#like pigs squeezing in the rain

[sunflowersareonfire]

Today I learned that my favorite book series is getting a television adaptation with the titular character - Murderbot - being played by Alexander Skarsgård and let me tell you. Never mind, I can’t. I can’t tell you how excited I am.

#personal #books will be better #books #murderbot #alexander skarsgard #but I am so fucking excited #that sound you hear #like pigs squeezing in the rain #that’s me #I’m making that noise #because I’m excited

[vagabond-umlaut]

gesundheit

you deem gojo to be the most stubborn nurse you've ever seen. you suppose you're the most stubborn patient gojo's ever seen.

but what you don't know is you both are the most caring, and the most idiotic, couple of best friends [or perhaps... something else] anyone's ever seen.

▸ student! gojo satoru x student! gn! reader; sickfic; mentions of flu & the medicines treating it [i wish i could include their composition too but no :(((]; a brief appearance of yummy chicken soup; gallons & gallons of tooth-rotting fluff; one sexual innuendo; ETERNALLY PINING 'TORU & ETERNALLY OBLIVIOUS SHORTIE ARE BACK!! :D

▸ belongs to series we're the summer to our winter rain but you can read this as a stand-alone if you wanna!

▸ the gif, divider and characters used ain't mine. please don't plagiarize, translate or repost this. enjoy reading! ❤️

obdurate, obstinate, bull-headed, pig-headed—

you reckon there's no word in the lexicon of any language, from any corner of this world, that can adequately describe the boy crouched before you.

furrowed brows barely visible from behind the unkempt white bangs, gojo shoots you a woefully concerned look, so much so that it makes you wanna smack it right off his face– and says, "your temperature is still above 100, shortie. you sure you took all the medications right on time?"

"i did," you grit out through clenched teeth and a hoarse throat before a fit of cough racks through your warm body, making you clutch onto your blankets for dear life while the airways fight to expel the irritants into the tissue you've pressed over the lower two-thirds of your face—

a painful battle which continues for a good portion of a minute or two before ending– temporarily— you toss the tissue into the overflowing trash can few feet away and return to glaring at your best friend, with a very exhausted, very frustrated sigh.

gojo's shades glint back innocently in the low light of the television as the boy dutifully places the thermometer in its box then moves to put the lids back on the tupperware he brought you dinner in.

you sigh yet again, wrapping the blankets tighter round yourself.

"sometimes, i wonder if you ever learnt to read, y'know?" you mumble in a soft voice, yet its tone mad enough to make him flinch as he rises from the carpet– having cleared the center table of the remainders of the chicken soup haibara made for you– only to cover it a tiny second later with anti-pyretics, cough syrups, nasal decongestants, inhalers-

gasp of shock worsening into a scratchy cough, you wheeze out, "did you really not read my messages, 'toru? i asked u to leave my soup at the doorstep but you warped right to the centre of my living room— i also asked you not to buy any medicine for me, i already bought them today, but- but- you literally bought the entire medicine shop for me!"

"yeah. and?" the white-haired boy retorts, short and sweet with that eye-crinkling beam of his– one he knows never not works on you, "it isn't like i don't have the means to afford it. and as for your orders via the messages..."

he trails off, shooting you a wink as he moves to plop down near your feet on the sofa and drawls, "i've always been a brat. why don't ya put me back in my place, huh?"

in his place... don't tell me this idiot's speaking of...

"is that supposed to be a bdsm thing, satoru?" you inquire, genuinely confused. concerned. "and you should raise your standards, y'know? thinking a person sick and dying from a flu to be attractive enough to apply a pick-up line on them; i hone– hey, no, why the fuck are you—"

"scoot. over."

neither gojo's stony tone nor his pinched features brook any room for you to disagree, yet you decide not to be held back by such, legs and arms struggling to free themselves from the blanket to push the way too tall figure squeezing you into the sofa as he lies down beside you.

not even a moment passes before your blankets are rudely ripped off your body, then dumped on the floor beneath. swallowing back a sigh of relief– the fan feels so good!– you muster a glower to shoot at your best friend.

earning an eyeroll and a huff, you know are fond, in reply.

"the paracetamol will be kicking in soon, and you'll start sweating like hell then," the boy explains, plucking his shades off and placing them on the table beside, "and that sweat needs to get evaporated asap for your fever to reduce asap— which won't happen if you stay swaddled in your blankets. didn't ya know that, shortie?"

your fever-stricken mind didn't until now, but you decide not to voice the fact out loud, just to not appease the smug grin on that bastard's face.

instead, you retort, "but don't you know staying in close contact with a sick person, taking no preacutions, can make you fall ill too?"

"nah!" gojo shoves your concern away with a dismissive shake of his head, "i'm not one of the strongest duo for nothing, you know? them weakass flu viruses can do nothing to me."

then adds, swiping a calloused palm over the skin of your forehead— cracking a smile, you realize, is 'cause he finds it sweating, "moreover, you're sick, shortie— you don't think i'm gonna leave you to take care of yourself, all alone with no one to help, do you?"

you don't.

of course, you don't, knowing who your dearest friend is— a very very stubborn boy, a store of immense power, but most importantly— the holder of a heart made from the purest of pure gold...

a half-hearted ugh is the only response you decide to grace his query with, not really minding when the boy ruffles your hair and pulling the thinnest of the blankets over you both, shifts so that he is now on his side with an arm tucked under his head, while you remain squished in between him and the sofa, face nearly pressing into his shirt-covered chest.

allowing a beat to pass, you peer up at him, mumbling tiredly.

"but why are you sleeping with me here, 'toru? go to one of the rooms and sleep in them. your legs will hurt a lot tomorrow, if you keep them dangling like that."

"let them," gojo smiles, wrapping a loose arm round your midsection, "it's more important for me to stay close to you to know when you're feeling sick and when you're not- or do you wanna make me sleep on the floor? i can do that for you."

"i am not saying this for me, 'toru," you grumble, inching closer to him despite your brain barking opposite instructions at you, "it's for you– i move a lot when i'm asleep. you won't get even a wink of sleep."

your best friend's lips lift knowingly. "why do you think i trapped you like this, hm?"

your zeal to dissuade him, itself fades a little. still, you persist, "i also tend to mumble in my sleep. won't you find that creepy?"

"nothing's creepy if it's in your sweet voice," he answers with a very... uncanny smile then rushes to add with a visibly exhausted sigh when you shoot him a frown, "i've got earplugs in my bag. i'll use them if it's too unbearable for me."

"tch!"

the battle of talking him out of this seemingly- definitely lost, you tsk and move to shut your eyes, finally letting your ailing body to listen to the call of sleep— before your eyes fly open again— a brand new idea whirring to life in your mind.

"but what if i start sneezing, or worse, coughing in the middle of the night? what are you go—"

"shut up," gojo shushes you, pressing your face into his shirt by a firm hold on the back of your head. you make a yelp of protest but it goes ignored by him as he continues, voice dropping to a pleasant rumble.

"and in case you start sneezing or coughing, i'm gonna wake up and take care of you and will stay awake till you're perfectly okay and fine— is that clear to you, shortie? taking care of you is only why i'm here tonight— why else would i bother myself with a snot-nosed person?"

his remark makes your fingers want to pinch his sides hard– but you stop them— choosing to let them draw nonsensical designs over his back, instead. a barely-there shiver passes through his body, you feel it, the same moment he removes his hand from the back of your hair to keep it in between your shoulder blades, lightly pressing, loosening the knots there.

yawning a little, you nuzzle into him at the comfort his action gives, then blink a pair of bleary eyes up at him, "do you know how much i adore you?"

curiosity and delight dimple his cheeks in a smile, clear as day for you to see. he asks, "you do?"

"mmhm," you don't waste even an instant in humming your assent, the relief brought by the medicines and gojo making you slowly fall into the grasp of slumber, "i really do. you're very very very precious to me and i adore you so much, 'toru. you're the best."

"i'm very happy to know that," the boy murmurs in a tone way too soft for him, but your slowly ebbing consciouness doesn't let you dwell on it for long— a smile shaping your lips at his next words, "and i too love you very much. i lo-"

he stops abruptly, making you frown up at him, worried— only to find him wearing a bright grin on his face. something tells you he is hiding something— his eyes are too nervous for a bragging person as him...

deciding not to pay it any attention, you pucker your lips into a pout.

"heyyy," you whine, "finish your sentence, 'toru!!! you can't leave your darling best friend hanging like thattt!!!"

the tension in his facial muscles reduces a pinch at your demand. the boy's grin widens, glowing even brighter to your tired eyes than those led-like blue eyes of his in the dim lights of the room.

thumbing your cheek lightly, he gives into your urging. "okay, fine— i love my darling shortie the most in this world. so much so that there is no one in this world who can love you as much as i do," he says in a gentle whisper, then adds— face growing that same strange smile as before— "my beloved best friend... now does that make you happy?"

the abrupt change in his tone to an oddly cheery quality as he makes his query is more than enough to give you one hell of a whiplash. you quickly sidestep it– filing the many queries it brings, away to be dealt with on a healthier day.

a brief shiver sending you press yourself closer into his comforting self, you close your eyes and mumble into the fabric of his shirt, "it makes me the happiest... thank you, 'toru. i too love you the most."

a tiny beat passes before you feel a feather-light kiss landing on your hairline— and that's the last thing you notice, before your drowsiness finally claims you, lulling you to a restful sleep in the safe embrace of your dearest 'toru.

▸ IMPORTANT NOTE: whatever u do, pls don't be as dumb as 'toru or shortie here!! if u r the one suffering from a flu or if u r the one taking care of a person who has flu, pls take the required precautions, and take care of urself and the ppl around u! love u sm!

[as a med student, it literally pained me to write these two being so stupid & careless when dealing with an illness as infectious and irritating like flu... but oh well. anything is possible in fiction, right? 🙃]

▸ masterlist

#gojo x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #kit posts 📝

[moonlitnyx]

𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐀 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌

Starring | Wriothesley, Lyney, Neuvillette, Childe x GN reader

Synopsis | They're favorite places to kiss you

Format | Short drabbles/fics on each character

CW | Fluff, kissing, Neuvillette is a sopping wet cat or dragon (?) separate warning for WRIOTHESLEY and uh...Childe too because he's a GINGER (no hate to my ginger pookies)

AN | I hate wriothesley I hate wriothesley I hate him NO STOP LOOKING AT ME LIKE THAT I HATE HIM

𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐘

Wriothesley's lips press firmly on the back of your wrist, his eyes closed. It's been a tradition ever since the start of your relationship for him to kiss your wrist before he starts his duties every morning in the Fortress of Meropide, and as he slowly lets go of your hand, opening his eyes, he puts on his trademark smirk.

"I'll see you in the evening," He smiles, chuckling softly as he adds, "just before teatime."

You roll your eyes. "The day you stop liking tea is the day when pigs fly," You remark sarcastically, earning a shrug from Wriothesley, and in return, an exasperated smile from you.

𝐋𝐘𝐍𝐄𝐘

Lyney's lips graze your cheek, ever so slightly, and you can't help but feel your face heating up as he steps back, a smile plastered on his face.

"It was so sweet of you to help me." His eyes crinkle up, and Lynette snorts, earning her a quick glare from Lyney before he returned his attention back to you. His hand's meet yours, and Lynette leaves with what seemed to be a roll of her eyes, but a tiny, fond smile gracing her usual stoic face.

"Truth be told, I'm a bit scared tonight knowing you'll be watching." He squeezes your hand, and you laugh.

"You're gonna do great!"

𝐍𝐄𝐔𝐕𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄

The Chief Justice Neuvillette's soft lips plants a gentle kiss on your temple, his gloved hands playing with your hair.

"Please be safe, my dear." His voice is gentle, filled with love, and his gray-blue eyes look down at you with worry. Even though his concerns were sweet, you couldn't help but laugh in amusement.

"Neuvillette, I'm only going to go shopping. It's not like I'm going to the battlefield, or something." You reassured, and Neuvillette sighs.

"A lot of things could happen while your out," He whispers, and at the same moment rain stated falling, a light shower dampening your clothes.

"Okay, okay. Why don't you come with me?" You ask, and Neuvillette's eyes widen.

"I don't see how I could, after all I am the Iudex of Fontaine-"

"Oh shush," You grab onto his arm, practically dragging the man. "it'll do you some good to go out and talk to other people-besides the melusines."

𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄

Childe kisses the corner of your lip, biting the soft skin with sharp teeth and you yelp.

"What was that for?" You pout, rubbing the spot that he bit into, and Childe nuzzles the side of your neck, looking up at you with dim blue eyes.

"You just looked so cute. I couldn't contain myself!" He smiles, the corner of his lips curling up, and you roll your eyes, even though you could feel the tips of your ears burning up.

"W-well if you do that again, I'll bite you!" You exclaim, and Childe's eyes widen, before a devious look flashes in his eyes.

"Oh, really!" His eyes trained onto yours, and you nodded firmly.

"So don't try that aga-OW!" You yelp as Childe sinks his teeth into your neck.

©moonlitnyx. do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work/theme without prior permission and or confirmation.

#genshin impact #Genshin #Genshin impact x reader #Genshin x reader #wriothesley #lyney #neuvilette #childe #tartaglia #wriothesley x reader #wriothesley x you #Lyney x reader #lyney x you #neuvillete x reader #neuvillette x you #childe x reader #Tartaglia x reader #Genshin Lyney #genshin wriothesley #genshin neuvillette #genshin childe #childe tartaglia ajax

[kyber-crystal]

learning to warm cold hands || ethan hunt

summary: after a particular mission, sunshine isn’t sunshine anymore, and it worries him. (aka a cliche angst to fluff fic with the following tropes: slightly sunshine and super sunshine, who did this to you, etc)

words: ~1.4k

warnings: angst, brief descriptions of violence, ethan being overly concerned for reader, but not much else asides from that 

a/n: first ethan fic (requested by a lovely anon, thank you!!) and second mission impossible fic! btw, this fic is kind of an AU? i don't have a specific timeline for when it happens, so you can squeeze it in wherever :)

“Y/N, status update?”

“Northwest exit, 430 meters. I have one on my tail. But you know I’m Usain Bolt 2.0! I can definitely outrun this doofus, I mean, I bet my mile time is way better than his. I could've gone to the Olympics, for God’s sake. The Olympics! Where are you?”

“Stay there, I’ll come find you.”

“Ethan, wait, you can't just tell me to—“ You don’t even get to finish before a an explosive sound echoes across the narrow alleyway. You make a sharp left turn but find that you’d just hit a dead end. The door was locked. Shit. You only had one bullet left and there was a guy who was definitely at least twice your weight—and over a foot taller, too—coming after you. You wouldn't even have enough time to reload.

“Y/N. Y/N—“

You don’t get to hear the rest of what he’s saying before the static fizzes out and you lose connection.

“Hey there!” You give the beefy man who’s now mere meters away from you a cheerful smile. “Lovely weather today, don’t you think? Too bad it’s going to rain tomorrow. I love the rain but I hate lightning, because I almost got struck a year ago.”

He doesn't look too happy at this, whipping his gun out without a moment’s hesitation. You squeeze your eyes shut and pray as you slide the bullet in and he pins you against the wall by your neck. 

He brings the gun to your head, and your weapon clatters to the ground. You curse under your breath. You can feel your airways constricting and there's a searing pain working its way through you. 

“You're not going anywhere, princess.”

There's a split-second; a microsecond in which he pauses. Very briefly. You don't think, just do—you knee him in the groin, hard, and quickly grab the knife that's sheathed in your boot. 

Saying one last prayer, you plunge the blade in, not even looking to see if you'd aimed right. He falls to the floor, stumbling, and you then lunge forward to disarm him. 

Another deafening gunshot rings out just as Ethan rounds the corner and finds you there, standing over the man’s dead body like the angel of death. A pool of blood surrounds your feet, and he doesn't think he wants to know if that's yours or his. 

“You made it out alive. Good job out there.”

Glancing over at him, you nod, but don't say anything. You toss him the data files without another word, and board the plane. 

“I'm proud of you.”

More strained silence. Huh, weird… he thinks. 

“Y/N, are you alright?”

No response. Ethan repeats himself again, “Are you alright? Did something happen?”

You strap yourself into your seat and tilt your head back, digging your nails into your wrist. Anything was better than being awake right now…

“Well, someone's uncharacteristically quiet.”

Still no response. Not even a snarky quip like you'd typically reply with. No nicknames, no bickering, no random fun fact you googled on the way over here. “Did you know that a pig can digest an entire human body, bones and all? That makes me think a little extra every time we pass through the European countryside and see one of them.” 

All he gets is silence from your end, and it starts to worry him. 

That’s when he follows your gaze downwards. You're clutching the left side of your abdomen, trying your best not to make a sound. 

His blood runs cold and his eyes darken. You can feel the pure rage radiating off him. 

“Did he hurt you?”

“No…shit…Sherlock…” you croak out. 

“You're hurt.”

No response again. 

“Y/N, what the hell happened out there and who did this to you?”

More silence. 

“Y/N, what did he do to you? How did he hurt you?”

After several more questions and several more failed replies, he forcefully moves your hand aside. Your shirt is stained a deep red and there's a gaping hole much bigger than Ethan wanted to see. 

“You got shot.” He sighs. “Luther, how much longer?”

“Hour and five, but we can get there in 38.”

“Hurry.”

“On it.”

Ilsa brings him a thick roll of bandages. He tries to be as careful as possible as he disinfects and wraps up your torso, but every so often, you wince in pain. 

“I'm sorry, sweetheart, just a few more minutes,” Ethan hurriedly apologizes. “Hang in there for me, okay?”

