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lyssaluvs · 3 months

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Hi can you do a Percy Jackson x female reader.she is the daughter of Aphrodite

A little background Percy has this puppy love towards her.she has a fondness towards him but oddly enough even though she is the daughter of Aphrodite she comes off as cold.Ok so this takes place episode five of the series and they are arguing about who will sit in the golden chair.when he sits down and is turned into gold she tries her hardest to get him out.She has the talk with Hephaestus like how Annebeth did in the show.When Percy comes out of chair is was able to hear everything she ways saying.Figuring out she actually does really like him.

Trying Not to Love You - Percy Jackson

Summary: As above.

Warnings: Like one naughty word and a lil peck. Use of Y/n (Idk if that counts)

A/N: This is my first piece of writing so pls be nice, and pls leave feedback. Also, I know logically that they're like 12 and have probably known each other for like two weeks and therefore don’t actually love each other, but for the sake of the story, we're ignoring that. Also x2, I know Nickelback gets hate but they go hard and I'm DONE acting like they don't. (Listen to Trying Not to Love you, which is what this made me think of)

WC: 1.4k (I got carried away 😔)

For a daughter of Aphrodite, I sure don’t seem like one. My siblings and I get along just fine, but no one can deny the differences between us. We differ in that where my siblings are outgoing, smiley, and warm, I happen to be more reserved, more introverted. Many suggest I’m colder than my siblings, but that’s not the case. I’m just wary, and if that presents as being cold, so be it. We share traits, of course. We’re kind, socially aware, and well… beautiful. And with that, often comes an onslaught of suitors. Sure, I had a few, but none that I ever felt drawn to. And none that stuck out quite like Percy Jackson did.

“He’s staring again.” My sister said as she nudged my side. I look up from my plate and meet his gaze. He sends a panicked smile before a blush spread across his cheeks and he quickly looks back down at his food.

“Poor thing looks like a kicked puppy, you should talk to him, put him out of his misery.” My sister continues. I hum and tilt my head before getting up to make my way toward the fire. I scrape the last of my brisket off my plate as I hear him approach.

“Uh, hi.”

“Hi Percy.”

“It’s, uh, pretty warm out, huh. Not all that pleasant standing by the fire. Maybe we should, I dunno, go for a walk? By the lake maybe?” He presses his lips together and looks at me with those puppy dog eyes. Were his eyes always that pretty? No. Stop it.

“Sorry Percy, we’re having girls night in our cabin tonight, I can’t” I quickly explain. Sure, it’s not nice to lie, but it has to be done. What are my options? Keep saying no until he loses interest, or give in to the temptation, and eventually have to break his heart? He doesn’t deserve that. The former it is.

I quickly make my way back to my cabin, and into bed. Not turning around to see that he does, in fact, look like a kicked puppy.

---

“Y/n”

My head snaps up and I quickly glance around. What? Me?

“Customarily, one waits to at least hear a name or two before choosing. Are you sure you don’t want to hear more?” Chiron states apprehensively

Apparently not… I think to myself as Percy goes on a spiel about how he must choose those he trusts most. Why me?

---

Cold, wet, and coughing. That pretty much sums up my state right about now. Somehow, I had made it out of the water when I surely thought I was going to drown. Had that been Percy?

I fumble my way off the ground, taking Percy’s outstretched hand.

“Are you ok? You’re not hurt?” He rushes out as he looks me up and down franticly.

“I’m fine, Percy. Thank you.”

“Yeah, no, of course. Sorry if I was too rough, I’m kinda making it up as I go along.”

I just smile as we direct our gaze to the grand, golden statue in front of us. There it was, the shield we’d almost drowned to get to our hands on.

“How are we supposed to get that thing down?”

I look between the statue and the chair that say at its feet. “These things are connected somehow. It’s a machine, but how do you start the machine?” I say as I scan the mechanism for any clues.

Percy seems to retreat into his mind for a moment before coming to a realisation. “It was a gift with a hidden purpose. Hephaestus offered it to Hera, but as soon as she sat in it, she couldn’t get up.”

Percy continued to explain, and it finally clicked. One of us has to sit in it. One of isn’t getting out of it.

“I’ll do it.” I say without thinking. I didn’t need to think about it, it was a no-brainer. Between the two of us, Percy needs to continue, and for some reason I don’t let myself delve into, I have no objections giving my life for his.

“What? Wait a minute!” He grabs my wrist to stop me from proceeding towards the chair.

“No, Percy. It’s me or you, and I’m not going to let it be you.”

“Y/n, no! I brought you on this quest because I couldn’t bear the thought of you not being by my side. I didn’t want to go anywhere you wouldn’t be.” He let go of my hand and I immediately missed his touch.

“Percy- “

“Y/n. Listen to me. It’s ok. Even if you sit in the chair, the outcome would be the same. A piece of me would go with you, and I’d be no use to the quest. You’re strong. You don’t need me.”

He took a lunge and planted himself firmly in the chair. Molten gold crawled its way up his legs and I could hear cogs and wheels spinning within the machine. Oh gods, this is really happening.

“Percy, stand up! This isn’t funny, Percy, please!”

“It’s ok. It’s ok, Y/n. I’m ok.”

And just like that the gold had made its way across his face and it was done. He’d been turned into a statue, and it was my fault.

The shield dropped to floor with an echo, but I barely heard it. I need to fix this.

I made my way around to the back of the chair and dropped to my knees. I brushed my hands across the machine, praying to whoever would listen. Mum, please. Help me out here.

And just like that, a man had appeared at the platform above the statue.

“Hephaestus” I heard a small voice whisper, from nowhere, yet everywhere.

Thanks, Mum. I won’t let you down.

“Can I help you? Do you need some help finding your way out?” He played a melodic tune on his harmonica and a ladder appeared, leading up to the platform.

“I’m not leaving without him, Hephaestus. And if you’re not going to help me, can you please leave me alone so I can focus?”

“In spite of what you may have been told, I am not someone who can be pushed around.”

I let out a sigh and deflated my shoulders. Tears blurred my vision, but I pulled them back. Now isn’t the time, I need to focus.

“Hephaestus, please. I can’t do this without him, despite what he may think. I know you know how this feels. To love someone you know you can’t have. But you got another chance when the gods gave you my mother, I won’t be afforded such a luxury. My mother has been more than generous giving me someone like him, someone I don’t deserve. I won’t get that again. I’ll never find someone like him, never love someone like I love him. Please, Hephaestus, I’m begging. Let him go. Let me have him, let me love him.”

The man hung his head. I couldn’t tell if he was moved by what I had said, or if it just pissed him off. I just hope to the gods I wasn’t the latter. He turned his back and I mirrored him in hanging my head. I had failed.

Another note played from his harmonica and my ear perked up, along with my hope. I shot to my feet as I heard the gears in the chair start to move. Making my way around to the front of the chair, I saw him again. Those sea green, puppy dog eyes I had tried so hard not to love. He took a gasping breath as the last of the gold melted off of him.

He stood from the chair and immediately pulled me into an embrace. Without thinking, I let myself hug him back, indulging in his hold for once.

“I heard you.”

“What?”

“I heard what you said when I was in the chair, Y/n.”

What??? Oh fuck…

He moved his hands from my shoulders to my cheeks and rested his forehead against mine. “I feel the same, you know I do. And I know you don’t want to let yourself feel that way, because you think you’ll break my heart, but I don’t care. Please, Y/n, let yourself love me. Gods know I let myself a long time ago.”

I stared into his eyes at a loss for words. I placed my hands on either side of his face and pressed my lips to his.

“I’ll take that as-”

I just kissed him again.

credit to @cafekitsune for the divider!!!

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson #pjo #percy jackson fluff #fluff #pjo x reader #percy jackson x you #pjo x you #pjo imagine #luke castellan x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson tv show #pjo tv show

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jarofstyles · 5 months

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harry damn near begging for yn and being needy, mouthing at her neck chest and stomach while she’s trying to read plsss

PLEASE I LOVE THIS SHIT!

Patreon.

-----

Harry was a horny little menace. But god, was he a convincing one.

It had started when he crawled into her cozy little nest in their bed, cooing about how pretty she looked. In her glasses and her hair thrown up in a bun, along with a few pimple patches, she was sure she wasn't at her prime but it always did give her butterflies when he complimented her in her most relaxed, vulnerable state.

When he asked what she was read, she explained the general synopsis of what had happened so far- a royal romance, enemies to lovers-, and he had snuggled closer. Freshly showered, he was shirtless in just in a pair of grey sweats, skin and hair still slightly damp as he rested his head on her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the pages. But his intentions weren't pure.

"Oh? This is one of those dirty books, isn't it?" He cooed. Of course, as fate would have it, he had turned up during one of the smut scenes in the book. He knew she read filth, had an entire collection of smut ridden books, but this time in particular he felt rather smug about catching her.

"They're all dirty books." She drawled, turning the book so he could see better. He had a one track mind though, and turned his face to bury in her neck with a deep exhale. If he was being honest, he had been aching all day. Y/N had teased him slightly over text and he knew coming home that she would be in his shirt, looking so soft and familiar, he simply wanted to bury himself in her and never leave. Getting to see her so warm and relaxed, it did things to him.

"I have a better idea." He murmured into her skin, kissing the smoothness of her neck. "Why don't we have our own fun, hm? Been gone all day, wanting to come home... and you're reading' about other people having sex." He grunted, slipping his hand under her shirt, nosing at her like a needy pup.

"Well, yes." Y/N laughed through her nose. "I do tend to do that. I enjoy reading some tasteful sex scenes. Beautifully written ones. Is that so wrong?"

"Never said it was wrong, sweetness. Just said the obvious. M'home now, you don't need to read about it." His hand found her breast as his kisses moved up towards her jaw, sloppy with his movements and smearing the wet kisses over the curve of it. "You can experience anything y'want with me. M'ready to role-play, even. Just let me into that pretty pussy, and I'll make all those dreams come true, off the paper."

Of course Y/N knew she was fighting a losing battle- one she very clearly wanted to lose, based off of the sudden awareness of him in between her thighs and his fingers gently plucking her nipple. He liked to beg for it a little bit, though, so she sighed. "I dunno, H. This scene is really good. Maybe you'll just have to wait." The tone of her voice sounded serious but they both knew the game. This was part of it.

"Please, baby?" He whined. "Just a taste of it? Or... can let me warm myself inside of you." His teeth nibbled under her ear, a sweet spot he knew would cause damage to her resolve, sucking on the skin. Y/N felt it between her thighs. That familiar pulsing, her clit beginning to swell, her hole beginning to leak. Harry had quite the effect on her every single time, but hearing him beg always did it to her.

"Please, jus' let me make us feel good. Know you love t'be nice and full, can have it stuffed in you in just a few minutes... get you to feel it in your tummy, baby." He pleaded. "Cmon. Can make it so good for you. Missed feeling you wrapped around me all day, didn't get enough of you this morning." A horny thing he really was. "Can't help that you feel so good that I need you all the time, but m'dying for it. Been thinking about it all day long, just let me slide in." He continued with the begging, slipping his hand back down to the band of her panties.

When Y/N didn't tell him off, he slipped his digits between her thighs and let out a strangled moan. "Fuck me, baby. You're dripping." He whimpered. "Please, let me have it. Let me feel you around my cock, babylove. It aches, you're the only way to fix it." He was getting desperate, rubbing against her thigh as his fingers slid up and down her wet slit. "M'begging you, my love. Let me in."

"Okay, baby. Okay." Y/N laughed at his desperation. "You can slip inside, but you can't move until I finish this chapter." Harry didn't need further instruction, slipping his pants off and tugging her panties to the side with impatience. It took him but a few seconds to do it, spreading her legs open as he turned her on her side so he was spooning her from behind and letting himself in. Slowly pressing the ruddy, leaking tip of his cock through the soaked folds of her puffy cunt and finding her hole, notching against it before pressing inside.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you." His whimper was vibrated against her ear, making her clench slightly around him. He was truly desperate for it, letting her stretch as he sunk in inch by inch and rested his head against her cheek, hand going back up her shirt. "I'll be good. Promise."

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roryculkinluvr · 8 months

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PRETTY WHEN YOU CRY ˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

ೃ⁀➷ pairing: sub stalker charlie x fem dom reader

ೃ⁀➷ warnings: stalking, masturbation, fingering, pre mature ejaculation, dacryphilia, overstimulation, humiliation kink, mean (ish) reader.

ೃ⁀➷ notes: this wasn’t supposed to be this long but enjoy…

you had just gotten in bed, with your hands in between your legs, right above your underwear as you heard loud rustling from outside your window. you knew it was charlie. you knew he would come to your window, watch you change, watch you touch yourself.

he wasn’t aware that you knew about his perversions, how he’d cum in his pants by just watching you squirm under your own touch. was it bad that you found it hot? the way he stalked you, the way he was completely and utterly obsessed with you. you’d leave your blinds open every night, just incase he wanted a show.

you and charlie had a couple of classes together and would talk every now and then. you had always found him attractive but you knew he was infatuated with you. you saw the way he looked at you, spoke to you, about you. you’d have to be dumb not to realize.

knowing charlie was right outside your window, you hand wasn’t enough. so you decided to ‘catch’ him.

you got out of bed, walking over to your window, you could hear charlie trying to climb off the ledge of your roof. you opened the glass to it see just who you thought it was, a guilty look painted on his face.

“what are you doing here char?” you questioned, playing dumb. charlie’s eyes scanned over you, you wore pyjama shorts that fell just under your ass and a tight tank top that he could see your hard nipples through.

“i-i can, i can explain myself.” he stuttered, panicking.

“go on then.” you told him. you crossed your arms over your chest, making your tits press together which drove him mad.

“i—”he muttered, he couldn’t even think of an excuse right now.

“were you watching me touch myself?“ you teased, your lips turned up into a soft smirk. poor charlie was so confused, he thought you would file a restraining order on him but it almost seemed like you enjoyed it.

“no- no i wasn’t i swear.” his tone was meek, begging to be believed, he even put his hands up, as if you were a cop.

“i’m not stupid charlie, you can tell me the truth. you’re not in trouble.”

“okay… i was.” he couldn’t look at you while admitting this.

“why don’t you come in my room char, it’s kinda chilly out hm?” you bit back a smile.

“uh, okay.” he crawled through your window, you closed it behind him. charlie examined every inch of your room, obviously he had seen it many times but never up close. charlie took in every detail of your room. he surveyed photos of you and your friends you had hung on your wall, little trinkets you kept, the products on your dresser.

you laid back down on your bed, propping yourself up on your elbows. you motioned for charlie to sit at the end of your bed, he obeyed.

“charlie?” you called, disturbing his train of thought.

“yeah.” he replied almost immediately.

“were you touching yourself while watching me?” you were driving him insane, but he deserved it.

“mhm.” he nodded, unable to meet your eyes. he felt so bad, so guilty, so pathetic.

“okay, well since you interrupted me, why don’t you watch me and try not to.”

“i dunno if i can.” he looked down at the his boner, poking through his sweatpants.

“kinda owe it to me char. i mean, i did just catch you stalking me, the least you can do is do what i say. plus i wanna hear you beg to touch yourself.”

