#I found her bleeding yesterday | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

leviathanleva · 26 days

Text

Father

........................

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader

........................

Request:

This is kind of a weird req and I want to write something for it eventually but-

Fem! Reader who was frozen but eventually escapes and falls for the Ghoul and they fuck a couple times and for some reason she has symptoms of pregnancy and they're like what the fuck but it just turns out that she was pregnant before she was frozen and the Ghoul's reactions and whatever. Angst or fluff I don't really mind :)

........................

[3.2k words]

[MDNI, Angst, Smut, Fluff]

[ I don't usually do requests, but I wanted to help out a friend who believed they wouldn't be able to do justice to this prompt. It's sloppy, not perfect, but time is limited and I have other projects that need my attention so I hope this suffices. ]

........................

Freedom.

Freedom was sweet.

Freedom was bitter.

Since the moment you’d awoken in that Gods-forsaken cryo pod in that wasting away vault you’d known there was no other path except the path of freedom. Stepping over mummified corpses, fellow vault dwellers you presumed, you’d lead wobbly legs and a pounding heart to the entrance of the vault. It felt like yesterday you’d first set foot in there. In reality, you had no idea how many years had passed, but from the looks of the rusting walls and thick blanket of dust, it had been a while.

You took what you could, stuffing a stray children’s backpack you’d found along your scavenging mission, anything and everything that would be necessary for a journey into a land you used to call home. A small pocket knife was the best you could get and it wasn’t the perfect self-defense tool, but with no other choice there wasn’t much you could do but stuff it in the pocket of your suit and hope for a miracle if you ran into trouble.

And trouble you found.

Since your first step into the bone-dry, scalding hot, merciless wasteland, you’d found trouble in the shape of a deranged group of people hammering at the vault door with makeshift weapons. You might have been able to fight off one of them, you doubted given how dizzy and out-of-touch with reality you were, but there was a slim chance. Three of them though, all large burly men with enough scars to put a military general to shame? No, that was impossible. You ended up a writhing mess on the ground, face pushed into the cracked soil and screaming and kicking as you were being taunted and tied up like a good catch after a successful hunt. Trafficking, cannibalism, organ harvesting, death. A slew of words so vile they made your stomach churn and your eyes bulge out of your skull because who in their right mind said such things to an outnumbered, weak woman who pleaded in a broken voice and had tears staining her cheeks?

Then he appeared, your guardian angel.

A man so grotesque on the outside, so vicious and bitter and terrifying, and yet he was the one who shot your captors down. He was the one who cut your wrists and ankles free and helped you sit up as you heaved and choked and sobbed. He was the one who checked you over despite the visible revulsion on his gaunt face at the sight of your vault suit. He’d dragged you to your feet, forced some sense into you, given you a stern reality check of the world he came from and never really shooed you away when you’d started following him around like a lost pup.

You loved him since that day.

And maybe it wasn’t the good kind of love because he’d used you as a distraction for his enemies more than once and never shared his water with you even if you were on the brink of passing out from dehydration. But he also let you sit close to the fire at night, told you stories of his bounty hunts, taught you how to handle a gun and always kept you in his sights lest someone thought you were up for grabs. He was a cruel man, but he was also a kind man.

You never overstepped. Always following his every order, whether it was to hide, to strip bleeding men of their valuables, or to get him another drink when his feet were kicked high and he couldn’t be bothered to do so himself. Always pliant, always willing, no questions asked because you wanted to live despite the hellhole reality you were thrust in. Maybe that’s why he grew fond of you over time, you didn’t rebel against him and took what he gave you with a whisper of gratitude. A good dog, that’s how he saw you. He slowly softened for you, split your rations evenly when you sat down to eat, thrust the canteen in your hands when he noticed your lips were dry, and smushed his hat over your head when the sun was too awful and you were too delicate to withstand it.

Cooper Howard, that was his name, a man made ghoul by the sheer toxicity of the surface, a man who gave you enough scraps to keep your love for him flourishing but never progressed things beyond a one-sided infatuation.

That is until he was left struggling on the floor of an old abandoned farmhouse, a feral ghoul looming above him and pinning him in place and snapping its jaws at him as foul-smelling, viscous drool dribbled down its chin. His hunting knife was gripped tightly, but between keeping himself from being bitten to shreds and holding one of the ghoul’s hands at bay before it could sink into his side and tear at his gut, he was stuck.

When the shot rang out and the ghoul slumped against him lifelessly, he saw you. Holding his gun as you shook violently, about ready to piss yourself because you’d never killed anything remotely resembling a human in your life, eyes wide and lips trembling and knees buckling. Smoke leisurely rose from the tip of the barrel and as he pushed the corpse off himself you sunk to your arse and burst into a fit of haggard breaths and disturbed whines.

You didn’t resist when he picked you up with alien tenderness, didn’t protest when he stuffed you in an old rickety couch and crushed you beneath his weight with a handful of sweet praises. You didn’t pull away in disgust when his tongue pushed past your lips in search of your own, twirling, dancing, letting words spill without ever being spoken. He wasn’t gentle, since the moment you heard his belt unbuckling he was all pawing hands and chopped curses, fiddling with your clothes until his need became too much to bear and he simply ripped them off. He threw a weak promise to get you new ones, but you couldn't care less at that moment. High-pitched mewls and desperate grunts bounced off the walls as he took you on that couch, rutting into you like a man possessed and gripping onto you so firmly as if you’d come to your senses any moment now and run away from him.

A radstorm raged outside, clashing against the boarded-up windows as the pitter-patter of acid rain poured against the tin roof. You never even noticed, too drunk on the sloppy sounds coming from the slick mess of your conjoined bodies, on the verge of a climax so raw it would surely knock you out. Blunt fingernails sank in your supple thighs, scarred hips slammed into yours as he fucked you dumb into the couch. His mouth never left yours, whether it was to keep himself quiet in case too many loving words escaped or because he craved your taste like a rabid dog did blood, you didn’t know. When your ankles locked around his waist he snarled, whatever self-control he’d managed to scrape by completely dissipating as he drove himself deeper. The tip of his cock snapped against the barrier of your squishy cervix so deliciously and you screamed his name in desperation and he couldn’t fucking take it anymore. He released one of your hips to slide a hand between your bodies and drag his rough thumb over your swollen clit. Your back arched, eyes rolled back and mouth agape as you bombarded him with barely coherent sentences that he didn’t deserve. He clutched at your hair when you clamped down on him, milking him for everything he had while he rocked out his release with face stuffed in the crook of your neck.

Something in him changed after that night.

It might have been the unfathomably long time without a caring touch or him finally succumbing to the little voices in his head telling him what he held for you wasn’t simply fondness. He took you every chance he got. In a guest house, against the wall of a bar after one too many drinks, bent over on a chewed-up fence after scavenging another farmhouse. He was relentless and you loved that about him. You loved everything about him. Always needy and ready and he couldn’t ask for more because this was the closest he could get to expressing himself when it came to you.

Life was good.

Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

You wince as the needle prickles your skin before retracting back in the Pip-boy. The green screen whirls, loading up and analyzing your blood sample for a full body scan. You give the damn thing a few smacks when it freezes and stutters.

Now really wasn’t the time for technical difficulties.

“You okay?”

Apparently, no matter how hard you had tried to hide your bubbling panic, it was still evident enough for Cooper to notice. He’s looking at you with a hint of suspicion, attention averted from the steaming can of cram he’d been stuffing in his mouth.

“I’m good, no worries.” you muster up a weary smile and instinctively tuck the Pip-boy closer to your stomach.

When the Vault Boy pops up on the screen with all the information available regarding your condition, you tense up. Your fingers hesitate to turn the cog to the main body scan as doubts and confusion and raw, untamable fear chew at your sensitive stomach and tug you slowly towards the gates of insanity.

“Don’t look okay to me.” Cooper straightens from his slouched-over position over the measly fire and sets aside his food before clasping a hand over one of his thighs. “Was wrong? Was I too rough again?” there’s a teasing scowl brightening his usually stoic expression, he scoffs and shakes his head. “I told you t’ smack my shoulder when I get too loose, woman. You never listen.”

You want to cry and laugh, but you do neither.

“That’s not it, Cooper.”

“Then speak for fuck’s sake!” he grumbles and gestures to you with slight agitation.

You pay him no mind, having delved too deep in the premises of your mind on what you were supposed to do if you read that single life-changing word on the scan. With a huff and a mental pat on your back, you turned the cog and opened the main body scan.

“Pregnant.”

It made sense. It explained the morning sickness that you hid, being forced out of your sleep while Cooper snored lightly next to you, and carefully pulling away before rushing to a safe spot where you could empty your stomach without being seen. You never told him, just jammed RadAway after RadAway, hoping it was poisoning or maybe some sort of flu. When the cravings came, you started second-guessing. You never gave into them, throwing caps left and right for a slice of some nearly impossible-to-get delicacy was unthinkable, you had to survive and there was no room for luxury.

You failed to spot the rugged ghoul as he left his seat and crept closer, spurred by your awkward demeanor, until he was kneeling right next to you and silently sharing the sight of the green graph.

“What in the hell…”

You recoiled at his words, at his realization, and tried to cover the Pip-boy with your hand and hide the thunderous revelation of your condition.

He was having none of it.

He smacked your hand away and gripped your forearm so tight you shuddered, bringing it closer to his eyes as his face contorted.

“What the fuck does this mean?” he spits and looks at you with something vile in those whiskey-colored eyes you loved so much.

“I don’t – ” you swallow thickly, crumbling under his gaze and snuffing out the need to rip away from him and run. You meet his stare for a split second before turning away. “ – I haven’t…Not with anyone except you.”

Lightning strikes into his core and he pulls away like bitten by a snake.

“The hell you mean you haven’t fucked anyone ‘cept me?” he stands, intimidating and cold, berating you with just his visage and nothing more. “How the fuck did you get pregnant then?”

“I’ve been with you since the day I left the vault, you know this.” you reach out for him, desperate for some sort of comfort, desperate for him to calm down because you couldn’t mentally take on both him and the news. “Cooper, please.”

He shoots you down with a snarl and a spine-chilling glare.

“Don’t fucken’ touch me.”

He’s pacing, trotting around like a cornered animal, the spurs on his boots clinking, a sickening cacophony that roots you in place and keeps your mouth shut. You don’t know what to say, you’re not a liar, yet you wish this was some twisted joke and you could laugh it off and confirm it wasn’t real.

A hand is rubbing vigorously at his chin as he tries to think, but there’s nothing in his head except that one single word that means so much and makes absolutely no sense.

He knew you weren’t lying, he’d always kept you within arm’s length, there was no way for you to even sneak past him without being noticed.

It still hurt though, the image of you leaving because he was a rotten man who’d struck gold by finding you. He was no good for you, never would be, and it tore him to shreds because he knew all of this and still he kept you by his side and cocked his gun at anyone who tried to step too close.

Why wouldn’t you bed another man when he looked like a walking corpse and acted even worse? Why wouldn’t you ditch him to be with a nice bartender or a good-mannered farmboy who would treat you like a lady should be treated?

Why wouldn’t you cheat him out of the only happiness he had?

“Is not fucking possible, Sweetheart.” he finally speaks, faltering at your audible sobs. The idea of you slipping past his fingers to sleep with someone else is pushed to the side by the absolutely pathetic sight of you curled up on the floor and crying.

Ghouls were sterile, all of them, 100%, there was no way for him to knock you up even if he wanted to. But the Pip-boy said otherwise and now he was left questioning the very foundation of his existence.

“I know that.” you sputter through choppy hiccups. “But you’re the only man I’ve been with...It doesn’t make fucking sense.” you clutch at your sides, waterfalls streaming down your cheeks and pooling under your chin, eyes distant and jittery. “What if it’s deformed because of the radiation? Or if it’s not even alive? Or – What am I supposed to do…”

His body moves despite his protests.

He kneels in front of you, encasing you between his thighs, his fingers twitching and rising as he drowns in the long-forgotten feeling of being presented with such news. His hands are shaking and he rests them over your shoulders and pretends he can’t feel his pulse rampaging in his throat.

“What do you wanna do?”

It’s such a simple question, but coming from him under such a premise makes your head spin and your heart stop.

“I – ” you press your forehead against the center of his collarbones, arms protectively curling over your belly because despite not showing there was someone in there. Someone precious. “ – I don’t know…I’d like to – I don’t know.”

You stop and start, cutting off words that you weren’t ready to tell him yet and he wasn’t ready to hear either. But life didn’t care if you were ready or not, things happened, consent or not, and now you were both stuck in a mess you’d unwittingly made all by yourselves. There was always the easy route – find a settlement, get to the doc, have it removed, done deal, easy peasy.

But did you really want that?

It wasn’t just your kid, it was his too and him not saying a word, not even mentioning discarding it made things so much harder.

No, he gave you a choice, he put everything in your hands and he was holding you while you fought a silent battle that would dictate the entirety of your future.

“I think – ”

“ – I ain’t goin’ fucken’ nowhere.” he slices through your hesitation like butter, body rigid and jaw clenched because for once he was trying to be a man and not a monster.

Maybe even a father.

You shatter in his arms like glass and he presses one of his palms against the back of your head while the other circles your waist and brings you closer.

“You’d stay?” you ask with such horror and disbelief that it clutches at his chest and he struggles to breathe. You’re no coward, despite how heavy the air feels, you look up at him and you’re so vulnerable and angelic that he forgets every setback that would come his way. “If I kept it…you’d stay?”

He can’t answer, the words refuse to form, but he holds your gaze with calm stability, a good masquerade to hide a mind that was racing and a heart that was pounding so heavily he felt his entire body pulsing. Instead, he leaned in and pressed his chapped lips against your forehead in a voiceless promise.

You suck in a breath like it’s your first and cling to the collar of his coat, disappearing in his form, hiding from the world that was so cruel yet gifted you with something so precious.

The Pip-boy is still lit and waiting, the scan bright and piercing. You skim over it absentmindedly, a simple curious flick, then look again and squint your eyes at the tiny text printed under your pregnancy announcement.

“Four months.”

You’d only been out of cryo for three…

He followed your wide-eyed stare, he was no fool, he could do basic math.

You’d been pregnant before meeting him, before leaving the vault, before the bombs.

You want to puke. You want to rip your skin off and bury yourself alive because for the love of God it couldn’t be just perfect, there had to be some sick underlying thing to ruin everything. It wasn’t his, he was right, ghouls couldn’t have children.

It wasn’t his child.

You look disgusted and utterly pained because the realization makes you mourn at the idea of carrying his baby. You wanted to, you’d give anything for it to be his and not some random bloke you couldn’t even remember the face of. You wanted it to be his…

You search his face for anger or disappointment or anything that would prepare you for what was to come. Why would he stay if the damn thing wasn’t even his? He had his own problems, his mission. You were just an obstacle that had nearly made him believe he was going to be a father and maybe it was his second chance at doing it right.

There was nothing though.

He simply blinked at you, lips parted as he formed a sentence that had you pledge yourself to him for as long as you stood and breathed.

“That don’t change a damn thing.”

Tag list: @bountydroid @v3lv3tf0x @silverose365

#cooper howard #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #fallout tv series #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #the ghoul fallout #x reader

507 notes · View notes

steddieas-shegoes · 2 months

Text

my body is my weapon

for @steddieholidaydrabbles popup event for 'spring'

rated t | 734 words | cw: canon-typical violence, mild blood | tags: self-sacrificing steve, hurt/comfort, getting together

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

Steve was good at this, springing up from nowhere, nail bat in hand, ready to protect his found family. It was a natural instinct at this point.

Didn't matter the cost, didn't matter if he was the only one willing. If Vecna wanted to take someone, he could take him.

With Eddie barely recovered from his first bout in the Upside Down, Max still in a coma, and Lucas being glued to her side to make sure nothing happened, the crew was a little short staffed.

But Steve would make sure that didn't matter.

They prepared as much as they could, which wasn't nearly as much as they should. Vecna was strong, stronger than they expected him to be, and his creatures were wearing them down before he even came to fight.

But El was stronger.

As Steve lay on the ground, bleeding more than he ever had before, certain of his life being over, he thought about every time he'd put himself in front of the kids.

He had no regrets, but he wished it could've played out differently.

Hands on his shoulders made him open his eyes, but his vision was blurry and his head was pounding. Probably another concussion.

"You don't get to die."

Eddie? How was he- why was he here? He was supposed to stay topside to call for help the moment he was signaled.

Maybe Steve was delusional in his last moments. Eddie mentioned that he was hallucinating from the blood loss when it happened to him.

"Steve. Keep your eyes on me," Eddie's voice was panicked. "God, you always have to spring into action, huh? Can't wait ten seconds for someone to help."

"Ed."

Steve could make out the outline of his head, but not details.

"'S what 'm good for."

"That's bullshit."

And then everything went black.

Steve's only thought was that he wished the last things he heard weren't those words.

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

His head was pounding again, and the incessant beeping surrounding him wasn't helping.

"If it hurts, don't open your eyes."

The voice sounded an awful lot like Eddie.

"Mm. Thirsty," Steve whispered.

"I got you," Eddie's hand was on the back of his head, gently lifting, while the other must have been holding a cup of room temperature water to his lips. "Little sips."

Steve didn't think much of what was going on. If this was the afterlife, at least he had someone taking care of him.

🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩

The next time Steve was conscious, his head wasn't pounding and he could tell the room around him was dark.

He opened his eyes, slowly taking in the hospital room.

Eddie was asleep in the chair next to his bed.

He looked uncomfortable.

Steve tried to shift onto his side, but a lightning bolt of pain shot from his shoulder to his knee, and he couldn't quite contain the gasp he let out.

Eddie's eyes shot open as he stood from the chair, leaning over Steve to see what hurt.

"Shit, are you okay?" Eddie asked as his hands hovered over Steve's heavily wrapped up body.

"Mhm. Jus' hurt," Steve managed to say, his voice raspy. "How?"

"How long have you been out?" Eddie waited for Steve's nod to continue. "First bit was about three days, then you woke up for a minute yesterday."

"Alive?"

"Yeah," Eddie's tone shifted to something more serious, darker. "But no thanks to you. You're good for a lot more than standing in front of monsters, Stevie. You know that, right?"

Steve shrugged one shoulder. "Kinda."

Eddie's hands gently cupped his face, eyes softening as Steve focused on him.

"You're more than a weapon. You're more than an expendable body. You understand me?" Eddie's voice shook as Steve gave a short nod. "You're my world. I can't see my world end."

"I am?"

"Despite my best efforts of trying to move on from the stupid crush I had on you, yeah," Eddie sighed. "Nursed me back to health and made me fall in love with you."

"Not bullshit?" Steve's eyes felt heavy, but he had to fight it, had to have this talk with Eddie before he passed out again.

"Never. You're everything, Steve Harrington. And when you can keep your eyes open for more than two minutes, I'm gonna kiss you so hard it bruises."

Steve smiled as his eyes closed.

Eddie's hands carried him out of hell and into forever.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddieholidaydrabbles #pop up event #spring #cw: canon typical violence #cw: mild blood #hurt/comfort #getting together

447 notes · View notes

kneelingshadowsalome · 5 months

Note

Genuinely so obsessed with the ask you answered about reader being associated with König’s childhood bullies and coming back years later to try and make amends……. I need the angst, the drama, the nasty disgusting degrading sex, the absolute turmoil on both of their parts 😭 I am starving for this, the way you portray König especially there is exactly how I’ve always envisioned him in my mind!!!!!! And then with reader desperately trying to make him happy now out of guilt and her crush that’s grown 10x since she saw him in school, delusionally hoping and believing there’s a *relationship* between them and she can fix what she thinks she allowed to happen back then 10 years after the fact, while König is constantly fighting himself to not fall for reader despite his own buried crush resurfacing, and convincing himself he’s only using her to release stress and tension after assignment while simultaneously holding so much resentment for her and her sheer proximity to the people that tormented him back then, I am foaming at the mouth for the toxic dynamics to be found there !!!!!!!!! The old him begging to fulfill some childish need to have her, while this new monstrous version of himself only wants to watch her suffer to repent for how he had to suffer !!!!!!!!!!!!

I know right?! I’m obsessed with this too!

I’m so here for the toxic relationship dynamic (sue me), also me and @bucca2/@wordstome had a whole conversation about this yesterday because König would bend over backwards to self sabotage this shit.

(The following is mainly a summary from our brainstorm session from last night + I have bucca to thank for the precious meme at the end, it’s König in a nutshell with his high school crush lol)

First of all our girl is sooo in love. She was in love when they were young, but now? She’s a goner, König is out of this world. He's so handsome, so confident, the epitome of cool if there ever was one... and God, would you look at those muscles?

Now she can finally drool all over him but back then, what was she to do? As the shy one of the clique, she always tried to avoid attention; she could never have endured what König did. Perhaps it was cowardly of her, but she really was just scared. She could only dream about him from afar, and in her dreams, they would both change schools due to their parents moving or something... Ending up in the same area, finally getting to be together like it was a miracle, Deus ex Machina.

Her silly dreams never came true, but it looks like they're coming to fruition now. And this time, she's going to make everything better! Now that they're both grown up and free from their tormentors she can finally admit that she has feelings for him, feelings that are only sparked fast aflame when she sees the man he has become.

And König can’t stand it.

Where was she when he was odd and scrawny? Where was she when he cried himself to sleep over her?? Of course she wants him now that he’s big, independent and menacing, an odd nerd who discovered guns and gym... He thought she was better than this.

Deep inside, he’s still like this:

...but we just need to forget about it because König is NOT going to fold for this girl.

He’s not.

And the sex is so NASTY. Bordering on degrading, König wants to be a gentleman when it comes to ladies, but this one? This one he wants to fuck like he paid for her. She brings out the beast in him, and he finds himself asking her to get on her knees and blow his cock on some filthy cruise... Fucks her like he doesn’t love her, and she’s absolutely lovestruck, when did König become so mean? (God, that she loves him)

Trying not to fall in love with her (as if he ever fell out), König is so incredibly mad at this girl – is this what she wanted this whole time? A buff jerk who fucks her doggystyle until her knees bleed, who gives her the bare minimum, who barely even calls her when he’s away? (He has to physically restrain himself from doing that because of course he’d like to hear her pick up the phone with pure hope in her voice)

While changing his tactics and devising a plot to make her pay, König doesn’t even understand that he’s falling fast for her again while becoming now (seemingly) the best version of himself. It's only to dump her later, of course. He's just being nice so that she'll cry over losing him later. He brings her flowers, eats her out for hours, getting sick satisfaction from the way she cries about how it’s the best sex she’s ever had. He’s going to bring her to her knees, in more ways than just one... She’s going to remember him for the rest of his life when he rearranges her guts, ruining her for any other man.

König is becoming the thing he hates the most while she’s learned her lesson, now wearing her heart on her sleeve. No more shame and secrets, she’s not afraid to tell him how she feels! How she always had a small crush on him… And not even that small… How she loved to hear his presentations, no matter what silly subject they were about because he had actually done his research. How she could’ve swooned when his voice changed. After a short breaking period, he started to talk lower than anyone else in the class, earning himself more of that bullying because he sounded so manly at such a young age.

König is about to burst a blood vessel when hearing all this: she had a crush on him back then? What the actual fuck??

And then come the cuddles, the slow mornings, the coffee and toast, the showering together… She leaves her toothbrush in his place, and it stares at him accusingly from the side of the sink. She wears his t-shirts and looks absolutely gorgeous, mouth-watering and sweet in them. His sexy little minx, the one who didn’t get away…

Wait, what? No. No. No!

And when his high school sweetheart confesses her love for him for the first time, she's so open and vulnerable and sweet about it. Like she has been from the start, his sweet, sweet girl, exactly the kind of woman he always wanted to bring home to see his mom. König is about to lose his mind when she tugs at his shirt, almost cries when she says how much she loves him and couldn’t bear to live without him… She would cry herself to the grave if anything ever happened to him…

(König is like:)

#könig angst #könig fluff #mmm this is so nasty and delicious #they're practically soulmates #collaborating with other writers #könig x highschool sweetheart

607 notes · View notes

fandomwritingbit · 2 years

Note

Okay last one- for now

Michael x female reader hate smut-

Michael is a straight up bully to reader, they always argue and never get along, but one night readers car breaks down confidently in front of his home- doesnt help that its raining so she is getting soaked, she tries calling her roommate but because its night they dont pick up.

Michael comes out to see whats going on and he spot her, he rolls his eyes and makes her get inside instead of staying in the cold, grumbling that he will fix it in the morning and she can sleep in his room, he even lets her have some of his clothes- but he makes her sleep on the floor, she refuses to saying its cold and after a bit of arguing he grabs her and kisses her quiet, telling her he knows a way to keep her warm if she wants

Reader consents and the rest is up to you 👀

Okay, so I’ve never written for Michael before... but I had way too much fun with this. I wrote it kind of like a comedy with smut because I get perverse enjoyment out of bullying Michael lmao. Hope it’s to your liking!