Once he's done, he sits down next to you and laces your fingers together, giving your hand a squeeze. You let out a shuddering sigh and slumped against him. 

He pretends not to notice your watering eyes, or the crescent-shaped marks in your wrist. Or the way your left foot nervously taps out the rhythm to yours and his favorite song. Or the way your tears leave faint red tracks behind as they slip down your cheeks. 

“I'm so sorry,” he repeats over and over again, “I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry.”

You don't sleep a wink that night. On any other day in Paris, you'd walk down to the farmer’s market below. You’d pick out Ethan’s favorite fruit and a new beret to have him wear jokingly, and maybe grab a croissant or two. Then you’d drag him along to the Louvre and point out each painting one by one and explain in great detail why you loved them so much. And he’d listen, because he could live purely off the sound of your voice for the rest of his life. He was never one for museums, but you loved them, and because he loved you, he started to love them, too.

But it's dark out, and after what had just happened the other day, you don't feel safe enough to leave the apartment. You tossed and turned for over half an hour before falling asleep, but jolted awake just a few minutes later, shivering violently. There was no way you were going to try and go to sleep again.  

Ethan stirs awake, rubbing his eyes to see a dark figure slipping out the door. 

He's quick to follow you up the staircase and to the rooftop. You're standing there in just a T-shirt (was that his?) and shorts, and it's freezing cold out, but you're sweating and fanning yourself. 

“Y/N?”

You turn around at the sound of his voice. “Ethan…”

“What are you doing up here? I was worried about you.” He makes his way over to you and puts a hand on your shoulder, obvious concern on his face. 

You bit your lip and started digging your nails into your wrist again. 

“Talk to me, Y/N,” he pleaded. “Tell me what's wrong.” 

You shook your head, feeling the skin of your wrist beginning to sting. 

“Y/N, please. I want to help you. But I can’t do that when you won't talk to me, so please…tell me what’s going on.” 

“I’m so tired, Ethan,” you finally spoke after a long pause, voice hoarse. “I should’ve—I shouldn’t be here right now, I should be dead because I panicked and I…I almost died. The man, he put the gun to my head and I saw my entire life flash before my eyes. I could’ve sworn to God that the whole ‘thing’ about you seeing your life flash by like a film reel was just a myth but it wasn’t. It scared the shit out of me because I kept seeing the same thing over and over. I thought…”

“What did you see?” he asked, voice gentle. 

“I kept seeing your face. All I saw was your face.” You looked away, suddenly unable to make eye contact with him. Heat spreads across your cheeks. “I know I care about the whole damn team, but you—you’re my future, Ethan.”

He doesn’t say anything in response and instead, leans down to kiss you.

The sudden rush of warmth from his lips being pressed against yours makes you want to forget everything in the world and completely drown in him. This was home, you realized, and this is where I’m supposed to be.

And as the sun rises and spreads a brilliant pale glow over the horizon, Ethan can’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, this was also exactly where he was meant to be. Not fighting bad guys, but rather, standing on the rooftop of a tiny building in the 4th arrondissement with you in his arms and your head against his heart. He thinks he could have a lifetime of this.

“You’re my future, too.”

tags (including those who may be interested! add yourself via this form, if you’d like): @mitchellpete @voguesir @fl0ating @lady-elena-adeline @the-multiverse-of-fandoms @ilsastrenchcoat @joyfullyswimmingface​ 

#mission impossible #mission impossible fic #ethan hunt #tom cruise #ethan hunt x reader #ethan hunt x you #ethan hunt fic #ethan hunt imagine #mission impossible fanfic #mission impossible: rogue nation #mission impossible: fallout #mission impossible: dead reckoning #dead reckoning part one

[multifandombitxh]

Holy Ghost

Pairing: Ghost x Reader

Genre: Angst, fluff(?)

Warnings: Mentions of g*nshots, blood, bullet wounds, suggestive themes, adult language

Summary: After escaping the firefight with Graves and the Shadows, Y/N doesn't quite make it out unscathed. Ghost does his best to tend to their wounds as they wait for Soap to join them at the church.

A/N: I told you I'd fuckin do it again. Taking requests for this man, working on some fluff as well :)

18+ MINORS DNI

"Just get here alive," Ghost commanded with his head tilted downward, his voice echoing from your own comms. You were busy patting down a bullet wound- barely grazed, but enough to be trouble. Blood was drawing lazy rivers down your bare arm, pooling at your fingertips and dripping to the floor.

Graves' men had good aim, you could give them that much. But not good enough.

"Soap's still out there," Ghost said to you over his shoulder. You responded with a nod.

"That's good," You replied, wincing as you began removing the soaked fabric from your wound. You'd been applying pressure for what felt like ages and it just wasn't enough. When red bubbled and gushed out of the gash you grunted, biting down on your lower lip and tossing the saturated scrap to the ground. "We need him if we're gonna finish this."

"Still bleeding?" He asked.

"Like a stuck pig," You said with a small laugh, tearing another piece of fabric from your shirt you'd decided had run its course. When it becomes life or death, things like walking around in a tank top are incredibly trivial. Your gear was sitting in a pile in the corner of the tower, some of Ghost's accompanying it.

"That's quite the biohazard," Ghost quipped, eyeing the bloody rag you'd just discarded. "Had your Hep B shots recently, by chance?"

"If you're not gonna help, you could at least shut up," You snapped, rolling your eyes and ripping another chunk of material from your shirt. You folded it into a square as best as you could and hovered over your wound, mentally preparing yourself for the pain. Holding your breath you pressed it against your skin, squeezing your eyes shut and releasing the air in your lungs.

"You're not applying enough pressure," Ghost declared, sounding very sure of himself. You weren't sure when he'd crossed the room to stand beside you, but whenever he did it, he was quiet as a mouse. "Here, I've got ya."

Ghost's gloved hand closed over yours before you could ask what he was doing, his fingers clamping down on your skin and his palm pressing hard into the wound. You had to admit, he was definitely more well equipped to apply pressure to a wound, but it didn't make you feel any less weak.

At the same time, it also hurt more.

"You'll need to share your weights routine with me sometime," You joked, keeping your gaze to the floor below. "I'll never understand how a person can gain that much muscle."

"That's an odd way to dish out a compliment," Ghost replied, a lilt to his voice. "But I'll take it."

Silence fell over the room, the sounds of rain pattering against the stained-glass windows of the church giving the whole place an eerie feel. Feeling yourself grow lightheaded, you pressed your palm to your forehead, groaning softly and blinking several times. A sick feeling settled in your gut, and for a moment you thought you were going to puke all over the floor. Next, sweat broke out over your skin in a sheen, and your eyelids felt heavy just to keep open. You couldn't possibly have lost that much blood, could you?

"Still with me?" Ghost asked.

"Physically, maybe."

"Mentally?"

"Mentally, I'm in Tahiti."

Ghost chuckled at your remark, a sound you'd never heard before. A small smile formed on your face, but then you felt your knees buckle, forcing you to stumble forward in order to catch yourself. He was quick to bring you back upright, the hand that wasn't keeping your blood inside you gripped your waist and hoisted you upwards.

"Can't have that," He sighed, glancing around the room for anywhere to help you sit down, but there was nothing. "Right, I'm gonna help you down, you just follow my lead, yeah?"

"Sure," You nodded, not fully aware of what was happening. Ghost released your bicep and knelt down, hooking his arm under your knees and pulling you up into his arms bridal style. You did your best to hold onto him as he lowered you both to the floor, keeping you in his lap as he went down. If you hadn't been a bit off from the blood loss, you probably would have questioned him about it.

Instead, you welcomed the embrace, leaning into his chest and letting out a soft sigh as you settled in. More blood trickled from your arm and anxiety finally set in. It wasn't stopping, even with Ghost's help. Sensing your tension, he caught your attention by leaning forward to whisper against your forehead.

"It's slowed down a bit," He reassured, reapplying the compress to the inflicted area, using his arm that was keeping you upright. His other arm was lazily draped over your legs, fingers balled into a fist near your bent knees. "This oughta help."

"At least we're in a church," You said dryly, "Quick funeral. Maybe Soap can conduct. You think he knows any bible verses?"

"Don't even joke about it," Ghost warned, his tone firm. "You'll be fine, just sit still."

"Sorry, Lieutenant," You said, dropping the lightheartedness for a moment to properly apologize.

Soap came through on comms again, as if stating his name summoned him. Ghost talked him through how to craft himself some weapons and defenses, and you felt bad that he was out there all on his own with no help at all. Thankfully, Ghost wasn't an amateur, and was able to assist to a small degree.

"Think he'll make it alright?" You asked after he finished his guerilla warfare lesson with Soap.

"He doesn't have a choice," Ghost replied, "He either makes it here in one piece, or he dies."

You shifted uncomfortably in his lap. "You're quite the optimist, sir."

"You can feign ignorance all you want," Ghost grunted, adjusting you to sit more comfortably on his thigh. "Doesn't change the circumstances."

"You have to pull out your Thesaurus for that one?" You asked jokingly, smiling to yourself. "Those are some big words, Lieutenant. You know they don't pay us to be scholars."

"They hardly pay us at all, Y/N."

"And yet, here we are."

A few minutes passed and your upper arm was starting to ache, the wound pulsating under Ghost's unrelenting hold. He hadn't let up for a second, keeping so much pressure on the spot you were sure you'd have bruises where his fingers dug into the skin. Rolling your neck, you softly moaned at the satisfying crack, then let out a small sigh.

"Enjoying yourself?" Ghost asked simply.

"Oh, yeah, I've always fantasized about being trapped in an old, dusty church with my Lieutenant, bleeding to death in his lap while our friends have been kidnapped or hunted down," You said in a monotone voice. "Really gets me goin'."

"Glad I could make it a reality," He scoffed, "Doesn't take much to please you then, does it?"

"I'm a simple creature, sir," You replied.

"I'll keep that in mind."

At long last, he finally released his grip on your arm, leaning forward to eye the damage. The wound had finally stopped gushing, thank the heavens, but was so caked in dried blood that it was hard to make out exactly how bad it was. Clicking his tongue, he turned your arm over in his hand to get a different angle before releasing it altogether.

"Sit tight," He said, gently sliding you off of him and standing. His knees popped as he rose from the floor, but you were too busy surveying your bloody arm to make any jokes about him being a grumpy old man. Just as you suspected, several fingertip sized spots were dotting the space around the gash, red and blue and angry. Smudged blood hid them a bit, but it was clear as day that he'd left several marks.

Ghost rifled through his bag for a bit before pulling something free, turning it over in his hands. He nodded to himself, tossing his bag to the side and returning his attention to you.

"You're not gonna like this," He warned, turning around to reveal a bottle of rubbing alcohol. You shivered at the sight of it, knowing exactly what was coming next. "But I can't have you dying of an infection on me. Shitty way to go."

Cursing the Shadows who did this to you, your nervous eyes found the ceiling as Ghost approached. Your back was pressed flush against the brick wall behind you, and you took several deep breaths. You heard the sound of him unscrewing the cap of the bottle and mentally prepared yourself for the inevitable sting. He sprayed some of it on his own hands, rubbing them together before looking back at you.

"Eyes on me, yeah?" He said, his voice low and soft. You squeezed your eyes shut once before turning your attention to Ghost, who was kneeling in front of you with one hand on your thigh and the other clutching the alcohol. His gaze was intense, but still, you nodded, pulling your lower lip between your teeth.

He didn't warn you before he began pouring the liquid over your arm. Despite your efforts to remain still and silent, your body lurched forward against your will, a strangled, drawn out groan rumbling in your chest. Lightning shot through your whole body as the clear fluid coated your wound, your nerves screaming and tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The burning sensation overpowered everything, and for a moment, your vision went white.

Instinctively, your hand flew up to stop the pain, closing around Ghost's wrist to try and pull the bottle away. Grunting, he pried your hand free and forced it to the side, pressing your hand down into the floor as hard as he could. His hand engulfed your own, covering it with ease as he pinned it down beside you. Wriggling against his hold, you let out a soft, unintentional whine, squeezing your eyes shut tight as another wave of alcohol flooded your wound.

"I know," Ghost reassured, "Focus on me, Y/N."

"It fucking hurts," You croaked, cringing at the weak tone in your voice.

"Amputation and sepsis hurt worse," He replied, eyeing his work for a moment before returning his attention to you.

Considering just how much blood and dust and bacteria had invaded the slice in your arm, Ghost was thorough, squeezing the bottle to control the flow. It felt like years, and you couldn't take it any longer. A strangled cry ripped its way out of your throat, your head falling forward and your chest heaving. Your heart was hammering against your ribs, your limbs locked up and your brain in survival mode.

A loud crash echoed through the church and you both jumped, two voices filtering in from the foyer below. Just as they burst through the front doors, your anguish was just starting to manifest through groans and sobs, but Ghost was quick to shut it down. The hand that had been keeping you still quickly clamped over your mouth, effectively muffling any sound that could come out.

"Shadows," He stated, "You need to relax or they'll find us."

Breathing hard through your nose, you maintained eye contact with your lieutenant, your eyes misting over as the pain finally started to subside. He placed the bottle on the floor nearby, then used his now free hand to grip the back of your neck. With one hand covering your mouth and the other drawing you closer, Ghost stared straight into your soul.

To try and bring yourself back down to Earth, you gripped the front of his shirt, grabbing a fistful of fabric and clinging to it like your life depended on it. Ghost drew in a sharp breath as you latched on, his eyes widening for a moment before narrowing again. It looked as if he was concentrating hard on something, searching your eyes and quickly glancing down at his hand that covered your mouth every few seconds.

The look in his eyes was intense, and the hand on the back of your neck felt foreign, but welcomed. Any closer and your foreheads would have been touching, and for a split moment, you thought about doing just that. It wasn't the first time you felt compelled to show some form of affection toward him, and it certainly wouldn't be the last.

Ghost slowly removed his hand from your face, fingers gently sliding over the skin of your cheeks and jaw. Your mouth fell open as you sucked in shaky gulps of air, trying to stay as quiet as humanly possible. Both of you were caught in some sort of trance; the world around you falling away until all that remained was Ghost and his prying eyes.

Not that you minded.

"Keep lookin' at me like that and I'll give you something else to scream about," Ghost whispered, looking shocked at himself as the words left his mouth. You shivered involuntarily, butterflies erupting in your stomach at his words.

In that moment, he was no longer your superior. He was just a man in a mask with dreamy eyes and a velvety smooth voice that sent your heart soaring. It didn't matter that the Shadows were just downstairs, or that your arm was stinging to high hell, or that you were stuck in that stupid church until Soap could find his way to you. All that mattered was Ghost and his tempting words.

"They'd find us," You reasoned, your voice barely above a whisper.

"They'd get a nice view before they die, then."

The Shadows noisily searched the church below, their voices traveling up to the tower. Windows shattered and benches were turned over, echoing throughout the building. It took what felt like centuries, but after a while, they finally gave up on their search and exited the building. It wasn't until the sounds of their boots became distant that either of you moved, but once they were gone, Ghost acted quickly.

As quickly as he could, he all but ripped his mask up enough to reveal his hidden mouth. You didn't have long to memorize what it looked like, because before you knew it, his lips were on yours in a heated kiss. The hand on your neck deepened the kiss as Ghost tilted his head to the side, lips aggressive and harsh against your own. You happily returned the gesture, sighing into his mouth and letting your eyes flutter shut. Your shaking hands reached up to cup both sides of his face, adrenaline coursing through you until your body felt light as a feather.

The moment your hands connected with his skin, he let out a sound you couldn't quite place- some sort of growl mixed deliciously with a moan. Boldness bloomed in your chest at his reaction and you let your hands wander downward on their own, taking note of how tense he became wherever they went. His heaving chest, the center of his ribcage, his hard stomach, his abdomen-

"Careful," He warned slowly, breaking the kiss to mutter in your ear.

"I thought this is what you wanted," You replied, withdrawing your hands.

"You have no fucking clue how badly I want you right now," He hissed, his hands abandoning your neck to grip your waist. "If it were up to me, I'd already have you underneath me on this filthy floor, trust me, love."

"What's stopping you?" You asked, anticipation building in your gut and his words going straight to your lower half.

"I'm not a religious man, Y/N, but the good Lord doesn't need to see what I'm gonna do to you."

"Should I consider this a confessional, sir?" You asked jokingly. "Usually there'd be a wall between us."

"There's something between us, that's for sure," Ghost quipped, his mouth turning up in a small smile.

"Lt?" Soap's voice startled you both, but Ghost was quick to respond, immediately regaining his composure.

"Go ahead, Soap," He said into the box on his chest.

"Hate to ruin such a lovely moment between friends, but if you could at least turn off your comms, the Shadows and I would appreciate it."

Your stomach dropped like a rock and you covered your mouth with your hand, eyes wide. Ghost cleared his throat and held your gaze as he spoke to Soap again.

"Message received," He said in a flat voice. This time, he made sure to flip the microphone switch, then returned his full attention to you.

"I'll wring his neck if he ever mentions it," Ghost declared, the pad of his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Let's finish cleaning you up, yeah?"

#hehe oops #still not sorry #im trying to figure out a plot for fluff #ideas are always appreciated #ghost x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley fanfic #simon riley imagine #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon riley #mw2 imagine #ghost mw2 #mw2 spoilers #mywriting #tw blood #ghost angst #simon riley angst

[sillygooseassociation]

Lucky Charm

Request: Would you write about surprising Ted with lingerie or in one of his shirts or jerseys when he gets home from travelling? 😈

Description: You welcome Ted home from his win against Liverpool, a welcome he will excitedly accept.

