#but they’re all bruised and bleeding and SLEEPING | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

villain-enthusiast · 2 months

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The hero coughed blood.

Fucking shit, they thought frantically, hand pressed over the gaping wound in their side. Their new opponent packed a serious punch, more than what the agency had expected when they sent the hero out to stop them. Somehow they’d escaped, but not without the nasty stab to their stomach.

Class two villain my ass. The hero grunted as they stumbled into an alleyway, nearly slamming their shoulder into one of the brick walls. They slipped into damp corner and sat down gingerly, their breathing shallow. Cold sweat broke out on their forehead.

They shook the sputtering communication device on their wrist. Busted. The hero suddenly realized with disturbing clarity that they would die here if they didn’t get help soon, bleeding their guts out on the floor.

Blinding pain shot through their torso, and they closed their eyes, muscles clenching. They couldn’t stand up, not without passing out. And with their internal bleeding, pressure to the wound would be largely ineffective.

They were so totally fucked.

“Hero?”

The hero’s lids snapped open. The cloaked figure before them dipped and swayed, but they forced themselves to concentrate. No, that wasn’t their assaulter, that was—

“Villain,” they rasped.

“What are you doing all the way out here?” The villain’s tone was mocking, but could the hero hear a hint of concern?

The hero attempted a sloppy smirk as they approached. “Oh, y’know, just decided to get stabbed and die today. Regular hero shenanigans.” Shit, their words were slurring.

The villain didn’t respond, crouching down in front of them. Their fingers brushed over the throbbing cut on their cheek, ghosted over the bruise on their jaw—it was funny, the hero noted, how the villain's first instinct was to check their face—before trailing down to the still-bleeding wound at their side. Their hand paused.

The silence was so thick that the hero could hear their wavering heartbeat in their ears.

“Who did this to you.” The villain’s words were quiet. Deadly.

The hero choked on a disbelieving laugh. “Like you care,” they wheezed, but even they could hear the doubt in their own voice. When the villain continued to wait for an answer, they added, "One of your lackeys.” Their eyes fluttered as a wave of fatigue overwhelmed them.

The villain snapped their fingers. "Hey, stay with me." They gently removed the hero's limp hand from their side, examining the gash. They swore under their breath.

"That bad, huh," the hero huffed.

“This looks like [other villain]’s work,” the villain muttered. “Destroying your comms, letting you escape with a fatal wound, making you think you’ve gotten away when really,” their eyes slid up to meet the hero’s detached stare, “you’re on the brink of death.”

“How kind of them.”

The villain shook their head. “Why were you even fighting them? They’re superhero’s responsibility. You’re supposed to be going after me.” They paused, gaze darkening. “And only me.”

The hero shrugged minutely. “Agency assignment.” Their muscles clenched as white hot pain rattled through them again, leaving them weaker than ever. “Can you just kill me already? That’s what you came for, isn’t it?” They titled their head back against the wall and closed their eyes, feeling their body grow more distant by the second. “Just fucking do it.”

They heard the villain move, and they waited for the knife against their throat or the gun at their temple, but instead, gloved hands slid under their back and legs, lifting them up.

What? The hero shifted weakly, but the villain shushed them and bundled them closer to their chest.

“No questions. I’ve got you,” the villain murmured, holding them tightly as they sprinted down the alley, making sure they didn’t jostle their injury. “You can sleep now. I’ve got you.”

And the hero, somehow feeling safe in their enemy’s arms and too tired to wonder why they were being saved, succumbed to the pull of unconsciousness not a second later.

part two

#this one’s longer than usual sorry #couldn’t help myself with the ‘who did this to u’ type shit #hero #villain #hero and villain #villain and hero #hero/villain #villain/hero #villain caretaker #possessive villain #but they’re kinda nice yk #enemies to lovers #maybe if u squint #my writing #writing snippet #villain-enthusiast

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marvelsmylife · 2 months

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Could you write a fic with Az and reader where she just needs his touch? Maybe she’s just having one of those days where everything makes her cry and she just needs him to hold her so she can sleep, except they aren’t anything more yet

His hugs<3

Pairing Azriel x reader

#20 - “The number one cure for sadness is an outrageously tight hug.”

A/n I had so much fun writing this ! ! ! I'm sorry if I deviated from what you originally requested but I hope you still like it

I’m accepting requests

Acotar Masterlist

Request

You were having the worst day of your life, you were sure of it. First, you started with training with Cassian in the morning since Azriel was away. “Sorry to break it to you y/n, but I’m not going to go easy on you like Azriel does” Cassian teased.

Everything was going good until you got distracted for a split second and Cassian fist made contact with your nose. “CASSIAN! ! !” you yelled and immediately brought your hands up to your nose.

“Fuck” Cassian cursed when he saw your nose was bleeding profusely: “I’m sorry y/n, I didn’t mean to do that”. You sent him a death glare before you went to Madja so she could heal you.

After a quick trip to Madja to get your nose fixed, you decided to roam the streets of Velaris. You were having a good time until a child ran past you and accidentally pushed you into a pile of mud.

You wanted to be mad at the child but he started crying and apologizing immediately when they realized who you were. “It’s ok,” you replied as you got up: “Just watch where you’re going next time, ok?”

The child nodded furiously before running towards their mom who began scolding them for their action.

The straw that broke the camel’s back was when you got out of the bath and started to change. In your attempt to quickly throw on a tunic, you swung your arms and accidentally knocked over a vase that you had in your family for centuries. It was the last thing you had from your old life and now it was broken.

After cleaning up your mess, all you wanted to bury yourself into your covers and never come out.

Around that time, Azriel finally arrived at the house of wind and was confused when you didn’t immediately greet him like you usually do: “She’s in her room.” Azriel heard Cassian's voice: “She had a bad day and wants to be left alone”.

Azriel ignored the last part of what Cassian had said and went straight to your room. He let out a sigh when he spotted you under your covers: “OK, what happened?”

“Everything,” you replied, still under your cover: “I’m never leaving this room again.”

Azriel couldn’t help but roll his eyes at how dramatic you were acting. “Y/n, can you please get out from under your covers? You’re going to suffocate under there.”

“No,” you grumbled: “I don’t want to”.

Growing frustrated by your answer, Azriel undid his boots before responding: “If you’re not going to get out from under there, I’m going to have to go in there with you.”

You didn’t have time to reply when Azriel managed to get under the covers with you: “What happened to your nose?” Azriel asked when he noticed a bruise on your nose.

“Your brother happened,” you huffed out before you explained what happened to you today.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you train today:” Azriel apologized: “but do you want to know one thing?”

You gave Azriel a puzzling look and replied: “What?”

“The number one cure for sadness is an outrageously tight hug,” Azriel responded before engulfing you in a hug.

You couldn’t help but laugh at Azriel’s action: “Who would have thought the big bad shadowsinger was a big old softy.”

“I’m only a softy for you,” Azriel replied and placed a kiss on your forehead: “How are you feeling now?”

“Better” you smiled at Azriel before carefully burying your face in his neck: “Better now that you are with me now”.

Meanwhile, outside your bedroom, the rest of the inner circle were eavesdropping on your and Azriel’s conversation. “When do you think they’re going to confess that they have feelings for each other?” Elain asked.

“Hopefully soon,” Amren replied, “I’m sick of them basically eye fucking each other all the time”.

#azriel imagine #azriel x reader #azriel x you #acotar x reader #acotar imagine

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crimeloyalty-arch · 2 years

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ignore my lil verse tag drop

#⸻ now i'm in exile seeing you out — au * the 100.#⸻ there is happiness past the blood and bruise — au * white knight.#⸻ some things you just can't speak about — au * star trek.#⸻ only twenty minutes to sleep — au * star wars.#⸻ i’d give you my wild ; give you a child — v * crimefamily.#⸻ he keeps a picture of you in his office downtown — v * vespertllio.#⸻ they’re burning all the witches even if you aren’t one — v * goremade.#⸻ something med school did not cover — au * grey’s anatomy.#⸻ mystified by how this city screams your name — au * wall street.#⸻ this is our place : we make the rules — au * witness.#⸻ til it hurts or bleeds or fades in time — au * vampire.

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sanji-piss-hell · 5 months

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ZOSAN FIC REC

Here is some of my fave zosan fics. Some of these I read years ago and so I don't fully remember what theyre about but they we're good enough that I still have strong emotional attachments when I see the name. Most of them are things I've read recently. Literally all I do all day is homework and have an app tts fanfics to me like an audio book so there's quite a few of recs here. I am not the best at summeries but just trust me bro these are GOOD SHIT. I only provide the best. What I consider a good fic: - Takes place in the one piece world (I don't like modern aus) - Characters stay in character or if they do have changes from their canon portrayal there is a justifiable reason from within the story. - Solid story telling and arcs (even the shorter fics) - The Zosan dynamic is kept mostly how it is in canon they fight and bicker. (I know some like when they're soft with eachother like a loving married couple. You won't find much of that here) - Some of these have pervy sanji, que nose bleeds and ogling. With that out of the way here's the list!! Now to my fave zosan fic of all time and ironically enough the only fic taking place in a modern setting: Life is fine series. TW: Drug abuse, heavy angst, depression I have reread this twice and forced a friend to read it too. It is so amazing not just for the zosan but for the genuinely good story telling. You follow zoro reeling from his sudden loss of relationship with Sanji and falling down a...Well uh, path. It's fucked it's dark it's depressing and its fucking riviting. Alot of the time reading this you're just like WHY DID SANJI LEAVE HIM WHAT IS GOING ON??? Honestly I need to reread this again. Onto softer fics to heal your heart after that one: Honor in limits, his strengths in weakness By Hawksbrood

“Fucking hell cook, what happened to you?” Zoro demanded, voice low so as not to disturb the others sleeping nearby.

Sanji rolled his eyes. “What do you think? I told you we got in a fight earlier.”

“Not that, your fucking feet!”

The cook snarled at that, crushing his cigarette in his teeth. “What the fuck do you mean, my feet? They’re just feet!”

Zoro’s eyes widened, looking at the bruised flesh before him. This wasn’t that.

This was just so good and cute. I appreciate watching zoro appreciate sanji. They take care of eachother but in a way where theyre both still them yeah know? I appreciate how sanji is written letting himself be vulnerable but understanding that he's always gonna be crass cause it's just a part of who he is.

come on, come on (turn a little faster) by donutsandcoffee

The one where everyone thinks they’re dating, Sanji is oblivious, and Zoro takes everything in stride.

Sometimes a love story can go in reverse.

I reread this one recently and it's just soft and sweet. I like watching sanji flounder around. The gay panic is great.

a complete guide to falling in love by ThousandSunny Sanji was trained in the Bridal Arts; this does not go unnoticed by the rest of his crew. I read this like 3 years ago and I dont remember much but I do remember loving it!

Part Timer By 8ball Sanji really, really doesn't want to give Zoro a job at his restaurant. Zoro doesn't really even want to work there in the first place, but, well, there’s this thing with Sanji, and this thing with feelings and the whole thing is pretty damn stupid all together. Zeff just wants grandkids. He’s too old for this bullshit anyways. I am sure everyone knows 8ball very well they're like zosan famous but still just in case this one is really fucking good. Also read this 3 years ago so I don't remember much but I consider this a zosan classic. Onto the rated R Grand Buffet by asyndese Drunk fic!! If there was one thing Zoro knew, it was that you could always trust Sanji's inclinations to do a beautiful 180 as soon as he was drunk. Luckily, Zoro was more than equipped to handle it. I spent. 30 minutes. Trying to find this fic again because that's how much I loved it. It altered my brain chemistry. Sanji getting a nose job during sex is just. aaaaaaaaa. Read it. Cannot suggest enough. Horrors not yet known by Trixree

Sanji doesn’t know how he didn’t notice it before, is the thing. Of all the times he has seen Zoro shirtless (in battle, mostly) he just… never noticed. The problem is, once he has noticed, Sanji can’t seem to stop noticing. And neither can anyone else.