Warnings: smut nsfw, vaginal sex, creampie god I hate that word swearing, bad car knowledge, reader and Mike are both kinda arseholes, Will cameo, a joke about a dead parent, yes ik it sounds bad, but give it a chance cos that’s funny af irl.

Driving home from the shop, you double flick the windscreen wipers as the hammering rain only gets worse. You’re already wet from the 10 seconds you spent outside, your jeans clinging uncomfortably to your legs and dampening the seat underneath you.

Mumbling a ‘for fuck’s sake’, you turn down another residential road, still over two miles from your house, the quick nip out for fags having taken up way too much of your night.

Its then that the worst sound possible could be heard. Your engine packing in, squealing like a stuck pig in a fence, followed by a juddering thud as you’re mercifully able to steer it up the curb outside a house, before it completely dies on you. To be honest, you’d know that this shit-raft hadn’t had long left but really, tonight? Right now? So far from home? After you’d just spent a fucking fortune fuelling up? Bleeding typical.

You get out of the car, no umbrella or jacket to speak of and are wet to the bone before you can even get to the bonnet and peer inside. Seeing smoke depressingly coming from some part of the vehicle you couldn’t name.

“What the Hell are you doing here?” Someone behind you says, emphasising the ‘you’ with disgust. Of course you turn, ready to give someone the mouthful of profanity you were saving for this limp cock of a car. You recognise the tallish, messy haired lad immediately and curse in annoyance. Fucking great: it’s Michael Afton.

You found him such a silly ponce. And he you, a nasty prick. Having known each other since college and now finding yourself studying at the same Uni, your animosity towards each other having grown and matured into a smouldering hatred that caused arguments anytime you were in a room together. Only yesterday morning you’d given him a mouthful for how he’d acted towards you in a Costas. And so, seeing him now, you almost laughed at how this night probably couldn’t get any worse.

“You’re really here to give me shit now?” You sigh, trying to keep a level head as he probably had a better chance of fixing this car than you. “My car’s dead as a dodo.”

“That...” He smiles at you meanly, enjoying the sight of you soaked through and looking damn right miserable. “...is a shame.” He turns to walk up a drive into a house you assumed was his, grinning at your anguish.

Giving him the wanker gesture behind his back, you pull out your phone, registering the sound of a front door closing, whilst your shaky, wet hands tried to dial your roommate. Eventually you succeed, but it goes straight to voicemail, their phone clearly dead or off. Leaving you stranded as your parents were out of town and no one else was local, it being summer hols and you being home from Uni. You put your hand on your head, desperately trying to find a solution to your freezing cold predicament.

From inside his house, Michael peeked through his curtains surprised to see you still stood outside in the rain. Surely, you’d have the common sense to get back in your car or something. But no. He watched you looking like a stray cat for a few minutes before his decency took over and he goes to the door to see if you’re alright.

“You standing there all night, y/n?”

You laugh sharply, tears of frustration threatening to spill. “Just fucking might.”

“You wanna come in while you wait for someone?” He says, sighing at having to spend time in the same building as you, but still feeling a shred of pity.

“I ain’t got anyone to come get me.” You say, hands rising to an irritated shrug.

“Still wanna come in for a bit?”

And although you’d usually rather stick a spork in your eye than sit around with Michael Afton, it beat standing here, or sitting in your car. But only narrowly.

He leads you through his front door, showing you a bathroom and after you heavily hint, giving you some dry clothes to wear whilst your own dried on a radiator. You thank him reluctantly, going inside said toilet to put on the joggers and hoodie he’d given you. Scowling to yourself in the mirror as you can smell him on the clothes.

You come out after promising yourself to not let him wind you round the bend. Finding your way to a kitchen, where stood leant against a counter, after nicely, he’d boiled a kettle for you.

He hadn’t expected the movement in his trousers at seeing you in his clothes, it felt intimate and kind of sexy. And for a moment he just saw you as a good-looking lass, not the witch that had been haunting him for 4 years.

“Thanks for the clothes and the hot drink- I appreciate it.”

“Yeah, you should. I was tempted not to invite you in.” You smile sarcastically at him, walking over to the rack of mugs you’d spotted on the counter, grabbing some kind of fancy-arse tea bag.

“I don’t know what I’m gonna do. My parents are out of town.” You briefly explain to him, using the mug to warm you aching hands. To which he stood silently, watching your arse in his trousers as you did so.

“If you promise to keep your mouth shut, you can stay here.” He offers unenthusiastically.

“Why would I want to do that, Mikey?” You laugh.

“Feel free to go back out-fucking-side.” He gestures with his hand in the rough direction of the door, a very familiar sneer on his face.

And what else could you do? Sleep in your car outside in a neighbourhood you didn’t know that well? So you agree, not hiding the look of despair the prospect gave you. Which only doubled when he told you his dad would be coming home so you’d have to sleep in his room. On the floor. Like a dog.

He threw a couple of pillows on his carpet, then a paper-thin blanket, looking at you with a stupid smug expression on his stupid smug stupid fucking face.

After about 10 minutes of shivering on his floor, your back already throbbing from the lack of mattress, you grow tired of hearing the shit tik toks he was watching.

“I can’t sleep here, this is ridiculous.” You sit up, making him jump a little at the abruptness. “What did you just shit yourself for? Forget I’m here?” You say somewhat meanly, a snicker accompanying it, standing up and cracking your neck.

“Shut up. Where are you gonna go like?” His voice takes on a cutting mocking tone, “Get in here with me?”

You walk over to him, face a picture of annoyance. “That what you want Mike? Me to get in fucking bed with you?” You laugh, bringing you head down to his level as he was sat. “To think, all this time I thought you were a cunt to me because you hated me. When really you just want to fuck me.” Shaking your head, you point a finger at him, “God that’s fucking pathe-”

Your further insults are cut short when he grabs you and kisses you harshly on the mouth, the only thing he could think to do to get you to shut the fuck up for once. And you’ll admit, you respected the bollocks on him for it.

Maybe it was the frustration of the night’s events. Maybe it was built up hate between the two of you boiling over. Neither of you are sure. But you let him pull you on to his lap, kissing him back, tongues and hands quickly becoming involved.

You feel the urge to call him names when you feel the hardness of his cock pressing against the inside of your thigh. But you stifle it, grabbing his hand to make him take his hoodie off your frame, not having to tell him to do the rest because he did so quickly. Rushing to unhook your bra and palm your tits, whilst you pull up his shirt, then down his trousers to gain access to his cock.

There was no finesse to it, just hurried grabbing and heated biting of lips of necks. Both of you wanting to assert some level of dominance and fuck each other before it dawned on you that you hate one another. And so, it wasn’t long before he yanked you forward to pull his joggers down and your knickers aside, his thick cock spreading you open as sit atop him. It surprised you how good it felt to have him thrusting up into you, whilst your hips rolled fuelled by dislike and desperate to cum almost immediately.

You did when he pushed you back, making you lay backwards before climbing on top of you and shoving himself back inside you. The new angle more than welcome, making you grunt as your orgasm neared. Hitting you hard as a freight train when his pace doubled to selfishly chase his own release, which due to the tight fluttering of your walls was closer than he realised.

“Oh fuck.” He spat, pressing you flat into his bed as you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist eager for more of his hammering pace. “That's it. Shi- God you feel fucking good.” You had it in you to laugh then, his whiney voice cracking as he neared his end enough to make you smirk. Though it was wiped from your face when his thrust faltered and stuttered as he came inside you, seemingly unbothered about the consequences.

Though in that moment you didn’t think about that either, too focused on the feeling of his release inside you.

It wasn’t the last time you’d be experiencing that tonight.

The morning quickly rolled around, and you slip out of Michael's bed to go and get something to drink, more than thirsty after last night. Bare feet pattering on wooden floorboards, you struggle to find his kitchen again as the house was unfamiliar. Eventually you get there and with your now dry clothes in hand you sit down with a much-needed glass of water.

You weren’t sat long when you register the sound of footsteps descending stairs, a prickle of dread as you thought it might be Michael.

"Who the fuck are you?" A gruff voice makes you turn your head towards the door of the kitchen, where a bloke you'd never seen before stood.

"Could ask the same for you." You raise an eyebrow at his curtness. "I'm Michael's... mate." You half-arse explain. The man leans on the doorframe a look of disbelief crossing his face, before he walked into the room smirking and started messing about with a coffee machine.

"What's funny about that?" You ask looking at him, there was resemblance between the two, but Mike would look 10 years younger stood next to his dad.

"Nothing." He looks you up and down. "Credit to him: you're alright." He answers through a smirk aimed at you. You just laugh, turning your attention to your phone. Not noticing when Mike came to find you.

Glancing up at him you give a nod of acknowledgement before going back to your scrolling. Completely missing when his father gestures towards you with his head, mouthing the word 'respect' to his son, who looked mortified.

"Stop being a dick, pa." Michael snapped. You look up to see what was going on, catching Mr Afton looking away from you with a laugh. And give Michael a raised brow smile, whilst his dad leaves the room, not without another glance in your direction.

"What are you grinning at?" His tone reaks of irritation. Only growing when you point to the empty door saying,

"THAT explains so much." Through a teasing laugh.

"Fuck off."

"I'm trying to, but there isn't a bus for half an hour. And my car is fucked, remember?" He rolled his eyes, going to the coffee machine himself and mumbling when asking you if you wanted some. You did and told him as such.

"Ay, thanks." You say as he sets it down in front of you. Having the curtesy to sit with you while you wait, lest his dad hear his footsteps and sneak in like a fox in a chicken coup.

"You alright?" You ask him, unused to the sensation of being pleasant with each other and so rejecting it, poking him in the ribs.

"Can you be quiet for like 5 fucking seconds?" Each word is near hissed at you.

"What kind of scene would this be, if I was?" You roll your eyes as you take a sip of the coffee he made you. Laughing as you thought of another way to piss him off. "You're one to talk anyway, with all the ‘talking’ you did last night." He turns to your words, face a clear warning.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck. That's it. Like that. Shi- God you feel fucking good-" You mock moan, accompanying it with a lewd gesture that made him look over his shoulder to check his dad hadn’t returned.

"Shut the fuck up!" He rises, "like you didn't have a good time." He says through a face of disgust. You continue giggling, loving how easy it was to wind him up.

"Practically drooling over my cock, like a dirty bitch." You just laugh again; he couldn’t even touch your feelings with that shit.

Letting silence fall over the two of you, you go back to your phone, giving him a smidge of respite. But he throws it back in your face after a mere two minutes.

"Will you stop tapping your foot, its driving me fucking nuts." And there's your green light to go at him again.

"You're a prick sometimes, Mike." You say, shaking your head. "But your dad- oh, no. He's really hot. Like scary, but scary sexy you get me?"

"Yeah... so's your mam." He snaps, his cheeks red. Instantly looking down when Mr Afton pops back in for something, unsure if you'll continue prodding and dreading if you did.

"Uhhh... my mam is dead, really funny there, mate." You say, your face falling still, and voice cracking on the last part. His whole demeanour changes, as does his father who stands like he's at attention in front of the squadron leader, both as tense as a spring.

"Oh shit, really? I'm sorry I-" He starts, panic flooding his face as he thought you were going to cry.

You laugh out of nowhere, "No. she isn't, Mike. But your fucking face." Mr Afton laughs from across the room, coming over to see the fallout that was about to occur, seeing the indignation on his son’s face and being unable to pity him.

"Ah you've got to bring this one back, Michael. She's fucking class." He says, grinning like a wolf. Mike scowls, despising you even more for ribbing on him with his own fucking dad.

"I should kick you the fuck out." He says exasperated, filled with dislike for you again. Sitting back down but not looking at you.

"Uh.” Mr Afton interjects. “You are not kicking my future daughter-in-law out of this house." You smirk, surprisingly feeling a tickle of guilt at being such a cock to him.

But you have a feeling that you'll make it up to him later.

#fnaf #fnaf au #fnaf michael afton #michael afton smut #michael afton x reader #fnaf william afton #fnaf smut #fnaf 18+

3K notes · View notes

twstfanblog · 1 month

Text

*~Period Drama~* Tuesday

A/N: SCREAMS. I am...SO SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG. We had to do double time to move out of our house since our landlords decided to fucking sell the property so we had to LEAVE. But it's done and I'm very happy with it and I hope you like it too. Enjoy~! Word Count: 6.7K Warnings: She/They Pronouns OC, Lilia does look and poke at Yuu's genitals Pairings: YuuxJamilxAzulxMalleus (Poly), (Sebek/Silver in the corner) ~Taglist (At this point I'm just adding everyone I've found who was interested in the fic XD) @twistedcece @deltrea @krenenbaker @koebishrimpuwu @cat100200 @emyluwinter @obsessionswithfandoms @ady-hilborn @lucid-stories @girl-nahh-two @itz-hydrodeptus-foxy7 @chyluna @riddlesimps @death-the-jo @a-twistedheartslonging @qixlin @chaosistheonlyway @welcome-to-my-horde @abell2029cluster @kirans-wonderland @coffee-or-hot-cocoa @the-ace-reader @iamsoconfusedallofthetime @chroniccorvus @marvelous-maxi @prolonged-eyecontact @lozplayer @jabberwocky-warrior @thateldribitch @bun-lapin @mel1rose @ladyraeka @ladyzsgolla Start, Part 2 (Octavinelle), Part 3 (Heartslabyul), Part 4 (Savanaclaw), Part 4.5 (Diasomnia pt1), Part 5 (Here)

Malleus almost always forgot he even owned a phone, meaning he basically never texted Yuu. So when his personalized text tone played Yuu was quick to stop their sobbing and open his message.

‘May I see you tomorrow?’

Short, simple, sweet, and weirdly formal. Yuu smiled, typing back quickly before the horned fae forgot he owned a phone again.

‘Sure babes. Sorry ive been mia the past few days. Not feeling well. Ill explain when i see you tomorrow.’

‘I should hope so.’

Okay, vaguely rude.

When Malleus had said tomorrow, Yuu assumed he meant during lunch or after classes. Instead, he showed up on their doorstep with his whole family unit and a grumbling Grim in tow at 8am in the goddamn morning. None of them were in uniform, clad in casual comfortable clothing. They clearly planned to spend the whole day with her instead of a simple visit.

She blinks, almost overwhelmed at the sheer…something of the current event, “Hi…It's…really early.”

Lilia smiles, tilting his head as he holds up a large and slightly weathered first aid bag, “We brought gauze!”

Silver holds out his arms, the dire beast scowling but unmoving in his grip, “And Grim.”

“Oh, what beautiful treasures…”

“Enough beating around the unwanted bush.” Malleus steps forward, hands reaching to clasp around Yuu's. Looking into their surprised eyes with determination, “What is this illness and how can I help ease you of it?”

Yuu snorted, closing her eyes in an effort to not start laughing at how seriously Malleus was taking their ‘ailment’, “It'll…It'll pass with time, Malleus. But, luckily, I'm actually feeling a lot better than yesterday.” They step to the side, managing to pull a hand free from Malleus's grip to gesture for the Diasomnia family to enter.

Silver nods his head in thanks, walking into the hall to place Grim down. The cat quickly running further in the house, remarking Yuu still smelled weird, “That's good to hear. Did you use a form of medicine to ease your symptoms?”

Yuu closes the door behind them, Malleus already firmly attached to their side. No doubt the smell of their blood making him hyper-aware of their every movement, “Yeah. Crewel gave me a lecture and a pain potion when he brought me dinner last night. Plus the guttural sobbing I've been doing. But, I think it was mainly because I finally took that body cleansing shit…”

The beat of silence almost makes Yuu burst into laughter again, the four males all looking a level of stunned before Silver shakingly spoke.

“A-ah…That's...good?”

“Yeah, it really realigned my chakras or something.”

“Okay?”

“Yuu, could you tell us exactly what is going on?” Lilia's smile was strained. He had spent most of last night racking his memory of various illnesses. Any that he knew of that dealt with bleeding were things that would have killed Yuu within the hour if they had reached that stage. But to know they'd been bleeding for days? Whatever they had managed to catch was cause for concern. But now knowing it was causing other ailments…it was either a truly deadly disease or it was evolving into one…

“Oh, it's nothing serious. Just the muscles that are causing all this-” Yuu makes a vague gesture to their lower anatomy, “- are the same muscles that handle pooping. So…it was expected to happen…”

There was another beat of silence, each male looking at Yuu's stomach, placing the pieces together slowly as they realized she gestured below her stomach.

“Why…why did you…gesture…down there?” Silver spoke slowly, eyes making quick glances between Yuu's crotch, then to Malleus's blank face, then to Sebek's tearfully bewildered expression. Is…are they…?

Malleus says what all of them were fearfully thinking, “Is the blood coming out of you from your nethers!?”

“Ye.”

Lilia stood still, eyes wide as he openly stared at Yuu's crotch. This was…he had never heard of such a thing…

Malleus's hands quickly grabbed at Yuu's hips, magic flowing from his fingers in his panicked attempts to heal what he could only fear was internal ripping, “Why did no one tell me!?”

“I don't think you should be bleeding from there, Yuu?”

“Silver. Words can not describe how badly I wish I wasn't. But, sadly, yeah, this is completely natural for me to do. I wish I wasn't. I am so full of fucking hatred right now, I am a literal danger to my and everyone else's safety.”

Lilia made quiet work of prying Malleus off of Yuu, though he was clearly still concerned himself, “It's natural to bleed out of your nethers?”

“Where I'm from? Unfortunately yes.” Yuu shrugs, holding Malleus's hand as the horned fae tried to reattach himself to their side, “The pussy is a curse and the price must be paid in blood sadly.” They say it with a level of nonchalance that only has the Diasomnia crew looking at them in worry.

Malleus grips tighter to Yuu's hand, raising it to press a gentle kiss to their knuckles, “Please, there has to be something that can be done to ease this curse…”

“...” Yuu pulled Malleus to the living room, showing the plethora of blankets and pillows on the floor. Empty bottle and snack wrappers pushed to a corner of the rug in an effort to keep the cozy area of the floor clear. Yuu gestures to the darkened room, heavy curtains closed to enhance the perfect sleep environment, “You guys can do whatever around the house. But, if you wanna join me, I was about to lay down in the dark listening to sad music and take a nap.”

Sebek sneers, eyes squinted as he mumbled out, “It's 8am…?”

Yuu whips around, ignoring Malleus's worried fretting for their neck, “Hey, Sebek? You don't need to fucking be here.”

Sebek's sneer turned into a deep frown, his expression clearly showing how badly he wanted to yell back. But with their ‘illness’, plus Malleus's protective stance, he knew he'd quicker be scolded than actually get a sentence out.

“Wow, you are more full of hate. You normally let Sebek get at least four sentences out before telling him to be quiet.” Silver moves to sit on the couch, only to realize that Yuu had removed all of the larger cushions and used them as padding for the floor.

Malleus looked over the sad state of his lover's nest, frowning before he pulled Yuu closer to ask them quietly, “Would you mind if I fixed your nest? This looks…barely functional.”

Yuu smiles, bringing a hand up to pat Malleus's face gently, “Do as you please, Peligroso.”

Malleus kisses their palm before moving toward the mash-up of cushions, blankets, and - to his distaste - bloody towels. He first deconstructed the mess, organizing the materials he had before coming to the conclusion he needed more.

No one tried to stop Malleus as he walked out of the room, his pupils dilated as he busied himself in nest-making.

“Beastie, are you really well? Mundane for you aside, losing that much blood at a steady pace can't be good for you…” The scent of blood was off at that. Fresh blood was concerning enough, but the smell of old blood was not good if one was actively bleeding.

Yuu waves their hand, sneaking a towel from Malleus's separated piles to sit on, “No need to worry Lils; Crewel’s made sure I've been taking iron supplement potions, plus I'm still taking the multivitamin Riddle demanded I start at the beginning of the year once our beef ended.”

Malleus returns, bulks of blankets and pillows floating behind him into the room. He quickly turns a sharp eye toward Yuu, seeing one of the cleaner towels had been taken from his nest piles. But at seeing their smile, he could only sigh and begin building.

Lilia clicks his tongue, holding the old medical bag in his hands, “Well, I'm not sure how useful this gauze is going to be then if it coming out from such an area…I'm not sure you're open to the idea of it…being inserted.”

“I'm not.”

“Fair.” Lilia removed the bag from his shoulder, allowing it to drop to the ground. Walking closer to Malleus, yet still a few feet away, he started to teasingly offer his unwanted opinion of how his ‘mate’ would like the nest to look.

Silver and Sebek took seats on the ground closer to Yuu, the second year pulling the medical bag into his lap as he started to look through it, “While the gauze may be useless, I think there's some pain ointment still in here. Possibly a potion but it's long bitter by now…Oh.”

From inside the bag, Silver pulled out a simple arm cuff attached to a hand pump and dial. It looked old, but the metal holding it together still shined, “Lend me your arm, I want to check your blood pressure.”

“My blood pressure? Why?” Yuu still held their arm out, letting Silver gently clasp the cuff to their lower bicep, “I haven't felt light headed.”

“You might not have noticed if you've been bleeding as long as you have…” he starts to pump the bulb, the cuff growing tighter, “Just see it as a way for me to get peace of mind…”

Silver and Sebek watch the needle, their expressions slowly turning concerned at the reading.

Sebek whispered under his breath, one of his eyes twitching in annoyance as he reread the result, “Why is it high?”

Yuu blinked, looking at the dial before turning to Silver, “Yeah, that's…normal.”

“...Really?”

“I don't know, man. I'm 15, I've never had to know what my normal blood pressure is.”

Silver sighed, deflating the cuff and removing it, “Did you never take notice of it when you went to the doctor for check ups?”

“Silver, baby boy, I haven't been to the doctor since I was in elementary school. Do you not know how expensive a doctor appointment is?”

“I really hate when you say things like that…” Silver still didn't understand how a simple doctor's visit cost money. It was a universal service, all they'd have to do was walk into the nearest office and simply wait.

Yuu hummed, nodding her head, “I forget that you guys have free healthcare here…I kinda just conditioned myself to be ok with dying since the doctor was so expensive where I'm from.”

Silver sighed, fingers pressing against his temple, “Please, curb that habit. For all of our sakes…”

“You got a will to live in there then?”

“...” Silver looks through the bag, managing to pull out an antique-looking locket that held a graying, grainy photo of a confused-looking Malleus on one side and a more vivid photo of a sleeping infant Silver on the other, “I think this is what father uses?”

“Oh my god?” Yuu couldn't stop the bubbling laughter that started when they spoke. They cover their mouth and gently bring the locket closer to look at the photos. Only now do they realize Malleus in the photo has a small circlet of a crown on his forehead. There was no telling how old the photo was, possibly in a time the first camera was even made and Lilia got his hands on one.

They snort, letting the locket swing from their hand and allow Silver to place it back in the bag, “Ok…that works. I now have the strength to carry on.” From the corner of their eye, they can see Sebek's stern gaze staring into the side of their face, “Yes, Sebek? Can you be helped?”

The half-faes's face pinches together harder, lip curling up into a scowl as he looks away briefly. His mild avoidance was short-lived, turning back to Yuu with an expression of concern, “You're…You're okay now, correct?”

At Yuu and Silver's stunned expressions, Sebek grows more timid, thumbs twiddling together as he clasped his hands, “Ace’s texts didn't give much info. But even knowing that…that didn’t transpire, this is still a worrying state of affairs.” Sebek looks up from his hands, staring into Yuu's eyes with steady resolve, “We have our differences more than anything. But I count you as my comrade in ensuring Waka-Sama’s happiness. Your continued good health would be in the best interest of all!”

It was no secret that Yuu and Sebek did not get along. Their first official meeting was a brawl that neither walked away from unscathed (and Sebek left the fight with a secret he'd be taking to his grave under Lilia's instructions). They bickered, fought, and openly slandered each other every chance they got. Truely, the only things keeping them from killing each other were the facts they shared the same friend group and that Yuu was romantically involved with Malleus. Yuu was sure without those factors, Sebek would have actually declared them an enemy of Briar Valley itself.

So to see and hear the other first-year state that he was concerned was jarring at best.

Yuu stared at Sebek, the half-fae looking at them with an open and vulnerable expression as he waited for their truth. Honestly, were they ok? It'd been only a few days but this felt like the worst period Yuu had ever had. And seeing how their flow wasn't easing as it normally would, they were sure it was going to be longer than normal too. They were in pain, everyone was treating them as though they would shatter at the slightest inconvenience. They were free bleeding of all things…but, their friends cared and were each trying to make things better.

Azul and the Tweels had basically tried to cater their every meal, though they kept their distance; mer noses were so sensitive to blood after all. Crewel would come in the evenings with medication and conversation. Riddle was compiling a list of some kind with Jade, but he was using info from their “interview” to figure out ways to ease their symptoms. Ace and Deuce had both swore to actually take notes for once so that they wouldn't fall behind in their classes. Trey had texted a number of times, sneakily trying to gauge their temperament so he could ambush them with baked goods. Cater had sent several photos of wet, angry, disheveled-looking cats with the caption ‘this u?’ whenever they were in a bad mood.