“fuck.” he groaned. you giggled at him before pulling your tank top off, making sure charlie’s eyes were on you. the sight of your boobs right in front of him only made him harder, he wanted to touch them or suck on them, anything would be enough.

“bet you wanna feel my tits so bad huh? i mean you’ve been watching me change, jerking yourself off while looking at them. this isn’t the first time you’ve been outside my window.” you taunted. “gonna have to earn it.”

“how-how do i earn it?” he wasn’t even concerned with how you knew that he had been watching you for a while, just desperate to feel you.

“already told you char, watch me touch myself without touching yourself.” you pulled down your shorts to reveal the lacy thong you wore. charlie couldn’t help but notice the huge wet spot on your underwear.

‘you did like this.’ charlie thought to himself. he stared at you as you rubbed your clit over your soaked thong, teasing yourself with one hand, playing with your tits with the other.

“you’re so… wet.” charlie said in a breathy voice.

“mhmm was thinking about you char.” you told him. his eyes went wide,

“r-really? you were?” he smiled at you. charlie sounded so pathetic, you loved it.

“mhmm.” you nodded, slowly removing your thong. the sight of your body entirely exposed forced charlie to whimper.

“i-i think about you, like that, a lot.” he was struggling so hard not to touch himself, it almost hurt. at this point, your cunt was throbbing, desperate for stimulation.

“i know you have.” you replied before rubbing your clit in circular motions, humming in pleasure.

“can i um, can i touch you instead…like finger you? i won’t touch you anywhere else if i’m not allowed to yet.” charlie couldn’t bare just watching you. if he couldn’t touch himself, he wanted to touch you. “please?”

“not yet, be patient.” you spread your legs further apart, pumping two fingers from your free hand into your entrance slowly. “feels so fucking good, don’t touch yourself yet charlie.” you groaned.

“t’so hard not to.” he whined, putting his hands behind his back to retrain himself.

“i know, you’re so needy char. fuck!” you panted. both of your hands sped up, making your moans louder. you were squirming so much. charlie watched you closely, taking in every one of your sounds, movements, and expressions. he whispered compliments as you brought yourself closer to your climax.

after you came, you sat yourself back up on your elbows to see that charlie’s pants were wet. “did you cum in your pants? that needy huh, can’t even wait ten minutes?”

“i know, m’sorry.” charlie said shyly, he looked away

“i didn’t even touch you…you didn’t even touch yourself and you came, holy shit… you don’t get to touch my tits yet, couldn’t even hold off.” you let out a short scoff which was followed by silence. charlie was so embarrassed, not daring to look you in the eyes. he wished he could’ve just disappeared at that moment. “lay beside me char, i wanna see your cock charlie.” you purred. charlie followed your order, moving from the edge of your bed, next to you. “now show me, take off your shirt too.”

charlie nodded before swiftly removing his shirt. he then pulled down his sweat pants, exposing his cum filled boxers. finally, he took off his boxers to reveal his dick. he looked over at you, your eyes remained on his body.

“so perfect char, bet it’s really sensitive right now though hm?” you asked. charlie’s cheeks turned red at your compliment.

“thank you and yeah m’sensitive.” charlie responded.

you shifted your body so you were on your side, facing charlie. you tucked his hair behind his ear, bringing your mouth to charlie’s it you whispered, “i wanna make you cum again”.

charlie’s breath hitched, he couldn’t believe you were finally going to touch him. after countless nights of imagining that his hand was your warm, tight pussy wrapped around him or your soft hand pumping his cock, he was finally getting to feel you. “please make me cum again, please.” he begged.

“so needy.” you giggled, crawling downward until your lips met charlie’s sensitive tip. you placed short, gentle kisses on it, holding his shaft in your hand.

“oh my god, fuck.” he huffed, his breath heavy.

“i haven’t even started yet.” you nagged, taking your soft lips off his tip. while still giggling, you began slowly moving your hand up and down his shaft.

“mmm thank you.” a stupid smirk was plastered on his face as he watched you speed up your movements. after a few minutes, his chest began to rise and fall rapidly as his mouth hung open, high pitched and draw out whimpers leaving his lips. you felt his dick twitch in your hand before he came for the second time.

you took a second to think of a real punishment for him. as the idea crossed your mind, you immediately wrapped your mouth around his soft cock, feeling it grow in your mouth.

“wah- what are you doing? i, fuck, i can’t go again.” he babbled. you rolled your eyes in annoyance, taking your mouth off his dick.

“too bad isn’t it, didn’t i tell you that you owe me? charlie, you’ve been watching me, stalking me for weeks now. can’t you just do what i say?” your tone was weirdly calm.

“okay…m’sorry” he answered. you placed your mouth back on his now, painfully hard cock, hollowing your cheeks. “ahhh! it’s too much.” he moaned. unable to stay till, charlie began squirm and bucking his hips into your mouth.

“ohmygoddd please i’m sorry, fuck aughhh! i’m sorry for stalking you, it’s too much please!” his words were slurred, charlie didn’t even know what he was pleading for. tears began streaming down his face from overstimulation. you bobbed your head up and down on his cock at an increasingly fast pace, the room filled with charlie’s loud sobs and whimpers. you then felt that same twitch as before and as you suspected, shortly after, charlie’s warm cum filled your mouth, you swallowed every drop.

you returned back to where you laid before, watching tears flood from his blue eyes. “you look so pretty when you cry charlie”.

he turned towards you. “thank you.” he sniffed as you wiped his tears from his cheek. holding charlie’s jaw in your hand, you traced his cheek with your thumb. “you’re always pretty.” he spoke. the two of your faces were so close together, charlie brought his lips to yours, you kissed back passionately, feeling charlie grin against your lips. one of his hands found its way too the bare skin right under your boob. “can i um- can i?” he questioned after pulling away from your lips.

“go ahead.” you responded before attaching your lips to his once again. charlie cupped your tit in his hand, squeezing and kneading it.

“so fucking perfect.” he groaned before shortly pecking your lips.

“charlie.” you said, staring at him.

“mhm?” he mumbled, looking away from your tits and up at you.

“next time you’re outside my window, you can just come in.” you purred. your words forced charlie to whimper. he could do this again? touch you? maybe even be inside you? god he felt lucky.

“actually?” he looked at you with that pathetic smile.

“yeah, maybe you’ll get to touch more than just my tits next time.” you smirked at him, kissing him once more before he cleaned himself up, climbing back out of your window.

the next night, you heard tree taps at your window. knowing it was charlie, you opened the window to let him in. almost immediately, you began undressing each other between staggered sloppy kisses. the night ended in him sobbing after you rode him, making him cum five times, which left his cock red. he knew he deserved it.

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lanadelnegan · 19 days

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Ghost - Part 3

Negan x Glenn'sSister!Reader

Part 2 here // Part 4 here

Warnings: 18+, negan masturbating, negan being all sweet and protective

A/n: I thought this would be the last part, but it was so long I had to break it up. Part 4 will be posted soon!

Negan’s POV:

I waited all night for her but she never came. Hopping back on my bike, I drove back to the sanctuary the next morning. I spent the next few days drinking in my room and missing her. Trying to give her space was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

Two of my wives came to check on me, and I rudely dismissed them. And told them to kick rocks, for good. I wouldn’t even be able to get my dick up with anyone else but her. This girl has me wrapped around her goddamn finger and I don’t even know her name.

I sat on the couch, closed my eyes and imagined her face. Our night together. How I fucked her through her little shorts. I imagined her lips between mine and the little sounds she made as she scratched my back. Fuck.

I rubbed myself through my pants, imagining myself between her legs before I got impatient and pulled my cock out. I spit in my hand and began stroking it, focusing extra on the tip. My head pressed against the couch and I groaned, jerking my dick faster. Fuck, fuck fuuuuck.

"Boss, we've got a problem." Fucking Simon.

Tucking myself back in my pants, I walked over and flung the door open, clearly annoyed with an extreme case of blue balls. We walked towards the back exit quickly while Simon filled me in on the situation.

“Rick and the rest of them are outside." Simon explained. "He said he only wants you.”

“Of course he does.” I chuckled before walking out onto the balcony. “Well, what a nice surprise. This better be good Rick. I was right in the middle of something.”

Her silky black hair caught my attention almost instantly and I couldn't take my eyes off her. She stood beside Rick and my heart sank for two reasons. I couldn't let her get hurt in the middle of all this. And what the hell was she doing? She couldn't seriously want this.

I leaned next to Simon's ear and whispered. “Make sure everyone knows that one is off limits." I nodded towards my girl. "If anyone harms a hair on her pretty head, it'll be the last thing they ever do."

Your POV, earlier that day:

“We go in quick, and we don’t leave until Negan is dead. Understood?” Rick’s voice sounded far away and I realized my mind had been wandering the entire time, not able to concentrate.. Or accept Rick’s plan for Alexandria to go after the Saviors. I couldn't lose someone I...

Care about… again.

“Y/n?” Rick asked, tilting his head at me.

“Yes, understood.”

The ride over took ages it seemed like. My head rested against the window of the truck while I watched the sun slowly start to disappear. I should be thrilled. This is what I’ve wanted for so long - to get revenge.

So why did I want to save him?

“I dunno if I can do this.” Daryl’s focus remained on the road as I spoke. “I know you don’t understand it, but there’s good in him. I’ve seen it.”

Daryl scoffed. “Unbelievable.”

“I just don’t wanna see anyone else die, Daryl.” I wiped a tear from my cheek.

“Some people deserve it.”

“And we don’t? Think about all the ones we’ve killed.”

“Not the same.” Daryl mumbled.

“But it is. That’s the world we live in now. We do what we have to to survive. We’re all… psycho murderers, really.”

“Listen to yourself. What do you think Glenn would think about you defending the man who killed him?”

I sat quietly for a few moments, focusing my attention back on the clouds. “I think he’d be proud of me.” The gravel suddenly rumbling beneath the truck let us know we were getting close to the sanctuary and Daryl pulled over, parking near the others.

“You’re either with us, or ya aint. But you need to hurry and decide.” Daryl warned before he quietly exited the truck and met up with the others ahead.

I owe them for everything they’ve done for me. Everything they did for Glenn. I closed my eyes before hopping out of the car and quickly caught up with the rest of the group. Daryl gave me a nod and the rest of the tread was quiet. I tried focusing my mind on anything but Negan, disassociating to the best of my ability - a skill I’ve perfected over the past few months.

“Negan needs to surrender. This has to happen now. This is the only way.” Rick’s voice rang through my ears as I stood near him, shielding myself with the metal that stood between us and the Saviors. Peeking out, I watched Negan appear behind the railing, an arrogant smirk forming on his lips.

“You’re gonna make me count?!" Rick shouted. "Okay, okay. I’m counting. 10….”

Negan eyes traveled to mine and his gaze softened. I stared at him, silently begging him to surrender while Rick counted. He studied me as if he wondered if I wanted this.

Of course not. Surrender, goddammit.

I watched him lean over and whisper something to Simon while his eyes were still on me. Simon nodded and took out his radio, signaling something to the others that I couldn't hear.

The sound of Rick's gun cocking distracted me, and without thinking, I jumped in front of him, pulling the gun with with me. A bullet went straight through my foot, but I barely felt it.

I heard Negan cursing in the background amongst all the other chaos transpiring. Walkers were filing in now and everyone eventually scattered. I limped as quickly as I could, trying to escape before my feet lifted off the ground. I quickly realized it was Negan and he rushed us to an empty trailer nearby, shutting the door behind him when we made it inside.

“Oww.” I groaned, limping over to the wall and sliding down it. I pulled off my bloody sock and shoe and cringed at the bullet hole in my foot. The pain was starting to set in now.

“Shit.” Negan grabbed a first aid kit from a cabinet above and kneeled down, wrapping my foot. “The hell were you thinkin' darlin'?.”

He looked up at me, slightly grinning and I rolled my eyes. He finished wrapping it up, kissed my forehead, and sat next to me on the floor, leaning his back against the wall. His hand rested on my thigh protectively and I wanted to reach for it and hold his hand but I couldn’t. We both sat in silence for a few moments before he finally spoke.

“You never came. I waited on you all night.”

My heart ached at the thought of him there alone. “I told you, Negan. I don’t want to see you anymore.”

“Yet.. you just took a bullet for me.” I could hear the cocky smile through his voice.

“Why did you want to meet?” I asked.

“I guess I thought maybe if we went back to our place, you’d see me differently. The way you did that night, and I’d actually have a chance to win you over.”

When I looked over at him, I saw the man he was that night. Before I knew his name and all the horrible things he had done. I replayed everything in my head - the steam from his shower, our deep talks about our old high school days, his wife Lucille and how her death broke his heart, and how he read to me. And then I remembered him in between my legs, but stopping before it got too far because we were both tipsy.

How could the same man who bashed someone's skull in be the same one the had enough decency not to take advantage of a woman? I wanted so desperately to believe in the man he was that night - for that to be the only version of him.

“Listen baby, I don’t want to hurt you anymore than I already have." His voice was lower than usual when he spoke. "I get that you don’t wanna see me anymore and I’ve gotta learn to be okay with that. I don’t want to be a constant reminder of your brother’s death.” He leaned his head against the wall. “Fuckin' stupid of me to think this could ever work, huh?”

With every word he spoke, my heart broke into smaller pieces. If Negan would have died today, I’d hate myself for the rest of my life for not going back to the cabin and meeting him that night. As difficult as our life would be together - for so many reasons, I can’t live without him.

“Negan..”

“Yeah?” His hazel eyes met mine and he looked like a sad puppy that I desperately wanted to comfort.

“I don’t think I can ever forgive you.”

He nodded, clearly hurt and I watched his eyes fill with tears before he looked down.

I sighed, hoping I wouldn’t regret what I was about to say. “But I love you. And I want to find a way to make this work.”

His eyes darted back and forth between mine before his hand cupped my face and he kissed me all in one motion. I've missed his lips so much. His mouth was gentle, like he was scared to break me, but I wanted him to, so I pulled him closer and opened my mouth slightly. His tongue slipped in and collided with mine, making me see stars. After a few moments, he pulled away, breathing heavily and resting his forehead against mine.

“I love you so fuckin’ much, sweetheart. I’ll never disappoint you again.”

“I know.” And I did. I believed him. Gunfire in the distance quickly snapped us back to reality but we held each other, neither of us willing to let go first.

"Negan, I've gotta go back with them."

"No. Stay with me at the sanctuary until we figure out a plan? I'll take care of you and-"

"We can't. You can't stay here, Negan. It's not safe, they'll come back for you. Rick won't stop until you're dead."

"Then I'll kill him first, doll. Simple."

"No. You're not killing anyone else - none of my people. I can't lose anyone else. The only way everyone survives this is if you surrender."

Negan scoffed. "And then what? Be a goddamn prisoner and Rick's little bitch for the rest of my life? Not gonna happen, darlin'."

I sighed. This was going to be a lot harder than I thought.

"Hey, you're not giving up on me already are you?" Negan's hand rested again my cheek as he urged me to look at him.

"No.. no, I just, I dunno what to do."

