and you were actually really excited to watch it because you’d never seen it before, and so it starts and you were out in the first fifteen minutes.”

“Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself? Because you were asleep way before I was.”

“You woke up, sure, but you definitely fell asleep before I did.”

He smiled and leaned his head back, but it eventually dropped. He looked at me and asked quietly, “How can you tell? What’s real and what isn’t?”

The sun was barely peaking over the horizon when I answered. “The bending. People move a specific way, even just how they walk and how they stand, and it can’t be mimicked. Beck tried it, he tried to make himself look like you, but it just felt wrong. Everything is slightly off when what I’m seeing isn’t reality.”

He grumbled, “Wish I could do that.”

I rolled my eyes and scoffed. “You can, Peter. You already have half of it down, you just have to pay attention to it.”

“What do you mean?” He was fully sitting up at this point, his entire body engaged in my every word.

“You have heightened senses, right? Which makes the hallucinations ten times worse for you.” He nodded. “You can use those to your advantage. Heartbeats, footsteps, shifts in the dirt, they’re all jumbled together until you can differentiate between people. It takes a lot of concentration and time, but it eventually becomes second nature.” I was tapping the cushion with every other finger, a trick I picked up from my shrink after The Blip first happened. It used to be a coping mechanism, now it’s just a habit when I zone out.

“Can you teach me?”

His eyes were bright. How could I say no to him when he was looking at me like that? You did, Y/N, like three weeks ago. Okay, but those were life-threatening circumstances. This is different.

“Sure. But not today.” I stood up and stretched completely, then checked the time on the oven. Seven twenty-seven. I could get home just after eight if I left right now.

I made it at eight, right on the dot.

////////////

Stepping off the subway, I knew school was going to be rough. Not just that day, but the week, the month, the semester, the year. Senior year was supposed to be enjoyable, right? After the last few disasters Mr. Harrington has been apart of on his school trips, they all but banned us from going on any more of them. Not that I really minded, except for the senior trip we were supposed to have right after graduation. Summer was exciting enough for a lifetime, I didn’t need any more repeats of that.

I walked into the building, headphones in but no music playing. There was Brad, leaning against the locker of some poor unassuming junior. Flash, his camera on, documenting the last first day of high school. MJ, her own pair of headphones in, made eye contact with me briefly, then looked down at her phone again just as fast. Peter and Ned, slightly more solemn than usual, standing at their lockers, comparing class schedules.

My locker was only a few down from them, so I said hello before passing by, the three-number code learned by heart.

I sensed Peter and Ned before I ever heard them. “If I concentrate any harder on these footsteps I’m going to lose my mind.” He had texted me all weekend asking about how to learn movement patterns and footsteps, so he was obviously practicing my tips.

I laughed. “Yeah, duh, Peter, even I don’t know what everyone moves like. The trick is to learn the people you’re close to, then learn to pick them out of a crowd. Start with someone you see a lot of, who you’re familiar with, then work from there.”

“Ooh.”

I looked over at Ned. “How was the rest of your summer, Ned? Any more girlfriends?”

“No, I’m still a bachelor. I think I’ll stay this way for a while - strong independent man who doesn’t need a woman. But, I mean, if someone comes along, it’s not like I’ll say no.”

“I respect the hustle. Don’t tie yourself down, Ned.”

“Thank you, Y/N, I really appreciate that.” The bell rang and he looked down at his schedule. “I have physics, I’ll see you guys later.”

“What do you have?”

I looked at my own schedule, nearly running into someone as we walked through the hall. “Spanish. You?”

“Spanish.” I grabbed his sheet of paper and compared them.

“No fucking way.” We had every single class together.

Every.

Single.

Class.

Pepper.

“What is it?”

“We have every class together.”

“No way.” He grabbed the papers from my hands and looked over them himself. “The chances of this happening are—“

“Minuscule.”

He just shrugged it off. “Nice to have a familiar face in the crowd.”

I shot Pepper a quick text before we walked into Spanish.

Really, you have us in every class together?

I’m worried about him, Y/N. Frankly, I’m worried about you, too. Just keep an eye out for each other, okay?

Yeah yeah sure.

This school year just got a whole lot more interesting.

/////////

I guess I could consider Flash a friend. He was nice enough not to post the video he had of me being an Elemental and he let me use his shoulder as a pillow on the flight home. The only communication we had over the rest of the summer was me commenting something on his Instagram story and him replying. So I was a little surprised when he took a seat beside me in chemistry, but not disappointed.

“Do you and Parker have every class together?”

“Yup.”

“Shit that sucks.”

“He’s alright, Eugene, maybe one day you’ll realize that.”

“I can’t believe Mysterio tried to say Parker was Spider-Man. I mean, can you think of a less-likely candidate?”

I rolled my eyes. “Stop insulting my friends, Eugene, or I’ll make you move seats and do this class on your own.”

He shut up for a little bit, but when we got a review sheet to do that went over all of last year’s class, he started whispering. “Are you still, you know, turning into monsters and knocking people into rivers?” He hissed in pain as my foot connected with his shin. “Okay, I’ll take that as a no.”

“I’m not talking about this with you,” I whispered.

“It was fucking badass, Y/N.” Another hiss of pain.

“People died, Eugene. Do you not get that? People died because of me. All of the people in our trip could have died and it would have been my fault.” The bell rang and I nearly sprinted out of the class.

My heart was beating too fast, my breathing was too shallow. I knew those were a bad combination, but I couldn’t stop. The room was spinning and I couldn’t feel the ground underneath me and holy shit am I falling?

Someone grabbed my arm and pulled me through a door, and as much as I wanted to pull away I knew I could trust whoever it was.

“Breathe with me, Y/N, okay?”

Peter.

“Just breathe with me.”

I tried. You have no idea how badly I wanted to stop feeling like that. But my body couldn’t catch up to my brain and that freaked me out even more and now I was getting lightheaded. “I- I-“

And then a completely new sensation filled my brain. Lips. Soft - maybe a little chapped - lips were on mine.

I didn’t need help breathing anymore because Peter Parker literally took my breath away.

He pulled away, but I kept my eyes closed. Maybe if I keep them closed I can hold onto it just a little bit longer.

“You okay?”

God his voice was so soft. I just wanted to wrap myself in it and take a nap.

“Did you get that from Teen Wolf?”

Smooth, Y/N, real smooth.

Shut up.

“Ye- yeah, I did.”

I sighed in relief. “Thanks. For stopping it.”

“No problem.”

“How’d you know?”

“Teen Wolf.”

“No, how’d you know I was having a panic attack?”

“Oh. Your- your heartbeat, actually. We have every class together, so yours has been the easiest to learn so far. Then I heard it beating like crazy so I knew something was up.

“Oh. Thanks.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I thought about it for a second. “Maybe later, when we’re not sitting on the floor of an empty classroom.”

He laughed. “Okay.” He stood up and gave me his hand, pulling me to my feet. “C’mon, we’re late for English.” He led the way down the nearly empty hallway, while I pulled out my phone and sent one more text to Pepper.

Okay, it was a good idea.

tags: @eridanuswave @vampirestrawberries

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker series #peter parker oneshot #marvel #marvel comics #reader insert #peter parker x mj #ned leeds #michelle jones #flash thompson #spiderman far from home #mcu #spiderman #avengers

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eternalstrigoii · 4 years

Text

Flowery Language

Borra (Maleficent: Mistress of Evil) x Desert Warrior Dark Fey Reader

After a point, peace talks became little more than a formality.

John and Philip fussed with the treaty’s wording while Aurora listened, as it was not her first declaration of peace between the kingdoms and its peoples. While you recognized the importance of brevity, clarity (and wit), you were bored out of your skull. (It was different when they spent hours fussing to ensure no one could break peace because of loose language – when they genuinely entered talks about phrasing based solely upon the conjunction, you stared at the walls and wondered if living in exile had not been such a terrible fate.)

The dread former queen’s cat, Arabella, circled lazily between your legs, rubbing on you and Borra because you were the only fools left over when talks descended into this. Had you not loved him, he would’ve been entirely on his own.

Had he not loved you, he wouldn’t have allowed his attention to lapse.

You were trying to set the tasteless tapestries on fire with your eyes when the first little tendril of unnaturally-behaving peony stem brushed your ankle. You thought it was the cat and lightly toed at it, discouraging her from bothering you while you glowered. Was iron as painful as listening to this conversation? You almost wished they’d left a handful of bullets lying around for you to play with.

A flicker of mischief passed over Borra’s lips. Aurora frowned as she mentally backtracked through Philip and John’s discussion – what had they said that warranted so knowing a look?

The advancing flowers lashed around your ankle, the quick snap of their woody stem nearly enough to make you startle. Your eyes flickered to him, and you raised your brows as though wholly unamused.

Leaves bloomed against your skin. Vines that should not have been vines continued to climb up your leg like a trellis. Right now? you asked with your eyes.

His glinted. He knew you – boredom made you impulsive. You were a restless creature by nature; you favored action over talk as much as he did, if not more. You did not have to be reminded that your shared place at their table ensured the safety of your people both fey and moor-folk, and you did not expect him to apologize for the benign stupidity of ornamental leadership.

Though he made it quite clear he intended to repay you for your patience.

It was an exercise in self-restraint not to shift when those woody stems crept over your hip and brushed over your inner thigh. They were no replacement for his fingers, but their light caress was enough to soften your glare at the walls. They should redo those murals, at least.

A blooming leaf caressed your bundled nerves, fluttered lightly as if caught by the wind. Your eyelids half-lowered, and you made a show of rubbing them as though you were well and thoroughly frustrated already.

Thank skies your human companions did not have senses anywhere near as keen as his.

He did it again. Lighter and sweeter than he would’ve with his fingers, but it was a caress all the same. The lingering hostility in your thoughts went temporarily forgotten.

You spread your legs on the chair-seat. Hooked your bare feet around the legs and pressed into the caress of a slowly advancing tendril. Agonizingly slow; he had to give you something else to focus on, though the sight of your darkening eyes and the instinctive weight-shift of your hips did little but offer him plenty in return.