Even just yesterday, Jack had basically appointed himself as their bodyguard, not allowing anyone closer than 2 feet from their person. Ruggie had gone into nursemaid mode and Yuu was mildly terrified at how prepared and willing he was to help them deliver a baby. Even Leona's lazy ass had helped. Held them while they cried all the way to their dorm, calling them at midnight just to check if they were sleeping and not up alone with their thoughts.

And now, the Diasomnia family unit had brought them a first aid kit. Not the correct move, but a show of concern either way. Looking into Sebek's face only cemented how cared for they were by their forged family. Yuu opened their mouth slightly as though to speak, waiting as Sebek perked up, leaning closer to fully hear what they were about to say.

Instead of words, all that escaped Yuu's mouth was a burp that traveled directly into Sebek's face.

The half-fae sputters, annoyance growing at Silver's near silent ‘Excuse you’ to the other human. He wiped at his face as though he could remove the air, growling before he pointed a finger at Yuu's smug little grin, “You should have been killed when your mother birthed you!”

“Sebek.”

Sebek quickly placed his hand in his lap, frowning hard as he looked down in an odd mixture of shame and anger. Malleus had turned around and scolded him almost instantly. The dragon fae was frowning, eyes filled with a disappointment only an older sibling could give. He stared long enough until Sebek finally relented and spoke through gritted teeth at Yuu.

“My deepest apologies. You are injured and I have no reason to…antagonize you. Please, forgive me…”

“Did that hurt to say, Sebek?”

Silver placed a hand on Yuu's shoulder, trying to not sigh or laugh their antics, “Yuu…”

Yuu smiled, tilting their head and nodding, “Apology accepted, Sebek. Just don't be mean to me, okay~?”

Translation; I'm going to milk this for your whole visit.

Sebek's frown curled so tight it could only be called a pout. But seeing how he didn't speak further, Yuu turned to speak directly to the 3rd years only to choke mildly at the new impressive structure taking up space adjacent to the fireplace.

What was once their sad faux floor bed set up was a large blanket nest. Pillows tastefully lining the sides for support and comfort, blankets laid together to cover the couch cushions while some were still free to wrap in. A large throw blanket suspended in the air by magic cloaks the whole structure like an open tent. It looked cozy, it looked inviting. Yuu almost hated how proud Malleus looked of his work.

“...” Yuu rolled their eyes, trying to hide their blush as they turned away from Malleus's increasingly smug face, “Ok, your nest is very impressive. Are you proud of yourself?”

“Not until you are in it.”

Lilia spoke quietly, eyes giving Malleus a playful warning look as he chuckled, “Remember you two, we're here with you…”

Yuu laughs, standing from their towel and stretching, “Alright, nap time.” They take care to place down the towel, climbing into the nest and making themselves comfortable in the structure. They had no actual animal-based DNA, but they felt the need to curl up and sleep for DAYS from their new cozy spot. Malleus had built the nest well.

Opening their eyes, they could barely stop the snort that tried to escape them. Malleus was pressed against the side of the nest, eyes wide and focused on them. Yuu tilted their head, smiling widening as Malleus tilted his head in response, “You wanna join me?”

The question makes Malleus lean back, eyes almost bulging out of his head before he manages to school his features, “So bold…As always.” He laughs from behind his hand, “I’m happy to see you are in better spirits compared to yesterday.”

Yuu casts him a confused glance, wondering just when the dragon fae had seen them yesterday. While Malleus made himself comfortable beside them, they looked at the remaining Diasomnia unit standing at attention around the nest, “You guys coming in?”

Lilia snorts, ignoring Mallues’s glare demanding they refuse Yuu’s invitation, “Are you sure, Beastie? We wouldn’t want to intrude…” His eyes lock on Malleus’s, communicating silently that if Yuu invited them into their nest, it’d be rude to deny their request.

“I mean I invited you in the first place.” They gesture to the empty space beside them and Malleus, “Plus, this thing has room for like four more people…”

Malleus mumbles under his breath, an arm wrapping around Yuu’s middle and bringing them closer to his body to nuzzle into their hair, “Or eight children…”

“What?”

“Hm?” Malleus pulls from their hair, smiling at their confused face before making himself comfortable against them again.

Lilia actually laughs this time, “Well, if you insist.”

Everyone climbs into the nest; Lilia pressed against Malleus’s side with Silver beside him already half asleep. Sebek had begrudgingly made his place beside Yuu, huffing as the human offered their hand to hold. Neither of them speaking when Sebek does grip their hand gently. Once everyone had seemed cozy, Yuu retrieved their phone from their pajama pants pockets, opening their ‘sad times’ playlist to start playing music. But the sound of a thud rings out from the kitchen, everyone turning to the noise in mild suspense. Soon, Grim enters the room with a bag of cookies clutched in his mouth.

Yuu raises an eyebrow but helps Grim climb his way into the nest, the cat curling up against their side squished between them and Sebek, “Was that you? Did you fall off of something-hold on.” They grab the bag of cookies from Grim, frowning once they realize what they were holding, “Are these the good cookies? You little shit, you said you ate the last of them!”

Grim grumbled, curling up tighter to Yuu’s side and swatting at their hand tugging on his ear, “I lied! You always hog them so when you left one day I hid them to snack on myself…But…” He huffed, looking at them from the corner of his eyes, “I think you need them more than I do…”

“...” Yuu sniffled, fanning their face as tears started to build in their eyes, “Grim…Grim…” They take a shuddering breath, ignoring the others watching them in worry, “I already threw up like twice yesterday from crying so hard, I’m not doing it again.”

“Parden?” Malleus’s brows creased. When did they throw up!? Just how severe was this illness?

Yuu waves his concerns off, tapping onto their ‘Sad Vibes’ playlist, setting it to shuffle before they connect to the lounge speakers, “It's not important, Malleus. I'm not gonna cry. We're gonna lay down in the dark and listen to sad songs and sleep.”

Sebek mumbles from beside Yuu, his free hand petting a softly purring Grim, “That seems to be the perfect setting to cry in…?”

Lilia gives Yuu a worried glance but doesn't agree nor disagree. He instead places a hand on Malleus’s shoulder, a silent effort to calm the dragon's fussing, “Well, if we're going to listen to music, just none of that Mitsuki woman please…”

Silver blinks his eyes open, tiredly looking to Lilia, “But I like the dog song.”

“...” Lilia sighs, his arm moving to wrap around Silver's shoulders and bringing him closer, “I…I know…”

Yuu tearfully laughed, laying their head onto a softly fretting Malleus. Their weak laughter breaks from teary into genuine amusement as the first song starts.

My baby, my baby…

Leaning over Malleus, snickering as the dragon fae gently presses her head back down to his chest as a silent command to sleep, Yuu whispers to Lilia, “I’m sorry…”

Lilia’s smile is strained, his grip on a sleeping Silver slowly increasing as he fought against his own emotions, “No you're not…”

The nap lasted far too long, Malleus thought to himself. The dragon fae didn't actually sleep, but he kept watch of his family as they did. Silver of course slept, curled up in Lilia's intense embrace before the bat general eased into a light sleep. Though Sebek had been the most against the nap, he had dozed off not long after Silver. One hand still gripping onto Yuu’s while the other resting on a snoring Grim's back.

Yuu was out almost immediately after Sebek, a content smile on their face as they curled up to Malleus's chest. A smile he watched slowly fade through the hours. A common occurrence as one slept, something he's learned from years of watching Silver. What concerned him were the twitches and grimaces of pain that started to increase the longer they stayed asleep. He didn't want to wake Lilia to ask for advice, the older fae having spent most of his night in worry over Yuu's condition and it didn't help he wasn't a morning person normally.

But if the discomfort was enough to affect Yuu's sleep, it was no wonder they felt the need to nap so early in the morning. They possibly hadn't slept the night before from pain alone. He had spent a few moments thinking how he could help, an arm around their waist and a hand pressed to their lower stomach to ease magic from his fingertips. His healing magic wasn't nearly as refined as he wanted. No matter how much magic he poured in, there were no wounds to be closed on the surface. But he could feel how Yuu would curl into his palm, almost trying to trap the heat close to them.

So for the past two hours he laid in a nest with his fiancé, his father, his brother, his brother's ‘friend’, and a cat; palm pressed just above his lover's mysteriously bleeding anatomy to act as a glorified hot water bottle.

Though he had no true method of knowing, he felt as though his grandmother was laughing at his predicament.

And while he did find the lyrics and vocals of Miss Amy Lee to be rather enchanting, he felt relieved to hear the music stop playing abruptly and a shrill beeping take its place. He couldn't help but smile, listening to everyone minus Silver groan at the sound of the alarm. Lilia huffed, snuggling his nose into Silver's hair while the human knight remained perfectly asleep. Sebek had pouted but still sat up, blinking in mild confusion as to where he was. Yuu had tried to bury their head in the space between his arm and chest, a hand reaching out blindly to no doubt silence the alarm.

As much as Malleus enjoyed his loved ones sleeping peacefully around him, he didn't think letting them sleep anymore was the correct choice. He smiled, easily catching Yuu's hand to gently kiss their knuckles, “My dear. I do believe your nap is over now.”

Yuu groans, but doesn't try to pull away, “At least turn the alarm off…”

Lilia clicks his tongue, finally pulling away from Silver to sleepily reach for Yuu's still blaring phone, “I got it…”

“Thanks-ack!” They were batted in the face by Grim's increasingly annoyed tail, the dire beast fighting to stay asleep from the rising noise. A move that had Yuu sneezing after a few moments.

The fae and Grim instantly snapped to attention. Yuu's sneeze was quickly followed by an overwhelming scent of blood. The sudden change in the atmosphere instantly waking Silver. Sebek had tightened his grip on Yuu's hand, almost as though he were helping them to brace against pain. Grim scrambled away from their side, moving to frown and shake from the other side of Sebek.

Malleus brought both his arms to wrap around Yuu's body. How could he let his guard down in such a way? They were sick. Why did he assume a nap was the correct choice to make? They should be in the care of a professional. Now they had clearly torn something, or something had hemorrhaged and they were bleeding out internally-

Lilia turned the alarm off, quickly kneeling and placing his hands on Yuu's knees, “Yuu, I know you said this was natural. But this is concerning. As your future midwife, I implore you allow me to check there isn't actual damage to yourself.”

“I- Lilia, I'm fine. I just sneezed.” Sneezing on one’s period was never nice, sure. Yuu fully felt as though they just forced out half their bladder even though they knew that wasn't the case. “It happens sometimes. The clenching just makes blood come out.”

Malleus growls, his arms tightening around Yuu's body. Lilia was right. No matter how much Yuu claimed it was normal and routine, they shouldn't be bleeding like this, “My love, please. Let him check. Lilia has more medical training than possibly anyone on campus. Just allow him to check.”

“Malleus-”

“Please…” Malleus pleads, concern clear on his and the other's face.

“...” Yuu rolls their eyes but starts to shimmy their pajama pants down, “Fine. If it'll calm you down.”

Sebek and Silver instantly look away, though both shuffle closer in an act to box Yuu in so that no one else could see the human’s privates.

Lilia was quiet, eyes looking unblinkingly at what he could only describe a mess. He was careful, only touching Yuu's anatomy for brief moments to send pings of magic through the flesh to search for opened wounds. But other than the blood he couldn't find anything that would call for concern. Leaning back he sighed, bringing the back of his hand to rub at his eyes, “By the Seven, this is a mess…”

“Wow, Lilia. I'm so happy you're here to stare into my abyss and call it a fucking mess.” Yuu glared, hoping their voice carried just how annoyed they were, “Really, I'm so glad.”

“My apologies, Beastie. I just haven't seen a vagina in this bloody a state since Sebek was born…”

Sebek half turned around, expression vaguely disgusted and horrified, “What?”

Yuu snorts, shaking Sebek’s hand still holding theirs in a way of gaining his attention, “Wow, Sebek, way to wreck your mom’s pussy.”

Sebek retaliated, using their still joined hands to twist and force Yuu’s arm into a painful bend. Yuu had quickly tried to escape his hold, both by wiggling their trapped arm and also using their free hand to slap at Sebek’s face while making repeated yelps of pain. Sebek had managed to dodge only a few hits until a bolt of lightning hit just outside, the flash sending the room into a blinding state before the light faded. Malleus glared down at Sebek, silently demanding the half-fae release his fiance.

Once freed, Yuu instantly pointed toward Sebek while looking at Lilia with wide eyes. Their tone coming out vaguely whining and childish, “He twisted my arm!”

Sputtering, Sebek looked between Yuu and Lilia. Pointing back at her while he looked at Lila pleading that he hears him out, “She talked about my mother’s vagina!”

“...” Lilia sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose before speaking, “Sebek, don’t twist Yuu’s arm; she’s already in pain. Yuu, don’t talk about Sebek’s mother’s vagina; you know he doesn’t like that.”

“Did that hurt to say?” Silver looked at his father, half joking but delivered in such a painfully serious way that Lilia could only sigh harder.

Malleus’s expression only grew more concerned, arms wrapping tighter around Yuu and allowing his palms to heat a bit more. He only relaxed as Yuu themselves eased a bit more in his hold, “Yuu, please. Tell me what is causing this, If not for your own sake, but my own, I need to know. I have never been more distressed and on edge than these past few days. It isn't helpful either that you continue to be nonchalant, I dare say you've hurt my feelings with how you've been handling this…

“...” Yuu takes their time to pull their pajama pants back up, moving to sit up fully to look at Malleus directly, “Malleus, you're completely valid for feeling upset with me about all of this. In hindsight, I really should have just told you guys instead of disregarding Crewel’s attempts to keep this on the downlow for the sake of campus sanity. I fucked up, I will take that L. But I want you to know and consider that I have been in pain, tired, sad, and enraged both consistently and erratically for days. Do you really think the correct choice right now is to complain to me…about how my period…is making you feel?”

…

Malleus blinked, eyes darting to Lilia who only shook his head at Malleus's silent question. He looked down, then back to Yuu who was staring at him silently, almost waiting for him to answer incorrectly, “...I would still like to discuss this at a later date…when you are well again.”

“I'll make sure to set a meeting up with Azul, so that we both remember. Thank you for understanding…” Yuu's mood does a 180, now smiling and trying to stand from Malleus's arms, “Anyway, it's like noon now right? I know I have a bunch of stale tortillas and shredded cheese in the kitchen so we can make quesadillas-”

Malleus refused to remove his arms from around Yuu, basically pulling the human back into his lap, “I would like to speak about why you're dodging my question though.”

Yuu hummed, looking up to Malleus's face as they slowly twisted a strand of their hair, “...What are you talking about?”

“You are…well aware of what I've been asking you.”

“I'm really not.”

“Yuu-”

“You're sounding crazy right now.”

Malleus scoffs, rolling his eyes playfully, “Don't attempt to gaslight me. I keep asking you what caused this ailment or how I can ease this plague and you…don't answer me.” Malleus narrows his eyes, arms wrapping tighter against Yuu's body when they subtly tried to move away from him again, “Do you simply wish to…not tell me?”

“...” Yuu sighed, resting their head against Malleus’s shoulder. They smile, looking up into his eyes with a soft affection, “You know I love you right?”

“Your feminine wiles aren't getting you out of this. Answer my question.”

Silver speaks up, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, “Malleus, they may not have an answer as to what caused it…”

Sebek grunts from Yuu's side, eyes casting a worried look back to the other freshman's covered anatomy, “If they don't know what caused it then that's even more concerning. This could be a serious medical emergency and we're all twiddling our thumbs because the one who's ill says they're fine.”

“I am fine. I just…don't wanna say why this happens…”

Lilia perks up, raising an eyebrow as he rests his chin on Yuu's now pressed together knees, “So this illness is triggered?”

“Yes? No?” Yuu huffs, raising their hands in a form of defeat, “It just happens man. But like…for a reason.”

Malleus frowned, almost pouting as he gently moved Yuu's chin to make them look directly into his eyes, “Yuu. My dear. I'm deeply concerned. Please, just tell me what causes this so we may prevent it…”

“...” Yuu sighs, closing their eyes before opening them, “...This happens when I don't get pregnant.”

…

Silver fully turns to Yuu, eyes focusing on the other human as though he could physically see through what he begged was a lie, “Are…Are you serious?”

“Like the fucking heart attack that will take Sebek out one day.”

“Hey-”

“Oh!” Malleus smiles, his eyes shining to the point Yuu was certain they were glowing, “This is easily fixed then.”

Yuu continued to smile, shaking their head knowing what the dragonfae was going to suggest, “...Malleus…”

“I simply need to impregnate you. Then you won't be affected by this plague again.”

“...” Yuu sighed, “No…”

“...” Malleus's expression falls back into an angered pout, “Why not?”

“It doesn't work that way…”

“...” His expression deepens, “How does it not ‘work that way’ exactly?”

Lilia patted Yuu's leg, flicking his head toward the entryway of the lounge as a silent command to Sebek and Silver, “We're gonna go…”

Yuu turned away from Malleus, blinking at Lilia in astonishment as the fae and other Diasomnia pair stand up, “Now why the fuck would you do that?”

Silver was kind enough to scoop Grim into his arms, the dire beast still shivering from the sudden scent of blood, “We’ve come to an agreement that we’d leave the room when you two start fighting.”

“We aren’t even fighting…” Yuu muttered under their breath, making a point to not look toward Malleus’s upset face. They’re pretty sure they’d start giggling at how frustrated he’s being about this.

Sebek shakes his head, already walking out of the room, “You become incredibly uncivil to everyone when you and Waka-Sama have disagreements. Lilia-Sama is right in having us leave the area before you two really start…”

“We aren’t fighting?”

“We’re fighting a little…” Malleus mutters under his breath, glaring off to the side.

Yuu glares over their shoulder, “No, we aren’t.”

Lilia walked behind Silver, holding his hands up as they left the room, “We’re gonna go. We'll make you two those quesadillas!” He ignored Yuu’s wide eyed stare, closing the doors of the lounge behind him and leaving Yuu and Malleus alone in the room.

The silence was loud, the two of them sitting comfortably in the nest. After a few more moments of quiet, Yuu sighs loudly, tucking their head to Malleus's chest and nuzzling into him gently.

Malleus sighs himself, leaning down to press a kiss to the crown of Yuu's head, “My love…please. You're hurting and I don't understand why you won't let me help in the best way I can…”

“Because it wouldn't actually help, Malleus.” They felt bad. It hadn't really hit them just how out of the realm of reality their period was to everyone. Sure the event itself could be scary in their old world, the amount of first period horror stories only grew as the years went on. But to have no frame of reference… the concept of a period sounded downright terrifying.

“How?” Malleus huffed, an air of frustration growing. Were they joking around? Deliberately speaking in circles to annoy him as a tease? “You said this happens if you don't get pregnant. If you get pregnant, then you will not have to deal with this ailment.”

At Yuu's own frustrated sigh, Malleus's eyes widen, “Is…is it too late?” A feeling of guilt starts to grow in him. Were they meant to be impregnated at a specific time? Had a window of opportunity been missed? Was this the rest of Yuu's life now; bleeding out of their intimates and crying so hard they were forced to purge?

Yuu couldn't help but chuckle at Malleus's face, reaching up to bring the worried fae closer for a gentle kiss. They speak as they pull away, “Calm down. This isn't going to last forever and I'll be back to normal by the end of the week at worst.”

Malleus curls around them, his hand still a gentle heat on their lower stomach, “But why wouldn't we simply skip this and just…start our agreement now? If the trigger for this ailment is that you weren't impregnated, why can't we have our child now so that you won't have to suffer this way.”

“I'll be honest with you, Malleus. It's literally because I don't wanna be a teen mom; that's the main reason. But also…there's no guarantee my period would stop during a pregnancy. Plus it'll still come back like a few months after having the baby…”

“...” Malleus pulls away from Yuu, staring at them in a silent state of confusion but his eyes were screaming, “Why…would you get the period…if you're pregnant? Isn't that…you stated you get your period if you don't get pregnant?”

“That is correct, yes.”

“...But…you could also…get your period…if you are pregnant?”

“Ye…”

“...”

Another long stretch of silence passed in the room and Yuu felt as though they could physically see the gears turning in Malleus's head. Double checking the math one would say.

“...Then what's the point of it?”

Yuu snickers under their breath, “Well, I don't think I'm knowledgeable enough to really give you the TED talk about the Tree of Knowledge and the original sin…”

“...” Malleus placed a hand on their forehead, “Are you…have you gained a fever? Is delirium a symptom of your period?”

“I'm not crazy, shut up.” Yuu pushes Malleus's hand off of their face with a grin. Cozying back into his embrace, one of their hands resting on his pressed to their lower stomach, “Periods are weird and horrible and I do not have the answers you're seeking sadly.”

Malleus could only sigh, feeling a pit growing in his mind and heart as he felt his uselessness to his love in this situation, “Is there anything you'll allow me to do? I only wish to help you during this…”

Yuu hums, reaching up to gently cupping Malleus's cheek, “This is plenty. Just…hold me and tell me you love me…”

“I love you, dear.” Malleus smiles, soft and kind as he nuzzled into Yuu's palm, “Though I'm loathed and disconcerted, I'm delighted to know I can at least help in this way…”

“I am too. You surprisingly make a great heating pad.”

Malleus moves to remove his hand, “Oh, is my hand too warm-”

Yuu quickly grips at Malleus's hand, face still calm and content but their fingernails bite into the fae's skin, “If you take this hand off of my body I will rip your spine out of you through your asshole.”

“Ah…”

They sat in comfortable silence, Malleus only mildly terrified at the visual of his spine being removed from his body by force. Their serene atmosphere half ended by Lilia happily bursting into the room with a plate of slightly charred quesadillas.

“Lunch time~!” Lilia walked to the nest, kneeling down and holding out the least burnt tortilla to Yuu's face, “Pspspspspspsps.”

Yuu's eyes snap open, a wild smile on their face as Malleus chuckled and kept them locked in his arms, “Lilia Vanrouge, I will break the fucking bones in your ears. Did Cater tell you to do this!?”

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #twst wonderland #yuu oc #malleus x yuu #malleus x reader #mallyuu #twst malleus #malleus draconia #twst lilia #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #silver vanrouge #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt #sebek x silver

237 notes · View notes

siriusleee · 7 months

Note

Oh, please i need a premise where Simon finds a pregnancy test in the house he shares with his wife believing it is hers, upset and anxious he asks her for explanations, without giving her the time to give an answer. The test was his girl's sister's :') ❤️

i am actually struggling right now with my writing this has taken days to write omg

but secretly wants a baby but won't say it simon is very much one of my favorite things to write about.

____

Simon had been odd all day - he’d all but sprinted out of the bathroom after his shower this morning, hair dripping wet onto the back of his shirt, some muttered excuse about needing to get the car tires rotated.

Around noon you’d sent him a quick text. A simple ‘you alright love?’ was met with a read receipt and three dots appearing across your screen for three minutes before disappearing. A call sent straight to voicemail without comment. Radio silence across town.

It was odd, even for Simon. In the months before you’d moved in with him there had been weeks of silence, days where Simon pulled into himself so deeply that you couldn’t pull him back from whatever abyss he was hovering over until something inside of him stitched itself back together, and he found himself back outside your front door.

The day stretches on slowly; you try to occupy yourself with the laundry, scrubbing stains from Simon’s fatigues, ironing his shirts until all the wrinkles disappear. And when that’s not enough, you turn your music up loud enough that you know the neighbors will complain the next time you see them.

Fold. Crease. Repeat.

The sun is setting by the time Simon emerges through the front door, shirt filthy and boots caked in mud; the scent of his sweat and musk filling the room. You can tell by the stutter of his boots that he expects you to greet him like always, but you keep your focus on the laundry. When he realizes that you’re not going to pay him any attention, Simon stalks past you, the bedroom door slamming shut behind him.

Simon always showers quickly - emerging from the bedroom fully dressed ten minutes later, hair dripping water droplets onto the ground.

Gathering the laundry in your arms, you brush past him to the bedroom. Simon follows you - a dog lost. You feel his eyes boring through your back as you meticulously organize the folded clothes into the dresser.

“When were you goin’ to tell me?”

Simon’s voice is a puncture in the silence - all the air rushing in as his words.

“What are you talking about?”

“Don’t play dumb.”

Simon’s words infuriate you, but you know that if you react angrily the entire conversation will be shot down, Simon leaving to sit in the backyard until he can resume the conversation again. So you dig your nails into the wood of the dresser and try to keep your voice level as you speak.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Simon.”

Simon breathes heavily across the room - you push off from the dresser to look at him fully for the first time today. The bags under his eyes are heavy, but his gaze is still cutting as you lower yourself down to the edge of the bed.