In which Zoro has a nipple piercing and Sanji has a Problem.

I recently reread this and the first time I read it I didn't really get the whole gender sanji shit. Now though???? Yeah another fic that rewired my brain chemistry. This fic opened doors for me it exposed me to a new world. Also sanji gay panic is in here and I live for that. It can be pretty raunchy (love that too) Three rounds with a tiger by KobochaKitsune Another drunk Fic!! also in modern times damn maybe I lied sdklfj

Liquid courage, drunken decisions, terrible euphemisms, and texts from last night, or: how to think entirely with the booze (and your dick) for once.

Or: By the time Sanji got to the party, everyone was already drunk.

I read this 3 years ago (theres a trend going on can you tell??) It also rewired my brain chemistry (from this point on just assume all of these nsfw fics rewired my brain chemistry each of these opened doors for me. This one opened the doors to bottom zoro.) Fucking 20k words of just pwp. I dont even know how the author did that bro like damn. Nature of things by stark_black Tw: Sex work and prostitutes When the Sunny docks, Sanji and Zoro sometimes seek out relief in some not so savory places. After crossing paths in town on more than one occasion, the two find they have a lot more in common than they would like to admit. I hunted this down for like fucking hours a couple of weeks ago because it was that good. Stark_Black has a fucking library worth of zosan fics this one is a classic to me. But if you want more content check out his other fics I think they have like over 100 zosan its kinda insane. Coregasm by Yakarmi

Sanji discovers that sometimes, Zoro has orgasms while he lifts.

-----

“You…” Sanji trailed off, gaze turning down as he licked his lips. Pink tongue darting out nervously. “You orgasm when you exercise?”

Zoro clenched his jaw. Shrugged. Trying to act nonchalant.

“Sometimes.”

Sanji’s eye went wide, and like his mouth had suddenly been liberated from his brain, blurted out, “that’s so fucking hot,” before clamping his hands over his mouth. His cigarette fell from his mouth, bouncing soundlessly on the ground.

Bro bestie, the way this put me on nose bleed Sanji. Perv sanji. I need that gif thats like mmm cause man this is good. Ending this fic rec with a BANG we have

Contingencies and Congruencies by PeaceSignDisasterBi

Somewhere between finishing the bottles of alcohol and mugs of beer, the crew comes together to create a contingency plan for something that may-or-may-not-happen during their time on the Grand Line and beyond. Usopp thinks it's more likely than bumping into zombies, Zoro wants to stay out of this, Sanji is just going with the flow, and Nami may or may not keep things legally binding and above board with consistent consensual acquiescence. Robin finds it all amusing.

The damn chart stays in the locked drawer in her desk, split into three neat categories: Devil Fruit Powers, Science, and Magic. Each represents whatever they're hit with but also categorizes the amount of self-control the person has during.

AKA: 5 times Zoro and Sanji had to help each other as Consensual Helpers of Dubious Consent + 1 Time There Was Nothing Dubious At All

Ok this is 152k long its pretty insane. It regoes over the arcs so throughly so carefully that I literally had to question my memory because I havent experienced alot of these arcs in a while (it's one of the reasons im rewatching one piece). I will say despite how amazing and well written this is I had a hard time comprehending sometimes. now I was sick at the time of reading this so that might be why but sometimes the way things were phrased felt like yoda talking. I think it's just me though. I'm not used to big words :( And thats a wrap!! These arent even all the ones I wanted to include I have at least 20 more off the top of my head but I'll save that for another day. I hope you find joy in these fics Like i did I'll def do another one of these as cause I didnt even touch my sanji centric fics or germa 66 or just in general the best sanji fanfic writers. (Mentioned some of them like 8ball, thousand sunny and donuts and coffee.) Best of luck to yall and let me know what you think!

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xob1tchs · 1 year

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going quietly - ethan landry

a/n; she’s here!!! thanks for waiting, i love u 🫶🏻 also there’s def bound to be spelling errors, and grammar or punctuation mistakes even after reading it a billion times- I wrote on my phone this time 😭

pairing; e2l nongf!ethanxfem!reader

warnings; smut! mentions of stabbing, blood, violence, mentions of killing/death, bickering, stabbing, brief panicked hospital, ghost face attack, smut, kissing, making out, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex (do not try this irl), cream pie, sub ethan undertones

taglist; @elinanova @fanboyluvr @ghswlz @bajadotcom @oscarisdaddy69 @nuhteyam @certifiedpussyeater @lunaoieoie @hotweeb @beautyb1ade @vivianbay @doingurmomma @multishippinghoe @luvmara @lilluna @jaysarchiv3 @iovemoonyy @shaylaaaaa16 @nini123 @bloodyv7mp @inlovewmikewh33ler @karacaroldanvers @nishinoyastoes @zxvcq @luv-4-jj @sluttt444slashersss @fuaq

music

Big round puppy dog eyes are staring down at you, a sense of faux innocence masking the curly headed boy you swear you hate right now. You can’t stand him, really. In all his good boy, golden retriever, dork glory. You don’t believe it for a second.

So why do you have this feeling in your stomach, a warm heat that sparks when he’s this close. When you can smell the cologne on him, and the musky sweat from running all over New York. The dark bags forming beneath his shiny eyes that make him look almost dead, the purple and red bruise on his cheek bone, the dark blue long sleeve that’s far too form fitting. Why do you stare at his biceps, watching the way his long thick fingers run down the side of his pretty face.

He could be a murderer. He could be plotting to kill you at this very moment. Maybe he looks at you that way because he wants to make it hurt. Why do you want him to make it hurt? Why does the thought of him behind a mask you’ve come to hate have heat pooling between your legs? Maybe the lack of sleep, and the inability to escape this killer has finally gotten to your head. Maybe you’re actually going insane.

“Hey! Are you listening?” Sam draws you out of your thoughts. Your eyes land on her, suddenly a pounding in your head, and a pain from your side that has you grimacing. You mutter a ‘what?’ pressing your palm into the stab wound, blood seeping from your side, through the material of your black tank top, running down the cracks of your fingers down your wrist.

She frowns at you, eyes looking at Ethan before they land on you again, as if she’s already regretting what she’s about to say “Ethan should take you to the hospital- you’ll bleed out” she does regret it. Knows that if Ethan is the killer that he’ll leave you to die in alley somewhere, but if he isn’t and he doesn’t take you to the hospital, you could die after getting away a third time. Knows you’d haunt her if she let that happen.

You glare up at Ethan through your lashes, can feel the tears gathering at your lash line, but reach up to grab his shoulder anyway “if you kill me and survive, I’ll haunt you for the remainder of your sad life Jack ass” you threaten, and he hums, slipping his arm round your waist, placing his hand just above yours.

You limp down from the apartment, loosing strength by the minute, forced to lean more into Ethan as he tried for a cab. When one finally pulls to the side you slide in, ethan sliding in a little too close next to you.

“When I save your life, I better get the greatest thanks known to mankind” he mumbles, lifting your shirt a little to asses the damage, “I hope that hurts” he tacks on, whispering it bitterly into your ear.

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

When you walk through the ER doors, you’re bombarded with a flock of nurses, ushering you to the nearest bed. Ethan trails behind, lost like a puppy, stumbling after the nurses as they scurry around, asking them what they’re doing or how long it’ll take. You roll your eyes, scoffing at his idiocy. The boy has clearly never even scraped his knee falling off a bike, much less been in an ER with someone who’s been stabbed. It makes you anxious.

“Ethan! Just sit!” You whisper yell, whipping his head as you call his name, his features falling as you scold him. He slumps into the leather chair not far from the bed you’re sat on, cradling his cheek in his palm. He just watches you, eyes fleeting from your wound, to your face, clearly trying to decipher what you’re thinking or how you’re feeling.

You roll your eyes again “Quit staring creep” you press your lips into a flat line, trying not to laugh as the nurse coming closer side eyes him hearing your words, your spin straightens, a hiss escaping your lips as she begins rattling on about what’s going to happen.

You already know of course, the scar on the back of your left shoulder a reminder, you’ll need sedated, an iv drip, stitches, blah blah blah. This time you’ll have to leave earlier, no way you can afford to stay for 48 hours, don’t care how much blood you’ve lost or how weak you are. Ethan can see it in your eyes as the lay you back, what you’re plotting, the way you don’t even flinch when they stick your side with whatever, or when they stitch you up. You do look at him when they cut your shirt off, and he doesn’t look away for once.

When they’re done, eleven stitches later, and you’re laying back in the bed with an IV in your arm the small secluded area becomes flooded with an awkward silence.

“We need to leave” you sigh, eyes glancing to the clock, you’ve only been gone two hours max. Unfortunately you know well enough a lot can happen in two hours.

Ethan sits up stripping in his chair, shaking his head with drawn brows “If something happens we’ll know” he stands, coming to the edge of your bed “you need this though” his fingers thrum against the needle in your arm, the small touch has your skin breaking out in goosebumps, fingers tightening their grip on the sheet beneath you.

“Why are you being so fucking sweet to me” you grimace, face forming a scowl. You sit up just enough so that your eyes are closer to his, but he’s obviously taller than you, leaving you forced to glare up at him. His brows draw together and he crosses his arms over his chest, the muscle of his biceps bulging beneath the dark blue shirt, from the angle he looks less boyish. Dark eyes staring you down, jaw clenched in clear aggravation, lips forming a hard line instead of a cute pout.

“Why are you always such a bitch to me?” He shoots back, voice low so that nobody hears, but loud enough that you can tell he’s clearly angry.

“Maybe I’m just a bitch” you shrug.

“Maybe you’re just a liar” he cocks a brow, shrugging back.

Before you can jest back, the fire alarm rings through the hospital, water spraying down from above, lights dimming down so that the flash from the alarms is evident.

You’re ripping the iv from your arm and slipping on Ethan’s jacket, zipping it up, and yanking him quickly towards the exit before a nurse can even reach you. As you make your way through the panicked crowd, your fingers lace together, tightly wound so you don’t get separated.

The ER of a New York City hospital is hard enough to get in and out as is, fire alarm only added stress and the halls flood and become to crowded to even see the nearest exit. Bodies are pushing against and in between the both of you, shouting and babies crying, water blurring your vision as you try and tunnel a way out.

“Ethan, we need to get out now! There are no coincidences in our movie!” You warn, hoping he gets the message, your spine going rigid when your fingers are forced apart and the start of a reply is muffled as your bodies are pushed apart. You spin on your heel, pushing through bodies, wincing in pain when someone elbows your stitches. A shoe catches your boot, loosing balance you stumble to your feet, people don’t bother helping you up as they pass.

You crawl, the rips in your jeans leaving skin visible to bruise against the wet hard floor, someone steps on your fingers and you yelp out, forcing yourself to your feet with your hand cradled to your chest. Your fingers ache, unbendable, your curse under your breath, squinting as people push past you, trying your best to find Ethan’s face in the crowd.