"We've got all night to figure it out, doll. We don't have many options. There's no way you're going back to Alexandria on that foot. Come on." Negan stood, holding his hand out to me and I took it. "Stay close behind me, baby."

I nodded, gripping the back of Negan's shirt as he kicked the door open, flinging a few walkers in the process. I helped as much as I could, stabbing a few with my knife as Negan worked our way through the crowd.

Luckily the sanctuary itself seemed untouched. The walkers were only outside in the yard while a couple of guards secured the entry to the sanctuary doors. They opened them quickly as Negan and I tumbled in. His hand wrapped around my waist, helping me walk with my hurt foot.

We could hear Simon and the others around the corner. Turning the corner, Negan whistled his favorite tune and I watched in awe as the rest of the saviors bowed before us.

"I bet you all thought I was dead, huh?" Negan chuckled. "Here's a little refresher on who the hell I am. I wear a leather jacket, I have -“ He paused, leaning into you. "Hell’s your name darlin’? You never told me.” You whispered your name in his ear and giggled. He turned back to the saviors, finishing his speech. "I have y/n, and my nut sack? Is made of steel. I am not dyin' until I am damn good and ready."

What a dork. My dork. I thought, looking up at him as he spoke.

"Now, if you'll excuse us, we have a honeymoon to get to. No one knocks on my door. Simon, you're in charge. Don't make me regret it."

Simon nodded and Negan lead us down the hall to a large door at the end. He held the door open for me as I walked through. A bachelor pad of the apocalypse. Exactly what I imagined. I smiled at him and he returned the gesture, flashing his white smile before he walked towards me and immediately wrapped me in his arms. My head rested against his chest and I felt his heart beat. For once, I felt safe.

Part 4 here. If you’ve read this far, thank you. 🥹💗

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wittlesissyb4by · 1 day

Text

Normalcy

"I'm so sorry! This…this never happens!!”

She drew her lips in a line and nodded, like she’d heard it a thousand times before, then went back to smacking her gum as she balled up the soggy diaper with practiced precision.

“No! I’m serious! I’m a grown man!! It’s not like I walk around pissing myself all the time!”

She scoffed, then shrugged. “Well you weren’t doing much walking—first of all—more like waddling. But you mean to tell me you never wet yourself? You’ve never wet a diaper before?”

“No…i…”

She inclined her head to the corner of the room, where a big sack of loaded diapers sat in a blue see-through bag.

“Okay…fine, I do. But only after a very long time period!! You don’t understand! My wife will leave me in them for the whole day!”

“I’ve only been here for an hour…”

“Yes but…” i wanted to tell her that was because my wife had made me drink three entire baby bottles of nasty fluids before she left. I tried to hold it. I really did. I didn’t want her little ‘babysitter’ to see me in a soggy diaper. In hindsight, i should have just let it all out with my wife and begged her to change me before she went off with that other dude. “It’s not a regular thing!”

“She told me you wet the bed.” The girl said, hardly even blinking as she taped my plump padding into a ball.

It was hard to explain that one away. Sure, there were several drunken nights where I’d blacked out and woken up with wet sheets in our marital bed. My wife was none too happy, but somehow those incidents kept happening even when I was sober, until she finally grew sick of it.

“So how long have you been in diapers?” The girl asked, setting my old one to the side and grabbing a fresh pamper. She asked it so casually, like it was a common point of conversation.

“3 months…” I said, unable to deny it anymore. “For the last two weeks it’s been 24/7. She…threw out all my underwear.”

The girl nodded as if nothing were out of the ordinary, tapping my thighs, apparently signaling for me to lift. I did so without incident, allowing her to slide the new diaper underneath.

“Do you make poo poo’s in them too?”

“No!” I said instinctively, but again she looked at me like a rugrat attempting an obvious lie.

“So if I go put your head in that bag, you won’t suffocate under a cloud of your own shit?”

Her words were cold, I had a feeling she’d do it too.

“Okay…fine. I do…”

“Do what?”

“P-poop…”

“Poop where?” She grinned, still smacking her gum, “I want you to tell me.”

I scrunched up my nose, feeling my cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I poop in the diapers.”

But she wasn’t satisfied, “now tell me wike a baybee!”

She couldn’t be serious, but when her face turned stern with impatience, it told me that she probably wasn’t someone I should cross.

“Uh…i…” I felt my voice growing smaller, higher, “I make poo poo’s in my pampies!!”

She smiled wide at that. “How do you poop?”

“I…what?” I asked, voice returning to normal.

“How do you do it? Do you crouch? Get down on hour haunches and make a pushy? Or have you learned to go in any position already? All the men I babysit have a different method. It’s adorable. One of them even has to sit on the potty in order to go!“

“I just…do it…I guess. I dunno?” Usually squatting, it came out surprisingly easy that way, but I didn’t want to tell her that, and she didn’t press further, just seemed intent on making me blush.

“Well…I don’t feel like changing a poopy diaper today. So you’re going to get the plug, okay?”

P-plug?

She reached into her diaper bag that she brought herself, and pulled out a rather large silicon buttplug.

“Oh…i dunno…” I said, squirming on top of the diaper splayed out beneath me. “My wife and I don’t really do butt stuff…”

But she just smiled and squirted some lube on it, painting the glob over it with her fingers. “It’s cute that you think you have a say in the matter.” She giggled, “legs up!”

Before I knew it, my ankles were in the air. It was like she had some sort of power over me that I couldn’t resist.

I winced as she pressed the plug to my hole, gently working it in and out, in and out. I had to bite my lip to keep the squeals (and moans?) in. It felt…surprisingly good.

By the time she’d worked it all the way in, there was a little puddle leaking out of my chastity cage. It had spread onto my belly button while my legs were in the air.

“Sorry…” I said as she grabbed a baby wipe to clean up the sticky mess I’d made.

"Don't worry about it.” She smiled, amused. “It's...normal..."

“Is it?” I asked, feeling a sense of relief.

“Sure.” She shrugged, but it came off sarcastic. “Well…not normal to be a grown man in diapers. To poop said diapers. Not normal to have your wife go off and hire a babysitter to change your diapers. And definitely not normal to have another man fuck your wife. But leaking a little cum through your chastity cage while getting a plug shoved up your ass?” She tossed the sticky wipe down into my open diaper, lifting the front so she could tape it on, “yea, I guess that’s pretty ‘normal’…”

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thegainingdesk · 9 months

Text

On Again, Off Again

As soon as I saw Mark I was head over heels. He was tall and naturally broad, a frame improved with well-honed muscles from years of manual labour. A mop of thick dark hair framed a broad, almost blocky face with dark brown eyes and a thick moustache, and mirrored tufts of hair poking out from the top of his shirt and at his cuffs. His voice was deep, but soft, with a slight Bristol accent.

He’d suggested we go to a local museum for our first date - I’d mentioned that I did art history at uni when we were talking on tinder, and there was an exhibition on the early impressionists. I spent a while pointing out some of my favourite paintings, explaining some of the techniques, the use of light, how the movement was different to what had come before but quickly noticed how quiet he was being and my initial attraction started to wane.

“Sorry,” he said after I asked him for the umpteenth time if everything was okay. “I don’t mean to- it’s just, I mean…”

I looked at him, expectantly. Despite myself, despite how flat the date was falling, I found myself crushing on him all over again, looking up into those big puppy dog eyes.

“I wanted to impress you a bit,” he said finally, running his hand across his moustache nervously.

I laughed reflexively, and felt awful as I saw him wince. “What do you mean, impress me? You don’t need to impress me.”

“I know, it’s not… You just said that you were into art and stuff, and that you work with this charity and-” He stopped and sighed. “I’m just this knob-head builder, you know? I didn’t think someone like you would really want to go out with someone like me, and I thought you were cute and the lads at the site said I should do something a bit fancy and… I’ve fucked this up, haven’t I?”

I shook my head. “You’re great. Really. I chose to go out with you, didn’t I?” He shrugged those gorgeous hulking shoulders, somehow looking like a scolded schoolboy, despite his size. “Go on, where would you usually take me on a first date, if you weren’t trying to go all fancy on me?”

“No, no, really,” he insisted, unconvincingly. “I’m enjoying myself here.” He pointed at the nearest painting, a Turner painting of a choppy sea, a bright red buoy at the centre. “Go on, tell me about that one.”

I took his hand, and felt my heart flutter as a smile spread across his face. “Seriously, I agreed to go on a date with you because you were a good laugh while we were texting.” A blush spread across his stubbled cheeks. Fuck, he was hot. “Where we going?” I pulled him towards the exit.

“A pub or something, I dunno,” he mumbled. “We can stay, really.”

“Not a chance,” I retorted. “It's your round - you can’t wriggle out of it that easy.”

A couple of drinks in, the date was thoroughly back on track. Mark was funny, charming and charismatic - I’d go so far as to say he was gregarious, but trying to keep up with the way Mark drank turned that into a few too many syllables for me at the time. A few more drinks and we couldn’t keep our hands off each other - looking back, I cringe at the scene we must have made in that pub. Charitably, you could say we were somewhat hidden away in a corner; realistically, it was a Saturday evening in the city center and people were probably gawping.

“I told myself I wouldn’t fuck you tonight,” he grumbled into my ear, while his big square hand pawed at my achingly hard dick. “That I’d wait a couple of dates.”

I was practically gnawing at him at this point, my mouth deep into the soft crevice between his thick, strong neck and his strong, yard-wide shoulders. “This is basically our second date,” I told his neck. “The museum was number one, the pub is number two.”

I heard him laugh into my hair. “I’m serious, I’m trying to break some bad habits. Trying not to have so much casual sex.”

I moaned. “I’ll give you permission to make an exception.”

“I don’t want this to just be sex,” he whispered. “I really like you.”

“It doesn’t have to just be sex,” I whimpered back. “But it could also be sex.”

I heard him - felt him - practically growl. “I suppose if you came back to mine, we wouldn’t necessarily have to have sex.”

I nodded, and lifted my head to look him in the eyes. “Absolutely, no sex.”

The sex was phenomenal. It was like something out of an 80s romance novel. It was animalistic but sensual, passionate but slow. I think I actually swooned. Mark could throw me about like a ragdoll, and he made good use of that ability. His body was covered almost top to toe in dark, wiry hair, and his cock was so thick I could barely get my mouth around it - but by god I gave it a go.

We spent all of the next day together, nursing twin hangovers and cuddling up on his sofa. Mark explained his philosophy that the only worthwhile hangover cure is as much food as you can manage to keep down. While I nibbled on bread and butter and sipped on water all day, there was barely a moment where he didn’t have some food on the go - bacon and egg sandwiches for breakfast, clearing his fridge for lunch, a string on deliveroo drivers.

By the time I felt well-enough to go home, he tried to convince me to call in sick to work the next day. Tangled up with him like that, I almost did. Even so, I managed to drag myself away, with the promise of seeing him on Friday.

We didn’t make it to Friday. We met up for dinner on Tuesday. Lunch on Wendesday. On Thursday I packed a bag and decided I could just go into the office from his flat in the morning. We were inseparable. Insufferable, most likely. But we couldn’t stop ourselves, didn’t want to stop.

The dinners out, the takeaways, the long days spent cuddled up without a thought of the gym started to add up - on Mark at least. And yes, maybe I encouraged that a little, but I’m allowed a type aren’t I? Okay, maybe more than a type - a predilection, if you were being fancy, a full-blown fetish if you were being honest. So I like them big! Is that a crime? I never went overboard - never stirred butter and double cream into all of his portions, never tricked him into gainer shakes, never slipped him appetite enhancers or miraculous weight-gain pills - I’m not the protagonist of a gainer story, after all.

All I did was nurture that healthy appetite of his. Gave him my unfinished portions, asked him if he wanted seconds, encouraged him to get dessert, muttered into his ear that no, he can’t go to the gym and leave me in bed, cold and alone, that I’d give him all the work-out he needed. He never complained, and I never made any real secret that I didn’t mind him putting on some weight.

It was subtle at first. He’d never had any abs to cover up, but there was a general loss of definition - muscular limbs got smoothed out, pecs started to go puffy, his belly started to permanently bow out into a little arc. His body, already big, sailed past 220 pounds easily enough, and you could barely tell that he’d put on any weight at all, not really, until he’d hit 240 or so.

But then, my god. It’s like some magical fat threshold was reached, almost overnight, like all the gaps in his body had been filled with fat, his whole body lightly covered with a thin sheen of chub, ready for the real work to build up over it. Smooth limbs got soft, puffy pecs drooped, his little distended belly curved out in all directions to form a proper little pot belly. Not six months into our relationship, he was sitting fat and happy at 260 pounds, a firm ball gut at his center, and all traces of that muscular hunk that tried to impress me at a museum were buried under soft, gorgeous flab. If he ever got self-conscious, he never said anything. Still, I told him how gorgeous he was, how sexy the extra weight made him, how he looked more manly, more mature.

We settled into a routine; huge dinners, hot sex, movie nights spent cradling his growing gut, an occasional date night at some new restaurant before moving onto a pub or a bar. We spent so much time at each other’s flats we both assumed we’d move in together sooner rather than later, that this would all last forever.

“Australia?” I asked, my voice shaking.

“I know, I know,” he said, pacing and stroking his moustache nervously. “But the money’s so good, I can’t really pass it up.” I closed my eyes. Gripped the table. Tried to wish it away. “It wouldn’t be forever,” he said, lamely.

“It would be for a year though,” I whispered, opening my eyes.

He slumped down into the chair opposite me. One hand continued to stroke his moustache, the other sat on the shelf of his belly, stroking it ever so slightly. Even while I was distraught he could still drive me wild without even trying. “I’m sorry,” he said simply after a while. I knew there wasn’t any point arguing. That I wouldn’t want to stop him taking the opportunity. It just hurt.

We agreed we’d not wait for each other. We’d stay in touch, but we’d be free to date, and if either of us met someone over the year, or if we’d changed as people, no obligation to go back to how we were.

I spent a full week moping. I became a walking cliche - I barely ate, I barely slept. I sustained myself on a diet of Carole King songs and Richard Curtis films. Mark never had any social media - barely used his phone for anything really - a fact which I was, in turns, thankful for and furious about. On one hand, at least I couldn’t obsessively stalk his profiles all year while I missed him, on the other hand, I couldn’t even stalk his profiles all year while I missed him.

I still can’t decide if that year went fast or slow. There were points when it felt like I was going through the same old bored routines for decades, and days when I’d realise how soon I could see Mark again and it would feel like seconds. I did my best to get on with my life - I met with friends, picked up hobbies I’d let fall to the side while I spent every day with Mark, even plucked up the courage to go on a date. It was nice. He was nice. But it wasn’t Mark. I’m not even sure I could tell you his name. After that, I resigned myself to waiting.

I’m back! The text said. My heart fluttered. Want to meet up for a drink?

I tried to not reply immediately. Wanted to come across as cool and unbothered.

Amazing!!! I replied, not two minutes later. Yes! Where?

As a cucumber.

The Goose? Or maybe your flat? Up to you.

My heart pounded. Meeting at my flat was not the act of an uninterested man. Meeting at my flat was not the act of a man who’d fallen in love with some gorgeous Australian surfer.