Simon chews on his lip, cracked and bleeding from his abuse all day long. The silence stretches thin across the two of you until -

“I found it.”

“Found what?”

Simon can’t get the words out fast enough, and when he does they tumble out, rushed and tired.

“The pregnancy test. When were you going to tell me? Were you going to tell me at all?”

You half rise from the bed.

“Simon-”

He presses himself back against the wall, hands tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants.

“I don’t understand why you would hide this from me. What am I supposed to think? I-”

You cut him off, a smile playing across your lips as you realize the mistake.

“Simon my sister was here yesterday.”

Simon breathes in small gasps, face paler than you’ve ever seen before. He stares at you as if you’re speaking French, unable to make the connection past the panic he’s no doubt been keeping in all day.

“My sister came over yesterday because she was too scared to take the test alone.”

Simon’s mouth forms around words he can’t speak. You can see the color building on his neck as he thinks through your words, thinks of the way your sister ducked out of the house without saying goodbye, of the way you’d brushed Simon off when he asked why she came over.

You sink back onto the bed, letting him process the information without you pushing him; when you see his shoulders sink, see the way the clench in his jaw relaxes, you speak.

“You could have just asked me about it this morning.”

Sheepishness crawls across Simon’s face, but his eyes never leave yours.

“I thought I was going to panic when I saw it this morning - I don’t even have a car a baby can fit in.”

“I think there’s more pressing needs than a car for the baby, Simon.”

You know he doesn’t want you to see it, the way his eyes cut when you say ‘the baby’, the way his shoulders slant more into disappointment than they should at the moment. So you let the conversation hang for another day, picking at a spot on the duvet cover.

“Besides, I’m pretty sure my sister is going to need someone to help her put the crib together - you know that guy she’s with is useless. I guess you better dig your tools out of storage.”

You pretend not to notice the way Simon puffs up at that - at being needed; you know he pretends not to hear the jealousy seeping through the cracks of your voice.

#my fics #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon riley #cod ghost x reader #ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #cod ghost #cog ghost headcanon #simon ghost riley headcanons #ghost riley headcanon #Simon ghost riley fluff

386 notes · View notes

ms0milk · 3 months

Text

𝟏𝟔 | 𝐇𝐞𝐦 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬

ー✧ prince!bakugou x royal guard!reader

"This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken."

cw blatantly suggestive, an accidental kiss and the panic that follows. bkg doesn't know why he's been looking for you. you couldn't be angry about it if you tried. laughter, bite marks, magic, a warm hiding spot. 8.1k

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

A slap across the face and the spatter of blood that follows in an arc across fine rugs. Bakugou bleeds when he tries not to think of you. You are too easy to be with and too difficult to find.

Your prince and fragments of rehearsal fineries that you would beam at if you appeared in this frigid foyer– which he knows only because you’ve done nothing but smile at him for seven cursed days– storms towards warmer hallways. There’s nothing for it but to track you down. He wakes up and you are not outside his door. He eats and meets and eats again and you do not materialize behind him or emerge from shadowed corners to brandish a weapon when unpleasant lords are unpleasant. Are you still following orders or are you finally sick of him?

Bakugou pretends he is not walking quickly. A maid has pointed him in your direction. The waitstaff here has no particular affinity for either of you, so they’ve tried their hardest to answer his questions this week and be rid of Alderans for the day. After all, once he finds you he doesn’t bother anyone else until dawn.

Find is a strong word, the maid thinks as she chews a dry lip. You don’t seem to be hiding from him.

It's the busiest morning, second only to tomorrow’s actual ball, and Bakugou has spent the whole of it in dress fittings and board meetings and appetizer tastings. He was meant to rehearse the first waltz with Fuyumi but for four days in a row she’s had her hands full with final adjustments to royal rosters and seating arrangements. The king is home afterall. And he does not dote on his daughter.

Bakugou turns up a second staircase once he arrives in the center castle and barks at a guard, stationed and startled, in the doorway where he emerges. Shinsou clutches his chest and stares at the imposing prince, heavy but silent.

“Boo. You seen my captain?” Bakugou only half-waits for a response from the apprentice before following his intuition to the left. You like to hide in odd places.

“Yeah,” Shinsou breathes and finds his position again, “carrying her lunch to the catwalks.”

Bakugou grins and hopes you can feel him wherever you are, rolling his eyes.

She was in common clothes– I think, headed towards the throne room.

Haven’t seen her, sir.

Your Alderan? It’s freezing, she should request a jacket from the supply corps.

Five days ago he found you rehousing spiders in the rafters of the greenhouse much to the chagrin of delicate flowers. Two days ago he finally spotted you among a dozen soldiers all helping the blacksmith resilver the inlay of the soldier quarter’s door. Yes, he’d told you to leave his babysitting to Kirishima but he didn’t expect you to listen.

Yesterday, Bakugou caught you wandering through the ninth-story walkways, the walkways sculpted onto the side of the castle like wasp nests where the archers hide. Your fingers gripped the hem of your padded tunic, red with cold, and your back pressed flat to the white castle marble even as you craned to gaze the city and sea over the edge of the balustrade.

Your prince almost screamed when he glanced out one of ten thousand pale windows in his search when instead of the depressing gray sky, it was your braids whipping in the wind outside, several stories higher in the air than he would have liked you.

“Eyes!” He jerked the window open and stuck out his head.

“The marble is too smooth Highness, please stay inside.”

White pointelle curtains rattled on their rods with the ferocity of the afternoon wind. “Come now,” he’d barked. He swallowed a roar to keep from startling you off the wall. You turned from the view towards his outstretched hand and half a golden body out the little window, and smiled.

You smiled from the cobwebs when he asked you what the fuck you were doing in blue begonias. You smiled at him among the crowd when he mimed flexing from the gallery to mock the blacksmith. You smiled when he caught you practicing sword forms for bored children and again when he and Kirishima joined in. You smiled without thought and he warmed at the sight of it. He laughed.

He laughed when the florist shrieked over a clutch of spider eggs and he laughed when you hammered Aizawa’s door crooked in your distraction. He laughed when Kaminari tried to teach you to juggle apples in potion storage, and very softly he laughed when he found you asleep beside proofing ovens.

The castle’s vanity seeps into every orifice, it bleeds from the seamless walls and into seed-sized crannies. Family portraits, royal crests, kingdom’s colors, wards against death written in old Takoban like they think this is the only kingdom on the continent where people might live forever. Superstition and agitation nick the Alderan like thorns through cold blue hallways. He itches for forests. On the third floor of the East Wing there is a great open gallery. It presides over the grand staircase of the castle’s entrance so that an invading army couldn’t so much as piss over the threshold before the legion of soldiers that fit upstairs fired off their arrows.

It was only a matter of time before you found yourself a roost here, warmaster.

He knows where you are. He can hear the king shouting from an open door downstairs and crosses the entrance gallery, bathed in warm sunlight from its volley of windows. It takes him exactly as long to walk it as it takes stained glass heat to pink his shoulders and with a perfect golden hue he dips under a doorway to find you perched at the lip of a ledge. You’re always about to fucking fall off something.

You sit cross-legged behind a black railing, picking at the cup of fruit beside you. Your hair is getting longer, wilder, and your braids tumble with white ribbons as you follow the scene below. Two stories below the ballroom is awash in afternoon light and hundreds of potential floral arrangements with the king dead in the middle, roaring at artisans. Prince Natsuo is slightly behind him and his neck is an agitated red. You pop a berry in your mouth.

You were always going to love the catwalks– the thin system above important rooms that servants use to gauge crowds and light the tall candles. All of tomorrow it’ll be crawling with footmen and today it looks like it’s already been dusted in preparation, although it’s not meant to be seen. You sit comfortably in its shadows and watch.

Tension melts from his veins when he finds you and nothing replaces it, so Bakugou isn’t quite sure what he’s thinking when he slips inside to be closer. Jeanist taught him too, he can be quiet. You wipe juice from your lip with your thumbs and polish it with a lick. Your fingertips are purple. You run them through your hair to push the braids behind your shoulders and focus again on the agitated king and his crying arachnophobic florists.

“You stare like the best of ‘em,” Bakugou whispers as he drops behind you and cups a hand over your mouth in case you make a startled sound, although, you react before he actually finishes the thought or announces himself, and jerk forward to catch his gentle hand with your teeth.

King, prince, artisan, maids, seagulls, and dustbunnies pause their meeting to agree that a grunt did in fact come from the chandeliers and that they aren’t insane, before continuing their jury over the fate of the party decorations. A whiff of caramel is the only thing that keeps you from breaking the hand with your bite and just as quickly as you attempt to reveal the intruder through pain, you swing your arm around to cover the prince’s mouth before he gives away your position with a yelp or fireblast. The momentum flattens you both.

Maybe one day Bakugou will remember that you are filled with the same fire that he is, before trying to bother you. When did the urge to bother you even occur to him? Both of you, square on your backs to hide properly in shadows, are close enough for your hand to still be firmly planted over his face like a muzzle. He smiles first this time. You smell like blackberries.

Your prince wires his jaw shut when he laughs in the shadows to keep from kissing your palm. In the seconds that the king and his entourage fall silent, Bakugou can only just barely contain huffs from his nostrils and the wet at the corners of his eyes. You stare like always and he must have melted fast enough because horror and apologies haven’t tumbled out of you yet. His dragon’s nails have gotten longer. Loose and wild hairs frame the face he only ever knew as perfectly kempt and unreadable. He cannot stop finding new things to notice here on the itchy rug beside you and he’s grateful you have only covered his mouth because his firebrand eyes gleam when you succumb to your own smile. Immediately you hide it behind your own free hand to stay quiet and the pair of you swallow stupid mirth in the dark.

Where did his anger go? “Ow,” the prince rasps when he’s collected himself and pulls your hand into his.

“Excuse me, Highness,” you whisper back. Your smile still rattles him like a blow to the side of the head. What the fuck is it about you that makes his pulse drum? Bakugou rolls onto his back. If you were sick of him you probably wouldn’t lay so close.

He tilts his gaze back to you, “What are you doing up here?”

Watching, you mouth like you’re signaling him to shut up. You pull your hand away from his and look over your shoulder towards the ledge where roars and curses roll up from the king like crashing waves.

“Why?”

It’s as close as Bakugou has ever seen you come to rolling your eyes. You blink at him and press forward. Something horribly soft started to grow the night you helped him carry drunk friends to bed. Something like rot. It eats away at the strongest parts of him, the parts of him that are poised and beautiful and ready for war. It’s eating you too. The strongest parts of you that are silent and obedient and deadly.

You drag your body across the floor to be closer to him– so much closer– so close that your thigh practically drapes over his and you cup your hand to his ear so you can whisper an answer that he can’t even focus long enough to hear. Maybe the rot started earlier. Maybe he should never have picked a fight with you.

A sudden scream flies up from the ballroom and Bakugou reacts before you do, less to offer protection and more because he knows you’ll launch right off the walkway if he doesn’t hold you down, but still his hold is protective when the scream is followed by a pillar of white orange fire that flies high and soots crystals in the chandelier. It’s brief and scalding like a geyser and you are not strong enough to protest your prince tucking all of you under his chest in the interim. You smell like home, like forests like moss. The scent of the sea is finally falling out of your hair.

“In what world is this my responsibility?” the king seethes. His drop in volume is menacing and it echoes violently in the empty room, “pick your own fucking flowers, I have work to do.”

The ballroom doors are not meant to be closed or opened with such force and they scream louder than he can when he burns his way through, leaving the prince and his artisans in the cold and terrible hall. A ball in Takoba is an oxymoron. A malicious idea. Bakugou leans back on his arm to release you and sits up to watch Natsuo console his workers. The eldest Takoban prince wears patience well. Whose idea was this party? The same person who sent for Enji? Belligerent. Bakugou hasn’t seen the queen in weeks.

He grumbles before he turns to look at you, “Missed what you said.” But when he does finally look, you are so much Alderan that the cold of Takoba falls off his shoulders like frost. Maybe that’s why he’s been searching for you. The fire that only a life in his castle could stoke, ravages the blacks of your eyes. Even though you are silent, he knows what you’re thinking.

“Down girl,” he grins and kicks his legs out from under him to settle more comfortably. Flowers below are picked in whispered consensus and the room empties under your glare. The sun has started to set. The far wall of the ballroom is, in classic Takoban fashion, one long series of windows taller than most houses and the sea shines behind it in a trick of rolling warm shapes like smoke from a fireplace. You both linger at the edge of the shadows up on high. Bakugou watches you shamelessly.

“I will not attack the king.”

“Who’re you trying to convince?”

You think for a few seconds and turn to him with an awkwardly soft look that crackles into a smile too easily for you to be the same girl who grew up learning how to kill in his castle. Everything you do but fight is bizarre. Like blue fire, he cannot make himself look away from you.

“What’ll you do at the ball?”

“What do you mean?” The ballroom is empty so there’s no need to whisper but neither of you know how to talk to the other.

Bakugou cocks his head and doesn’t need to hope you know when he rolls his eyes anymore because he can finally do it in front of you. He crosses his arms, “Do you dance? I can’t think of anything else to keep you distracted enough to avoid assassination.”

But you are already distracted by something and he can see the moment you stop listening to him talk. All the better, he thinks. He might have just asked you to dance with him.

“Your hand Highness, I– mers–” and you reach forward to take up his bitten fist like touching him is suddenly the easiest thing in the world. Your fingertips are ice-cold. The rot spreads. “You startled me, I’m so sorry.”

Now Bakugou isn’t listening. You rub at the divots your teeth left in the side of his palm and press them like imperfections in pie dough. Your hands are so much more slender than his. So much rougher. Do you feel it too? The death of fury? How the ocean slowly laps at the bonfire until wood can no longer fight back? Do you remember the library like he does? He wants more than anything to sit in a nook and read for a thousand years in recovery from this trip. Is it a safe place for you, or has he ruined it? Do you miss home like he does? Or has he ruined that too?

“No. I’m sorry,” he admits before thinking. He startled you after all, but immediately he is silent with realization; breath holds in his lungs. Fuck, that’s not– you asked him so clearly not to do that. Is he incapable of leaving you with anything? You watch his fingers twitch for a moment like you can feel his heartbeat there and then look up at him and stare. He’s not sorry for sneaking up on you at all. That’s not what he meant.

Eyes was an apt nickname, if not a little mean. Bakugou has never envied telepaths before. How ignorant he was, to think of you as the bloody little girl in a velvet carriage. You hold his hand now with just as much strength as you did all those years ago; obviously it was strength and not desperation. You did not hang laundry to thank him. You did not catch fruit to thank him. You didn’t learn to fight the rain or windows or soldiers or the sea for your prince. It was only him, making magic for you.

“Never thought I’d hear a sheep apologize to the sheepdog.”

He startles a little, just a slight widening of his eyes, because you hold his hand up to see the ring of teeth clearly and cover your chuckle with the tips of your fingers.

“Callin me a sheep?”

“You are biteable like one.”

Do you know what you’re doing? Bakugou wonders as his own smile escapes the confines of horror. He snatches his hand back and leans against the black iron railing to face you. Quick wit, quicker draw, why do you hide such pleasant things under such a ferocious– the Alderan blinks and his face falls for half a second again in realization.

You blink back because you cannot read his mind, “Are you okay, sir?”

The same fire. If he stopped and thought for a single fucking second you wouldn’t have been the enigma protecting his home. You would have been a girl that he wanted very much, to talk to in his ceaseless boredom. He melts into a smile again and this time his teeth glint, “Don’t call me that.”

Winter really has arrived; the sun sets faster with each second and soon the ballroom below is a great orange pool. He was meant to rehearse the opening waltz today and the thought of you watching him, concealed, makes his ears hot. Florals drift up and up from their vases where they’re warmed in afternoon light.

You cross your legs and turn too, so that the prince isn’t just staring at a profile. “Are you looking forward to it?”

“To what?”

“The ball, Highness. Are they fun?”

“You’ve attended balls,” he grunts and scans his memory for the last party thrown in Aldera, although you don’t appear in the pictures his brain conjures up. “They’re fine. Loud.”

You nod. There are ten-thousand things he could think to ask you and a hundred more questions he knows that the answers will spur but sitting beside you in the dark without a threat to either of your lives is new and overwhelming. Your wild hair makes wild shapes.

“Fuyumi wants to dress you up.”

You don’t find that as funny as he does and you’re gawking when you turn from the view of the ballroom to look at him. He thinks you aren’t afraid of him– he hopes– but he knows you still won’t say what you long to for fear of sounding unprofessional. He’ll have to work on that.

“She gave up on Ochako years ago.”

“Is it a gown?”

“Takoban,” he rests his head on the metal too, enjoying all the scandalized expressions your pretty lips make, “frilly lace, the works.”

You consider this for a moment and make the shape of his name before swallowing it. One more time, “I see.” And you turn back away to think some more, about how to phrase something unprofessional. He’s teasing, he hasn’t seen the damn thing but for a moment your prince can see you so clearly, sewn tight into a dress made of sealace. You try to speak again, fail, and lean closer. Your breath is sweet from fruit and your bowl is empty behind you.

“I can’t wear blue for another second, Highness, I’ll hurl the tailor into the sea.”

Bakugou spits over the railing in amusement and huffs, a subdued panic, when he crosses his arms again.

“Highness please,” you chuckle, “I’ll get violent,” and you smile under the frown, which just serves to make you look even more like a dragon– like you’ll make good on your word– and less like an obedient footsoldier. How do you do it? What are you doing to him? Bakugou can only stare with a rough affection because if he tried to speak right now something might come out.

You run a hand back through your braids to settle them where you like them to lay. It’s draconic, regal, every way you sit perch and glare from the clearest part of any room. His mother calls it King’s Corner, or the Seat of the Queen, that perfect spot where you can see everything important without showing your back to a soul. That’s always where he finds you. That’s your secret. He pinches an ear between his knuckles to try and cool it down.

“Takoba’s lucky you aren’t a mage,” he manages. He has to look away to say it but he does manage, “should thank you for it.”

“I did try,” you don’t need to manage back. Proximity to him isn’t eating you alive. “And I don’t work for thank yous, thank you very much.”

When Bakugou was ten years old he celebrated his birthday in a parlor with boughs of cherry blossoms and sweets for which he never really had an appetite. He was doted on and he worked hard to deserve it so that anything he wanted to do that day, and any birthday thereafter, was his. You were not celebrated with cake. He wouldn’t know until years later that his mother brought you gifts and good food on your birthday because he could find you every day of the year at work somewhere in his castle. You did not fall ill, you did not fail, and on his birthday you, nine years old, practiced forms in the paths between spring orchards just downwind from the parlor. Jeanist was seated inside with him among the family’s guests. No appetite for cake. Bakugou only celebrated ten birthdays and you have never stopped breaking his heart.

“Tried what?”

You ruffle your own hair so you don’t have to look at him either because at least one thing embarrasses you. “Magic.”

“Magic.”

“It’s not funny,” you chirp at his flat tone and round on him with your legs crossed. He leans back when your voice comes out a bit louder than expected and his bitten fist aches when it clenches. “I would copy you.”

The rot makes him weak and useless and susceptible to your stare, but the rot makes you fearless.

“I used to watch you studying– when we were really little– when we were both supposed to be eating with everyone in the Hall. You used to,” you look briefly to your side like someone important might be watching you acting so casually and it dims that fire he needs in your eyes.

“Used to what?” he smiles. He knows you watched him, you must know that too. Finish, please finish your story, he wants to hear your voice tell you more about home.

“Used to watch you flail your chubby arms until sparks came out.”

When Bakugou laughs this time he tries not to hold anything back, if only just to douse you in oil and keep the fire alight. Fucking please, just talk.

“I used to try every night too!–” you laugh, slightly louder, “– wind up my arms tight and spin around my room after curfew– disturb the horses– pretend to be a dragon.”

“Your runty prince looked like a dragon?”

You grin, “My runty prince taught himself magic, didn’t he? What’s wrong with wanting to breathe a little fire?”

“I don’t breathe fire, dumbass.”

“You still make miracles. Ever seen a dragon?”

“Of course I have.”

“Have you ever sheltered from a spray of ethereal flames?”

He frowns and smirks, confused, as if to ask, why have you? And the flint tinder in the bright part of your eyes sparks white hot.

“Melting, crushing, it’s completely inescapable without a barrier mage,” you pull your knee up with a bit of theatrics and lean because with everything inside of you except for actual realization, you want him to listen too. “Pink and red, blue, green golden and white hot. Highness, has no one ever told you how beautiful your magic is? You make magic like a dragon, who wouldn’t want a blessing like that?”

No one would want this cursed fucking magic that prickles his palms with sweat in the dark for no other reason than because you are looking at him, when all he wanted was– he just wanted to see you– watch you, he didn’t need you to watch him back and now the fire of Aldera he keeps trying to warm beside will blast him all the way to the wick. This is the flattery he hears so much about from his blushing mother.

“‘s not special. My magic maims people.”

“So do I.”

He frowns deeper, “Not the same.”

“I worked hard to maim people, it’s not the same because what I do isn’t beautiful.”

“That’s not–” he doesn’t think that. Don’t think that he thinks that, “–work isn’t beautiful. War isn’t beautiful.”

“You’ve never seen war. Highness you make–”

“Fuck off,” he tosses at you like it’s ever worked before.

“I won’t.”

“Eyes–”

“– it’s beautiful.”

“I make bombs.”

“You make starfall.”

Bakugou stares. Rough affection, yeah right, he’s melting.

You fall back on your hips when you realize you’ve broken clear through the confines of professionalism and the embarrassment sets in quickly. Eyes dart sideways, chest and knees turn. Your embarrassment is a subtle grip on fraying rugs. What do you do to your heart to make it pull so strong in every direction? Is it a spell? One that makes him quiet and happy to wait for his silent guard to speak again. This must be how the queen feels. You turn fully back to the rising orange light of the ballroom below and your lips part before any words are actually ready to come out.

The first time you try to speak, he doesn’t hear you. Bakugou traces the path between your shiny scars with his gaze. One below your ear to the one at your eyebrow and down again, past an old cut in your cheek. You couldn’t douse the forest fire behind those lashes if you tried. Not under orders or oath. Not from embarrassment.

“What does it feel like?” You whisper, looking a great distance down past abandoned flowers.

Both of you have fallen closer to each other in the waves of your nothing conversation, so much so that your shoulders would press together if the rot just ate away a little bit more. Bakugou’s heart sinks into the ballroom. It plummets like a drowned man.

“Gimme your hand.”

This is a fucking mistake, but all your prince can see is the last time pure joy ever sailed across your face in an evening spent around your wonderful campfire. He caused and extinguished it with one spark thrown into your cupped palms, the last time you ever tried to make magic. “I won’t hurt you,” he rumbles even though it kills him to look at you now.

Your side of the catwalk begins to glow at the lips because the sun has set far enough to climb walls towards the ceiling. You glow with it. Pink in a thousand places, ears and throat, lips, because you’re thinking too hard about what it is to be a proper guard and how much it is probably not raising your voice to delight in magic that does not belong to you. The corners of your mouth tremble. Who was it that told you you talk too much?

“Is that an order?”

“No.” Of course not.

You study the details of the itchy rug for too long, in the new light at its edge. Bakugou used to hate hiding up here in the cold but it was the only place the idiot children his mother sent him here to entertain couldn’t find him. He couldn’t be happier now, now that no one but you can see just how hard he flounders without fury.

Your hips swivel back towards him in precise decision then you fold your knees neatly underneath them to get closer. A few white ribbons in your hair seem to catch fire as the sunlight climbs higher and the sun dips lower out an infinite distance. Every mile it is far, is a mile Bakugou can feel in measures of chill. If Aldera is at the center of the world, Takoba is the outer edge and you remind him just how blessed he is when his hand melts at your Alderan touch. You reach and pull both his fists into the space between your bodies from where they lingered in the air.

“Yes sir.”

“Don’t,” he breathes, watching all the shapes your fingers can make together. He’s a prince, this is ridiculous. He sits up tall and stretches his arms out so you don’t need to reach so far, and makes a safe place for your strong fingers, those calluses and scars, to rest atop his open palms.

“Don’t call me sir.”

You are looking at him and considering something about his face, or his words, who knows– one of your eyebrows twitches in decision. It’s remarkable how steady your heads are. You are sure of everything you do even when it’s destructive and disruptive and punishable by death.

Laid out plainly like this and stiller than either of you have ever been together, your fingers and wrists, your palms, even your fingernails are so much more delicate than his. Like if he closed his golden fists, you’d disappear. Compared to the princess you have the hands of a farmer, but not a single thought– past how each other part of your body might look beside his– is allowed to rattle through his head when you watch him, straight ahead, and smile.

“Okay.”

He clears his throat. He’s a mage and magic is easy. He’s not going to set off the sweat on the back of his neck. “Don’t be nervous,” Bakugou grumbles to the dark.

You grin and ghost a thumb over the warmth and damp of his open palm, “Who are you trying to convince?”