You fail to see him, ready to give up and call out for him, when you see it. The white mouth, faux mouth smiling menacingly, looking directly at you. They tilt their head, knife waving in the air in front of them, teasing you with a fake stab motion the their chest. You frown, looking to your left and then right, and when you look back they’re gone. Panic sets in, and you bolt to the door on your right, shaky hands twisting and pulling at the knob. Locked. You curse under your breath, looking over your shoulder, before you fall to a squat, walking along the edge of the wall.

Your eyes are frantic, watching the feet you pass for the end of a black cloak, heart wild in your chest. Your palms are sweating, fingers and hands shaking, knees aching as you creep around a corner, escaping the crowd. You slump against the wall, knees pulled tightly to your chest, erratic breathing. The sprinklers have stopped now, but the water makes your mascara run, eyes aching, body now cold, your side aching. You’re alone, Ethan had to have gotten out, but the ghost face is here and you’re alone.

What if the ghost face got to Ethan first? The thought has your stomach twisting, nausea crawling up your throat, you slump forward onto your palms, breakfast spilling all over the floor. Tears have now crept past your lash line, falling down your cheeks to the ground, legs shaking as you stand. You press your palm to your wound, blood seeping through Ethan’s jacket, staining your skin. A stitch must’ve broken.

You peek around the corner, the last of crowd escaping through the exits, and then look the opposite way. Deciding that the ghost face couldn’t have gotten far, you begin jogging towards the exit you’d originally intended leaving out, foot steps heavy against the damp ground.

Before you can even get half way there, a scream echoes through the halls, a guy clearly. The thought of it being Ethan has you stopping in your tracks, spinning around to see where it could’ve come from.

“Ethan! Ethan where are you!” You shout, greeted by the screech of sneakers on the ground, you flinch, head whipping around in the direction of the sound. The bed you’d been at, curtains pulled closed, a figure looming in the distance “shit” you grumble, rolling your eyes as you run in the direction of the figure.

Your hands are shaking, fingers hesitant as you reach to yank the curtains back, and when you do large hand wrap around your shoulders, sending you tumbling backwards. You scream in protest, staring up into the eyes of the mask, one of your hands meets the side of their face, knocking them in the jaw, rolling of of you with a grunt. You scurry to your feet, eyes searching for the knife, failing to see as they stand up far too quickly, gripping the hair at the base of your neck, yanking you backwards into their chest.

You protest “let me go you motherfucker!” you shout, elbowing them, lurching across the bed falling flat onto your face into Ethan’s chest. You gasp, palms flat against his chest, straddling him as his eyes struggle to stay open. Blood touches your fingertips, his shirt open revealing a stab to his shoulder, and then you notice the blood pooling his curly head.

You’re about to say something when his arms wrap around you, your bodies rolling to the right, you look to the left- ghost face mere feet away. You and Ethan are now quick to your feet, him still slowly moving behind you as you start down the hallway, getting closer and closer to a room that hopefully has a lock.

You usher him inside first, slamming the door just as the ghost face spots you, locking it hurriedly, moving the filing cabinet closest to block it.

You look at you me surroundings, assessing the windows, a way out. Then you remember Ethan.

He’s sat slumped against the front of the desk, palm pressed to his wound, grimacing. You fall to your knees, fitting yourself between his, carefully moving his hand away. He flinches when your fingers dance along the wound, unable to tell how deep it is, you grip the tear already made by the knife, pulling with all your strength to rip the shirt off him.

He stays silent, watching as you use the fabric to wrap across his chest and shoulder, hoping it can suffice enough for you to get out of the window and to your apartment.

“We need to leave now.”

‧ ⨯ . ⁺ +. ✦ ⸝⸝ ✧ 𓂂 ⊹ ‧₊˚ 🪩 ﹅ ੭

It had taken you longer than expected to reach your apartment m, several weird stares and concerned police officers later, you’re now sat with Ethan on your couch as you dress his wound. Finishing off you lean away with a sigh, tossing your first aid kit onto the coffee table, cradling your head in your palms.

“It hurts doesn’t it?” You mutter, looking at him through the cracks in your fingers, frowning when he quietly nods. His knee knocks against yours, and his fingers wrap around your wrists, tugging your hands away from your face gently.

“Are you okay?” He asks, voice quiet and raspy, wavering a little. Your chest stutters, stomach doing that stupid thing, finger tips twitching in his palms. His hair has dried, but it sticks to his face because of sweat, sweat that makes his face glow, lips parted and swollen from biting them. His eyes are wide, a little red from irritation, searching your face, dropping to your mouth, then looking away when he realizes you’re staring back.

It’s slow, silent, as your faces inch closer. You can feel his warm breath on your upper lip, the stubble on his jaw when your fingers slip up his face into his hair, the heat from his hands that are now on your hips like an open flame, searing the feeling of his skin on yours into your body like muscle memory.

Then you’re kissing, lips moving in sync, tongues brushing. It’s messy and inexperience, your teeth even clashing, breathing becoming hurried. He tastes like watermelon chewing gum, and also blood, the coppery taste bitter but no unwelcome at all.

You crawl onto his lap, straddling his thighs, sighing into his mouth as his hands travel up your spine, tangling in the hair at the nape of your neck. He tugs very slightly, just enough for you to feel it, making your core ache. You start grinding down against his bulge subconsciously, desperate for friction between your legs, your mouth falling open against his when you get it.

“Oh fuck ethan” you whine, brows drawing together as you press down harder, he presses his forehead to your temple. Panting out against your cheek, his hand creeps around your body, down your stomach and to the button of your jeans.

When his fingers slip into your panties, very quickly finding your clit, your eyes roll to the back of your head. His fingers make circles on the bud, whispering into your ear as he plays with your pussy “Does it feel good?” he asks, and when you can’t seem to respond he worried he’s doing it wrong “Please I want to make you feel good baby” he mutters, switching techniques, flicking your clit side to side.

You squirm, hands digging into the skin of his hips as you pull away to look him in the eyes “I’m gonna cum” you whine, and your jaw goes slack when his fingers suddenly plunge into your heat, stretching you out deliciously.

“You’re so tight, and fucking wet” he coos, fingers thrusting in and out of you quickly, while his thumb abuses your clit. You rock into his touch, open mouth panting against his jaw, eyes rolling back as your orgasm creeps up “You look so pretty, so so pretty cumming on my fingers, Jesus fuck” mumbling the words into your hair has your thighs shaking, cumming dramatically, cursing under your breath. You clench around his fingers, grinding into his touch, wetness ruining your underwear, even soaking through the crotch of your jeans onto his.

“Can you give me another one? Wanna feel you on my cock please?” He whines, slipping his hand out of your pants, bucking his hips up into your core, stiff cock pressing to your core through the layers.

“I don’t know Ethan” you pout, nose knocking against his, a blush covering your cheeks when he pecks your lips. When you look at him, face flushed and sweaty, eyes begging silently, you feel heat between your legs once again, sighing in defeat “Has to be fast, need to get back to sams” you mumble into his mouth, and he nods in agreement.

He’s quickly, almost ripping your pants off, panties as well. When his cock is free, you think you’re actually salivating. He’s big, as to be expected, long and girthy, tip slapping against his belly button; angry and red, leaking with pearly beads of precum. A vein runs up the underside, prominent. You’re staring at his cock, like you’re ready to eat him alive.

“Is something wrong?” He interrupts your gaze.

Your quick to cradle his face in your palms, shaking your head quickly, pressing your mouth against his. You hover above his tip, grabbing him by the base, letting the head gently protrude at your entrance, shuddering at the stretch that already begins to burn as you slowly sink down. He moans into your mouth, and you accidentally bite down on his lip too hard, breaking the soft skin. Once he’s fully inside you find it hard to breathe, completely stuffed full of cock. Full of Ethan’s cock, feeling it twitch and pulsate inside of you, clearly begging you to move.

“So fucking tight” he practically growls, shoulders shuddering when you rise up again, ass slapping against his thighs when you fall back down. He wraps a stepping arm around your waist, carefully avoiding your wound, then begins fucking up into you a a gentle pace.

“Feels so good, love it so fucking much” he whines, eyes wide open as he looks between your bodies, speeding up with no warning “never want to leave, live in this pussy” his babbling has your heart fluttering, a drunk smile taking over your face as you moan out, nodding at his every praise.

He reaches so deep, deeper than any guy before, you’re almost sure he’s in your cervix, literally rearranging your guts. You chuckle at that, recalling threats from six months ago over the phone. When you laugh slightly, you clench around him, and that has him moaning out, head falling against the back of the couch.

The noises he makes are pretty, whiney and shameless, a contrast to the dirty words he’s letting out; and to how he looks, tall and muscular, drilling into you at an inhumane pace.

“I’m gonna cum again baby” you let out, slumping into his chest, spent, letting him fuck into you as he pleases. Your thighs are burning, sweaty everywhere, eyes barely open. The cord in your stomach is winding so tight your cunt aches, seeping wetness around the base of his cock, making obscene wet noises every time the skin of his thighs meets your ass.

He hums “yeah, yeah I’m close” he mumbles into the top of your head, fingers digging into the skin of yours hips so hard you know it’ll bruise “want you to cum on me, but- but can I cum inside?” he babbles, whiney, bordering on begging.

You nods frantically into his chest, heaving out a breathy string of ‘yesyesyesyes’ until you’re cumming around him, your body stilling, clenching around him as he cums as well. It’s the most intense orgasm you’ve ever experienced, white hot burning through your veins, your eyes rolling so far back you can see your skull, nails digging into his biceps so harshly you make him bleed. The way he pulses, twitching, loading you completely full of himself. It almost feels like it’ll never stop, creaming out around the base of his cock, covering your raw puffy lips in a mix of his seed and your wetness.

As if on cue, pounding comes from your door, making the both of you jump, heads whipping to it in panic “We’ve got serial killers to kill!” Tara’s voice shouts, and the both of you face each other in surprise, bursting out into a fit of laughter.

rebloggers are the best <3

#ethan landry #ethan landry smut #ethan landry x reader #scream iv #scream #scream 6 #ethan landry x you #scream smut #fanfic #fanfic smut #ghost face #ghostface

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sluttywoozi · 11 months

Text

Middle Of The Night | Geonwoo x reader

Summary: Ever since the incident at the cafe, you've been having nightmares. One night, you get up for a glass of water and find that you're not the only one having trouble sleeping.

Rating: T | WC: ~2k

AN: no spoilers beyond ep 1, reader lives w geonwoo and his mom and works at the cafe, was present for events of end of ep 1

Warnings: mention of canonical violence, insomnia, nightmares

You wake with a start, your heart racing and your brow damp with sweat as images of shattered glass and a broken, bleeding Geonwoo race through your mind. It’s been a few weeks now since the incident with the loan shark, but you’re still feeling the effects. You close the cafe before dark, and you don’t walk home unless Geonwoo or Woojin are there with you. You don’t like loud noises, or shiny black SUVs, or being in a room with too many men.

You’re also having trouble at night, and you’re starting to think Geonwoo is too. He seems haunted, hunted, like he has to look over his shoulder all the time but doesn’t have the energy to do so because he’s sleeping with one eye open.

It’s showing in the ring and at home. He’s been training at all hours of the day, losing sparring matches to Woojin, coming home with bruises he should have blocked. He’s losing focus during conversations, his smiles don’t reach his eyes the same way, and he even declined the last rolled omelet last night at dinner, which is what really tipped you off that whatever is wrong with him won’t fix itself.

You don’t know if you can fix it, but you owe it to Geonwoo to try.

