#and if it’s hurting me like this then I can’t even imagine how he’s feeling

[luveline]

I would dieeee for some more of Spencer and bombshell after her getting injured😭 him taking such good care of her, the BEST doctors, researching every single option😭 reassuring her rhats shes just as pretty😭

—Spencer looks after you while you recover from a brutal injury. fem!reader, 1.1k

Spencer thinks it’s one of the team's more gruesome injuries. Hotch has been stabbed to mince meat and Emily half-killed, Elle got shot, and he’s had his fair share of violence, too, but he can’t imagine the horror of being hit in the face with a hammer. The pain so close to your eyes, your teeth, your brain, the fear and the sudden crack. He feels sick whenever he remembers the sound, and he was sick the first time he dreamt about the way you cried as it happened. Your strange yelp, the immediate drop to the floor. 

Spencer never hit somebody as hard as he did that UnSub. His gun whipped out possessed across the UnSub’s face, and then drove forward into their nose with a stomach turning crunch. 

They’re in custody, and you’re in bed recovering with some of the best doctors in the world. Spencer thinks you both won this round, even if it doesn’t feel like a win right now. 

“Shh,” he whispers, “shh, shh, it’s okay. It’s okay, don’t cry.” 

You cling to his chest as though worried he’s going to move out of reach, sobbing. You’re careful not to touch your face or his chest, the soreness too much, but the rest of you is clinging to him. You don’t have to worry, he’s not going anywhere. 

“Please, it’s okay,” he says, the tip of his nose to your forehead. “You can have another dose in twenty minutes. Just twenty minutes.” 

He supposes the pain reminds you of the full extent of the injury, your jaw fractured in two places, your gum traumatised, your face more bruise than anything else. You hate your appearance being out of your control, it’s making you panic —he can feel you shaking.

He’d sat down with your drink to find you already crying, he couldn’t have been gone for ten minutes, but it was long enough for you to fall deep into the throes of hysteria. You’d grappled for him as he sat down to hug you, your face hidden ever since, and now the shakes have started. He’s hopeless. 

But Spencer’s willing to do anything to make it better. “Can you tell me what’s upsetting you? Please?” he asks.

“It’s–” Harder sobbing, your tears dripping down from your chin to wet the thigh of his pants.

He has to calm you down.

Since you met Spencer, you’ve been the comforter. He can’t count how many times something has hurt him and you’ve rushed to save him. You’ve hugged and held and kissed him into smiling, you’ve never let him down, you’ve forgiven him after a hundred stupid mistakes, so Spencer doesn’t care that you’ve been inconsolable for days. He really doesn’t mind that he’s had to look after you this attentively. It’s his pleasure, and he’s getting better at it. 

He presses a few soft shushes somewhere in your hairline, his hand rubbing a circuit into your back with a firm pressure that never tips into roughness. He does it until his palm is numb. He could paint the slant of your back from muscle memory, fingers tripping down the creased fabric of your pyjamas, pulling back up to your neck. He’s never felt such tender sympathy. He hates that you’re in pain, but he doesn’t hate getting to rub your back. This is surely boyfriend territory. 

“You want something to drink now?” he asks quietly. 

You open your mouth to answer, sighing in pain momentarily. “Uh, yeah.” 

“Did you want the straw?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” He can’t force himself away. “You okay for me to move you?” 

“Yeah.” 

You can’t be blamed for short answers. 

There are surgeries to hold your jaw together when it breaks, and while you were unconscious (shock, rather than head injury), Hotch consented as your next of kin for the doctors to make sure things wouldn’t get worse, but it was Spencer who had to advocate for you afterwards. They’d wanted a metal connector to prevent dislocation. Spencer knew this could mean another scar, so he said no, because you might’ve said no had you been awake, and they should’ve asked you anyways. 

When you did wake up, you were vehemently against it. Which is fine, you can heal without it, but it’s scarier to do it unaided. Your jaw could dislocate if you do something wrong, which is not only horrifically painful, but a painfully horrific injury to have. You talk quietly. You take small mouthfuls of soft foods. 

Spencer looks at you now, tearstained, back arched like a kicked dog, and doesn’t know what to do. He wishes he were the one who got injured instead. 

He takes the hospital bed controls into his hand and presses the button to make the top of your mattress elevate. Tomorrow, they’ll send you home, and Spencer will have to construct a nest of pillows for you to sit in while you recover, but it’ll be worth it. Things won’t feel as intimidating when you’re in your own bed. 

“Lean back, beautiful,” he says. 

Your smile is a straight line with eyes lit up. “What for?” you ask. 

“Comfier. Less stress on your head.” You lean back. “Oh,” he adds, “and so I can get a better view of you.” 

Your eyes get impossibly brighter. “What do you think?” you murmur. Your voice sounds scratched to death from crying, tight from holding your mouth a certain way, but pleased anyways. It’s just as pretty as it always is to him. 

“You’re the prettiest girl in the world,” he says, reaching out to cradle your waist, his hand moving up and down the side of you tenderly. 

You have a bruise from under your left eye and bleeding down your neck, and you haven’t slept right for a few days, but you’re undeniably beautiful in Spencer’s eyes. 

You’ve been the most beautiful girl in the world literally from the day you met onward, with as much to do with your heart as your lovely face. He should tell you that, but he doesn’t. 

“Can I have water now?” you ask, covering his hand with yours. 

His confidence wobbles. “Oh, yeah, sorry. Sorry.” He grabs your drink, water spilling down the side to wet his hand. 

“Please don’t make me laugh.” 

“I’m not trying to,” he says pathetically. 

He holds the cup of water to your face and you guide the straw between your lips. Spencer’s sure he’s been in love with you forever, and it’s all but cemented now. 

#spencer and bombshell reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction

[draconic-desire]

To the Grave (400 subs!)

Yandere Aventurine x Reader

Yet another escape attempt thwarted. How will Aventurine react?

Warnings: Yandere behavior, implied kidnapping, forced imprisonment and affection

The room is cold, and not just because you’re half naked and shivering, clutching at your thin pajamas. No, it’s because the man across from you is radiating an aura more bone-chilling than Jarilo-VI.

Aventurine dismisses the IPC grunts who dragged you in with a wave of his hand. You get a sick sort of satisfaction that it took four of them, plus a senior staff member in a mech suit, to finally restrain you this time.

Your escape this round was spontaneous, but you couldn’t turn your nose at the opportunity when you noticed the guards had failed to lock your door that evening. You’d sprinted out wearing nothing but the ridiculous, skimpy nightwear that Aventurine liked to return to you wearing. You’d made it as far as the outskirts of the manor before you were grabbed and tackled by the pursuing goons.

Hence how you found yourself here, presented to the very man who held you captive against your will.

The room is dead silent. His back is to you, so you can’t gauge his expression, but you notice he’s playing with a single chip, tossing it back and forth between his hands—a tick that you’ve learned means he’s thinking, calculating.

“Did you really think your little stunt would work?” His voice is calm, barely over a whisper, but it still sends a shiver down your spine. Your nails dig into your palms ever so slightly harder, leaving crescent moons in their wake.

“The odds haven’t stopped me before,” you throw back, mocking his own betting lingo.

Aventurine lets out a dry, breathy laugh. “And that’s what makes a gambler. That desperate desire to cling to the hope that the next time will be the jackpot.”

“I’m willing to take those odds if it means a lifetime without you.”

He does not have one of his normal, clever comebacks for that, apparently. He merely flicks the chip one more time and snatches it midair in his left hand, which then moves to settle behind his back.

“Do you have any idea the lengths I go to in order to keep you safe?”

At first, you think you imagine it—the edge of hurt, the crack in his voice. But then you notice his posture, the hand held behind his back, the fist shaking ever so slightly. It’s the same as when he’s making a risky bet, when he’s scared of the next play.

Some of your bitterness morphs to confusion. “Aventurine—”

This time he turns, and his mesmerizing, beautiful, terrifying Avgin eyes meet your own. “You know what to call me.”

“Kakavasha,” you breathe out after a pause. At the sound of his true name, you see him release a breath, some of the ice melting around his eyes. “This isn’t safety, this is a prison. You can’t expect me to…”

Your voice trails off as he wraps his arms around you, one hand caressing your hair while the other attaches to your hip. He buries his nose into your neck, right at the base of your jaw, and you suck in a breath. You still feel the ghost of pain from each previous bite and bruise he’s left on your neck, the marks he uses to stake his claim on you.

He releases a choked laugh, making your knees weak with fear. You brace yourself for pain, for the sting of his fangs as he sinks his teeth into your flesh—

Except you realize he’s not laughing, he’s crying.

“I was so frightened, (Y/n). I thought—I thought you were gone—” Each attempt is cut off with another hitched breath, his grip on you like a vice. “You’re all I have left, the only thing that I can protect. I can’t lose you, too. I’ll give you anything. So please, just…stay.”

Your initial shock starts to bleed into uncertainty. Strings of doubt, of guilt, wrap around your heart. How can you pull away from him, knowing his past? How fate has stolen every loved one from him, leaving him a broken shell that he himself was forced to piece back together? Can you truly blame him for his possessiveness, his need to keep you?

Of course you can, logic tells you. But the lost man—no, the frightened Avgin boy, the last of his kind—who is clutching you with such unbridled affection and sadness doesn’t need your reasoning, he needs your understanding, your compassion.

You sigh, placing your hand on his head and running your fingers through his golden tresses, in the manner you know he loves so dearly from you. “I’m sorry. I—I’m not going anywhere.”

“No,” he agrees, his voice suddenly clear, “you aren’t.”

Something rattles and wraps around your neck with a click.

“Wha-what—!” You scratch at your nape, at the metal fixture that you don’t even need a mirror to identify. No. He couldn’t have. He wouldn’t, not after everything he himself has been through, he wouldn’t subject you to the same humiliation and torture—

Aventurine gives the chain attached to the shackle around your neck a light tug. When your eyes lock with his, you see they are void of tears, brimming only with smug victory. The basted fucking faked it.

How easily you had fallen for the mask of Kakavasha, only to be met by the reality of Aventurine, his heart as hard as stone.

You immediately thrash, baring your teeth at him. “Bastard! Liar! Heartless wretch!” You growl when you hear him laugh at that last one. “I will never stop fighting you, not until you are alone, dead, and buried as you deserve!”

“That may be so,” he drawls, “but your willing compliance certainly isn’t something I’m willing to bet on.” He pulls you close by your chain, licking your fallen tear of frustration. “So how about I bring you to the grave with me, hm?”

#yandere aventurine #yandere aventurine x reader #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere #yandere escape #yandere headcanons #yandere imagines #yanderecore #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere male #aventurine #aventurine x you #aventurine x reader #hsr aventurine #aventurine honkai star rail #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail #hsr

[seresinhangmanjake]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is afraid to propose to his girlfriend (reader)

notes/warnings: fluff, angsty-ish, cursing, typos i'm sure (i wrote it in like an hr and then lost all energy to closely proofread. sorry)

words: 1367

Simon Riley Masterlist

Forty-Two months. You’ve been together for forty-two months, and Simon Riley is no fool. He knows what he has. Through every imaginable horror, you’ve been by his side. You’ve held his hand, kissed his forehead, brushed your fingers through his hair, let him lay on top of you after a night of sex when he’d just needed to feel you and know that you’re with him. You’ve cried with him and for him. And when it’s asked of you, you’ve waited for him. 

You’re absolutely everything. Of perfect quality despite your flaws. A reminder that things in this world are soft, beautiful, gentle. When he loses faith in the concepts of decency and humanity because of the things he’s seen, you refuel what has been depleted. You make things make sense in a cruel existence. And yet, he hasn’t asked you to marry him. 

Ok, maybe he is a bit of a fool.

For forty-two months you’ve watched your friends get married, cousins and second cousins, and even your mother and your aunt—all of whom began relationships with their new spouses long after you and Simon declared yourselves officially together. You’ve taken Simon to so many weddings in the past three and a half years that you’d both agreed you’d had your fill. But Simon is under no illusions that if it were for you and him, you’d manage to find the energy for one more wedding. 