“It’s this stupid fucking magic,” he bites. A bead of sweat drips through his knuckles onto the floor and if he’s not careful he might take out half the castle. Prince and apprentice assassinate world’s most fucked up royal family– he can already see the dossier sitting pretty on his mother’s desk.

You’re suddenly in a wonderful mood and you sit up slightly at the beginnings of warmth under your fingertips. He can hear your knees squeak and count your heartbeats in the veins of your wrist that his own fingertips reach. Those eyes again– always your eyes. They’re colored like any normal pair anyone might ever see but he’s one of few people who watch the dragons. You must have watched them too, too long, for your gaze to become so similar.

It feels like any other second of Bakugou’s life. Setting fire to own hands and measuring the strength of his magic in reds and whites. It’s an ordinary moment for many whole seconds until your prince follows the beginnings of light up from his palms, to your starving and unabashed awe. The sparks bubble up as hungry fish would in a pond, and then jump, spit, between your fingers like cooking oil. Your touch is so gentle at first. You train and measure your own skill every day so that Jeanist’s recruits don’t lose varied limbs, but as your excitement wells up you spill a bit from your seams. You rise slightly higher and give him more weight to hold and your prince dissolves into a smile.

Four hands rest inside one another and fire from the dragons illuminates your hiding place.

“Highness,” you whisper and startle a thousand times at every new color Bakugou ignites between your fingers. You’re fully up on your knees now having risen higher and higher to watch his magic as best you can and Bakugou sits on the floor beneath you, rotting.

“Highness what,” he whispers back.

You abandon the thought and jump when a green sparkler squeals through the air between you, and when your prince thinks to pull away your fingers are already wrapped tight around every part of him you can manage. He could have done this for you a thousand times; your joy was always this simple, raw, and unjealous. Purple and gold soar across the highs of your cheeks and hug your jaw. It’s all he can bear, to love this smile and to know that his sweat is plastered across your hands and soaked through the cuff of your sleeves, and so he freezes with the realization and embarrassment and with your last words.

“Highness, thank you.”

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to speak yet. The smile he loves. The magic dies with his concentration and as the sun finally crests your walkway for its fleeting moments of warmth, Bakugou tries to muster something like confidence because you’re looking at him with a softness he didn’t realize you had. Is it overwhelming because he knows you could kill him? Maybe it’s because he’s never wanted to kiss anyone before.

Bakugou’s pomegranate eyes dart up to you, saying goodbye to the last of the light and something like sugar scalds his throat. That new thought is fleeting because your golden prince drains the life from it like a butchered animal– gods, can’t he leave you with anything?

“Told you I don’t bite,” he grins and swallows the last selfish thought to death, “that’s your job right?”

You beam before bursting into deep and hungry laughter in the sun-soaked air above him. Whatever. Bakugou supports you as you cling to his arms and struggle to stay upright in your laughter. You’re overflowing. He smiles and huffs, he can’t help that. He can’t help goosebumps either but you don’t need to know about those and he’ll never utter a word. He still needs to meet the dressmaker for alterations and finalize the appetizers, and make sure the kitchens send dinner to your door.

“Highness,” you breathe like a bird and try to collect yourself enough to stop laughing. You plop back onto your hips, “Highness–”

“Highness Highness,” he taunts. The sound of it will make his ears bleed. Bakugou palms for a handkerchief with one hand and lets you hold his other. You cling to the bite you left there. Your legs overlap. “This is ridiculous,” he chuckles when your joy almost folds you in half, “A real joke might kill you.”

“Let it,” you breathe, canines twinkling, and dip slightly closer, laughing, to press your lips to his.

It’s so easy, you don’t mean to. You are lightheaded in the warmth of the sunset, magic trembles across your sensitive skin and you only want to be closer. Just close enough to bury yourself in that place that is so safe and that fills you with such a horrible comfortable joy–

As Bakugou reaches inside his tunic for something you lean too close. Your chest falls over his lap before either of you remembers that it shouldn’t be like this, that there are a thousand other places your prince belongs and ten thousand rules you have engraved on the meat of your skull to keep comfort at bay. It’s so warm with your eyes closed and his smile tastes like cinnamon. He doesn’t pull away.

You only realize what’s happened after that smile falls dead against your lips. Venom and rage betray a soft exterior. He’s soft against your touch. He’s soft like he’s never fought a day in his life. Your hands hold his beautiful golden head right where you need it and in the quiet, your eyes open to blinding and beautiful sunlight.

A touch is all you wanted, gods know why– they’ll never tell you– and you draw your chin back an inch to breathe. Bakugou is staring violently and his eyes are more like targets now than cherry pits. Eyebrows wider, higher, than the sky, he stares like his heart has stopped. What happened? He doesn’t look like anyone but himself anymore. You freeze.

Prince Bakugou is staring at you until he’s not, on the itchy rug in the sunset of the great black catwalks, until his eyes close and he kisses you back. Soft, closed lips brush so hot they’ll leave a mark, they’ll brand you and everyone will know what you did. The doom spreads quickly. You have never been so graceless in your life as you are now, falling backwards out of his warmth and stumbling onto your feet. He’s still on the ground and you only know he is holding you because sweat drips from the fingers of yours that he clutches.

“Wait,” he gasps. This is so much worse than fury, and you rip your hand away from his to take a step back. You didn’t mean to. Bakugou stares like a dragonslayer, heartbroken.

You run. Before you can breathe or be reasoned with, before you hear him call your name, you turn and dash through the back doorway alone. If this were Aldera, where would you hide? The frozen air of the seashell castle whispers straight through your flesh as you, sprinting, stumble your way past the castle’s vanity. There is a nook in the wall of the principal staircase where only Jeanist can find you. There is a seat on a high window in the Great Hall that you can reach with a library ladder. There are two tiny battlements in the east corner of your queen’s castle without a real way to get inside and on any day but a lightning storm, you can wedge a hunting knife in loose mortar and climb the masonry over its edge to lay and nap and stargaze at the tallest point of the most beautiful kingdom. An ant couldn’t hide in Takoba. There’s not one dark seam for the bugs.

A guard barely moves in time to avoid being crushed under your boots because fuck this horrible waterlogged place. The ocean drips out of your ears like tears from a seashell, drop by drop because you picked a fight with the goddess and thought yourself lucky to live before you realized she had made a home for herself inside your heart. Now you laugh with your prince and you touch him happily and you spar with him and hold nothing back and you tell him how much his magic helped you to live.

Resisting the urge to kill him, fighting to win Mitsuki’s favor, the threat of blue fire and a mage you doused in the sea, it was all so much easier than this. It could have been that easy forever, what were you thinking?

“Y/n!”

You weren’t, that’s what being too content gets you.

When Bakugou calls your name again his voice cracks because you are so much faster than he is at slipping through corridors. There is nowhere to hide in this awful country. Why are you running? If you were just slightly calmer you might have known where you were but white windows will always look like white windows and Bakugou is not so slow that you can ever really outrun him.

You duck under a low wall and its hanging tapestry and emerge on the other side at the edge of a stretch of empty hall. Setting sunlight pours past ten silver vases and someone left a window open, so lace curtains flow around a pedestal with its silvery prize in the center.

“Y/n, please.”

Agony. This isn’t what you want. When Bakugou calls to you one last time you have no choice but to face him because he has never asked for anything before, and when you do, tears drip off the highest parts of your cheeks.

He lets the tapestry fall over his shoulder and stops at the front of the long, long room. Neither of you speak for an eternity besides the sound of breath being caught again, him at the edge and you in the center being swayed by cold air. His shaggy hair has been pushed back too many times in his rush to follow you and his eyes glow unobstructed. Bakugou’s broad shoulders fit too perfectly into his baubled tunic. It’s easier to watch him than to think.

When he leans forward, you step back, and he pauses like you might start sprinting again.

He doesn’t realize there’s something rotten stuck in the depths of your throat that keeps you from straying too far.

“I–”

“Don’t be sorry,” he begs, reading your mind. He’s never looked like this once in his whole life. He fell a step closer in his panic and when you do not run, his fists unclench from where they draw blood at his sides. “Don’t cry.”

You shake your head and he cautions another step. How can you ever go home now? How much longer can you survive here? The thought is suddenly and immediately overwhelming and Bakugou freezes again when you drop your head into your hands. It’s too much, you can’t believe how badly you want to hate him again and how much easier it would be than this.

“Y/n,” he whispers. His voice is candled ash. You know exactly how close he is even with your eyes closed because Alderan fire is unmistakable and you know too that he’s giving you a moment to escape.

“I didn’t mean to.”

Prince Bakugou’s magic-worn hands reach up from where he wires them and you snatch them both, and all their kiln-fired warmth, out of the air before he can touch you like you might break the first finger that moves. You don’t mean to bare your teeth either, you hope you aren’t, if you are he doesn’t care. Your prince stands above you, brows knit and eyes stupid with worry.

“Forget,” you plead in whispers.

He pulls your grip higher so that he can rest his palms under your ears. You aren’t doing anything but hanging from him. He moves easily because you do not stop him and he brushes his thumbs over stray hairs and their wild shapes. Silence is worse than his rage, but he’s trembling and his eyes never once look away from yours. He’s studying, contemplating something that continues to break his heart.

“Highness.”

Bakugou cups your jaw like it might bruise and tilts your head up just enough to kiss you. He could not care less about broken fingers.

His lips quiver and press just once to yours before pulling back, reconsidering, and dipping into you again. Your hold on his hands and his hands at your throat are melting, shaking, sweating. His chest swells above yours. You melt with him because you have lost your mind and push against the body you know can hold you. It can pull you from a current and throw you over its shoulder. Bakugou can lift you in strong arms, he can make you laugh until not even an order could compose you at your station.

You part your lips to be closer. He tangles his fingers in your braids so that you can take whatever you want. Your prince tastes like his favorite pastries, and Alderan peaches, and gold, he tastes like he’s fireproof.

Wet drips from your bottom lip in the mess of it all, before Bakugou tilts your chin in strong hands to catch what he’s missed. The slick of your tongues, a clicking of teeth, you want to eat him whole. He’s going to devour you.

He holds your face now to move you as he’d like– four feet tripping over each other to find a wall– and you grip at the patterns on his tunic between stolen breaths and steps stumbled backwards. Magic crackles where he touches you like he can’t control himself. His voice comes out with his gasps in growls because there is too much and nothing to say. You have forgotten apologies.

“Your hands” he breathes between nips for the softest warm parts of you, “cold.”

“The window–” but he kisses you again before you can finish. His hands are shaking, he is a starving dog and still he holds you like you’re going to break. You terrify him.

How long have you wanted this? There’s not enough focus left for your brain to turn its wheel and if there was you wouldn’t have pulled him so close. You suckle at his lower lip because his heartbeat tastes like home and he lets you dip inside again when you’ve had your fill. He fills you with himself in return. Wet, soft against you. It’s clumsier than sparring, and so much warmer.

At the end of cold hallways, where servants bustle and where there is still work to be done, the guard who barely survived your warpath ducks out from under the tapestry. He only wanted to check you were okay, but in the almost empty hallway Shinsou’s hand falls slack and his baton slips from it. It rings out against white marble and your heart stops beating at the same time as your prince. Your wheel groans in its new turning. The guard stares and you bristle.

You do not hear what Bakugou says in your panic but he does not let you go so easily this time. You will run, you’ll find somewhere to hide in this prison because that is your job and no one has ever done it better than you and there you will figure out what to do.

The last breath you take before darting away is shared in the sunlight with your prince, and just as you tip in a hint of escape Bakugou cups your cheeks one last time to keep you still. Your claws jump immediately back around his. He stares. His eyes are a study over every scar and warm flush, the violence of your sudden caught fear, even the parts squished and wrinkled in his hold. His magic vibrates unlit through your skin for one more second just one more second he takes to look and then he whispers,

“Okay.”

You take off the moment he releases you to deal with the apprentice and slip as best you can around a blue-tiled corner. Seedsized carvings raise their axes and little white waves fall. Sparks fight the chill on your jaw.

You forgo the seaside for fear of worrying your prince again. Manure pools around your pretty white boots because in the stables, horses don’t mind if you need to cry. The ocean swallows the last of the sun and you are suddenly a child again rinsing the blood from her face and into the hay and finding a dark place to hide. Every step is labor. Agitated white stallions complain to you in a line about their dinner and restlessness, and about chickens roosting inside uninvited, and about the woman who has sat here for hours and done nothing to help them.

The port city of Takoba shimmers at twilight under the hill that the stable looks out on. Its waters are silver and beg you to join them on all sides from their great distance. They have the advantage as you turn your back to the view.

When you amble towards the last empty stall, a figure drowning in blue is perched on a bed of straw. She is sickly beautiful and she stares like she hates everything she gazes upon.

“Majesty,” you startle and forget to take a knee.

Where you tread carefully in borrowed clothes, the Takoban Queen is happy to ruin her gown sitting up to her hips in straw beside a very plain horse. She runs a brush over the sheen of its black mane.

“Yes?” She sighs, defeated, until she turns to you and cocks her head like she might have expected someone else. Hundreds of translucent layers fall over themselves in her skirt like a flower and catch imaginary light for every inch that she moves. There is an ache so deep in your bones, chilled first then charred like dipping cold hands in hot water, you struggle to compose yourself. You cannot muster the question of why a queen might be hiding in the belly of her stables but you could guess.

“You were crying.”

“Please don’t tell Mitsuki.”

When will you be allowed to go home? The queen looks between her horse and the space you haunt above her, and pulls a second curry comb from the depths of her soft straw seat. “They’ll find you if you stand in the open like that.”

The day drags on like a dream you have made from picturebooks of Aldera and the man that you will never be free of, but queens don’t much mind if you need to cry either. You crumple into the spot she digs out for you in the straw and until it is too cold, the two of you sit quietly in shit together.

PREV | M.LIST | TAGLIST | NEXT

tagged angels ✧.* @nnubee @nonomesupposedto @kotarousproperty @sveetnn @lunrai @km7474 @cathwritestragediesnotsins @idimmadontgiveashit @kooromin @k1tk4tkatsuki @litiri @kiwibao @sarcasticlittlebook @condy-wants-a-cookie @mysticalfridge @falling4fandoms @katanaski @romiinlove @cherripunch26 @acid-rain27 @bakugouswh0r3 @zukowantshishonourback @ultracrii @chandiewashere @screechingdreameater @when-you-are-just-done @levisbae2 @flyhighinthesky @thebluespacecow @mizzfizz @butterscotch-ripple-icecream @phoenix-draws77 @ltadoriyuujl @dreamingoftomorroww @optimisticprime3 @misscaller06 @the-omnipotent-phlowr @king-dynamight @sky-angel101 @faetoraa @sageandberries-png @king-explosionmurder @aqua5ky @idkwhatisgoingon24-7 @midnightprocrastinator @animeobsessed03 @sakurarr1122

could not tag for some reason :(

#a hymn to black water #i make good on my promises #this one really took it out of me- editing was an afterthought there might be more mistakes than usual #thank you for loving these weirdos #bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bnha fantasy au #mha fantasy au #fantasy bakugou x reader #fantasy bakugo x reader

186 notes · View notes

frenchkisstheabyss · 9 months

Text

♡ the patient in 206 ♡

♡ Pairing: patient!mingi x curvy!fem!reader

♡ Summary: You always keep it professional at work but, when an attractive new patient begins to push the boundaries, you find it difficult to resist his charm.

♡ Genre: fluff/suggestive

♡ Word Count: 1.8k

♡ Warnings: reader’s short so there’s references to how tiny she is, mingi puts his face in your boobs nonsexually. they're just comfy for him, mention of blood/anesthesia

♡ A/N: This is based on an idea @urlacuna threw into my asks. I hope I did a good job interpreting what you wanted into a fic!

Red licorice, if you eat enough of it, does a hell of a job mimicking internal bleeding. That’s why the patient in 202 is here today for a colonoscopy. Just to make sure. You know this because the husband of a patient is draped over the nurse’s station while you’re doing charts, huffing and puffing because he has to be here instead of presumably lounging on a couch wiping flaky orange Cheeto dust on the arm of his recliner. This is about as sexy as a job in nursing gets but it’s what pays the bills so you listen, partially anyway, fighting off the urge to throw what’s left of your watered down iced coffee onto his face.

“Sir,” your coworker interrupts, her lack of patience for his bullshit obvious from the start, “Your wife’s asking for you. If you’ll go in and see her…” Before she can finish her sentence he’s stomping off, mumbling something to himself. She’s your favorite coworker for a reason. She takes a seat on your desk like you’re not in the middle of something. “I’d rather get two colonoscopies with no anesthesia than be married to that asshole,” she says louder than she should. You bury your face in your hands, muffled laughter escaping the spaces between your fingers, “You can’t say that!”

She crosses her legs, thumbing through a patient’s file, “Like you weren’t thinking it. Anyway, I need you to take a patient for me.” “I’m already assigned room 205,” “Now you’re not” she declares, opening the folder to face you, the face sheet glowing like an ancient text in an adventure film. You see the name Song Min Gi. The picture, oh, the picture. “Remember him?” she asks. Remember? How couldn’t you? You’d been thinking of him ever since he came in last week. Not that you’d tell her that. Not that you need to. It’s painted all over your face the same way it was when you first saw him.

Mingi came in with his best friend, Yunho you’re pretty sure his name was, to drop off some paperwork for his endoscopy. The other nurses swarmed the desk like moths to a flame, a sea of fluttering eyelashes and girlish laughter. It wasn’t often…or ever…that two tall handsome men sauntered into your job. And they weren’t just gorgeous. They were complete gentlemen, taking time to ask each of you about your day and making cute little jokes that eased some of the tension of such a high stress job.

As attractive as they both were, it was Mingi who had you wrapped around his finger from the moment he walked in. “We could climb him…” your mind whispered. The smile on his face whispered back that he might let you if you asked. “The little one” Mingi had called you, a suitable nickname with you being the shortest nurse on staff.

“I like you, little one.”

“Thank you, little one.”

“See you soon, little one.”

The timbre of his voice echoed through your chest, the aftershock still felt when you returned home that night. You’d thought of him often since then, hoping that you’d see him again. You’d even peeked at when his endoscopy was scheduled for, excited to find out that you’d be on that day. Today. But you’d forgotten. Yesterday had been so chaotic that you rushed in this morning barely knowing which planet you were on, let alone the day.

Hair a mess. Makeup nowhere to be found. Mismatched socks on. At least your sneakers were on the right feet. You slam the folder closed, “I can’t. Look at me!” “Oh, stop it” your coworker shushes, brushing your hair back, “You look beautiful. Now go! 205 needs me and Mr. Song Min Gi needs you. Go, go, go!” She has you up from your chair, rushing you off with his file in your arms, quicker than you can register what’s happening. “Have fun!” she teases, shoving you into room 206 where Mingi lounges in the bed, his long legs stretched out.

He’s already loopy, you can tell by his low eyes and the blissful smile on his face. Yunho stands beside him, deep in conversation about something that becomes irrelevant when they see you. Mingi sits up, recklessly shifting his arms as if he doesn’t have an IV jabbed into one of them, “Little one!” “Oh my god, be careful” you gasp, scurrying to his side before he accidentally rips the IV from his arm. “So, are you my nurse now or did you just come to see me?” Both. The answer is ‘both’.

You dodge the question, “It looks like she got you all set up for me so let me just go check with the doctor and see if they’re ready to take you back. In the meantime, don’t injure yourself please.” Mingi winks at you, “Anything for you.” “You’re disgusting you know that?” Yunho groans, rolling his eyes, “Sorry about him. It’s the anesthesia kicking in.” You assure Yunho that it’s fine, slipping back out of the room under the watchful eye of Mingi who waves at you like you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. When you return a few minutes later he’s already out cold.

“Be careful with him” Yunho warns, “He might try to, uh, force himself to wake up.” You aren’t worried. You’ve dealt with it before. Patients try to fight it off all the time. Eventually, they all succumb to it though. Even on the off chance that they do wake up the anesthesiologist has them drifting back off to dreamland in a millisecond. It’s almost annoying how cute Mingi manages to be, worthy of a full page spread in a magazine even in those dreadful blue tissue paper clothes they make patients wear.

Rolling him to a room not too far down the hall, you hand him over to the doctor and get back to your other duties. Checking on other patients, making sure they have their discharge papers, and shoveling some lunch into your mouth in between. You’re hiding in the office kitchen, cheeks packed with food and another fork full coming your way, when another nurse rushes in to grab you. “Y/N, room 206! He’s out of his mind!” You check your watch. Mingi? He should be out but he shouldn’t be awake yet.

No questions asked you race behind her to find his room full of nurses. Mingi’s up bouncing on the balls of his bare feet and…rapping? Your closest friend there, the matchmaker herself, scurries over to you, ushering you closer to Mingi. “We’ve been trying to get him to lay down but he won’t do it because he wants, uh, well…” “My wife!” Mingi shouts gleefully, long arms embracing you. His chin rests on the top of your head as the two of you sway back and forth. “Isn’t she cute?” he coos, petting your hair, “Mmm and she smells nice.” You pat him on the back, a mother soothing her agitated baby,

“You guys can head out. I’ve got him.” The room empties out except for Yunho who helps you seat Mingi safely on the edge of the bed, his arms still around you. Mingi sighs, resting his head on your chest, “Soft. Mmm. So soft.” He nuzzles his cheeks against your breasts and Yunho nearly chokes on air. “I’m so sorry. Mingi, stop it!” Mingi groans, shooing his best friend away, “We’re married. I can do what I want. Right, baby?” He looks up at you, his brown eyes are angelic under the fluorescent light, and you can’t bring yourself to disrupt his delusion.

“Right, you can do what you want but can you do something for me?” “Anything” he sighs, his nose buried in your cleavage as his hands traverse your curves. “Let’s lay down, okay? I’m a little tired.” You fake a yawn and he nods, easing you onto the bed with him. His face still in your chest, Mingi goes on telling you how much he loves you. He smiles at memories of how nice your honeymoon was. “It was nice, wasn’t it?” “The best.” This was far from what you expected coming in to work today but, in the back of your mind, you’re enjoying the affection, even if it is medically induced.

After a few minutes, Mingi drifts back off to sleep, giving you the chance to sneak away. The rest of the day goes on as normally as it can after something like that has happened. It’s not like you can tell anyone. You should just forget it. Maybe Mingi will. Yunho better let him. When you get the news that Mingi’s awake for a second time you beg another nurse to take him. You don’t even want to think about what might happen if he does remember and you’d rather not find out.

Thankfully she takes over, allowing you to finish out your shift uneventfully. “See you tomorrow!” you shout over your shoulder, waving to your coworkers as they filter out behind you. You turn to check that the coast is clear before crossing the parking lot only to slam face first into a brick wall. You stumble backward, and strong hands grip your arms keeping you on your feet. A brick wall? Not a brick wall. Mingi’s chest. It’s your turn to look up at him now, his cheeks are tinted a strawberry red.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. Sorry…”

“No, I’m sorry…for a lot of things apparently.”

You glance behind him and see Yunho leaning against a car nearby. You wave to each other, the context of Mingi’s apology clear. “Look, I…” “Don’t worry about it. It happens.” Mingi narrows his eyes at you, skeptical of how often this actually happens. “Okay, it doesn’t happen” you relent, “But it’s really okay. I swear.” “I’m still sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. I’m such an idiot. Clearly, that date I was gonna ask you on is out of the window.” “Date?” you shriek, clearing your throat to regain your composure, “I mean, date? You were gonna ask me on a date?” Mingi hangs his head, hands in his pockets, unable to meet your gaze. “I was but it’d be kinda weird now, wouldn’t it?” You stand up straight, arms folded across your chest, “Well you’ve gotta ask to know, don’t you?” “Oh, uh, does that mean that you’d…would you…date…with me?” “When?” “Now?” “Now?” “No?” “Fine. Let’s go. My car” you demand, strutting to your car with some newfound boldness overtaking you.

You aren’t sure if he’s even following you until you spot him out of the corner of your eye. Clutching your purse close to your chest you try to suppress how giddy you are then the panic sets in. A date? Looking like this? Unlocking the door, you throw your purse into the backseat, “I should probably go home and change into something cuter.” “Cuter?” Mingi asks, holding the door open for you, “You’re cute enough. Plus, you don’t have to impress me anymore. We’re married, remember?”

#mingi x y/n #mingi x you #mingi x reader #mingi fluff #ateez x y/n #ateez x you #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #curvy reader #plus size reader

496 notes · View notes

avidfics · 5 months

Text

Chasing you

Summary: You’ve been on the run from Carol after sending a drunk voicemail. A month later, Carol has found you and doesn’t plan to let you go.

A/N: Came out of a writing hiatus cause I love this woman. There’s not enough carol x reader fics on this app and she gives me the warm fuzzies. Comments and reshares are appreciated :)

Warnings: Pretty PG-13, playful teasing, fluff, some tears, few misspellings, mentions some characters from The Marvels

Three things were painfully obvious as you woke up. This wasn’t your bed. These weren’t your clothes. The “Space Girls Do It Better” sleeveless crop top didn’t belong to you.