You made a beautiful sight, spread just for him. If you could keep your wings from giving you away, he might even move closer to converse with you when you were ready to finish.

Your eyes lifted. The molten heat in them made him set his teeth to bite back a low purr. Such a good girl, keeping your pleasure to yourself.

He let you watch the motion of his fingers. The leaf and the tendril did what he asked them to: curled around your bundled nerves, stroking, flicking, before parting you along your seam and making you strangle a half-animal whine as it rose to your lips. You could not even squirm against him and that was wildly unfair.

The little sound you did make tensed his stomach like you’d been caressing him with your talons and let them fall away. He thought, faintly, about how lovely you would look when you could squirm for him – panting, keening, your pretty legs still spread and his fingers tracing the air instead of you while he let those plants tease you. You should do this again in the privacy of the forest; he had the urge to press kisses to your bud until your voice was rough and pleading.

Since when did you get off on tormenting each other? Since you had the time, perhaps. Peace was to be maintained long-term, which gave him the opportunity to slow down all those sweet things he’d learned from bedding you. Kiss where you enjoyed being kissed; leave bruise-darkened love bites on the soft flesh of your inner thighs. Maybe you could enjoy the lash of those little branches under different circumstances.

You gripped handfuls of your trousers in place of handfuls of him. A budding flower bloomed against you, velvet-soft petals nestled against your skin. Oh, Great Skies Above. He shouldn’t have thought about how it would feel to trace it back and forth, trail those petals over your flesh like feathers. You wanted, desperately, to squirm, press forward, beg for more.

You grit your teeth and stared at the wall again. No one had better ask you what you were looking at, the whole of your attention was focused on not grinding that flower into oblivion.

Which amused him to no end, even as he shifted his wandering hand to make sure the low-hanging waistband of his hide trousers kept all but the scent of his desire from you.

Your silent exchanges had not gone unnoticed, though their context most assuredly was. No one on the other side of the table knew that the plant at the nearest corner of the balcony had grown across the floor from a singular point so that the small handful of palace staff flitting in and out of the room would remain unaware that it had. Philip frowned at your shared tension, dropped his eyes back to the document, and re-read the sentence quietly to himself in a handful of different tones.

“Oh skies,” you whispered, taking a moment to deliberately run your hands through your hair. Yes, right there. The press of pliant stem was nowhere near as satisfying as his fingers, but it was nearly enough to make you arch.

“I’m sorry,” Philip repeated. “We need to make sure no one can deliberately misinterpret the text.”

The light stroking slowed. Began to retreat. The horrible tease. Oh, you are going to claw new cracks in his back when this is over.

“We know,” Borra replied.

Your fingers curled in your hair. Another shoot emerged, grew into a whip-thin tendril and crept up the leg of his chair. You kept your mischief entirely to yourself until it was long enough to caress over his thigh and wrap around him through his trousers at the same time.

It was his turn to strangle a hiss, and he failed miserably at it.

“Bella,” Philip whispered rather sharply. The cat was lounging under the table’s middle, well out of range. She wasn’t stupid enough to get wrapped up in your shenanigans.

“Let her be,” Borra’s voice was audibly rougher. “She’s just playing.”

Aurora did not understand quite how she knew what you were up to, or how you were accomplishing it, but you weren’t making any snide quips and Borra no longer watched the three of them like a hawk, so she knew you must’ve been up to something. Make love not war, I suppose.

“If she’s bothering you—”

“It’s just a kitten, Philip,” you replied with much too much satisfaction in your tone; Borra flicked the retreating stem against your bundled nerves and the suddenness of it killed whatever reassurance you meant to tack on at the end. The unfinished sentence hung over the table like a pendulum.

Strange as it was, Aurora was your greatest ally. Her time spent handling affairs alone in Perceforest was adequate motivation to learn how to operate as a team in Ulstead – and to not blame you for indulging yourselves during extended periods of mundane ho-hum. She called them back to an issue she really had taken with phrasing of the line that came before, and you cast a sidelong glance to the man you loved. She knows.

His eyes were melted honey. That little lash’s slow undulating was not enough – he wanted your hands, your mouth, your welcoming, wet heat. If you could just slip away to the balcony together for a moment…

You teased him with a soft little squeeze. Even if he didn’t slip that tendril back inside of you, it lingered along your parted seam so you might take some pleasant friction from rubbing against it – you just had to be careful to keep your wings from giving you away.

You intentionally deprived him of the same. You, too, were consumed with thoughts of lowering his trousers to caress him while you kissed against the sun-warmed stone outside. How hungrily he would run his hands over you, how easily your bodies would join after you were both so well-teased. He would rut you hard, right there where anyone could see. Would he quiet you with his mouth, or would he watch you struggle not to cry out? You could imagine the hunger in his eyes. Nearly feel the collision of your hips. He would growl quietly, just for you, let it dissolve into a quiet, breathless moan…

You dropped your foot from around the chair-leg and pinned the woody stems to the floor, abruptly pulling them away. The sound of it did not go unnoticed, though your companions’ attention only fixated when you stood as calmly as you could while maneuvering the rest of the withering vine out of your pant leg.

For a moment, you genuinely intended to preface your departure. But you had no good excuses, so you drew back to push in your chair (to tug the spindly limbs right off your calf), and you walked out.

Your stem slackened only once you’d already left.

“Was it something I said?” John asked, genuinely bewildered.

“Maybe we should take a break,” Aurora offered, averting her gaze when it landed upon Borra as he stood. She had no intention of finding out just how far you’d gotten with only a table for privacy. “It must be difficult to sit still for so long when you’re not used to it.”

She handed the both of you a gilded excuse, and Borra’s only acknowledgement of it was a low, animal sound that definitely meant what she thought it did.

The balcony wrapped around half of the palace like a second courtyard, leaving plenty of room for the both of you to find an adequate crevice to sneak off to as you used to in the nest’s high peaks. You hadn’t gone far; you perched upon the stone ledge to wait for him the moment you heard the brush of his pinfeathers against the smooth floors.

He’d only meant to tempt you, but like a hunt initiated for its thrill, that urge was not far from the instinct to sate the hunger sharpening your gaze. His wings perked and flared in display, as though your fingers didn’t trace the leather strap across his chest the moment he drew near enough.

He made a low, hot sound of pleasure. Nudged your hips to the very edge. You growled against his mouth in praise.

“Did I please you?” He undid the waistband of your trousers.

You let them drop. Ran your fingers along the folded waist of his. “Take these off and find out.”

He did not hesitate, and, for that, you decided your gentle stroking had teased him enough. Your wings fanned along the white stone; you meant to climb him like a tree, but the support of his arms beat you to it. He joined with you in one swift, smooth advance.

You brought him closer with your legs, ran your talons down his back.

His bit into your hips. Thank skies for practicality; you couldn’t allow it to last any longer than it naturally would, thanks to your human allies, so you pressed him closer, clung to him with your knees. He rocked to the hilt inside of you to wind the tightness in your belly as taut as it could get, kissed you like it would be too long before you could touch one another again – the way you imagined he’d planned to kiss you before the circumstances around your not-conquest changed.

“More,” you whisper-gasped. “I need you. I need you, please.”

He gave you a half-strangled growl in warning, as though you couldn’t feel him twitch. So close. You dragged your talons down the stone; you didn’t care if it rent trenches in the smooth façade, you were so close.

Then you were there, and the sudden throb and quiver of your inner muscles brought him along with you, and every blank space on the climbing branches that ensnared the courtyard-facing half of Ulstead’s palace suddenly contained new flowers. It did not matter what they were – with every shared, summer-hot breath that passed your lips between kisses, more and more of them unfurled.

His love for you, and yours for him, was the strongest power that did not hail from the phoenix herself.

You laughed breathlessly against his lips. Tangled your fingers in his hair. Your afterglow felt warmer than the sun on your spread wings and you tipped your head back to bask in it, knowing all too well that you invited him to kiss along your bared throat.

A moment before the flowers bloomed, Prince Philip put his hand upon his wife’s and excused himself from the still-silent table. His human senses were nowhere near as keen as yours, but his wife was not the fool most believed her to be. Of all the royal perils that could befall her husband, she did not want to add knocked off a balcony because he intruded to the list.

“Philip,” she tried, rising to follow him.

“Just a moment,” he pressed, and was out onto the connected balcony before she could stop him.

Aurora sunk back in her seat and contemplated resting her face in her hands until the secondhand embarrassment passed.

Borra’s wings were a bit more broad than yours, though, and your legs around his waist kept his pants from going far. The flowers bloomed as the young prince followed the outdoor passage, and, at first, he thought the mild flare of your mate’s wings might’ve been for privacy.

Then he saw your legs, and the close proximity of your horns, and the claw marks that punctuated the white stone, and the young prince had the sense to turn around and leave before he saw anything else.

He lingered just beyond the door for a moment, waiting to make eye contact with his wife. His face hid nothing of the range of emotions he’d gone through: awkwardness mingled with amusement, tinged with mild disbelief, all dressed in the finery of poorly-contained embarrassment.

She tried not to laugh, holding his eyes only to deliberately look away as her smile grew. I told you not to.

“Well?” John asked as if the expression on his son’s face did not say plenty.

Philip made a noncommittal sound and a quick retreat to his chair. Perhaps if he stared pointedly at the treaty for a while, he could soothe the pinking of his cheeks. “Where were we?”

John pressed for an answer only once before the both of you returned, a bit more ruffled than you’d left but otherwise unchanged. The flowers along the floor had fully retreated to their place around the balcony’s ledge, and you fluffed your wings before you sat despite the temptation that offered Arabella.

“Come here, kitty-kitty.” You patted your leg.

The awful little thing jumped up into the chair next to Aurora and folded herself up there, her wary little hackles bristled.

You quirked your head, suit yourself, and stretched your legs out in front of you. The whole of your body was pleasantly warm and well relaxed, and you took Borra’s hand on top of the table when he settled beside you. “Go ahead, John. Conjunctions are a riveting conversation starter.”

“I’ll say,” Philip muttered.

Your glinting eyes flickered to your mate. I’ve underestimated either their senses or their observation skills.