You don’t pressure him or drop painfully obvious hints, and if he’s honest, that almost makes it worse. Price and Gaz and even Johnny have faced threats of their own in the past by the women they’ve been with, with varying results. Price was happy to agree. Gaz a little less, but his lady was pregnant and it was the right thing to do. But Johnny…Johnny wouldn’t marry his current broad if it meant a quick death. You, though, are a gift. Better than all of them in Simon’s eyes. You deserve to have the man who loves you acknowledge that love by asking you to be his wife. Simon just can’t bring himself to ensure that that man is him.

He attributes that roadblock to your relationship not being equal. He doesn’t provide you with everything you provide him. While he does his best to be supportive and loving and comforting, you’ve mastered those skills and he can’t compete. And how is it fair to ask you to pull that weight for the rest of your lives?

It doesn’t stop him from wanting to ask, but when the question is on his tongue, he can’t get it out. However, because you’re stronger than him, more open and sure of what you want, it turns out he doesn’t have to.

—

“Simon, will you marry me?”

You’re not looking at him. You’ve been spooning on the couch for the last three hours watching mindless TV, and he’s refused to let you up from your spot. At the question, his hand under your shirt that has been lazily fondling your breast freezes. He’s half hard and was about thirty seconds from trailing that hand down your body and into your sleep shorts, but now he can’t. 

Simon swallows. “W-What?” he asks, though he absolutely heard you. Does anyone mistake those words for anything other than what they are? 

His pounding heart clogs his ears, but to his surprise, his cock gets a little harder. 

After too many beats of silence, you guide his hand out of your shirt, and with a sigh, you stand, round the couch, and go into the bedroom. In your absence, he sits up, running a hand through his hair and blowing out a breath. 

What just happened? He thinks. And what the fuck did he just do? He didn’t answer the way he should have and now you’re gone. He’s hurt you, and he’s so focused on his fuck up that he doesn’t notice you come back until you’re standing directly in front of him. 

A black band is trapped between your thumb and index finger. You’re not smiling. There’s no glimmer in your eye. You simply hold the ring, staring at it. 

“I just want to marry you,” you say, your voice dripping with the disappointment he knows you’re expecting. “And you haven’t asked me.” 

“Love–” he starts, but then you drop to your knees, calves folded under your thighs. 

His heart cracks right down the middle, jagged and splintered. A few pieces fall into his gut. You still won’t look at him, so he reaches out a hand, cups your cheek, and turns your face up to his. 

“You don’ kneel to me, Love,” he tells you, his thumb stroking your cheekbone.

Half-heartedly chuckling, you say, “Sometimes I do.”

Simon lets his lips curl into a slight smile because his girl is still in there. Despite the forlorn look on your face, he didn’t completely break your spirit with one unanswered question. And thank fuck for that.  

He doesn’t mean to, but he forces you to sit in limbo as he thinks. The woman he loves is on her knees asking for something that she so evidently believes she isn’t going to get. And yet, it’s from that risk—that display of your love for him and the leap you’re willing to take to prove it—that Simon snaps out of every negative thought that has held him back. 

Hand dropping from your face, he rises from the couch and, just as you had, makes his way into the bedroom. He has no idea where you’d hidden his, but yours has been in a dresser drawer for nearly a year, tucked behind the socks that are never worn because he has too many pairs. 

When he returns, he stops dead in his tracks because you’re still sitting there but your head is down again and a teardrop falls onto your bare thigh as you fiddle with the ring, and that is unacceptable; his behavior is unacceptable. And now he’s more sure than ever. 

Simon discards the box and goes to sit back on the couch. Your embarrassment is palpable, and he hates himself for yanking that out of you. Shame is the last thing he has ever wanted you to feel in his presence. 

Ring between his fingers, Simon lowers his hand until he’s sure the diamond is within your line of sight. 

Your gasp is faint but he catches it—a master at catching every little sound you make and savoring his ability to have you make them. Your head shoots up, eyes wide as they connect with his. 

With his free hand, Simon brushes away the tears that have yet to fall from your cheeks. 

“Switch,” he says. 

“What?”

He takes your hand, pulling you with him as he rises to his feet, and turns your bodies. “Sit,” he says, and you do. Then he eases onto one knee, ignoring the crack of his bones, and holds out the ring. “I’m so sorry it came to this, Love. I didn’—” he shakes his head, “’s my fault.”

Your head cocks to the side. “Your fault?”

“My fault,” he nods, his brow pinching as he decides how to say what he needs to. “You’re my wife,” he says. “I know you’re my wife—I’ve known it—but I get in my head and I start going through the list of things that I don’ think I deserve, and you’re the Queen of that list, Love. You make everything else on that list seem so unimportant that they have no right bein’ there.”

“Simon…”

“But I’ll make you a deal,” he continues. “I’ll marry you, if you marry me.”

You snicker and, excluding the tears he’d caused, your face does exactly what he’d hoped it would do wherever he imagined proposing. The only detail unaccounted for is your answer, which he supposes is fair. He hadn’t directly given you one either. 

But then you say one the best damn things he’s ever heard leave your mouth. 

Your pretty lips part and you tell him: “Yes.”

A/N: I don’t think love has to be affirmed in the form of a proposal and wedding, but for the sake of the fic…

#simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley and reader #ghost call of duty #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley cod #mw2

[nimmie-nugget]

Hello :3

Can I request?

Logan x reader but the reader is good at martial arts and protects logan? :3‼️

It can be taekwondo, or hapkido or anything u can choose :3‼️‼️

(I love ur stories abt sbg sm bro skdkkwkdk)

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Note#1: Anonnnnnnn🥺👉👈 M’SO HAPPPPYYYYYYYYYY(unless u requested to the wrong person😭🫶) recently just started writing abt em😼💪 Ego go boom boom, just don’t remind me of the Aiden fic I wrote💀🫶🫶—Enjoy!

Note#2: I LOVE LOGAN PLSSSS, I WANT SOMEONE SMART AND KIND IFHHHHHHHJEHDHSNDJ

Note#3: I didn’t really specify the fighting style or anything so you can just leave that part up to the imagination :3

Upcoming: Ben Clark X Bullied Gyaru!Reader.

Warning: I apologize prior for any Grammer, Spelling+etc errors. Cringe?? Logan may be OOC >:(

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Logan would honestly love you so much!! You’re genuinely the first person who hung out with him!! Eventually leading to a romantic relationship!!

“[N/N], is it alright if I watch?…I feel so entranced watching you practice.” He muttered to you, fiddling with his fingers as he blushed, looking down at his shoes, wanting an excuse to hang out for the time being.

Logan would have to call out on you to be careful when you pew pew around Mother Nature. He does hold some passion for it after all.

“[N/N]?…could you watch out for the bush please? I heard apples will grow on it soon and I’d really like some..!” He says, nervously smiling as he walked up to you and securely held your hand, enjoying the warmth and protection you give off.

Logan who’d always cheer for you silently when you go up against other people, even if you lose it doesn’t matter to him! He supports you no matter what.

“Nothing to be sad about, you tried your best right?” He reassured, wanting you to feel better about yourself and not think about the defeat. Grabbing your hand with tender and planting a soft, passionate kiss on your lips.

Logan just knew that he could always come to you if he ever felt uneasy!! Always came to you after dealing with Barron daily.

“Be careful?? Please? I don’t want you to get hurt..” He said with concern as he frowned, his hands holding onto your arm with immense grip, shaking.

Logan who’d always scold you and patch you up at the same time if you get injured.

“Please never do that again? You had me so worried!! Think about what your actions before you do it!!” He scolded with concern, dabbing ointment onto your wound with a cotton swab.

Logan who learned how to fight by observing you, wanting to protect you too but it’s always the other way around.

“Like this?” He questioned, looking to see your nod of approval as he practiced.

Logan when he first ever beat up Barron and the group, he ranted to you about it with a hint of anger remembering everything Barron had done.

“You can’t just go bullying others for no reason!! Ugh..” Logan said annoyed, quite out of character for him but you were definitely proud!!

Ruffling his hair as you planted a kiss on his forehead, by that he instantly calmed down and snuggled into you, looking at you as he blushed.

Logan knew that you’d go to Savannah if he ever told you about what happened.

“I know you are strong but…I don’t want you to get hurt.” He muttered to himself anxiously as he glanced at you with fondness.

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Lil Note: Hearts, Comments and Reblogs are Appreciated💙

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#sbg x reader #school bus graveyard x reader #school bus graveyard #logan fields x reader #sbg logan #logan x reader #logan fields #logan sbg #aiden clark x reader #aiden x reader #ashlyn banner x reader #ben clark x reader #taylor hernandez x reader #tyler hernandez x reader #tyler x reader #ben x reader #ashlyn banner #taylor hernandez #tyler hernandez #ben clark #aiden clark #aiden sbg #ashlyn sbg #x reader #ben sbg #tyler sbg #taylor sbg #sbg ben #sbg ashlyn #sbg aiden

[shadowsingerofnight]

So um, to be honest I don’t know what this is. It was on a whim, written in one go so don’t take it too seriously lol

It was inspired by this post right here, by @dawntoducks

Hope you enjoy!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the door slamming shut brought Elain back to reality.

Standing in the middle of the sitting-room, she glanced to the window, to the city beyond. Velaris was in full bloom, children running and laughing just outside. She could even spot some kites flying this and that way, guided by tiny, giggling kids.

She had always thought kites to belong in fairytales, somehow never considered actually playing with one. She marvelled at them.

She kept watching- stalling, as one little girl accidentally bumped into the big magnolia tree outside the gate and let go of the slim thread she was holding. A cry sounded, the girl immediately getting up and jumping towards the sky. Desperately trying to reach high, high, higher- like the hurt didn’t matter, like she just wanted to get back what she had lost. But it was too late.

Elain blinked. Once. Twice.

Her heart began racing, the rhythm akin a horse’s gallop. Frantic, but with purpose.

It was always like that, her soul recognising a song she sometimes could faintly hear herself. A poem that had existed within her since the dawn of time, somehow.

“Are you okay?”

Somewhere among the blooming trees…

Elain had never heard a voice like that. Not when she was human, not after. Non since she had heard his for the first time. A voice so stark and yet warm. So deep and yet melodious.

She could feel it, tingling on her skin.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” she asked, still not looking at him.

Outside, on a magic wind, the girl’s kite flew right back in her arms. Elain smiled faintly.

“I… felt something,” he replied. “Like you were calling for me.”

She was? Honestly, it wouldn’t have surprised her. Elain still didn’t quite understand how this whole thing worked. But could he actually feel when she was thinking about him?

It was quite a lot.

“That’s why I thought you were in danger.” He went on, “I assumed it was the only way you could call for help.” His tone was low, steady. Like he didn’t want to scare her away.

Because I know it wouldn’t be me you’d call if you could help it.

She hated that he didn’t understand. She hated that she could not bring herself to tell him the truth, how his smile was the first thing she saw in the morning. That his laugh sounded in her ears with every step she took. That his hands were what she imagined when she… Red stained her cheeks.

She hadn’t yet looked at him, but she could just see his head dip to the side as if wondering what she was thinking about. Or rather, was she really thinking about what he suspected?

At the top of the tallest mountain…

“Elain,” he whispered and then cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, okay?”

Elain furrowed her brows, but her chin remained dipped.

He sighed unevenly and then spat, voice higher, “I’m sorry the Cauldron made me your mate. I’m sorry I’m so abhorrent you can’t even look at me. Just tell me you’re fine and I’ll go.” His arms slackened at his sides. Defeated.

Elain’s head snapped towards him then. Her eyes met one of russet and one of gold, like the brightest of suns on a fall day. She saw the tears first, the same ones she could feel marking her own cheeks.

In the depths of all the seas…

“You-,” she sniffed. “You stupid, stupid prick.”

She saw his eyes widen the instant she closed the distance between them and pointed an accusatory finger to his chest.

“You know nothing!” She yelled. Actually yelled.

Elain wiped some of the tears away, but they kept coming like an overflowing river. Feelings buried so deep came afloat.

“Don’t you understand I can’t look at you?” She demanded more than asked.

“How can you not see I’m burning?” Her index finger kept poking his chest of its own volition while his face had paled alarmingly. He was looking down at her, tears glistening in the light.

