Second.Thoughts

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ig = lil.thoughts.xo Wattpad + A03 = @ calypssee, #second.thoughts

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REQUESTS:

I take requests! There is a forum in the description of my profile. Please go there or I will not take your idea. DM only to further elabrote on your idea or if you want to get to know me. I am open to making friends.

Rant Post suggestions can be made if you want to hear my opinion about certain Fandoms. Get spicy with it 😏

RULES:

* Leave a description of the pairing in mind and their situation.

Ex: Yan! Sukuna x faun! reader + dark home * Please specify the gender of the reader! Or they will be written as I see fit. Most likely female. * I write Yandere non/con + dub/con content.

Without any other specifications to not include those topics, I will assume to write that in. * Don't Spam your requests. If you do, I will not follow through with your requests. * NO requests for incest.

* Stories with underage characters will be age appropriate. Or the characters will be aged up. * Kinks such as vore, scat, piss, etc. are off limits. I will not write them or anything similar.

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FANDOMS: links highlghted

Mommy wouldn’t come for you. Not that she ever came in meaningful ways to begin with; whores don’t come, not for their children nor for their men. 

All that comes out is someone else’s.

The child-addled voice of Ashley rang in your head. She haunted every crevice of your psyche, even as she was silent in slumber. Her exhaustion was contagious, but you could only blink languidly over her still form. “I let myself rot away for you,” You whispered, head tilted over her collarbone, which protruded in an ugly forward motion. 

You allowed your fingers to travel deftly over her calves and inner thighs, tracing across bruises that bloomed across her pale skin. Her feet pushed against your hips as if wanting you gone. But you stayed despite the friction.

 And you’ll grow up to be just like that—a slut counting her ones.

 “We could eat you…” You began with a lithe voice, thickened with a sing-song quality. You dusted feather-light kisses over Ashley’s arms, kneading her taut and diminishing muscles with the tips of your fingers. Each hour Ashley spent with little to no food, the worse off she became. It was no secret that Ashley struggled the most in the thick of this starvation. But you were in no position to alleviate her pain. 

You couldn’t even help yourself.

 “It would be romantic, for you and me--” You paused, eyeing the door that would lead to a brooding Andrew who nursed his ego with a smoke. 

I bought you this camera! Now you can star in your own snuff films!!

“Or maybe, you would rather feast on me?” It felt less like a question and more like a statement that needed no answer. You scooped the digital camera off the center console table, and you hummed while you checked its battery. 

You brought the lens a breath away from Ashley’s face, “It has always been big brother Andy and Leyley against the world. Huh? I stand no chance—” You hit record. “Either way, Andy couldn’t possibly live without you. So, in this hypothetical, if you die first, why not let us live off of you? Wouldn’t you want that for us? We’ll eat you to preserve our lives. Utterly romantic, as Andrew would say.” 

You watched a spasm work its way down Ashley’s left leg.

All dolls break differently, you learned a while back: porcelain cracks, and Barbie dolls lose their heads. Teddy bears get dragged through mud by children late to the school yard; their seams ripped and their stuffing left to collect outside their bodies. 

Ashley was the worst type of toy—a wind-up doll, cranked all the way. 

Therefore, she broke with stillness, and that was all this coffin brought to her. Within these confines, she became a whirl of dizzy spells and creaking limbs; the key that wound her up so tight and spurred her movements became jammed. Now slumber came to her easier than wakefulness. 

She was not dying all at once, but in slow, quiet inches. Her gears rusted over.

You sighed after a great pause, “I’ll take that as a no.” You brushed off Ashley’s legs, no longer entertaining the hypothetical of cannibalising your best friend. You stood up on uneven footing, “I’ll cheer Andy up for you. Tomorrow, he won’t be mad at all. What are friends for anyway?”

Maybe you would always be the daughter of a used doll. The daughter of a seductive plaything… Some thrown-away object at the bottom of the Graves’ toy box—played with sparingly until it was all they had left to amuse themselves with. What a true reality that became—you were all they had left outside of each other.

You were as happy as one can be with this arrangement; they needed you. 

However, once free, they could easily leave you behind. It’s a fate that has bored deep in your chest like worms eating through an apple core. When the time comes, the siblings may debate your worth, and you’ll sit as the little girl you once were and ponder your faults. Not realizing that they have already left you to suffocate under the weight of other toys, ones that yearned to be touched and sought after. 

They can’t leave you behind. You don’t want them to.

That fate was who Nina became (a bitch in a box), and it’s what Julia would’ve become; choked on air made to vitalize them. Maybe that was all your existence was meant to be: a tireless fight for air. 

One where you are gradually smashed through.