He spread his wings comfortably over the arms of his chair and gave the blushing young queen a wild grin. “Only the fun ones.”

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

Tag List: @squishy-jellyfish, @deathonyourtongue, @thetempleofthemasaigoddess, @mor-ranr, @swim-reaper, @blacksirenswolf

Remember, you can always be added!

#Borra x Reader #There Is No Plot Only Zuul (lemons)#Suren of the Cavernous Dark #part of the U.W. Universe #M:MoE #No Beta We Die Like Men

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gallavichy · 4 years

Note

i’m in the middle of writing a fic, like it’s chapter 5/8 and it’s so close to done and i was hoping i could ask for some advice? i don’t know if you’ve ever gotten to the point where you have a hard time getting your words out or you feel a chapter isn’t good or interesting enough. and if you have is there any way that you work your way around that? this is my first fic that i’ve made it past 10k words with which is kind of a big milestone for me, but i’m starting to get discouraged

hi! yeah, of course! i’ve literally sat for hours and worked on a tiny part of a chapter only to scrap it because i hated it so much. and i’ve also really disliked chapters, am still not happy with them, but posted them anyway just to get them out of my hair because i was tired of looking at them. my advice would be:

don’t force yourself to write when you’re not feeling it. it’ll make it much more frustrating and difficult, and then you’ll get a bad taste in your mouth for the chapter. put it away and come back to it later.

do something to channel your excitement and drive to write what you’re writing. i’ll often choose songs my characters will be listening to in a scene and will listen to them in order to get pumped up for what i’m writing.

outline. i outline every single detail in my writing. my lrpd outline was almost 100 pages long. i know it doesn’t work for everyone, but it works for me, and creating a very detailed, bulleted list of exactly what you want to put in your chapter can help you feel like you have a sense of direction even when you’re not sure whether you do.

write the parts you’re excited about first, then connect them together later. do you have something good that’s going to happen at the end of your chapter? write that now, then backtrack to fill in the gaps. it’ll make you feel accomplished to get out the good thing, which can inspire you to work on the rest.

if something’s genuinely not coming together, figure out what’s going to happen in the next chapter. outline it. then ask yourself, “what’s another way i can get my characters to the beginning of the next chapter?” because it could be that you just need to change up what happens in the chapter.

but ultimately, if a chapter is paining you, there’s no shame at all in writing it, publishing it, and getting it out of your hair so you can move on to the next. i can almost guarantee you that your readers won’t even notice because it’s simply one part of a larger work that i’m sure they love. also, you can totally leave a note saying, “i struggled with this because x, y, and z.” i’ve done it before. writing is supposed to be fun, and if something’s not fun, just get that part over with so you can get to the fun stuff. i can’t tell you how many times i’ve read an a/n that said, “sorry--i don’t like this chapter” but as a reader, i definitely did. maybe get someone else’s eyes on what you’ve written so far and see what they think?

i hope this helps! <333

#anon #ask gray #gray says

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thekrawra · 4 years

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Ricky (and Gina and Nini but mainly about Ricky): MOVING FORWARD AND BACKTRACKING (WOW OKAY SO EPISODE NINE HAPPENED)

okay.

before i get into this, my usual preface: this is all personal opinion and interpretation based on how i understand the show. ship your ships, love the characters you love, read into what you want and forget about what you don’t. no hate, just a fun love of ships.

that being said: i genuinely am not sure how this season is going to end.

ricky and nini still sees likely. but we are one episode away from the end, and nothing said convinced me that ricky and nini should be together.

that’s not saying they won’t be together...but just that no one really seemed all that enthusiastic about the idea. one of the first scenes we get in this ep is both big red and kourtney, ricky and nini’s best friends, respond negatively to the idea.

“just for a moment” is a great song for sure, and i think it nails the dynamic and joshua and olivia did an amazing job with it. and while it’s very obviously a love song: it’s literally called just for a moment. so it doesn’t really feel like a song that references and/or really embodies leading into a potential longish term relationship.

then when gina shows up, ricky first mentions he’s changed, but then corrects himself saying that maybe he’s gone back to how he was before. it’s about as direct a characterization statement you can get as far as development goes.

now this isn’t a hard and fast rule: but it’s generally a discouraged principle to backtrack on character development. character development is a huge part of writing and characterization and generally rule number one of screenwriting is that your plot and characters should move forward in some capacity. the idea of “going back to as it was before” generally is used as a tool to reminisce on the past, and occasionally juxtapose against forward change: and normally forward change wins. even in stories where the idea of going back is much more extreme (ie apocalyptic films trying to “fix the world” and revert it to how it was before, time travel, etc) normally there’s a point where the characters have to acknowledge that they have to move forward. that they can’t just go back to the way things were before.

further, to backtrack on character development makes most of what happened before seem inconsequential. again: not a hard and fast rule, but when your characters either don’t develop or go back on their development makes it feel like they didn’t come out of their experiences with anything to show for it. it’s normally a tactic used to imply some sort of negative connotation with the character - that they can’t process what’s happened/that they are beginning to hit a downward spiral that they don’t think they can deal with/that it’s too much/that they are scared to move forward. rarely is the backtrack in character meant to imply something good.

by having ricky admit that maybe he’s gone “back” implies that he’s probably been seeking out the regular, and admitting that he hasn’t been moving forward. it’s an interesting choice to have especially this close to the ending because normally, when a character becomes aware they are going “back” something happens that then pushes them forward.

then there’s the fact that now that todd has shown up, ricky now has to deal with an issue that has been pushing his arc (his parents splitting and change) in his mentality of having gone back to how things were in the summer (before the summer even).

there’s no right or wrong answer on how that will play out, and what makes sense to me might not be what writers will go with because no two people would tell the story the same. so this is just what i get from the scenes and what makes sense to me with my style of storytelling.

gina’s return forced ricky to on some level realize that while she’s been gone he’s gone back to “before” (in this case who we were introduced to in the beginning of the series). this isn’t saying that gina and ricky are definitely going to get together but it’s also not encouraging that ricky and nini are going to get together.

then everything happens and todd shows up and all of it mirrors and parallels to the rest of the season. here’s ricky who did the musical originally to impress nini, deals with change and his parents splitting up, grows close with gina and finds a home in the musical (reshapes his support system in a way), and when gina leaves, he focuses back on nini. when she comes back, he admits to having gone back to “”how he always had been...back to the summer”. then, with this mindset and realization, he’s once again faced with dealing with a situation with his parents, and he freezes, and he knows how much this means to nini so he’s giving it up to ej for her (echoing back to: “if you really cared about me, you’d let someone who wants this part play it”). again, i think him doing this 100% shows he cares about nini, but i don’t think it is a good sign for them romantically. he’s ready to give up everything he’s spent the season working towards for nini -- a give and take that really isn’t healthy for him (just look at how happy and how good he was going performing before he saw his mom). point is he’s conflicted, he’s confused, and he’s defaulting. rather than pushing forward, he’s withdrawing and moving back (and before anyone says anything - i can admit this point is super subjective on how you read relationships and ricky. more than anything i think his actions are more about ricky than helping to support any particular relationship, but i thought it was big enough that i’d address my thoughts on it anyway)

all that being said though...

to be honest, i really can’t figure this show out. it either has really great writing or really okay? bad? mediocre? inconsistent? writing and it’s entirely dependant on how they tie up their plot lines in episode 10. they’ve been laying a lot of seeds and have a lot of really interesting character development and its clear they are conscious of their backtracking of ricky’s character when they had gina leave. they’ve played into some sort of element of ricky and nini not being a good romantic pairing (something they honestly laid on pretty thick with a) their friends immediate reaction being hesitancy and very clearly not thinking its a good idea, b) they aren’t looking for the same things, and c) they’ve been unable to really talk to each other about any sort of romantic attraction or feelings (as in any time their romantic relationship is brought up it gets awkward/uncomfortable and they can barely look at each other)). they basically confirmed that gina did change ricky to an extent, and without her he went back to how he was before (they also basically confirmed that when she came back, it was like she’d never left, which is why ricky was as confused as he was when he spoke with her - he didn’t know how to feel because there’s two different mindsets there: who he developed into throughout the course of the series and who he was before the series/in ep 1 and when gina left, rather than continuing to move forward he went back to the second, rather than continuing to adapt)

what does any of this mean? well to me, ricky and nini just doesn't feel right at this point? and even though the pessimist in me thinks ricky and nini are going to get together next ep, i just can’t wrap my head around how it will work considering a) the acknowledgement of a lack of forward momentum with them and b) the lack of any positive connotations with them - both facts that the writers seem to be aware of if the recent episode shows for anything.

and look, there’s obviously no one way to screenwrite and most of what i’ve been talking about is based on the classes i’ve taken by the teachers i’ve had, mixed with my own personal style. so there’s no hard and fast rules. this is slightly educated speculation based on my own experiences with the craft (which aren’t necessarily how the writers feel: there’s not really any right or wrong - just stories some people like and some people don’t)

on the other hand, ricky and gina have room to grow as a couple. they’ve had connotations of moving forward, of helping each other individually and ultimately that helps them as a pair - their give and take seems more equal than the give and take that comes with ricky and nini. so season two definitely seems to lean ricky and gina for me regardless of how season one ends.

and yes, part of me still thinks that ricky and nini are season one endgame - we’ve all been prepared for it all season because it seems inevitable. but so far, the writing of the show just doesn’t seem to lean that way.

of course, there’s a lot more you could talk about in this episode. did ej get gina the plane ticket? who sent the flowers? god can we all just be pissed at ricky’s mom and todd (like come on todd, you couldn’t even show up on time?)? i’m excited for next week to see how they tie the season up.

i’m excited to see how they handle ricky’s character moving forward now that he’s acknowledged he’s moving back. i’m hoping nini realizes those words she says to gina in the sneak peek apply to her as well (that she has a chance with YAC and she should go for it! it’s an amazing opportunity). i’d love to see them talk and realize that they should probably just be friends (really good friends but friends). i’d love to see gina be the one to get ricky to do the show (probably won’t happen but man i’d love it).

point is, i’m curious, excited, and honestly don’t know how this all is going to end. i just hope the writers move their characters forward, not back.