On a journey so certain…

“You think I don’t feel anything”? Elain sniffed again. “Well, you’re so terribly wrong! I feel so much every time I look at you, I don’t know what to do.” Words were flowing and she didn’t even have to think them.

“You live with me every second of every day. You render me useless every time I think of you because all I want is to touch you and kiss you and hold you and never let go.”

He caught her wrist and flattened her hand above his heart. It was beating so fast.

“I want you, Lucien.” She could feel him tremble underneath her palm, just when he closed his eyes as to savour her words. “I just don’t want to burn you.”

Lucien smiled, so sweet and wicked at the same time, eyes so full of hope she cursed herself for not telling him sooner. “Didn’t you hear?” He whispered, his breath caressing her neck. “I’m the Lord of Flames.”

I search for light and I find you.

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf #sarah j maas #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #elucien #elucien fic

[hushed-chorus]

Hi everyone! I’m climbing out of my cave and scheduling this in advance to spread the good word about vampire angst. Because, as anyone who’s read my blog title knows, I am a fiend for vampire angst, and there is some cracking vampire angst in this fandom.

Here's a selection of fics that dive into the tasty vampire stuff, especially ones that come with a serving of ‘this sucks actually’. I love all of these, but I’m sure I’ve forgotten or missed other great fics, so please feel free to reblog with your own recs!

Also, since these fics all deal with how being a vampire sucks, I’d recommend checking the tags before diving in.

The Eternal Life of Baz Pitch by @monbons

I am asking you all, please, hop on board and join me in reading along with this WIP. Monbons has a wonderful writing style; well-paced and impactful. She’s made some inspired choices in this AU. Angsty, clever, and so, so engrossing. Tasty angst so far, and we still have many chapters to go!

burning pitch by stainedglassflood

Lamb is a character who really fascinates me. This ficlet imagines a conversation Baz and Lamb would have if Lamb discovered Baz was a mage under less bloody circumstance. This short and sweet fic is something of a hidden gem, and I’ll cry forever that this is a 600 word fic, not a 60k one.

Crowding out the Bad (with Good) by twigs_in_my_hair

Another WIP, and if you are a fan of lore, this is one for you. This AU involves Simon trying to improve his diet with the help of nutritionist (and reluctant vampire) Baz. Twigs devotes so much to exploring Baz’s feelings about his vampirism, and how it has left marks on his life, behaviour, etc. And, of course, there's a lovely bit of slow burn Snowbaz along the way!

Joy and Trust by @bookish-bogwitch

Bogwitch constantly surprises and impresses me with her range. This short (400 words), sweet and heartbreaking ficlet sees Baz receiving a Visiting during the events of Carry On. I love it so much.

Proof of Life by @roomwithanopenfire

What if Natasha Pitch survived the vampire attack, but Baz still got Turned? What would that mean for Baz and the World of Mages? In this WIP, it means a Baz who is even more angsty about being a vampire than he already is in canon—and with good reason. Added bonus is the consideration for the wider canon divergence. What would Watford be like if Natasha is still headmistress but Davy is the Mage? Very intriguing fic so far, especially now we’ve landed in eighth year!

This is where it ends by LakeWitch

The least Baz-focused on the bunch, this fic is about the Mage taking Old Family children prisoner for leverage and the aftermath. It sees Baz hit his lowest point (gave me the big good sads), and then follows how he and Simon recover from all they’ve been through. Love it. 

A Record of You and I by Sip_of_your_soul

Argh. I just can’t. This one hurt so good. Want to die a little inside for fun? Read this.

Thanks everyone, I'm eager to see any recs you wanna make! Tags below the cut!

@artsyunderstudy @facewithoutheart @captain-aralias @raenestee @cutestkilla

@ivelovedhimthroughworse @larkral @stitchyqueer @you-remind-me-of-the-babe

@ileadacharmedlife @confused-bi-queer @aristocratic-otter @whogaveyoupermission

@nightimedreamersworld @fatalfangirl @thewholelemon @onepintobean @shrekgogurt

@theearlgreymage @martsonmars @blackberrysummerblog @orange-peony @valeffelees

@j-nipper-95 @rimeswithpurple @wellbelesbian @imagineacoolusername

@youarenevertooold @iamamythologicalcreature @supercutedinosaurs @alexalexinii

@bookish-bogwitch @cosmicalart @bazzybelle @theotherhufflepuff

@that-disabled-princess @prettygoododds @mooncello @noblecorgi @roomwithanopenfire

@emeryhall @monbons

#fic rec #snowbaz fic rec #vampire angst #baz pitch

[yuzusern]

I’m normal.

Proceeds to scream about Sae and his fucking face Rin remembers

Damn IT SAE. Did you even sleep in the plane or even the days before your flight? Are you high?

I wrote a fic rant ahaha why my brain switched to brainrot.

He goes to his room and destroys everything that reminds him of the shattered dream. And the crack in the glass of a frame showing their win. Was it worth it?

Itoshi Sae and Rin are dumb but the fact that they can’t communicate with each other is on a different fucking level.

Considering Sae most likely saw Rin first and not home (still had his suitcase), makes me believe he needed to rid of himself the only tethering line that stood in his way of freedom. Maybe a chance for the forward position again. Or so he thought. But it only made it worse.

Rin took it hard. His own brother left him to pick up the pieces of a dream. All for him. All for their bond.

Imagine even after that shitshow in the playing field, Sae and Rin walking home with a slight distance. It would look normal to anyone else but to them, it was an impenetrable field that neither would dare cross.

Their parents are none the wiser and celebrates Sae’s return with dinner, the brothers sit next to each other in silence. Sae only responds to answer his parent’s questions about how he’s doing, what Spain is like, etc.

Rin sits in silence, the only sound is from his chewing.

‘Act normal.’

Sae asks for a different room to sleep in. He needs more space, the bed they’ve slept in together is now too small for two teens.

Rin refuses to show off his emotions.

‘Act normal.’

He’s seething. Rin wanted to rip his brother apart.

15 years and for what?

Rin excuses himself for a bath. In reality, he sat in the tub so long his mother knocked asking if he was alright. He wants to scream.

‘Act normal.’

Sae didn’t come in to check on his brother. Sae just listened as his back was against the wall that separated their rooms.

The sound of crashing, breaking, destroying everything they worked for together. Rin wants to destroy the past. Destroy the thing that will forever haunt him.

‘Rin…’ Sae swallowed his own saliva. He worried. He worried Rin might hurt himself.

Sae felt heavy as reality of what he done might not mend his connection to Rin for the rest of his life. It was hard to breathe. He could feel an imaginary shackle tight around his neck. Almost feeling asphyxiation. His sin branding into his mind. The guilt hanging heavy.

But he can’t go. He severed his line with Rin.

He sniffled. Sae covered his face with his hand, feeling a hot wetness his past self threw out as his decision to be a midfielder was cemented.

But he couldn’t get up and out to apologize. His own pride won’t allow it. He needed Rin to move on. He needed to ground himself from Rin.

Rin’s too dependent for his brother and that hurt Sae more than he could imagine.

“I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”

#blue lock #itoshi rin #bluelock #itoshi sae #angst #I’m good at that #episode nagi #night snow

[eepyuii]

frostbite — pt. 14

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn

cw ; mentions of scars (edit: im a fucking idiot i forgot they talk abt scars at the start of the chapter) and like… brief dottore mention, so u know it’s icky. also u guys will be mad at me.

notes ; AHHH!!!!! I LIVE!!!!! oh gosh so many hectic life events lately….. i hadnt been able to get my hands on this dang chapter for so long

anyhow, i was planning to publish this one early like a day or two ago with a reference to an arlecchino voiceline that was THEN a leak and not out yet, so i’m glad i waited and developed this one just a little more LOL

also good luck with everyone’s arle pulls!!! (better luck than mine i hope ;w;) just like childe and the reader at some point, WANTERS WILL BE HAVERS ‼️

previous | next | masterlist

“agh— be more gentle!”

“i’ll be more gentle if you stop flinching away. you’re a war machine who can turn into an abyssal beast, withstand how draining it is to use it, hold your ground against a champion duelist but you can’t handle a little cotton ball soaked in alcohol?”

“well there’s no adrenaline anymore to remedy this sting, now, is there?”

it’s almost comically reminiscent of your meeting with childe back in zapolyarny palace, where he got himself hurt just to come tell you that he was to leave for liyue— feels like it was ages ago. childe leans against the elegant marble counter of your hotel room’s bathroom, pile of bloodied cottons and tissues piling by his hands, while you clean the fresh wounds he’s just acquired from clorinde.

from how much he flinches and hisses, the wounds almost seem grave… but they’re no more than a few scratches, slashes and bruises. after his witty remark, you can only attribute his absurd resilience during battle to the mentioned adrenaline— otherwise he wouldn’t have gotten nearly as far as he has with those reactions of his.

“so did you get what you wanted from that spar? how was it in comparison to your other tries?”

childe pauses thoughtfully and proceeds to pout.

“…i think she was still holding back. i need another spar.”

“gh-! are you kidding?! childe tartaglia ajax, i am not letting you resplit the forehead i just fixed up anytime soon.”

he sighs melancholy like a grounded child, but nods in agreement anyhow. childe’s eyes remain downward, he mindlessly fiddles with the hem of your shirt as he awaits patiently for you to finish tending to his wounds. once you finish, you scan him up and down to certify that you’ve taken care of everything, until your gaze is caught by his scars.

his war medals.

he’s got an insurmountable amount of them scattered all over his body and not one is like the other— some are large lashes most likely caused by weapons like axes or claymores; some are finer lines caused by swords or daggers; a few of them even look like different types of burns, likely the work of varied elemental catalysts; and some look like small stars or circles, probably the result of arrows or the tips of polearms.

the inches of his skin that his scars don’t cover are littered with the tiniest specs of freckles… ones you’ve barely had the privilege to see over the years as a result of living in eternally cold lands. it’s only been since you’ve both been to warmer regions like liyue, inazuma and now fontaine that you’ve began to notice them.

and you’ve found that the intricate, graceful tapestry that childe’s scars and freckles weave is… gorgeous.

it’s so uniquely mesmerizing that you nearly struggle to find a worthy comparison within words or the world around you. the closest one would be to a starry sky— you imagine that his freckles become the stars that remain stationary and furthest away in the night sky, small and bountiful, while his scars are the shooting stars that flash by in a vivid explosion of light.

it’s beautiful. he’s beautiful.

you’ve realized that you’re less afraid to admit this to yourself now. perhaps spending so much constant time with childe after such a while of misencounters and diverging schedules, has made you become more comfortable around him— to the point where you barely minded him childishly playing with the hem of your shirt. it feels fine, domestic even… almost in the same way that a coup—

“hey, why’re you staring so hard? am i not gonna make it, doc?”

you flinch as you’re snapped away from your train of thought, taking in how childe’s eyes flicker worriedly over your face. unfortunately, your mind isn’t freed from the grasp of your thoughts of… admiration and your gaze quickly flies over his scars once again. the delicacy of the moment, unexpectedly, fuels you with enough confidence to raise forward a hand that lightly grazes a particularly eye-catching gash on childe’s neck— the stretched healed skin ever so slightly bumping against your digits.

“nothing… j’st looking at your scars.” you answer absentmindedly.

beneath your hand, you feel his adam’s apple raise in a hearty gulp. next, childe inhales deeply and exhales a shuddered breath, as if an attempt to ground himself.

“what about ‘em?” he whispers expectantly.

“i like them.”

it’s as if you’ve gotten the liquid courage of a drink while being entirely sober, you’re surprised that you’ve done so much as let yourself say that out loud. though perhaps… that bewilderment might just be your downfall— within the thought, you notice just how close you and childe stand before each other. he leans against the bathroom counter in only the deep red undershirt of his uniform, eyes laser-guided onto your every move while you’re only a hair’s length away from him. his absurd height doesn’t help the moment either, as he’s forced to hunch over and his figure arches forward into you— it’s suffocating.

you can’t allow yourself to crumble and panic right now, it would absolutely destroy you for the rest of your life, so you opt to breathe deeply. childe watches intently as you do and returns it with his own deep sigh, one that you feel hit your face warmly the moment it leaves his lips and so it further capitalizes on just how obscenely close the two of you are— to the point where you breathe each other’s air.

childe’s piercing azure eyes move from matching your own to slightly further down on your face…

to your lips.