Oh, and there was a fluffy, orange flerken licking its genitals ontop of your chest. A pretty deep cleaning by the looks of it.

“Um.” your voice croaked, the result of a long nap. “Mr. Flerken sir, I’m going to move you and place you on the floor-” Three tentacles shoot out from the confines of its mouth, wraps around a nearby metal dresser, and swallow it whole.

An audible nervous gulp can be heard from your throat. “New plan. Leave when it pleases you.”

Armed with the killer fluffball, you creep along the cramped halls of the spaceship and take in the colorful murals that are painted inconsistently through the halls. One reads vaguely familiar, “New Jersey.”

What’s a New Jersey?

In the back of your mind you have a nagging suspicion of the identity of the owner of the ship. But if you were right, then that would be a bigger problem than someone undressing you while you were unconscious.

You enter the main pilot room as a childlike scream jars both you and the flerken.

Kamala Khan’s wide eyed, all teeth smile shines from across the room. “OMG you’re awake!”

“God, no.” you groan. You plead to the heavens that this is all just a stress conjured dream even as the teenager morphs a hard light disk to propel her forward to tackle you into a warm hug. “Kamala, please tell me you're the owner of this ship and you’ve gotten your spaceship driver’s license early?

Her lips curve. “Sure.”

A relieved sigh depletes from your body.

“Sure, I missed you. But this is Carol’s ship. After you left she’s been tracking you for the past few weeks. We got an alert that you were involved in a bar brawl on the planet Aladna yesterday. When she found you, you were already beaten unconscious and bleeding from the attack. Carol scooped you up and took care of your injuries in the med bay.” Her signature dopey smile returns. “She nearly blasted the whole bar apart when she found you. It was epic.” she sighs with a faraway look.

Her smile wouldn’t be so bright if she knew you had no interest in being on the same planet yet alone on a small ship with her honored captain. Your frantic eyes start to scan every nook and cranny of the room. As if Carol would materialize from the launch keys at any moment. You drag Kamala to the control panel and start to hit buttons at random. “No, none of this is epic. Kamala, afraid we need to cut this reunion short. Drop me off at the nearest planet or station. Shoot, give me a space jumpsuit and I’ll simply float outside in outerspace. But I Can Not. Be. Here.”

Kamala gives a sly look at how you’re acting. “Carol said you’d try to jump ship once you woke up.” she smiles as she pets the flerken still in your arms. “Something about you being embarrassed over something moronic.”

And there it was. Until now there was a slim grasp of hope that Carol hadn’t known what you did but this just confirmed not only did she know but she wasn’t going to let it go. Goody. No way would you tell the whole story of how you’d gone out drinking with some Skrull girls because Carol was driving you crazy in her freaking halter tops. Then you found out she was married to a prince! Sure, it was only a political marriage but still the revelation made you want to punch something or someone. So drunk out of your mind, you left the most pathetic voicemail of all time sounding like a teenager with a crush. Talking about how she attracts you more than the rules of gravity. What was that! The voicemail ended with your declaration to take the prince of Aladna in a fight if that’s what it took to get her attention.

In your defense, she does like to fight. So you did punch someone…or several someones at the bar.

“It’s nothing.” you blink away the memory. “Carol didn’t have any right to kidnap me off the planet”

“Aren’t you a little old to be “kidnaped?” the dreaded voice calls out from behind you both.

You whip your head around, guilt written all over your face even as your jaw slackens at the hottest, yet fatigued, space hero in the galaxy.

But at the moment Captain Marvel just looked like Carol. A half smile gracing her lips even as she leans against the entrance. Bare arms out, another damn crop top that barely covers her belly button, and an empty space of tantalizing skin at her stomach before the top half of her supersuit hangs limp at her hips.

It was giving off duty lesbian about to repair an engine and it was making you absolutely feral.

Which is why you held the flerken outstretched in her direction.

“Not another step, Danvers.” you warn. “This flerkin here has taken a liking to me and isn’t afraid to defend me.”

Carol tilts her head and her full teasing smile tasks force, causing a full quiver in your heart.

Taking slow, meticulous steps toward you, not caring about the fur-covered danger dangling from your hands. “You’ve taken a liking to my pet, sweetheart?”

A spurtle of incoherent nonsense leaves your mouth. “It found me when I woke up. I even named him Ginger.”

“Real creative.” her deadpan sarcasm does not go unnoticed. “Put Goose down before he decides to eat you.” You get ready to fight the command but ‘Goose’ does a loud meow and you decide that’s him agreeing with his apparent owner.

Her eyes flicker to the noisy teenager next to you. “Kamala, go find another wall to destroy.”

“Aye aye, captain.” You make a desperate attempt to grab Kamala but the small betrayer just mouths “You’re in trouble.” before prancing away.

With Kamela’s exit the room is too quiet and the once spacious room feels tiny and empty, leaving only the bruising reminder of why you’ve avoided Carol for weeks. Sure, your friend can fly, shoot rays of energy from her fist, and literally crush you with her bare hands but none of that ever scared you. It wasn’t your physical body you were afraid she would break, but the fragile, sensitive heart you always protected. But then there was Carol with her small, gentle smile and her laughing eyes and a warm presence that made you want to be soft instead of sharp with pointy edges.

Under Carol’s gaze you were a giant raw wound that was left open and too exposed. You just knew Carol could see it.

Which is why getting off this ship was imperative. With a new, hardened resolve you turn around and commerce pressing every button in sight.

“You trying to order a pizza? Because there’s an easier way than having us crash into the nearest asteroid.” The pull of her voice is so strong after weeks of zero contact but you ignore it nonetheless. Not that it deters Carol. “But maybe your bad driving is a result of getting your ass whooped down on Aladna.”

She’s baiting you. Do not give in.

“I mean the fact that you got your butt handed to you by a group of people who normally only fight in song has to make you mad, right?” The silence in response finally gets to her as she stomps up to the dashboard controls and undos every button you’ve pushed in concession. Each time she reaches for a button near yours, fingers a centimeter from touching, you yank away and take a step away. She grunts in return and counters with another step closer.

Her next jap finally hits her mark with stinging precision. “Maybe next time you should ask the Prince for backup.”

A response fires out your mouth even as you slam your hand against a particular shiny button. “I had it handled, okay? That pretty boy prince might’ve impressed you somehow but his presence in a fight is as needed as yours is to me right now.” The lie turned your stomach and made you feel like Goose’s shit. “You had no right and no reason to take me off that damn planet because I had it covered. Just drop me off at the nearest planet.”

Carol could smell the lie a mile away. The words bounced off her chest. If anything she was trying to hide her arrogant grin at successfully getting your undivided attention, knowing it would make you more pissed. Which was always an adorable sight.

When her sources flagged a sighting of you on Aladna she’d left the spaceship at supersonic speed to reach you after hunting your trail down for the past month.

At first, friendship was all she needed. But time spent together on various missions gave her deeper understanding on how darn sweet you were despite scratching at anyone who tried to get close.

But once she clicked play on that cute, yet slightly violent, voicemail any vague restraints of being only friends were dashed. Now here you were, her prickly kitten, and she wasn’t going to be deterred by any of your rounded jabs.

Now here you stood. Causing internal issues to her ship's mainframe. Slight bruises marring your delicate skin. All reminders that you’d rather be dropped in outer space than occupy the same room with her. Well tough luck. Patience was never her strongsuit.

A blur out of the corner of your eye was the only warning before the sudden warm body surrounded you from behind. Two unyielding hands grasped yours in an attempt to halt any further error messages from appearing on the dashboard. “Are you not satisfied with my ship, sweetheart? Because you’re awfully determined to break it.” In another determined step she removes any space separating you two until her front is flushed against your back. Tense doesn’t begin to describe how rigid your body gets as you realize, to your detriment, she’s forgone a bra. Even the tiniest move from her causes her soft, malleable breast to move against your back. Your knees buckle even as you silently curse Carol for completely smashing the boundaries of your personal bubble.

Warm fingers grasp each of your hands and her thumbs caress circles on each hand that shoots straight to your flamed core. A whisper of her lips speaks into your ear, tingling all the way into your spine. “Six. There’s six bruises across your delicate body from that stupid fight. But you didn’t need me, huh?”

The touch and slight reprimand in her voice makes your body shiver. “T-that’s not what I meant.”

“Oh?” You peek behind to see her face as her fingers gently travel down your arm. Brows furrowed with an intense glare as she inspects your minor injuries in detail. “But that’s what you said, no?”

In an effort to clutch the last remaining shreds of your pride you squint up at her but end up lowering your glare. “Even if you helped me, that didn’t give you the right to take me off the planet.” you murmur. “And who changed my clothes!”

The gentle hand remains on your arm but the dark look is dashed away, replaced with a serene smile. “Obviously that was me. Like I would allow anyone else to get a peek at what’s mine.” she snorts. As if the idea was simply absurd.

All fight leaves your body at the new startling news that Carol, your Carol, just called you hers PLUS she’s seen you naked?

You gear up to start a rant but two arms twirl you around and hefts you up. Your legs and arms cling to her even as you yell at her to set you down.

Bullheaded Carol ignores you and instead leisurely walks to her pilot seat. As if this was just a normal Tuesday. When she plops in the driver seat, she settles your weight to straddle her hips. Immediately, you try to scramble away but she wraps her arms around you in a metal vise. That damn innocent smile returns. “The chast act ends now. Because I was prepared to let you go but then you left me this.” It’s like a slow motion car accident as she pulls her cell from her pocket and the dreadful voicemail is played at full volume.

Renewed vigor allows you to break out of her arms but you're too slow as one hand holds you in place on her lap. Making you listen to your drunk declaration of love.

The tears come as you're forced to helplessly listen, already anticipating the mockery that was soon to come, except Carol didn’t laugh. Instead, you felt soft, slow kisses press against your wet check, trailing your tears.

Carol nuzzling your neck is the only thing stopping your crying as you realize she wasn’t laughing. Her tired smile and fatigued smile returns. “You're so dramatic, kitten. Don’t ask me what “right” I have to kidnap you and bring you on our ship after you left a message like this for me.

Sensing you were no longer a flight risk, her hard grip releases your wrists. Instead, she traces your face, rubbing away your tear trails. “For now on, you're coming back and helping our missions, warming my bed, and if you start anymore bar fights you better finish them or have your girlfriend there to finish the job for you.”

For the first time in a month, a genuine smile graces your face. Brave enough to fully settle your weight on Carol’s lap, you grasp the nap of her neck to angle her lips for a kiss. When your lips finally connect a deep, dragged out moan leaves Carol’s mouth. Her hands slide up your thighs and squeeze your ass. “Don't run away again.” she warns.

“Aye aye Captain.”

#carol danvers x reader #carol danvers #captain marvel #captain marvel x reader #the marvels #carol danvers x female reader #carol danvers x you #carol danvers fanfiction #wlw

396 notes · View notes

nsharks · 1 year

Text

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part five —other parts

pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x fem!reader words: 3.5k tags: death. blood. zombies of course. lowkey cannibalism implication. reader menstruates. single dad ghost. there will be sex but it isn't here yet. slow burn. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival. a/n: I’m really going for the slow burn sorry

The days are difficult to keep track of.

You don’t have a calendar. Instead, you begin making mental markers of events in your head. 29 days since you left your old camp. 22 days since Ghost nearly killed you. 10 days since your face became the potential meal for another human.

10 days since Blue disobeyed her skull-faced father.

He hasn’t sent you away yet. You figure the two of you are in the clear. Still, you have found yourself avoiding his dark stare even more than before.

“Don’t worry,” Blue had told you the second night she came to gently anoint your arm. “I was careful about it. I memorized the way the tube was in the kit, and I’m putting it back exaaaactly the same. I used to sneak some extra Nutella from our storage and Ghost only caught me in the beginning. I’ve gotten better at sneaking past him, okay?”

All you could do was cling to the little piece of trust you shared with her. Ten days later, the memory of it has now congealed into a thick, baby-pink scar, just like the one beneath your ribs. The pain has softened to tenderness. You used your knife to clip off the stitches.

This morning, the usual soft-tailed alarm wakes you up. A bright grin hovers above your head.

“Special day today,” Blue announces. Lazily, you rub your eyes. Yesterday was the first day you managed to kill a deer. You hung the meat up over a fire to smoke it for preservation. For once, the feeling of a stuffed stomach sang you into a deep sleep.

“What?” you ask, blinking away your slumber as you touch a hand over your abdomen. You can still feel where last night’s dinner is nestled.

“It’s my birthday,” she says. Grim flutters over your arm as she sits down beside you. Naturally, your legs move over to allow just the right amount of space for her. You’ve grown used to this guest in your shed.

“Your birthday?” You sit up. “What day is it today?”

“February 19th,” she recites. Of course. Ghost probably keeps track.

Then, her hand slips something into your palm. Something small, hard, and wrapped in plastic. You flicker your gaze to the smuggled good— a little sweet. When you look back at her, she sheepishly reveals to you the other three she has in her pocket.

“I’m only allowed to have four on my birthday,” she explains. “Thought you would want one to celebrate.”

“Thanks.” Your lips etch up at the corner. “Happy birthday.”

Even tiny offerings like this can make you nervous. They aren’t nearly as lucrative or important as antiseptic. In the hall where their bedroom doors and the bathroom are, you’ve spotted a fourth door at the end where they dip in and out for stored food. They have nonperishables. Their rabbits will always breed. Ghost can always hunt. But pharmacies won’t restock their shelves.

Still, you instinctively crane your head forward to peek out the door of your shed, searching for her father’s shadow.

Blue notices.

“He’s making breakfast. Don’t worry.” Then, under her breath, she adds: “Besides... it is mine to give if I want to."

You pop it in your mouth.

“Fuck— wow,” you sputter, and Blue giggles. The sugary taste is even stranger than the fullness in your gut. You can’t remember the last time you ate anything that wasn’t stale, foraged, or killed.

Here in the small shed, the two of you suck on your candies for a quiet moment before breakfast. The pretty snow outside has melted, but the Northern air remains cold and bleak. Bare soil and scattered twigs lay under your boots when you finally head to the cabin.

Despite your fat dinner from the night before, you indulge in an equally heavy breakfast of smoked venison. Your body still has some catching up to do. Ghost and Blue’s breakfast consists of Grim’s sister, apparently. She gives at least three apologies to him for it.

You’re not sure what Ghost manages for Blue’s birthday. You can’t recall how you celebrated that last birthday of yours - the one before the world ended. You never bothered celebrating anymore of them after that even though Paul used to keep his own calendar going. It seemed pointless. When your nephew was still alive, you tried putting effort into his. You’d find a twig for each of his years and stick them in the ground for him to blow the flames off of. You would make a little crown for him out of flowers. It was enough to make his eyes light up, even if only for a day.

But he died at age seven. Then, there were no more birthdays celebrated.

To your surprise, Ghost fishes something out of his pocket after breakfast. Metal that clanks and sings. Car keys.

So it really is a vehicle back there?

“C’mon, kid. Get your coat.”

“She’s coming, too, right?” Blue’s eyes flicker to you as she stands from the table.

Come where?

The masked joints of Ghost’s jaw clench with a spark of irritation. Avoiding him has been easy. He usually doesn’t talk to you, anyway. Your interactions have been kept to asking him for rags and soap to bathe with and him watching you braid Blue’s hair.

But now he gives you a brief stare and mumbles plainly, “Thought we might just put her in the trench while we’re gone.”

An audible, sharp breath floods your ribs.

“He doesn’t mean that,” Blue is quick to assure you with an uneasy smile before she gives him a pointed look. “It is my birthday and I am inviting her, okay?”

This is one where Ghost doesn’t put up a fight.

So it is today that you see what resides under the tarp behind their cabin. Ghost lifts it back to reveal a faded-black pickup truck. Your irritation from the sight only swells when you see that there is a kayak in the truck bed. Another part of his emergency plan, maybe? What doesn't he have?

Ghost opens the door, lowers the front seat, and sends you to the back. Blue gets the passenger side.

As her father wraps around the hood to get in, Blue looks over the seat and chimes, “Cool, huh?” You nod. “It’s only for emergencies, you know. But we go for little drives sometimes so it doesn’t stop working. Right, Ghost?”

He hums a low response as he sits in front of the wheel.

You touch your hands over the cracked leather seat beneath you. The inside smells like faded bourbon and ash. You notice an old cigarette tray in the front. This feels like a snapshot of Ghost’s old life, perhaps the one outside of the military. Maybe whatever version of him used to drive this car actually used his real name and wore an exposed face. Maybe he used to put an infant-version of Blue in a carseat in the back. For the first time, a small wonder of who else could have sat in here with the two of them - the parent that is missing - touches your brain, but you are quick to swallow it. That history isn’t worth the risk that could come from asking about it.

The engine awakens with a few coughs and you notice that the reader on the dash indicates that the fuel is just below full. What you are finally willing to pry about forms as a question under your breath.

“How did you get all this?”

Dark eyes flick to meet your gaze in the rear-view mirror. Swallowing, you hold his stare for only a moment before Blue is the one to answer you.

“Ghost knew about everything before the rest of the world,” she explains, furrowing her brows. “I thought I told you that already.”

“What?”

“You know,” she waves a hand around, “Military? Special Air Service? He knew.”

You didn’t even think of that. The rest of you knew nothing and suffered. Ghost knew ahead of time and could prepare.

He stops her from continuing by giving a gentle nudge to her shoulder. “Gonna pick out the music or am I doing it?”

You shake away the thoughts. Your ears perk up. Music?

“No.” Blue instantly flies her hands to the glove compartment where a small stash of CDs slips out. “I’m picking! It’s my birthday.”

It is almost dizzying, how unfamiliar this is to you. Adrenaline, hunger, grief— you understand these well. Listening to the CD that Blue pops in the tray as Ghost starts driving? This is weird. You don’t know what it is you feel. Loud drums and sharp guitars fill your ears along with the hum of the truck. The tires slowly snap over twigs on the ground. Blue merrily sings - screams, even - along to the song. Can you remember it? You search through the crevices of your brain. Of course. Nirvana.

It is a short drive.

Ghost’s gloved hand lazily steers the wheel through a routine path in the trees. He must follow the same one every time they do this. Blue rolls down the window and sticks her head out so the light wind can dance with her hair.

She feels safer to look at. She always does. She is the one who wants you here; he probably brought you only because he doesn’t trust you alone at their camp. So your eyes settle on Blue. Your fingers thoughtlessly slip under the sleeve of your shirt and pick at the healed scar on your arm. You watch her beam and act like the child she is. You listen to the music. You don’t know when you will ever get the chance to again.

The drive only lasts two songs. Ghost may have to get the car going a bit, but he is not willing to waste precious fuel. He goes in a few circles before driving to the pond. He helps Blue out. He almost forgets to lower the seat for you. Blue has to remind him with a hissed "Dad" and a tug on his hand.

The pond is quiet and all liquid now. There hasn’t been another growling visitor here since the one Ghost killed. You’re not sure what he did with the corpse of the man, but it was gone shortly after that day.

Ghost lifts Blue up into the truck bed, right next to the kayak. You find a tree stump to sit on a few paces away. He slips out two cans from his pockets— you squint and make out tuna and peaches. They must be favorites of hers saved for her birthday because she eats them all by herself.

“Eleven, huh?” Ghost leans against the side of the truck as she snacks. He pretends you aren’t there. He ruffles her hair. “Big year, kid. Feel different?”

“Not yet,” she says with her mouth full. Her porcelain cheeks flush as she looks at him. “Did you feel different at eleven?”

“Can’t remember,” Ghost mutters lowly, but you can hear him. You try not to look. “Long time ago.”

"Soooo long ago, huh?" she smirks. "Old man."

"Come off it," he says, but amusement hides under the gravel of his voice. "Don't call me that."

"Why?" she pokes further. There is room for it here. He is not scolding. Her voice turns hushed. "Do I have to respect my elders?"

"Bloody fuckin' hell," he groans.

He makes a move to take away her canned peaches. Blue holds it up and scoots away. Ghost could still get it if he wanted. He's not really trying.

You decide to look at the dirt before either of them catches your staring, but when their bickering ceases, Blue points a question in your direction.

“Hey... Do you remember being eleven?”

You lift your head up, suddenly thrown off. You feel two sets of eyes on you now as your brain searches for some answer, knowing well that it is one Ghost will hear.

You can barely remember what Nirvana sounds like. Age eleven? The memories are stored in fragments under all the mud. Your old school. Your sister. Your friends. That house in Norbury. The yard where you stopped playing in the dirt because you suddenly grew interested in boys, instead. You try to fit all the pieces together, but it doesn't feel like you who lived through it all.

“I remember…” you rub one hand over the dry knuckles of the other and fight the brief moisture that threatens your eyes. You are not willing for Ghost to see a tear slip.

“I do remember feeling different.”

That is all you say.

After some more of their banter and the quick drive back to camp, Blue stands up against the tree she likes to play in. You never noticed until now, but there are little knife marks in the bark— five of them. Ghost adds another. It is quite a bit higher than the previous year’s.

Along with her dinner that night, she sucks on the last two of her candies. You try to be present as she talks about the memories from her past five birthdays— all basically the same as today. She doesn’t mention any of the ones from her previous life.

But your mind drifts as you listen.

You keep thinking about Ghost’s truck. You think of all he has— their medicine, changes of clothes, guns and ammo. You don’t have these things. At your old camp, you had the bare necessities. Paul managed to get the most commonly-used antibiotics and some alcohol to clean wounds. But you didn’t have time to grab any of it during your escape.

You don’t know how long you will be here and you don’t know what the future looks like for you, but you know you can’t risk Blue sneaking you more medicine. Ghost might not notice a little ointment missing from a tube, but too much and he will. God forbid you ever need antibiotics. Taking pills from a bottle? He definitely has the exact numbers memorized.

It is not until his cockney accent rumbles low that you are grounded back in the present.

“Want your gift now?”

When Blue eagerly nods, he stands from the table and leaves, only to return with something in his hand covered in a scrap of cloth. Another bout of curiosity finds you. What could he possibly gift her? You watch Blue lift up the cloth to reveal a handmade, wooden figurine.

She exhales a smile. She doesn’t seem too surprised by it but is still elated, taking the gift in her hands and smoothing her finger over the whittled shape.

It’s a squirrel. You can see it better as she looks over it. A squirrel with two circles carved around the eyes. A pair of glasses?

“He’s perfect,” she tells her behemoth of a father, who bends down to her level and strokes her hair.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she says. “Just how I imagined him.”

This is the final tradition you learn about today. The wooden squirrel is part of a collection, she explains. You’ve never been inside Blue’s bedroom. You are not allowed, of course. But she shyly admits that she has her own village going on in there and that more wooden residents are added on each birthday and holiday. She seems hesitant to tell you too much about them in the same way she was hesitant for you to hear Ghost call her Baby Blue.

The eleven-year-old brave enough to rebel nibbles her lip as she speaks, clutching her gift.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you find yourself quietly saying, looking between her and Ghost. “We all have things we like to keep to ourselves. You don't have to tell me, you know."

You feel his thick presence, the way he seems to stifle the room even in the lull of these moments where the reality of your stay here can be ignored. You give a small smile, just for her, anyway.

“It sounds cool, though," you add.

She blushes and slips away to put the squirrel in her room.

And then the last piece of Blue’s birthday is not a tradition. Instead, it is all you have to offer to this girl who has your back.

You do her hair.

You try for something a little different this time.

Half-up with two smaller braids that join together.

As usual, dark eyes watch from the couch.

That whole deer feeds you for more than just a week.

Despite this, you decide to go out into the forest and practice your aim. You recall how your failed shot at that man’s head resulted in snarling teeth snapping at your flesh - you want to get better. Each day, a new tree stands victim to your practicing arrows. You have to carve some more of them with the knife Ghost gave you to replace the ones that break from penetrating the tough bark.

You feel like you own more strength now.

A pillow to sleep on, bountiful protein, and properly healed wounds have offered some back to you. You don’t feel so fatigued. Your thoughts seem easier to find. You have a new marker to make the days feel less blurred together— Blue's birthday.

It must be March 1st today, then.

When you decide your practice is done for the afternoon, you make it back to camp. You ask Ghost for a wash rag to clear your skin of the cold sweat that has collected. He is preoccupied with a game of Monopoly with Blue but begrudgingly retrieves one for you. Though, it is thoughtlessly tossed to your face. Blue apologizes on his behalf.

You don’t have it in you to care.

Because today is the first day your gaze doesn't pry away when it finds your reflection in the mirror. The face that stares back at you - the one he threw the rag at - is one you think you can recognize. The cheekbones do not stand as angular and lean. Your lips have some color and fat to them. Not as much as Blue’s rosy pink ones, but some.