Warning: smut, oral (f receiving)

Pairing: Ted Lasso x reader

Word Count: 1.2k

-

Ted’s head snapped up as soon as his chin hit his chest, letting out a squeak as he startles awake. Beard closes his book, using a finger to keep his spot, “What’s up, coach?” Ted rubs his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose as he takes a deep breath, “Nothin’ coach. Just don’t wanna fall asleep so close to home, y’know?” The right-hand man nods in understanding, opening his book once again as Ted glances out the window, watching the fields turn into buildings as they enter the city. 

Jumping a little at the buzz of his phone, Ted scoffs at himself and how tired he feels, though his exhaustion doesn’t last long when he opens his messages. 

Y/N 😍❤️: Congrats on your win, Coach Lasso. Hope you’re not too celebrated out xxx [image attached]

Ted checks over his shoulder at lightning speed when he opens the accompanying image, not wanting to withstand any teasing but also not okay with anyone seeing his girl. He knows the photo isn’t the most revealing, all parts are covered, yet he would have to watch pigs fly during a cold day in hell while it rains cats and dogs before he lets any eyes but his own view that sacred photo.

Looking back down once he knows the coast is clear, Ted’s eyes widen as his face reddens and his pants tighten slightly. With the sheets of your shared bed as the background, the posed photo focuses on your body from the neck down, a Richmond jersey hugging your body, stopping just below where your hips meet your bare legs. Ted takes in a deep breath, staring at the expanse of your thighs before tracing back up to the jersey, hardening even more at the knowledge that the back of your jersey has his last name plastered on it. 

After an eon of a bouncing leg, a stared-at phone, and a leaking head, Ted, who normally waited for all the players to exit the bus before he did, ran off the vehicle, backpack on his shoulder as he yelled something about an upset stomach and seeing the team on Monday. 

One more eon later (each “eon” being about 15 minutes in reality), Ted fished his keys out of his pocket before struggling to get his key in the lock, his hands shaking with excitement. Toeing his shoes off at the door and hanging up his puffer, Ted breathes out a sigh of relief as he heads to the bedroom, eager for release after 30 minutes of his cock leaking and not softening at all.

Opening the door, Ted lets out a low groan at the sight of you in the middle of the bed, hand under the bottom of the jersey as you squeeze your eyes shut, small gasps leaving your lips, “You getting yourself ready for me, beautiful?”

Opening your eyes to see Ted moving towards the bed, discarding his clothes as he nears, a wide smile shows on your face, “I’m always ready for you coach Lasso.” Ted moans in contentment at the title, taking off his pants so he is left in only his underwear, standing at the bottom of the bed. You lift yourself onto your knees, staring at him as you remove your hand, bringing up your glistening fingers so that it is in between you two, “Should I take care of this or would you like to?”

Ted takes one more step forward, knees hitting the side of the mattress as his hand grasps your wrist, bringing your hand to his mouth as he takes your three fingers in his mouth, sucking on them as he maintains eye contact with you before closing his eyes and throwing his head back as he lets out a guttural moan. You take the opportunity to inch closer, throwing yourself into his chest as you wrap your arms around his torso, leaving a kiss on his Adam’s apple. Licking from the base of his neck to below his ear, you breathily give him your congratulations, “Very nice job on your win today, baby.”

Looking back at you, Ted’s eyes are blown with lust as he rakes in the image of you in his jersey, “Thanks, darling. Only happened because of my lucky charm.” You wrap your arms around his neck as he pushes you up the bed, laying you down on your back as he slots himself in between your legs, “Your lucky charm?”

Ted nods affirmatively, lowering himself so he is at eye level with your dripping core that he sees as he pushes the jersey up, eliciting a moan from him, “Yeah, my lucky charm. The love of my life watching me from home while wearing my jersey, and apparently nothing else”. You let out a whine at the combination of his words and his hot breath as he blows on your swollen clit.

“Now let me thank my lucky charm, ‘lright?” Before you can even respond, Ted licks up your slit slowly before latching onto your nub, sucking rhythmically as you let out a string of whines. Moving your hands down to tug at Ted’s hair, you brace your feet on the bed as you thrust up. Chuckling at your eagerness, Ted looks up at you through his hooded eyelids, “Give me a second sweetheart, let me taste ya before I give you what you want.” 

You nod desperately, wanting any kind of relief but also anxious to see the throbbing cock that had made a wet spot on the front of Ted’s briefs. Ted curls two of his fingers into you before his tongue follows, lapping up as much of your juice as you can. He groans in delight, his mustache tickling your clit as it is on high alert, pushing you close to the edge. “T-Ted, Imma…”  Ted pulls away barely from your pussy, his thumb rubbing your clit at the perfect pace, “I know sugar, let go for me. Come all over my mouth, it’s just how I want ya.”

With Ted’s reaffirming words and resumed attack on your core as his thumb continues on your clit, you reach your peak while you let out a loud moan, pulling at Ted’s hair. As you come back down earth, you feel Ted cleaning you up with his tongue, not a single drop left behind as he hums Richmond’s chant to himself. 

He pushes himself up so he’s level with your face, emphatically kissing you, bringing a moan from you at the taste of yourself on his lips. You quickly reach down, tugging his briefs down before he wiggles out of them and kicks them to the ground. You grasp him, rubbing your thumb over the tip, “Want you in me, coach.”

Ted groans deeply before nodding, latching onto your neck to leave a mark as he positions his dick right above your entrance. You move to take off the jersey before Ted stops you, grabbing your hands as he puts his weight on his knees, not yet entering you, “Hey there now. Wanna keep my lucky charm just as it is. Gonna fuck you as you wear my name, get a taste of what it’ll be like when I marry ya, okay sweetness?” 

Ted was thanking every god above that he didn’t fall asleep on the bus back to Richmond.

#smut smut smut #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfiction #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fic #ted lasso x reader #ted lasso smut #ted lasso x reader smut #jason sudeikis #jsuds

[her-power]

Last Chance to Dance (Part Three: Rockstar! e.m. x fem reader)

🚨🛑🔞18+++ MINORS DNI - YOU WILL BLOCKED🚨🛑🔞 TRIGGER/CONTENT WARNING (For entire series): Rockstar! Addict! Sweet! Mean! Eddie, smut, unprotected p+v, fluff, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (m+f receiving), heavy drug use, descriptions of IV drug use, swearing, talks of anxiety, panic disorder, mental illness, talks of suicide

Eddie Munson Masterlist

Last Chance to Dance Part One Part Two

Summary: Full Summary on Part One

Word Count: 4.9k

I feel your hands on my waist before I open my eyes, your fingers trace a line down my abdomen, stopping above my pelvis. I let out a soft gasp and smile into the pillow. I feel your lips graze against my shoulder, leaving soft kisses. I feel you press your breasts against my back and your hand slinks down, grasping my length in your hand, gently fisting up and down. A soft moan escapes me, and your lips press against my neck. Your hands are soft, delicate and you pump me faster. I groan, turning my face to you, pressing my lips to yours. I turn on to my back, holding your face in my hand to deepen the kiss. 

“Mmmm.” I moan against your lips. “What a way to wake up.” 

You smile at me, pushing your body into mine. I hook your leg around my waist, kissing you deep. You continue to pump me with your hand while grinding against me; I can feel the wetness between your legs. I move myself on top of you; bringing your nipple into my mouth, squeezing your breasts and you moan softly. I grip your ass, kissing you deeply and I rub my hand against your clit and your opening. I groan loudly and push my cock inside you. You let out a gasp and I smile against your lips. It had been like this since yesterday; the snowstorm had finally let up this morning, but the plows had yet to come down the streets. I planned on shoveling out your car, but ever since we made love, we haven’t been able to stop. It was Christmas Eve, and I don’t think I’ve been sober for a holiday in ten years. I feel a small ache in my chest, and I pull away from your lips for a second to look at you. Your fingers curl through my hair, and I run my hand along your face, your jaw. I slowly rock my hips and your head falls back in pleasure; I continue to stare at you. How could this be real? How was it possible that fifteen years later we had found each other again? Over a letter? My eyes flutter close, and I bury my face in your shoulder, thrusting faster, you feel so good. 

I remember us back then, how young we were, full of life. There was so much passion, even when we fought. It was always the little things we fought about, how you knew how to get under my skin, and I knew exactly what buttons to push.  We had left Steve’s house after a house party. Well, you had left, because I was an asshole, and I had chased after you. It was pouring out. It was the middle of summer, but the rain was cold. 

“Baby, come on! I’m sorry!” I chase after you, stumbling over my own feet because I’m a little drunk. You’re drunk too, but you know how to handle yourself because you are a fucking champ. 

“You’re sorry.” You scoff, you’re picking up speed. “Sorry, sorry, sorry. You’re always fucking sorry!” 

“Stop, stop, stop.” I’m able to catch up with you and stop in front of you. The rain soaks the both of us, your black dress stuck to your skin, I could tell you were shivering. “You’re shivering, come on. Let’s go home.” 

“I’m not going home with you; I’d rather sleep outside.” You push past me, and I groan. 

“You’re seriously making a big deal out of nothing.” 

“Nothing?!” You turn towards me so fast it startles me, and I stumble backwards. “You told Steve that I’m a better fuck when I’m high!” 

“Baby, I was kidding!” I say, trying not to laugh. “It was a stupid joke. I didn’t mean it, I meant to tell him when you’re high, you get wild. And the sex is great—"

“Oh, because that makes it better! Get away from me.” You scoff, shoving me away. “I know he’s our best friend, but it would be nice if you kept our sex life private, that shits embarrassing.” 

I’m getting annoyed now, I was wet, cold, I felt like a drowned fucking rat. “Oh, but it’s okay for you to tell Robin I like getting fingered in the ass?” 

You stop walking and turn towards me. “She wasn’t supposed to say anything, and I was drunk when I told her that.” 

“I’m drunk now!” I almost laugh. “Baby, do you hear yourself? This is so stupid.” 

“You told Steve I was better at fucking when I was under the influence! That is not the fucking same! That’s YOU saying that I’m boring when I’m sober. That’s fucked up.” Your wet hair is sticking to your face, the rain is getting heavier, and I can see how cold you are. I’m able to grip your upper arms and you tense under my touch. 

“Sweetheart, you are the girl of my fucking dreams. Sober, not sober, you rock my fucking world.” You stare at me, your eyes darting from my eyes to my mouth. You lean in like you’re about to kiss me. 

“Liar.” You whisper under your breath and pull yourself out of my grip, turning away from me. I roll my eyes and groan. You’re walking faster away from me but still talking. “You can’t get shit past me. I may be fucking you now, but I’ve been your best friend since diapers, so I know when you’re full of shit.” 

“So, this is just what we’re doing? Just fucking? Nothing else?” I’m angry now, how dare you think that. 

You turn towards me, walking backwards. “I don’t know, you tell me Eddie. I feel like you have a fucking magnet to my vagina everytime you see me since we started having sex! I feel like that’s all you want from me.” 

“That’s not all I want from you, are you being serious right now?” I stare at you with my mouth open. “You’ve known me your whole life and you think it’s just the sex for me?” 

“What else could it be?” You sneer at me, and I shake my head, I’m pissed now. 

“Fine, think that. I’m not fucking stopping you.” Thunder booms in the distance and you storm away from me. We go opposite directions; you head towards your house, and I go to my trailer. Wayne was working another overnight and I was grateful I didn’t have to have a conversation. The rain was hard against my face as I run the few steps to the trailer. I run inside, the screen door slamming behind me. I pull my wet t-shirt over my head and toss it towards my room and light up a cigarette. My hair drips onto my skin and I grab a towel, squeezing out the wetness from my curls. The cigarette dangles from my lips and I almost choke on the smoke when I hear the screen door open and close, and you’re standing there, soaking from head to toe; your hair all over your face, your skin damp. You’re glowering at me, your chest heaving like you ran here. I put out the cigarette in the sink as we stare at each other. I walk towards you slowly and your eyes are still fixed on me like a wild animal. I grip your upper arms, and you try to move away from me, but I hold you in place. My mouth is inches from yours, and you sneer at me. 

“I really can’t stand you.” 

“Then why are you here?” I whisper to you; I tease my lips over yours and you groan. You pull me towards you by my hair, and we end up crashing into the kitchen counter. I hoist you up by your thighs and you kiss me desperately, wrapping your legs around me tight. You pull away from me again and are still glowering at me. 

“I really hate you.” 

“Yeah? Why don’t you show me how much you hate me?” I crash my lips against yours again, and your hands find my waist, pulling me closer. My hands go in between your legs, and you moan loudly. I push your underwear to the side; they were soaked from the rain and from you. You push me away by my chest, your hands in a hurry to undo my belt. I lean my palms against the cabinets next to your head, watching as you unzip me and pull down my pants, exposing my hardness. You kiss me again, pulling me towards you by my ass. I can see your nipples through the wet fabric of your dress, they peaked so nicely, I lean down and nip them through the fabric. You gasp and hold the back of my head, my fingers tickle your clit, and you moan against me, grabbing my dick. I scoot you towards me, holding your face in my hand. Your head falls back as I push myself inside you, and I groan. I fuck you against the cabinets, feeling every inch of your walls and feel your fingers claw my back. 

“I hate you.” You moan. “Fuck-I…” 

“Ungh, you feel so fucking good. Hate me all you want, baby, you’re not stopping me.” I moan when you grab my ass, pushing me deeper. You kiss me hungrily, opening your mouth wide, fighting my tongue with yours. I slam into you harder, your body thumps against the cabinet. “Mmmmm, like that baby?” 

“Fuck…yes…ohhhhh…” you bite my shoulder and I gasp, rolling my hips faster. The squelching of your wetness and the sounds of my balls hitting your cunt as I slam harder sends a blaze of euphoria through my entire soul. 

“Ohhh, fuck. Oh fuck. I’m gonna cum.” I groan against your shoulder, and I feel you move your hips with me. “Fuck yeah baby, just like that…unghhhh.” 

“Cum inside me, baby. I want my pussy to swallow you whole.” You say, staring deep into my eyes. I smile at you, my thrusts getting sloppy and I feel your pussy clench around my cock and you’re screaming. And I mean SCREAMING my fucking name and it sends me into a fucking spiral of madness and lust that I explode my entire load into your pussy, still fucking you. Not stopping for breath, your nails cut up my back as another orgasm cries out of you and you’re holding on to me while I hug your waist tightly. Our sounds loud and pornographic and it feels like the entire trailer is shaking. I pull myself back to look at you, moving your wet hair from your eyes. Your lips are parted as your breath comes out in waves. I hold your chin with my fingers, gently grazing my lips over yours.   

“Do you still hate me?” I whisper. 

“Always.” You say, licking my lips. 

I groan, smiling. “Good.” 

Down, down, down… I can hear them outside my door listening. They think I can’t hear them but I’m smarter than them. They’re trying to taunt me. They’re trying to break inside my head and feast on my brain. 

Both my arms sting as I crawl on my hands and knees underneath the windows. 

They try to mock your voice, getting me to open the door. You wouldn’t be here. You don’t even know where I live. What would you think of me right now? I wonder. Crawling on all fours, hiding from these imaginary creatures that are trying to feast on me. 

It’s not real. 

I’m not real, so they’re not real. 

We have two weeks off before we hit the last five cities of the tour. I’m in my cabin, in upstate New York. 

I bet these creatures followed me from the woods after my walk. 

What if Gareth sent these things? He hates me now, I’m just a junkie in his eyes, who still knows how to put on a good show so he can suck my dick. 

I had met my dealer yesterday; I was low on cash, he was willing to give me a discount if he could suck me off, so I let him, and then he wanted me to fuck him, so I did that too. 

Men, women, it didn’t matter anymore. If I got something out of it, I didn’t care what I put my dick in. 

They’re chatting outside my door now. I need to stop the noise. I crawl to my coffee table, blindly searching for a needle. 

I find one, and my stash, loading up the chamber with the drugs. I go to the bathroom to look in the mirror, my veins in both my arms are fucking sore, so I find a good one in my neck. My eyes flutter close, and I smile, awkwardly stumbling back to my living room. I couldn’t even feel the sweet burn anymore, it was almost like the burn was just built into my now. 

I sit on the couch. 

It’s quiet again. 

Thankfully.

I can’t handle the noise again. 

“Generals gathered in their masses…just like witches at black masses, evil minds that plot destruction…” I sing the beginning of War Pigs by Black Sabbath under my breath as my head lulls back against the couch. My phone buzzes in my pocket; I slowly take it out of my pocket and put it to my ear. 

“Eddie?” It was Ted.

“Did I miss curfew again?” I say and a stupid laugh escapes me.

“Jesus Eddie.” He says quietly. “Are you by yourself?”

“Nope, they’re outside my door. I think they’re asleep, they’re quiet now.” I tell him, curling my legs up to my chest.

“Who? What are you talking about?”

“I think Gareth sent them; they think I can’t hear them.” 

“Eddie, I’m coming to you. I’ll be there in an hour.” He says, he sounds panicked, then I begin to panic.

“No! Teddy! If they see you, they’ll hurt you! I can’t let them hurt you.” I feel tears spring to my eyes. “Please, man. I can’t lose you too.” 

“Just stay put, buddy. I’ll be there soon.” 

“Okay, okay.” I nod into the phone, and he hangs up. Part of me knew that whatever those things were weren’t real, and it was just my mind playing tricks on me, but they felt real to me. I know I didn’t just do heroin tonight; I think ketamine too. Cocaine? I had to protect Ted; he has done so much for me. I get up from the couch, taking the metal baseball bat I keep near my door. I swing open my front door, the hinges squeaking, and I stare out into the darkness of the woods. “Come on mother fuckers!” I yell out. “Think you can fuck with me?!”