For now, you’ll rub the sleep out of your eyes and try to calm your pounding heart before sliding to the edge of the bed and staring into the darkness. This is your routine ever since Geonwoo got hurt and the nightmares started, not that it really works to soothe you at all. You wish you could talk to him and see if he’s going through the same thing you are, but if he is sleeping, you don’t want to wake him.

You do want some water, so you step into your house slippers and make your way to the kitchen as silently as you can. You normally don’t get up after a nightmare, just sit there in the quiet dark until your brain stops showing you that night, but you’re feeling parched.

As you tiptoe down the hallway, you notice Geonwoo’s door is shut. He always keeps it open at least a crack, just in case you or his mom need anything, so it’s odd that it’s fully closed. Your hand hovers in front of the wood, your ears straining to hear anything over the white noise of the city. You’re just about to leave when you hear it.

A hiccup, a rush of air, and then a deep, stuttered inhale, like soundless sobbing.

“Geonwoo?” You ask as softly as you can, not wanting to startle or alarm him.

“Mm?”

Pushing the door open gently, you peek inside.

He’s sitting on the bed with his back to you, his shirt damp with sweat and his head hung low. You can see the shuddered breaths he’s taking in, see the wetness of tears on the cheek he’s got turned toward you, and you feel a new fault line form in your heart.

“Can I come in?”

He hesitates for just a second before nodding, just long enough for you to see that he might be worse off than you thought. The Geonwoo you know would have jumped up, opened the door for you, and waited for you to settle on the bed before sitting a more than respectable distance away from you. He’d be smiling, and bright, and happy, and tired because you’d woken him up, not because he’s not sleeping.

This Geonwoo isn’t smiling. His eyes are sunken, the corners of his mouth downturned, his frame weighed down by lingering aches and a memory that won’t leave him.

He’s not meeting your gaze either, his back still turned to you and his fingers squeezing the sheets so hard his knuckles are pale in the moonlight. You walk toward him slowly, rounding the bed and kneeling before him to find his eyes.

They’re watery and hollow when they finally meet yours, red like he’s been crying for hours and puffy like he hasn’t slept in days. You hate to see him like this, especially when he’s still acting like he’s fine, good even, during the day.

“Do you wanna talk?” You ask, though you’re sure you can guess the answer. Geonwoo just shakes his head quickly, rocking forward like he can’t stand to not be moving.

“Do you want me to leave you alone?”

The head shake comes faster this time, one of his hands reaching for yours where they rest on your thighs. You give it to him, ignoring the sweatiness of his palm and focusing on how cold it is. He must have been out of bed for hours now, maybe since everyone turned in, and with how chilly it is in the apartment, he must be freezing.

After contemplating the situation, you decide warming Geonwoo up is your first priority. He doesn’t seem to want to let go of your hand, so you rise to your feet and sit next to him on the bed. He leans into you, his shoulder brushing yours and a shiver traveling through his body when he feels how warm you are.

“Why don’t we lay down? Just for a little while,” you offer, begging him in your mind to say yes.

You can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about it. It seems to be a difficult decision, and you wonder what all there is for him to consider but let the seconds pass in silence, knowing he’s likely to close up more if you ask. Geonwoo has never been particularly touchy with you, always sticking to pats on the shoulder and smiles instead of hugs, and you’re not sure why. Him reaching for your hand was out of character, and him leaning into you is even odder, but you can’t say you mind, especially if it gets him under the covers and out of this cool air.

“Okay,” he agrees quietly, his voice shaky and his hands even more so as he stands and lifts the duvet for you.

Confused, you climb in and accept the blanket he carefully lowers onto your body. You watch him walk around to the other side, the one closer to the door, and keep your limbs to yourself as he gets into bed next to you.

It’s weird, you admit, to be close to him like this. To be in the same bed as him, ensconced in the same blankets, resting on the same mattress. You think you like it though, like how he smells and how he feels, even with how cold he is. He’s like a statue beside you, as stiff as he was when you first met, but just like then, you’ll let him relax on his own time.

He’s not touching you but you can still feel his muscles untense one by one, his hand finding yours under the duvet and holding tight. You glance over to find him staring at the ceiling, his tears dried up and his face smoothed out.

Smiling softly to yourself, you let your eyes close, the feeling of Geonwoo’s hand wrapped around yours anchoring you to the bed and to the present.

Your sleep is dreamless, and when you wake, your hand is still in his.

The next night, the same thing happens.

You shoot upright, your body in fight or flight mode, your eyes wildly taking in the room around you to remind yourself that you’re at home with Geonwoo and Soyeon, not at the cafe surrounded by men with pipes.

You don’t bother sitting in the dark, just get up and stumble to Geonwoo’s room, the wood cold under your feet and the chilly air sparking goosebumps. You wait outside the door, holding your breath so you can listen for sounds, hoping at the same time that he’s asleep and awake.

Awake, Geonwoo can help you. Asleep, he’s helping himself.

You catch that telltale breath pattern and knock, your heart in your throat as you wait. He doesn’t keep you long, a hushed, “Come in,” just barely reaching you through the door.

He’s still in bed, the heels of his palms pressed to his eyes and the blankets tangled up in his legs like he’s been running in his sleep. He shifts up to sit as you enter the room, folding his hands in his lap and crossing his legs to make himself smaller. You’ve noticed he does that around you, shrinks himself as if you could ever even think to be scared of him. Geonwoo hurts none but those who deserve it, and even then you know he still feels guilty sometimes for doing what he must.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks softly, his gaze open and nowhere near as glassy as last night.

You shake your head, playing with the hem of your shirt as you try to muster up the courage to ask for what you want. You’re sure he’ll say yes, but it’s difficult to make yourself vulnerable enough to speak the words.

“Stay with me?”

You nearly stumble over your feet in your haste to get into the bed, his hands smoothing the blankets out and lifting them for you to slide under. It’s silent for a few ticks, just the hum of the city and your breathing breaking up the quiet night, until you roll to your side to face him.

He copies you, tucking his hands under his head and bending his knees, the position so sweet for someone so large. You both stare for a while, communicating wordlessly the pain and fear of that night. His eyelids start to flutter, his breaths growing deeper and his body relaxing, and it’s not long before you relax too.

You wish you could hold his hand, but they’re folded beneath his head and you don’t want to disturb him, not when he’s so obviously on the verge of slumber. Being close to him is enough, his presence soothing you like nothing else.

You’re asleep before you know it.

You blink awake to sunlight on your face and Geonwoo’s hand in yours. He’s still curled up and facing you, his seemingly only movement in the night being to take your hand.

You lay there and just stare, for a while. Taking in the freckle on his nose and the lines in his plush lips, just barely feeling his breaths from the foot or so you are from him. You feel so calm, so peaceful next to him in the cool light of day.

His eyes move beneath his eyelids, his hand flexing in yours, and you wonder what he’s dreaming about. You hope it’s something good, something safe and happy, but you’ll be here for him if it’s the opposite.

You’ll be here for him from now on, now that you know he’s been hiding his pain from both you and his mom like this. You’re sure he didn’t want to worry or burden you, or maybe he thinks admitting that he needs help is a sign of weakness, but whatever it is, you’re not going to let him keep it from you anymore.

Geonwoo’s hand squeezes yours, making your gaze and your focus snap back to him. He’s awake, and he’s staring at you.

“Did you sleep well?” He rumbles, his voice scratchy and deep with sleep.

“Yeah,” you smile, “For the first time in a while. You?”

He shyly grins back and hums, looking down at your entangled hands and brushing his thumb over yours. His grin fades, a somber look replacing the soft warmth.

“Please don’t tell my mom what you saw,” he whispers, “I don’t want to worry her even more.”

“I won’t, of course, I won’t. But will you do something for me?”

Taking in a deep breath, he nods, his hand tensing in yours and his eyes attentive.

“Don’t suffer by yourself anymore. I’m here. I didn’t experience what you did but I watched it happen, and if you won’t talk to your mom, at least talk to me, please,” you implore him, your mind going back to the tears on his cheeks and the hollowness in his gaze.

You don’t recognize the look in his eyes or the slow, sweet half smile that rises to his lips, but you know you like them both.

#bloodhounds #woo do hwan #woo do hwan fanfiction #woo do hwan ff #kim geonwoo #geonwoo fanfiction #hurt/comfort #angst #✨emily writes✨#bloodhounds netflix #bloodhounds kdrama #kim geon woo

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missmeinyourbones · 2 years

Text

i didn’t know if you’d care if i came back ｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

gojo satoru x reader | wc: 1k | L’s FOLKLORE event

“I can’t believe you.”

You’ve heard these words from him before, but not like this. They usually drip like honey from his silver tongue, with faux and teasing disbelief weaved in and around them.

But right now, they sound cold, like a knife’s blade clinking against a glass table. He sounds hurt, you think, though you're not sure what that sounds like coming from him.

“Well, hello to you too, Gojo.”

“Don’t call me that,” he immediately heaves, as if your words burned him like a child touching a hot stove, “what is going on with you?”

He stands a mere few feet away from you, but something far creakier than the wooden floorboards separates the space between the two of you, making it feel like lightyears rather than a few measly strides.

His blindfold is off, it’s the first thing you notice. You can see his eyes—they're just as beautiful as they were when you left, but something about them now appears weary. Slightly bloodshot, sulking into the bags that weigh beneath his eyelids, he looks exhausted. You can only imagine the headache pounding away behind his flesh.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were back?” his question is desperate, almost as if he can’t believe he’s actually asking it to you right now.

You pick out a dirty t-shirt from your half-empty suitcase and throw it towards the hamper by your bed. There’s another shirt directly beneath it, one of Gojo’s old ones that he likes to let you sleep in. You leave it where it sits crumpled at the bottom of the carrier.

“I didn’t know if you’d care or not,” your voice doesn't waver.

He swallows down the bile that threatens to rise from the back of his throat. It burns, but somehow feels comforting compared to the statement that just fell from your lips.

“You didn’t think I’d care that you were back?”

It almost doesn't even sound like him, the way his voice fluctuates in pitch. It’s ridden with pure betrayal at the insinuation of him not caring about your arrival. He bores at you like he doesn't recognize where you stand before him, like can’t believe who he’s talking to right now.

“I didn’t say that,” you snap.

Gojo waits like a dog at your door for your elaboration, though he knows whatever you say will hurt him more than your silence.

“I said I didn’t know, I wasn’t sure,” a pair of unworn pants gets folded between your sighs, “we left things a bit weird. Didn’t know if you still wanted to know.”

Gojo frowns at your words, and it’s enough to avert your eyes from his face and to the doorframe behind him. He notices your lack of eye contact, but doesn't stutter as he rebukes your assumption.

“You could stick knife in my back and twist the goddamn blade,” he spits the words as if they’re sharp on his tongue, cutting him and bleeding down his throat, “and I’d still wanna know if you got back okay.”

You return your attention back to unpacking the suitcase before you. Busying yourself with stray pairs of socks, wrinkled jackets, and half-empty bottles of shampoo—focusing on anything that isn’t Gojo, who’s been slowly inching closer to you for the duration of the conversation.

“Well, I’m back,” you state matter-of-factly, as if the three simple words could fix everything that went wrong between the two of you, “and I’m completely fine.”

“Not completely,” his voice is much closer to you now as he stands beside you, but inevitably keeps his hands to himself.

With a shake of your head, your eyes remain locked onto the belongings before you. You scoff, sarcasm chewing your words and spitting them out, “All of my limbs are still attached. I’d consider that ‘completely fine’ given the circumstances.”