It is also the first day that an old friend returns to you. When you glide the damp rag between your thighs, blood collects. Except for this time, it is not incited by a caltrop or knife. You don’t panic with the thought of how it will be patched up and stitched and kept clean. Rather, you almost groan with the realization of what you need to ask of Ghost.

The hunger and stress of fleeing led you to almost forget about it. Your period is definitely weeks late, but now it is here again. Perhaps, another piece of health your body has been given back.

With wet hair and your dirty clothes shucked back on, you find the two of them still on the rug. They have moved on to Battleship.

“Ghost.”

Both of them look at you. Shifting your weight from foot to foot, you dig your nails into your palms.

“I need another rag.”

“What for?” His voice arrives in an edged drawl. “Just bathed, didn’t you?”

“Are you okay?” chimes Blue, frowning. She sits up.

“I’m fine,” you say slowly. “I just need another one.” You meet the clouded eyes you prefer to renounce, set behind the more frightening skull this time. “A dry one.”

Although Blue’s nose remains scrunched in confusion, he seems to understand.

Wordlessly, Ghost finds you another. This rag is not offered to your face. Instead, he murmurs a “here” under his breath and gives it to your hands. In this brief exchange, you detect the familiar heat that is emitted from his brawny form. It is so different from the bucket of cold water you just bathed with.

Despite the enigma and tension, there is some of Ghost you understand. He is willing to give you small things. A rag for your period. A little bit of thread for your stitches. An outdoor shed to sleep in. A pillow and blanket they don’t even use.

What he is not willing to give is anything that he deems too valuable, and anything he decides poses a risk. His trust included.

This is why you must find a way to take care of yourself. So it is today, with your body showing you signs of its regained health, that you decide you finally need to figure out the journey to get supplies of your own.

taglist: @savagemistresss @morganvoorhees @dinsverdika @cated18 @lolszass @jeswiii @all-good-things-have-an-ending @alternatealt @uvoiid @underatreedrinkingtea @ramadiiiisme @crissteetee67 @lexi-zsy09 @spikespiegell @littlezarp @rebel-soldat @4headkissess @mckenzieriley69 @moxxiestar @palomaxaxaxa @msjaeger @galacticstxrdust @anubiseqq @l-0-v-3-r-z @kakashiislut @a-queen-blr @random0lover @hehatesmati @ghost-with-a-teacup @konigbabe

#simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #fanfiction #zombies

1K notes · View notes

matan4il · 3 months

Text

Daily update post:

This is what it looked like when a school bus with teenagers happened to find itself in an area being bombed by Hezbollah, in northern Israel the other day. The post says that these rockets evaded Iron Dome, but since this is an open area, it's more likely that ID simply didn't try to shoot it down, because it's only meant to intercept rockets it calculates will hit urban and residential areas.

View this post on Instagram

A post shared by Jewish Breaking News (@jewishbreakingnews)

instagram

And THIS is what it looks like when a rocket that is supposed to be intercepted by Iron Dome gets past it (in the southern city of Ashkelon, pic from Oct 17):

And THIS is what it looks like when a rocket IS intercepted by Iron Dome, but there's always debris, and it has to fall somehwhere (pic from Ashkelon, from yesterday):

And today, a rocket barrage was launched at the northern city of Kiryat Shmona from Lebanon, a civilian building was hit directly, responsibility was claimed by Hamas. This is a reminder for ignorant people asking how can there be so many dead when Israel is fighting just one terrorist organization? Israel is fighting more than one, on more than one front.

The family of a Hamas senior has been smuggled out of Gaza to Egypt. This is not the first time we find out that people affiliated with Hamas get to leave Gaza. ANYONE putting pressure on Israel to surrender to an antisemitic, genocidal terrorist organization, needs to explain why is that better than putting pressure on Hamas to surrender and release all the hostages immediately, or on Egypt (or Qatar) to allow in Gaza civilians, and not just the people with connections to a terrorist organization.

I've been listening to a lot of interviews about the innovation that Israel has had to employ, in tackling the urban war challenges that Hamas has presented it with in Gaza, the likes of which I'm not familiar with in modern warfare, and in emergency medicine. As I was listening yesterday to the story of the recovery of a soldier, which seems no less than miraculous, it suddenly hit me, that no matter how much the world is publicly condemning us, the second they can, they will privately rush here to learn from us. Whether people will recognize it or not (and let's be real, the latter is more likely), a lot of lives will be saved all over the world, thanks to the experience and breakthroughs Israel is currently accumulating in these tragic times.

This is Aviad Halevi.

On Oct 7, he was at the Nova music festival, with two of his friends. Aviad had a chance to flee Hamas' carnage, but he chose to stay with a wounded friend instead. Aviad was corresponding with his family, and his dad decided to grab a weapon, and drive into this area, still very much controlled by the terrorists at that point, in order to save Aviad and his friends. In order to get to their location, the father had to shoot terrorists he encountered on his way, and he did make it, but only to find three bodies. He loaded them into the back of his truck, which might have possibly saved them from becoming 3 more of the corpses held hostage by Hamas.

The next vid features Sabine Taasa, who lost on Oct 7 her husband and their 17 years old son, Or. There's another vid where she talks about what her own family went through, how she found two of her sons bleeding, the youngest without his eye, and how Koren told her that the terrorists killed Gil, his dad, asking why didn't they kill him as well. I might post it separately later. In this video, she talks about the hand drawn map found on one of the terrorists killed by Gil before he was murdered himself. I heard other survivors of Hamas' massacre mention these maps, which instructed the terrorists on who lived where, and on who to target first. The survivors said these maps could be in the hands of Gazan terrorists only thanks to Palestinians from Gaza who used to work in Israel, and many talked about their deep sense of betrayal.

May all of the murdered's memories be a blessing.

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

#israel #antisemitism #israeli #israel news #israel under attack #israel under fire #terrorism #anti terrorism #hamas #antisemitic #antisemites #jews #jew #judaism #jumblr #frumblr #jewish #israelunderattack

168 notes · View notes

bunnibitez · 5 months

Text

Messy Hands - Part Two

Mafia!Miguel x Shy!Reader AFAB

Summary: Miguel just can’t get you off his mind. As a result, he’s always there when you need him most, whether you like it or not.

Word count: 4.6k+

CW: 18+ so MDNI, NSFW, mentions of blood, acts of violence, SA(NOT MIGUEL), stalking, jealousy, possessive behaviors, toxic relationship, mentions of death, slow burn, no use of Y/N

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO GET OUT BUT I PROMISE ITS GOOD!!! THANK YOU TO MY BETA READER @jshookthighs I FUCKIN LOVE YOU

Part One here

Time never stops.

It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going battle behind closed eyes and clenched fists. No matter how many deep breaths are sucked in between gritted teeth, no matter how much he prayed, begged, kicked or screamed, time marched on. Taking it’s toll on the world and his soul as it did. With time came its companion, decay. A devious creature that preyed on the innocent and beautiful, corrupting it with it’s touch. That’s how Miguel began to see it all. It was a matter of time until his brain too rotted away until his skull was nothing more than an empty cavity to host his rage rather than his conscience. Every day he could feel the threads of his sanity being pulled taut, and every day he doubted how much longer he could go without being the cause of a fucking masacre.

Wrath.

Rage.

Justice.

So much “justice” due. That’s how he saw it. So many people had done wrong by him; tore him apart, brick by brick. Hurt the people he loved most just to get to him. Until one fateful night, he was left with nothing but a beating heart pumping weakly in a dirty alley, left to die. His chest still tightens at the memory of her. Stolen innocence snuffed out too soon. And yet the ones to blame were left unharmed, hidden behind the ivory walls of their mansions, never truly getting their hands dirty.

Cowards.

If only he had the chance, he’d slaughter them. Watch the life drain from their pathetic bodies as they’d squirm and writhe in pain. Begging for a bullet. But Miguel would take his time with them though, he was patient and knew better than to grant them a sliver of mercy. It was the only lesson his father ever taught him.

But that all would come in due time. Miguel was patient, capable of biding his time until his prey found themselves tangled in his web and unable to escape. But until then much like time, Miguel marched on; dragging a little corpse behind him.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Weeks had since passed at this point, breezing through late spring and bleeding into early summer. The days after the mysterious brute entered Bellagino’s were tense, leaving Mr. Caparelli flighty and panicked. The stout little man could often be found pacing in the kitchen, muttering to himself with a distraught look painted on his face. You didn’t dare ask why he seemed so frightened since his ‘friend’ came to visit, mostly because you yourself seemed a little terrified of him as well. In lieu of your best efforts and his divine features, the man was cold and seemed pestered by your presence at your last encounter. Despite this though, you seem to find yourself staring at him more and more. Since the meeting with Bellaginos’ owner, Miguel had begun to visit the quaint little restaurant every other week or so.

Miguel couldn’t find the motive behind his actions truly. He raked his brain for an answer, disturbing the cobwebs in his head to try and understand why he had to mindlessly sit here and watch. Sit and watch this run down old restaurant like a dog. Sit and feel his shoulders slump as the soft hum began to tune out the buzzing in his mind. He’d come in and plop down at the same little table in the center of the room and the owner would bring him the same ice water with lemon.

For the first two weeks, he had attempted to convince himself it was purely to ensure that Caparelli wouldn’t run out on him. Sure, getting to watch the pretty little thing behind the register try not to stare was fun, but these were just business trips. What did it matter that he started coming in twice a week? What did it matter that he’d feel a twist of disappointment when he’d walk through the creaky little door and not see you in your usual spot because it was your day off? It was just business.

That is until finally he had no choice but to confront the truth. It came at him, sitting in his lap, oozing through his gut and making his stomach tie in knots. It made him nervous and queasy, forced to hide it all behind a stonewall mask. It felt foreign, his thoughts jumbled as he began to lose focus on it all.

‘There’s no way. It’s just work.. It’s just..’

It was a warm night in July and an unusually busy Friday evening at Bellagino’s, due in part to the ongoing festival at the Brooklyn Bridge Park. Fairy lights twinkled overhead in the outdoor dining area, each seat filled with couples and gaggles of laughing friends. Miguel almost didn’t recognize the place with it so full of life. The building had an unfamiliar glow to it that simply complimented it, turning it into the homely feel of a little Italian cottage. Turning his attention to the windows as he approached, he saw you, floating around tables with a smile on your face. His lips parted slightly as he watched you, glowing like an angel in the warm lights.

In your element, twirling to avoid guests with ease, plating food and drinks without spilling a drop. You moved with grace and poise, completely unbothered and confident. It was a complete parallel to how you acted when Miguel was there.

That’s when he felt it. A tugging at his chest and the tightening of his lungs as he held his breath. He could feel his heart thrumming as he stood there, starstruck. For the first time, it wasn’t just a subtle hum, it was a goddamn symphony. A cacophony of harmonious melodies blended together to form the tune playing behind his eyes as he gawked in awe. He couldn’t think straight, his own thoughts being muffled out and pulled to the back of his mind. Sweaty palms clenched into tight fists as he closed his eyes and tried to shake out the cotton filling his head.

‘Think O’Hara… Breathe dammit…’ he reminded himself.

A large hand brushed back loose curls as he inhaled slowly through his nose. He knew he couldn’t stand there staring at you all night like some love stricken fool. He forced himself to move, to draw closer to the siren that called his name without even knowing he was there. His knees buckled, faltering for only a moment as he approached the door. Pushing through, his nerves got the better of him for just a split second and his instincts slipped as his eyes merely tracked you throughout the bustling restaurant. Forgetting to duck his head like he usually did, the top of Miguel’s forehead smacked into the doorframe with a soft thud.

He winced, inhaling sharply as he stumbled inside for a moment. He grit his teeth, more so from annoyance rather than pain. He shut his eyes, hoping to drown out the throbbing at the front of his skull if he rubbed it hard enough. He was grateful that almost everyone else seemed too enveloped in their own mindless conversations to even notice he’d arrived.

Almost everyone.

Approaching Miguel, you looked up at him. His hulking frame would’ve been intimidating had it not been that he slouched a little as he held his head. For the first time since you met him, it made your eyebrows draw upward in concern.

“Sir, are you okay..?”

It took Miguel a moment to open his eyes, his scarlet irises glancing down at you. Slowly he took in the shape of you, nodding his head sheepishly as he swallowed. His hand fell away from his head as he tried to regain his composure. This had been the first time since your initial meeting that you’d spoken to him. Once again, that honey voice triggered the euphoric hum in the back of his mind. Once his gaze met your eyes, he felt his heart skip a beat. They were dazzling and full of genuine concern for him. The kind of eyes that men write poems and hymns about. Sweet irises that he could swim in, but he feared that if he dove in, he’d never come up for air. He’d never seen eyes like yours before. So awestruck that the only response he could give you was a low hum.

You looked down, feeling your bravery caught in your chest. Your eyes darted down to your feet and you cleared your throat, trying to remember the usual script you ran through when a customer arrived.

“R-Right, well… Table for one..?” You asked sheepishly, reaching for a menu. For a moment, Miguel feels his heart stutter. All the confidence you just had somehow managed to seep away in his presence. The way you kept your gaze glue to the floor made him frown, biting the inside of his cheek gently. He could feel the tension rising, an awkward wall you were starting to build. For half a second, Miguel felt a twinge of panic wash over him. He looked at you, searching your body for an out, a way to make things better, to make you less afraid. He swallowed thickly, scrambling his brain to try and think of something to say to lighten the mood or even make you laugh.

“Does it look like I’ve got anyone with me?”

‘Fuck.’

It comes out flat and sarcastic, not charming or teasing as he meant for it to. He internally cringes at himself as he sees the way you retract from him.

“Oh… yeah… Sorry, sir.” You mumble out and begin to guide him to his usual spot. The broken tone of your voice feels like a punch to the gut. A twist of his innards that has him wishing he could turn back time. He’s never been this awkward or nervous before. Usually his callous behavior is intentional and pointed, but now he feels it just makes him look like an ass.

“I’ll be right back to take your order…” Soft spoken and sweet, you place the menu down and walk away. Once seated, he pinches the bridge of his nose in self frustration, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out an annoyed sigh. He’s never been like this before, never been this much of a mess because of a woman. Usually his suave and charming nature takes over and he’s able to seduce anyone he damn well pleases, but for some unknown reason; you broke him. He groans quietly and shakes his head slowly, feeling the butterflies now pooling in his stomach.

‘Aye carajo, get a hold of yourself..’

It feels like his brain is on fire, criticizing every way the interaction went wrong. He feels his gut twist, pinching his nose with enough force that it starts to hurt and his knuckles turn white. The throbbing only continued as his frustration grew. His face practically morphs into a snarl as he sits and waits. Opening his eyes, he glares down at the menu before him, a pleather bound book with the edges peeling away. He tries to refocus his attention on literally anything else than his blundering attempt at conversation.

Miguel is left grumbling to himself when you return to his side. Silently you place a glass of ice water with a lemon wedge bobbing about the glass beside him. Fear beats quickly along side your heart as you wordlessly reach out your other hand, gently clutching a crude ice pack. It was nothing extraordinary, a little sandwich baggie filled with ice chips and wrapped loosely in paper towel. It’s placed on the table beside the water with care. Miguel eyes it for a moment. He feels his stomach twist again but this time its a different feeling. It flutters and it’s soft with smoother edges than before. His cheeks just hardly flush a soft pink as his features remain contorted into a grimace. Without turning his head more than two inches, he looks at you from the corner of his eye. Your eyes are once again glued to your feet, trembling hands reaching to the pen and notepad tucked into your apron. With your head down and your nose nearly buried to the paper of the little booklet, Miguel can’t see the heat that’s spread across your face.

“A-Are you ready to order..?” You squeak out in a voice hardly above a whisper.

Miguel swallows, clearing his throat as he lifts his head. The pink on his cheeks is beginning to darken as your gaze peers over your little notepad and into his crimson eyes. His face melts from frustration, his brows furrowing just a little as he stares back, trying to remember his words.

“No.. I.. Just the water is fine.” He manages to force out. His hands are absently pulling at the cheap white fabric tablecloth as he looks at you. He swears that if he could freeze time at this moment, he would. The way your gaze softens as you look at him, has him biting his tongue just hardly. The butterflies are flapping wildly about in his stomach. Miguel’s canines dig into the tender flesh as he tries to ground himself, distract himself from how pretty those lashes would flutter as he forced you to look up at him from your knees. Would you let him hold your face still while he pounds into you- he wonders.

Your eyes flit back down to your book and you nod your head.

“Y-Yes sir. If you need anything, j-just call for me.” You hold the little name badge pinned to your chest for him as if he hadn’t eyed it the first twelve times he came in to watch you work. With that, you turn on your heel and leave him. Scurrying to another table while Miguel is left merely watching.

The subtle throbbing beats against his head like a drum before he glances down at the icepack you brought over. It feels so tiny in his hand. He lets out a little groan as he presses the baggie to his forehead, relishing in the relief it just barely provides. He can’t help the smile halfheartedly pulling at the corners of his mouth as he sits there.

‘She really didn’t have to do that…’

But he hardly has a chance to bask in his appreciation when he hears it, just barely audible amongst the chatter.

“Aww c’mon sweet’art. I bet I could show ya a real good time.” The man drawls out, clearly drunk from the second pitcher of sangria he and his buddies were splitting. He’s got a toothy and sloshed grin spread across his face as his hand glides up the back of your thigh. You look mortified, eyes silently screaming for help.

Miguel feels his lip twitch as he rises up from his seat.

“S-Sir please stop..” You squeak out, too quiet for the pickled bastard to hear or care. His hand is pulling back, gearing up for a smack, when suddenly a wide tan palm wraps itself around his wrist. It’s grip is tight and overwhelming when Miguel yanks, nearly dragging the drunk out to the ground in the process.

“No la toques, pendejo.” Miguels spits with venom as he twists the man’s arm. The usual hum that played in your presence was washed out by his rage. No one should be allowed to touch you, especially not some wasted shithead. Gritting his teeth, Miguel has to remind himself that he’s in public. Eyes fly to watch the scene unfold. He grumbles lowly as the man cries out in pain before Miguel practically tosses him back into his seat. He scrambles, nearly falling out of his chair to get back from you and Miguel.

With parted lips, a little gasp escapes you. Miguel feels his conscience flooding in as he looks back at you. Wordlessly, he jerks his head towards the door and starts heading for the exit. His eyes are cold, commanding almost. He grumbles something out loud to Caparelli about leaving in Spanish as his grasp nearly tears the creaky little door off it’s hinges. His eyes trace over you once more before he turns his back on you and lets out a gruff, “C’mon.”

Sticking close behind, you slip out the door as he holds it open.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

The night air is warm, the remnants of the summer heatwave still staining Nueva York. It’s mostly quiet aside from the drone of car engines as they pass by. You’re silently keeping pace with Miguel, feeling your chest rattle from the whole interaction. Frightened, confused, and over in a flash. It makes you ball your hands into tight little fists, frustration quietly bubbling up in your chest. In that moment, you froze, retracting into your shell in the hopes that you could avoid confrontation all together. You’re biting back tears as they prick at the corners of your eyes. Your mind is brewing with what ifs and how badly it could’ve gone when suddenly, his voice pulls you from your thoughts. It’s low and sultry with the fleeting taste of a Spanish accent. You couldn’t really hear the words coming out of his mouth, too busy being lulled by the sound of him. You jerk your attention to him, eyeing his lips for a moment before forcing your gaze to meet his.

“Hm?” Is all you can manage.

“I said, do you live around here?” His voice cuts through, fully grounding you and bringing you back to the present.

“O-Oh.. yea. About five blocks thata way.” You tip your head to the left. “I can just walk.”

Miguel nods his head before starting to lead the way down 48th street. You open your mouth to protest his accompaniment but let the words die in your throat. Walking side by side with your head down, you could only let your thoughts wash over you again.

Miguel lumbered on the side of the concrete closest to the street, grumbling as he kept his eyes forward. Loathing boiled inside his stomach, frothing from his mouth in a string of Spanish curses and death threats.

“If I ever see that fucker again, I swear… Llevaré su piel como un abrigo.” He growled to himself, plotting and mentally preparing for the literal hell that he was going to drag that stranger through. His fists were clenched tightly at his side, burning white until he heard a soft sniffle. Pulling himself away from his thoughts, he turned his head to face you.

Your eyes were still glued to the sidewalk beneath you, tears rolling down ruddy cheeks despite how hard you tried to keep them from spilling. The quiet sounds you made were a result of the runny nose that accompanied your tears. It all just felt so overwhelming, so scary. In a moment of quiet and scarce vulnerability, you tried to be brave. But it was so so hard.

Miguel felt his heart sink in his chest. Thoughts of annihilation and revenge washed away. Softened eyes stared down at you silently as he tried to form the right words to say to you to make the pain and fear melt away. But he couldn’t. Miguel was all too aware of the fact that he lacked the necessary eloquence. It pained him to see you trying to bottle it all up. His teeth sunk into his cheek as he scrambled internally. Finally, he loosened his tightly balled fist, letting it hang limp.

Rough, large knuckles brushed up against the back of your dainty hand. The gentle ghost of a caress, hardly grazing your flesh, almost like he was afraid you’d shatter. Warmth radiated off his hand as once again, it swept across your skin, featherlight. Your head lifted, attempting to gaze up at Miguel, but by this time, he’d turned his head away from you in a shallow attempt to hide his growing blush. Whether it had been due to your tear-blurred eyes or your own volition, you stepped hardly an inch closer to the giant, a faint smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

The rest of the trek back to your shabby apartment was quiet, muted were the sounds of Miguel’s grumbling. They were drowned out by the sounds of your indistinct humming. It was nearly impossible to hear, but it was the only thing Miguel could focus on as the two of you passed through your neighborhood. Entering a large, ten-story building, Miguel was only able to remember where he was in the flickering yellow lights of the hall to your apartment door.

Standing before your apartment, he swallowed thickly. Palms sweaty and the hair on the back of his neck standing on edge as you turned your back on him to unlock the door. You looked so small, so delicate, and so fucking pretty. He felt his heart race in his chest, nearly forgetting all together the events of nearly twenty minutes ago. Right now he just wanted to come inside with you and hold you in his arms. He wanted your body pressed against his chest, lulling him to sleep in the comfort of your bed. He wondered if those sheets smelled as sweet as you did, felt as soft to the touch. He tried to wondered if he’d prefer to rest his head amongst your pillows or your thighs, but he already knew the answer.

‘Please… please let me come in cariño… let me make you feel better… let me take care of you, just for tonight…’ he prayed to himself as he watched you open the door with caution.

Doe eyes stared up at him as his lips parted to speak. Just your gaze forced him mute. Rubbing the tears from your cheeks and smiling up at him with warmth and fondness, he thought he was going to fall to his knees right then and there.

“Thank you.. I-I really appreciate everything, sir.” You said gently, hardly above a whisper. It made Miguel savor your voice. The way it made his brain tingle and swim felt better than any liquor he’s ever had. He wanted to hear more of you, but more than anything he wanted to hear you say his name.

“It was no trouble at all. But please chula, from now on just call me Miguel…” He tried to offer the same warm smile you did but could hardly manage anything more than a sweet little smirk. Despite his expression though, you could see the light in his eyes. It was dull and flickering, but it was there, growing. You nodded your head and gave an airy half chuckle.

“Heh okay… Well then, good night… Miguel.” You spoke in the sweetest tone you could manage. Miguel felt a shiver travel down his spine. His cheeks flushed lightly and he swore he could feel his heart pounding behind his eyes. The way his name fell from your tongue made him weak and practically feral. For a moment he considered sweeping you off your feet and fucking you into the couch just so he could hear you say his name like that again. But instead he stood there, attempting to bite back his animalistic urges with his canines as you began to slip into your apartment. The door gently closed as he watched, standing there and thinking about all the ways he’d make you scream his name.

He tries to shake the thought loose but can’t. He can’t stop thinking about how sweet and obedient you’d be. How much you make his heart flutter and how crazy it drives him. Miguel feels a stirring in his chest, a queasiness that makes him feel sick for a moment as reality strolls back in. The fires of rage being stoked once more in your absence as he remembers what brought him to your apartment in the first place.

He can practically already taste blood on his tongue when he recalls the drunk from the restaurant. How terrified he made you, how something worse could’ve happened had Miguel not’ve been there. Through the haze of his anger he makes a decision, you’ll never be without protection again. He’ll always make sure you’re safe, constantly under the watchful eye of the family. Fuck if he could, he’d guard you himself, day and night.

No matter what or how, he’d keep you safe from the scum that roamed this city. He wouldn’t let the only pure thing in his life be tainted or taken away. Not again. God forbid anything did happen to you, Miguel would have to burn the whole city to the ground.

From that day forth, whenever he couldn’t watch over you himself Miguel would have one of his Spider’s watching over you. Jess or Ben would be the one’s usually sitting in an unmarked vehicle outside of Bellagino’s, stalking in the shadows to make sure you got home safe, reporting back to Miguel as he worked.