“yeah?” he mumbles in the most delicate tone possible, it’s not like you’re too far to hear anyway.

it’s an inexplicable magnetic pull that brings you the smidgenmost closer to him, it has to be so. it must be that same pull that brings you to look at his mouth— plump and pink, likely still store from the split at the corner of his bottom lip. and there’s no other possibility other than that damned magnet as to why your hands slide up to wrap around his neck, childe’s shyly snaking around your waist in response.

you don’t feel like you’re in a bathroom in a hotel room in fontaine anymore, you don’t feel like the seconds pass anymore. it’s a pocket between space and time that has enveloped the two of you, away from everything else.

and there’s nothing in this world left to do other than to lean just a breath closer to each other… just a little more and—

knock knock knock knock!

you flinch away faster than lightning, heart thudding ironically like thunder. childe also seems to have been entirely spooked by the knocks on the bedroom door and he pretends to bring his hand up to scratch something on his face, but you know very well he means to hide his glaringly flushed face— you know that because you do the very same, only you briskly step away to open the door instead.

outside the room, two fontainian officers greet you, though they seemingly go wide eyed for just a brief second as if you’re not who they expect to answer.

“forgive me, friend, this is… mr. tartaglia’s room, is it not?” one inquires.

you frown in suspicion, and you plan to not directly confirm the question as to pry exactly what business two policemen would have with childe. unfortunately, the devil decides to announce it himself by coming up behind you, arms crossed defensively.

“and what might be the problem, officer?” childe asks pointedly.

both officers simultaneously eye the two of you, the blushing idiots opening the door together, and proceed to share a knowing look. the first officer sighs while the second clears his throat awkwardly.

“we apologize for… intruding so abruptly but— mr. tartaglia, you are currently being suspected of being the culprit behind the serial disappearances of young women case. for the time being, you are under arrest and must face trial at the opera epiclese to make your case.”

…what.

“what?”

coincidentally, both you and childe exclaim at the same time— though, childe’s tone is rather condescendingly skeptical while yours is laced with pure, unadulterated shock.

the harbinger scoffs. “well, i can very confidently tell you right now that i didn’t do it.”

yeah, great way to clear any and all suspicion, man.

frustratedly pinching the bridge of your nose in an attempt to help you process the last five seconds, you sigh.

“i-i think what he means to say, officer, is that it’s not plausible for him to even be a suspect in this case. i mean— if i remember correctly, doesn’t that case extend for over twenty years? we’ve only been in fontaine for a few weeks! you can check our travel tickets, they’re dated. plus, we haven’t done anything even remotely disruptive while we’ve been here, both of us have multiple reliable alibi’s regarding our whereabouts over the past few days, and—“

the officer puts up a dismissive hand, effectively interrupting you. “please, leave this for the iudex to hear.”

a metallic jingling catches your attention and you see that the second policeman wordlessly produces handcuffs from his tool belt, the panic bubbles in your throat even further. childe’s shoulders visibly tense and it’s clear that he’s intent on fighting back— with once again lighting fast reflexes, you put a hand on his shoulder and throw him a warning look as a means to discreetly impede him. childe sighs frustratedly but ceases anyhow, allowing himself to be guided out of the room. out of pure illogical desperation, you chase after.

“don’t say anything hostile or stupid until we find you a lawyer! i promise you i’ll be right behind!” you call out as the three are at the other end of the hallway and catch a final look from childe, the emotion behind it is indescribable.

your chest feels overwhelmingly tight.

—

who knew such a resplendent room could be so suffocating.

it feels as though you’ve been waiting for an eternity and the intended comfort of the opera eplicese’s waiting room only serves to unnerve you more. the most important person in your life has just been abruptly accused of being a serial kidnapper and you’re supposed to indulge in sickeningly sweet pastries and tasteless tea? it’s almost derogatory.

your leg has become sore from how much it bounces restlessly, your nail plates scratchy from how much you fidget with them, all the paper napkins on the table sloppily folded into failed paper stars. none of it helps.

you can’t even decide what to worry about, all of it swirls and spirals in your head like a rumbling tornado. is he okay? are the officers treating him well? who will defend him? will he go to prison? for how long? when in the tsaritsa’s name will arlecchino retur—

the door slams open and you jump, partially with the abruptness of it and out of sheer panic to get some news on the situation. your heart starts palpitating again and it takes everything within your willpower to seem more put together in front of the knave.

“s-so?” you ask with an uncontrollable shake in voice.

“it’s invariable, childe must face trial and defend himself. we can only count on the factuality that he is innocent and the oratrice will say accordingly.”

you sigh, at least… whatever in the archons’ name constitutes that machine is infallible.

“the trial starts in five minutes.” arlecchino adds curtly.

you nod and allow yourself to take a deep, grounding breathe before standing up to leave the waiting room. as your hand reaches out to the doorknob, there is a firm grip on your shoulder. you turn ever so slightly to find a pointy-nailed, stark black hand holding you back— another moment to analyze the hand reveals to you that… that’s her skin. black.

a chill runs down your spine.

“allow me, for a moment, to ask a selfish question in exchange for a selfish answer, sargeant.” she stands, voice dark and menacing. “as an asset of the doctor’s… do you share his ideals?”

the question takes you off-guard but it also… doesn’t. you’re not an idiot— you’ve heard of dottore’s letters to the house of the hearth suggesting the, err.. ‘rejects’ be sent to his custody so he can further his experiments. you remember how utterly appalled you were when you first came across the information. if the knave truly cares about the children in her orphanage, it’s no wonder how tightly she grips your shoulder, sharp nails just a breath away from breaking skin.

and so she asks you selfishly, a question not of loyalty but of morality.

dottore’s face flashes before your eyes and your hand subconsciously tightens into a fist, expression hardening.

“if his life were in my hands, i’d crush it in a heartbeat.” you whisper bitterly.

the grip releases you and it’s as if air is easier to breathe after that. arlecchino wordlessly steps ahead to open the door for you and gestures for you to leave first, expression neutral as if nothing had happened.

the courtroom looks like no courtroom at all, rather you feel as though you’re about to watch an opera in a grand theater— the rumors about fontaine seem to be true after all. in the rows of cushy seats, people whisper and gossip endlessly until you find yourself a seat and the booming sound of a gavel being struck echoes through the court, all sound ceases.

“court is now in session for the case of serial disappearances of young women, today we will hear both the prosecution and defense’s arguments regarding mr. tartaglia of the fatui’s alleged involvement.”

a baritone voice echoes through the silent courtroom, the direction it rings out from reveals a white-haired man in proper blue robes, sitting in a balcony that floats above the courtroom’s stage. you recognize him as the iudex, the chief justice, monsieur neuvillette. his tone is elegant and intellectual, with complete considerate professionalism—- its cadence almost reminds you of zhongli in a sense. but that’s not all that reminds you of zhongli… you can’t quite put your finger on it though.

what follows is merely formal introductions from the prosecution and the defense and you take the opportunity to become distracted and ponder over just how catastrophic your morning had turned out. it all happened so quickly too— one second you were… ah… canoodling with childe and the next he was being escorted out the room by law enforcement. had you been cursed by the gods? would they be so cruel as to make every peaceful moment in your life just merely bedding for the next major inconvenience? would they be so frustratingly taunting as to let you get that close to the one you have feelings for only to rip you two away from each other right afterwards?

“it would appear i must repeat my question, mr. tartaglia.” neuvillette says firmly, catch your attention and breaking you from your daze.

“do you accept the charge that you are the true culprit behind the serial disappearances case?”

“to be perfectly honest, i don’t understand your country’s complicated court systems, or the reason why i’m being charged with something i’ve never even heard of.” the harbinger answers bluntly.

“however, i did hear that people who have been charged can choose to participate in a duel to clear their name— is that right? in that case, as long as i accept the charge, i can have an all out fight with that champion duelist clorinde, right?”

…

how can the supposed love of your life be this stupid?

“when i privately sparred with her last time, she was obviously holding back… real disappointing.”

“hey, don’t you understand? you’re currently the prime suspect for a major case! this isn’t the place for you to be looking for fights.” a female voice calls out from the balcony directly above where you seat— while you can’t see who it is, you can only assume from the bossiness of her tone that it’s lady furina herself, the hydro archon.

“oh? sounds like the hydro archon wants to lecture me on the ways of the opera house…” childe taunts. “then why don’t you duel me too? i’m the kind of students that learns best in the heat of battle.”

you’ll kill him, oh you’ll kill this idiot one day… does he want to rot in prison for the rest of his days? this time you truly cannot hold yourself back from subconsciously standing up in panic, limbs urging to get up there and try to amend the situation yourself by arguing like a normal, sane person— but the judging stares of the other spectators hinder you glued to your seat out of sheer embarrassment.

“alas, it would appear that communication with the defendant is going poorly, and we have made very little progress.” neuvillette intervenes. “in that case, let me explain everything from the very beginning again. the goal of this trial is to determine the culprit behind the serial disappearances case—“

“that case had nothing to do with him! you’ve got the wrong man!”

huh? …who said that? did that not come out of your own mouth? seems like something you’d blur out… instead it comes from a flamboyantly dressed blonde woman who bursts into the courtroom at that very second. to you, she nearly seemed angelic in the moment.

“miss navia, this is the second time you’ve interrupted the court proceedings. i only tolerated your behavior last time because you were able to provide the court with a key eyewitness. but that was exception rather than standard court protocol— i can very well charge you with contempt of court for your interjections.”

“oh please, did you ever think i had any respect for this place’s pointless theatrics?” navia scoffs.

“we can put aside that discussion for now, i’m not here to argue with you. i’m here to charge the true culprit behind the serial disappearances case. and if my charges prove true, the tartaglia here will be proven innocent by default, correct?”

neuvillette proceeds to dismiss childe from the stand to make way for navia and allows him to seat in the audience and you feel like you should owe this lady your life. childe’s eyes scan through the seats and when he spots you, he visibly lights up and beelines to the seat next to yours.

“challenging the hydro archon? really?” you whisper playfully.

childe contains himself not to laugh loudly. “can’t say it wasn’t worth the shot.”

it’s as if a wordless conversation settles between the two of you, silent glances and deep sighs that express the mutual hopefulness for a good outcome of this trial. after a solid few seconds of staring at each other like fools, childe’s gaze drops down, you follow it to see his gloved palm sat in the armrest between the two of you— it faces outward in an invitation. your hand joins his without thought and the second your skin registers the warmth that radiates from his hold, it’s like an electric shock runs through your veins. one so buzzing that makes you two simultaneously face away from each other to hide your burning cheeks.

you’d like to pretend that you’re paying attention to the trial, but the ever so gentle squeezes childe hand gives yours periodically seem to take up all of your focus and cause it to short circuit. suddenly, there’s another burst of the courtroom’s doors and there stand the traveler and paimon, because of course they’re somehow also involved in this.

“naviaaa, we’re back!” paimon calls out.

“as expected of my partner! i just knew you’d come back in the nick of time!”

“just how often do you intend to flout the rules of this court…” neuvillette mutters disappointedly.

the traveler’s appearance contributes new evidence towards navia’s favor, who expertly disperses all of the oppositions statements. the culprit is revealed to be a man by the name of vacher, who was intent on bringing back his dear vigneire to the point where he began dissolving innocent young women with primordial seawater. as overtly ridiculous as fontaine’s spectacle culture seemed to be, you couldn’t say that watching this trial play out wasn’t extremely entertaining.

but speaking of innocent…

“at this point, the verdict of this trial is clear. with mr. marcel’s conviction, the charges against mr. tartaglia no longer hold any basis.”

you giddily look over at childe, who seems as aloof as someone who didn’t worry for a second. your fingertips tingle with excitement and you can feel the stress evaporate off your shoulders in real time. neuvillette summarizes the entire case once more and submits the verdict to the oratrice— the machine hums loudly and flashes a blinding blue, producing an envelope finally confirming his guilty status. much to unspoken disappointment, childe lets go of your hand to stand with his chest proudly puffed up.