#hsmtmts #rina #ricky bowen #character analysis #ramblings of a slightly educated film student #ricky x gina #wow i love them #ricky and nini are cool and all #but i just can't see it dudes #high school musical: the musical - the series #look there's a lot more i could talk about in this ep #but this was getting long #so i stopped #character development #i might write more later #but for now #its been fun #rina supportive #ricky x gina supportive

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viceprints · 4 years

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Title: In Amsterdam Summary: After realizing that Saehyun isn’t having as much fun on tour as he is, Woodam decides to make it up to her by dragging her out of her hotel room.

Pairing: Woodam x Saehyun Genre: Fluff , relationship building Word Count: 1.8k Warnings: None that I could think of besides that it’s partially edited so there may be some mistakes. But please let me know if you think something deserves a warning!!

SUMMER 2014, AMSTERDAM, THE NETHERLANDS

“Dude, get ready.” Cyth emerged from the bathroom, running a fine toothed comb through his hair. “The pyrotech boys are waiting for us in the lobby.”

Woodam lounged on his hotel bed with his laptop in his lap. He was wearing his grubby sweatpants and a shirt so old that the lettering on it was worn off, completely contrasting the designer button up that Cyth was currently sporting. He tried to make himself look as obstinate as possible.

“You backing out?” Cyth asked, a twinge of disappointment in his voice. The hurt in his older friend’s voice almost made Woodam reconsider his plan, but he stood his ground.

“Yeah man, I’m just not really feeling up to it tonight.” Woodam shrugged, looking at his computer screen rather than his friend’s face.

“Okay... Sure.” Sungho didn’t argue. The good thing about rooming with someone who’s introverted; they never question your need for space. The rapper headed to the door, flinging his coat over his shoulder. “I’ll try to be home before two, but... no promises.”

“Alright, be safe!” Woodam called, pretending to search something on his laptop.

“Again, no promises.” Cyth smirked at him from the doorway before closing the door.

Woodam waited fifteen minutes before snapping his laptop shut. By now, the staff members should either be experiencing the nightlife that Amsterdam had to offer or unwinding in the privacy of their own rooms. It was time for him to get a move on.

Discarding his worn out clothes, he put on a nicer pair of jeans and one of his less-shabby sweatshirts. After a quick comb through his hair and a spritz of cologne for good luck, he exited his hotel room, heading for Saehyun’s down the hall.

Ever since Vice’s tour started, Saehyun, their photographer and past savior, had been dodging invites from Vice and the rest of the staff to unwind after work. At first, Woodam respected the rejection, even though he wished she occupied one of the empty chairs when the staff went out for dinner. But as the tour went on, Woodam felt like it was unfair that he was making all these memories while Saehyun, the person who saved him from a sasaeng all those years ago, sat alone in her hotel room. Tonight, he was going to repay her.

Woodie knocked on her door, swaying back and forth on the balls of his feet while he waited for her to answer. He heard the shuffle of footsteps stop before the door. Woodam looked at the peephole and waved enthusiastically. He was sure he heard a sigh before the door opened.

“Sorry, Woodam. I’m not going out tonight.” Saehyun said, giving him a false look of apology.

“Oh, no worries, me either.” Woodam beamed. The apologetic smile on the photographer’s face melted, being replaced with a mild look of bewilderment.

“Huh?”

“The boys already left. I was wondering if you wanted to hang out?” Woodam proposed, his mouth dry. In his head, Saehyun would accept the invitation without hesitation and the rest of their night would be full of unforgettable memories. However, the strained smile on Saehyun’s face was bringing Woodam back to reality. Before Saehyun could give him an excuse, he continued speaking. “I don’t want to invade your space but you just seemed really stressed lately and I’m worried that you’re overworking yourself. I’m just worried.”

Saehyun licked her lower lip, mulling the proposal over. Then she looked over her shoulder, surveying her current living situation.

“Um, would you like to step in for a minute? We can plan out what we want to do.” She offered tentatively.

“Only if you’re comfortable.” Woodam said sincerely. “You have the right to tell me to go away.”

A ghost of a smile quirked on Saehyun’s lips as she stepped aside and welcomed him into her hotel room.

The room was clean enough, but it was obvious that Saehyun had been living out of it for the duration of their time in Amsterdam. A collection of discarded takeout boxes were crammed into the overflowing trash can. Her pre-planned outfits for the week were neatly folded on the spare bed. Books were stacked on her nightstand, titles that Woodam had noticed several times on the job sight between breaks.

Woodie gestured to a well-worn paperback book. “Didn’t you finish that in Germany?” He asked.

Saehyun shrugged. “I’m re-reading it. I didn’t bring as much reading material as I thought I did.”

Woodam perked up, an idea of how they can spend their night casting over him. “Hey, let’s go shopping for a new book for you to read. My treat.”

Saehyun gave him an appreciative smile. “That’s sweet of you, Woodie, but it’s not necessary.”

“Saehyun, come on.” Woodam pouted, giving the photographer pleading eyes. “You’ve been stuck in this hotel room for two nights now. It’ll be nice to get some fresh air, huh?”

Woodam knew no one could resist his pouting, and Saehyun was no exception. Within ten minutes the pair was exiting the hotel, heading towards the downtown area.

It didn’t take long for Woodam to locate the bookstore he mentioned. The outside was covered in ivy and had little window boxes filled with multicolored flowers. A string of delicate fairy lights draped over the doorway and windows. It looked like something out of a fairytale. Woodie opened the door for Saehyun and watched with satisfaction as his photographer’s jaw dropped every so slightly.

The inside of the bookstore was even more magical. There were books stacked from the floor to the ceiling, teetering in precarious towers. Paper mobiles hung from the rafters, taking shapes of animals or hot air balloons. Just like outside, there were fairylights draped over bookshelves and dangling from the ceiling. It was like stepping into a whole other world.

“Wow.” Saehyun mouthed, looking around with wide eyes. Woodie smiled at Saehyun’s endearing amazement. He let Saehyun wander around as he followed behind her like a tethered puppy, occasionally glancing at titles as they passed. Unfortunately, the bulk of the inventory was written either in Dutch or English. As Saehyun began to notice, her smile started fading and becoming more strained.

Woodie looked around for something to cheer Saehyun up. His eyes fell on a display a few paces away. He walked over and picked up a copy, hurrying back over with a smile on his face.

“What’s that?” Saehyun asked. Woodam held it up proudly. Saehyun arched an eyebrow, looking not nearly as impressed as Woodam imagined.

“A coloring book?” Saehyun wrinkled her nose.

“An adult coloring book.” Woodam emphasized, flipping through the pages, displaying all the intricate line drawings. Saehyun still didn’t seem hooked. Woodam snapped the book shut, accepting defeat.

“Okay… What about…” Woodam looked around. He spent about fifteen minutes searching around the store for something Saehyun would like. Unfortunately, all he knew about Saehyun was that she liked to take pictures and that she probably wanted Woodam to leave her alone. He came up empty handed, and Saehyun looked bored.

“I don’t know…” Woodam sulked, glancing around the bookstore one last time. “I think we struck out.” “It’s getting late anyways.” Saehyun shrugged. “We should probably get back to the hotel before people realize we’re gone.”

Woodam followed Saehyun towards the door silently, thoroughly discouraged that he couldn’t make this night memorable. He doesn’t even know if Saehyun smiled once tonight. That hurt Woodam the most.

As they were passing the last row of displays, something caught Woodam’s eye. He halted in his tracks. To his left was a tall shelf full of journals. The covers ranged from classic leather bound to sparkled with rhinestones. Saehyun realized Woodam wasn’t behind her and backtracked to stand next to him.

Woodam glanced over at the girl with a grin on his face. “What about writing your own story?”

“Got any ideas about your first entry?” Woodam questioned as they walked down the sidewalk. Above them, the street lights buzzed, casting the two of them in an peachy tint. Saehyun peeked into the paper bag, examining her recent purchase. “Not sure.” Saehyun mused. “Maybe I’ll make it into a burn book.”

Woodam’s eyebrows shot up. “Working for HBH is that bad huh?” He teased.

Saehyun rolled her eyes. “I didn’t mean it like that. Most of the staff is lovely. I think.” A puzzled expression casted over her features. “It’s kind of hard to tell who’s nice and who isn’t if everyone talks to you simply.”

“You haven’t made any friends yet?” Woodam asked with concern.

Saehyun dryly chuckled. “I mean… I’m not really here to make friends. I’m here to photograph a boy band and to build up my resume.”

“Still. It must get lonely if you don’t have someone to talk to.” Woodam sympathized. Saehyun didn’t respond. Laughter and cheers from the bars that lined the streets filtered into the night, contrasting the stiff silence between them.

“Are you okay?”

Woodam had been wanting to ask this question for weeks now. With no other staff members or his friends around, the question came out easily. Saehyun looked up at Woodam, her expression downcast.

“I mean… Yeah. I’m okay. But I guess you’re right. I am a little lonely.”

The silence returned.

“You should write about tonight.” Woodam suggested as they were two blocks from their hotel. “In your journal, I mean.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. You might be less lonely when you look back on it.” Woodam smiled. Saehyun fought off a grin as she gave him a playful shove. “Yeah, I’ll look back on it and write about how you tried to get me to buy a coloring book.” Saehyun chuckled. “Hey, it was a good idea! You’re just boring.” “I’m not boring.” “I’d say otherwise…” “You don’t know me.” Saehyun arched her eyebrows playfully. Woodam slowed his walking, nodding his head.

“You’re right. I don’t really know you.” The idol gave the photographer a small smirk. “Maybe we should hang out more. Then I’ll be able to decide if you’re boring or not.”

Saehyun’s smile melted a little. “That’s sweet, Woodie, but… I’m concerned of how it’ll look to everyone else if we start hanging out. My colleagues know I used to be a fansite, you know? They already have their assumptions as to why I’m here. I don’t want to look any less professional than I already do.”

Woodam nodded in understanding. He looked around them. There were people around, but no one seemed to be paying any attention to them. He pointed a finger to the sky. “What if we hung out like this?”