—

“NOOOO!!!!” Ashley welled. She had kicked her feet into the air, flailing them about like weapons with no aim. Anything and everything was a target in her blind fury. “I don’t want her sleeping in our room. It’s not fair!”

You huddled under the kitchen island, head buried in the flesh of your arm. Andrew hobbled past your form with your bookbag in tow. You glanced at the rabbit toy whose upper body popped out between the zippers. His head nodded off towards the door. Its one arm flopped over the Graves’ boy’s shoulder in a severe twist.

Mrs. Graves tore sheets out of the hallway closet with haste. She had bags under her eyes, and her groans were exaggerated. “Ashley! Stop. I told you, when she stays the night, she will be in your room.” 

"No faaaaair-" The little girl drawled. "Let her stay on the couch!!!"

"And let that child have an accident on it? No."

"So, she'll pee in my room!" Ashley's cheeks turned red with heat.

"If she has to," Mrs. Graves rolled her eyes. "But, I assume she's potty trained…" The woman waltzed towards her daughter, depositing the linens over top of her head. Andrew wrangled Ashley from underneath the covers. 

The little girl's arms spun like a broken windmill, knocking her fists against his head. The content of your bag threatened to take the young boy down as he stumbled out of range on unquilted feet. 

"That's not the point!!! I don't want her here." The girl’s lips trembled with rage

Mrs. Graves flattened the blankets out on the ground. Her sigh took up space in the room. "It's not about what you want, Ashley."

“You all should prepare for bed. You all have school in the morning.” Mr. Graves trembled all over as if in a state of perpetual coldness. As quickly as he said a word, he slithered back into the comfort of his bedroom, leaving his wife to fend for herself.

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Porcelain dolls have eyes that notice the insignificant details.

Their gaze would rather settle faster on a freckle four centimeters to the left and a quarter inch above your cupid's bow, than on the whole of a person’s face. To anyone but the doll, that would go unnoticed. So, expect that when you peek through its glass confinement, its eyes—akin to those of a person's—won't meet yours. Instead, it'll linger on those minor imperfections. Those fractures in what was supposedly a perfect mold.

No one's face is prettier than a doll's after all.

And once the doll has noticed all that makes you human, then and only then will it turn its gaze to the tacky floral patterns on the wall. Having seen past you, like you did to it. But, to it, you never mattered in the first place.

Mommy had dressed you as such. Like a Porcelain Doll for keeps. She spent her extra cash tips to keep you prettied up in your room filled with accessories. The French doors, see-through and meant to be an office, were turned into your dollhouse. Everything you did was seen or heard. Even as you changed, someone watched.

Then the yelling began. It was always there, further down the hall, but now it was outside your door more often than not. You would sit on your bed, sleep evading your startled form, as your mother berated everything your eyes noticed. Like the wrinkles that gathered around her brows, they added with age and multiplied with substances.

Daddy left when you were eight, and it meant that Mommy blamed you for driving a wedge into their relationship.

Father never wanted a girl. He reminded you of that fact each birthday that he was present. Only lesser men spawned pussies. Daddy would say. You never shot back a retort, finding buttercream swirls more appealing than his face.

In your mind, you'd think: you're right, Jared's a coward.

Jared ran away before you turned twelve. He always ran when he couldn't have something. And you were what he wanted the most.

He loathed your doe-eyed expressions. He wanted to cram you into a box to look at forever. The desire to snap your legs to keep you like a wingless bird is ever-present in his thoughts. You were so pretty that he tried to bruise your flesh to make you undesirable. But it fueled his preadolescent hormones further.

That's why Jared fled. His conflicts were written on torn-out pages from your favorite books, haphazardly strewn under his pillows. By fifteen, all Mommy had was you and your porcelain eyes. Never were those boys to reappear in your lives because…

Daddy and brother died.

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You tensed over the checkered tile floor, which you've stared at all morning. The A/C whirled down the hall, sputtering out of sync; it hardly worked, and no repairman could be called. You toed at the roughed-up edges of wooden planes, meeting the kitchen flooring. You traced purple scribbles from a marker long discarded with the heels of your feet. You chuckled at your balance seeming off. Your stomach ached, but nothing could be delivered.

The last thing you've eaten to satiate the tiniest bit of hunger was a can of tomatoes warmed on the stovetop a half day prior. Unfortunately, it was split among three—the Graves siblings and you.

You paced on tiptoes from the sink to the front door, barred on the outside.

Each morning since the quarantine started, you would peek through the peephole for a sign of life besides the lone security guard making his rounds. And each time, there was that one guard whose footfalls squelched on the water-drenched carpet.

These days, you feel more like a marionette, stumbling through the motions on uneven limbs. Your right side lifted higher than your left, and your arms splayed parallel to your hips as if you held onto the wire strings themselves. If you hopped off point, you felt limp and discarded. Worn out. As though the puppeteer decided a doll of more novelty deserved to breathe life.