My flat’s fine! I responded.

Great. I’ll be like an hour?

My flat was already impeccably clean - I was a bit of a clean freak as it was, but I had it practically sparkling in anticipation of Mark’s return to the northern hemisphere - but still, I busied myself cleaning every nook and cranny. I hoovered my spotless carpet, smoothed my immaculately smooth bed, dusted corners that I previously didn’t know existed.

I had just decided that the flat was too unnaturally clean, like I’d gone out of my way to clean it for Mark or something, and was in the middle of pulling various items just slightly out of position, when my doorbell rang. I yelped, and hurriedly crumpled a throw blanket, before breathing slowly and making my way to the door. It was just Mark, I told myself. Everything would be just the same as it was before. It’s just Mark. It’s just Mark.

I opened the door to a man I barely recognised. Mark was buff. Beyond buff. The fat I’d so deviously piled on him over all those months had disappeared without a trace. He’d not simply returned to the naturally broad, built figure he’d had when I’d first met him, either - he’d added hard, shredded muscle - at a guess I’d say 20 pounds easy. His face was thinner, sharper; his arms were vascular, and I could swear I saw the stitches on his sleeves almost pulling themselves apart; when he raised his arms and his t-shirt rode up, I could make out a defined six-pack even through his dense pelt of body hair. Worst of all though - he’d shaved off his moustache.

I just stood blinking for a while, until I realised that tears were welling up in my eyes. Despite it all, despite the time, despite the body, despite the fucking moustache - it was Mark. It was really, actually, fucking Mark.

Neither of us said anything, he just stepped through my door, held my face in his hands and kissed me, deeply and desperately and hungrily. We stumbled backwards through my flat, knocking perfectly placed objects as we went, pulling at each other’s clothes, never once stopping kissing, until he picked me up and tossed me onto my bed. This time, I definitely swooned.

We didn’t properly talk until the next morning, while I lay with my head on his chest, my fingers lazily pulling through the curls of his chest hair. “Go on then,” I said. “What’s all this?”

Mark yawned. “What’s what?” he asked.

I lightly slapped his six-pack. “Who invited He-Man over here?”

He laughed. “I bet you had a thing for He-Man didn’t you?” he said, running a hand down my back and squeezing my bum, avoiding the question.

“No really,” I insisted. “What happened to my sexy teddy bear I sent off?” I steeled myself. “I bet it was for all those sexy ozzy men, eh?” I forced myself to laugh.

Mark was silent, and didn’t move.

I held my breath. “It’s fine, you know. We said. Date whoever.”

He shook his head. “No,” he said simply, after a while. “I umm… couldn’t bring myself to. That’s why I spent so much time in the gym actually. To take my mind off of…” He trailed off. “Did you? You know…”

“One guy,” I said. “Just a date, you know, nothing…" I added quickly, keen to reassure him. "It was awful.” I sighed. “No, it was probably fine, it just wasn’t…” I looked over at him, took in his chiseled jawline and perfect cheekbones. “It wasn’t you.” We stayed like that for a while, just smiling at each other. I shuffled up his body to kiss him, and rolled over. “I might have to change my stance on that if you don’t grow your moustache back though.”

We were back to our old routine almost immediately, illicit feedings and all. By the time Mark had regrown his moustache, his abs had been hidden by soft fat and he was on his way back to the Mark I knew and loved. It’s like his body missed the fat - it piled on faster than it had the first time, and within a few months he’d put on all his lost weight, plus extra. His newfound muscles clearly faded a little, being neglected so thoroughly by time spent away from the gym, but they provided a firm base for all the fat to cling to, so that all his fat was perkier and bouncier than last time - I was in heaven.

“I need to lose some weight,” Mark murmured around one of his breakfast donuts one morning. I looked over to see him trying to tug a pair of scruffy work jeans closed, but there were several inches of soft fat between the button and its hole. I inhaled and set my shoulders - it was time to bite the bullet.

“I don’t think you need to lose weight,” I started, nonchalantly.

Mark laughed and shook his gut. I fought to stop myself from getting hard. “Look at me - I’m 20 stone and can’t fit into 40 inch trousers. 40 inches! I need to lose weight,” he repeated.

I stood up and walked over to him, putting a hand on each side of his middle. “I like it,” I told him matter of factly, before kissing him.

He smiled and returned my kiss. “You’re sweet, and I know that you’ll love me no matter what size I am, yada-yada-yada, but come on,” he slapped his belly again. “This is getting ridiculous.”

I shook my head. “No,” I said. “I like it. I…” I inhaled deeply. “I prefer it. Actively prefer you fat, actually.”

He stared at me and blinked, not speaking for almost a whole minute. “You… like me fat?” he asked, finally.

I nodded. "Mm-hmm," I said, as casually as I could pretend to be.

He squinted his eyes at me. “Fatter?” he continued.

“I… wouldn’t complain,” I said slowly, studying his face.

He took a few steps away from me and looked down at himself, as if seeing his body for the first time. He hefted his gut a couple of times, almost experimentally. His hands drifted upwards, squeezed his soft pecs. I just watched, knowing he needed some space. Finally, he raised his head to look at me. “Why?” he asked simply.

I shrugged. “Why is anyone attracted to anything, you know? Big guys have always just done it for me, I guess,” I explained. He carried on looking at me inquisitively, clearly expecting me to continue. “I mean… it just seems more manly, you know? Like you’re tall and you’re hairy and you’ve got this great moustache and hot face, and being bigger is just one more thing that just makes you even more masculine, you know?” He nodded and I saw him subtly flex, as if in admiration of himself. “So you’re okay?” I asked.

He nodded. “I mean, if it means I don’t have to diet or go to the gym, why not?” he laughed, and carried on getting ready for work. “You might need to pop out today to buy me some new clothes though,” he added.

I nodded and smiled, happy that inevitable, awkward conversation went as well as could I could realistically hope. I started to get set up for my day working from home, and brought Mark a donut as he was about to leave, kissing him on the cheek as I passed it over.

His eyes narrowed, and he looked carefully at the donut. “Did you do this Ben?” he asked, after a moment or two.

“What?” I asked. “Yes Mark, I brought you the donut. Are you okay?”

He shook his head. “No. Not the donut. Me. Did you make me fat?”

I swallowed. Hard. “What? Mark. How could I make you fat? I can’t eat for you,” I pointed out.

“No,” he agreed. “But I put on weight almost as soon as I met you. You’ve always given me half of your dinner, told me to get dessert, stopped me going to the gym.”

“Mark, you can’t seriously be accusing me of manipulating you into gaining weight,” I told him, feeling myself shake a little. "You have a big appetite." Was I trying to convince him, or myself?

“But did you?” he pressed.

I paused just a little too long and he sighed, burying his face in his hands. “It’s not like I forced you to eat anything!” I protested. “You enjoyed the food, you wanted it, you never cared about putting on weight, never enjoyed the gym. I just tried to give you permission to let yourself go a bit.”

“But you didn’t Ben!” he snapped. “You didn’t give me permission because never had a choice!”

“Mark, come on,” I reached towards him, but he knocked my hands away. “I’m sorry for being sneaky, but that’s all it was - a bit sneaky. I never lied, I never convinced you to do anything you didn’t want to, I just made the choice a bit easier.”

He opened the door. “I’m going to stay at my parents for a bit,” he said.

“Mark, no,” I pleaded.

“I just… I just need some time to think.” He moved through the door.

“Please Mark, I love you.”

He sighed. “I love you too,” he said. “It’s just a lot.”

The door closed. The day was a write-off. I spent the whole day cleaning and tidying, scrubbing floors and counters and remaking my bed. I thankfully didn’t have any meetings, and the only work I needed to do was busy-body work that no-one would notice was getting done badly. I fell back into old routines - didn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, Carole King, Richard Curtis.

Staying at his parents “for a bit” meant a couple of weeks, as it turned out. I was mid-Notting Hill when I heard the door open and I turned to see Mark walk in, an old band t-shirt riding up to reveal the bottom of his gut. I rushed over to him, but stopped before I reached him, unsure of what was about to happen. He closed the distance and pulled me into a hug. I melted into him, and we stayed like that for a few minutes, just holding each other.

“I’m sorry,” I said eventually.

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I overreacted. I… freaked out.” He scratched his gut. “You were right. It could have happened in any relationship, I just…” He closed his eyes. “I’ve been fit for a really long time, you know, and I’ve never done a proper relationship, and I always felt like people just use me for sex and all of a sudden I find out that you’re a big part of why I’ve put on so much weight and it just felt like… Like you were changing me.”

I shook my head and hugged him again. “I’m so sorry,” I said into his shoulder. “I didn’t want you to change. You’re exactly what I want, any weight, I promise.”

He hugged me back. “I want to change for you,” he murmured into my hair. He pulled away and held my shoulders, smiling. “I spent a lot of time trying to figure stuff out and… you're right. It’s hot.” He slapped his gut. “I get it, I think. I like being big and I like eating and I like that you like it.” I must have looked skeptical because he carried on. “Okay, I’m not, like, thrilled with putting on quite so much, but I also don’t care enough to lose you over it, and I can see where you’re coming from.” I didn’t know what to say, so just kissed him, running my hands under his t-shirt and up his love handles. He pulled away. “I want you to get fat as well though,” he said, matter-of-factly.

“What?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“I think you should put on weight as well,” he said again. “To see what it’s like.”

“Mark, I… I thought you’d forgiven me. I said I was sorry.,” I said.

“I’m not saying it as some kind of punishment or whatever,” he said, and patted my own flat stomach. “I’m saying that I think you’ll like it. That I’ll like it.”

“I think you might be confused,” I told him. “I don’t want to gain weight,” I explained. “I just like fat guys. It’s a different thing.”

“Okay,” he said. “But I didn’t want to gain weight either, and it turns out I kind of like it.” He squeezed his gut for emphasis. “You already like all this stuff, and I just think you owe it to yourself to see whether you like all the aspects of it.”

“Really?” I asked. “You want this?”

Mark shrugged. “Why not? Maybe it’ll be hot, and if you don’t like the first twenty pounds, you can lose it all faster than I’ll be able to lose all this.” He slapped his gut and sent it shaking.

“I uh… okay,” I agreed. “Yeah, I’ll try it out.”

The changes to our classic routine were unsettling at first. No more subtly suggesting dessert or quietly giving extra portions, now Mark would quite happily take seconds and snack throughout the day. He also made sure he wasn’t alone though - everything he ate, he would make me match, to the point that most days I’d end the day cradling my too full stomach while he gently rubbed it for me. Being more open about my preferences meant that we could start introducing food into the bedroom as well - sex now meant ice cream and chocolate and whole-cakes, all eaten off each other’s bodies or while Mark was deep inside of me.

While Mark’s gains kept up a good pace, especially for a man his size, the weight hit my body like a freight train. Without the base of muscle that Mark had, my gains were much softer, and spread across my body as opposed to Mark’s firm core ball gut and fat covered muscles. I found myself loving it - I'd get distracted by the way my flesh would slide past itself, the gentle restriction of clothes just on the verge of being too tight, and the pillowy softness of my body. I would find myself in work-meetings slipping a finger between shirt buttons to stroke around my navel, and it became one of Mark’s favourite jokes to point out when I’d mindlessly pull my shirt up while at home so I could play with my underbelly.

"You not going to lose too much weight while I'm gone, big guy?" Mark asked, kissing me on the cheek as he hoisted his bag on his shoulder.

I swallowed the last of the custard slice I was eating. "You're only going for a week," I pointed out. "Besides, you've managed to put nearly a hundred pounds on me in less than a year, I don't think I'm likely to stop losing weight anytime soon."

"Oh, I see," Mark said laughing. "It's me who put all that weight on you is it? You didn't have anything to do with it?"

"I should be more worried about you!" I said, changing the subject. "Going with all those skinny twigs - they're hardly going to make sure you're eating right."

He gripped his gut with both hands and lifted it. "It's a stag do," he said simply. "My diet's going to consist of beer and kebabs. I don't think you have to worry."

I kissed him goodbye, our guts melding into one another, and he left to get his taxi. I made my mind up to give him something special to come back to - as much weight as I could conceivably gain in the week he was away. I was sure I could put on five pounds (we both did that easily in the week between last Christmas and New Years), but how much more could I do?

Me and Mark were both used to four enormous meals as standard by now, so I added multiple tubs of ice cream and gainer shakes each day on top, to really kickstart my growth. I spent the next week bloated, groggy and uncomfortable - it was one of the hottest things I've ever done.

By the time Mark was back, I'd managed to push eleven more pounds onto my body, bringing me up to a cool 267 pounds. He walked into me lying prone on the sofa, shirt off, fresh stretch marks covering my gut, melted ice cream dripping onto soft moobs. I struggled to sit up to greet him, burping through a smile.

"Uhh, hi," he said, not moving from the doorway. His gaze hovered somewhere over my head.

"How was Berlin?" I asked, finally managing to sit up with a soft "ooft".

"Yeah it was…" he trailed off. "You know, fun. Good to see the lads." Still by the doorway. Still no eye contact.

"Is everything okay?" I asked, the ice cream sitting less comfortably in my stomach by the second.

"Yeah, no, it was just…" He finally moved away from the doorway, pacing around the room, eyes looking at everything except my expanded form. "They kept on taking the piss out of me," he said eventually. "You know, for being so fat."

"Right…" I said slowly. "But you're… you're okay with that, right?" I stood up with some effort and moved towards him. He moved towards the kitchen, still not meeting my eyes. "You've said you find it hot?" I felt self-conscious now, and looked around for a t-shirt I could put on.

He sighed, and finally looked at me. "Maybe not everything has to be hot," he said simply. "Like, yeah, it's great for sex but… Christ Ben, I'm over 24 stone now! Look at me!" He gestured down to his body, swollen with fat in every direction. "Every fucking day was just me trailing behind everyone else, completely out of breath, putting up with fucking jokes every other minute about my double chin and moobs and rolls-"

"Okay, your mates are arseholes!" I said. "Does that matter? Your workmates make jokes like that all the time."

"It's not my mates!" His voice was growing louder. "They're right! We've- I've-" He sighed and rubbed his face, his double chin moulding under his fingers. "We've taken it too far." He looked at me in the eyes. "This," he gestured down at himself and looked guiltily at me, "isn't just 'being a big guy' anymore. It's really, properly fat."

We tried to avoid talking about it for a few days. Then talked about dieting, going to the gym, building muscle, what weight might be a good compromise. Every conversation turned into an argument. Every meal, every shopping list.

I'd gotten so used to over-eating that I'd sneak off in the middle of the night or when he was at work to gorge. The couple of times he caught me turning into raging arguments. The times I caught him doing the same weren't much better.

Three weeks later, he'd packed his bags and gone to his parents. Whereas in the past I'd have stopped eating, I'd now fundamentally rewired my brain. Comfort eating was now de rigueur and every day seemed to overshadow the last. My snacks would have left a grown man satisfied, my meals turned into feasts, ice cream filled the time between like it filled in gaps in my stomach.