“You have a bruise on your cheek.”

His words instantly halt your movements, making your heart feel like lead in your chest. He’s suddenly far too close to you, you can feel the warmth of his skin just centimeters from yours.

Not knowing what to say, you stutter a panicked whisper. “Where?”

Gentle and hesitant, as if he’s afraid to touch you, as if you’re not really there, Gojo takes a shaky hand to your jaw. Barely applying pressure, he slightly turns your face towards him, before ghosting a fingertip over the height of your cheekbone.

“Here,” he whispers, eyes flickering between the purple mark and your lips.

You shouldn’t be letting him get this close to you right now, but you can’t bring yourself to separate. He’s barely touching you, you wouldn't even feel it if you couldn't physically see his skin on yours. He’s so light, you almost think he has his infinity on for a moment. Before that thought can break your heart, you feel his finger prod at the sensitive wound.

Wincing, but making no move from him, you reassure, “It’s fine, it’ll heal.”

His next sentence is one that would usually be smug, would be delivered with a teasing wink and lingering hands. This time, however, you think you might see tears in his eyes as his hands remain on your jaw.

“Will a kiss make it feel better?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” you remind him. You didn’t even know you had it.

Gojo deeply exhales, “It’s not for you.”

The kiss isn’t meant to make you feel better, not meant to heal your cheek of the bruising blood vessels. It’s meant for him—to heal the tender wound in his chest from when you left him alone in more ways than just one.

With the realization, you simply nod. It’s the least you can do for him.

Satoru’s lips hover over the swelling for a moment, before he takes a shaky inhale and presses them directly to your wound. He feels warm, soft, the same. The simple kiss feels like a constant that your privileged to have. Time can change, but the feeling of Satoru’s lips on your skin won’t.

He pulls away when the spot becomes warm and tender beneath his mouth. He doesn’t look you in the eye as he pulls away.

“Did a kiss make it feel better?” your voice is faint when you ask him.

“Yeah,” he sniffles, wrapping a lanky arm around your frame and forcing you into the warmth of his chest, where he can keep you safe and protected and loved for a moment, “it did.”

#gojo satoru x reader #satoru gojo x reader #satoru x reader #gojo x reader #gojo drabble #satoru drabble #gojo angst #satoru angst #gojo fic #satoru fic #L's FOLKLORE event!

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mathanlin · 9 months

Text

// mentions of bullying & abuse

Foster AU where Tommy’d been emergency fostered by his English teacher, Mr. Watson.

He’d only had one perfect week before he’d been dumped into a long-term placement, forced out of the Watson’s home.

So it’s agonizing to see them at school every single day.

Techno, waving to Tommy in the hallways. Wilbur, beaming at him in band class.

And of course, Mr. Watson, teaching class like Tommy’s not withering in the back row.

“How’ve you been?”

Tommy freezes in the classroom door. Mr. Watson smiles, like it’s just a normal interaction. Like it’s not Wilbur’s sweater Tommy’s wearing (hasn’t taken off), like he’s not still clinging to everything he can keep of them.

“Fine.”

He can tell the man doesn’t believe it.

(He sees Tommy’s dropping grades firsthand, after all. Surely he doesn’t know it’s because of *him,* of how Tommy almost sobs each time he reads some stupid dad joke on an assignment.)

But there’s nothing he can do.

Except cling, of course.

He still sits with the twin at lunch. Still listens to Mr. Watson’s lectures when he can’t sleep. Still begs Techno to tutor him (even if it’s just in the library, not back home).

It’s fine.

Until Wilbur gets suspended for him.

“I’m calling your father.”

The secretary’s words are directed at Wilbur — fists still red from full-on punching a bully. But Tommy can almost pretend it’s for him, too.

Until Mr. Watson actually arrives, and the only one he looks at is Wilbur.

“Wil—”

“It was for *Tommy,* Dad,” Wilbur says, glaring defiantly. “Don’t start talking about your fucking job, I don’t care.”

Tommy’s gut somehow plummets further. *His job.* Could Mr. Watson *lose it,* because of him?

…and if he could, how angry would he be?

“I’m sorry,” Tommy whispers. Finally, Mr. Watson’s eyes fall on him. “I didn’t—”

“Have they called your parents?” he says — and for one, blissful second, Tommy’s confused. *What do you mean? You’re already here.*

But he can barely call Mr. Watson, “Phil.”

Let alone, “Dad.”

They don’t even say goodbye before leaving. Tommy stays, still bleeding, staring at his bruises.

He’s not ready to go ‘home’ to *worse.* This time, Wilbur won’t be able to protect him.

And if he’s pissed Mr. Watson off enough, maybe he won’t be able to see them at all.

“If this keeps up… you’re going to fail, Tommy.”

Mr. Watson’s trying to meet his eyes. Tommy avoids them, ducking his head and staring at his report card instead.

He shouldn’t have.

Because Mr. Watson’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrists instead.

“Tommy.”

Tommy jerks back, startled by the teacher’s sudden concern. “They’re— they’re from those bullies,” he lies. “A while ago. I haven’t been fighting, I swear.”

The second part’s true, at least. Tommy’s never raised a hand to defend himself against any foster parent.

Mr. Watson’s eyes narrow, still impossibly soft.

But all Tommy can hear is Wilbur. *Don’t start talking about your job.* Like Mr. Watson could lose it, because of him.

That, even if he hadn’t loved Tommy enough to keep him, he could still *hate* him.

And Tommy can’t take that.

So he’s glad when Mr. Watson doesn’t report the bruises.

Even if it means he just has to hide more of them. Even when Mr. Watson stops packing him lunches, busy with end-of-semester work (and he didn’t have to do that in the first place. Tommy just starves quietly without them).

His grades keep slipping. He goes hungry, day after day, patches up his bruises. Falls asleep in class (even if he’d never admit it’s from the safety of Mr. Watson’s voice).

Mr. Watson doesn’t push.

But the twins do.

“You’re coming home.”

“What?” Tommy says, jerking awake. Techno looms over the library table where Tommy’d fled for lunch, no longer sitting with them.

“You wanted tutorin’, and I’m not doin’ it here. Come on. We’re goin’ home.”

Tommy scrambles up. “No. No, no, it’s the middle of the day, I have class, *you* have class—”

“We can skip them once,” Techno says, still walking. “You’re more important.”

“Mr. Watson—”

“—would do the same,” Techno finishes.

He’s wrong. So wrong.

Wilbur’s waiting in the car.

Tommy bears each worried question on the car ride, answering quietly or not at all. *What happened to you? Why are you pale? Why aren’t you eating with us? What’s /wrong?/*

But then the house comes into view.

And Tommy starts sobbing.

“Please. Please, I can’t be here.”

It’s not just fear. It’s grief, torn up by seeing the home he wanted to spend forever in. He’s not sure how long he panics, twins trying to comfort him.

But it must’ve been too long.

Because Mr. Watson’s car pulls in behind them.

“What do you think you’re *doing?*”

It’s fury, as Mr. Watson storms up the driveway, eyes locked on the twins as they rush out of the car. Tommy stumbles out the other side, hoping to slip quietly away.

But Mr. Watson sees him. His fury falters.

And then roars back full-force.

“You took him, too?!”

“Dad, quit it,” Wilbur yells. “For fuck’s sake. Be quiet for a second, okay?”

“He’s already failing class,” Mr. Watson yells right back. “You can’t do this, Wil, you’re getting him in trouble.”

*You’re getting /me/ in trouble,* Tommy hears. *My job’s in danger.*

“He’s sick, Dad,” Techno says, a little bit shaky. “Something’s wrong. Look at him.”

They do. All three of them, watching him cower, their home hovering in the corner of his vision. Taunting.

And then Wilbur’s eyes fall to the bruises on his wrist.

But unlike Phil, he does the opposite of ignoring them.

“What the fuck is that?”

Tommy jerks back. Not fast enough. (Never fast enough.)

Wilbur snatches his wrist, yanking the sleeve down. His grip is the only thing that keeps Tommy upright as the Watsons stare at every fresh, violet bruise hidden beneath Wil’s old sweater.

Silence.

Mr. Watson’s the first to speak, breathless. “You said… you said it was those bullies.”

“He *told* you?” Wilbur practically screams.

“And you believed him?” Techno cuts in, voice low. “Those are new. And we haven’t been letting any bullies near him.”

That’s too much to process.

Even before Mr. Watson whispers like he already knows, “Tommy, who’s been hitting you?

He can’t speak. Can’t reply.

Not even when Wilbur wraps an arm around his shoulders. When Mr. Watson quietly murmurs, “Let’s get inside.”

Or when they guide him through the door. Onto their familiar, soft couch. He’s back home.

Even if it’s only for a little while.

#mcyt #dsmp #dsmp au #sbi #sbi au #threadfic #tommyinnit #technoblade #wilbur soot #philza

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naffeclipse · 1 year

Note

I hope you'll forgive me, but these came to me in an almost delirious state the other morning when my brain wouldn’t let me sleep :s

I give you the sleuths now in the flesh.

Can’t forget the bossman either:

“This time you bruise and bleed too, angel eyes” >;)

Just a fun little ‘what-if’ and obviously not cannon, unless the Vigilante encounters these guys in some fever dream - actually that sounds like a funny scenario; nearly dying of some wounds (the usual) and high on meds, their mind cooks up this little world and once it gets to the Eclipse part, they’re just so repelled they wake themselves from their delirium xD

I did these in quite a hurry so if I were to ever have another go, I’d probably make some adjustments, focus on a more unique design, age them up a little, and give them more likeness to their animatronic counterparts, but hey, still works as a proof of concept I guess :)

Have a nice day/night, Naff! <3

Forgive you??? I would only forgive you for making me fall in love! I am not normal about your human designs for the Sleuth Jester boys at all!!! I hope you know that! I adore them so much ahhh! They're everything to me and so cute and handsome and their eyes and the details of their faces eeee!!! I'm kicking my legs and laying on my bed like a middle school girl rn, you have no idea!

Oh. Ohhh and that Eclipse! Bossman indeed, whew! He should not look that good smoking a cigar; yet, I'm swooning! He looks so menacing even in human form! Guess some things never change, huh?

I have to say, I'm more inclined to the DCA as robots but your human designs are making me into a turncoat right now! The idea that the human boys are from a fever dream is perfect and Y/N waking themselves up because, ew, what is Eclipse doing here? Has me cackling!

Gosh, I love your art! I'm sorry to hear your brain isn't letting you sleep though, and I hope you take care of yourself and get what rest you can ♥ I hope you have a nice day/night, too, Piixel!

Thank you for sharing! ♥

#mmm yes i am not normal #mmm yeah #not at all #i am tempted to write a one shot of this #maybe i can fit it in somewhere among my other things #gonna fall asleep tonight gazing at these lads here #sleuth jesters #sleuth jesters fanart #human!sun #human!moon #human!eclipse #piixelpaint

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fizzyginfizz · 5 months

Text

Someone's Mum

For @hinnymicrofic -Day 20 "Mom"

The poster unfurled, a Quidditch star winked with sass and smile

“Lucky him,” they’d say in passing

She never cared what they said

But Albus was two and he didn’t speak

“Are you miserable?” Words raw, a fear hidden, only uttered under the blanket of night.

“No,” she dared whisper, a confession in the dark. “When I’m there, I’m thinking about here. When I’m here, I’m thinking about there. Not miserable… mediocre. I never half-arsed anything that mattered and now I’m mediocre.”

Her fingers sought his, tangled in sheets.