For a short while it satisfied him. That is until one night Jess reported she saw you opening the door for some friends, ushering them inside with glee as they carried bottles of wine and board games. Jess tried to explain it was fine, beyond normal even. But Miguel didn’t care. In fact he’d stopped listening to her the moment she said there was a man amongst the group of 4 that were permitted entry. Who the fuck was he? Why did he get to be so close to you? Jealousy washed over him, filling him to the brim.

‘It’s just for her protection…’ that’s what he told himself. Over and over again. Even when he had Peter install the little devices inside your house, while you were off at work. Miguel felt a tinge of guilt, sitting and watching you work with a smile on your face from his table. Meanwhile hidden surveillance cameras were being put in your bedroom, your kitchen, your bathroom, and your living room. It ate at him a little that he worried so much. But how could he not? He couldn’t let anything bad happen to you. This was for your safety, he knew better than to let you out of his sight. The last time he wasn’t watching carefully enough, it cost him… her.

No. He wouldn’t bury another person he cared about. Not when he had the power to do something about it this time. Not when you just started to warm up to him. You finally started to look him in the eye when he sat down at his usual spot. You finally started to smile at him and bless him with that angelic laugh. You started to loosen up and even stop and chat for a few minutes. Once on your break, you just sat and talked to him for the whole thirty minutes, telling him about your day and terrible jokes you thought he might like. All just to see him smile and laugh back at you. He couldn’t just let you slip away. Not when he knew what he’d do if he lost you.

As little as you knew it, you were holding his shattering mind together, keeping him from falling apart. If only you understood how much he needed you.

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Time never stops. It marches on, dragging the corpse of yesterday behind it. Time never ceases and neither does the on going beating of hearts and whispers of hope that pray for a better tomorrow. With time came its companion, decay. A mysterious creature that made room in the world for new hope and potential. Miguel didn’t always enjoy time’s passage, nor did he adore it’s companion decay. But with the two, a third party marched, carrying a flag of promise and beauty. With time and decay, tread growth. A glorious and shining ray for tomorrow, growth lit a path for time, giving way for hope.

Everyday that he saw your glowing face, he could feel his heart beating and mending, little by little.

But Miguel was patient, slowly learning to accept time and the company it kept. He knew to bide his time and earn your trust. He knew that with time, you’d be his.

Part 3

Taglist

@whisperwispxx @eatally @moonvoidpng @unicornbabygremlin @chshiresins @iloveyouall234-blog @amber-content

#across the spiderverse #mafia #mafia au #miguel o'hara #miguel smut #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel x you #yandere!miguel o’hara #stalker!miguel #stalker

267 notes · View notes

artemisgrayy · 2 months

Note

hi hello here is a totally anonymous prompt from a totally anonymous fan!!

consider: Vox & the Most Dangerous Game (short story or series/movie!)

take from that what you will and have funnnnn~ <3

Vox & the Most Dangerous Game

✨ Masterlist ✨

18+ - Minors DO NOT INTERACT

Tags: NSFW, Vox & Reader, Porn with plot, NonCon, Reader has Fem Anatomy, hypnosis, manipulation, biting until blood is drawn, claws drawing blood, penetration, breeding if you squint hard enough

“Fuck.” Another paper cut slices your thumb like butter from furiously flicking through the paperwork. Velvette will have your head if you get blood on her reports again. You set them down, sticking your thumb in your mouth to slow the bleeding. The metallic taste dances across your palate as you rifle through the basket on your desk for a band-aid. When you find one, you fumble a bit, struggling to apply it with your left hand.

Five perfectly manicured fingers slam the surface in front of you, launching your heart into a tailspin. You look up to see Velvette, the Social Media Overlord, glaring down at you.

“Where the fuck are my reports?” she demands, snapping her fingers, “I need social listening, what’s trending, engagement analytics and I needed them yesterday.”

“Ah,” you bow your head, hastily flicking through the stack looking for the reports. You pry each one from the pile and hold them out to her, “Here they are.”

She snaps them out of your hand, the paper crinkling violently. Your mind races as you watch her ruby eyes narrow and scan the sheets. You’re nearly confident they were perfectly crafted, but a sliver of doubt shrouds your thoughts. You hear her mumble under her breath, each flip of the page more irate than the last.

“What the fuck is this?” Velvette spits out slapping one of the pages on your desk, causing you to flinch. You open your mouth to reply, nervously pulling on the hem of your skirt, but you’re cut off, “Engagement is way down. Are you sure you did these right? Did you fuck’em up, again?!”

You swallow down the lump in your throat and point towards your screen, showcasing the information that you pulled the data from. You knew she would ask about this.

“Well Ms. Velvette,” your voice is shaky despite your attempt to mask it, “I triple-checked the data but every result comes back to this. I can try to run it again?”

The overlord moves closer to squint at your screen, the rich navy and magenta curls of her pigtails brushing against the desk. She scoffs, standing upright, and pinches the bridge of her nose.

“Don’ fuckin’ bother. Un-fuckin’-believable,” she clips, massaging the spot where her fingers rest, “Go see Vox. He updated the software to change the algorithm. Get the old one back. If the cretins of hell aren’t glued to their phones, then what’s the fuckin’ point.”

You’re frozen in place, slightly taken back by Velvette asking you to see Vox — generally, she handles communication with him.

“Well?” She waves her hand emphatically, motioning at the elevator, “Get on with it then.”

“Yes, Ms. Velvette,” you nod, launching from your chair, and half-jogging toward the elevator. You nearly roll an ankle on your way and you quietly cuss about Velvette’s dress code. You jam the elevator button with such pent-up ferocity that the paper cut stings beneath the band-aid.

The elevator dings, signaling its arrival and you slip inside before the doors fully open, tapping the button to the penthouse suite. Your hands cross comfortably in front of you.

As the elevator climbs, you become hyper-aware of the sweat pooling in your palms. You've seen Vox’s face daily since starting with Velvette - he runs the whole VVV empire — but never in person. His malicious smile, with teeth like sharpened glass, can be found on the walls, doors, and even on the elevator screen.

“Vox. Trust us.” Vox’s euphonious voice echoes through the speaker of the metal box. A chuckle escapes your chest at the prospect of trusting any of them. You know full well what these overlords are like, and wouldn't trust them to as far as you could throw them.

Your heart is nearly in your throat when you reach the top floor, the arrival bell reverberating through your spine as the doors open. Your feet feel cemented to the floor as you trudge through the cold, dimly lit hallway, but the ethereal blue glow from Vox’s office pulls you forward.

The circular, metal doors whoosh open as you approach and you're in awe of the massive, spherical room it reveals. Your heels clack against the floor, the sound echoing off the curved walls as you traverse the lit-up walkway that cuts through the center.

As you approach the middle of the room, you're greeted by a curved wall of screens, radiating light with such intensity that you squint. Each TV, in a range of different sizes, broadcasts something different. Movies, news, porn, social media — nearly every video format you can think of had a dedicated screen.

Your eyes trail downward, landing on the back of a slightly reclined chair at the center of it all. The mint-coloured tip of Vox’s boots can be seen next to each other, his legs crossed at the heel on top of the control panel below the TVs.

“Ms. Velvette sent me up to ask about changing the algorithm. Engagement has been down and uh,” your heart is in overdrive, thrumming through your chest like a jackhammer as you intentionally walk through each word to avoid stammering, “she asked me to come to see you about changing it back.”

“Uh huh,” mumbles the demon. You catch a glimpse of his hand furiously typing away on his phone as you speak, barely acknowledging your existence.

Is he fucking kidding?

You’re sickened by the fact that you spend most of your days putting up with Velvette’s bullshit, only to be ignored by another smug asshole in this place. Rage bubbles in your chest, you take a deep breath and look around the office, hopeful for some semblance of common ground. Your eyes land on a massive dartboard with pictures strewn across it, and you realize you recognize one of them.

“Oh, I used to listen to his broadcasts all the time. That’s Alastor, right?” you barely notice the flicker of the screens when the Radio Demon’s name leaves your mouth, “I love his voice.”

A snap pulls your gaze back towards the chair, which is now in an upright position. Vox’s feet are planted on the floor and his claws slice into the armrests of his chair. His head tilts towards you, his blood-red eyes pointed furiously in your direction. The glow of his turquoise sharpened teeth contrasts with the drips of crimson saliva bleeding from his mouth.

You realize you must have hit a nerve with Alastor's name.

“What did you say?” Vox’s voice booms through the speakers of the office, vibrating through every bone in your body.

You're annoyed by his reaction more than you are scared. The paper cut burns under the bandaid, reminding you of the constant shit you put up with in this fucking place — now you can't enjoy other mediums?

“I'm sorry, can I not like things that aren't Vox-related?” Your eyebrows furrow and your head tilts, “Who gives a shit if I listened to the fucking radio however many years ago.”

“You're playing a dangerous game.” Vox spits venomously, his voice distorted in a way you've never heard before. The chair spins and he launches himself to a standing position. His body stiffens, the shoulders of his navy and turquoise striped blazer nearly coming to his ears.

Vox’s footsteps echo through the giant room as he walks towards you with a nefarious intent. The hungry look in his eye twists your stomach into knots. Primal fear overtakes the rage you felt moments ago, clouding your senses. You take a step back.

“Fuck this, I quit.” you sputter out. On the last syllable, Vox’s left eye swirls into a cacophony of blue and red circles. You're entranced, as if you're caught in the deathly whirlpool of his gaze, unable to escape. A faint buzz fires through your limbs, locking you in place.

“Do ya now?” Vox cackles, coming toe to toe with you. The overlord’s aquamarine index claw curls under your chin, digging into your skin as he forces you to meet his gaze.

Vox's grin fires warning flares through your mind as his eyes take you in, swallowing you whole. Electricity zaps around the screen of his face. A baleful laugh erupts through his chest as he turns on his heel to walk back towards his chair.

“Follow me.” He demands. You don't have the opportunity to decline. Your body moves on it's own, following in the footsteps of the demented demon in front of you. He casually sits in his chair, legs apart.

“Sit.” Vox’s clawed finger points at his lap. You fight against your body with every move it makes but to no avail — you're now straddling the demon, powerless. His shit-eating grin devours you.

“What the fuck are you doing to me?” you force out behind gritted teeth, “let me go you fucking asshole”

“oh ho ho,“ he gleams, cocking an eyebrow, “this one is spicy. I like it when they're spicy.”

You feel his claws dig into your scalp as he grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling your face towards his. His teeth part, revealing his long, cyan tongue inching towards your neck. The tip of it grazes against your throat, and you grimace at the wetness of his saliva coating your skin.

You want to squirm but you can't.

“Go ahead and squirm.” He urges as if reading your mind. He leans back in his chair, fingers laced behind his head, “Show me how scared you are.”

Your body involuntarily wriggles, bringing your full attention to Vox’s hard, thick length pressing against the thin fabric of your underwear. You curse Velvette’s dress code once again.

You're disgusted by the amusement in his expression, his hot breath blowing across your face as he reacts to your struggle. Fear crawls up the back of your neck, terrified of where this is headed.

“Please let me go.” you whimper, still squirming on top of him.

“I'll let you go when you really know who's in charge here. Radio is dead. Video is the future. And this,” Vox points towards his crotch, “is your future. Get on your knees.”

Your body carries you against your will to the floor in front of the demon. Goosebumps crawl up your shins as they make contact with the ground below you.

A vile laugh bursts from the demon, “I'm so fuckin hard right now. Taste me, bitch.”

Reluctance floods your body, but you're unable to fight the movement of your hands as you unbutton and unzip him. The overlord's cyan cock springs free and you nearly choke on your tongue at the length and girth of it. You barely have time to process before your entrapped body forces you forward, his erection throbbing below your tongue as it runs across it.

Your lips wrap around the tip and Vox snarls in pleasure. The demon reaches out with both hands, clutching fistfuls of your hair. Strands rip free from your scalp as they wrap around his claws. He pulls your mouth down on him, forcefully closing the gap between the tip of his cock and the back of your throat.

“Mmm, good girl,” moans the demon, bucking his hips while he holds you there, cutting off any ability to pull air into your lungs. Your jaw aches. Your vision blurs. For a moment, you question if this is how you die.

Vox finally releases you and you launch backward, collapsing on the floor with a sickening thud. Your lungs heave, desperately trying to pull in oxygen as you stutter and gasp.

“You're not done yet,” he cackles, “now it's time for the real show. It's time you remember who owns you. Fuck me, now.”

Your stomach sinks at the prospect but you unwillingly climb to your feet. Distress fires through your brain like fireworks, and you plant your feet with such force that you wonder if they'll break through the ground below you.

It's no use.

You're pulled towards the demon, your body hanging on his every demand.

“Please no,” you plead, knowing full well the damage Vox’s monstrous cock will do to you, but that only sets his blood-coloured eyes ablaze. Your reluctance fuels him.

You straddle the overlord again, but this time you're pulling the fabric of your underwear to the side. Your body lowers itself towards Vox’s length, throbbing in anticipation of your pussy wrapping around him. His face glows a radiant blue when the bulbous head finds your slit. His maniacal expression sends waves of trepidation cascading through your chest.

“Sit.”

You do as you're told, slowly lowering yourself. He's not even halfway in when a sharp inhale dances across your tongue, your insides already stretching past the point of comfort.

“Please, it won't fit.” you beg, your breaths becoming more urgent with each inch that slides through your folds.

Vox looks up at you, a vile grin splayed across his face. He wraps his claws around your waist, the tips of his nails breaking through the skin of your back, and forces himself all the way inside of you. You scream as you feel him bottom out.

He doesn't give you a moment to breathe.

Using the grip of your waist as leverage, Vox thrusts violently, hammering into you with such ferocity that your hands fire out, clutching the breast of his jacket for support.

Your lips part and a moan escapes. You're unsure if it's genuine or part of the entrapment he has you in, but the cock of Vox's eyebrow answers that for you. He slides one hand to the middle of your back, pulling you into him, and you find yourself rocking your hips in tandem with his.

“Who do you belong to?” barks the overlord.

“I belong to Vox.” you moan.

“And who's better than that trash radio demon?”

“You are, Vox.”

A distorted growl rumbles from Vox’s chest in reaction to your words. He bares his teeth, clamping down on your shoulder. You scream as warm streams of crimson roll down your tricep, splashing onto the arm rests of the chair.

You're unable to deny the fire building in your throbbing clit as the overlord’s thrusts increase in speed, signaling that he's close to his peak. You meet his rhythm, chasing your own climax as your moans and his snarls echo around you, the heat of your breath fogging up the glowing screens.

He wraps both arms around you and growls, pulling you downward as he explodes inside of you. Your toes curl as shockwaves of pleasure fire through every nerve ending. Your orgasm pulses through your fingers and toes as you revel in how the demon fills you. His seed gushes out of you, dripping down the inside of your thigh.

“Get out.” Demands Vox, causing you to involuntarily stand and adjust your skirt. Euphoria continues to plague your thoughts and you're too lost in the haze to be bothered by any of his bullshit anymore.

You limp towards the exit, clutching the seeping wound on your shoulder when he calls after you, “Tell Velvette I'll update the algorithm.”

“Yes, Vox.” You mutter under your breath.

“And I'll see you next week.” his cackles echo through your skull as the metal doors slide closed behind you.

Hello super anonymous reader 👀 I hope you enjoyed your time with Vox, along with everyone else who dove into this one. "Fun" was definitely an understatement.

I wasn't expecting to enjoy writing Vox this much?? Do *I* wanna frick Vox??

Idk, I'm gonna go take a cold shower

✨ Masterlist ✨

#hazbin vox #hazbin hotel vox #vox x reader #vox & reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin fanfiction #vox hazbin hotel #vox fanfiction #hazbin hotel fanfiction #hazbin hotel headcanon #hazbin #vox x you

86 notes · View notes

heiayen · 22 days

Text

gently wipe the sorrow off my life, i dream scaramouche x gn!reader

summary: "you didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed." you're surprised and completely heartbroken when your lover, kunikuzushi, suddenly disappears without a trace. you think it's the end of the world, with your heart open and bleeding but soon you discover, that there is still happiness waiting for you.

tags: based on the prompt "there’ll be happiness after you but there was happiness because of you", scara's real name used, modern au (from highschool to college), scara basically pulls an irminsul but why? blame dottore angst/bittersweet, [name] is very much going through it </3 title name taken from the honkai star rail song "if i can stop one heart from breaking". not proofread

notes: hi. i come back with angst! written for @thexianzhoujade's personal memoires event and truthfully i kinda hate this fic HAJAHS but this is fine i am not fine blah blah blah yippee. i forgot how to write scara so sorry if this fic is kinda ooc but yeahhh have fun enjoy !! <3 as if anyone is going to enjoy angst LMAO

“Come on, it’s just one photo and besides, we barely have pictures of us…”

“...just one, fine. Get in here.”

A part of you wished you had taken more pictures with him. Pictures from dates in the blooming parks, from hangouts with your friends after school, from spending time together at his place, something to fill up the empty photo album you found hidden in your room. You filled only a few pages, with a few pictures of you and Kunikuzushi, of you taken by your friends, of your family during holidays, pictures of you and your friends, his friends, a picture of him you took when he didn’t see– the one you considered putting in your wallet, laughing how you’d look like a spouse missing their husband.

(You counted exactly six photos of him in your album, compared to the twenty or so with others. Barely a quarter, not even a half, barely a page and a half of the album.)

You moved your fingers over one of them, the one you took after graduation– laughing with your friends, posing at the camera, tightly holding his hand, and tugging him closer, and wondered.

Did it have to end like this? If you only knew what was happening, would you somehow fix it in time?

Things were… nice, before. Being with him was nice, even if his personality sometimes made you tug at your hair in annoyance. But you found a common language and spoke in it till the very end, sharing your joy and sadness, annoyance and anger, silent tears and gentle fluttering in your chests.

When you first met Kunikuzushi in school, you had your opinions about him– he wasn’t the nicest, wasn’t talking with many other students, and seemingly valued his time alone more than with someone. You understood it, some people simply weren’t the social butterflies but it became a problem when, by some unlucky charm (at least, you thought it was unlucky then), you ended up together to work on a project. You didn’t know him and your teacher decided to pair you by herself, saying how she wanted her students to interact more with each other. It seemed like a terrible idea at first.

(You rolled your eyes, giving a look to your friend. You really didn’t entertain this idea– to do a big project with someone other than your friend? You dealt with enough shitty groupmates leaving you on read or delivered in your life, and that was for small projects! What if you got someone as shitty as them? You shuddered at the thought alone.)

But, oh, how wrong you were. You didn’t expect to befriend that guy, and yet a few months in, Kunikuzushi became your best friend, and a year later– your lover.

You remembered that love confession like yesterday; a little awkward, he jumbled over his words and you said something stupid in return, laughing awkwardly at yourself and almost getting up from that bench and marching back home. It was late, the bench in the park illuminated by the streetlight. A part of you was sure he planned for the confession to look different, yet whatever his ideal plan was, you wouldn’t exchange what you got for it.

He walked you back home, you remembered, holding your hand.

To say you were happy was an understatement. Something bloomed in your chest with every day spent together with him, the little affections between you warming your heart and cheeks, and every morning seemed… a little brighter. It wasn’t wake up, get dressed, go to school, spend majority of your day studying, sleep, anymore.

Wake up, reply to Kunikuzushi’s late night message he sent. Get dressed and don’t forget about that chain necklace with a pendant he gave you for your birthday (you were matching, of course you were matching). Go to school and spend the day with your friends, with Kunikuzushi, with his friends (although you weren’t sure if that ginger guy was really his friend, but…). Spend the rest of your day studying, texting, and sometimes hanging out if you had free time (which turned into weekly hangouts with all your friends and… sometimes, more than once a week, just you and Kunikuzushi). Text him goodnight and smile at his, although short, reply back. Sleep.

You hoped it would stay like this… for longer. For as long as possible, just living in this bliss, being happy and not alone, with people you loved and who loved you back, some even more than others.

(Selfishly, you wanted that to last forever. Forever the high school student with no worries other than passing exams and doing your homework on time. Forever with your friends, spending weekends with them, having fun and not caring about anything else. Was it selfish to want to be happy forever?)

Kunikuzushi was here with you for all your problems, even if, truthfully, he wasn’t the best at solving them, and neither he was good at words. But he was still here, offering you support and letting you talk about what annoyed you, what made you sad and sometimes, he still would try to comfort you, loudly agreeing with your complaints, (lovingly) threatening to beat someone up if they were an asshole to you, telling you to not worry. It wasn’t the end yet.

His presence alone helped you manage through harder days– it was better to be with someone after all, rather than spend your days wallowing in sadness alone, with only the walls willing to listen.

(You offered him help, too. Quietly sitting and listening to his rants about his mother, squeezing his hand and tugging him closer to you– or simply being next to him, when touch was something unwanted.)

When graduation came, in bittersweet tears you promised your friends (and Kunikuzushi, of course) to still be in touch with them, and never leave them alone just because you weren’t students from the same class anymore. That didn’t change anything, no.

The summer vacation you spent mostly with your friends, hanging out and enjoying the warm, summer weather. So many trips, so many walks with Kunikuzushi and dates– oh, that picnic you two went on one day… it started raining at one point (the weather reports lied to you, it seemed) and you only had a blanket to cover yourself from the rain. How funny it was, how much you wished you could get the chance to do it again, with him–

You sighed, closing the album. Sometime before the summer’s end, right before the start of college, you noticed… changes in Kunikuzushi’s behavior. He still was your lover, caring about you in his own ways, he still was the man you loved, but something seemed to always bug him. Something seemed to sit on his shoulders, heavy. You always asked him if he was okay because yes, yes, you noticed his worse mood, noticed all the little things he tried to hide and you were worried, really worried, and–

And yet, you never got a proper answer. Always to not worry, that nothing was wrong, and you were tired of that, maybe if you, at least this once, pressed him for answers, during that summer night you called a date–

Maybe you would know why he suddenly disappeared without a trace.

The many messages you sent, the many unanswered calls– you asked your friends around, his friends, and were greeted with radio silence in answer. You didn’t know what happened, why it happened and that was breaking your heart, cutting it open, leaving burning pain in your chest, where once flowers of love bloomed.

(These flowers would never truly burn, you feared. Some would still leave, polluting your heart and making it harder to breathe.)

What was once beautiful turned into a burden, far too heavy to carry alone. There was so much stress on your plate– because what if something happened to him? What if someone did something to him, what if there was something you could do to change it? Why were you so distracted throughout the day? Why was it hard to get up in the morning, why the only thing you wanted to do was to wait at your phone, with hopes of seeing at least a single message from him? Where went your motivation to study, to do well in college as you promised yourself?

Where was he? What happened? Could you change it?

Were you at fault?

(No, of course you weren’t. You did everything in your power, but it just wasn’t enough. None of this was your fault.)

Were you alone in it?

…no, you weren’t. It felt like you were, especially at first; with new people around you, your friends offering you support but ultimately being busy, you felt alone. Terribly so, loneliness gnawing at your soul all the time, leaving the icy cold feeling in its wake.

But life forced you to get up from that pit, whether you wanted that or not. You couldn’t fail your major, not when you worked so hard to get into it in the first place. And neither you wanted to completely cut off your friends, so you started replying to their texts more. You’ve met new people, too, and made new friendships.

Things were getting back on track after, you thought that they wouldn’t. You pulled yourself up with your own strength, with your friends cheering for you from the distance, their cheers putting a smile on your face.

(Younger you thought that if you ever were to break up with Kunikuzushi, the world would simply… end. You ignored that thought creeping into your mind, waved it away, pushed it deep at the bottom of your mind. It wouldn’t happen.)

Now, as you looked at the pictures, you still felt a sharp pang in your chest. You missed him, yes, and you still thought about the days you spent together with him, but they no longer brought you back into that darkness you once experienced.

They were a bittersweet memory now. Ones, you would cherish till the end, gently putting them on the shelf with new, happy memories.

You hummed to yourself in thought, tapping at the cover of the album with your nail. Maybe instead of pondering how you should take more photos of the past, maybe you should take more of the future? Fill the album up with new photos of yourself, your friends, random things that you found pretty and worth remembering.

Your phone threw you out of the thinking, the loud noise of the ringtone filling up the room. Right, you were supposed to meet up with your friends in an hour and here you were, going through your old stuff and procrastinating the shower.

You put the album away and picked up your phone. A smile tugged at your lips hearing the overjoyed voice of your friend, telling you how excited they are to meet with you again (your last hangout was two weeks ago!) and that they already left.

You looked back at the album.

With today, you’d start filling it up with new memories of your happiness.

#astronetwrk #・ nouveau livre ˎˊ˗#nereids' realm #⊹ ࣪ ˖ personal memoires ⟢#heia's writin'#genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact x you #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x you #kunikuzushi x you #how about you stop having so many names #gender neutral reader

138 notes · View notes