I ballooned. My tits drooped, my stomach swelled, my thighs chafed. I was grateful my job was mainly work-from-home, since my old clothes became restrictive to the point of pain. Buying clothes became a matter of adding the biggest size available to my cart and hoping for the best, waiting for the day I had to move to big-and-tall shops. Whenever I did have to go into the office, button-ups strained, my belt dug in, ties became comedically short. I saw my coworkers talking to each other, jokingly at first, then with concern. How could they not? I took up twice the space that I had done not long before, my face was round and jowly and soft. HR sent an email asking if I'd like a stronger chair. Emails were sent round reminding people about the gym memberships that the company offered, ostensibly office-wide, but I knew who they were targeted at.

When I reached 325 pounds I realised I almost weighed as much as Mark had when he left. Would I celebrate, I wondered, once I passed that milestone? Eat a cake to myself? Would that even register at this point?

I heard the door open and close, and I twisted around as best as I could. My flexibility had reached a critical point - now every action came with resistance, as fat bunched against fat and stretched around the sheer bulk of me. I looked around desperately at the mess around me, the ice cream cartons, cake boxes, tubs of cake frosting eaten straight.

"Ben?" Mark asked. I stood up as quickly as I could, tried to pull down my t-shirt so it covered the rest of my gut, did my best to button my shorts. I felt his hands on my arms before I even had a chance to get a good look at him. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

I looked up, finally. "You've lost weight," I said. It was true. His gut, his double chin, his tits, all were still there, big, but diminished.

He chuckled. "The lads at the site still call me a fat bastard," he said and shook his belly. It was true, I supposed - by anyone else's standards he was still obese. "You, erm, haven't," he added, quietly. "Lost weight, I mean."

I felt huge. Disgusting. "I can lose it," I promised, tears welling up in my eyes. "I just missed you so much and-"

"No," Mark said.

"No?" I asked.

"No," he repeated. "I don't need you to lose weight, I don't need…" He sighed. "I thought I needed to get fit again. Lose all the weight. I started going to the gym, dieting. Started seeing results. Got down to two-sixty."

I peered at him. "You're not…" I began.

"No, I'm about two-eighty now. Probably a bit more," he answered my unspoken question. "I realised being smaller wasn't making me happy. Once I stopped dieting, the weight piled back on." He ran a finger across his moustache and looked around nervously. "Then I realised the reason I wasn't happy was because I wasn't with you." I noticed for the first time that he was holding back tears.

I moved towards him and help him for a while. He gripped me tight, his strong arms sinking into my soft back.

A while later, we were sat at the table, a chinese takeaway in front of us - a small attempt at normality.

"So," Mark said, looking at me sideways and speaking slowly, as if to test the waters. "What are you weighing at these days?" he asked.

I sucked air through my teeth. I knew this was coming. I wasn't upset as such - by this point, our relationship was defined by fat. It was a shock though, him coming back having lost so much weight, me having put on so much. "Three-two-five," I said, as calmly as I could. "Well, a couple of weeks ago at least."

Mark whistled and reached over to slide a hand across my belly, as if in admiration. "God, did you ever imagine you'd be the bigger one in the relationship?" he asked. I felt my face go red, and I started to stammer a response. "I've got to be honest," he continued. "I'm pretty jealous."

I choked. "Jealous?" I managed to spit out. "Of being this big?"

He sighed wistfully. "I've always been a big guy, you know? And then when I started going out with you I got used to being the biggest guy in most situations. And I definitely never thought I'd be smaller than you."

I smirked. "Fancy changing that?"

He chuckled. "Just you wait," he said. "I'll be the bigger one again in no time."

I grinned and picked up a rib. "Good," I said. "No man of mine is going to be under three hundred. You'll have to hurry up and catch me though," I told him. "I'm going to be a moving target."

He smiled. "Sounds great." He spooned some food onto his plate. "See you at three hundred and fifty pounds?" he teased.

I grinned. "At least."

#gaining fiction #weight gain story #weight gain #gainer fiction #gainer story #on again off again #no one other than me will ever find it funny that he took him to an impressionist exhibition to impress a date and I'm at peace with that

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cordeliawhohung · 5 months

Text

Sun Bleached Flies - Part 1

Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!Reader - part ten of "soft spot"

Healing never comes as fast and easy as you want it to, but you try and adjust to your new life as best as you can. The thing is, there is no going back, there is only going forward, no matter how much you wished it was otherwise.

warnings: PTSD, angst, minor comfort, panic and anxiety attacks, spook and simon are going through it.

wc: 6.6k

A gentle breeze danced through the open window of his therapist’s office, bringing the scent of spring with it.

Moist grass, a hint of rain, freshly bloomed flowers; all hints of something new being born. Except this wasn’t new for Simon. Sitting in an overly calm and quiet room in a chair that was too soft as a man who looked too ancient for this earth flipped through notes of their previous sessions.

This wasn’t Simon’s first time in therapy, and he was certain it wouldn’t be his last. After everything he had endured over the winter, he was required to attend sessions before he would be allowed to return back to active duty. He had only started a few weeks ago, as most of his energy and time had gone into taking care of you, but once you were well enough to go back to work, well, it was time to take care of himself.

“How was your week, lieutenant?” the man spoke up after finally putting his notes down. His name was Gus, and was ex-military. Or, at least Simon assumed he was, judging by the deep and long wrinkled scars that littered his face and the unceremonious use of his rank. “Anything new?”

“It was alright,” he answered bluntly. He was never quite good with the awkward small talk that came with therapy. Something about how he was supposed to bare his darkest secrets just to talk about the weather was unnerving. “Spook started physical therapy this week.”

Usually, Simon never used that nickname Johnny coined for you, but ever since you were taken, he felt as if he couldn’t use your real name. That sharing anything about you was forbidden. Or maybe he was just being selfish, wanting to keep you, even your name, all to himself.

“At least she’s in some sort of therapy,” Gus said dryly. “She still refusing counseling?”

He nodded solemnly. “Says she doesn’t think she can talk about it yet.”

Gus grunted a little as he sat forward in his chair. A pair of frail and shaky hands reached up to remove the oversized glasses on his face before he settled his foggy eyes back on Simon. “Does she talk about it with you?”

“Tries,” he responded sourly. “She used to talk so much about everything; everything except for whatever was hurtin’ her. Always thought she’d tell me eventually, whenever she was ready. But after this shit? I’m fuckin’ lucky to get anything out of her. Even the good stuff.”

Instead of prompting him with another question, Gus stayed quiet as he stared at Simon, and he knew what it meant. That man must have been in the business of fixing broken soldiers for quite some time because it never took him long to figure out what was bothering him. Always struck gold on the first shovelful of dirt. Might as well make things easy and give up the rest.

“Everything that I’ve learned about her past I’ve had to piece together myself,” Simon explained. “Her moms passing she told me herself, but I know her previous partner was a right piece of shit. Judging by the way she hardly ever talks about her father, he probably was no better. She hasn’t told me anything about when she was taken, or what they did to her. There’s some stuff I can figure out. God, there was fuckin’ photographic proof on the damn floor.” He paused for a moment and shook his head as if trying to get his thoughts back in order. “She tries but then just shuts down and I… fuck, I dunno.”

“And what have you told her?” Gus asked as he leaned back in his chair.

Eyebrows drawing together and cheeks scrunching under his mask, Simon tilted his head to the side. “What?”

“I mean, what have you told her? About your past, or your family? Are you making her play the same guessing games?” Gus pressed.

A lump formed in Simon’s throat so thick he thought he would choke on it. He wanted to say that sharing his past was different. How was he supposed to talk about the torture he endured, the hook tearing through his ribs, the slaughter of his family? How their deaths were pinned on him, and he burnt away the evidence of them; what would you say to that? Or if you knew about his revenge, how he traversed a jungle just to kill a man?

He grimaced. Hadn’t you already seen his revenge?

“You’ve been pretty open with me so far, lieutenant, and that’s a lot more than I can say for most of the men I see in here,” Gus continued, “so tell me; what is it that you’re really afraid of?”

Really, therapy wasn’t all too different from being interrogated. In both circumstances, there was someone trying to poke and prod around inside of his head. And in both circumstances, it was never fun when they poked the right spot.

“I don’t want her to think I’m like them,” he finally admitted.

“Her abductors?” Gus clarified. “Why would she think that?”

“I broke a man's arm and shot him as I had him pinned to the ground. Right in front of her,” Simon explained as if he saw Bukin dying all over again. Heard the bone snap and the crunching sound of his flesh grinding underneath his boot. Watched as his head jumped dully against the ground as the bullet tore through his skill.

“You saved her life,” Gus countered.

“I was violent,” he spat.

“So were they.”

“I’m supposed to be better than them.”

“If you were better than them, she’d be dead, son.”

Silence. The breeze continued to drift through the open window, attempting to kiss Simon’s flesh through his clothes, too kind for him to be deserving of it. He continued to stare through the old man as he waited for him to explain himself.

“You brought her home alive. You know better than anyone that being soft comes with consequences. Some good, some bad. Be violent, be a monster; be Ghost in the moments when you’re doing your job. When you’re protecting the ones you love.” Throughout his last few weeks of therapy, Simon hadn’t heard the old man speak with such conviction until that moment. Like the man spoke from experience. “Be soft when you’re with her. Share the stuff that hurts. It sounds like you’re the closest person she has. Certainly the strongest. How is she supposed to be vulnerable with you when you’re the one who’s scared?”

The thing Simon hated the most about therapy was hearing things he already knew but was trying to ignore. Everything would have been so much easier had he let you ramble that night the oxycodone had scrambled your brain. But it was his fault things had gotten that way in the first place. That picture of you that he kept despite his better judgment, leading Bukin right to your door; that was his fault. Selfish of him to hope that you’d be the one vulnerable first as if he didn’t have something to atone for.

Simon let out a heavy sigh as he looked down at his hands. The old man was right, and it was frustrating. “Christ,” he muttered.

“Start with the small stuff. You don’t have to air everything out all at once. Actually, it would be better if you didn’t. Don’t want to overwhelm the poor girl,” Gus assured him. “Remember, she’s a civilian. She didn’t have the resources and training that you did going into that.”

He didn’t spend much longer in that office before Gus sent him away to do his homework: figure out a memory to share with you. Sounded easy enough, but when he had spent countless years keeping things to himself so as to keep others safe, it was near painful. But he tried his best to think of something as he made his way back to the apartment.

You weren’t there when he got home. Not that he had expected you to be, though it still felt wrong. As soon as your wound was no longer needing constant attention, you instantly hopped back into work. He tried to dissuade you from doing so, saying that he’d still have more than enough money to pay for everything, but you wouldn’t hear any of it. Claimed you were tired of being locked up in the apartment all day, even if he was there with you. Though it worried him, he couldn’t blame you, not after everything that had happened there. Every now and then he still found a small, green bead somewhere on the living room floor.

A sigh left him as he stood in the entryway, staring at Boo who watched him curiously from the couch. The window had been left cracked open, and it looked like the little guy had been enjoying some fresh air. Simon tried to tell you that leaving the blinds open was just asking for someone to snitch that you had a cat in the apartment. You had retorted by saying boarded up windows made for a shitty home.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he mumbled to himself.

This was going to be a pain in his ass.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

“This guy is getting on my fucking nerves.”

That was the fucking understatement of the year. Méabh lazily leaned against your desk as she glared over at the new branch manager they had hired during your absence. His name was Jace, and he liked to spend his time at work micromanaging all of his employees, including Cheryl, who was able to wire money with her eyes closed after so many years in the business. The poor woman looked like she was one more annoying comment from smacking the overbearing manager.

“He told me I didn’t ask enough security questions on the last transfer I did as if I didn’t ask all the ones that popped up on the screen,” Méabh continued in a droning grumble. “I wish Anna was still here. She did her job and wasn’t a complete cunt about it.”

“Just be glad that you only work part time,” you teased while trying to focus on your paperwork.

“Yeah, for now,” Méabh whined. “I’ll be going full time over summer holiday. Means I’ll get to see this prick twice as often.”

Really, it wasn’t Jace’s hawk-like gaze, or even his annoying nasally voice that got on your nerves. It was his shoes. While most of the girls at the bank wore flats to save themselves from achy feet, Jace wore terribly loud dress shoes. Whenever he walked, it sounded like he wore high heels with the way they clacked on the floor, and with how much he stomped around it was impossible for him to sneak up on anyone.

“Are you almost done?” Méabh then prompted. “I wanna get out of here.”

“You don’t have to wait for me, you know,” you chuckled.

“Thought I’d do the noble thing and keep you company. You know, unless you want Jace to read over your paperwork before you submit it,” she retorted with a playful roll of her eyes.

“How kind of you.”

Luckily for Méabh, or perhaps the both of you, you had just typed up the finishing touches to your work. Not even a minute later the whirring of your computer died down as you shut it off for the night and stood from your desk. However, you made the mistake of pushing with both your hands, and you winced as a zapping pain shot through your left shoulder. Even after all those months, your wound hadn’t fully healed.

“You alright?” Méabh asked as you gathered your items.

“Yeah,” you said, slightly winded. Glancing quickly over at Jace, and poor Cheryl who was still stuck listening to his ramble, you looked back at the young girl before nodding towards the door. “Let’s get out of here.”

Without saying goodbye, or saving your co-worker, you and Méabh slipped out of the building unnoticed and into the fresh spring air. Or, at least as fresh as it could get in the midst of London. It had been months since you last smelt real fresh air. When had it been, back at the end of August when you and Simon had gone on holiday? With the beautiful seaside and mist that tasted like salt? Or was it…

No. No, that couldn’t be right.

“Need a ride?” Méabh prompted.

You pulled your head out of the frigid water, dusted the sand off your knees, and smiled politely as you adjusted the blazer that perfectly complimented your pristine work clothes. You always had a way of bringing yourself back to reality if it meant avoiding an awkward conversation. Always so calm and put together, even with fragments of a bullet still stuck in your body.

“No, I’ll, uhm, just walk home. Thanks,” you excused as your eyes glanced out at the busy streets ahead.

Saying goodbye was awkward. Hell, everything was awkward those days. But like you did with all things in your life, you gritted your teeth and bared it before starting your walk home.

It was strange trying to remember how you used to fit into the world before everything. Sure, you never quite fit in beforehand, squeezing into places too small for you to exist in, but it had become home. But not then. Your edges had become warped, curling in on themselves, retracting into your body. Your piece of the puzzle had shrunk, but everything else stayed the same size, leaving you stuck with a gap that separated you from everyone else.

You were a watcher; a stranger to the very earth that nourished you. You could hear the seagulls rummaging through a pile of rubbish left beside the bin, and you could see the vibrant valley flowers that took up the window of the florist's shop on your left, but it was… blurry. Fuzzy, like the tingling sensation that plagued your arm every now and then when the blood flow was bad. You tried to focus, do anything to make the imagery around you feel sharper, but the faces of pedestrians were empty, like nobody around you was real, least of all yourself.

And then you were home.

It was difficult to tell how long you were standing outside of the door, staring at the empty wood as if it was a mirror. You had just sort of appeared there, like some sort of ghost. Without taking your eyes off of the door, you dug your hand into your bag and blindly felt around for your keys. A part of you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the view Leon had before kidnapping you. Before drugging you and taking you to that fucking basement.