“I catch a Quaffle and I miss the boys and I miss the hoop and I’m not crushed because my dream has become just another day with another Quaffle and another hoop and another number on another board and I miss miss miss when it mattered.”

Who was she without it?

Someone’s mum

James turned the page

another and another and another

“Again!”

another and another and another

“And down once more, but not so fast- “ *

Her shoulder needed to be iced

“They’re on their way to bed at last- “

How many times did they have to hear this story?

“The day is done they say goodnight- “

How many times would they want to?

“And somebody turns off the light- “

How many nights until they were too old

and she would

miss miss miss when it mattered

“The moon is high- “

Albus was two and still didn’t speak

“The sea is deep- “

Thumb in mouth, his green eyes followed her finger tracing the words

“They rock- “

James nestled closer, elbow jabbing the Bludger-sized bruise on her hip

“And rock- “

It hurt

Her finger trembled as it traced

“And rock- “

Albus, two, not talking, lifted enormous green eyes to hers

“To sleep- “

Green eyes that spoke sonnets

His Mum

He grinned

She was the center of his world

“What can I do?” Never one for words, he had long ago learned to ask. “What can I say?”

Sheets rustled as their fingers laced.

“What will you see, Harry?” She muttered. “I know what everyone else will see and I’ll pretend it won’t matter. But what will you see when you look at me?”

He rolled on top of her, cupping her face between his hands.

“The woman who bat-bogeys reporters and fought in a war and loves so fiercely her heart swells and splits and bleeds.”

Soft kisses to chin, cheek, eyelid.

“The effortlessly funny companion who can commentate two snails crossing the porch and have us all cheering the one with the hilariously tragic backstory.”

He lowered his forehead to hers.

“The girl who wrote in the diary who married the boy who slept in a cupboard. Neither of them have anything to prove, Gin.”

A tear escaped, rolling into her hairline.

“A Mum?”

She dared to whisper, a confession in the dark.

Irrelevant to the world

The world to three

“I’ll see you, Ginny. And I will love you until my last breath.”

The day was done, the edges curled

The Quidditch star winked as the poster furled

*Excerpt from “The Going to Bed Book” by Sandra Boynton

#hinny #hinny microfic #ginny weasley

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dahliaes · 20 days

Text

sea of magnolias - chapter two "dragonflies"

cw; no plot ofc, slice of life, melancholy, references to mother nature, jean is now here and he is a SWEETIE!!!! pure fluff, 3k words because im so slow, i wanna be 17 and live in the sea, yearning/longing, pieck and porco are idiots in love

hi again!! this story is very touching to me and i can't stop expanding despite how little the word count is lol i hope you all enjoy this little slice of life south carolina story bc i love it!!

chapter one

Marshes, white beaches, blue crabs. They didn’t wake you up. Neither did the small puddle of drool in the basin of your collarbone or the breeze bleeding in from the open window. That’s ocean breath.

You come apart, your cold limbs tangled up in hers and your eyes open like blooming flowers; if you could just sleep for a bit longer…Sleep like the pale mermaids you see rotting in the marsh, where the sea swallows their spine and soft skin; God puts her face down and her carrion melts unto the moon drenched nectar. If you could sleep…

You shiver beneath the cool quilt and feel Pieck beside you, your sweaty skin slides off hers with no traction—just like how the algae in the marsh slips beneath your feet.

Sometimes you and Pieck would cuddle in her twin sized mattress, hide beneath her big pink comforter, and trace each other's scars like constellations. A botfly infested her bottom lip and Porco cut it out with his pocket knife. She bled like a peach and smiled at you with blood stained teeth. You were shirtless playing cowboys and Indians with no distinction whether you were a boy or a girl, tripped and skinned your knee on the blistering pavement. Mama poured rubbing alcohol over your skin and promised that it wouldn’t hurt but that didn’t stop you from crying. You’ve got another one where no one can touch.

And sometimes you’d wake up with sunlight bleeding in through her window, the kind of sunlight you only saw when you were seven years old and small enough to be carried by your Mama; chalk on your hands and knees covered in bruises, no one had hurt you yet and never would if she was there to protect you, right?

“Pieck?” You whisper, hoping she hears you above the whispers of the marsh. They’re always saying something to you. You drifted to sleep like drifting to the sea and it’s still dark out, even darker than before, and you hear noise coming from the kitchen over the marsh valleys somber sounds. She’s saying something to you. “I think Pock’s home.”

“Mhmph,” She mumbles beneath the blankets and rubs her tired eyes, “He doesn’t live here.”

You’ll have to go home soon. Home right on the marsh water and rotting wood, home where it smells like the feather of a blue heron and where you’ve got all your pretty sundresses hanging up like American flags—the kind that makes boys unable to control themselves around you and God turn his gaze back to the sunset; Pock will drive you home. But it feels so nice to cuddle with her. Her skin is hot but cool when you touch your cheek to her spine, each little bump is another phase of the moon and you remember how she was the only girl at your sixteenth birthday.

You hum at the buzzing of Porco; Pieck, will you make me the happiest man on earth? Will you give me a son? And you hear his deep voice, heavy with beer and honey, mumbling something indistinct and gruff, something you don’t bother listening to.

“He must’ve brought another one of his fuckin’ friends over,” Pieck stretches her feet from beneath the blanket and cracks her back like a glow stick, “My daddy’s gonna kill him. I promise you that.”

Pieck slips away, waddling like an angel to the warm light of the kitchen lantern—that's how the fireflies get burned—and you hear her mumble to Pock about how he shouldn’t be using the key under the mat whenever he feels like a beer with his buddy… Jean?

Not blondie Reiner, not the olive boy Connie with the shark tooth necklace—he said he dug them out himself—not the younger one Colt or the dark scary boy Jaeger with dead eyes.

Jean. A new flower.

The moons out, you can feel her flowers growing and her spotlight shining down through Pieck’s open window. With that breeze, with that coolness of the evening, with that sleepy nectar that always keeps you safe. Midnight blue faded around you. You could almost touch it.

You shuffle beneath the quilt, rubbing your eyes full of bugs and lashes, and hear Pock crack open a Bud Light; he’s gonna crack his teeth one of these days. And you crawl out from the blanket to follow Pieck, just like you always did as a baby with your little blue jeans rolled up to your knees, always wanting to be right by her. This time it's a peach sundress and hardwood floors. You float to the kitchen light like a moth to a flame.

It’s Pock stumbling drunk and swinging his arm over her shoulders, kissing her sloppy and dancing around the kitchen with his babies in his arms. It’s Pieck hiding her face in his chest, hiding her red cheeks and blooming smile where no one but his heart can see and it’s—

He’s six feet tall, as tall as the moon, and maybe he could get it for you if you ask real nice—he’s leaning out the open window, looking up at the deep dark sea of the sky, the moon like a pearl and his tan skin like the shore. Blue jeans and a red ball cap; oh, you wanna touch your heart and find the seashells hidden inside, put them up to your ear, and have them whisper to you that he’s a flower. A lily? A dahlia? The ones hidden beneath your bed with true souls and soft eyes…

And he turns around and you see his face. Now you know what flower he is.

Oh, he’s so pretty.

You lock eyes for a moment and you swear his face softened; in oil paint taken right from the moon and sea, he was made from honey. He looks at you like a little boy, as if he weren’t a man, but something soft and slack jawed that wouldn’t hurt you or the frail little birds with broken wings you like to nurture; his baseball cap and light scruff. He gently smiles at you and you swear boys like him aren’t from here.

He sips his beer and runs a hand through his hair. You touch the flowerbed between your breasts and wonder if you’re ever getting home.

“Go away,” Pieck shoves him, but he takes her down with him, “You’re an animal.”

“You know you love me, baby.” Porco slurs, “S’why you’ve got my baby in you. S’why we’re gettin’ married,'' He pulls her into his arms, his wet mouth bleeding with beer kisses the top of her head and rubs her belly, eyes lidded like bumblebees—you stand there watching them fool around, listening to the gulls and the nic-sea-breeze fray the curtains, letting the blue moon drift in pass Jean. He must like it. He’s watching you, a gentle smile that makes him look humble, then the open window, then the mosquitos buzzing around his sun kissed skin. Oh, he’s so tan. Oh, he’s so tall.

He doesn’t look like one of the boys from here. Even though he’s tan and strong, he looks tender.

He reminds you of those shy cowboys, the ones with hearts aglow and eyes full of stars, waiting to be met with either a bottle of whiskey or the Big Dipper up in the sky; your cool naked skin by the campfire and his big old calloused hands shining orange, red, and blue as he holds you close…

But you look at him again and he isn’t a cowboy. Cowboys can’t ride in the marsh. He’s just soft and pretty and taller than the moon. He’s only seventeen.

Maybe he’ll play cowboys and Indians with you.

Porco pouts at Pieck when she pinches his cheeks. You hope she shuts him up before he starts singing that song and makin’ up his own lyrics, before he starts trying to fight everything in sight. But you also hope Jean isn’t as quiet as you.

“You girlies shouldn’t be left alone,” Porco kisses her nose and you know he’s piss drunk, he must’ve robbed a liquor store like his daddy used to. That’s what put him in jail. “Y’all’dve called me n’ Jeanboy. Promise we’da keep ya safe and all.”

Jeanboy. Oh, Jeanboy, say something. You can’t help but watch him standin’ there, silent and tall with big shoulders meant for climbing on; something so intangible, something so indistinct and sweet about him. You hear Mother Nature humming everytime he looks up and looks away, shy like a scared little fawn in the body of a big strong elk. That’s not how boys act. You swear she’s rubbing peach blood all over his cheeks. He’s blushing.

“Yeah, you’re real cute, Pock.”

Then you watch him lean down to her and whisper something that he shouldn’t have, something that makes her wanna die.

“Will you shut up?” Pieck squeals, sick of all the sweet words he’s been whispering beneath his breath. She pushes him away and he comes stumbling drunk over to you.

“Miss Baby,” You’re sick of that nickname, “Haven’t seen you around here lately.” Porco pinches your cheek and you slap him away like a mosquito. You wish he’d shut up. He’s always treating you like a little sister and you didn’t want Jean to think you were something not worth kissing. You’re a woman. But Porco wouldn’t understand that.

“Why are you in my face?”

He slings his arm around you a little too rough and you can see Pieck peeking around the corner, making sure her daddy doesn’t hear all the drunken ruckus he’s causing—maybe, like the whispers of June, they just don’t notice anymore. They just get used to it.

“I have a secret to tell ya,” Porco whispers to you and his breath feels like august heat on your cheeks, thick and moist and hot with the stench of Bud Light lingering and floating throughout the air. You can taste how many beers he’s had.

“Oh yeah? What’s that?”

“My buddy Jean over there,” He keeps his voice low, just for you to hear, he snickers and leans down like he’s about to kiss you, “He says you’re pretty.”

You want to scream.

With that cool breeze, Mama’s voice floats right to you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear; Pieck’s got a willow tree and Her limbs sway in the wind. You remember once how a boy opened your hand and pressed a daffodil on your soft palm. Maybe when Jean was looking out the window he saw seven year old you and wanted to go back to a time before he was a man, before the world had changed him from callow to tough and worn. How long has he been here? Where’s he from? Not here. You woulda known. You woulda recognized him.

But you’re getting ahead of yourself. He didn’t say that, right? You’re wearing a light sundress and he’s wearing dirty old blue jeans with a faded red ball cap. You hope he’s got a truck.