I hear my voice echo around me, and all that talks back is the silence. I laugh, twirling the bat in my hands. “That’s what I thought, pussies!” 

I hear something skitter on the grass in front of my porch and I yelp, falling back on my ass, the bat rolling away from me. I scramble to my feet and run back in the cabin, shutting the door and locking it. I slide down to the floor, pulling my knees up to my chest, I keep my eyes on the window, I have to look for Ted’s headlights, to make sure I can get him in safely. They weren’t gonna hurt him, I’d rather die than have something hurt him. 

I see the headlights reflect off the window, and I quickly stand up. I hear his footfalls go up the wooden steps of the porch and I open the door. “Get in, get in!” I say, grabbing his arm and pulling him in, he stumbles into my living room. 

“Eddie, what the fuck?” He says, staring at me with wide eyes. 

I turn to him, and I whisper. “They’re out there.” 

“Eddie, there’s no one out there.” He tells me gently. 

“There is, there is.” My eyes are wide, I can feel it. I can also feel my tears on my cheeks. “They live in the woods.” 

Ted grasps me by my forearms. “I think…I think you’re gonna have to take it easy the next few days.” 

I stare at him, and nod. “Yeah…yeah, I need to rest. I need to…I feel like I’m going insane. They’re not out there?” 

“No, son.” He tells me quietly. “Where is your stuff?” 

“B-back bedroom and there.” I tell him, pointing to the coffee table where my needles were, my empty bag of drugs, and a few loose pills. He takes everything off the table, and I shiver, watching him walk away. “Where are you going?” My voice sounds younger, childlike.

“I’ll be right back, buddy. Just sit down. I’ll fix us something to eat.” I nod at him again and sit on my couch. Was this what my life was now? Constant paranoia, fearful of what walks outside. I look down at my arms, even with all my tattoos, you could see how black and blue my arms were. The track marks went all the way up towards my wrists, my arms looked skeletal. When was the last time I ate? 

Did people really still enjoy our shows? How could they not tell how fucked up I was every show? We were still up on the charts; Rolling Stone wanted another interview after the tour. 

I run my hands through my hair and shiver. This was madness. I was a fucking madman. 

The next morning, I wake up, feeling an ache in my stomach. No no no no. I try to move from the couch but every single muscle in my body feels stiff. I groan loudly, was I dying? Was this death? 

I look at the coffee table, none of my stash was there. I grit my teeth, trying to sit up. 

“Ted!” I yell, my throat was raw. 

I see his form come into the living room; his hair was tied up in a bun. I try to sit up but a wave of a nausea hits me. 

“You’re finally awake.” He says, putting a mug of coffee in front of me. The smell alone makes me dry heave. 

“What?” I hold my stomach, and grimace. “Fuck why is it so cold in here?” 

“You’ve been sleeping for two days.” Ted tells me and my eyes snap to his. Realization hits my gut, and I start to remember a few days ago. I told him to get rid of my stuff, that I needed a rest. 

No. No. No. No. 

“Where did you put it?” I ask, my teeth grind as it feels like my stomach is being clawed at. 

“It’s gone, Eddie. I did what you asked me to do.” He stares at me, and my eyes narrow. 

“Well, I was fucking lying!” I groan out in pain, my body folds back on the couch. “FUCK. This hurts, Teddy this hurts so bad.” I feel sweat pool behind my neck and my joints feel locked in place. “I need it, man. It’s the only thing that will make this pain stop.” 

“It’s gone, Eddie. I’m sorry.” He tells me, leaning back in his seat. 

“Fuck you!” I growl and tears spring to my eyes. “Why did you come here?!” 

“Because you were fucking losing it!” He yells at me. “Saying there were these things outside, taunting you, that Gareth sent them. Eddie, you’re rotting your brain with this shit!” 

A painful groan and sob escape me, and I gag. He brings a large cooking pot over to me and I vomit into it. My insides felt like they were on fire, nothing I did was making me comfortable. I clench my fingers against my stomach, my body was trembling. 

“I’ll give you Motrin for the pain.” 

“Fuck that!” I scream at him. “Ughhhhhhh. Fuck. Teddy, please, please I need something stronger.” 

“No.” He says, no emotion in his tone. 

I grit my teeth. “Fuuuuck you! Please, please man. I just need it to stop.” 

He leans back in the chair, lighting up a cigarette, just watching me. I wanted to fly off that couch and strangle him, but everything hurt. I was stuck there. 

I had passed out, the pain getting to be too much. I had taking off my clothes in the middle of the night and was just in my boxers. Ted was sitting in the recliner chair; some stupid fucking show was on the television. I had slid off the couch on my hands and knees, grunting as I crawled towards him. “I need…the fucking drugs, Teddy.” My voice is hoarse, and my muscles feel stiff. My head pushes against his thigh and he holds me back by my shoulders. I groan angrily; my palms were sweating as I tried to force my way through him. Tears pool from my eyes as another wave of pain hits my joints. 

“Please.” I sob. “I’ll do anything…I just want this pain to stop.” I feel his eyes on me, and I gaze up at him. 

He holds my face in his hands. “No.” 

I collapse onto my back, my chest heaving with sobs. “Fuck you, man. Why are you doing this to me?” He doesn’t respond. “Answer me!!!” 

I don’t even know what day it is. 

But I want to die. I want these withdrawals to take me out. I almost shit myself tonight. Ted had to drag me to the bathtub. I couldn’t stop crying; it was too much. 

I think I was saying your name in my sleep. Ted kept asking me who you were, and I finally said, “the girl that I loved and lost.” He said he never remembers me ever talking about you, and I tell him that it hurts too much to talk about. 

The shaking has stopped, my bones don’t feel like they’re breaking anymore. I still want to die, I’m feeling everything. 

“Get up. Take a shower.” Ted tells me, nudging my shoulder. I turn away from him, curling my legs up to my chest. “Eddie. Get. Up.” He shakes my arm again; I slap his arm away. 

“Get the fuck away from me.” I grumble. 

“You’re acting like a child. Get up, man.” He says, sighing loudly. I don’t answer him, and before I know it, he’s throwing me over his shoulder. I’m kicking and screaming all the way to the bathroom. I’m surprised he can carry me. Well, I’m sure I don’t weigh much. He plops me down in the shower and turns it on, the water bites my skin and I scream at him. 

“You’re a fucking asshole!” I scream at him, trying to get out, but the warm water against my skin feels good and I stop. 

“Clean yourself up. You’re starting to stink.” He tells me, throwing a washcloth at me. 

“I could fire your ass, you know.” I snap at him, standing under the stream, my hair soaking. “Are you gonna stand there and watch me like I’m a fucking mental patient? Get out of here.” 

“Fire me all you want, I’m not leaving.” He says, closing the shower curtain and I hear him sit on the lid of the toilet. 

“Stubborn prick.” I grumble, squirting shampoo onto my hand and putting it through my hair. I could feel how gross and greasy my hair was, it felt stiff. 

“I may be a stubborn prick, but you should feel lucky that I’m here.” 

“Yeah, so lucky.” I scoff. “Once we’re back on the road I will find a way to get high again.” 

“Okay, that’s your choice.” He sounds like he’s flipping through the magazine. 

“Yeah, it is my choice. This wasn’t.” I peak my head behind the curtain to glare at him. 

“You told me you needed a rest. Probably a good thing, wouldn’t want you worrying about little creatures crawling into your bed at night.” He says, meeting my eyes and smirking. 

“Oh, fuck you.” I close the curtain forcefully, washing my body until it was raw. I’m able to actually look at my arms. They were scabbed over; the bruises had a yellow tint to them. 

“Who’s the girl?” Ted asks me. 

“What?” I wipe the soap from my eyes. 

“The girl you’ve been moaning about in your sleep.” 

I pause. I feel my stomach clench and my heart ache, I let the shower rinse the shampoo from my hair. “No one.” I snap. 

“Doesn’t sound like no one.” He says, and I hear him light up a cigarette. 

I sigh. “Someone I knew, back in Hawkins.” 

“Girlfriend?” 

It takes me a minute to answer him. “More than that.” I mutter. 

“What happened?” 

“Jesus, Ted. I don’t want to talk about it.” I turn off the shower and open the curtain, squeezing the water out of my hair. “Hand me a towel.” 

“Say the magic words.” I hear the arrogance in his voice. 

“Hand me a fucking towel, please.” 

He pulls a towel off the hook and throws it at me. I dry myself off, wrapping the towel around my waist and I walk towards the adjoining bedroom. I toss on a long-sleeved t-shirt and pull on a pair of dark jeans. It was early spring, but up here, it still felt like winter. I throw on some thick socks and take my cigarettes off my dresser. The smell of bacon hits my nostrils and my stomach rumbles painfully. I really don’t remember when the last time I ate was. I walk to the kitchen, seeing Ted with a dish towel over his shoulder, and plates of bacon, sausage. He was making eggs now. 

There was coffee in the pot, I move past him to grab a mug and pour myself a cup. I poured half the sugar into the mug; I still felt shitty, but the shower had helped some. 

I sit down at the table, lighting up a cigarette, pulling my leg up to my chest. The Eagles played softly on the radio, and I close my eyes, inhaling on the cigarette. I jump when Ted places the plate in front of me and I glare at him. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was that too loud?” He asks me sarcastically. “Why don’t you stop glowering at me and eat the damn food.” 

I scoff, sipping my coffee and biting into my meal. The taste and aroma of the breakfast fills all my senses and I have to control myself from shoving all of it into my gullet. 

Fuck. 

I forgot he could cook. 

I mean, breakfast was easy to cook but he used to be a chef so, he puts his own twist on it. I was full once I was done, and Ted had given me two Motrin which I reluctantly took. The rest of the day went by surprisingly smoothly, I had written a few songs with the acoustic while Ted sat in the recliner chair, watching his dumb television show. 

I decided to fuck with him the following day, to pass the time. I had some coins in my pocket, his opened coke can was in the cup holder next to him. I put the coin in between my two fingers and lined it up just right, launching the coin right into the mouth of the can. It splashed a little on him and he glares at me. 

“Lucky shot.” 

I take another coin, and the same thing happens, I smile at him. He shakes the soda drippings off his hand. 

“Don’t fuck with me, kid.” He grumbles and I launch another coin into the can, and I laugh. He throws his shoe at me, and I laugh louder. I’m able to get a smirk out of him, and we go back to sharing the comfortable silence. 

Evening approaches, and he had made us some steaks on the grill. It was a warm night, so we sat out on the back porch, the fire pit going as we smoked cigarettes. I lean back in my seat, staring up at the stars. My body still hurt, but this was the first time in a long time I felt content. 

“The girl you heard me talking about was my first love.” I tell him quietly. “And my only love.” 

“What happened?” He asks me gently, inhaling on his cigarette. 

“I happened. Well, my stupidity happened.” I sigh, letting the smoke billow from my nostrils. “We grew up together, did everything together. Her dad had died when she was a baby, her mom was a drunk. My mom was dead, and my dad was in jail, so we only had each other. And Wayne. Wayne made sure we were taken care of the best he could. We got older, and we fell in love.” I stub out the cigarette in the ashtray and I light up another. “This was a fucking insane kind of love. A lot of passion, a lot of arguing, a lot of laughing. She drove me crazy, but not as much as I drove her crazy. When I started to realize how deep my feelings were for her, I got scared. So I left.”

“Why?” He asks me. 

“I ask myself that every day, man.” I chuckle. “Doesn’t matter now. She’s probably happily married with kids somewhere. And I’m here, detoxing from heroin in a cabin in the woods.” 

“She sounds like she was one hell of girl.” Ted says with a smile. 

“Yeah, she was.” I smile back at him. 

That was the first time in a long time I felt at ease with myself. That was also the first time in a long time Ted, and I had sat down with each other and just shared comfortable silence. 

Should’ve known that I was going to fuck that all up again. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~* a/n: hi! I know it's short, but I'm just preparing you for the next couple of parts. Fair warning it's...well, you'll see. *insert evil laugh here* My son is having surgery on Thursday to get tubes in his ears so I will leave you with this, and maybe about a week for the next installment, maybe sooner. Who knows?! Again, I love you guys. <3

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x fluff #eddie munson x smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things #eddie munson fem!reader #eddie munson comfort

[wrongdodo]

Whitney thinks you're pathetic

Pairing: M!Whitney x AFAB!Reader (use of "bitch" and "tits")

Genre: Smut 18+

Warnings: NonCon, humiliation

Word count: 1.3k

Summary: Whitney's fucking sick of you following him. If you're so desperate for his attention, here it comes, slut.

A/N: Been reading lots of enjoyable DOL fanfics and ya'll got me INSPIRED. Big love to all the writers out there. I enjoyed using lots of Bri'ish slang in this - the word "lairy" is criminally underused.

Whitney doesn’t give a fuck about you.

So why do you do it to yourself? Maybe some part of you thought the next day might be different, that maybe he’d notice you.

Everyday like clockwork, as English class ended and lunch began, you abandoned your friends and your sense of reason, feet and heart skipping to the roof, just to catch a glimpse of him.

Rain or shine, hail or snow. What would he be doing today? Tormenting some poor sod and threatening to shove them off the building? Or smoking with his lairy mates, hurling colourful language at anyone thick-as-pig-shit enough to get in their way?

Whatever the agenda, you were just happy to see him. Whitney, doing his thing. Oozing easy confidence; menacing and captivating all at once. Staff despised him, peers idolised him, and losers feared him. Because when Whitney was around, all eyes were on him – it was the only way of possibly anticipating what he might do next.

Today, he and his mates swung easily against the railings, beautifully silhouetted against the dingy, grey sky. Cigarette dangling aimlessly from between his lips, rolled-up sleeves and defiant grin. Whitney was stupidly gorgeous, and horrible to everybody.

You couldn’t hear their conversation from where you’d settled yourself against the side of the building, but that’s okay.  You just liked to watch.

Besides, it somehow felt safest to keep him in your peripheral.

So you watch. Whitney seemed in a good mood today, and for some dumb-bitch reason, that contented you too. There’s an occasional bark of laughter, or yelled expletive. You couldn’t help but wonder what made him to act the way he does; cocky, abrasive, and lashing out at the world.

You watch him grapple one of his mates in a headlock, and wonder what it might be like to be part of his circle, orbiting Whitney like a moth. They’re so lucky to get to appreciate him up close.

You aren’t aware you’ve been staring until another friend leans close to Whitney, and they share a hushed exchange. Then, their eyes are on you.

Fuck.

And they stare back, as if working you out. For a second you feel flimsy, like a gust of wind might carry you away – rattling you off the roof like dead leaves. More hushed words, then a snort of laughter. Whitney’s gaze chisels a hole through you and into the brickwork behind. They’re approaching you now, and your legs chatter.

“Enjoying the view, slut?”

Whitney feels dangerous up close; lithe and animal-like. He moves too casually, eyeing you from a few feet away. You pray that he’ll stay there.

But he’s on you, closing the gap in seconds; grabbing fistfuls of jacket and shoving you hard against bricks. There’s no time to flinch.

“Fucking nosey bitch, aren’t you?”

Whitney’s sneering face is inches from yours as he exhales smoke, making you cough pitifully. A wicked smile spreads on his lips.

But this is what you dreamed of, right? Being noticed?

One hand grips your jaw roughly, squeezing the plush of your cheeks against molars and manhandling your face side-to-side as Whitney takes a long, hard look at you. By now, his mates have fallen into formation, looming at his flanks.

He jabs his fingers into your mouth, parting your teeth like he’s inspecting you for something. You fucking hate that, even now, you’re thinking he looks dreamy up close.

“Don’t be shy now…”

Whitney taunts you. If you have anything to say, it’s not like you could make yourself heard between his probing, violating fingers anyway. Plucking the cigarette from his lips, Whitney’s eyes bore into you as he extinguishes it on the sleeve of your jacket, then flicks it rudely at the ground. Dragging his fingers from your mouth, he wipes them slickly down your cheek, slapping you hard as he grins.

“… You wanted my attention, right?”

Swallowing hard, you will yourself to say something. Fucking anything. Your dumb little mouth feels all dried out.

“I… I wasn’t…” you stammer – and even you can agree it’s pathetic.

“You’re a fucking liar,” comes Whitney’s instant retort, and he’s sure of his assessment. He glances to his accomplices on either side, his grin almost incredulous, as if to say can you believe this stupid slut?

And then he grips your hips, slamming you back against the wall once more for good measure, making you yelp. Now he’s shoving your shirt up, up under your armpits to expose tits, and it’s impossible to know whether your knees are weak with some feral longing or total shame.

Whitney’s hands are all over you now – one roughly tugging your hair while another pushes your bottoms down around your knees before instantly snapping to the surface of your cunt like a sinister magnet.

“Is this enough attention for you, slut?” he mocks against your ear, fingers rudely bullying their way into your slit, and he’s about to discover you’re more fucking wet that you probably should be.

He chuckles darkly, invading your wet hole with venomous strokes. He’s thumbing your clit like it’s too fucking easy, making your legs fold and crease and leaving you writhing against the wall with ragged breath. You close your eyes.

“… What a pathetic cunt… fucking gagging for it…”

“… Fuck the lying slut, Whitney…”

You hope he does.

The feeling of approaching orgasm already twists in your gut, and you know when you cum – if you cum – it’ll be incidental, or just because he fucking can.