No. Bukin. Simon told you his last name was Bukin, and you weren’t going to give your dead captor the pleasure of using his first name as if you had been friends.

Eventually the keys ended up in the lock and you entered the apartment. A heavy aroma of seasoned chicken filled the air around you, and you heard quiet cursing coming from the kitchen. You rounded the corner and were greeted by Simon cooking at the stove and Boo trying his hardest to trip the poor man. The critter stareed up at him with big, begging eyes as he followed your lovers every step.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he greeted, quickly glancing away from his work to look at you.

“You two look busy,” you chuckled, tossing your bag onto the counter.

“I’m busy,” Simon corrected before tossing a playful glare down at the poor cat by his feet. “He’s a menace.”

Humming, you stood next to Simon and glanced at what he had on the stove. It was pretty common for you to come home from work with dinner already started, if not finished. Simon had become something of a chef since taking care of you, and he had some pasta boiling and some chicken frying. He had started eating a lot more protein and carbs since going back to the gym, attempting to gain back the strength he had lost while captured.

“He’s just a baby,” you said, reaching a hand towards the hot pan. With careful fingers, you tore off a small bit of the chicken before blowing on it a little to cool it down. Boo had already stretched up to reach up your thigh by the time you had bent down to give it to him. After a few deep sniffs, he eagerly took it in his mouth and ran off.

“Spoiled rotten, he is,” Simon mumbled.

“He was being so patient,” you cooed, watching as Boo scarfed down his treat in the corner of the kitchen, as if afraid someone would take it from him.

“Patient, my arse,” he chuckled.

A dull beep sounded from the stove, which Simon quickly pressed a button to shut it off. With a twist of the dial, he turned the heat off of one of the burners and you heard the sound of boiling water quiet down before he moved it towards the sink to strain it. As hot steam billowed upwards, you turned your attention towards one of the cabinets where you found yourself reaching up for it. A small stack of china sat on the lowest shelf. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had actually set the table yourself.

“Don’t worry ‘bout that, sweetheart,” Simon said as he sat the still steaming pot on the counter next to the sink.

Shooting him a weird look, you continued in your pursuit. “I can handle getting plates, Simon.”

And you did. Grabbed two plates right off the shelf and held them in your hands as you looked at him as if in a challenge. But you understood why he was still so… skittish. He had spent the last few months doing everything for you. Bathing you, dressing you, making your food; he did it all. It almost felt more vulnerable than bleeding out on cold grass. A burden, that’s what you had become. Just another pet for someone to take care of. And Simon didn’t mind it, you knew that; he never did. Still, it was difficult to rot away in that apartment in good conscience knowing he was caring for someone who more than likely should have been a corpse by the ocean.

Saying nothing, Simon turned his attention back to his work as you walked towards the dining table. You hadn’t even made it halfway there before something crumbled inside of you. A shooting pain ran up and down your left arm, searing your nerves and burning away your flesh. A tingling numbness settled over your hand and the plates you tried to hold so carefully slipped right through your fingers where they shattered on the ground at your feet with a deafening crash.

Your gasp was cut off by a short whimper as your hand reached up to press against your old, yet still aggravated wound. You kept the pressure there as if trying to keep yourself from spilling on the floor, and you looked down at the mess you made.

“Jesus fucking Christ,” you cursed. You pulled your hand away from under your arm and looked at your hand as if expecting blood.

“You alright?” Simon asked, heavy footsteps trailing across the floor behind you.

“I’m fine,” you spat, words sharp enough to tear through flesh.

The footsteps behind you stopped, and it forced you to realize the bite in your tone. It also made you realize how your hand trembled and heart stung as if you were afraid, as if you had been running. In an attempt to calm your nerves, you let out a heavy sigh before looking down at the mess you made. A terrible mosaic of broken glass and a now slightly chipped wooden floor spanned the area around your feet. You had ruined two perfectly good plates, damaged the floor, and you were the one snapping?

So much like your father. Being angry at the mess when it was your own fault.

“I’m… fine,” you tried again, softer this time. Empty. “Sorry, I… didn’t mean to…”

When Simon continued to walk towards you, you half expected him to reach for you, and some strange part of you didn’t want him to. Didn’t want his touch. Couldn’t stand it because you knew you didn’t deserve it. Instead, he knelt on the ground next to you, large fingers carefully picking up the bigger pieces of the shattered plates and gathering them into the palm of his hand.

“You don’t have to clean up my mess,” you said softly, lip trembling as you knelt down next to him to mirror his actions.

“I know,” he replied simply. He still cleaned anyway.

Anger was a weird thing for you. It wasn’t often that you felt it without some other emotion accompanying it. Confusion. Frustration. Grief. Shame usually followed shortly after. Truth was, you were angry all the time those days, and it was worse than almost any other emotion you could have experienced. When you had first started your road to recovery, you felt numb, and when you didn’t feel numb you felt terrified. A part of you wished you were still in that stage because you could at least explain why you felt that way. Some sort of self preservation mode your body had forced itself into in an attempt to smother the trauma you had endured over several long weeks. The anger that hid itself away in your chest was something you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know why it was there, but you wished it wasn’t.

So you stayed silent as you assisted Simon in cleaning up the shattered plates. It had remained mostly in several large chunks, but there were smaller, more fine pieces that you’d have to use a broom for. You hated that your hands shook for each piece you reached out for.

“I broke one of my mum’s vases when I was a kid,” Simon said unprompted. You found yourself pausing. As you held what pieces you had gathered in your hand, you glanced over at him, and he must have felt your gaze because his eyes flickered to you before focusing back on his work. “Was an accident. Kickin’ around a football in the living room when she told me not to. I tried to hide it from her until I could fix it, but she knew immediately it was missing.”

“Was she mad?” you asked.

It felt… odd. Strange. Nice. In all the years you had been with Simon, neither of you had really talked about your pasts. All you had gotten or shared were fragments. And there he was, picking up your mess, showing some raw part of himself you had never seen before.

“Upset, but not mad. She never got mad, even when she should have,” he replied, voice unwavering.

A thick lump had formed in your throat that was difficult to swallow. Something fuzzy tingled in the back of your mind, like something was trying to rip a chunk of flesh out of you; a memory. Teeth sinking into the inside of your cheek, you swallowed again before speaking.

“My… father broke a lot of plates when I was younger,” you admitted, staring down at the chunks of china in your hands. “Usually to get a reaction out of my mom. They were her mother’s, my grandmother’s, plates. Eventually she had to end up buying plastic plates when he had smashed them all, but that didn’t stop him from throwing them. He was always…”

So predictable.

Hadn’t you just said that not too long ago? After the shattering of a bowl? More broken china to stain the ground, the carpet, in that basement. You remembered his glare, Erik’s glare - Adakskin - when you told him he was predictable. And you were right. He had done everything you knew he would. A broken dish was always followed by pain. It didn’t matter. It never did. A broken dish was always followed by pain, even if you were the one breaking it.

Eyes watering, you coughed a little as a sharp tickle formed in your throat. Simon, whose eyes had been on you, glanced over his shoulder to see a fair bit of thick steam and light smoke rising out of the pan he had been cooking chicken in. Cursing, he stood to his feet and quickly tossed the pieces of china he had gathered into the trash before moving the pan off the heat.

And just like that, you were back. Still kneeling, still cleaning, still quiet. Your life had become nothing but a blur of time; living in the past and present at the same time. Even at work, at home, with Simon, the past held onto you so violently you weren’t sure you would ever be able to shake it off. You tried telling yourself you could - that you would - but once again you were cleaning up a broken plate. Always cleaning but never clean.

“Hope you like crispy chicken,” Simon sighed. Spatula in hand, he attempted to scrape the burnt meat off of the pan.

Once you ensured every single shard had been picked up, you turned your attention towards the kitchen for a split moment. You attempted a smile, but it felt too big on your face, so you got rid of it the moment it formed.

“I’m gonna change out of my work clothes,” you said instead, crossing through the kitchen to head towards the bedroom. “I’ll, uh… I’ll let you get the plates this time.”

He didn’t say anything in response as you vanished down the hallway, but he kept his eyes on you. His lips tightened into a thin line for a moment before relaxing once more and turning his attention back to dinner. He knew this stage of healing was going to be the hardest. The body had a way of mending wounds that the mind just couldn’t mimic with trauma. That conversation had been the most he was able to get out of you in months, and you still looked terrified.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

It had been years since Simon had last smoked a cigarette. He used to smoke regularly when he first joined up, especially more so after his family was killed. It was a good way to keep himself awake on missions, or for avoiding nightmares. He quit when the withdrawal symptoms got bad and he had difficulty with cardio during PT. Now he smoked for the alleviation of stress, even if it only lasted for a moment. Or maybe he did it just to keep his hands moving. No matter the reason, it didn’t change the smoke curling in his lungs as he took drag after drag.

Something had been on his mind since you dropped those plates at dinner the previous night. The empty look in your eyes haunted him almost as bad as the shaking of your hands. It was getting worse. Or, at least, it wasn’t getting better, and that terrified him. He didn’t know what to do to help you short of dragging you off to some therapist, which he knew wouldn’t do any good. Something was building. Something was going to burst, and he didn’t know when, but the pressure was there and there was nothing he could do about it.

So there he stood, off in some secluded area on base, smoking his cigarette with a jaw so tense there were indentations of his teeth on the filter. It didn’t take him long to finish it, and when it had been stomped into the ground with the heel of his boot, he was half tempted to smoke another. Keeping the pack in his pocket, he released a heavy sigh before marching back towards the building that housed his office.

Avoiding as many people in the halls as he could, he quickly unlocked the door and shut it as soon as he slipped inside. The air felt stale, like no one had entered to clean his space in his absence, which was probably for the best anyway. He flicked the light on, and it struggled to fill the room, being dimmer than he remembered it being, but it was enough for the moment. With a press of a button, his computer started to whirr to life, and he sat in his chair as he waited for it to boot up. It had great difficulty starting, and he could hear his SSD grind and whine after being shut off for so many months.

Eventually the monitor lit up, and Simon wasted no time logging in before opening his browser. The last time he had used this computer he had spent all his time and energy searching through houses and apartments and hotel rooms in search of where you were being held. Now, he found himself looking at houses and apartments again, but for a different reason.

He needed to get you out of there; out of the apartment the two of you had been staying in. Too many bad memories stained the walls for either of you to do any sort of healing. And so he searched and searched and found his frustration growing. A one bedroom apartment for 3,000 a month? Christ, the housing in that fucking city was astronomically expensive, and sure he could afford it, but for a single damn room?

So he kept searching. It was difficult trying to find someplace that wasn’t halfway across the city from base that was also still close to your work. He’d hate for you to have to take the tube alone, or walk too far alone at night in the city, especially dressed as fancy as bankers usually were. Of course there was always housing on base, but he wouldn’t be able to bring you with because the two of you weren’t married.

Your wife; they are relocating her.

Even after all that time he could see that woman clearly, whoever she had been, sitting on the floor of the room you were supposed to be in. At the time he tried to shake off the way that statement made him feel. Behind the anger, frustration, and fear, there was something else there. Wife. He had liked the term. He wished it was true. Then he remembered the photos in front of her. Your face; your gorgeous face, trapped in that Polaroid. The tears and blood that stained your cheeks and lips, the way an unforgiving hand gripped your jaw, forcing you to look at the lens.

Wife. He wanted that, craved it. But that wasn’t the time, not after everything that had happened.

Simon wasn’t brought out of his thoughts until someone knocked on his door, where he found himself glaring at the big hunk of wood. He hadn’t been there in months, and most people should have known that, so why was someone trying to bother him? Still, he gave them a gruff order to come in and he was quickly greeted by Johnny’s wide eyed expression.

“You’re back?” Johnny asked breathlessly as he shut the door behind him.

Well, at least out of everyone that it could have been, it was him.

“Not yet,” he replied simply. His chair squeaked as he leaned back in it in an attempt to relax some. He tried to make a mental reminder to use some WD-40 on it later. “How’d you know I was here?”

Johnny used his thumb to point over his shoulder at the door behind him. “Was on my way to storage to put some files away,” he explained simply, simultaneously shaking the manilla folder in his hand. “Walked by and saw the light peeking from under the door. Figured someone was cleaning, but knocked just in case.” He took a few cautious steps forward, as if approaching a skittish cat. “How’s everything?”

Simon wasn’t quite sure how to answer that question. Things certainly weren’t great, but they could be worse. For example, you could be dead, or still hospitalized. But saying things were great was far from the truth, and he wasn’t exactly keen on explaining every little issue that had been plaguing him as of late.

“It’s an adjustment,” he admitted instead, “but we’re getting there.”

Johnny nodded, getting even closer to his lieutenant. “Spook doin’ alright, then?”

Even after all that time, Simon still didn’t like talking about you with other people, even if it was Johnny. Hell, even talking about you to his therapist made him feel tense. But he couldn’t hold onto you like that forever, keeping you caged in the safeness of his arms where you were supposed to be safe. And he had to come to the realization that his sergeant deserved to know. Simon had been there the entire time; through the hospital, through your healing. The last time Johnny had seen you, you were bleeding out on your way to the nearest hospital.

“She’s back to work. Started physical therapy this week, too,” Simon explained, though he wasn’t sure how much more he could say.

That small bit of information seemed to mean the whole world to Johnny, and his face lit up. “Good, that’s good! Glad she’s doin’ better.” Then, his eyes darted to the monitor. He caught sight of the rental listings lined up on the screen, as well as their crazy high prices. “Searchin’ for a new home?”

Simon’s attention turned back to the computer for a moment where he let a heavy sigh escape him. “Yeah. Figured it was about time I got her out of there. The apartment. Wanted to get her out sooner, but couldn’t when she was still hurt.”

“It woulda been a lot for her to adjust to at once,” Johnny agreed.

Things fell silent for a moment as both men lost themselves in their thoughts, but only for a short moment before Johnny adjusted the folder in his hand.

“Well, I’ll let you continue searching,” he excused himself as he took a step back. “Gotta get this to storage eventually.”

Simon was one second away from wishing the man well before watching him leave his office, but something stopped him. He knew that if he was alone again, his thoughts would go right back to where they were before. That woman in the room. Pictures of you on the floor. The blood. The Polaroids. That fucking hand that gripped your face - the hand that had no fucking right to touch you. Those goddamn pictures.

“I’ll come with,” Simon said, already shutting his computer down.

Eyebrows drawing together, Johnny tilted his head to the side as he paused his retreat. “You sure?”

There was no room for argument. Everything in his office was quickly shut down and put away, and the two men walked through the halls of the building. There were a few familiar faces that threw Simon odd glances, as if surprised to see him there, or perhaps surprised he was still alive. His name was Ghost for a reason.

Neither man said anything to one another until they reached the storage room. Shelves lined up like dominos and spanned all the way to the back wall where an industrial sized paper shredder sat. Large white cardboard boxes rested on the shelves with simple flip open tops, each labeled with either a case or date of some sort. Painfully white lights washed out the entire room, causing Johnny to squint for a moment before his eyes adjusted.