Porco snickers and you aren’t sure what to say. No, he didn’t. He doesn’t even know me. Stop fucking around, Pock. Then you’d push him away and take Pieck’s hand in yours and run to the beaches like you were still kids running away from everything scary and loud; the monsters beneath your bed and the man who left bruises on her frail little arms. But you didn’t want to run to ten years ago. You wanted to run so tall and pretty and shy Jean couldn’t see you anymore. Run right into the sea and crash onto the waves and become a mermaid. Pretty where no one can see, especially not him.

“Leave her alone, you dick.” Pieck pinches his cheeks and he tries to give her a big wet kiss, but you’re looking at Jean with one of his eyes half shut and a little smile peeking up at you—at you?

“What? We’re just havin’ some fun, baby,” Porco laughs and Pieck scoffs and pulls him away from you, the salty sweet stink of Bud Light and cigarettes drifts off with him. As she takes him off to the living room, throws him down on the couch, and covers him up with that quilt, you stare at Jean. He keeps his eyes on the ground and you swear you do too, but…

He swallows and you watch his Adam’s apple bob. What were you supposed to say? Something about how Mother Nature grows forget-me-nots over your Daddy’s grave and how if he were to grab your waist, he’d feel flowers growing between your ribs and healed bruises from that night in October. What were you supposed to say?

How are you supposed to talk to boys?

And Jean opens his mouth like he’s about to say something but—

“He’s sloshed,” Pieck comes from behind you and you want to get down on your knees. “Wanna spend the night? You can sleep in our bed.”

“I can’t,” You whisper, wiping your cheeks so hard the blush comes off, “I’ve got church in the morning. I gotta get home.”

“I can drive ya.”

Just as he said that, the flowers in between your breasts bloomed and you felt something from a few summers ago whisper in your ear.

“Really?” You whisper back, but it wasn’t to him. It was to God.

“’Course,” He mumbles and comes over to you, somehow getting taller with every step, “I’m Jean.”

“Georgia.”

Georgia, you knew your cheeks were like wine. Georgia, your stomachs full of butterflies and you know not to touch those delicate wings, Georgia, he’s so cute. Georgia, you knew he was strong, but small scars cover his warm, whiskey-honey skin and you can’t bring yourself to look right at him and his little smile—despite what manners you’ve been taught. If you stare at an eclipse, you go blind… So as time slows and the heaven-pearly moon fades over top you and him, you look for something. Something boys aren’t meant to have and something only stargazers can find.

Then you see it—just as he smiles and sticks out his hand and says its nice to meet ya—you see it.

“Huh?” You say dumbly, wilting with a crooked awkward smile. Oh, God, you want to die. Pieck giggles at you and pinches your arm with a stupid smile on her face that makes you wanna hiss at her to shut up. C’mon, girl, what’s gotten into you?

“Said it’s nice to meet ya. I think I’ve seen you before on the docks, right? Down by Delphie?” He smiles sweetly and it makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter around the lilacs inside of you. You’re gonna be sick.

He shouldn’t smile at you like that. He shouldn’t look so cute and handsome and humble, like he’s one of those dogs that splash around in the creeks, beg for belly rubs, and wag their tails at every bit of affection they get. He smiles like a dog and you wanna put him down.

“Something like that.” You mumble, looking down at your bare feet and the toes of his boots. Your toenails are long and painted pink with smiley faces looking right up at you. Your face is hot like the sand on a summer afternoon and you can’t wait to get outta here.

“And I can drive ya home, if you want.” He says again, voice light and chipper. God, you wish he’d shut up. Maybe he wants you to jump up on his back and bite his ears and crawl all over him like a bug, he’s strong like a tree trunk and you could infest him if you wanted to. Because, God, you want to.

You blink at him. He blinks back.

“Sorry, Jean, she’s a mute!” Pieck squeals, shaking you by the shoulders, “We can’t ever get her to talk!”

“Shut up.” You whip your head around to see Pieck cackling like a witch and covering her mouth. You wanna push her so hard her baby falls out, but she starts to mouth to you; He is so hot! You swat her like a bug and beg for all this to be over, but you know you want it. You want to be with a boy, just for the night—not to lay beside, not to fuck or kiss, but to just be seen beneath the pale moonlight and have the sharp edge of seventeen pierce right through your heart like Mama said it would. Seventeen, she said, will always mean something to me. That’s when I met your daddy.

This summer wasn’t old enough to have a name, but if you climbed up into Jean’s truck and asked him if he believed in mermaids, maybe you’d name it Georgia.

“Fine.” You turn around to face him and you huff, “You can drive me home.”

Pieck buzzes behind you and you feel the ocean rise throughout your body, you’re scared you’re gonna throw up sea water all over him.

“Alright,” Jean flashes his sweet smile and runs a hand through his hair, “I gotcha.”

He’s got you.

And as you walk out with Jean behind you, Pieck and Porco turn into the no-see-ums that always bite your thighs; God plays a song just for you, just for Jean to hear, and you press two fingers to your heart as he watches. Maybe you’re sunkissed. Maybe you’re bare and naked and long legged with big eyes and there’s a moon you could bite into like an orange, but there he is. Behind you, holding the door open like a gentleman.

He has a seashell tattoo on the belly of his wrist and you promise yourself you’re going to touch it tonight.

#UGH back again!!!!!#sorry the chapters are so short i get nervy #sea of magnolias #jean kirstein #jean kirstein x reader #jean kirschstein x reader #jean kirschtein x reader #jean kirschtien #aot x reader #jean kirschstein #aot fanfic #jean kirschtein x you #attack on titan x reader

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garoujo · 2 years

Text

𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐃𝐆𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐒 — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐘 𝐌𝐄

feat : lucifer, mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeous, beelzebub + belphegor.

warnings : none really, just kisses and needy demon boys <3

note : sob i wanna write more obey me hcs but the fact there’s 7 of them makes me brain bleed </3 i swear there’s more cute hcs coming tho !!!

・✶ ｡ﾟLUCIFER

you’d met the eldest demon brother in the hallway after breakfast, the corners of his lips quirking up into a softer sort of smile when he notices you approaching him eagerly, arms that were previously crossed over his chest falling by his side. “good morning, did you sleep well, love?” lucifer hums, one of his gloved hands reaching to rest along your waist immediately as he guides you into your place at his side before he leans in, but his expression drops slightly when you dodge his advances—pulling a frown from the dark haired brother. “is everything okay?” he hums, trying to pretend he’s not bothered by you rejecting him as his fingers smooth along your skin, an almost soothing gesture just incase he’s made you uncomfortable in any way with his advances. “everything is fine, luci—“ you grin and you feel him squeeze at your side slightly before he huffs, his patience and lack of attention finally showing as he begins to fidget a little, looking around the hallway before his next words. “are you deliberately neglecting me of my kiss?” lucifer groans, barely audible while pink dusts his cheeks and you feel something bloom in your chest at how cute he looks before you finally give in, leaning into meet his lips finally “hmph, that’s more like it.”

・✶ ｡ﾟMAMMON

you were both watching a movie on the couch when you decided you would mess with him a little, nuzzling yourself closer into mammon’s side because you know the second eldest wouldn’t be able to resist leaning in for a kiss and getting more affection from you. “ya alright, baby? ya sure do look comfortable, ya should be thankin’ me.” the silver haired demon grins, turning to look at you before he lets his arm that was previously resting on the back of the couch fall to rest on your shoulder instead. it’s almost immediate the way he leans in—pink dusting his cheeks and lips still stretched into a grin, until you pull away and a pout replaces it almost immediately, brows pulling into a frown as he tries to remain unphased, even though he’s almost choking on a gasp. “d-dunno why ya were actin’ like i was gonna kiss ya or somethin’, j-just thought i seen somethin’ on your shoulder, t-that’s all it was, i swear!” mammon grumbles through his pouty lips, his ego a little bruised at the thought of you rejecting him. but you eventually feel bad when he continues to whine and sigh dramatically, causing you to lean in and steal a quick kiss before he immediately pulls you back in for another, messier one, his next words a mix of breathless and relieved when they’re spoken against your lips, pressing you against his chest. “t-took ya long enough—you’ve got some nerve stealin’ kisses from the mammon, i could still eat ya as payback, ya know!”

・✶ ｡ﾟLEVIATHAN

you were sitting in his room while he played games on his console, pressing slightly into his side as your head rests against his shoulder—levi’s attention immediately turning to you when he feels you fidget beside him. “h-hey, you’re not leaving yet, right?” the purple haired brother grunts, side eyeing you as his fingers continue to tap away at his controller like it’s second nature to him. “no, i’m just getting comfortable.” you reply, deliberately trying to meet his gaze as you watch the warm shade of pink bloom along his cheeks when you finally succeed. you watch him gulp, eyes not so discreetly darting from your lips to your gaze before he leans in slowly—blush only growing deeper the closer you get until you pull away and he snaps his head away immediately. “uh, s-sorry! i got distracted, p-pretend that didn’t happen.” levi grumbles, resuming his game despite the fact he seems to be doing a whole lot worse now than he was a few seconds ago, lips in a tight pout and you can tell he’s probably going through your ‘rejection’ a few too many times in his head —until you finally smear a kiss along his cheek and he gasps. “w-what was that for? oh no, could you tell i needed attention? m-maybe we should watch anime instead, im—uh, b-bored.”

・✶ ｡ﾟSATAN

he’d been out with his brothers and you’d text him to let him know you were waiting in his room for him to return—mostly just to pull this prank of him. but you still find yourself perking up slightly when you hear the door to his room sound, satan’s figure entering a few seconds later with one of his more gentle smiles before he shrugs off his jacket, hanging it up and approaching you, pulling you expectantly into his arms with a content sort of sigh after. “thank you for waiting, sweetheart.” he hums, voice like a drunken prayer when he looks at you, allowing his palm to rest against your cheek before he’s leaning in a few seconds later, excited to finally feel your lips against his considering he’s been fantasising about it since he left—not that he’d ever tell you that. so you can imagine his distaste when you dodge his advances, pulling a tsk from the blonde haired demon before he keeps the silence between you both for a few moments. “are you trying to tease me? because i kept you waiting?” satan grumbles finally, almost ignoring the growing blush on his cheeks when his fingers move to tighten around your jaw and he’s tilting your face to meet his, his lips ghosting yours as he growls “please know, i missed you today.” into the next, almost tender kiss.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ ASMODEOUS

you’d both spent most of the day in his room, cuddling in his silky sheets and sharing giggly kisses between movies and his rambling, but you thought his reaction would definitely be worth it when the idea came to your mind. waiting until asmo returns from his bathroom break and falls next to you with a sultry glint in his eye before he leans in for a kiss with a smooth “did you get lonely without me?” almost turning to stone when you dodge his lips immediately. “did.. did you just reject me? hmph, you don’t have to be shy, oh wait—are you teasing me? so cute, i’ll play along with your little games.” asmo hums, shooting you a wink and you’re almost in disbelief at his reaction because ofcourse he would never think you’d actually reject him. but instead you feel his delicate fingers smooth along your waist, his eyes still locked on yours while an almost teasing, dreamy smile sits on his lips and he leans in again, the sudden heavy atmosphere in the room causing you to meet his lips this time and he coos, his tone almost lifting to a whine at his last words. “see? i knew you couldn’t resist me. but don’t do that again, okay!”