Slickened fingers abandon your needy core and grip your face painfully, digging in. His belt rattles. There’s the sound of a wrapper. When you open your eyes, Whitney glares right back with malice.

“This is what happens to nosey fucking sluts,” he spits.

Tugging one of your legs against his hip, Whitney enters you abruptly and uncarefully, crushing into your asinine cunt and ripping a breathy moan from your lips.

He thrusts like he’s fucking you into the brickwork. You cling to any bit of him you can - desperate for any form of stability as you bury your head against him. But Whitney’s not having it - he tips your face upwards to meet his cold, smug gaze, because you will fucking look at him while he does this to you. How else you gonna learn?

It’s a shame his thick cock nudges your g-spot with every thrust, because you feel the familiar sparks of orgasm begin to crackle into life. And the pathetic, choked little whimpers you’re making are annoying even you.

He’s fucking battering you, fingers tangled close to your scalp making your eyes water. Sensation cruelly builds and flourishes in your gut; tingling and pooling around your clit because his fat cock feels so fucking unbearably good.

Whitney’s assault feels endless, yet it’s over far too quickly – way, way too quickly, robbing you of any chance to tip over into your own climax because he’s a fucking hateful bastard. He presses into you as he cums, filling the condom with seed; his breath hot, wet and surprisingly uneven for a moment against your ear.

And when he withdraws from you completely, he leaves you empty; scraping down against the wall into a dumb, exhausted little heap. A fucking used slut. You pant, legs still quivvering a little as your ass meets the ground with a thud.

Apparently, it’s hilarious too, because as Whitney fixes his trousers, his mates heckle and joke and slap him on the back in some kind of celebration. They’re just noisy shapes looming above you now.

“… Look at the fucking state!”

“…You fucking showed that daft bitch, Whitney!”

You tune out their banter, letting your chin drop to your chest. Until a figure crouches beside you, tilting your face to meet his blue eyes behind a messy blonde fringe for a final time.

“Stay the fuck away from me unless I tell you otherwise, slut.” Whitney sneers. He empties the used condom into his outstretched hand, letting the fluid pool on his palm before wiping it down your face with a vile smirk.

He stands and lopes towards the stairwell, lighting a fresh cigarette without giving you a second glance.

#whitney the bully #dol whitney #dol #dol fanfic #dol smut #degrees of lewdity smut #whitney x reader #i lack confidence in my writing lol #degrees of lewdity

[aufucker]

I wrote a thing to go with that pic and am being bullied into posting it

Jack/BJ

The pattering of rain against the glass of a car was always a comfort, watching the droplets fall as the windows fog from the living heat inside. You were less familiar with it in the back of a squad car, the patterning accompanied by the light clicking of handcuffs.

Not on your wrists, however.

He had pulled up while you were walking, window rolled down. Just a talk, much to your surprise, and talk the two of you did, your arm resting above the window, leaning your height down and craning your body to meet his gaze. The way olive eyes stared at you, all with hunger you weren't sure was entirely human.

Hunger that was starting to excite you, too.

Back and forth, back and forth, teasing met with toothy grins, stopped only by the single drop of rain against your skin. And then another. Drops becoming rapid downpour, words drowned by the roar of rain.

So you found yourself in the car, found hands roaming, lips and teeth devouring greedily of each other. He always liked to bite almost *too* much; teeth ready to tear, hands ready to pull you apart.

You were so surprised he agreed to your idea, a joke really, when your fingers happened to brush against the cold metal of handcuffs on his belt. From his belt to his wrists with a click, the animal in uniform was at your mercy, growling under your firm and teasing hands.

It wasn't long before it was between his thighs, your palm pressing against the pitched indent in the navy seams. Had he seriously been hard this whole time?

"This why you rolled up on me?"

"Might be." was a husky half-assed answer. An answer met with a firm squeeze around him, one that made the jackal in blue whine and jerk his cuffed hands; a fruitless endeavor.

You continued to rub and press and squeeze all the while, strong hands on achingly sensitive places. Confined painfully by more civil matters, civility wearing down by grunts and growls and hard bites against his own lips. He wanted to tear into you terribly.

"BJ... Billie, come on..." the animal struggled to speak.

"Aw, what's up, officer? Getting too close, yeah?"

A nice, dark uniform. Clean and pressed. Not fitting for him in the slightest.

Hips bucked into your palm, jerking away, a fight of brain poisoning want and the mercy of messy embarrassment. Pleading without words, growls of warning, the whine of a desperate dog against deaf ears.

Not deaf.

Just choosing not to listen.

A curse of your name when white poured and oozed from the pitch dark blue.

"Damn, Dean. I knew you were a filthy pig, but come on."

#btd #tpof #tpof jack #btd oc #my writing #HERE FINE I POST IT

[cloudninetonine]

B it is! Player letting themself fall to imminent death!

—

You looked back over the cliff, your demise lit up briefly by a flash of white that was quickly followed up by a sharp sizzle. You turned back towards the Links, a pleading desire in their gazes, intentions unknown outside of their unhealthy obsession with you.

Burning cold droplets slipped down your face as you licked your lips, gulping down a glob of saliva. Despite your situation, the fear ebbed out of you: your shaking ceased, you blinked away the scalding tears with ease, and your heart pitifully wailed in silent submission, somehow aware of what you were about to do.

Sky was closest to you, he smiled as he saw your body relax, shifting in just a little closer, hand reaching out. “That’s it. See? It’s okay, we’re here to help, to love you.”

You wished you hadn’t lost your Sky in the town square on that fateful day.

Blinking sluggishly, you looked up at the taller man, some of the others pressing in behind him. “You’ll protect me?” You murmured.

His smile widened, eyes crinkling the slightest bit at his upturned lip. “Of course.”

“Good,” You gritted out. “Protect this.” You lifted a leg up before pushing off the ground with the other, launching yourself off the cliff.

“NO!” The group roared in eery unison. They had practically fallen over each other to reach out to, about ten or so arms reaching over the edge, but you didn’t see it. Your eyes were screwed shut as you fell back first, hunched in on yourself as you held Fi in a fearful death grip.

The full moon painted the left side of your body in luminous light while your right half was cloaked in darkness. You thought it poetic in a twisted way; you had stepped through into a world and met men of the light, only to step through another where they were made of darkness.

You missed your mother, she would’ve protected you. The picture of your mother slapping the dark versions of your heroes away with her hands brought a smile to your face as you emptily laughed. She was not a force to be reckoned with, you were sure she’d beat these ‘heroes’ into next week, daring them to lay a single finger on her baby.

You wished you had gotten to say goodbye…

The wind rushed past you, whipping your hair and disrupting your already dizzy vision. You squeezed your eyes shut once more, hoping to mentally leave this place before you felt yourself-

Something soft, you were caught.

Whatever caught you had fallen forward slightly, grunting as it’s arms were weighed down by your velocity. You blinked your eyes open in shock, looking up to see a blue, humanoid pig.

You were quickly settled onto the ground, the eldest of the Ganon’s quickly getting down on his knees beside you, “Are you okay?! We were so scared none of us would be able to catch you!” You thought there would’ve been sweat on his face if not for the rain.

“I-I…” A hysterical laugh caught your gasping chokes. A chuckle escaped you, before a sob broke through and you fell face first into the man’s chest.

“I-I want t-to-o go ho-home!” You cried, keeping one arm around him and one around Fi.

He hugged you- stars was he good at them- before lifting you up, pressing your head into the crook of his neck.

There was a distinct chatter from around you, the Ganons quickly dispersing from the scene and beginning a brisk pace towards whatever camp they have made in your absence. Your sobs died down, too dry and weak to continue on. You blearily blinked the water from your lashes, looking over the man’s shoulder with what may have looked like disinterest.

You were finally able to close your eyes, and this time feel safe while you did so.

—

So yeah, they don’t die! I was specifically thinking of that one scene in Ori and the Blind Forest where Ori gets pushed off this big water tree (I think it’s called the Ginso Tree) and falls to what could’ve been death.

I was also thinking of that line in Hellfire “Or she… will… BURN!” Where on the “BURN” line Player leaps off, but is caught when it stops. I also couldn’t remember if the blue pig Ganon has been given a name or not, so I just called him blue pig.

I really love this au and have a few curious questions: I know Ghirahim is here, but what about other villains, like Vaati for example? Is it just the Ganons?

And are the original good heroes stuck in this alternate universe too? Like, Sky was confirmed to have been here. Were they forced to go back to their own, trapped by the bad Links, or are still here frantically searching for Player? Because I have a funny comic idea that I really want to do because I’ve never sent a comic here before.

YOU'VE DONE IT AGAIN BB, BLOWING US ALL AWAY WITH YOUR AMAZING WRITING SKILLS

AND THE MENTION OF MAMA GOT ME IN TEARS I JUST- WHJDBVFIUEVHIUEVC I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

I'm glad you're enjoying the au!

ALSO YOU HAD ME LISTENING TO HELLFIRE ON REPEAT THE OTHER DAY THANKS FOR THAT/lh

ALSO ALSO ORI AND THE BLIND FOREST WHEN I TELL YOU I LOVE THT FUCKING GAME OUCBEOUBY

Also, also, also Don't worry about names the Blue boys haven't been properly introduced yet so don't worry.

As for your questions? I'm not entirely sure yet, I was thinking about Vaati being similar to Ravio but instead a travelling magician? Gotta think more about it.

Also the OGs are still stuck in the alternate Hyrule, they're still very much searching for Player and have a lot of guilt on their conscience for something that was out of their hands :))))

#cloud answers #bloodybloob #BB

[indigo-a-creeping]

So anyway, top surgery is scheduled for May 9! Anybody want to go explore San Francisco with me for a week (squeezing drains may be required a few times)? I've put out a few feelers, and have a couple of possible people to go with me, but nothing set in stone yet.

We had a hurricane come through today, but it went more to the north, so we just got a lot of rain and wind in the morning. Everything's back to normal now.

My (nearly) hairless guinea pig has had an eye issue since I adopted her, and I haven't been able to resolve it, so I took her to the vet and he said it looks like either an abscess or scarring. I'm giving her antibiotic eye drops and antifungal cream twice a day for two weeks. Hopefully it'll help! I was expecting the vet to take one look and say she needed the eye removed, so this is hopeful.

I've been struck with some terrible affliction for the past week. It's not Covid. Possibly a cold, but more probably allergies. Just so much snot. Coughing, sneezing, feeling awful. Can't taste or smell anything unless I manage to clear a passage in my nose, and it doesn't last long. It's been getting better in the past couple days, though yesterday I almost left work early it was so bad. Hopefully all the rain will clear out the allergens and I'll feel better!

I'm deep into planning my Nanowrimo project for this year, and thinking of trying to make it a podcast. I've been listening to a lot of queer post-apocalyptic supernatural (and adjacent) podcasts lately, and I have some ideas.

And next month I'm driving up to the Mothman Festival! So excited for that! I'll also visit the Flatwoods Monster Museum, the Bigfoot Museum, and the Back of the Dragon, among other things.

[the-void-writes]

For Spotify wrapped, 23?

Thank you so much for the ask! I apologize in advance because this one feels rushed but I’m so tired right now lol. Still, I hope it’s a little enjoyable, since I don’t write many fight scenes.

EDIT: I didn’t like how this one felt, so I rewrote a bit of it and gave some focus to Will’s fears of hurting people. Also the song I had didn’t fit well, so I’ll switch it out with a song that I’ve always wanted to use for a battle scene, even if it doesn’t fit lol.

Freaks of Preston - Will’s Training

Every patient in Ves Corp had at least three uniforms. One was for standard testing, the second was for water-based training, and the third was for outdoor conditions like snow or rain. All of them were made of a sleek, breathable, and durable material that the engineers had spent many sleepless nights on.

There were special modifications for each student to accommodate their powers— Thomas, in particular, was put through several trial runs to make sure their suit stopped them from slipping through the floor on accident. The work put into each design was intense, but also exceptional. Vesely wouldn’t have anything but perfection.

That was the exact attitude he had for Will’s suit, as well. His prodigy— his guinea pig— needed something that would support both him and the prized parasite nesting in his body. In all manners of speaking, they needed a miracle. Thankfully, that’s exactly what the engineers delivered.

The first part was the coat, still lined and lit up in Ves Corp’s signature purple hue. On the back of the coat, a precise hole had been cut for the main apparatus— a glowing metal spine, filled with the medicine for Will’s Infection. Thanks to Avery and Cierra’s hard work, the device could track the progress of the disease and try to halt its growth before it consumed him internally. Vesely, of course, took this as the perfect excuse for even more tests on his “favorite patient.”

Will slipped his gloves on, while Jason readjusted the metal spine. He could already feel the needles settling in place along his skin. As much as it stung, Will knew the brief pain was better than the slow, numbing sensation of the Infection feeding off of him.

He tossed his mask between his hands like a ball. It was an optional part of the uniform, in case the medicine couldn’t keep up with his power output. The mask was hooked up to a hidden tank of oxygen on his hip, infused with more of Avery’s medicine. The doctors had taken every precaution to make sure that Will could test and survive.

With one last snap, everything was secured in place. Jason stepped back so Will could put on his gauntlets for wrist-support.

“Just remember to take it easy,” Jason said. “I know Gabe will push you, but don’t worry about him. I’m more than happy to beat some sense into him.”

Will smiled softly. “Don’t get yourself in trouble for me. Avery made a good amount of medicine, it should work out fine.”

“I know, I have full faith in him— and you, of course.” Jason sighed. “I’m just—”

“Worried, I know. That just means you’re a good father, right?”

Jason chuckled to himself. “That’s right.”

The light above the locker room door flashed green, the signal for patients that their test was ready for them. Will took a deep breath and decided to put on the mouthpiece for the mask. As he adjusted the tubes for breathing, he caught Jason staring at him, frozen in a state of somberness.

“Are you okay?”

Jason closed his eyes. “You just… You grew up so fast. I wish I could have been there for you. Maybe you wouldn’t have ended up this way.”

He started to cry, so Will reached for his hand and squeezed it gently.

“I’d rather spend a short life here with you, than a long one in that town of monsters.”

Will gave him a long hug, and despite the chill and aches of his fever, the affection soothed all of his pain. The lights blinked again, eagerly awaiting their patient. Jason placed a brief kiss on the top of his son’s head.

“Please, be careful.”

“Of course.”

With that, Jason took his path to the observation booth, while Will took the door down a long, cold hallway to his test chamber. The doors at the end opened to a spacious area, almost devoid of life or machinery, save for a box at the end of the room. A metal staircase to the right led up to a walkway, connecting to a room lined with tinted glass. Will couldn’t see who was up there with Jason, but he knew that Vesely was definitely there. Will was practically his creation, his success story.

A loud buzz from the alarm made Will’s head throb. The box at the end of the room opened, and an impossibly-long drone crawled out, trying to balance on its spidery legs. Despite the sleek metal casing, and the various lights and buttons, Will couldn’t help but think of the machine as a tall, disfigured crab.

More defense training, Will thought. Well, at least it’s not live soldiers this time.

He flinched as the sharp crackle of the intercom shook the room, and Vesely’s snake-like voice echoed all around him.

“You’re free to start whenever you’re ready, William.”

There was a soft but stern shout in the background static, and Will knew it was Jason correcting him on the name. It gave him comfort as he stood there, staring at the machine that towered over him.

The goal of this form of training was simple: either put the drone back in its box, or destroy it. For any other patient, like Colin or Jin, it would have been child’s play. Of course, they didn’t have to balance their own health as often as Will did.

He took a step to his right, and the drone shot to the opposite end of the room like a dart. The one downside to using the drones was that they were impossibly fast. Keeping track of their location each second made Will’s head spin before he could even raise his arms.

A small slot opened on the mouth of the machine, and Will could see the white glow of its ammunition grow brighter and brighter.

Long-distance shots… They want me to start early.

Will raised his hand, and the force of his power swirled around his wrist. The gauntlet relieved the pressure on his bones, thankfully, but it still reverberated through his arm, like an itch he couldn’t scratch. The waves of energy flowed from his fingers like waves, pushing the drone back a few inches.

It didn’t hesitate in releasing its first shot. Will managed to stop the ball of fire in the air, watching it fizzle out as it failed to hit a target. The drone squealed and groaned as its legs stretched further, nearly reaching the full diameter of the room. It pushed itself towards Will, but he had prepared early enough to push himself off the ground, floating above the machine as it hit the wall behind him.

The drone turned its body back towards Will, firing off a good round of shots. Will jumped from each of its legs, letting the bullets fly past him, and grabbing the last one for himself. He spun around and swung his arms down, throwing the bullet back towards the drone. It hit the deep black paneling with an unpleasant screeching sound that made Will and his opponent stumble.

When the drone lunged for him again, Will grabbed its leg and pulled with all his power. The prick of the needles on his back was instant, followed by the soothing flow of medicine coursing through his body. It came just in time, as his vision went fuzzy for the faintest of seconds, and the ache in his chest passed just as quickly.

He kept on pulling, until the limb finally flew out of its socket, twitching on the ground with all of its wires sticking out and sparking. The drone walked around clumsily, trying to adjust to the weight imbalance. In the blink of an eye, it jumped onto the wall and chased Will around the room. It had stopped firing at him— It knew better, at this point.

With no bullets to retaliate with, Will went for the next best thing. The weight of the broken leg put a tremendous strain on Will’s body, and he could feel another sharp sting in his back, but the metal limb eventually rose off the ground. He aimed it like a lance, trying to follow the drone’s swift movements as it hopped around the room.

Will threw the leg, which ended up piercing a second appendage just below its joint. The drone ripped itself away from the broken limb and lunged at Will. His stomach churned as he forced the drone into a wall, falling to his knees from the excessive force. The drone got back up, with only a small crack in its plates.