“At night?” Saehyun reacted as if Woodam suggested that they lay in the middle of the road. “If we get caught, I’ll be booted in a heartbeat.”

“So we won’t.” Woodam grinned. “I’m better at keeping secrets than you may think.”

Saehyun ran a hand through her hair, tugging the roots back as she thought about the proposal. Finally, her hand fell from her locks, the strain on her scalp being released.

“I guess it was nice not spending a night alone.” She caved. Woodam beamed, resuming his walking.

“Exactly.” Woodam said satisfactorily.

#kocsociety #kumokocnet #peachykocnet #aeskocnet #kpop addition #kpop oc #idol addition #skz addition #bts addition #nct addition #additional member #kpop au #idol oc #kpop idol oc #kpop idol au #fake kpop group #fake kpop idol #woodie.dev

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translucio · 4 years

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im gonna say this here and hope i dont get flack for it because whenever i say it in real life all of the soulslike fans in a 1 mile radius (many of whom are also game designers) crawl out of the woodwork to tell me to shut up and git gud.

i think the soulslike genre of games has some really big flaws that actively work against the fun of the games. and i think that the wave of "super hard" souls wannabe games and die hard fans that accompany them have hurt the games industry by praising the pillars of soulslike gameplay without analyzing its flaws and working to make it better, more fun, and more accessible for the potential audience(s). i don't think games should trend towards massively punishing gameplay with little built-in reward and a one-difficulty-fits-all mentality.

im gonna divide my essay here into a few different points.

1. challenging gameplay: good challenge vs unnecessary punishment. challenge is an extremely popular engagement type, and challenging gameplay can be fun for a number of reasons. primarily, the fun of challenge is in overcoming obstacles: beating a boss, executing a tactical strategy to win a match or solve a problem, training your reflexes to succeed in twitch events, memorizing and countering different threats. all of these are great ways to engage players, but in the soulslike genre in particular it seems easy to confuse challenge with difficulty and punishment.

many soulslike games revel in the "hard as balls" reputation. gameplay is intentionally difficult; death, repetition, and memorization are expected. so how can we preserve and improve the fun of challenging gameplay without making it so difficult, tedious, and punishing that it isn't fun any more-- or that a large portion of the potential audience is turned away?

in my own opinion, there are a few steps to take here. one is to allow failure to be punishing, but make trying again quick and easy. sure, make it hurt when the player dies; a loss of currency or progress is one way to make failure feel consequential and eventual victory even sweeter. but forcing the player to completely restart a level, or backtrack through several minutes' worth of gameplay they've already completed-- with no new content and no way to regain power until they reach what killed them in the first place-- can be extremely discouraging and dull. it may be so tedious that players drop the game entirely-- not from lack of wanting to overcome the challenge, but from boredom and time consumption of simply getting to the challenge itself. allowing a quick and easy retry for challenging encounters removes barriers to the challenge and maximizes the fun of learning, practicing, improving, and completing the encounter.

"but i like losing all my stuff and having to go through all the enemies in the area again before i can try the boss fight!" do you? do you really? are you having fun while you're clearing the same enemy for the 10th time and running back to the arena after doing nothing but die to the same boss all day? or are you having fun while fighting and finally beating the boss?

2. reward the player for completing the main challenges, but also for the process of getting to them and attempting to beat them. it's easy for players to be turned off by a screeching halt in progress from one obstacle they haven't been able to beat, even after several attempts. this compounds with gameplay that forces players to get through challenging gameplay in order to do anything else, whether it be attempting a boss, exploring levels, or reaching a vendor to purchase different equipment. if we want players to keep trying and have fun while they're doing it, it's important to provide rewards throughout the experience within the game itself; the game should not rely solely on the player's sense of satisfaction after beating a difficult encounter.

these rewards can take many different forms-- lore, equipment, currency, new abilities, new enemies, new environments-- but importantly should add interest to gameplay, even when the player is "stuck" on one area or encounter. it's especially good if the player can get stronger between main challenges, as this gives them better ability to overcome the challenges. the player should not feel as though there is nothing they can do to improve their ability to overcome a challenge; gameplay should periodically give the player new ways and motivations to attempt challenges.

3. customizable settings. one thing that makes soulslikes particularly unforgiving to non-hardcore fans of the genre is that they tend to have a set difficulty, with little customizable functionality to make them more accessible. "it's supposed to be hard!" sure. the core experience can be challenging. it can be just as hard as the developers intended for the standard experience. but difficulty is not universal-- many players will experience the base experience differently. additionally, there are plenty of players for any game (who may or may not be part if the primary target audience) who will love many aspects of the game, but be uninterested or unskilled in some parts. if a player loves the atmosphere, levels, narrative, and most of the gameplay systems, but the difficulty of a handful of encounters surpasses their ability, should that stop them from enjoying the whole game? why lose that portion of the audience (many potential customers!) when difficulty settings and toggleable mechanics could solve that problem for them?

optional ways to decrease how punishing failure is, or how demanding encounters are, don't take away from the core experience of the game. you can keep it super hard, if that's the way it was "meant to be played" and your ability level allows you to complete that experience. but optional, toggleable settings do a world of good for players with different abilities and experiences. the more people enjoy the game (both in number of players and depth of enjoyment), the better.

and if you wanna say "but the artistic vision!!" you can suck my ass. sometimes visions are unnecessarily restrictive of players and not actually as fun as they could be.

#i spent an hour writing this instead of eating dinner. hoes mad (im hoes)

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thesocialfables · 4 years

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September has been working at Heaven's Hideaway for almost a year now, and even in that short amount of time, she saw more than she ever needed. She saw more affection, more adoration, more money, more problems, and more pains. Like so many young girls before her, she was only supposed to be passing through the problematic strip club. Only needing enough money to cover her school tuition, and then she would be done. It goes without saying that September had already met her goal. The truth was she could've walked away from Heaven’s Hideaway just three months after starting. With enough money to cover what she owed, plus the next year in full. Sure, she had pissed the other dancer’s off in the process, namely Rhapsody, but she made it up to her when she did a private party for her later that week.

September wanted her reasons to keep dancing to be brooding. But there was something about the way the lights lit her body up that kept September coming back for more. When she was on that stage, she never felt sexier. From the moment she stepped out, she was more than everything she had been before. With the spotlight on her, September commanded the attention of everyone in the room without saying a single word. From her view on the main stage, she could see just how lost and weak the men of this world could be. Even with money being thrown at her from thirsty boys ready to risk it all for just one-touch to her petite body, as long as she was up here, she could get a man to confess his darkest sins to her. And there wasn’t a thrill in the world that would replace how powerful she felt. Be that as it may, her deep-set insecurities shouldn’t have been the reason September couldn’t leave this hellhole behind. There shouldn’t be anything stopping her from quitting and going home to her loyal boyfriend.

Unlike other girls, September didn’t pick a nickname for TK to call out over the club’s speakers. When he welcomed her to the stage, he called her name. As the spotlight found her snow colored body, she looked more like cocaine as those who decided she was their new favorite expense fortified the front of the stage to get their fix. The saddest of them all would dig deep in their pockets just to have September’s sea like eyes tell them it would all be okay. Still, she had to admit it was hard to see some of the faces in the crowd, as the frailest fella in here tonight – was Dante.

Her boyfriend had shown up to the club about an hour ago, drunk. He wanted September to leave work early so they could ‘talk’. As September wondered why he too wasn’t at work, the club’s den mother, Venus, asked her to cover for Echo, who was making her own hours usual. From the stage, September watched Dante close. He had never given her a reason to fear him before, but as she watched him stare down the rally of her regulars, calling out his girl's name and tossing money at her nearly naked body, September feared Dante’s sins would ruin everything she had going for herself. More now, than they even did before.

Just as September could see the thought to defend his ego cross Dante’s mind, TK began to hype the crowd for the next dancer. As Venus assisted her with picking up her earnings, she kept her eyes on Dante as well. Because regardless of what September’s workplace may have looked like – this was still the girl’s job.

“You gotta be past the drink minimum now, huh?” September spoke from behind Dante as she approached him at the bar. His back was to the woman, as his eyes were still fixated on the stage September had just exposed herself on. Hearing her voice, over the pulsating trap music and clamor of unwinding men, Dante turned towards his girl. Upon his first look, he was in awe. From her blonde curls to her pink toes, Dante had loved September since he first laid eyes on her five years ago. However, looking at her now under the neon glow of Heaven’s, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed. September’s model physique had once been a view for only his eyes only, but now every asshole from the south bay to upper north knew what lay beneath.

Dante expected his girl to be dressed and ready to go – since he had told her they were leaving almost an hour ago. And yet she stood before him scantily clad in a soft rose garter set. While hiding his anger, Dante said, “We really need to talk.”

“So talk,” September said as she signaled for the bartender to give her a shot. “I got some time. Is it about why you not at work?”

“I think maybe we should go home and talk about it.” September took a moment to survey Dante’s face carefully. She didn’t need to go home to know what he needed to talk about. She was sure it had everything to do with her dancing because lately, it seemed Dante couldn’t keep a job. He worked exactly four days at his last job before he spent four months awaiting the next. Two weeks was his record this time.

“I’m at work, Dante. I can’t just come and go as I please.”

“Work?” His voice implied that it was a question, but it was the heckling in his tone that made it clear those six shots of Hennessy he consumed had him ready to get some things off his chest.

“Did you get fired again?” September shot back, feeling attacked. At the same time, she had to agree with Dante. Here at her job was not the time to talk about this. Closing the gap between the two, she backtracked on her words. In a sensual and apologetic tone, she said, “You know what, you were right. Let’s just talk when I get home.”

“We can talk now. Go get yo stuff, we leaving.” His tone was stern. So much so when the words cleared his mouth, Dante moved away from September, tossed back one more shot, and headed towards the exit.

“Dante,” September called behind him, exposed more now than when she was on stage. As she once again approached his guarded stance, deep in a den of wolves, her customers sensed her unprotected energy and salivated at the unraveling scene. “I’ll be home soon, baby. And then we’ll talk, okay?”