“well now, hasn’t this been the most delicious piece of drama? the villain has been caught, justice has been served, pas wrongs have been righted and it’s a bit ol happy ending… since it’s been such a great show, i’ll just let the false accusations against me slide. either way, i’ve still got some business to attend to, so if you’ll excuse me—“

the harbinger looks back to offer you his hand once more and you happily take it before childe begins to lead you two out of the room. unfortunately, the guards at the doors of the courtroom remain unmoving as they block the doors and you frown in confusion.

“please wait just one moment, mr. tartaglia.” says the iudex.

“oh, what now? none of this has anything to do with me.” childe groans.

“according to court protocol, since this trial was initiated due to a charge against you, a verdict must also be made regarding the initial charge before the trial can conclude.”

you sigh out of selfish frustration, but opt to respect the proceedings anyhow— it’s not like the verdict will change now. childe, on the other hand, voices his annoyance like a petulant kid.

“please respect the laws of fontaine. this has always been the rule.”

“it’s fine, we’ll just have to wait here a few little seconds more.” you whisper to childe coaxingly.

he sighs. “alright alright, but this has been a lot of hassle. all i need is to stand over there, right? let’s just get this over with…”

“through evidence presented in the public trial that was just held, it has been established that mr. tartaglia has no direct connection to the serial disappearances case. the guilty party has been established and thus, it is logical to suppose mr. tartaglia is innocent of the charges.”

the machine whirrs once more, stirring some curiosity within you as to what exactly makes it tick or give accurate verdicts at all. as the envelope reaches the chief justice’s hands, he seems to stutter for a moment as he reads it. neuvillette’s ever so stoic face falls slightly into a vexed frown and he hums in confusion.

“according to the judgment of the oratrice mechanique d’analyse cardinale, mr. tartaglia is— guilty.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

#genshin impact fic #childe genshin x reader #childe imagines #childe x reader #childe x y/n #childe x you #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #childe fic #tartaglia x y/n #tartaglia x you #childe tartaglia ajax #tartagalia genshin impact #tartaglia x reader

[truths33k3r4]

CHAPTER 29 - Beginning of Their Nightmares

The hopelessness that had once infiltrated its way into Don’s anxious heart vanished as soon as he heard the sound of his twin’s voice. All his doubts and the many ‘what ifs’ plunged into the forgotten corners of his mind as he called out to his brother.

“Raph, are you alright?? They didn’t hurt you, did they? Do you feel ok? How many fingers am I holding u-”

“- GEEZ DON- You’re makin’ my headache worse! I’m fine, you can stop freaking out now.”

“I wasn’t freaking out. This is not freaking out.”, Don gestured to himself as best he could whilst being tied down to the floor, “You’re ok? No injuries?”

“Yeah, bro. I’m fine.”

Don recognized the exhaustion laced into his brother’s usual tone, but besides that nothing seemed amiss. All the purple-clad brother had to go by at this point was his hearing, seeing how his brother was still morphed and distorted into nothing but tired and angry pixels.

“What can you see?” Don asked with a hint of ember in his tone, still annoyed with the aching reminder that he still didn’t have his glasses.

“Uhhhh..”

Don heard the whispers of fabric sliding across skin. He quickly connected this to Raph’s mask tails moving as he turned his head to search their new cell. Quickly following was the subtle taps of Raph’s fingers, signifying he was beginning to get anxious. He would always do his little taps when school got too boring, or when he was waiting his turn to join in a sparring session in the dojo; He wanted to move.

“Raph, are you tied down too?”

Don’s ears caught the shuffling sounds of his brother squirming.

“DUH. Otherwise I woulda been over there smackin’ you in the head for letting us get caught like this.” Raph’s voice didn’t burn with bitterness, but instead warmed with brotherly affection. Or at least- as affectionate as the hothead could manage, going against every temper-fueled bone in his body. Don could just imagine the smile gracing his twin’s face.

Even when we’re captured he can’t help himself to tease me. Never change, brother.

“Yeah thanks for that lovely sentiment, dear twin of mine. But we still need to focus on an escape plan. Now you, the only one in this room with proper vision, describe to me what you see so I can calculate a way to get us out of here. Please and thank you.”

Don could tell from the muffled vibrations that Raph was biting his lip as he hummed to himself.

“There isn’t much, brainiac.. Four walls, a roof and a floor..”

“Thank you for explaining to the audience that we are indeed in a room.”

Don still had that same feeling of someone watching him and his brother, so going by that, he theorized there was another camera hidden in the walls of their cell.

“Oh shut up, dude.. At least I’m not blind.”

Don’s countenance fell at the reminder. He knew his brother didn’t mean for his words to become sharp blades, but Raph’s ignorance didn’t negate the fact that his simple sentence drove a piercing sting into the freckled brother’s heart.

Even with the pain of his brother’s words pulling him down, Don still took the opportunity to get some ribbing in as well.

“Well, at least I have a functional brain, compared to your useless, tied-down muscles. Intelligence can’t be restrained.”

“Ha! Yeah right. Call me when someone wins a wrestling match using nothin’ but their brain.”

“Not exactly what I meant- but regardless, we need to find a way out of here.”

As much as I’d love to continue in this lovely banter, we really need to focus here, Raph.

“Are you tied to the floor too?”

“Not exactly.. I’m on a table.”

Raph tugged and yanked, but no rings of chains echoed. It sounded closer to straps of leather, accompanied with a small tink of what appeared to be a belt buckle.

“You’re what? On a table?.. Like a surgeon’s table?”

Don should’ve thought through those sentences a bit more thoroughly before allowing his brother to hear them.

“A WHAT? Surgeon?!”

Don’s shoulders rose as he hissed through his teeth in regret. Raph’s tugs and yanks became far less controlled by the second.

Yeah, perhaps I should’ve thought that through a bit more..

“Raph stop- you’ll dislocate your shoulder or break your wrist- just.. Calm down.”

“THIS IS AS CALM AS I’M GONNA GET, DON. Cause if this is ANYTHING like in the movies, THEN I AM WAY PASSED SCREWED.”

“Yeah, we’re BOTH gonna be screwed if you don’t let me use your perfect little vision spheres to find a way out of here!”

“I TOLD YOU THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!”

Don could sense the stress building in Raph’s body, like lava filling to the rim of a volcano. Only instead of the raging inferno being fueled by his temper, it was being fueled by something far less predictable: his fear.

If Raph has a meltdown he’ll be more useless than I am. Calm him down FAST. Use facts. They almost always help me in stressful situations such as this, so hopefully it will be the same for him.

“Please stop yelling. A headache will make my brain, the only useful internal organ I have left, far less helpful. And panicking isn’t going to help anyone. You’re only going to further injure yourself.”

“I’M NOT PANICKING, I’M STRESSING THE CRAP OUT.”

Ok yeah- that didn’t work. Try being more real and honest with him. Less facts, more truth.

“Noted. But if you continue like this you’ll have a panic attack, and that will render you either catatonic or inconsolably violent. Neither of which will help us here.”

The constant tugs of leather stopped.

“.. Did you just call me a cat?…”

You know what, I can work with this! At least when Raph’s confused he’s not moving or hurting himself.. Yes, keep him asking questions, it’s helping him calm down!

“You know, catatonic. Comatose.”

The pixelated blurb that was Raphael’s head tilted ever so slightly.

Hehe.. This is fun. I should do this more often.

Don continued on as he began to list synonym after synonym, further deepening his fiery brother’s confused, dazed state. As long as it kept Raph from hurting himself and panicking, then he would be happy to oblige to confuse the heck out of his brother. Don couldn’t help the growing grin on his face as he specifically chose the most convoluted of words; ones that would leave Mikey with his pupils slowly separating. Normally it would annoy him that his family and brothers didn’t understand the meanings to his wide variety of vocabulary. But now the thing that he had been teased and ostracized for..

.. had become his greatest strength. And with this assumedly useless gift, he had been helping to calm down his fearful brother.

“Don, what the shell are you even sayi-”

The melodious sounds of Raph’s confused tone were jarringly cut off with a sharp gasp. Don twisted his head to face the blur which was his brother.

“Raph??”

Don REALLY WISHED HE COULD SEE.

“Raph what’s wrong?? What’s going on?”

Did he see something? Is he hurt?

“Quiet Don, someone’s comin’.” Raph shout-whispered to his brother, as his voice changed to ‘protector mode’.

All Don’s work to calm down his brother vanished before his malfunctioning eyes, as the sounds of footsteps drew nearer to the door of their cell.

Don’s posture straightened as much as he could manage while still being tied down to the floor. Memories flashed behind Don’s eyes of the Man touching and prodding him like some science project.. He had felt so small under the monster’s watchful eye.. The cells of humanity flowing in his veins seemed to disappear as he refused to speak in front of his captor. It was worth it though.

It was worth it to not reveal to the Man just what he was up against.

It was WORTH IT to keep his humanity from being seen by the monster.

The door opened. Don’s spine shivered at the sound of boots.

Ochitsuke. Focus, Donatello. FOCUS.

As the Man walked towards the chained-down mutant, his pixels combined and formed into a crisp image. But for once today, Don was absolutely fine with not being able to see clearly if it meant he wouldn’t have to peer into the ghost’s face again. The mutant leaned as far back as he could as the Man’s face edged closer. The familiar sound of Raphael’s growls echoed from the back of the room.

“Welcome to your new home. Here you’ll form so many new memories.”

Don’s muscles all tensed as he fought with all his might to not back down from the creature of a Man. His stiff form wasn’t helping the growing ache in his wrists from the chains and cuffs, but it was worth it to prove his strength and will to his captor.

I WON’T BACK DOWN, YOU DEMON.

The Man reached out his hand to Don’s face, caressing the fabric of his mask. The purple-clad mutant let out his own warning growl, but that did nothing just as it hadn’t before. The Man’s slender hands brushed across Don’s cheek, making that same awful chill enter into the mutant’s soul.

Don wanted to throw up if it meant the horrible feeling of dread in his stomach would cease.

The Man took both his hands and wrapped them behind Don’s head, fluidly slipping off his purple mask. The Man pocketed it with the smoothness of a master thief.

“You won’t be needing this. Not an inch of you will be a mystery once my studies begin.”

Don’s face being fully presented to his captor made the mutant shrink in discomfort. Sure it was just a piece of cloth with two eye holes.. But he had worn that mask since he was twelve years old. It was part of his identity. But now he watched as the Man continued to deny everything that made him him; Proof to Don that what was coming for him and his brother would test everything they had in them:

Their constitutions.

Their will.

Their faith.

And especially..

..their understanding of who they are.

“These walls have kept many different… creatures at bay, and over time all of them fell. Some to their madness.. Some to my blade.”

Don’s spirit suddenly felt the embers from his brother’s seething flame.

The Man turned to face Raphael, but stayed uncomfortably close to Don’s side.

“Ah yes. Rabid Red..” the Man tsked in a facade of pity, “Seems the surplus of sedatives did nothing to cure you of your infuriatingly pitiful temper. But that’s fine with me.”

The Man reached for his coat pocket, while refusing to break eye contact with Raph. By the sound of his brother’s growls not wavering, Don figured the Man’s intimidation attempt wasn’t so successful.

But then…

All went silent as the Man revealed a syringe filled with a noxiously potent green liquid inside. The Man rose off the ground and began walking towards Raph, a frighteningly bright smile spread across his face like some awful infection.

“.. I want you to be fully awake for every second.”

Don’s pupils constricted as he turned his head to face his brother.

RAPH NO!

The cap of the syringe was removed with practiced hands, revealing the needle shining in all its horrible glory.

“.. I want you to feel every fluid ounce of agony slowly creep through your skin and into your blood. I want you to see the monster I know you are.”

Don’s ears drowned out the sounds of his captor slowly drawing closer to his brother, and instead focused on the shivering breaths and tight gasps escaping Raph.

He’s terrified.

“.. This is what you get for biting me, freak.”

NO! PLEASE STOP!!!!