You couldn’t stop moving even if you tried. For if you did, then the TV's saccharine buzz would meld into your pores as it spoke its static language. Foreign, if not for its monotony over your current life. It reminded you that death remained your last resort.

You wouldn't survive this. Couldn't. But you kept moving to be alive.

"You're up..." A voice startled your reverie. Her tone was lithe and woolly in the air with hints of sleep attached to each syllable. Leyley stretched over the couch's mustard arm. "That burns calories." She gestured flippantly at your display.

"Your point... We'll die anyway," You chewed on your inner cheek.

Ashley faced away. Any snide remark wrangled tight to her chest. She shrugged, "Who's Andy on the phone with?"

You glanced over at Andrew, the only member of this dump who was fortunate enough to receive weekly check-in calls. "Probs it's Julia." Who else could it be besides her? Julia, this and Julia that.

When the phone rang, Andrew pounced for the receiver, soaring headfirst into her tales of a world outside. You had not bothered to listen except to the forlorn sighs breaking over the static. But your steps mimicked the rhythm which he'd spoken—hushed and bothered.

Ashley wore a blank facade. Her pink eyes sparked devilishly against the paleness of her skin. "Oh?" She gritted through thin lips.

You brushed frigid fingers through your hair, which remained a hot-knotted mess. Leyley reached over the pillows for the remote, and with speed, she muted the sound before filtering through the television stations as if anything would pop up. However, she knew there was nothing but the news, which had shut off an hour prior.

Andrew sneered at his sister. "Or I can try talking to them? But-- No, or I mean yes. But that doesn't--... No, I'm not angry. I'm just--"

Pause. More shoutings of female rage sputtered over the receiver.

"No, I--... Can you let me talk?" Andrew snorted. 

A female voice shrieked from the phone, "--'ve time to think---... just can't do it anymore." 

"What else is there to say …Sorry?" Andrew stiffened. He pinched the furrow of his eyebrow. "Although I don't see why I should be held accountable for--"

beep -- beep -- beep… CLANK

Metal smashed against itself as Andrew deposited the rotary phone back into place.

"Who was it?" Ashley spoke. Her fingers stroked the gem dangling from her choker, wrapped in a death vice around her neck.

"My ex-girlfriend. Apparently."

You brought your bare heels to the ground.

"Oooo, she dumped you? Why is that?" Leyley twirled her words together into a song.

A silence bloomed between the siblings. The back tag of Andrew's sweater was flipped up, reaching toward the nape of his neck. "Why do you think?" He breathed out low.

"H-how should I know? Maybe… because you're a parasite-infested homebody, that's perma-quarantined?" Ashley brought her knees to her chest, resting her chin above them. "Or, it's because she found somebody new? It's been a few months, buddy. Or maybe she didn't like you much in the first place."

"…Whatever you say, Ashley." Andrew dragged his feet to the balcony. The door slammed shut on this argument.

Leyley swiveled her gaze to you. "I didn't even tell him the worst of it. I could've brought up the fact that he's fucking you."

You puffed out a soft laugh. "It's because you tell me to."

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Thank you for reading! Request rules are here! Follow my ig = lil.thoughts.xo! Sorry to have this come out so late!! Hope you all enjoy, part three should be out sooner.

Hello!!! I am back after a hot hiatus. I've been struggling with work and my depressive nature. I have taken this time to step away and focus on other goals of mine. I am doing great for myself. I am re-enrolling in college, updating my desk setup (a.k.a- saving up for a big boi PC), and I've made new friends.

For the remainder of this month and next, I will take it slow. There's no such thing as weekly uploads. It's not like I even maintained that well enough prior due to my unpredictable work schedule.

Hopefully, by the start of the spring semester, I have more time. I will most likely quit and find a new, less demanding job. Plus school can't be that hard... *cries*

Projects

~ these are concept ideas that may or may not be worked on by the end of this month. If not done, they may be rolled onto next month's list or simply abandoned due to a list of reasons.

~ requests made during the remainder of October and November may replace a listed project below if I so desire, however, it's unlikely.

~ lastly, no dates will be mentioned. I couldn't live up to that -it made writing feel more like a chore than a hobby.

Reminder ~ do not spam me with requests through the forum or in PMs. I had an experience with a fan like that. It made writing unbearable for a while.

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Cross My Heart and Hope to Die (chapter 2 and 3)

Hireath GXMXG (tentacle monster) teaser 2 + 3

You Need Me (Geto Suguru x Reader) prt 3

Kylar x Reader fan request

Nicole x Reader fan request

Crispin x Reader fan request

(listing order does not indicate the order of release)

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