With his powers briefly out of commission, Will resorted to the evasive training he learned from Rio, jumping just out of each limb’s reach as it dug into the floor. The oxygen from his mask helped him stay upright, but he could tell from the burning in his arms that he was starting to reach his limit. One wrong stumble resulted in a slash to his arm, cutting right through his coat to the skin underneath.

The intercom clicked on and off. Will knew that Jason was trying to cancel the test before the drone could stab him clean through the heart, just as he knew that Vesely wouldn’t stop the test until Will was victorious. If he couldn’t win, then he was no good for his work. He had to find a way.

… The concrete. It cracked the panels.

Will focused all of his power into his legs, and he pushed himself back into the air. Sure enough, the drone climbed the walls to follow him. He kept himself in the center of the room, staying out of the drone’s reach. His powers were only barely keeping him in place.

Just a little longer… Come on…

His heart pounded in his chest as the drone leapt at him once more, falling short of him by an inch. As it fell back towards the ground, Will put his focus back into his leg and swung it down. A surge of telekinetic energy crashed down on the drone, smashing it against the ground. Bits of fiberglass and metal flew across the concrete, and the drone wriggled around uselessly on its back.

Will landed beside it, weighed down by the growing fire in his body. He tore his mask off and gagged for a minute, trying to let the cold air enter his lungs. For a long time, the room was silent. Then, the intercom crackled to life again.

“Well done, William.” There was a hint of a smile in his venomous voice. “It’s almost finished. One last hit should do it.”

Jason’s voice cut in. “Don’t force yourself, Will. The drone is already incapacitated. You can just drag it back to the box.”

“Jason, he has to learn the full extent of his powers. If he doesn’t push his limit, he’ll never grow.”

Unfortunately, Will knew he was right. He had to get stronger, or else he would always get sick from lifting something as small as a pebble. After putting his mask back on, he raised his hand, lifting one of the discarded appendages into the air. The drone’s camera lens focused on him, twisting frantically. It felt even more like an animal now, at the mercy of the fearless hunter.

A wave of bitterness touched the back of Will’s throat. The world grew dark around him, until he was no longer standing in the testing room. He found himself back in his house, standing silently on the staircase, looming over his broken father. The smell of blood and burnt lights filled the air, and the crunch of bone still haunted his ears.

When the memories finally left, and the testing room returned, Will couldn’t bear to look at the drone. It may have only been a machine, but Will hadn’t hesitated to destroy it. All the training, all the fighting, it had become second nature. He hurt his father, as well as countless soldiers. It didn’t matter if they deserved it, he still hurt them without hesitation.

He was exactly what Preston had feared.

Will dropped his hand, and the flying appendage fell back to the ground. Another injection stung his back, but he could barely feel it. The intercom clicked again, and for a moment, Vesely sounded genuinely concerned.

“William?”

“It’s not right,” Will said. “I can do better. I promise, I’ll do better.”

As he reached for the drone to drag it back to its box, the ammunition slot suddenly opened. There was a bright light, and Will flew backwards onto the ground. A deep fire burned in his chest and into his legs. Then, the view of the testing room melted into nothing.

When Will woke up, he was in the infirmary. Tubes of medicine covered every inch of his arms and legs. Jason was in a chair beside his bed, making notes on a clipboard. Will coughed weakly, immediately bringing Jason to his feet.

“Will, are you awake? Can you hear me?”

There was still a light burn in his chest as he tried to speak, but Will managed to push past it.

“That sucked,” he said.

Jason wheezed. “I know, I’m sorry. Gabe insists that it was a programming error.”

“I can’t really prove him wrong, can I? That thing was crushed.”

“Yes, it was.” Jason checked over his tubes. “How do you feel right now? Any burning? Nausea?”

“Nothing too bad… It just feels like there’s a bus parked on my chest.”

“I know, dear. Avery will come back with something to numb the pain, and hopefully something else for the scars.”

Will tried to look at his chest, but Jason laid him back down.

“It’s already bandaged right now, so you won’t see it. Trust me, that’s a good thing.”

As he readjusted the medicine in the tubes, Will stared up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry I failed the test,” he said.

“You didn’t fail,” Jason said. “Gabe was already impressed with your work.”

“But I couldn’t beat the drone.” His voice cracked. “I didn’t want to kill it— I’ve already hurt so many people—”

“Hey, it’s okay.” Jason brushed his hair. “Deep breaths, please.”

He sat with the boy until his breathing was steady, wrapping a wing around him for comfort. They were both taken back to a simpler time, when Will was just a young child, being consoled after a rough day in Preston. It hurt Jason and Will alike, knowing that his life in Ves Corp was still safer than a life out in the world.

“Guilt is a tricky thing,” Jason said. “Believe me, I’ve lived with it for years. People can tell you over and over that it wasn’t your fault, but that never really changes your mind, does it?”

“Not really,” Will said.

“So let me tell you this, at least: You care so much about people and their health. There may be times where you have to fight, but your compassion isn’t lost on us. You’re a great kid, and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Will hugged him carefully. “Thank you.”

“Thank you, Will.”

“What for?”

“For being here… For being you.”

#writeblr #ask games #wip: freaks of preston

[hobisfavoritespritecan]

Terry + dino nuggies + horror movies = perfection

-🦤

"Can We Enjoy Our Nuggets Without the Threat of Death in the Background?"

Kang Taehyun X Reader

⚠️ Warnings: swearing, mentions of gore, play fighting, death of chicken dinosaurs ⚠️

Hope you enjoy this babe, I made it with love 💛

The dino nuggets in the back of the freezer taunted you from afar. The familiar green and yellow colors of the rectangular box called out to you in a way that was reminiscent of a child wanting formula. This was a need, not a want. This wasn't just a desire, it was addiction.

Pushing aside the other contents of the chilled box, you reach and reach and reach in an attempt to grab the delicious looking dinosaurs with their faces graphically printed on their nugget bodies. Your fingers just barely graze the box when suddenly you are violently shoved aside and your body makes contact with the tile of the kitchen.

"Taehyun, what the literal fuck." You exclaim, more pissed off than anything else. You were so close you could taste the wonderful exquisiteness of the ketchup colliding with the Jurassic treats.

"I saw you." He says, sauntering over to you wearing nothing but galaxy printed boxers and a Ramones T-shirt that was too big for his midsection. "You were trying to cook the nuggets without me."

The statement was true. They had been Taehyun's treats that he picked up from the grocery store the night before; his eyes bright and wild and hair wet from running in the rain, all in an attempt to buy a bottle of champagne but instead found the dinosaurs. He planted them directly on the kitchen counter and looked you dead in the eyes. "If you touch these," he said, waving the box of goodies in the air, "I will jump off the roof faster than the pig with wings in the baked beans commercial."

Cut to him finding you guilty, caught red-handed.

"I would never do such a thing." You looked back at the counter and he stepped in front of the box, concealing the happy little dinosaurs from your view. This made you angry and you prepared yourself for a fist fight. This was the modern day Hunger Games and you would be Katniss Everdeen shooting Taehyun with your arrows, watching as he cried while you ate them. This was your world and he was just living in it. He had to be reminded.

Lunging for his side of the counter, you wrap your arms around his torso and squeeze as hard as you can while reaching for the dinos. Stepping on both of his feet, you feel the coolness of the box graze your fingertips once more before you're thrown back onto the floor with him on top of you, wrestling you down so that you can't have them. "I told you, they're mine!" He says, tickling your sides until you "give up" and call a truce. Getting off of you, he makes his way back to his spot but you manage to jump and tackle him from behind, grabbing the box out of his hands and triumphantly holding them above your head. He sinks to his knees.

"(Y/N). Please please please let me have them. I need them. I really truly do."

You thought for a moment before a lightbulb turned on in your head. "Alright," you said, teasing him with the dinos, "I'll allow you to share them with me on one condition."

Perking up, Taehyun wipes his fake tears with his hands and looks up at you will wide eyes. "What?! I'll do anything!"

You smiled. "You have to watch a scary movie with me."

Taehyun screams and jumps up off the floor and onto the counter on all fours, staring at you as though you just shot a puppy. Pulling on his hair with his hands, he looks like a maniac. "No no no no no you know I hate scary movies." He says in between harsh gasps and fake sobs.

You pull out a plate with a duck on it and start to evenly space the frozen foods, putting them into the microwave and letting them cook. Taehyun is still on the counter and eyeing you as though you're a supervillain. Watching him to make sure he doesn't try anything funny, you wait until you hear the beep of the machine signalling that your food was done. Taking it out and watching the nuggets steam was like watching the most beautiful waterfall. Dino nuggets most definitely had to be one of the seven wonders of the world, you were sure.

Handing Taehyun one nugget, you watch him scarf the entire thing down hot without ketchup. "I want more." He says, holding out his hand expecting you to place another nugget in his palm.

"Ah ah ah," you say, guarding the unsuspecting dinos with your life, "Scary movie. Remember?"

....

Looking through your collection of horror movies in your fancy glass cabinet, you search for one that Tae would never agree to watching unless it was for food. You had the basics, The Conjuring, The Shining, Sinister, but nothing was standing out to you in particular. Your boyfriend would find every single one of them absolutely terrifying, but you wanted to find one that would really get under his skin.

And what better movie to get under the skin than Saw?

Taehyun slowly walked into the living room, blanket already wrapped around his entire body and head. Only his eyes were seen through the heavy duty sheets and they looked horrified. A singular lock of hair peeked out from said blanket and swayed with the wind when your boyfriend sat down on the soft cushions of the couch. His eyebrows were furrowed as he pouted, probably due to the fact that you had forced him into this if he wanted to savor his dino nuggets.

"Okay Tae Tae," you said, placing the disc into the DVD player and watching it load on the screen, "You're gonna hate this." Smiling, you plop down on the couch next to him and move in so that you share the warmth of his blanket. He wraps it around you and huddles against you in fear as he prepared himself for the movie you put on.

"Saw? Really?"

"Shhh just enjoy it."

A couple of moments pass before you decide to look up at Taehyun who was staring at the screen with the same intensity as when you had first stolen his nuggets. His mouth was slightly agape and his lips were turned downwards in pure horror. However, the only part of the movie that he had seen so far was the opening credits.

"Tae?" You ask, trying to get his attention. "Tae?"

His head turns to meet your gaze and his expression of pure terror never leaves his face. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

He gulps and watches the opening of the first scene before he passes out. His head hits the back of the couch and on impact, a burst of red flies from his head behind him onto the wall. Screaming, you throw back the blanket and watch in horror as your boyfriend's blood dripped from the wall where it had hit.

"Taehyun!" You screamed again, not knowing what to do. Just then, he lifted his head up with a grin on his face. He no longer seemed scared but instead triumphant as he reached for a dino nugget and dipped it in the blood by his head.

"It's ketchup. Payback from earlier." He says, lifting up his nugget like a chalice of the finest wine as if to propose a toast to your losing and eats it. Meanwhile, you were still freaking out in the corner.

"You are such an asshole." You glare at him with the most hateful expression you could muster.

He shrugged his shoulders and took another nugget off the plate, dipping it into the ketchup once more, only this time he used what had spurt out onto the wall. "You may have won the battle but you didn't win the war, (Y/N)."

Sighing, you go to sit back next to him on the couch. "Touche." You snuggle back up into him and the two of you continue to watch the movie in peace. Taehyun leans in for a kiss and smiles at you.

"I'm sorry, that was mean." He looks at you with all the love in his heart and you instantly forgive him. You just want to put him in his place again.

"Yeah almost as mean as this." You say, popping the last flavorful dinosaur into your mouth and swallowing it.

"NOOOOOOOO!"

"You may have won the battle, but you didn't win the war Taehyun." You say, laughing at his outburst.

#kpop #kang taehyun #fanfiction #taehyun x reader #txt x reader #txt fluff #txt imagines #txt ot5 #txt #txt scenarios #txt taehyun #tomorrow by together #tomorrow x together #hobisfavoritespritecan

[thejollyroger-writer]

where the quiet-colored end of evening smiles - part 4 of 4

“When I do come, she will speak not, she will stand, Either hand On my shoulder, give her eyes the first embrace Of my face, Ere we rush, ere we extinguish sight and speech Each on each.”

Thanks for sticking with me, everyone. I love you all. 

Part One / Part Two / Part Three

Part Four on AO3

“Keep going, love, you’re doing great,” Ruby says, trying to keep Mary Margaret from breaking the bones in her hand. Sweat is caked on everyone in the room, even with the chill in the air. Outside, the rain pounds against the windows, the worst spring storm any of them have seen in years, wind slamming the branches of the trees against the glass. 

“We’re almost there, dear,” Granny says, her voice soft and smooth, and Emma makes the mistake of turning to the older woman sitting at the foot of her friend’s bed. Her hands are coated in a deep red, but she shows no signs of the lightheadedness Emma feels. In the chaos of the room, Granny stays steady, her focus never failing, never distracted by the wind or the weather or the cries of Mary Margaret. 

That’ll be me soon enough, Emma says to herself, distracting her mind by going back to her recent conversation with Granny, just three days before. 

“It’s not too late, you know,” Granny says, her voice low in the silence of Emma’s bedroom. “I can easily make you a tincture to remove your little problem.” 

“No!” Emma’s voice is louder than she expected, the answer coming immediately. Sure, she thought — albeit briefly — about how easy it would be for her to ask Granny for something to solve her “little problem”, but the thought itself made her queasy in a way much different than what she has been feeling of late. 

But, as easy as it would make her life right now, she cannot bear the thought of removing the one single reminder she has of those short few weeks she spent in the cabin with Killian, the single reminder she has of the love they shared. 

Even if it brings her downfall, even if it means she has to marry as soon as possible to save from scandal, she will not get rid of it, if only to keep her reminder of the man who truly owns her heart. 

“One more push, honey, that should be all we need.” Granny’s voice calls her back to the present, back to the pain in her hand from where Mary is squeezing her fingers. 

“I want my husband!” she cries, tears streaming down her face, but she does as Granny commands, lifting her back off the bed.

“I know, darling,” Ruby whispers, wiping her forehead with a wet rag to keep the sweat from falling in her eyes. 

Mary sighs, falling back against the mattress, and Emma worries that it was not enough, that she will need to push again — but then Granny gasps, and moments later, the small cries of a baby fill the small room. 

This is far from the first birth Emma has ever witnessed: cows, horses, pigs, dogs, cats. Birth lingers around every corner on a farm, and she has been around it since she was a little girl. But this — watching her best friend give birth to her baby, a human baby — seems wholly different. 

A baby. Mary Margaret has a baby — and she, herself, is going to have a baby. 

She wishes the similarity ended there, but standing there, looking down at the baby in her best friend’s arms, hearing her call him David for the first time, she is overwhelmed with the realization that they are both also alone. Sure, they have each other, they have Ruby, the other staff of the house that have become like family; but neither of them have significant others. 

Alone. 

More than before, she finds herself missing not only Killian, but also David. She leans against the side of Mary Margaret’s bed, her head feeling light as she realizes just how much has changed in the last few months. She thought the biggest change in her life would have been leaving the farm, running away with Killian. But she was wrong. Since returning home, she has lost her brother, lost contact with her love, gained a nephew… and learned that she has mere weeks to marry in order to stay at her childhood home. 

David, Junior — DJ, Ruby jokes, but Mary Margaret loves it — is a blessing, of course. A blessing to them all, surrounded by so much hurt and destruction. 

  DJ, thankfully, remains healthy through his first few days. 

Mary Margaret, however, does not. 

Moreso than before, she finds herself drowning in her grief, sobbing as she holds her little boy, unable to avoid the memory of her husband and their shared excitement for their baby. Holding him, rocking him to sleep, all seem to unearth these memories, and it seems to Emma that she spends more time crying than not, lamenting her new identities of both widow and mother. 

Emma, too, continues to find herself sadder than before. Just as Mary Margaret grieves for her husband, Emma grieves for the life she dreamed of with Killian, now not having heard from him for a month. 

Which is how she finds herself here, riding all the way to Philadelphia beside Ruby with a very specific list of herbs from Granny, who has found herself at wit’s end with all the crying happening lately. 

Despite the heat of the early May morning, Emma leaves her heavy coat on, afraid to give away her current state, which she feels is growing more obvious with each passing day. 

They find the apothecary easily enough, a white, ivy-covered building pressed between two larger brick houses. The cobblestones beneath her feet make her feel off-balance, thankful for Ruby’s presence beside her, their arms linked together, steadying her. 

The bells over the door ring softly as Emma pushes it open and it takes her eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness of the shop. The inside of the shop reminds Emma more of a townhome than a store, the open space filled with shelves of herbs and small bottles as well as couches, tables, and books. 

“Hello, lovelies,” a voice calls through the doorway, followed immediately by its owner. Her dark skin seems to glow in the soft lamp light of the shop, black hair braided and piled high on her head. Her dress is a brighter shade of green than Emma has ever seen and reminds her of the way grass seems to change color in the breeze. “How can I help y’all today?” Her accent is unlike anything Emma has heard before, and it takes her a moment to decipher what she just said. 

Ruby, however, doesn’t miss a beat, pulling the small list Granny gave her from the pocket of her slacks. 

“Do you have any of these items?” 

The woman takes a moment, her eyes scanning the page — but when she looks up at Emma, she sees they are filled with sadness. “Would you be able to read the list to me, ma’am?” Her cheeks begin to turn a dark red, and Emma realizes a moment too late what she means: she was never taught how to read. 