・✶ ｡ﾟ BEELZEBUB

it had been a while since you’d seen the red haired demon, finding yourself suddenly gravitating towards the kitchen to seek out beel, a little bored and deciding to prank your boyfriend for means of entertainment. “beel?” you call, finding the looming demon’s huge body crouching by the fridge before he immediately turns at the sound of your voice, giddy smile on his lips as he ushers you over—standing to full height as he pulls you closer to him. “do you want to eat with me?” he hums, voice smooth as he watches you nod out a yes but when he leans in to kiss you in return you can’t help but lean away, watching the second youngest demons cheeks puff out into a pout at the action almost immediately, and you’re pretty sure you hear him whine quietly under his breath. “i’m hungry.” beel eventually grunts after a few seconds of silence and you almost sigh thinking he’d just skip over your ‘rejection’ until you look up to meet the almost hungry look in the violet eyes staring back at you. “well we’re gonna eat right?” you hum, dreamy, and beel’s broad chest expands with a breath before he leans in again “not now—i want something else.”

・✶ ｡ﾟ BELPHEGOR

you both regularly had nap dates, just enjoying each others presence and scrolling through your DDDs as you lay wrapped in eachother— you were just feeling a little annoying tbh. so when you felt belphie shuffle a little closer to you when he was showing you something, eyes flickering to yours momentarily— you knew he was going to lean in, stifling a smirk when you pull away slightly. he almost doesn’t react, except from the slight scrunching of his brows in confusion before he clears his throat and turns his attention back to his phone. it’s only a few moments later before you feel him nuzzle into your slightly, feeling him place a few chaste kisses against your shoulder and neck instead, before his lips move against the skin— voice gravely with sleep while his fingers trace almost soothing circles into your skin “you okay?” belphie hums, a little curious if you’re mad without giving away the fact that he just wants to kiss you, disguising it as just a regular check in. “yeah i’m fine.” “you sure?” he pulls back a little, looking at you for any signs of discomfort before his hand moves to gently rest against the back of your neck, finally leaning in for another kiss, and this time you let him.

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munsonownsmyass · 1 year

Text

Not now, not yet

Joel miller x reader

Warnings: angst, mentions of blood. I choose to leave out the rest, so I don't spoil.

Notes: I don't know what this is. Barely a drabble, but I had a thought and had to write it.

No spoilers for the show, promise.

Breathing hard, you look around as you try to gather your senses. Everything turned to chaos in a split second when that horde surprised you, coming from every side. Somewhere during your escape, you lost track of the others, but most importantly you lost track of Joel and Ellie.

Frantically you look around, disorientated by everything around you. Guttural growls that should only be in nightmares fill the air, followed by screams of pain and gunshots. Please don’t let it be Joel. It’s selfish to wish another person dead, but they could take anyone, just not Joel.

Leaning against a wall, you slowly pull up your shirt, the worm fabric already painted red. Shit. Not like this. Not now, not yet.You had to find Joel and Ellie.

Whump

The sound is almost soft, but it’s followed seconds later by a blast, the energy enough to knock you over. Fumbling to your knees, you see the cloud in the distance. You try to see through the dust, in the direction of the explosion, praying Joel didn’t go that way.

“Oh God.” Your fingers tremble as they reach for the walkie. “Joel?” The line remains silent and you breathe out slowly, trying to hold back the tears. “Joel? Come in, please…”

There’s still no answer, only the white static filling the air, the sound taunting you. Trying one more time, you know how desperate it must sound, but you don’t care. “Joel!”

Perhaps… They weren’t even near the blast. Perhaps they’re still somewhere behind you, battling the infected. Perhaps they’re fine somewhere, nothing but a few bruises. They’re fine. They have to be fine.

With one final look around, you make sure the coast is clear before you move forward. One word keeps circling you mind as you move forward, searching for your group.

Please

The pain shoots through you, making it harder to breathe. The t-shirt is clinging to your skin, hot and sticky. You had to stop the bleeding, you knew that, but you wanted to find them. Had to find them.

It gets harder to walk, each step feeling like dragging your feet through sand. Blinking a few times, you try to focus, vision already getting blurry. Behind you the sound of an infected is drawing near. You have to fight it, its you or it, but you don’t have the energy. Body is getting heavy, but you have to go on. Have to find them. Have to…

“Sweetheart.”

His voice pulls you back, his beard tickling against the sensitive skin of your neck. Opening your eyes, you see the ugly wallpaper of your bedroom, the color so faded you barely can make out the print. An arm tightens around you. His arm.

Turning around, you bury your face in his neck, inhaling his scent. He’s real, he’s there. Shaking, you move closer, impossibly close and Joel just holds you, one hand drawing soft circles on your back. “I… I thought you and Ellie were dead.” You sniffle, moving your head to his chest, the sweet sound of his heartbeat grounding you.

“Yeah, figured as much.” He drawls, his voice thick with sleep, as he places a soft kiss on your forehead. After the last run where you had a close call, you’ve had nightmares almost every night. But every time Joel was there to make it all better again. “We’re okay.” He whispers softly into your hair, holding you close.

“I know.” But still, you wrap yourself impossibly tight to him. You hate to be this vulnerable with him, but you can’t help it. He’s the one thing keeping you sane in this fucked up world. You can’t lose him. Looking up, you see how the moonshine falls on his face, making him even more beautiful. He looks to you, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. No words are needed, his eyes say it all. He can’t lose you either. And hopefully, he never will.

Tagging: @mindidjarin @misspearly1 @boliv-jenta @itwasthereaminuteago @scorpio-marionette @pedrito-friskito @iamskyereads @lucy-sky @marvelous-world-of-fiction @littlemisspascal @e-dubbc11 @thisishellfire @idrinkcoffeeandobsess

Soft tag (feel free to ignore): @absurdthirst @frannyzooey

#joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller #the last of us fanfiction

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undercoverpena · 1 year

Note

More Helen x Ghost pleaseeeeee

sometimes, I am merciful

Simon Ghost Riley x F!Reader

Word count: 1k

AN: mentions of a wound and dressing it. fluff-ish (probably more than I’d like but it’s been a day and a half and I needed this too). Helen isn’t readers name, read Helen.Simon for more context. take pity on me, I wrote this on my phone (: but hope it’s okay, anon.

+++++++++++

“Helen,” he hisses through gritted teeth.

He clenched his other fist, the bones on the glove cracking under pressure. He’s trying not to stare at you—fearful you’d turn him into fucking stone.

The look on your face is still etched into his eyelids. Eyes flicking from him to his clearly bleeding hand, a mixture of relief and disappointment he’s come back with another scar you’ll obsessively try and heal.

Your grip on his hand tightens, wrenching it closer. “Keep still, Casper.”

He doesn’t hate it. The grip you have on him. Both literally and figuratively. Even if he doesn’t fully understand the ifs, buts and how’s of it all.

But he doesn’t fucking hate your new pet name. The one you’ve clearly thought about over the thirty-six hours he’s been gone.

He’s had it for all of fifteen minutes and already cannot stand it. But he refuses to ask for Boo.

Instead, he puts up with it. Letting you relish in inflicting your own choice of torture.

Because if you’re calling him a friendly ghost, it means you’re still calling him. Still talking.

He’s learnt how painful and torturous your silence is. A punishment he’s not sure he could handle on such limited sleep.

Sighing, he blinks. Purposefully blanking his face, letting his eyes soften and settle.

Then he wills your eyes to meet his.

If you were anyone else, he’d command it. But that doesn’t work on you. Not unless he says it softly, not unless shards of him are breaking off and you take pity on him.

Look at me. Please look at me.

You don’t.

The scent of antiseptic, vanilla and blackberries meets his nose, mixing with the smell of blood, dust and death he’s brought with him.

He prefers your scent. A perfume he struggles to remove from his casual clothing and his bed sheets. Not that he complains. He’d never complain.

If he had his way, the scent would be burned into his skin. It keeps him rooted and reminds him of the truth in all the lies that his brain conjures when insomnia strikes.

Helen. Look at me.

You don’t. You’re too busy using all of your focus as you dress his wound. Your delicate fingers slide the bandage around his palm, silently judging, silently tutting as you work your magic.

He knows you’re pissed—before you start muttering and tutting. You weren’t half as gentle with the needle as usual. Not even muttering an apology when you’d stabbed it a little too hard.

If it weren’t inflicted on him, he’d have egged you on. Rather liking your conniving ways. On him, not so much. Even if he can tell, you’re getting some sick satisfaction from making him wince.

But he needs your eyes.

He’s missed them.

“Sweetheart…”

It comes out stern and quiet, but it forces your chin up. Those big beautiful eyes land on him, and they feel like the sun.

At first, they’re soft, all kindness and love. In one blink, they’ve shifted. Scolding him, attempting to peel back his mask and scorch his face.

Fuck, you’re beautiful.

“A rusty knife? Really, Simon?”

“Better my hand than my neck.”

You clamp your mouth shut, hiding insults and your wicked way with words from him. The fact you do annoys him more than the coward who tried to stab him.

“There’s a choice to choose neither, you know,” you whisper, continuing to bandage his hand, focusing on the bow. “Could come back to me with just bruising and cuts. That’s a choice too.”

You tighten the final part of the bandage more purposefully, him biting back a wince as you look up at him again. The anger softens, sadness replacing it. A look he instead fucking hates, even if he’s the one who put it there.

“I’m never leavin’ you.”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you say, pushing back on the wheels of your chair for more distance, “Because if you considered it, I’d hunt you down. Hell or high water, I’d find you. And, let me make this crystal fucking clear, Simon Riley. I am both.”

He wants to lift his mask.

Show you the prize of his smile.

But he can’t risk it. Not here, not in the middle of your medical room that people barge in and out of.

It doesn’t matter how often the two of you try to steal moments; life has a way of ripping them from your grasp. But it doesn’t stop him from trying.

Instead, he grabs your leg, pulling you, pleasantly surprised you don’t fight him as you wheel between his legs. Your annoyance is painted as clear as day, his fingers releasing your leg before resting on your knee.

“Understood,” he says, drawing a soft circle against your knee. Watching you, watching him. A moment, between all the others, where it’s just the two of you. “Go eat, Helen.”

“I’m fi—“

He squeezes your knee, silencing you. Staring at you to remind you he knows you. Knows that you haven’t eaten two meals a day, never mind three. That he’s had people check on you, ask about you.

That in his own fucking way, he cares, so let him care. Let him take care of you.

You swallow as if realising this. As if the two of you are in the middle of a conversation, you’re both having with your eyes.

He wins.

The only way he knows that is from the sweet little groan you give him as he returns to drawing a circle on your knee.

“Sometimes, Simon. I really can’t stand you.”

“Feelings mutual, Helen.”

You remove your glove, placing your hand gently over his. It’s warm, gentle and yet calloused in its own way.

And he should tell you to leave.

Tell you to get food before you’re left with scraps you’ll complain to him about later. But this is nice. It’s comforting. It’s something he can’t genuinely articulate and is glad you don’t ask him to try.

And then, you hand him his glove. The one stained scarlet and still damp with his blood.

He nods.

You nod.

The two of you send the other a look which has become close to a parting kiss, without you both touching. One that will have to do until he can really kiss you later. Until he can remind every inch of your skin that he came back, that he’s alive. He’ll do so, silently promising too, until you’re chanting his name to the point he realises this isn’t a dream, but reality.

A beautiful, unexplainable reality.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley x reader #simon ghost Riley #simon ‘ghost’ riley #ghost riley x reader #ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x f!reader #simon ghost riley x you #cod ghost x reader #ghost x reader #ghost riley #Helen x Simon #ghost cod mw2 #cod ghost #ghost x helen #simon x helen

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