Although all the other girls discouraged it, September wasn’t breaking any rules when she kissed Dante’s lips goodbye. And then his hands slipped down her waistline to hold her heart-shaped butt in his hands. September would’ve let it slide, knowing Dante needed this at the moment. But as September spotted her boss slipping out the side door, she pulled Dante’s hands back. Needless to say, he didn’t like that.

“Wow,” he said, stepping back. September tried to explain why she moved his hands before the man caused a scene. “So you’d rather stay here and act like a hoe, then be with your fucking man?”

From her place under Dante’s chin, September remained silent. Instead of risking her job to argue with Dante here, just so she could argue with him at home, she looked around. She thought Rhapsody and Echo were just mean girls when they warned her not to have her boyfriend hanging around Heaven’s Hideaway. There was nothing in the official rules that said her boyfriend couldn’t visit her at work. But as she stood, dodging the starved stares from the club’s patrons, all the power she just felt was gone.

Flushed with memories, September remembered how she first felt when she got up on stage. It was an overwhelming feeling. All eyes were on her as she felt the room judging her. She had watched the woman before her get showered in dollar bills, and September figured she’d just repeat everything she did and get the same response. But her rainfall was like a light drizzle. September had bombed on stage three nights in a row before Lola gave her some advice. The next night on stage, September did just as the club’s star dancer had said. Envisioning herself alone with Dante, riding his dick. She didn’t understand how that was going to stop her from being nervous – and then she tried it. Instantly she felt in control. She moved her body across the stage to a standing ovation. She would never work the pole like Lola, but against a bed of 10s, 20s, and 100s, September kept her mind on top. Just the same, as quick as her new confidence came – it had all faded away now. The same guys she had just taken for a ride now saw her as nothing more than a pretty face they wouldn’t mind bending over if they had a chance. And that wasn’t going to make her no money.

“I see you when I get home.” September repeated, pushing past the man to continue working.

"If you don’t leave with me now-”

“Or what!” September shot back into Dante's words. One final time, September walked over to where Dante stood. “You’re drunk, Dante. Go home, sleep it off, and we’ll figure this out in the morning.”

“Ain’t shit to figure out!” He yelled, extending his 6 foot-frame to tower over the woman he loved. He was putting his foot down. “This the life you want, go for it. But I ain’t gon stick around and look like a fool. You wanna talk about work? I lost my job today because I had to defend yo hoe ass. I knew this was a bad idea. You dropped out of school, anyway!”

September could see Buddy the doorman and his security team, as they began to approach the two of them. As they drew in closer, she contemplated matching Dante’s energy and telling him of all the ways he made her look like a fool. Instead, she held her tongue. Staring into Dante’s eyes, she could feel that power he attempted to take away begin to resurface. In the middle of a strip club, Dante’s biggest fear was getting ready to come true. September spared a look towards those who were hoping for the worst and felt more in power than before. “Okay.” She said, motioning towards Buddy to give her a second before he kicked Dante out. “If you’re home when I get there, we’ll talk. If not. Well,” She kissed Dante’s cheek sweetly before she headed towards the locker room hidden behind the club’s stage.

It took everything in her not to tell Dante of all the ways he was a fuck up. To remind him of all the times she would cover shifts and do private events to make ends meet since he couldn’t keep a job. To paint the man a vivid picture about the time she went to the champagne room with Fargo, despite all the rumors she had heard. All because Dante couldn’t keep his mouth closed or his hands to himself – or even his dick. September had turned to Heaven’s Hideaway after all of Dante’s promises to support her through college fell flat. After falling behind on multiple bills, almost losing their apartment, and still needing to cover the remaining balance of her tuition, September continued to wait for Dante’s help. When she first started dancing, he was with it. The money had begun rolling in, and he was in-between jobs even then. This new attitude of his had only come after Dante fucked Rhapsody – and now he wanted her to quit. Despite being lied too, let down, and cheated on, September never once bought it up after she forgave him. If only he respected her enough to do the same.

Either way as September, pranced through the club, savoring in the looks of desire and need, it didn’t fucking matter who did what to who anymore. Never again would she question why she started dancing or wonder why she still was. Never again would she lose her power, more now than ever.

#flash fiction #short story #black writers #blackcreators #blackauthors #writing prompt #the mason universe #a social fable #way too high #WTH\LLS #street lit #urban fiction #fictional universe

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ashleylikeshorror · 4 years

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Positive by David Wellington: An Honest Review

So, I recently moved and my new place has a bath tub. What does that have to do with this book, you ask? It has nothing to do with the book; I’m just fucking stoked beyond belief that I can go back to reading in a hot, steamy bathtub full of salts and surrounded by candles. The reality of that has less candles and more of my husband barging in to piss, but nonetheless - I’m back to reading in a hot bath. First book I chose due to the recommendation I’d seen on Reddit was David Wellington’s “Positive”.

* * There’s going to be spoilers, so read ahead at your own risk. * *

This novel started off a bit slow then got heated quite quick. What drew me in wasn’t the writing - Lord knows it wasn’t that (I’ll elaborate later) - but how traumatic of an experience we started off with. The complications of this one moment sets the tone for the rest of the novel as well as opens our main character, Finnegan’s, eyes to the reality of the world and just how sheltered he is. However, once our character is “introduced to the world” (as I call it), nothing bad really happens to him. Wellington keeps our character in a nice little protective bubble, safe from harm and repercussions.

Red Kate, our first character introduced to us outside of the friends and family of Finnegan, talks a whole lotta cheesy “I’m a big bad guy” bullshit then runs off. This sets the stage for Adare, the next big bad guy to enter, but we don’t ever get to see WHY he’s bad. We just know he’s a pedophile with a harem of underage girls and he has loads of street cred with the Army and the other looters. No character development here - at all - so these characters are easily forgettable. So forgettable in fact, that the author feels the need to continuously mention them or have them pop up throughout the novel in a “don’t forget about me!” way that reads more “IT WAS ME! DIO!” instead of “Oh no! Not those guys!”

Speaking of character development, there’s only two characters in this novel who actually grow. Kylie and Finnegan’s best friend, Ike. Kylie is an understandably damaged individual when we meet her, and I fucking adore the fact that when the book ends, it ends as realistically as possible with her character by leaving her just as damaged but working through it. As someone with PTSD myself, I know if I was in a novel, I’d be emotionally disengaged in the beginning and just as compromised, but operating with a day-by-day mentality, She is probably the only rational character throughout the entire novel as well, which is supremely disappointing that Wellington doesn’t treat her as such, but rather writes her as a continuous damsel-in-distress type who needs a man to protect her (Adare first then Finnegan). Huge fucking WOMP WOMP that is.

Moving on, but also kind of backtracking: THE PLOT ARMOR IS FUCKING ATROCIOUS. Did Finnegan get stuck on a sign? Goody! One of the more well known, lethal looters wants him as a “son”. The ideal place he was struggling so hard to get to wasn’t as ideal as promised? Don’t worry! One of the major bosses within it takes a general liking to ya, Finn! That and your best friend joined the army and can help ya not fucking starve! Literally every single moment plot armor makes a HUGE presence that is both excruciatingly painful to read as it is dishearteningly predictable.

(Finnegan roaming the world’s post apocalyptic remains)

Even with plot armor aside, David Wellington has succeeding in making the most unlikable main character I’ve ever had the displeasure of following along. 500 plus pages of hard headed, blatantly stupid decisions. Granted, he is extremely ignorant to the ways of the world outside of where he grew up in New York, to just be thrown into the landscape as it is, is both intimidating and confusing. However, just because he has great intentions and is the leading man in our story, we’re supposed to believe that in the span of a year or so (two at the most) that he has become the fucking mayor of a makeshift city? Our character meets some pretty vile people along the way, yet he miraculously is kept alive on their behalf because... I genuinely don’t know why. There’s excuse after excuse, plot armor after plot armor, that keeps our leading ignoramus alive. “Exhausting” doesn’t truly capture the emotion of it all.

The most discouraging thing about this book is absolutely everything about how it was handled. Disregarding Finnegan, Kylie, the zombies, and literally every person and thing else in this book, let’s just discuss how Wellington chose to write this. Why, sir... Why did you decide to write well over 100 chapters consisting of no more than 8 or 10 pages that don’t really say much of anything at all? Let me put it this way: The events in Positive are so rushed that even Gohan couldn’t see what just happened.

Everything is briefly touched on and we’re constantly moving to the next thing with little disregard for what just went down. How the events that transpire in the book are written is more suited for a cheesy teenage drama on CW - not a book. Had Wellington taken his time, not tried so hard to pile up the drama (there's enough drama alone with being in a post apocalyptic environment) on top of drama, and actually invested in his character growing as a person instead of conveniently writing up a miracle solution for everything that happens, this book could have been a great novel.

The premise of him losing his family the way Finn did was great. Finn having to survive in the world on his own, and as someone who's seen as a risk? OK - tell me the deets. Everything else after Finn meeting Adare? If I didn't read this book for free, I'd be taking it back to the store. (Thanks, Scribd!)

Long post short (too late for that, but I digress). this book was a major bummer. I was hyped up for a intense, high-stakes journey involving zombies. In reality, that’s about 4,000 yards away from what I got. While I appreciate that the zombies were more of a background presence, and much like The Walking Dead - people are the real threat, it just didn’t scratch the itch I had in regards of wanting a great, even decent, post apocalyptic read..

2 out of 5 stars.

TLDR: Not the best thing to read during a pandemic, but it’s an easy read that can fill the time if you can get past the abundance of plot armor and lack of character development.

#david wellington #positive #zombie #post apocalyptic #post apocalypse #walkers #infected #disease #pandemic #scribd #spoiler alert #gifs #review #book review #staythefuckathome #government #army

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lucysweatslove · 4 years

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There is something to be said about starting over.