Before Emma can take the paper from the woman’s hand, though, another person comes through the doorway, her footsteps heavy on the wooden floors. “Did I hear the bell ring, Tiana?” she asks, her voice thick with the same accent, but her opposite in every other way. She’s pale, even more so in the light pink dress she wears, her cheeks rouged and eyelids lined with kohl, and her hair a collection of shining blonde ringlets that fall down her back. 

“These ladies are searching for a few ingredients, Lottie,” she responds, turning to hand the paper instead to the other woman. 

After a moment of reading Granny’s list, the blonde takes off across the shop, grabbing a small basket before climbing a ladder that Emma didn’t even notice. 

“We definitely have the Wort!” she calls, hiking up her skirts to climb a few rungs further. “Tiana, can you get them some saffron, it’s the bright yellow one behind the counter.” 

Tiana smiles at Emma and Ruby as she moves through the room. “I know what saffron is, Lottie, I use it in my kitchen all the time.” 

“I never remember where our knowledge overlaps,” the blonde laughs, carefully coming down the ladder with a large glass jar in the same hand that holds her skirts out of the way. “We should also have the Rhodiola and the ginseng. You ladies are free to take a seat, if you like, it’ll take us a few minutes to gather all of this.” 

Emma is thankful for the offer, her feet sore and aching in her riding boots. Though she has definitely felt weighed down by sadness and grief, the strongest side effect of her pregnancy is certainly a lack of energy, even when she sleeps well into the morning. Even the minutest task can drain her — and riding all the way to Philadelphia and walking to the apothecary made her feel more drained than usual. 

She nods, taking a seat on the closest couch, and Ruby joins her, grabbing one of the largest books from the table in front of them. It’s well-loved obviously, its spine cracked and embossing worn off the cover, and when Ruby cracks it open on her lap, she finds the pages covered with colorful images of plants, the typed information mostly crossed out and written over with pen, a long, curling script that reminds her of Ruth. 

“I could be an apothecary,” Ruby says, focus on the book spread in her lap. “I find all this fascinating.”

Emma breathes out a small chuckle. “You want to do anything that involves moving to the city, Rube.” 

And she’s right. For as long as Emma has known Ruby, she has flourished more at parties, in the city, anywhere around people. The opposite of their life on the farm. 

“Question for ya, darling,” Lottie asks, approaching them on the couch. “I can give you the lavender in its dried version, but I also have a lovely lavender and chamomile tea blend that I highly recommend.” 

Emma shrugs. “I think that would be fine.” 

“Can I ask what all this is for?” Tiana asks, scooping a bright yellow powder into a vial on the counter.

“My sister in law recently gave birth to my nephew, but has been, understandably, overcome by the recent loss of my brother, her husband.”

“Melancholy,” the blonde calls from the back room. “I’ve read recent journals calling it depression, as well.” 

“This is a… normal thing?” 

Lottie laughs, loud and twinkling that seems to fill the room. 

“The doctors will tell you otherwise, but yes, it’s actually very common.”

Emma swallows, glancing sidelong at Ruby beside her on the couch. “And what about that melancholy happening… during pregnancy?” 

“Yes ma’am, and the suggestions I would make are very similar. If you would like, I could put together another mixture for a healthy pregnancy.” 

“I would appreciate that,” she replies, her voice small. 

  With their goods tucked into the bag slung over Ruby’s shoulder, they step back into the bright light of day, the sun straight above them in the sky.

“Are you still alright visiting a few more shops?” Ruby asks, recognizing the exhaustion that always seems to be on Emma’s face anymore. 

For a moment, she turns her eyes up to the sun, knowing that the heat will only affect her more… but she very rarely gets the chance to be out anymore, and especially with a baby on the way, does not know when the next chance might be. So, she flashes Ruby a smile. “Sure,” she says, linking her arm through her friend’s once more. 

There is something so freeing about the city, something enlightening about the privacy she can find here, surrounded by people, that she cannot find on the farm. She is so used to everyone she passes knowing her, asking about her life and her family, that the silent passing of strangers on the streets is a breath of fresh air in what otherwise is not very fresh at all. The city smells wholly different than her life on the farm, the warmth of the world around her, all crammed so close together, nothing like the openness she is used to back home. 

She couldn’t live here, sure; but she enjoys her time here whenever she gets the chance. 

The market is unlike anything she has ever experienced, incomparable to the weekly sales held by her local townsfolk. She is used to five or six stands, the small hustle of people moving among them; what she finds in Philadelphia is pandemonium in comparison. 

It thrills her. 

The spring crops have brought more types of tropical fruits than Emma has ever seen, and she wants to try each of them: the brightly colored mangoes, prickly pineapples, and perfectly round oranges and grapefruit.  

“Would you like to try a bite, ma’am?” a young boy asks her, holding out a piece of the flesh of a mango balanced on the edge of a shining knife. 

Emma smiles at him, carefully picking up the piece between her fingers. When she places it in her mouth, the sweetness explodes on her tongue, unlike anything she has tasted before. In her excitement, she makes Ruby try a piece, as well, before purchasing three of them and placing them in her bag with the herbs from the apothecary. 

“Hopefully Granny can find something to do with these.”

“I’m sure she can.”

“Where else did you need to go?” Emma asks, and the sly grin that spreads across Ruby’s face makes her immediately regret it. 

“There’s a dress shop near here that I’ve heard some of the local girls raving about, and we can also pick you up a new dress and corset for you to wear when you’re out trying to find your new husband.” 

Right. Emma has, understandably, pushed that thought from the front of her mind, but Ruby is right — though she doubts she should be wearing a corset in her current state. 

The shop is in a row of beautiful brick houses, many with flowers growing in window boxes or in the small patch of grass between the house and the road. The sign hangs over the large front window: French Tailor and Dress Shoppe, and in the window hangs a pristinely-made men’s formal suit, complete with both a waistcoat and full-length trousers; beside that hangs a rich green dress adorned with a delicate lace pattern, complete with matching gloves, which hang in front of  it. 

Just as Ruby places her hand on the knob to open the door, a voice calls from behind them: “Miss Swan!” 

They both turn to see none other than Neal Cassidy approaching them on the street, hat held in his hands as he jogs over the cobblestones. 

Emma turns to Ruby and rolls her eyes, but tells her to go into the shop without her. Ruby just nods, pushing open the door, and Emma hears the twinkling of the door bells as she turns back in the direction that Neal is approaching her. 

“Miss Swan, I thought that was you,” he pants, stopping just in front of her. 

She tries her best to smile, but fears it is more like a grimace as she offers him a small curtsey. “Good day, Mister Cassidy.”

“I recently heard about your brother. What sad news, please let me offer my condolences.” 

“Thank you, sir.”

“May I ask how your family is doing?” 

She thinks about glossing over it, but her anger towards the situation gets the best of her. “Mary is bedridden with grief and leaves only to take care of her newborn son, named after my late brother. Our house is in chaos, taken over by David’s twin, James, who left for the city ten years back and did not return until he got news of David’s death. He has given me six months to find a new proprietor for the farm and marry him, or else our property that has been in the family for three generations is going to auction.” 

By the time she is finished, she must take a deep breath, trying her best to steady herself without reaching for the door — or, worse, for Mr. Cassidy. 

Neal nods, wringing his hat between his hands. “Yes, I’m afraid I heard about your farm. Word travels fast surrounding a tragedy such as this.” 

He stops, obviously expecting a response, but Emma has none. He coughs into the back of his hand, then runs his fingers through his sandy hair. “I have been contemplating riding out to your homestead once more, but I did not know how you would take it. But I want you to know, Miss Swan — Emma, if I may — that the offer I gave your brother still stands. If you will have me, I would be honored to be your husband, especially if it means saving you from losing your family’s farm.” 

She can tell he expects her to be thankful, but instead, she just finds herself filled with anger. 

“Even in my current state?” she asks, pulling aside her coat to reveal her stomach. She is not sure if he understands what she is saying at first, but watches as his eyes go wide. 

He is silent for a moment, eyes traveling from her stomach to her face, but he pinches his lips together and nods. “Yes, but to save your family from scandal, it must be soon. I’ll visit the farm in a week to learn your answer.” 

It’s obvious he expects her to say yes, and she has no real reason not to — because he’s right. If she continues to go unwed, it will only bring scandal to her family. 

“Thank you,” she says — the only thing she can think to say. “I’ll have an answer within a week.” And with another curtsey, and without another word, she enters the dress shop. 

Five days pass, and Emma is lounging in the sitting room when she is startled by a knock on the door. It must be Neal, she thinks, laughing to herself about how confident he is that she is going to accept his proposal two days early. 

But when she opens the door, she feels the breath pulled from her lungs, shocked in a way she has never felt before. Because it is not Neal. It’s the very last person she expects to see. 

Robin. Bruised, bloodied, clothes torn, arm tucked around another man that Emma recognizes from their camp. 

“We didn’t know where else to go,” he says, breath ragged. When he meets her eyes, she can see the pain in them, the losses and hurt, the changes that he has gone through since their last meeting. 

Emma doesn’t hesitate another second, moving aside to let them in. Which is when she sees what is behind them: Four other men, carrying a blanket between them — and on that blanket is Killian, the most injured of the group. 

“Set him on the floor,” Robin commands, pointing to the carpet in front of the couch. 

“Carefully!” Emma adds, eyeing Ruby as she steps around the corner from the kitchen. 

“Well, fuck,” she mutters, loud enough only for Emma to hear.

“Robin, tell me what happened,” Emma says, gesturing for them to take a seat wherever they can find one — which they obviously need to do. 

“We were bloody ambushed, that’s what happened!” the youngest of them yells, but with one look from Robin, he sighs and crosses his arms over his chest. 

“Will’s right, though,” Robin says, turning back to Emma. “We were traveling per orders from our lieutenant and we were ambushed. Of the forty of us there were, we’re all that’s left.” 

“What about Liam?” 

Robin turns his eyes to the floor, shaking his head. When Emma looks at his hands, she notices they are shaking. “‘Fraid not.” 

“Oh, Killian,” she whispers, kneeling beside him on the floor. 

The room falls silent, either staring at Killian or trying their hardest not to. Emma pushes his hair off his forehead, staring down at him, and has no reaction to Ruby re-entering the room, this time holding a tray of glasses of water, which she hands out to the men on the couch. 

“Can you fetch Granny, please?” 

Without another word, Ruby leaves the room. 

“Would you like to talk about it?” 

He shakes his head, eyes fixed on the glass of water in his still-shaking hands. 

“Bloody awful is what it was,” Will comments. He, too, has shaking hands. “We were sent on patrol, were told there was possibly an enemy camp nearby. We weren’t gone most of the morning before we were attacked, right out of the bushes. Some of us were dead before we even knew we were there. Little Jones here took a bayonet to the arm and Jones Senior—” 

“Please, Will,” the large man next to him says, setting his hand on his arm. “I think that’s more than enough, really.” 

The man next to him hums in response, and the room goes silent. It stays that way, silent enough to her Granny and Ruby climbing the stairs to the kitchen.

“God above,” Granny mutters, hand over her heart, after she rounds the corner. “I hoped Ruby was joking, but I see she was not.” 

“Please, Granny,” Emma half-whispers from where she is seated on the floor.

“I take it that would be the man you left us all for?” she asks, her face somewhere between a smirk and a scowl, but she kneels beside Emma on the floor nonetheless. 

“Yes,” she breathes, thankful that she did not give away her biggest secret to the strangers in the room. “Can you help him?” 

Granny turns her eyes up to Robin, who is still staring into his glass of water. “Can one of you gentlemen tell me about what has happened to him?” 

Will recounts the same story as before, adding a few more details: he believes Killian took a bullet to the arm as well as the bayonet, and noted that his head hit a rock as he fell to the ground. 

Granny nods through all of this, carefully checking for a heartbeat before feeling his wounds with the tips of her fingers. The whole time she does this, the entire room seems to hold their breath — but when she moves from his heart to the tourniqueted wounds on his arms, the collective breath is let out. 

“I’m going to have to amputate, I’m afraid, it’s the only way to save the rest of the arm, but whether he’ll wake or not is something we will just have to wait and see.”

And wait and see is exactly what they do. 

They wait for two days, the other men insisting on sleeping in the yard behind the house, the weather nice enough for them to spend most of the time outside. With her new tinctures — or, perhaps, seeing how much Emma needs her assistance — Mary Margaret is spending less time being solitary, leaving her room when DJ is sleeping to be beside Emma. 

Emma barely leaves the living room for the whole of those two days, feeling that, somehow, what happened to Killian — to their whole group — was her fault. Logically, it makes no sense: they would have been sent on their patrol whether he spent much of the winter with her or not. Her brain does not agree with logic. 

So she stays there, beside him. Holding his hand, watching his chest rise and fall with each breath. Holding his hand but squeezing her eyes shut as Granny and one of the other men amputate his arm, then treating what is left behind. Washing the wounds to keep from infection. Sleeping on the floor beside the couch, ignoring arguments from Mary Margaret, Granny, and her back. 

And that is where she is, two nights later, when he wakes. 

Dead. There is no other logical explanation. He knows, somehow, that he is dead, that he must be in heaven. 

He didn’t think heaven would hurt this much, though. 

But heaven is the only explanation he can find as for how Emma is sitting next to him, her hand wrapped tightly around his, both resting on his chest. Until—

“Killian,” she breathes, jumping to her feet, and the pain it sends through his body is unimaginable. Not even hell would be this painful; this can only be the real world, the world they live in, filled with war and grief and loss. 

He winces, feeling the movement in every part of his body.

It is only when he squeezes his hands into fists that he realizes one of them is gone. 

Hence, the pain. 

“Oh, Killian!” she says again, quickly running from the room, unaware of the waves of pain passing through his body. “Everybody!” she calls, her voice echoing off the stone walls of the house. “It’s Killian! He’s awake!”

He wishes he could be as thrilled as she is, wishes he could jump for joy and call out cheerfully to the other people in the house. But he cannot. He barely wants to breathe, each breath bringing him more pain. 

“Pardon?” a familiar voice responds, though he cannot see them around the wall between him and what he assumes to be a kitchen. He knows that voice, knows that at any other time he would recognize it without a second thought… but his brain is full of fog, as cloudy as the sky before it opens with a storm, and the name eludes him. 

The face, too, he recognizes, but he still cannot place it. 

“Jones?” he says, slowly, carefully approaching the couch on which he is laying. “It’s Rob, Jones, how are you feeling?”

“Rob,” he replies, the memories hitting him all at once. Childhood with Robin. Splashing through the creek, sledding down the hill between their houses. Leaving for war together, fighting alongside each other on the battlefield. 

Getting ambushed. His arm, his head… 

Liam. 

“Rob,” he says again, his voice hoarse. “Where’s Liam?” 

His friend’s face immediately falls. The excitement that covered it with his waking is replaced with sadness, and Killian knows the answer before Robin even opens his mouth to speak. 

“I’m so sorry, Killian,” he says, his voice low as he falls to one knee beside the couch. ‘Liam didn’t — he didn’t survive the attack.” 

He closes his eyes, squeezes them shut, hoping that when he opens them, maybe this will all be a bad dream. 

Of course, that’s not the case. This is his reality, his new reality: yes, he is back with Emma, a shining beacon as she walks back in the room, an older lady close behind. He should be glad that he is back here with her, has overcome the hardship of leaving her — a hardship that he thought was the most difficult thing he has ever experienced. 

Liam being gone, he learns very quickly, hurts even more. 

The older woman — Granny, Ruby’s aunt, he learns quickly — checks on his wounds, her bedside manner as cold as her fingers, but seems to be content with everything. 

“He’s going to need weeks to heal, maybe even more than that. I’ve only worked with one other amputation in my time, but I’m planning on traveling to town in the next few days to do some research.” 

“Thank you, Granny,” Emma whispers, offering her a smile as she kneels beside Killian once again, this time holding a glass of water. “I thought you would be thirsty,” she says to him, helping guide the glass to his lips, and he offers her a small smile as she does so. 

His eyelids close again as he lets the water cool his throat, just a few small sips — he’s not sure he can handle more than that. When he looks at her again, her cheeks are wet with tears. 

“Emma, love,” he says, unable to stop the chuckle that escapes his lips. “What’s wrong?”

She gently nuzzles her face into his shoulder, careful to avoid his injuries as best she can. “Nothing,” she laughs, her tears obvious in her voice. “I’m just — I’m so happy you’re back.” 

“Me, too, darling,” he whispers, resting his good hand — his only hand, he reminds himself — against her hair. 

All too quickly, it all falls apart. 

A knock on the door startles them all. Granny wipes her hands on her apron, then disappears back into the kitchen, and Ruby moves towards the door. None of the rest of them — Emma and Robin, but also Will and Arthur, who followed Granny from the kitchen — didn’t dare move. 

They all knew the trouble they were in, even with no surviving superior officer. All of them were fugitives, absent from their posts. Any visitor could be the end of them all, and by the look on Emma’s face, the paleness that has overtaken her in the moments since the knock, Killian can tell she was not expecting a visitor. 

“Can I help you?” Ruby asks, opening the door only as much as needed to speak to the visitor. 

“I’m here to speak with Miss Swan. She is expecting me.” 

“I’m afraid Miss Swan is indisposed at the moment.” 

Emma seems relieved by this, the lines on her forehead disappearing as she lets out her breath — but she still has his hand in a death grip. 

“What do you mean indisposed?” The man asks. “Is she sick? I must speak with her at once!” 

“I’m sorry, sir, but she’s not taking any visitors. I’m afraid you’ll have to come back another day.”