“Hate sorting through this shit,” he muttered as he began to wander through the aisles.

Simon stood in the doorway for a moment, breathing in the scent of old paper and rotting ink. Usually he never had to go into that room; whatever paperwork that he did have that would go there he’d make someone else’s problem. Even then, he found himself searching, eyes scanning the labels on the boxes. Locations, names, dates, everything. Johnny caught onto his search, and watched him for a moment with careful eyes, but still refused to say anything.

“Aye, here we are,” Johnny sighed as he flipped the lid off of one of the boxes. He unceremoniously tossed the file into it before shutting it once again. “Right. Ready to get outta here?”

But when he turned to Simon, he saw the man’s attention was caught by one of the boxes. Salthouse | 8, December. The lid was already opened, and Simon stared blankly into it as if he wasn’t sure where to start.

“Ghost?” Johnny said softly.

Simon’s hands dove into the box decisively where his fingers grabbed onto a small, orange envelope. There was a slight thickness to it, like something had to be shoved in there to fit properly, or too many things had been stacked and folded on top of one another. He wasted no time undoing the brass clasp at the top and pouring the contents into his hand.

A plastic bag full of Polaroids tumbled out of the envelope, and Simon and Johnny were met with the image of your face. Beaten, irritated, and bloody, it was a different image than what they had seen last time, like whoever had collected it shuffled through the images in morbid curiosity. You laid on the ground on your back, no hand gripping your face, but still very obviously out of it. Passed out, probably, or at least on the verge of consciousness.

He wasn’t prepared for the anger that bubbled up inside of him upon setting eyes on those images again. So many regrets, things that he should have done differently. He should have been stronger, faster, deadlier. Should have made Bukin and Adakskin pay for everything they had done to you with more than just a bullet to the head. Should have ripped up that picture of you the moment he got the chance.

“Simon,” Johnny said again. It was rare that the man ever used his lieutenants real name, but it left him before he was able to stop it.

Ignoring him, Simon tossed the orange envelope back into the box before ripping open the plastic bag, nearly scattering the photos all over the ground. He gathered them up into his hands before marching off towards the back of the room, boots hitting heavy against the floor.

“What’re you doing?” Johnny asked, voice a bit more firm.

“No one needs to see these,” Simon responded within an instant. “Everyone knows what happened to her. No one needs to see her like this.”

He approached the shredder that sat against the back wall of the room. It was a large thing, made for shredding stacks of paper all at once with teeth that could eat an entire hand within an instant. A few Polaroids wouldn’t be an issue at all. The thing was, Johnny couldn’t even argue with Simon, because he felt the exact same way. So he stood there and watched as Simon powered on the shredder, gears whirring and whining.

Without remorse, Simon tossed the photos into the shredder and watched as the metal tore them to shreds with ease. Plastic crinkled and cracked until they were all eaten up and spat out into the bag that stored all the other scraps it had thrown up. The thing was, Simon was never very good at fixing things. No matter how hard he tried to be, he always ended up breaking things. His mother’s vase or a man's arm. He could pull a trigger and end someone’s life and yet he felt something convulsing inside of him at the thought of opening himself to you.

But this? This felt right. Destroying those pictures. There was enough evidence on your body and in your mind as it was. He tried so hard to be something else, anything else; but in the end, Simon was a brutal man whose hands were only capable of violence; might as well put them to good use.

tags: @ghostlythots @archonsabyss @crowbird @beware-my-thorns @koko-1025 @nessaasstuff @escapefromrealitysm @babygirl-riley @theloneshadow24 @ashableketchup @violet-19999 @paigetaylor628 @curlygirls-world @gaebestie @datlilwrench @ryisghost @suffering-and-happy-about-it @achelois-is-here

find my taglist here

#simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #soft spot #f!reader

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silent-raven13 · 1 month

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Hey Miles! What's your type?

Miles looks at his friends, "Hmm?"

"What's your type?" Gwen asked, "Like what do you see yourself with?"

Pavtri nodded, "Yeah, what kind of boy or girl you like?" Hobie stood listening them, his whole body turning into a curious colors; like soft green, bright yellow and gray with magazine and newspaper prints all over with symbols of curiosity fonts, and imagery.

"Hmm, I always did like girls like Gwen; smart, funny, serious, and vulnerable like good way. Like shows her sensitive side, I guess..." Miles explains about the girls he dated being similar to his old crush, Gwen. This got Gwen blushing so hard her face turns tomato red.

"Awe, love you too, man!" She plays off her blushing as she pats harshly on her friend's back. The two did like each other at one point, but it was at the wrong time. She needed to heal herself before getting involved in a serious relationship. Miles needs to deal with his own traumas and wanted the Spider people he was close to, to gain back his trust. So, they never went for it and slowly became close friends instead of lovers. It's safer like that.

"Ow!" Miles rubs his arms feeling pain on his back being nervous.

"What about guys! You said your into guys too!" Pavtri got close to his friend's face while holding his hand, even Hobie got close to listen.

"Well... umm... never really thought about it. I guess, the same thing as Gwen- um..." His honey-brown eyes started to drift away from eye contact being flustered. "I kinda like tall guys! Like really tall."

Gwen saw Hobie being pink, then stood next to Miles with his hand measuring Miles' height against his own. Hobie is a freakin' tall dude, being six foot and four inches while Miles only six foot. This made the teenager girl giggle.

"What else?" Pavtri asked.

Miles wasn't paying attention to Hobie and Gwen assuming they were being goofy with each other. "Umm... I always saw myself being with a guy that's edgy, likes music..." Hobie did a happy pose, showing off his outfit being punk and his guitar being, "romantic." The punker pulled out a rose being the romantic type.

"Funny, smart, not afraid to be sensitive, sweet with kids!" Hobie putting on a goofy glasses with mustache, then a book by Albert Einstein and pulls out Mayday from the blue while holding her. Mayday giggles at the punker being surprised he grab her out of home from a portal!

"Kids? You want kids!"

"No, I mean... i dunno a guy that's nice with kids is a green flag for me." Miles rubs his chin unaware of Peter 616 coming out of the portal to take back his daughter from the punker and wag his finger. Mayday merely laughs agains before waving the punker goodbye. The two went back to their world. "Oh, I always saw myself being with a black man, someone Jamaican or Caribbean but I wouldn't mind an Afro Latino or African or just black." He rub his neck.

Hobie happily stood showing off his tattoo of a Jamaican and Haitian pride alongside his West African flag to represent his descendants. Gwen snickers seeing how clueless Miles is being with his type. "What else? No Indian or brown love, Miles." Pavtri pouts.

"Oh, I don't mind that! I'm down for anyone." Miles shyly said, "I do like guys like you, Pav. Like sweet, funny and always putting a positive attitude!"

"Ohh, Miles! You make me wanna date you!" Pavtri hugs him having to nuzzle his cheek, "Hehehe, if I wasn't dating my Gayatri, you'll be my bae!"

That made Hobie jealous, turning grey with newspaper labels with prints, "Do not touch! Warning!"

"Hahaha, awe Pav, you're too nice." Miles giggles, then he said, "Oh, I like guys that are kinda bad boys... like they break the rules."

Hobie turns pink again, that is him. "Oh, and he cares about social views like Black Lives Matter, Women's Rights, LGBTQ plus umm... you know people's rights, heh. I guess, that kind of guy is unrealistic, huh?"

The punker looks surprised and exaggerated his pose into a big WHAT, with hands in the air and squatting. Gwen burst out laughing seeing how this is the perfect description of Hobie Brown.

"Awe, really?" Pavtri's brown eyes glance over at Hobie looking confused and lost. "I mean, I feel like someone already exists."

"I dunno... the guys I meet always be bums, then again I haven't dated much." Miles explains, "Oh, maybe this being a stretched but a guy with a nice accent is hot, y'know."

Hobie threw his hands in the air, Miles' man is right here. Pavtri giggles, "Miles..."

"You describe Hobie?" Gwen hums.

Miles looking flustered at his crush but the sixteen year old look so lost, "I did! Oh..." He glances over at the punker, "It's because you're so amazing! Anyone would be so happy to be with you, man!"

Hobie had hearts with his grey pop into a blooms of pinks being so happy, he picks up his friend with a nuzzle, "Awe, I love you, too, Sunflower!"

"Huh! Where did that come from?" Miles felt his face so warm, he cover his face being embarrassed by all this.

Gwen said to Pavtri seeing Hobie happily carrying around Miles like a couple. "You know... they are taking their sweet ass time to date!"

"You know, Miles... our sweet Miles is too shy and naive!" Pavtri giggles.

#punkflower #miles morales #hobie brown #spiderman #across the spider verse #fanfic #flowerpunk

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paramouradrift · 5 months

Text

Nine People You'd Like To Get To Know Better

I was tagged by @transboyzuko, and it's been a minute since I've done anything like this so here goes:

Three Ships: RMS Olympic, RMS Titanic, HMHS Britannic. The only three Olympic-class ocean liners ever built by Harland & Wolff for the White Star Line. Titanic's story is well-known, of course. Britannic was a hospital ship in World War I until she hit a mine in the Aegean and sank. Olympic's career lasted 24 years before she was retired and sold for scrap. Why do I know this? Because I have a morbid fascination with maritime disasters.

First Ever Ship: Heero Yuy/Duo Maxwell. I grew up watching Mobile Suit Gundam Wing on Toonami, and these boys were my bias. I still hold this fic up as one of the best I've ever read. Although, thinking about it, my first actual ship was probably Sirius Black/Remus Lupin via The Shoebox Project by dorkorific and ladyjaida, which I first read on Livejournal. But that was less something I actively shipped and more a ship I actively enjoyed.

Last Song: Hypomania, by Coping Method. My music taste currently vacillates between dance pop/electronica and heavy metal.

Last Film: Uh. Fuck, I dunno. I don't watch a lot of movies anymore. I did do a double Barbenheimer over the summer, though.

Currently Reading: So This Is Ever After by F. T. Lukens and Mistborn by Brandon Sanderson, but progress has been slow. Just prior to starting them both I devoured the Simon Snow trilogy, though, so maybe I just have poor time management skills.

Currently Watching: myself age by steady increments. I also don't watch a lot of TV or streaming series, although that's less from lack of desire to watch and more from being busy with other things. Well, I have been watching Money, Explained, but that's for work and does not therefore count.

Currently Consuming: I'm between hyperfixations at the moment. I have been working my way through Bret Devereaux's collected blog posts on the Battle of Helm's Deep to cope.

Currently Craving: rice. And the next part of Dog's In Love 2. But I can get rice.

I guess I'll tag some folks. Do I even interact with you people enough for this? I'unno. Let's go with: @chiptrillino, @lizardlicks, @three-lesbians-of-the-apocalypse, @schrodingers-bisexual, @deliciousstrawberrythings, @portraitoftheoddity, @sixseisliu, @persnickety-peahen, and @astrababyy

#tag meme #tumblr game #idk #ignore me

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lynnlovesspidahman · 9 months

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this is me trying.

peter parker x reader

part 1. || part 2.

masterlist

warnings : None really, except for a few curse words here and there

word count : 1.5k

summary : Peter breaks up with you, randomly.

Also, I just want to make note that any Peter will work for this story, I just love the Insomniac’s version currently so I based it off of him 😭

You searched your pantry for something to eat.

You haven’t gone grocery shopping in a bit. You usually can count on Peter to take care of it for you, but he’s been extra busy lately.

Too busy, you thought. He was always so tired and seemed so overwhelmed. Sure, he’d been skipping out on some of your planned hangouts but you didn’t mind. He needed time to himself, and you fully respected that.

“Ooh, spaghetti..” You spoke to yourself.

You grabbed the box of angel hair and the tomato sauce from your pantry before closing it back up.

You bent down to grab the big pot from your bottom cabinet and filled it up with a decent amount of water.

You turned the heat on your oven and scrolled on your phone while leaning on the counter while waiting for it to boil.

“Hey, beautiful.” Peter appeared — literally — out of nowhere (a common occurrence, much to your disliking).

“Holy fuck-“ You gasped. “Okay, actually. Where do you come from? And how do you get in here so quietly?” You giggled as you approached him.

You stood on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

“So? How are you?” You ask.

“Well.. Y’know, tired.”

“Trust me, I know.” It wasn’t hard to miss his recent demeanor, he was so much more exhausted lately. You felt bad that you couldn’t help him more than you did.

“Yeah,” He let out a breathy laugh.

You turned around to check if the water was boiling; it was. You poured the angel hair into the pot.

“Well,” You dropped your hands to your sides, “I’m cooking pasta, if you want some.” You smiled up at him.

“I can’t stay for long, I’m sorry.”

“Oh, okay. You can take some home if you’d like?” You offered, you didn’t want him going home hungry (he literally would only ever have toast at his place).

“Nah, I just wanted to talk to you real quick. I’m gonna be gone before it’s ready.”

“Oh? What’s up?” You raised your eyebrows. You can’t name the last time he had to talk to you about something (Never, ever was it something good).

“I’ve been thinking,” He started.

“That’s a first.” You joked.

“I’m being serious,” He spat.

This time you stayed quiet. What is up with him?

“I’ve been thinking,” He bit the inside of his cheek.

“Stop biting your cheek, Pete. Spit it out.”

“I dunno if we should be together anymore.”

You turned back towards him, absolutely confused.

“Haha,” You sarcastically commented, “Real funny, Pete. You know I don’t like when you joke like that.”

“I told you, I’m being serious.”

“What? Why? Where is this coming from?” You had so many questions for him, this was all so sudden.

“I- I don’t-” He sighed, before continuing on, “I’m sorry, beautiful.”

“No. You can’t just say sorry and not explain this to me. Where the hell did this come from, Peter? I don’t understand,” Tears already starting to well up in your eyes.

“We feel like a chore. It’s like I have to be here every night, I have to text you everyday.”

“Peter, what the fuck? I’ve never once thought we were a chore,” You almost laughed, but you couldn’t. More tears had quickly followed.

“I didn’t say you did.” He spat at you. When did he become so attitude-y?

“I know, but I didn’t do anything is my point. I’ve never forced you to come over, if anything I stay up every night waiting for you. I text you. I make sure you’re okay everyday,” You were so angry. He had absolutely no reason to break it off.

“It’s just- That’s my point. You do everything. And I can’t even try.” He sat down in one of your stools at the kitchen island.

“I can’t be my best around you, and when I try to it just feels like I’m forcing myself to. And I can’t do that.” He put his head down on the counter.

“I don’t need your best, I just want you,” You were perfectly content with your relationship, nothing was wrong with taking care of him.

“Are you even listening?” He shot his head back up and scowled at you.

“Let me put it this way, I can’t enjoy loving you, and I don’t know why. How ‘bout that? Is that what you want me to say?” He finally snapped.

You didn’t want to be around him anymore. It was becoming unbearable. If he wanted to leave you, then so be it.

“I’m-“ He sighed as he pushed his hair back with his hand, “I have to go.”

He got up from the stool, and walked out. He didn’t even spare you a glance.

You stared at that door for God knows how long, but were suddenly interrupted by the water overflowing the pot.