Don’s heart painfully beat in his chest as the Man creeped into the pixelated shadows, once again becoming the faceless Specter that would forever haunt the freckled mutant’s nightmares.

RAPHAEL!!!!!!

Don’s hearing finally betrayed him as the sounds of his brother’s anguished cries seared into his ears.

Andddd that's it for this chapter!....

.. Is it bad that I truly enjoyed writing for Specter in this-??? Is something wrong with me?... Have I officially lost my shell? Heheh.

To God be the glory!

~ Melissa

MASTERPOST <- PRIOR CHAPTER NEXT CHAPTER ->

#my version of tmnt!! #the strength in weakness #SIW Don #SIW Raph #tmnt #hurt/comfort #angst #captured #tw needles #tw fear

[bullet-prooflove]

This one felt a little Dean Archer-ish:

“Pulled him in tighter each time he was driftin' away”

Sometimes Dean pulls away, you’re not even sure if he realises he’s doing it but he is. You know he can get like this sometimes, that he recedes into himself. It usually starts small, little things that go unnoticed until you start to put them together.

He stops sleeping, starts going for runs more often. He’s short with you, abrasive. When he fucks you, it is fucking, something to chase away whatever ghosts dog his footsteps.

When you try to talk to him about it he shuts you out, he starts to work more, he’s home less. The relationship is coming apart at the seams and he has no interest in preventing that. The man you fell in love with, he doesn’t seem to exist anymore. There’s just this stranger that barely exists in the same space.

“You’re drifting away from me.” You say one night when the two of you are washing the dishes together. “I don’t know how to help you, I don’t know what you need…”

He sighs as he tosses the dishcloth onto the kitchen counter before he leans against it and crosses his arms over his chest.

“It’s ok.” You say as you swallow down the emotion that wells in your chest because this distance it hurts, it hurts more than you could ever have imagined. “If you can’t talk about it, I understand but I want you to know that I see it, that I’m here for you…”

It’s those words that break through, the fact that you want to help, that you’re still here despite the fact he’s treated you so fucking terribly.

“It’s the PTSD.” He says finally, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck. “I’ve been having flashbacks, nightmares, when I try to sleep…”

He trails off and you know what he’s not saying.

I’m scared of what I’ll see.

“Dean,” You whisper, your fingertips brushing over this grizzled cheek and he flinches at your touch because he doesn’t deserve your warmth, your kindness. “Dean, will you look at me?”

His jaw clenches but he does, he meets your gaze and you everything in those eyes, the pain he’s going through, the trauma. He’s been dealing with this for so long, trying to be strong but he doesn’t realise he isn’t on his own anymore, that he has you, that he always has you.

“I love you.” You tell him, your nose trailing along the length of his. “That doesn’t change because you’re unwell.”

“This isn’t like having a cold.” He tells you as if you didn’t know, as if you haven’t dealt with this yourself because the shit you see, the death, it weighs on you.

“No, it’s more insidious.” You say. “I know what it does to you, how it takes and it takes until you’ve got nothing left, until you feel like you’re alone in the world because you don’t want it to start bleeding onto other people.”

He forgets that you’ve been there too, that there are nights where he’s held you, cradled you because you see the faces of the people you cut up when you sleep, you dream about them.

“You are not alone in this.” You tell him fiercely. “When you can’t fight, I will fight for you. I will always fight for you.”

“Baby…” He whispers, his voice breaking just a little. “I… I think I need help.”

The admission, it costs him. You can see just how much as the tears leak down his cheeks because your man, he never cries, not even on his wedding day. Your lips brush over the salt and you can taste it as your cradle his face between your hands.

“We’ll get you some help.” You promise him. “We’ll come up with a plan and we’ll get you some help.”

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@kmc1989 @helsinkibaby @hufflepuffgirl @mimi-8793

#dean archer #dean archer x reader #chicago med #one chicago #steven web #steven weber

[lilgynt]

still sobbing my eyes so never having a weed free night again

#personal #my door got caught on my laundry basket and crutches and i crashed against the walker i got my dad #and i want to yell at my brother how awful he is - which? either of them but mainly the broken door one #but i’ve done that and it doesn’t change anything let alone how i feel #and i wish my mom understood but she just hates me #and she can say she doesn’t and she buys me gifts but then hangs it over my head bc we’re broke #but it’s like i’m in the wrong for my brother violently breaking my door and then is upset i’m upset he still hasn’t fixed it #and this only came up bc she bought me a door accessory. BUT WOULDNT LET ME BUY A DOOR WHEN IT Orginally broke #like life is fine and all till i’m sober and remember my family is actually doesn’t like me and is super mean to me #and i feel like i’m so burnt out from everything i can’t even think about moving out #even tho i said fuck it that one time a few months ago #and i can’t move in with either of my brothers bc they’ve deeply hurt me and i can’t trust them like that #like do i think i would be safe with them and they would house me yes without question #do i think i would sooner kill myself over the pride issue of them constantly treating me like shit i can’t imagine living with #or being thankful to them while still feeling like #i don’t even know what i feel other than not liked or respected by my family #i know it’s lack of weed period and then just also generally living a bad life and having bad family relations but oh my god #gun to the back of my head rn please. please. #but in all seriousness first night i’ve been like huh. i could definitely buy a gun. really bad since the whole dad situation #like other night i punched a mirror when i got charged from my dentist from something two years ago with no warning. no notice #like 200 bucks. so. i already dealt with that it’s some insurance shit im seeing if i can do payments or whatever but never fucking working #with them again. didn’t even answer my question on why i wasn’t given any notices when i had them send me the bill and insurance claims

[calamitydaze]

okay i’m gonna go to sleep cause it’s late iiiiii hope i don’t wake up to nuclear bombs dropped on us

#tag ramble to try and unpack my feelings don’t take this too srs i’m just saying words: #i’m so so incredibly sad and disappointed #i never went into much detail on my feelings on the drama before this but my stance was that from q’s perspective he has a right to #be pissed (at least initially) and i don’t think he Had to say anything supportive of u.smp itself although it would’ve been nice #but once his fanbase started getting out of control (and now knowing to the extent it got) man that’s on you that’s your responsibility #ESPECIALLY if they had just previously been friends behind the scenes and dream was still under the impression that they were #i can’t fathom leaving a friend to the wolves like that #and when dream talked about things like trying desperately to reach out and getting nothing + the confusion of being friends one day and #ignored the next #and when he did things like alternating between cracking jokes about the ‘feud’ and being kinda shady— that all hit home for me personally #and if being in a similar situation hurt Me i can’t even imagine what he was feeling with his and his family’s safety in danger #and through it all he’s still being more gracious than i think i could be. i’m so so sad for him he’s always treated with such vitriol #and people don’t even think about it because it’s okay because it’s dream #and more than anything i guess i’m thinking about how it didn’t have to be this way #from dream’s perspective at least it seems like he was doing everything in his power to smooth it over and help both of them #(and he still is by changing his concept. which he shouldn’t have to do) #and one party wasn’t willing to cooperate. and i can’t wrap my head around that #if it was just dream not getting a response i could say Oh well maybe it was just a mistake maybe another horrible coincidence #but if what he says is true nobody was getting any feedback except to say they couldn’t be on both servers #and like i said i always want to hear both sides and i really hope q is willing to give his (to dream personally if nothing else) #but as someone who cares a lot for both of them and thinks they’re both great creators it just breaks my heart a bit #i’m trying to avoid being negative from the jump but i can’t pretend i haven’t lost respect for q over this #anyway. christ i wrote war and peace over here goodnignt i hope it all looks better in the morning #much love to you all #bella talks

[amberwings]

I… feel… like… a… little… zombie!!!

#get ready for a vent… oh boy this will be fun to look back on #i am so tired of being the one who cares more or at all #it is a particular hell to get attached to someone who is incredibly emotionally unavailable #especially when said person made it seem like they were romantic and emotionally available in the beginning #and then u felt crazy for questioning them when all long they never planned on actually wanting anything with you #I have wasted so much time but can’t stop somehow #I just don’t care about other people the way I do for this person whyyyyyyyyy did this have to be how it was #he cares so much about his friends and work and family and just does not feel the way I do #I keep hoping he does deep down but I’m afraid to say it just doesn’t seem like it anymore #who invites someone over then tells them right before bed they have to leave at 9 or 9:30 for breakfast with their friends #after I took the freezing ass metro for him!! and he only invited me last minute cause he decided not to go out with friends cause the cold #like what on earth how did I end up in this????? this is not how it’s supposed to be #and I feel a little sorry for him that he can’t let himself experience something intimate and great he is emotionally shallow #i never would’ve imagined this is how it would be… #I never ever vent ever but I just can’t stop talking about it or this sadness will eat me from inside #I even told my mom!!! #im sick of this… #maybe one day he will regret it but maybe not he is so apathetic it’s so frustrating #it just hurts so much to see that someone you thought you were close to does not value you the same way or appreciate you very much #he meant/means so much to me and now I see I just don’t mean much to him #he doesn’t want to commit to anything and said I’m his friend after leading me on for a LONG time #i turned down other people for him cause he just kept making it sound like once __ happened he’d be ready for a relationship #i was so hopeful :(

[suguruplsr]

i need gojo to absolutely destroy me like i need this man to degrade me to fold me into half to spit on me. to laugh in my face after he literally explodes and ruts into me in oblivion. are u kidding he's rich he's tall he's hot PLEEEEASSSE i need a man like him. (maybe this is a request. a tiny drabble, if you will, if you can. please and thank you, love u :))

professional milker !

✰ ✰ ✰ his little whore’s gone dumb , but it’s okay , her pussy still milks him every time !

જ⁀➴ ughhh same like the way he was so condescending and mean to hanami and jogo 😓

,, mean!satoru x fem!reader , degradation (heavy) , overstimulation , dumbification , choking , slapping , creampie , spitting , mention of reader being a pillow princess , too many pet names (& used as degradation) , idk , drabble.

divider from @/benkeibear

“what a fucking whore. cummin’ on my cock like no tomorrow..” satoru snickers, ignoring your crying blabbers and giving a rough slap on your ass. if only you hadn’t fell for his charming attitude, him personally inviting you to his large party. the gojo satoru, inviting you? you couldn’t believe it. maybe you did when you fell for him again, his bright and piercing eyes catching you in the kitchen while you were grabbing drinks for you and your friends. if only you had stopped him when his touches began to linger. then you wouldn’t be here, in some random guest room he tucked you in, folded and milking his cock just like the sluts he keeps in his bed.

“hope you’re not goin’ dumb on me..” satoru chuckles, reaching down to rub your clit and watching how you squeezed your eyes shut, yet clamping around his cock so nastily. “i can’t do it anymore.” tears slip from your eyes, mewling and clawing his chest as he only leans further down on you to fill you up with even more of his cock. “you were just begging for it though. what’s with all this whining huh?” satoru meets you with a cheeky smile, a hand going to wrap around your neck and kissing you. “my thighs hurt..” you whimper, stuttering when he gives a long drag of his cock, squeezing your neck tight enough to make your eyes momentarily roll back.

“so that means i just need to make you cum fast enough..can’t have you in pain right? don’t worry, heh, i’ll do all the work. what a pretty pillow princess i got.” satoru pulls back and holds your thighs, playing with the plush as he eyes the cum that coated the area of where you two met, some of it dripping onto the bed as he slowly rolls his hips. “toruu..” you were in complete bliss, and despite being totally fucked out your mind, everything single thing he did still had your pussy throbbing around him, and you couldn’t help it.