Truthfully, though, I’m not sure what it is. My story is not new or unique; I’m just a woman in her mid-20s trying to figure out how to be herself again, or what that ever would look like. Few paths are linear, or even with one definitive trend. We start, we stop, we remodel and backtrack or go in an entirely different direction. I came back to tumblr for two reasons: 1, I really believe blogs are helpful in my planning, recording, and motivation for any part of my life, and 2, I tried a few other types of blogs and didn’t like them. Tumblr was where I got my life in order when I went to college. I made connections with people who helped me, in various ways, connect the dots in my own life as I became an adult. And then, for some reason, it stopped being that space. I could blame this change on politics, and honestly, deep in my mind, I do. Even prior to Trump taking office, or his campaign, tumblr’s focus shifted heavily to politics and the state of the world’s affairs. Understandable, and I harbor no ill will to those using their platforms to speak about what they believe to be right, but that shift took over my feed. Instead of positivity, I felt anger and desperation. Facebook, school, or work were places for politics- tumblr was my place without it. Tumblr was my place to work on my own health, inside and out, ignoring the health of our society. I could not- and still can’t- focus on my health while being bombarded with reminders of the degradation of the world. I don’t remember when exactly I stopped being on Tumblr for good, but it wasn’t recently. In the years since then, I didn’t have a place to hold on to my health, and I’ve deteriorated. I hate it. I don’t hate myself, nor do I hate the workings of my body, but I see myself and I am discouraged and disgusted. I try to do basic things, like body weight squats, that used to be easy activities, and I struggle. Some of this is related to age, some of it is related to health issues, and some of it is related simply to poorly managed stress. I have made numerous attempts now to get myself back to the health I was in 4-5 years ago. A previous post from 2018 on this very blog shows that off. In early 2019, I attempted a keto diet- which, even though I was very consistent with, did not “work” for me. I’ve started other blogs (which obviously failed), personal journaling, linking up with different food tracking apps, going to the gym more regularly, intuitive eating, even a well designed rewards program based off of the psychology and neuroscience of behavior modification and rewards- they all failed in the end (although the rewards program was wildly successful for the two months I did it, but after it ended and I went on a trip, it became too difficult to keep up). The problem with all of these attempts has been a lack of integration. Any attempt at in-person or even online but direct social support has been futile, and my attempts and feigning the idea of support or accountability (eg, a blog as I feel the “support” whether or not it is actually read) haven’t integrated what actually works best for me: numbers. I need all pieces to come together, and so far, I haven’t been able to do that. It’s like working on a large puzzle where the pieces continually go missing. You have one piece in your hand, but can’t find the piece it connects to, and when you finally do, the first piece mysteriously vanished. I think big parts of my difficulties the last two years especially have been medication and health. Right before I started this blog, I was started on a new antidepressant and anti anxiety med. This first made me REALLY sleepy, so as I was adjusting, I slept so much that I didn’t eat regularly. When that resolved, I thought I was doing fine on the medication, but without changing anything else, I experienced many side effects, including a 20 pound weight gain and a whole host of weird, systemic/somatic concerns (I was even lactating a small amount). I stayed on it because my anxiety seemed better, even though I felt all my emotions were dull. When this medication stopped working for my depression, I finally decided to switch it- and that was a process that lasted, no lie, over six months. I tried medication that gave me horrible heart palpitations, dizziness, tachycardia, and erratic blood pressure readings. I tried genetic testing. My psych moved practices. It was a mess. During this process, I tried multiple times to start going to the gym. There was ALWAYS something wrong. I would go consistently for two weeks, and then I would develop muscle spasms in my back. I couldn’t do yoga anymore because I developed a soft tissue injury in my left hand and could no longer put weight-bearing pressure on that hand. In early November, I developed an upper respiratory infection that lasted two months, required two courses of antibiotics, and still hasn’t fully resolved. But now I need to be determined. My honeymoon to Cancun is in 13 weeks, and every day now counts. While I can’t solve all my problems in a mere 91 days, nor will I have my “best body ever,” I am determined to be able to enjoy the beach vacation with my husband without letting my body, my insecurity, or my complete lack of fitness stop me. When is started paying attention to my diet, I was technically obese (just barely, but still). This number hit me hard. I remember crossing the line from normal weight to overweight and sobbing, so angry that I had let myself down. I remembered how awful I was treated by my peers the last time I had such a high weight. Now, I would love if I could reach that weight before my honeymoon. My “goal,” which I have entered into MyFitnessPal, is to lose 30 pounds starting from last week at 176.2; this would place me at 146.2 and a BMI just barely overweight. Would I love it to be lower? Yes. I would be overjoyed if I could lose even more weight. However, I don’t want to attempt anything unrealistic; if it happens, great! If not, I won’t be (too) disappointed. I have been too scared to measure my waist recently, or my hips or thighs, but I have a few linen dresses that I really want to fit in to, and while the scale is a great way to measure weight loss, I am really looking for more fat loss, improvement in how I look and feel, and to fit into clothing again- so as long as inches are going down, I’ll be happy with the weight loss too. As a disclaimer, for anybody reading this. Yes, 30 pounds in 14 weeks IS over 2 pounds a week, and it IS over 1% of my body weight per week as well (both of those values are typical suggested maximum rates). I’m not suggesting this particular weight loss goal to anybody, and my general/systemic health is constantly monitored. This last week included, I am being VERY conscious about keeping myself in good health throughout this process, and if I cannot reach a goal while maintaining my health, then the goal (in some part) will change so I CAN meet it healthfully.

#Journal #day 6 #starting over #weight loss

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a-woman-apart · 4 years

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It Never Goes Away

Crisis text line (U.S.): 741 741

I’ve had to fight really hard to push my way back up to “sane.” I dealt with psychosis, severe mania, debilitating depression and yearly hospitalizations before I finally decided to become medicine compliant. It took me 4 years before I began to fully comply with my treatment plan. I began attending groups under the guidance of a case worker. I began seeing my psychiatrist regularly so that I could make sure that I was on the proper medication. With my case worker’s help, I moved out of my parents’ home. I had to challenge myself to embrace the rules and structure provided by the group home manager.

Managing my mental illness, integrating into society, and becoming more independent were not choices that were easy. It wasn’t easy to work and go to school, to keep track of appointments and to try to manage a social life at the same time. These things are not easy for anyone in today’s climate, but they were compounded for me because of my mental illness. There was one year of community college when I slipped almost totally into dysthymia (low grade, chronic depression) and ended up bouncing from antidepressant to antidepressant in an attempt to cure it. These were ineffective; I am now antidepressant free and handling negative emotions better than before.

As I have said so many times before, there are people who do not understand my rigidity, adherence to structure, and perfectionism. Next to medicine compliance and proper sleeping habits, routine is a part of the essential trio of things that are crucial for me to maintain my mental health. Taking my medicine at roughly the same time every day helps me to enforce regular sleep and waking times. Going to work isn’t just important for my being able to pay for a car, utilities, and an apartment, but it gives me something to do so that I do not absolutely lose my mind. Scheduling study and leisure times and planning out events well in advance help to reduce my anxiety.

There are times, though, when being overly regimented can lead to lack of stimulation, boredom, and monotony. We all need a little spontaneity in our lives, at least a slight variation in routine, and the ability to tolerate change. Two recent changes in my life have forced me to embrace more flexibility in my life: working from home and starting a new relationship.

I work for a small company owned by a close friend of mine, and I need to check in with her every day before I clock in, because my schedule is variable. I am disciplined and self-motivated, but at first, I was very nervous because I am used to explicit direction on what to do, and instead I got a very loose managerial style and a higher degree of freedom to make my own decisions. My friend and I had a pre-established level of trust and so I think that went a long way.

As for my boyfriend, he and I have a lot in common, but we also have completely different operating procedures in some cases. He can go to the store without a list and then shop based on whatever meal he has in his head to craft and the store sales. On the flip side, I go with a pre-written list that is ordered based on where everything is in the store so that I can traverse it without any deviation or backtracking. He used to stay up all night and sleep half the day, and I had a strict midnight-to-morning sleep cycle (all-nighters put me at risk for mania). He deals with chronic understimulation and I get overstimulated extremely easily. Overall, everything is much looser and undefined for him; he’ll do things spontaneously, whereas I’ve declined invitations to go out with people strictly on the basis of the invitation being short notice.

Changing jobs and starting new relationships can be extremely stressful, but they can also be exciting and inspiring. Every week I now have something new to look forward to, and even after the feelings of novelty have worn off, I will still be forever grateful for making these changes. There is a lot of instability in our world, and I have discovered that having a sense of purpose and strong interpersonal relationships are key towards surviving in these changing times.

I am learning a lot. As I alluded to earlier, anxiety has hampered me in that I need time to “psych up” before big social events, public speaking, concerts, or conventions. It is no secret that my anxiety has been rearing its ugly head more than it ever has before lately, but I am learning to deal with it one day at a time. Having undiagnosed, largely untreated GAD (Generalized Anxiety Disorder) in addition to a mood disorder is frequently hellacious. I have had a lot of close calls, but I have not given up hope.

I had been told by various doctors that there is no real cure for what I’ve got, and now I am starting to indeed believe that “It never goes away.” It can only be treated and managed. Proper management of illness—especially medicine compliance—can be the difference between life and death for those of us with these disorders. Even for those of us with severe symptoms, there are periods of euthymia—or “normal, tranquil mood”—that exist between our episodes. Feeling stable for a while does not mean that the illness is gone, but it can give people a false belief that they are cured. The discouragement that comes when the illness “returns” can be so devastating for some people that it drives them to self-destructive behavior.

The bottom line though, is that things change. Things can get better. It takes an amazing amount of work, and you may need a lot of help to make those first steps, but if you do, it can make all the difference. Don’t give up. I know the holidays are hard. To make matter worst, the current politic, environmental and socioeconomic conditions of our country are completely whack, but we have the opportunity to make meaningful change. The personal progress that we make as individuals has a ripple effect on the greater society around us. Even if we are unsuccessful in our efforts, it is certainly worth trying.

In fact, the idea that any of us—mentally ill or not—will arrive at some hypothetical form of perfection where improvement is no longer necessary is a fundamentally flawed concept. If we stop growing, we start dying. We must continue expanding mentally and emotionally in order to stay alive. Stagnation breeds decay. Life is less about the destination and more about the journey.