You overcooked the noodles, leaving them gummy and mushy. Nothing could save this meal.

“Fuck.”

He never makes any sense.

You sat there, on your couch. Blanket draped over your lap, not even able to pay attention to your favorite show on the TV.

It’s been two and a half weeks. Since that Tuesday. The Tuesday Peter broke your relationship off. It’s all you’ve been thinking about.

His reasons (?) didn’t make any sense. I mean, was he just trying to come up with something that sounded valid? You couldn’t tell.

There was one thing you couldn’t question though.

“I can’t enjoy loving you.”

It’s like it was unable to leave your brain. Were you so unloveable?

You knew it couldn’t have been the end of you and Peter completely, there was still things left unresolved. Sure, you might not get back together, but you couldn’t live without Peter in your life. You could settle for friends (Right?).

But even if you did come back to him (again), would he care?

Your relationship was going so well too.

There was only one fight before Tuesday.

Your relationship with Peter had rusted, permanently. No matter if it would resolve in the near future (if that was even possible). This one would stick around.

It didn’t just ruin the two of you, you felt it everywhere else in your life as well.

It felt so hard to even hang out with your friends, while the wounds Peter had dug into you were still open.

It was hard to be anywhere, when all you wanted was to be with him again.

He brought you comfort, safety. It felt like you were constantly missing something.

You tried to call him. A lot.

Straight to voicemail every time, though.

You just wanted to fix the strained relationship, you didn’t have to be with him again (maybe).

You still loved him, no denying that. And you told him, in those voicemails.

But you doubt he listened to a single one. He didn’t care about your relationship, or you anymore. You had to live with that.

You tried. You really fucking did. You tried to get ahead of the curve, and you did. But the curve became a sphere.

It had been 5 weeks after Tuesday, you were back to square one. You decided to clean your apartment. You found the Spidey plush. Peter bought it for you on your eighth month anniversary date. You hadn’t been able to find him for a while, and eventually you forgot you even had it. But when you checked under your bed for any missed laundry, it was the first thing you saw.

It hit you, hard. When you first found him you grabbed and squeezed him and sat on the floor, crying uncontrollably. You gave up on the deep clean, you were too upset. So you sat on your couch and felt like an absolute failure.

How could a fucking plush cut you so deep? The wounds you had started to finally live with, started to hurt just as bad as when Peter carved them into you.

You caved into your old ways. You called Peter. Each time it would ring, it gave you hope. Each time it would ring, would mean he still had a chance to pick up the phone.

But he didn’t. Straight to voicemail. You didn’t know what else you expected.

“Hey, Pete.” You sniffled, looking up at the ceiling so your tears would fall out of your eyes.

“I know, I know I keep calling. I’m sorry. But I-” You paused to catch a breath. “I can’t. I hate missing you, knowing you don’t feel the same. I hate that I continue to love you the same, to this day.”

“This will probably be the last call, so you can stop worrying about that. At first I wanted to fix us, one less thing to get worked up about. But now, I think I just want to learn how to live without you.”

(You lied through your teeth. You really didn’t. But admitting it to him was probably your best shot at being able to understand that for yourself.)

“I-I’m sorry. Goodbye, Pete.”

You ended the voicemail. You sat there, on your couch, with Spidey next to you, staring at nothing.

You wanted to at least let him know you were trying, maybe then you wouldn’t seem as pathetic as you actually were.

Your phone unexpectedly pinged, interrupting your ongoing thoughts.

9:52 PM

Peter 🕸️ : Hey, beautiful.

Hi, if you’re just so happening to be re-reading this story, you’ll notice I changed up literally everything. The first version was literal ass and I hated it. So I’m hoping you’ve enjoyed it!

But if you’ve just read this for the first time, be glad you didn’t see the other one, lol.

I love you all and all of the support you’ve been giving me 🥹💗

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated!!

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #tom holland #tom holland x reader #insomniac peter parker #spider man ps4 #tasm peter parker #tasm!peter x reader #spider man x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker angst #spider man angst #mcu peter x reader #peter parker imagine #mcu peter parker x reader #mcu peter parker #insomniac spiderman x reader #spider-man ps4 x reader #lynnlovesspidahman

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darling--angst-archived · 11 months

Note

Hiya! I dunno if your requests are open or not, because it doesn’t say, but i’m gonna hope they are (￣▽￣)! This a bit of an odd request, but could you do some headcanons of how Ranpo would act if he met Fukuzawa’s, like, biological child? So, Reader is like 10-12 meeting Ranpo for the first time (*´∀｀*)! Thanks a lot! Just remember that you aren’t obligated to take my request if you don’t feel like it, take good care of yourself!

Ranpo meeting Fukuzawa's child

Tw! None

Type: Hcs/Oneshot skit

Genre: Fluff

Pairing: None

Synopsis: When Ranpo meets Fukuzawa's 11 year old biological child things would go very chaotic in the Ada, not because of the child no no. Will jealousy take over the greatest detective's feelings? Or will there they share cute moments together?

A/n: I really love this idea! Also thank you I'll take care of myself you too! Not proofread.

When Ranpo first found out about your existence he was quite happy to know that there would be a mini Fukuzawa but then it occurred to him...

He didn't hate you no, he just wanted to have affections and attention.

What if his father figure Fukuzawa replace him?!

Maybe he wouldn't care about him anymore and focus on you?!

That's why he made a plan..

A plan to make so much achievements that Fukuzawa doesn't replace him and maybe be his son figure in the process.

That was what he had planned...

"everyone. Please listen." He coughed and everyone's attention and eyes shifted to him.

"What is it Fukuzawa-dono?" Kunikida asked.

"I want you all to meet my child." He declared which made almost everyone dumbfounded with Ranpo opening his eyes that was full of determination.

"P-pardon??" Kunikida stuttered. After processing Naomi and the others squeeled in joy while Kenji's eyes brightened. As Ranpo stood up from his seat to face Fukuzawa he asked:

"Where are they?"

Fukuzawa sighed and Ranpo took notice of a hand clutching his yukata.

"Y/n. You can come out" Fukuzawa's eyes softened which Ranpo noticed and pouted.

"Hello. I'm Y/n..."

When Ranpo saw you his eyes widened the girls on the back squeeled while Kunikida looked away coughing clearly shocked. They surrounded you while he stood there supposed to be facing his arch nemesis for your father's affection.

"aww! How old are you Y/n?" Naomi asked.

"I'm eleven." You said with confidence looking around the room. Your eyes met Ranpo and his eyes met yours, you mouthed 'help' after all you couldn't breath on how tight the black haired girl is hugging you.

"I see!" She exclaimed.

"Naomi-san.. I think you're hugging her too tight-" Kunikida tried explaining but his mouth closed shut after seeing the fire in her eyes.

"ahem. We still have work to do." Fukuzawa ordered.

"Yes. Boss." Everyone replied.

"So who would like to take care of Y/n for me..?" He asked but Ranpo's mind wandered somewhere. He thought:

''If I take care of his child well... The he might give me a pat in the head! And a praise!''

"I volunteer to take care of her!" Ranpo exclaimed raising his hand. which made some surprised to think he would volunteer to take care of a child.

"Very well.." Fukuzawa replied giving him a pat in the head making him flabbergasted but he smiled.

After that, both you and Ranpo did all kinds of things. His supposed plan backfired greatly. He took you to a bakery and he found out that both of you shared the same taste and sweet tooth. You enjoyed chess together. He shared his sweets with you which he doesn't share with anyone. You tied his hair and he did yours. You fed him sweets you like and he did so. You watched 'inspector gadget' together. He felt happy to spend time with you. Without noticing time passed and the sun set.

"But I don't want to leave Ranpo-kun.!." You muttered biting your lip.

"Yeah! I don't want Y/n to leave!" He pouted cuddling you and you cuddled with him.

You two were sitting on the couch watching TV and cuddling for warmth as you two fought each other for the warm blanket. In the end you shared the blanket and continued to munch on the popcorn.

"Hai.. both of you would see each other tomorrow" Fukuzawa sighed.

"fine.! But one more episode!" You bargained. At the start of your sentence he was relieved. He pinched his nose but could only sigh when he saw you and Ranpo's sparkly eyes. He ended up agreeing and left the TV room.

When he entered you and Ranpo were both asleep while the TV kept playing. He acted as your pillow and you acted like his in the comfortable blanket. Ranpo was snoring and you were drooling. He chuckled at the sight and closed the TV.

In the end, Fukuzawa praises him and pats his head telling him:

"you did a good job"

My heart! Ranpo was really happy and you spent more time together slacking at the agency and being bored.

#bungou stray dogs #bsd fanfics #bsd fluff #ada bsd #bsd ada #fukuzawa yukichi #bungou sd #bungo sd #bungo stray dogs fluff #bungou stray dogs x reader

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in-act-ive · 9 months

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Okay so could you maybe write something were the reader and carl talk about their future together and just plan out everything in full Detail and like just fluff and more fluff with them beinge excited for it

Yeah sure! You're gonna make me cry Anon ( joking! )

Carl Grimes x NB/GN!reader

Request : yep!

Type : story

A / N : I hope this is what you wanted! I apologize for no w/c. I totally forgot to do it! This takes place before Glenn's death because i stopped paying attention after that ( I'm not as informed on anything after that! ) I also don't remember everything an I need to rewatch some parts so I apologize if its at all wrong!

★────────────★

Carl, Rick, Glenn, and yourself were out on a run. You ended up in a huge forest and even if Rick wouldn't admit it, you were probably lost. Glenn was at the back and Rick was at the front leaving you and Carl in the middle.

Carl was way too focused on his dad and what he was mumbling to himself so you decided to break the very awkward silence.

"So, Carl, what do you have planned for the future?" You asked, taking a small step to stand in front of him. You spun around slightly to face him. You didn't mind having to walk backwards. He hummed thoughtfully before speaking.

Carl looked slightly annoyed when he stepped in front of him, his grip on his gun tightening slightly. "Dunno." He shrugged

You gasped in offense at the comment. Carl rolled his eyes and let out a long sigh. Once the conversation starter failed your ears were filled with the sound of four sets of foot steps crunching the dead leaves, pine needles, and loose sticks below them, Rick's soft mumbling that seemed to just be nonsense, and Carl's heavy breathing. You sighed and fell back to Carl's side with angry huff.

You four sat in silence for the next half mile or so. The only real conversation was Glenn reassuring Rick that he knew what he was doing. And that he didn't need to worry.

You let your head fall back in anger at the silence. You looked up at the darkening sky and the sudden sound of Rick's voice made you jump and pull your gun up, your grip on it tightening.

"We should set up camp. You three look exhausted." Rick spoke firmly. When he watched you jump and move your gun he put his hand out to stop you. Carl put his hand over the barrel of your gun and softly pushed it down into a less threatening position.

'Setting up camp' was more of 'roll your sleeping bags out' cause Rick never let you carry a tent. You pulled your bag off and used the strap at the top to hang it on a low hanging branch. You pulled the sleeping bag out from its stop on your bag and you threw it out with a small noise.

You flopped on the thin fabric and sighed. Carl set his down beside you.

After Rick set up a fire and made you some ehat you assumed were beans he made his own food and went to bed. Glenn followed soon after leaving you and Carl up alone.

"Okay Carl, I'm not going to call you a liar--" You paused and tilted your head to the side to think about it. "Never mind I am going to call you a liar. You've got to have some plan for the future." You pushed. Carl looked at you kinda irritated before sighing.

"Tell me about your plans sense you're so invested." Carl commented. You didn't even take the time to consider that Carl had just avoided your question.

You thought for a moment. "Well! I wanna find love, obviously. Definitely get myself my own house of some sort. Get like my own sanctuary kinda thing!" You smiled happily as you explained.

Carl smiled, seeing you happy anf talk about something that made you so excited made him happy. You'd always brought a smile to the boys face no matter what you did. He thought of you as one of the few people who genuinely stayed happy in this whole mess.

Once you had finished talking he decided to give ideas. "Well... You could make a town of sorts. Find any animals, if there still are any, and raise them and such so food. Make it near a river so you can have water--" Carl was cut off by you speaking.

"You could help me run it!" Your eyes lit up. Carl looked at you confused for a moment. Not even knowing if he could deal with all that. He shook his head while smiling.

Carl finally looked up at you again before speaking, "I don't think so. I think you'd do much better without me." He spoke softly.

You were very offended. You pulled your head back in mock disgust before laughing softly. "I beg to differ!" You huffed at him.

You and Carl had always been attached at the hip. Even if he was a lot tougher than your more excited and happy self. You two rarely did anything without the other and you did not plan on changing that tradition, at all.

You'd been the one to calm Carl's constant need to be cool and show off to the adults. While on the other hand Carl was there to make sure you didn't let everyone push you around and to make sure you didn't fo anything too stupid.

Carl sighed at you and you sighed back, mocking him. He finally thought of what to say. "Y / N, as much as I'd love too you need to learn that you can live without me for five minutes." He looked very serious but his eyes were laces with something you couldn't quite put your finger on.

"Shut up! You know you'd love to help." You crossed your arms across your chest in frustration.

Carl laughed and set his hand on your knee, something he often did to make you know he was there. Or when he was about to say something he knew would make you happy.

He looks at you, deadpan. "You know I would." A small smirk plays at the side of his lips. "What's your plan?" He watches as your face lights up.

You're practically screaming with excitement at that. He quickly has to put his hand over your mouth to ensure you don't wake Glenn and Rick up.

"Really?" Your voice was muffled through his hand. Carl nodded softly.

Carl pulled his hand away and wiped it on his pants. You roll your eyes but kept your mouth shut for the time being. Once you actually found the words you spoke excitedly while whisper screaming. "You actually wanna hear?" Your eyes were shining.

Carl couldn't help but laugh at yout excitement. "Yep, of course." He nodded, his voice seemed a lot smoother than usual. Clearly he was trying to calm your excitement.

You didn't even know where to start. You hadn't planned anything around Carl being involved so you'd have to tweak some things.

You hummed while deep in thought. Carl looked intently at you. "Well.. Once we find a good town thats not completely rundown we can make walls around it! There's forests for miles so that means a lot of wood." You explain. Carl really didn't need the extra stuff about how you'd get wood but he didn't want to interrupt your excited rant.

Carl just nodded and made small 'mhm' noises as you spoke about resources. "Like you said it'd be helpful to be near water and hopefully some farm land for food. Maybe if we find any animals in this mess, which I highly doubt, we can have pastures!" You went on. Clearly not stopping for anything.

Carl softly smacked your knee to make you go silent for a moment so he can add a suggestion. "You could have a small market. Dad talks about these things called farmers markets. People bring stuff they've grown or made and sell them." Carl tilted his head to the side as he watched you think.

You nodded excitedly. Carl and yourself talked for hours until Glenn woke up na d told you both to sleep.

The next day, neither adults were excited to deal with the two exhausted teens

Note: This was not spell checked nor grammer checked! I apologize in advance for the mistakes

#the walking dead x male reader #the walking dead x reader #the walking dead #twd #carl grimes #carl grimes x male reader #carl grimes x reader #x male reader

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