“shh, gotta fill you up again. gonna be my personal cock sleeve— oh i felt that, bet you’d like that huh?” satoru chuckles when you tighten just from his words, he might’ve even imagined the way your folds visibly twitched. “y-you sure do talk a lot.” you stammered, only for him to suddenly give a sharp thrust, both of you moaning from the feeling of your shared cum sloshing in you, some of it trickling out from the abrupt movement. “a-and you’re talking too much for a dumb slut.” he sneers, using your thighs to help guide his length in your hole.

it was brushing along every inch of your walls, pressing right at that gummy spot in you that has you throwing your head back, clutching his arm with a cry. “satoru! um, t-too deep.” you’re already crying, teary doe eyes looking up so prettily at him. satoru groans, his cock was throbbing inside you and your firm walls weren’t doing much to help that. “yea? ya gotta feel me at the fucking brim. hope you’re on the pill— or else i’ma fuck a baby into you” satoru laughs, you didn’t have a single worry in your mind about it, and who knows if you remembered to take your birth control today. that’s a worry for another day at least.

satoru begins to set a steady pace, not too fast, yet sharp enough to pump into you every time his hips snap against your skin, his lengthy cock dragging and rubbing against your walls. “wanna feel you cum in me again toru..” you mumble mindlessly, whining when he seems to drive into you faster from your words. your nails grips the sheets as he chuckles, his voice husky and raspy. “a real fuckin’ cumdump. only thinkin’ of me filling you up with my hot n’ sticky cum.” satoru smirks, his cerulean eyes having a dim look in them that makes you whimper. he looks so intimidating, and it so hot.

“d-didn’t even s-say all— toru!” he stuffs you up completely, folding you back in half and ignoring your whine of pain. he steals your moans with messy kisses, “clearly not fuckin’ you good enough if y’r talkin’.” satoru huffs, his strokes were deeper than before, and as much as your thighs ached, you’d choose the feeling of his girth hitting you deliriously over being able to walk anyday. your words turn into weak murmurs of his name as he holds your jaw open, pretty blobs of tears rolling down your face.

“my dirty girl huh? gonna keep you after this, my little slut to come home to.” satoru chuckles before letting a thick glob of spit fall into your mouth. you look so cute, face twisting in disgust as you swallow it so obediently. “toruuu..” you can barely even protest when he cuts you off with open mouthed kisses. your pussy was throbbing as he gave short and fast pumps into your pussy. your brain was mushy at this point, his sweet and honeyed perfume invaded your senses, the sloppy sounds of your flesh’s meeting only added on to your ditzy haze.

“bet that dumb head of yours is empty. but it’s okayyy~ gonna make you feel so good with my cum all deep in your cunny.” satoru grins wickedly as you whine, his cock was almost bruising your insides but you couldn’t care. not when he was saying such filthy words to you as his cock twitched inside you. “m’gonna cum. cum with me toru..wanna feel you..” you managed to get out, voice whiny and soft in his ear. you flutter around him as he kisses around your neck, mumbling as the familiar coil in your stomach builds. “pretty girl’s gonna cum f’me? go ahead, cream around my cock.” and you do exactly that, eyes rolling back so sweetly, losing your voice as he fills your cunny up with his thick warm load.

satoru finally pulls away to eye the creamy substance around his cock, your pussy wasn’t able to hold your shared cum even if he stretched you out, trickling down his length and falling to the sheets. he hums, swiping it up and smearing it along your folds and ignoring your weak pleas of being too ‘sensitive’. he thinks there’s no such thing, considering you’re still squeezing his cock. “tsk. now i gotta clean it all up. don’t pass out yet, gonna have a good meal. hehe.”

#jjk x fem!reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #jujustu kaisen x reader #jjk smut #gojou satoru x reader #gojo x you #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojo x reader #gojo satoru #jujutsu gojo #gojo x y/n #jjk gojo #satoru x you #satoru smut #gojou satoru x y/n #jujutsu kaisen satoru #satorugojo #gojou satoru x you #jjk satoru #satoru x reader #jujutsu satoru #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader

[wife-of-all-dilfs]

Hii! I love love love all of your finnick fics! Could I please request a fic where reader is also a victor from an earlier game and she is in an established relationship with Finnick. They both get reaped (not the same district) for the 75th games and reader gets critically hurt in the part where the cornucopia spins. Like she falls into the water after maybe being injured and she can’t swim, so Finnick has to risk everything to save her life.

I’m really looking for like a hurt/comfort with a seriously injured reader and Finnick going through hell to save her because he cannot imagine a life without her in it.

Thank you so much if you’re willing to write this or something like it, feel free of course to change anything to your liking!

two souls, one heart | f. odair

masterlist

summary: finnick refuses to lose the love of his life. your inability to swim complicates things, especially when the cornucopia begins spinning.

pairing: finnick odair x fem!reader

warnings: pre-established relationship, heavy angst, drowning, death, bone fracture

notes: thank you so much!!! i really enjoyed writing this, shed a few tears but still enjoyed it lmao. listen to 'beginning of the end movement v' by the newton brothers on repeat for the full experience <3

A quiet nursery rhyme was being sung by the water's edge.

The calm waves around the Cornucopia lapped at the rocks, the blistering sun causing the surface to sparkle. Wiress' voice interrupted Peeta as he mapped out the arena's clock-like wedges in the dirt. Everyone was focused on the map; you should have been too.

Dark blue ripples had your eyes captivated. So tranquil. So hauntingly beautiful. Loving the sea was in your blood, as your District Four was your home. You would think coming from a fishing district would mean your swimming abilities were mastered. In reality, they were practically non-existent. No matter how many times Finnick had attempted to give you lessons, they never stuck.

Neither of you seemed to care though, always too enraptured by simply being in each other's company—feeling Finnick's hands support your body as you floated on the surface...

"Don't you let go of me, Finnick Odair, or I swear to god I'll drown you."

"Will that be before or after you drown first?" he chuckled, though ultimately tightening his grip on your body in an attempt to reassure you.

....hysterically laughing when he got wiped out by a sudden wave...

"No way! I can't—" You broke into a fit of laughter— "I can't believe that just happened!"

"Are you laughing at me, sweetheart?" Finnick asked, trudging through the water towards you, his hair drenched and swept across his forehead.

"Yes!"

You doubled over, knees buckling as you struggled to contain your laughter. Despite trying to put up a serious front, Finnick too let a few chuckles slip at the hysterical sight of you.

"Oh really?"

Just like that, his arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you down into the cold water, earning him a squeal just before you crashed together below the surface.

...and washing up on the sandy shore in each other's arms, salty lips capturing one another.

"I'm covered in sand," you murmured against Finnick's lips.

He gave you another kiss before pulling away. "It's okay," he said, pecking your lips again. "I'll help you wash off in the shower when we get back." And then sent you a stomach-flipping grin.

Even though you wouldn't trade those memories for the world, if you had known your life would soon depend on the ability to swim, you would have paid much more attention to the lessons.

Finnick stood closely beside you, his trident digging into the dirt as he gripped it tightly in case of an attack. He had noticed your drifted attention, observing the way your eyes stared at the rippling water, like death was lurking just beneath the surface waiting to drag you down to the murky depths.

He could protect you from most things in the arena, but fear was something entirely different. A trident couldn't defeat the darkness in your mind.

A hand slid onto your lower back, rubbing gentle strokes to gain your attention. Your gaze tore from the blinding blue and settled onto Finnick's face beside you, watching his mouth curve into a light smile. You knew the silent words he was trying to convey: 'You're okay, sweetheart. I've got you.'

For a fleeting moment, the anxiety had disappeared. How could anything ever go wrong with Finnick by your side? The corners of your mouth quirked, preparing to send him a smile in response. But it never came. Something new had caught your attention. The woman by the water was no longer singing.

Wiress had been murdered.

The second Katniss let her arrow fly into Gloss' chest, everything around you seemed to explode into action. Anything that could go wrong would go wrong—Murphy's Law. And it did.

The Careers had initiated an attack.

Charging forward from the waterside was Cashmere, determined to avenge her brother's death. Instinct quickly kicked in and the spear in your hand was sent barrelling through the air and into her chest. As you watched her body slump to the ground, an enraged yell came from the side.

Finnick was fighting Brutus.

With your only weapon lodged within Cashmere's chest, aiding Finnick was impossible. Enobaria revealed herself beside Brutus, displaying her vicious fangs and throwing a dagger that sliced a small cut across Finnick's shoulder. Though the wound was minor, your heart lurched as he cried out in pain.

Before a single thought in your brain could form, your legs were moving. Not towards Finnick, but after Enobaria. Remember who the real enemy is—screw that. Finnick could have died. Your Finnick. He called out your name, his voice hoarse and frayed, but you continued on, hatred fuelling each step. It seemed Katniss and Johanna had the same idea, following behind you with their weapons bared.

Salt water sprayed onto your face, but you paid it no attention. Nor did you notice as the jungle surrounding the island began to blur into one overwhelming hue of green. Only when your body was thrown to the harsh rocky terrain did you realise what was happening.

The Cornucopia had started to spin.

Nothing could compare to the terror you felt as gravity's merciless force dragged your body toward the violent waves surging against the rocks. Just as your lower legs breached the edge, a hand grabbed onto your own. Katniss. She too was hanging onto Johanna whose only lifeline was an axe buried in the rocks.

A moment—that was all you were given to scan your surroundings. Supplies and sharp-edged weapons were flying everywhere. White water was spraying into the air. Finnick, who was thirty feet away, was gripping onto a rock ledge whilst keeping Beetee from sliding into the furious waves. His head turned to the side and even from a great distance, your eyes met.

It was at that moment you knew, you just knew the odds weren't going to be in your favour. God forbid you lived a simple happy life with the man you loved, days spent together on a calm beach. God forbid the Gamemakers gave you one last chance to be in his arms. God forbid you survived.

And with that sudden realisation, the universe, sick as it was, decided it was time.

Your hand began slipping from Katniss's; an unseen tear fell from your eye, and you smiled. A smile of goodbye sent to the love of your life. His face contorted into one of agony, lips moving but you couldn't hear his voice over the roaring waves. Still, you knew exactly what he was shouting.

"NO! NO!"

There was nothing he could do but watch your body disappear into the waves, repeating over and over "no, no, no," and praying his cruel eyes had deceived him. They hadn't.

Dark blue was in every direction you looked. The undertow tossed and rolled your body like a ragdoll in a washing machine and despite your attempts to swim, the surface only seemed to be slipping further and further out of your reach. Darkness engulfed you, so thick that you couldn't tell which way was up or down. That was when the panic set in.

Your arms and legs thrashed frantically, struggling against the water's force, desperate to reach safety or an air pocket. Cold water flooded your throat as you gasped uncontrollably. You screamed as every attempt at breathing felt like fire burning in your lungs. Finnick. Where was he? Where were you? What was happening? Why wouldn't it stop?

Thoughts submerged your mind in terror, and you were powerless to stop them. All you could do was feel. Pain. Fire. Burning

At some point, the Cornucopia had ceased its spinning and your body came to a rest in the water. An eerie calm suddenly washed over you; a sense of clarity stilled your wild movements. This was the end. There was no future. No hope. The world above wasn't yours to call home anymore. You now belonged to the sea.

Of course, your water-logged mind had forgotten that home was where the heart was, and your heart was still beating... above the surface, in the aching chest of another.

Tendrils of hair floated around your face like fronds of seaweed. Rays of sunlight penetrated the surface, turning the surroundings a vibrant sparkly blue. As you sank further down, the water, now a comfortable lukewarm, cradled you in its embrace. It felt safe, like being in Finnick's arms again. Like home.

You gazed at the sun's rays; they looked beautiful. You felt beautiful. But time was running out and the bright light soon began shrouding your entire vision, though not before you witnessed a dark figure dive beneath the waves.

**********

Finnick loved the ocean. He spent most days in District Four down by the beach, swimming, spearfishing, and watching the sun rise and set on the blue horizon. If he believed in reincarnation, he would have imagined himself to be a lionfish or dolphin in his past life, living in an underwater world, free from tyranny and oppression. He loved the ocean.

But that love was incomparable to what he felt for you. So, when he dove into the rocky waters to save you and felt the currents fighting against him, he determined there was nothing he hated more than the ocean. Not as he watched its strong grip drag your motionless body further down below him.

Your back had just touched the soft seabed when he swam far enough down to envelope you in his embrace. He should have swum you back to the surface immediately, but in his distressed state, he couldn't help but foolishly stare at your lifeless appearance. Your skin was blue. It's just the water's colour, he told himself. Your eyes were closed. She's just asleep. Your neck didn't pulse under his touch. She's... She's...

He had no justification for that. Feet planted firmly on the sandy floor, he propelled both himself and you back up to the surface. As Finnick paddled back to the Cornucopia, the others reached down and helped lift your limp body onto the rocks.