I know no one really reads these. These notes are as much for me as much as anyone else. I know that I am probably going to go through some objectively horrendous times sooner or later, and I am going to need to be reminded that I have a chronic mental illness, that while not curable, is subject to improving with treatment. I am going to need to be reminded that despite what the static noise in my head says, there are a lot of people who love me and still want me around. There are people who still want the best for me even when I cannot want it for myself.

It never goes away, but it doesn’t have to. I’m determined to fight.

#it never goes away #living with mental illness #living with depression #living with anxiety #schizoaffective disorder #GAD #generalized anxiety disorder #undiagnosed illness #the struggle #holiday blues #bipolar disorder #coping skills #hope #existential crisis #comorbidity #being flexible #spontaneity

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randomoranges · 5 years

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again, when your friend is like hey i might wanna do a pseudo collab on a thing and you’re like hmm this reminds me of a previous convo we had at some point during the summer with another friend so you go ye i got an idea for this why not. and then you write said thing because it’s been playing in your mind for like almost 2 months.

lol.

Tasty

Edward ends up dozing on the métro and misses his stop. He considers backtracking for a moment, but then thinks against it. It’s not a very big detour and he can get to his destination from here. Plus, the walk might do him good and help clear up his mind a bit. He let’s his feet guide him, lost in his fuzzy thoughts and whether from forgotten habit or out of curiosity, he finds himself going down a street he knows won’t take him to where he’s meant to be heading, but he has time for the detour and he feels a little curious – figures he might find something interesting along the way.

It’s a nice day out – summer has finally arrived and it’s not too hot out yet. He doesn’t know how he’s managed this infernal heat for all these years and he’s not sure he’s fully adapted, but somehow or other, he’s survived summers in Montreal for the most part. It’s also nice to be out on his own, to know that his mother is finally back in Edmonton and that he can breathe a little and that he’s finally out of the hospital. He still has many questions, his thoughts are still a mess on a good day, but – this is an improvement. He feels a little more like himself and that’s a good start.

It feels like he’s taking one side street after another before he stops in front of a shop. He frowns, unsure as to why he’s here, but it feels familiar and that in itself is frustrating enough. Sometimes, he wishes he would have forgotten everything or at the very least, not have this eternal feeling of familiarity with a myriad of things that he can’t fully recognise or grasp. If at least he could place why things feel familiar it would at least be that much more progress. But it never is. And he’s left confused, angry and discouraged.

Yet, this place is an ice cream shop upon further inspection and for some reason; he pushes the door open, hears a bell tingle and ring, and steps in. It’s nice and cool inside and that’s a pleasant change from the heat. He takes a moment to look around, hoping some clue will jump at him, but the place is bare, this early in the day, and nothing screams, “Hey remember me? I was your favourite shop!” He sighs and has a look around. There are Formica tables, chairs, a retro type decor, neon signs on the walls, dozens and dozens of photos on a wall by the door, plants here and there, and the ice cream display. There’s a few hard options, but it seems like mostly a soft serve place. Music plays and just as he’s about to head out and go on about his day, a young-ish person walks out into the room and greets him with a very enthusiastic “bonjour-hi”, before they falter and then their face splits into a wide grin, “Monsieur Édouard!” They exclaim, “Ça faisait un bout!”

Edward doesn’t know how to react – he can’t say he recognises the attendant, can’t say their face looks familiar, even though anyone would pastel-pink hair would obviously be memorable, and can’t say a name comes to mind either. He tries a smile, but it mustn’t reach his eyes, or something on his face must betray him, for the person frowns ever so and he fears he’s fucked this up as well, “Et puis – le marriage? Comment va Monsieur Étienne?”

Oh.

That’s why.

Edward knows they mean well, but that name sends his mind spinning. He should have known this place is associated with Étienne. He should have known the moment he stepped into this ice cream parlour with confusion as his partner that this has to be from before. It’s obvious now and he feels rather stupid for not figuring it out before. He tries to think of something to say – tries to find the right words to say, “Yeah, that didn’t happen – see, we were in a car accident and then I forgot all about him – all about us. Now I don’t know what I feel for him, I’m sort of seeing this other guy and whenever I see Étienne I feel like either throttling him or slapping him hard across the face. Also, I don’t blame him. Also, I really want to scream at Étienne and I blame him. Also, it feels like there’s a hole in my life. Also, I kind of hate my life. Also, I’m so fucking confused. On a good day. I don’t know what to feel anymore. I might be hiding in another man’s arms just to avoid Étienne. Also, you’ve never seen anything sadder than Étienne’s eyes when he doesn’t think you’re looking at him. Also, sometimes I walk Jacques-Cartier and I think it’s a shame there’s such a high fence.”

He doesn’t say that, obviously. He doesn’t have enough French words to convey all of that.

“On n’est plus ensemble.” He says instead and it sounds so official – so final and it’s slightly over the top and dramatic – he could have broken the news in so many other ways, but he doesn’t want to bother. He doesn’t even know this stranger, but this stranger clearly knows enough about him – enough about them, to gasp and look genuinely saddened by the news.

“Oh... Monsieur Édouard... je suis vraiment désolé…”

Edward shrugs. Shit happens. Life goes on. (But does it? Does it? Will it ever go on? Will it ever pick up from where it left off? Will he ever wake up in the morning feeling self-assured that he’s doing the right thing? Will it ever feel a hundred percent right when Christopher spends the night? Will he ever stop dreaming of curly brown hair and loving green-brown eyes? Will he? Will he?)

He can tell there’s a million questions running through this poor store clerk’s mind and he feels like he should comfort them – let them know it’s okay – that he’s fine, but he’s in a mood and he doesn’t want to share. He figures if he gets an ice cream it might get them to leave him alone.

“J’vais prendre deux saveurs – mangue et chocolat noir,” He says, his tone final, trying to convey that he means business. That he’s not here to discuss his fucked up life. It seems to do the trick. The clerk straightens themselves, takes a moment to compose themselves and then nods, a sad, little smile playing on their face.

“Et pourtant c’était la sorte préférée de Monsieur Étienne,” They look up to him for a moment, before they busy themselves with the order. Edward blinks, taking in a short breath and feels as though he’s been punched in the stomach. A conversation, from long ago, replays in his mind and he wonders when this hell will ever end.

“Jeez, what does a guy have to do in order to get some decent mango ice cream in this city, honestly?” Étienne complained as they walked by yet another ice cream parlour that didn’t serve his favourite. He linked back his arm with Edward and continued on his little rant, Edward chuckling to himself. It was a nice summer day, it wasn’t too hot – yet, but Étienne wanted ice cream and Edward was never one to say no to ice cream or to Étienne’s requests.

They’d gone by a few places, but the first two were already out, the other didn’t have that flavour and the last one was still closed (and Étienne had gone on another rant, since Google had said the place opened at 11, it was currently 11h15 and why were they closed and why had Google lied.)

“Apparently there’s a parlour two street corners from here, we can try?” Edward suggested, looking away from his phone. Étienne sighed, pout present on his lips, but he agreed, saying that at this point, it would be a miracle if he ever even found decent mango ice cream ever again and at this point, he was probably going to starve before that happened. Edward shook his head, far too used to Étienne’s melodramatic tendencies at this point, and instead guided them to the ice cream shop.

It turned out the place was new, it was its grand opening and Étienne’s mood immediately brightened when he saw the retro decor, the Formica tables, the neon signs on the walls, and the abundance of plants.

It was mostly a soft serve place, but they had a nice variety, a few hard options, and Étienne gasped and clutched his arm tightly when he spotted a title card with “mangue” written on it.

“Édouard, I love this place!” He had declared. And Edward had laughed at his antics and stepped forward to wait in line, place their orders and hopefully get to his wallet before Étienne beat him to it.

“Vous savez... vous veniez souvent avec Monsieur Étienne... vous étiez même parmi nos premiers clients, quand on a ouvert… On a même une photo de vous sur notre mur…” They point at the wall by the door, where the photos are, and Edward walks over. The photos are old, some are new, some are frayed, and others have writing on them with date stamps. He looks and searches, ready to give up, until his own much younger face smiles back at him, happy and delighted, and he looks slightly to the side, to find Étienne’s own much younger face looking back – and he can’t help it, can’t ever help the pang in his chest and the sense of utter loss that hits him every time he sees a photo of Étienne – every time he finds a reminder of his previous happiness.

There’s a caption underneath, written in what must be Étienne’s scrawl that reads “Meilleure crème glacée à la mangue!,” And Edward nearly steps out of the place. Nearly walks away, too much of a coward to face his past head on. Instead, he wordlessly walks back to the counter where his ice cream waits for him. He goes to reach for his wallet but the clerk shakes their head, let’s him know it’s on the house (and isn’t that ironic – even now he can’t pay for his damned ice cream) and offers him another sad smile as he heads out.

Edward takes the cup of ice cream and tries to put as much physical distance between himself and the shop – himself and the reminder of Étienne’s happy face – himself and his past. He tries to occupy his time with the ice cream, takes a spoonful and has to stop in his tracks, hit again by a strong wave of nostalgia from a long ago forgotten time.

The ice cream is creamy, delicious, tasty, and flavourful, yet Edward feels physically ill to his stomach.

He nearly doubles over as his mind reminds him, in its own way, of how it was before, and Edward wants it to stop – wants to bash his head against the closest lamppost and also never wants it to end.

There’s Étienne’s laughter, the sensation of him clinging to his arm, a spoon brought to his lips with soft yellow-orange ice cream, a kiss to his cheek, another later, that still tastes faintly of mango and chocolate, and Edward feels like he’s about to throw up.

He gasps, he heaves, and takes hold of the closest wall for support in trembling, shaky hands. He takes deep breaths, tries to blink through tears and make sense of what is the past and what is the present (and he wishes he was in the past – wishes it didn’t hurt – wishes Étienne were here) and once he has everything under control, once he feels he can take three steps without keeling over, he straightens himself out, takes a deep breath and finds the nearest trashcan to throw the cup of ice cream away.

He turns the corner and makes his way to where he is meant to go.

FIN

#pc: edmonton #pc: montreal #Edward Murphy #étienne maisonneuve #au #amnesia au #what else do i tag this stuff with usually lamao

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