"Is she...?"

"Peeta," Katniss quietly reprimanded him.

Finnick paid them no attention. He said nothing but trauma screamed in his eyes. His breathing was ragged and his hands were trembling as he frantically checked your pulse again—in both your wrists and your neck; he even pressed his ear to your chest. All he heard was the waves lapping against the rocks.

"No," he whispered again.

It seemed to be all he could say anymore. No. No, this couldn't be happening. You were just standing beside him a few minutes ago; your eyes were just looking into his. However much he tried to deny reality, it didn't seem to make it any less true. You were gone.

He choked out a rough determined breath, interlocked his hands over your chest, and began pressing repeatedly over your heart. Wet strands of tangled hair were strewn across the rocks like dead seaweed. The usual soft pink accompanying your cheeks was nowhere to be seen, devoid of any life.

"Come on, sweetheart," he muttered before pulling down your chin to blow air into your lungs. The kiss of life. And when nothing happened as he pulled away, he restarted the chest compressions. "Oh, don't do this to me," he begged, voice breaking. "Don't do this. Breathe."

Any moment now. Any moment, your eyes would flutter open, the colour would return to your glowing skin, and your heart would beat with life beneath his hands. Your lips would whisper his name and he would pull you into his arms, where he would keep you safe until the end of time.

"Breathe."

Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Nothing. He did it again. Thirty compressions. Two breaths. Silence. Maybe he should've just ripped his heart out and replaced yours with his own. Death would come for him within seconds but hearing something beating inside your chest would've made the sacrifice worth it.

Life would flash before his eyes and your beaming smile would be the last thing he'd get to see. His last thought would be of relief that you were alive.

Johanna rested a tentative hand on Finnick's shoulder. "Finnick, she's—"

"No, she's not!" he exclaimed, continuing his movements. "She's fine. Aren't you, baby? You're fine." He cupped your jaw, his thumb stroking your soft skin before he pressed his lips to yours and blew twice. "You're fine."

The golden bangle around his wrist glimmered in the sunshine as he pressed on your ribcage. All he had to do was keep you alive until Plutarch rescued everyone. One simple task and he failed.

"Finnick, we have to go," someone said. Who? He didn't know nor care.

Leave me, he wanted to say. Leave me here to die. Let the Careers mutilate my body, take my life, my last breath, but let it be by her side.

Something cracked beneath his palms and he knew one of your ribs had fractured. His arms stilled, half-expecting you to cry out in pain but then he remembered. And with that sickening crack came a devastating realisation—you really were gone.

A sob erupted from his throat and his head fell to your chest, drenching your already-soaked wetsuit with hot tears. Everything else seemed to disappear. The arena, the Careers who could attack again at any moment, the spectators who were avidly watching. Everything.

It was just him and you. He didn't care that his screams and deafening sobs could bring unwanted attention or jeopardise the group's safety. Any tribute with half a mind would know crossing him in such a state would be a fatal flaw. Even if they did, it wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. Life no longer had meaning.

Finnick pulled your lifeless body onto his lap and cradled you protectively in his arms, lightly rocking back and forth. His forehead rested against your own, cold and damp. You always were the cold one, needing his touch to light a fire beneath your skin. He loved having you rely on him for warmth, but not like this.

"Come back to me, baby, please," he begged almost inaudibly. Tears were running down his cheeks as he brushed pieces of hair away from your face. His lips were on yours once more, heartbroken and painfully delicate; not to fill your lungs with air, but to fill your heart with his love in the hopes it would be enough to bring it back to life. "Don't leave me."

Pleas, prayers, begs, and wishes flew past his lips, over and over. And then they stopped and Finnick simply stared. Silence fell across the entire arena. The birds didn't chirp, the other tributes remained quiet, and the trees stood still. Even the water had calmed, resembling a perfectly flat mirror.

Finnick only had three words left on his tongue. Three final words to give you, wherever it was that you were. He slowly leaned down, squeezed his stinging eyes shut, and pressed a long farewell kiss to your forehead. His eyes remained closed as he parted from your skin, unable to take another look as he whispered his final goodbye.

"I love you."

And then, for the first time since he had rescued you from the blue depths, he felt his heart beating again. Just like yours was.

**********

There was a voice, distant yet reassuring—a lifeline to consciousness. Black was all there was. Coldness was all that was felt. It was desolate. But that voice... that voice was so anguished yet so familiar and encouraging that it lit a fire inside your chest, warming you from the inside out.

In the distance of the dark void was a figure, their body made entirely out of a pulsating golden light. Each word the voice spoke enhanced the light's brightness. "Come... me, please..." Brighter. "Don't leave..." And brighter.

The light was warm and comforting, just like the voice attached to it. Whoever's voice it was that brought the light resonated deep in your mind, tugging at the strings within your heart.

Your heart.

The thumping in your chest was weak, almost non-existent, but it was still there. Though it seemed time was running out. Pitch-black darkness outweighed the golden light ten-to-one; you could feel its cold breath creeping onto your back. So, you started running towards the figure. Sprinting. Until all that surrounded you was golden.

"I love you."

Water. At first, it came trickling out in two fluid streams from the sides of your mouth. Then suddenly, it was spraying into the air as choked coughs forced the liquid from your burning lungs. Light flooded your vision—not golden and inviting, but vivid and overwhelming.

There was something warm beneath your legs, against your arm, rubbing at your back, holding you in an upright position. While you heaved, dry-retched, and gasped, that soothing warmth remained.

As your airways began to clear and the expulsion of water ceased, your half-lidded eyes rolled around the area. Still dazed and disoriented, you struggled to make out what surrounded you. There was immense rippling blue, vibrant hues of green in the distance, dark rough grey beneath you, and elongated blobs of colour that stood a few feet away.

"Just–just keep breathing, sweetheart." That voice. The one belonging to the figure of light that brought you back. It was madly repeating the same words over and over. "You're okay", "Deep breaths", and "You're alive."

Shaky fingers brushed the stray wet strands of hair from your face. So warm. With the little energy you had, your head turned to seek out the golden light again. And you found it.

The blinding sun shining down reflected off his bronze hair, turning it a divine golden hue. His brows were raised and scrunched together as though he couldn't possibly believe what he was seeing. Deep lines were etched into his tear-streaked skin, evidence of his previous turmoil. Those sea-green eyes stared at you, afraid that if he so much as blinked, you would fall lifeless in his arms once more.

"You're here," he whispered.

Finnick. YourFinnick. Your light.

When your eyes met, a splitting grin lit up his face, made up of an inconceivable amount of raw emotion. You weren't sure what to do—smile, laugh, cry, kiss him? Your mind was scrambled, overwhelmed with love for the beautiful golden-haired man in front of you.

Without warning, your face scrunched up and the tears began flowing. You weren't sure why you were crying. Maybe it was because you had just been brought back from the brink of death; maybe it was because you couldn't believe someone actually cared so deeply about you.

Finnick cradled your face in his hand. "It's okay," his voice trembled, tears now cascading down his cheeks. His smile, however, never disappeared. "You're okay. You're safe now. I'm not letting you go."

He took your face into two large hands, brought you to his lips, and pressed a tender kiss to each tear that rolled over your skin. One of your hands rested over his; the other was placed against his chest, feeling it rise and fall so you could synchronise your breaths.

His arms moved to pull you tightly against him, almost like he was trying to merge your body with his. Or perhaps, it was your soul. You didn't care about the pain aching in one of your ribs. You wanted to tell him that his soul was already intertwined with your own, but words couldn't describe the sentiment as profoundly as you felt it.

In the simplest of terms your water-logged brain could muster, you whispered, "You're my light, Finnick."

Brows scrunched together, he looked down at you, fighting back the urge to start sobbing in your arms. If he had been anywhere else, if there wasn't an entire country watching, he would've gone on for hours, explaining how stupidly, selfishly, and incredibly in love with you he was.

But he couldn't do that. Not now. So, he placed his hand over the one you had resting on his chest and readjusted its position. He could feel the thumping, even through your palm.

Your eyes were full of emotion as you stared up into his. You already knew what his next words were going to be and for the first time since you were thrown into the water from the Cornucopia, you smiled.

Rhythmically, your hand and his pulsed together. Finnick's gaze flickered across your face and he grinned. "You're my heart."

#wife-of-all-dilfs ✍️ #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair x oc #finnick odair imagine #finnick odair fanfic #finnick odair fluff #finnick odair angst #thg finnick #the hunger games #catching fire #mockingjay #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #peeta mellark x reader #sam claflin #hunger games #odesta

[aaron-m-geist-ff]

“Kuna, p-please slow down!”

You had your face buried in the pillow, your ass in the air as the king of curses thrusted into you steadily. You could feel every inch of him sliding along your sensitive walls. It felt super intense from the angle.

Sukuna scoffed at your pathetic whines.

“Calm down, woman. I’m going slow enough as it is.”

He grabbed a handful of your ass, groping you as he continued to rock his hips back and forth. You sniffled into the pillow, desperately trying to hold back tears. You knew that Sukuna wouldn’t hurt you, but it still felt extremely overwhelming. You just weren’t used to a size like his. He was fucking huge. To think that this was considered ‘slow’ to Sukuna. Your cheeks flushed as you tried to imagine what something rougher would feel like.

Sukuna gave an experimentally harsh thrust. The tip of his cock slammed into your cervix.

You squeaked from the sensation, the air getting knocked out of your lungs as your whole body swayed from the movement.

“A-ah!” You let out a pathetic sob as a tear slipped down your cheek. You hid your face into the pillow, holding onto it with your hands. Your knees were dipping into the mattress firmly.

“Are you crying down there, witch?”

Sukuna didn’t sound amused at all. He actually stopped inside of you, slowing to a pause as he awaited your response with a shocking amount of patience.

You let out a huge breath of air which you didn’t realize you had been holding in. Your smaller body was trapped underneath Sukuna’s. You desperately tried to regain some composure while the break lasted.

“S-sorry!” You stuttered. “I can take you…Promise-“

You really wanted to please the king of curses. Ever since you had accidentally summoned him, he made it clear that he wanted to have sex with you. The submissive part of your brain found the idea very appealing. You wanted Sukuna to fuck you into oblivion. You didn’t care if there would be some pain involved along the way.

You gasped into the pillow instantly when Sukuna’s cock twitched inside of you.

He sighed.

“Such a dramatic little thing you are,” he scolded. “You can’t even handle it when my cock twitches.”

Sukuna pulled back nearly half way, before pressing back into your tight pussy. You could physically feel the way that your walls parted for him. Your legs were shaking as you tried to hold the position. Luckily, Sukuna was being rather gentle with his movements.

“Take it, woman.”

Sukuna’s voice was gruff and low. He sounded like he was threatening you. You whined from the tone of his voice, pushing your ass back against him in an effort to take more inside obediently.

Sukuna smacked your ass roughly, before squeezing it once more. He chuckled as he began to pick up the pace.

You gasped from the intensity, your poor pussy struggling to keep up. You kept involuntarily clenching around Sukuna’s throbbing erection.

“Kunaaa,” you whined into the pillow. You couldn’t think of anything else to say, you didn’t even know what to beg for.

Sukuna growled out of frustration, putting one foot up on the bed so that he could thrust into you even deeper. You yelped loudly from the new depth, your eyes nearly rolling into the back of your head.

Sukuna grabbed a handful of your hair and pushed your face into the pillow.

“Shut up and squirt for me, little girl.”

His voice sounded dark and menacing. It made your gut twist with arousal. You could practically feel him in your stomach from how deep he was thrusting. And that name he called you triggered your daddy issues. You gasped and cried as your body betrayed you, convulsing around Sukuna’s cock. Your juices coated his erection just like he asked. Your walls kept convulsing and spasming as you achieved your orgasm. Your juices even began to drip onto the sheets.

Sukuna smirked.

“Such a dirty little whore, huh?”

Read more Sukuna here

#god I needed to write this #daddy sukuna #sukuna x female reader #sukuna x you #sukuna imagines #jjk imagines #jjk headcanons #sukuna smut #sukuna headcanons #sukuna x reader #jjk sukuna #sukuna #smut