“Oh, fuck no,” he replies, the last thing any of them seem to expect, and pushes his way past Ruby and through the door. “I’m going to be master of this farm one day soon, you have no right to—” 

But when his eyes meet Emma’s, he and his words both stop dead in their tracks. A flurry of emotion crosses his face, as if trying to decide which emotion he wants to feel.

By the sharp incline of his eyebrows and the steep lines in his forehead, he chooses anger. “And who are you?” he spits, looking right past Emma to Killian. 

He, too, immediately feels anger at the man’s words, wondering why he feels that he can speak with such authority in a place where he has none. “Why does it matter who I am?” 

His laugh is nothing but poison, pointing at the woman still kneeling at Killian’s side, whose hand is still wrapped around his. “Miss Swan and I are engaged to be married—”

“I never agreed to that!” 

“What choice do you have?” 

“Emma, who is this man?” 

“Emma?!” he repeats with a laugh. “So, you’re on a first-name basis with an enemy soldier. I knew there was something off about this farm.” 

“Please don’t speak to her like that,” Robin says, crossing his arms over his chest. Killian knows that he’s trying to seem intimidating, and it works for a moment — until Little John, a head taller and twice as wide, comes down the hallway behind him. 

“You can’t tell me what to do, traitor,” he spits. “Once I take over this farm, you will all be gone, hanged for your crimes against America.” 

“I will never marry you,” Emma says, her voice absent of the anger that Killian knows must be flowing through her veins, as it is his. 

“What choice do you have? If you refuse to marry me, I’ll tell the whole world of your affair with a British soldier and you’ll be hanged as a traitor, as well. Along with that bastard in your belly.” 

At this, finally, Emma stands, failing to notice the shock on Killian’s face — on the faces of everyone in the room. “Please get out of my house and never return.” 

Instead of moving towards the door, he takes a step towards her, and then another, until he is standing face to face with her. “This will never be your house. It was David’s, now it’s James’, and one day soon, it will be mine.” 

“Leave. Now.” 

“And if I don’t?” A sinister smile takes over his features. 

She shakes her head. “Get out.” 

“Your brother should have taught you better.” 

This was, apparently, the wrong thing to say, and before anyone takes the chance to jump to Emma’s aid, she proves herself to all of them. 

In one swift movement, she lands a hard punch to the man’s jaw, and he falls to the floor. 

“My brother taught me just fine, including how to defend myself from men like you.” 

Dear James, 

As I am sure you have heard word of already, I have followed through with your demands and found myself a husband. He and his friends, who will also be staying on the farm, are British separatists, and I would appreciate if you could send a letter of support for him, but also let us know when we can travel to you for legal purposes — the sooner the better, as I may be unable to travel soon in my expecting state. Killian will be taking over as the proprietor, and as soon as he is well enough, he will begin learning how to run a farm; thankfully, he has a woman at his side that has done it all before.  

We are looking forward to an excellent harvest here this summer and are thankful for the support you offered us following the loss of our dear David. Anytime you would like to leave the city for a calmer space, please know that you are always welcome. Soon, there will be two children on the farm, and I know they would both very much like to know their Uncle James.

Much love, 

Emma Jones

#my writing #wordsbymeganmichael #cshistfic #captain swan ff #cs ff #cs fic #captain swan #ouat ff #lieutenant duckling #kind of

[a-problematic-writer]

HEY IM BACK LMFAOOOOOO

Helping me spread Aidesse propaganda, huh? 💚💚💚

The date had started out near perfect.

Jesse looked stunning even if she was dressed casually—her favorite pair of overalls over a red plaid button up. [Usually she’d be wearing some sort of t-shirt or crop-top but a significant wind chill had her making different outfit choices] Her tight natural curls framed her face in just the perfect way; brown eyes bright and divine.

And Aiden thought he’d picked the perfect spot for some prime cloud-gazing. It was just outside of town under this huge oak tree that’d been there for at least 50 years. Easily his favorite spot in their whole province. He often came here on the bad days when his father’s temper was at it’s worse when he was younger. And still came here now to clear his thoughts and reign his own temper in. It was a tranquil place surrounded in rolling fields and patches of wild flowers. He knew she’d adore it. And was right.

They settled in the grass and watched the sky for some time; her pressed to his side. At some point, he lost track of the sky and was instead talking to her; mindless and trivial chatter, joking and laughing, her face pressed to his shoulder after he made a particularly sappy comment. She got her revenge though; pushing herself up and leaning over him, teasing him with several smaller kisses before finally pressing her lips to his. Things get blurry from there. His hand in her hair and heart beating relentlessly in his chest. He doesn’t think much could have separated them at that moment.

A crack of thunder does the trick. The rain starts not too long after and they’re running through the fields shrieking and laughing and in search of shelter. They find it in her treehouse. And are now just rolling a ball across the room for Reuben to chase after and roll back. The little pig is looking a bit worn when he pushes the ball to Aiden and when he rolls it across the floor Reuben gets about half way before seemingly giving up and lying down instead.

Jesse giggles.

“Aw, you tired, boy?”

The pig gives a decisive snort in reply. Aiden finds himself chuckling as his eyes slide back over to her. She’s already watching him; gaze fond. He’s not quite able to hold it, nerves bristling, stomach twisting into knots. He rubs the back of his neck and coughs. His eyes come back to hers and he finds she’s closer; sitting cross-legged in front of him. He takes her hands, running his thumbs along her knuckles.

“Sorry about the rain.”

She laughs, giving his hands a firm squeeze.

“You can’t control the weather, dummy,” she says, “I still had a good time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A comfortable silence stretches between them. He watches the rain outside fall in sheets past her window. Some hot tea would be nice right now; they could sip at it while they watch it fall together. He looks at her again. She’s not looking at him this time which means he gets to admire her for a bit. His eyes fix on the little mole below her eye and then follow the soft curve of her jaw. A smile curves his lips upward and without much thought he leans forward to press his lips to her cheek. Her breath hitches before she starts to laugh; bubbly and light as spring. It fills his chest and he finds himself laughing too.

“Aiden—“

He pulls back trying to feign innocence. She’s smiling so wide that dimple of hers is on full display. He wonders if he can get her to laugh again; feels like he might just go insane if she doesn’t. So he leans forward to press his lips to the tip of her nose. It works. She’s once again giggling and he pulls back to get a good long look at her. He doesn’t get far her hands sliding out of his and grabbing his jacket, pulling him to her. Her lips a firm yet gentle against his. His hand lifts to cup her cheek. He wishes they could stay like this forever.

They pull back, not far, foreheads pressed together. They’re both a bit breathless. His hand moves into her hair.

“I love you.”

His heartbeat jumps into his throat as soon as the words are out. They hang in the air heavily and he feels like they just might crush him. She pulls back enough to look at him; her eyes wide. His stomach drops and he retracts his hand. His lips part as he searches for some way to save this, but then her look of surprise melts into the sweetest smile he’s seen yet. Her hands coming to either side of his face.

“I love you.”

His chest swells and he crashes back to her; kissing her clumsily, laughing all the while. She’s laughing too, sweet and airy. Frustratingly, he has to pull back for air and he sighs as he does pressing his forehead to hers. It’s comfortably silent for a bit. Until her clock strikes the hour and doles out it’s chime.

They both jump and then laugh. She pulls back and twists herself to look at said clock. He leans back on his hands and squints at it himself. His stomach drops.

“Is that clock fast?”

She shakes her head as she turns back to him.

“Olivia set it yesterday.”

“You mean it’s really 5:10?”

He groans; his head in his hands. She laughs.

“What?”

He lifts his head and instead takes to pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I was supposed to be back by five to go over blueprints with Lukas.”

Her brow furrows.

“EnderCon isn’t for another month?”

He nods.

“Lukas likes to be prepared.”

She laughs and shakes her head.

“Couldn’t be me. I get an idea like three days before and me, Olivia, and Axel scramble to get materials together for it.”

He looks at her incredulously.

“Really?”

She nods.

“Jesse—“

“What? Don’t like my strategy?”

He laughs.

“Wouldn’t be my first choice.”

“Oh, yeah, mister my-teams-won-four-years-in-a-row?” She teases, “Wanna give me some pointers? Maybe a hint on what I’m up against this year?”

He shakes his head, grinning.

“No.”

She scoffs and swats his shoulder.

“That’s not fair!”

“Yes it is!” He says with a laugh. “You’ll just have to see it when you see it.” He shoots a grin her way. “They are some winning designs though.”

Her expression drops into a glower.

“Oh, so you think we’re gonna lose?”

She rolls her eyes and shakes her head. His stomach drops immediately and he reaches for her.

“Hey, I didn’t—I didn’t mean anything by—“

She blinks at him and takes his hands in hers squeezing gently.

“I know.”

The anxiety that was building up crumbles and he squeezes her hands back. The rivalry between their respective friend groups was always a point of contention. It was mostly friendly but there was the nastier parts of it too; parts he definitely egged on. He’s not proud of it by any means. The guilt got worse once he and Jesse started dating.

Their friends knew about them. It was a secret they kept close at first, when neither of them knew what they were doing and weren’t sure if things would stick. But things did stick and got serious fast. Lukas, Maya, and Gill laughed it off, teased him some, but that was it. Petra was Petra. Teasing and threatening in the same breath. Olivia and Axel—Olivia was probably the most accepting. Though, she did eye him weird on occasion. Axel he didn’t like him before and was even more adamant about it now. Aiden knows he thinks Jesse could do better. And, if he’s honest with himself, he knows she could too.

Pressure on his hands pulls him from his thoughts and he looks at Jesse. Her brow is furrowed and she’s frowning.

“You okay?”

He nods, feigning his best smile.

“Just not looking forward to the earful Lukas is gonna give me.”

She laughs and her thumb traces his knuckles.

“I wish you luck.”

And here comes the hard part of seeing Jesse; saying goodbye. He sighs and gently slides his hands out of hers before pushing himself up to his full height. She follows him suit. They stand there for a long moment and then he sighs.

“I’ll see you later?”

She smiles and looks down, rubbing at her arm.

“How about Friday? There’s a play being put on.”

He grins and nods.

“Sounds perfect.”

She beams and pulls him into a tight embrace. He returns it with equal fervor. She pulls back after a moment and smiles sweetly as she pushes herself up to peck his lips. He laughs leaning down to kiss her back.

Lukas can wait a little longer.

#answered asks #cold-lilies #my writing #kyler writes #north writes #mcsm #minecraft story mode #mcsm aiden #mcsm jesse #mcsm aidesse #I think seeing Aiden being soft and in love should have been canon too bestie #this is so sappy asdfghjklkjhgfdsa #I nearly died writing it so I hope it has the same effect when read

[imkittyjustkitty]

Kitty's Daily Pride — Day 11 — Part2/Bonus to This

prompt ; rain

pairings ; None really, but this is a bonus to an Ethan Green x Reader

summary ; How many times did you call how many different people? Someone of sound mind would probably say too many. Or in other words, all the instances in which no one answered your calls, and why they didn't.

+ reader is gender neutral (no pronouns used) & no mentions of y/n (no reader perspective because this is all the stuff that was happening on the other end of the phone that meant people couldn't answer reader)

warnings ; death, descriptions of dead bodies and wounds, car crash, Lex doesn’t have a good relationship with her mum (it’s a big part of the musical so ppl know this but i just wanna put a warning for people just in case), mentions of bullying/harassment

genre ; angst / kinda just spooky or sad depending on how you look at it

word count ; 1564

A/N ; stuff's been tough recently and my time for writing has been limited, but finally i finished something :D !!! so proud of myself !! <3 also new format for these which i prefer , i think it looks v funky !!! :D

do not steal, repost, or redistribute my work in any way.

7:15.

It’s like the screeching of a dying pig, the half broken phone crying for an answer. It’s wedged beneath his corpse, the ringing muffled by his body which lays over it haphazardly, combined with the blood that dried up in the speakers.

Wet blood no longer drips, now it just lays there, dried out, just like him, a thick river of it pooling from his open mouth.

He’s long gone, but his phone keeps ringing and ringing and ringing, begging to be picked up, begging to be answered. But no such luck.

He doesn’t rise from the dead to answer the desperate caller, he doesn’t ease their worries. No, he just lies there, another life lost in that hell of a shopping centre, his whole future thrown away in seconds.

A cruel, undeserved fate.

8:06.

“Someone’s calling.”

“Really, who? Let me see.” The dark haired girl leans over the console, gently taking her phone from her sister’s unsure hands.

Her phone screen is cracked beyond viable repair, and all she can make out is a few digits in the caller’s number.

She has to hold back a shudder, a sick feeling churning through her stomach. The numbers don’t look quite right, but still suspiciously similar to her mother’s phone number.

She doesn’t hesitate to dismiss the call.

She takes a deep breath, an action meant to calm her down, but instead pinches regret at her every junction as sharp pains stab at her sore throat and bruised torso.

Hissing in pain, she hand's her phone back to her sister.

The car swerves slightly as her attention briefly leaves the road. Her sister freezes up with wide eyes, terrified of what would happen if her sister's attention were to draw from the road again.

"Lex... Lex It's ringing again."

Cursing under her breath, Lex leans over to her sister, reaching for the phone. But it seems Hannah's too focussed on the screen, perhaps trying to figure out the number, to notice that Lex is motioning for her to pass the phone.

'Hannah he-"

Somewhere between one of Lex's hands leaving the wheel, and the road curving to the right, she slips towards Hannah and the car loses control.

Swerving in incomprehensible directions, Hannah squeezes her eyes shut, cradling her head in her arms, crying, begging that when she looks back up that everything will be okay.

But Lex freezes for a few moments too long, her eyes wide and wounded body rigid. Unmoving, frozen in terror, but her mind is reeling.

She lived long enough to get out of that fucking mall just to die in a car crash because someone refused to stop blowing up her phone.

Metal screeching. Heads meeting the dashboard of the car. Limbs thrown out the windows. Everything is flashing and bright, but also dark and all-encompassing. It's blinding and piercing and painful and unforgiving.

And yet her phone still rings, unaware of the horrors it’s bestowed upon the two girls.

8:41.

His phone sits on his bedside table. The calls are coming through of course, no internet issues, no funny coincidences with multiple people trying to get through to him at the same time. No, it's nothing about divine intervention, rather just the universe having a slight sense of humour.

Cruel humour, yes. Cold, unforgiving humour that costs lives and laughs at those who deserve help and pity. And not even those who deserve good things, but rather those who do not deserve such horrible things.

Of course the person calling this man does not deserve such a run-around from the universe. But the universe does not care, the phone still remains ringing.

And so he sleeps a peaceful slumber, blissfully unaware of the fact that he has been made a father without a child. While the only person who can perhaps warn him of something, try to set off an alarm in his mind, is left without a single thought.

He may find out through the police, a cold and brutal band-aid will be ripped off, he will be told matter-of-factly that his son is deceased, and the officer who delivers the news will see it all as just another unfortunate occurrence. Not a single semblance of emotional connection will those people have with his son.

Or maybe he'll never be given that piece of mind. Maybe he wakes up days after now and only then feels something may be off. It will lead to a town-wide search for his son, which of course will come up empty handed.

It's sort of anticlimactic, how the only thing that stands between this man and finding out that something happened to his son, is the fact that he puts his phone on silent while he sleeps.

9:01.

Not unlike him, her phone also rests on silent. She had shoved it under her pillow after too many messages. All angry, rude, condescending, all from family, employers, neighbours, supposed 'friends'. Everyone and their mothers tormented the poor women, and she was sick of it.

So she finds herself trying to push the bathroom door closed as quietly as possible, after a calming shower, trying not to wake him in the bedroom.

The second phone of the household makes it's debut, the phone that belongs to the woman that is desperately trying to lift the far too heavy weights off of her shoulders.

The phone vibrates far too quietly underneath the pillow, as the woman lets out a sigh from the hallway. For a moment, fate teeters from side to side, will or won't a phone finally get it's answer? The mythical scales bounce back and force, as the women does the same.

Does she go back to bed, and keep pretending it's all okay, her only reliefs being the nights she spends away from everyone else, thinking and willing herself to move on? Or does she stay here, where she can live in that place, her world of peace, for just a little while longer?

The phone begs for an answer, but the buzzing never reaches her ears.

She takes a deep breath, closing her eyes thoughtfully.

Her light footsteps don't make a sound as she turns and softly walks away from the bedroom.

The protective bubble she places herself in each night floats around her as she walks further and further away from the bedroom.

And so the phone continues to buzz, pleading for an answer that will never come.

9:13.

The ringing of the phone echoes through the empty shopping centre.

Did the owner of the phone deserve the death? Hey who the fuck knows anymore, he was an ass sure, but isn't death a bit far?

But that doesn't matter anymore. Yet another phone is left unanswered, it's owner's blood painting the floor, a canvas of crime and pain. His phone sitting in his pocket, untouched. After all, a dead person can't answer a call, that would be absurd.

The ringing sings on, whistling through the carvings of murder and suffering that lay in his bones.

9:34.

The ringing calls out through the stagnant halls of the house, a house that is currently inhabited by four people, but nonetheless soaks in eerie nothingness, a silence born out of unspoken fears and just plain awkwardness.

A man and a woman sit next to together, sharing a brief glance as they both hear a phone ringing. The man sighs, and gives the woman a look that says she needs to do something, this isn't his place to do anything, he doesn't really fit here. To be fair no one fits here at the moment, after all, there's a lot that's driven and continues to drive them apart, a barrier of stiffness.

Sighing quietly, the woman looks over to another man, saying, "Tom, the phone's ringing."

Tom looks up from where his shaking hands lay in his lap, furrowing his brows, before muttering something along of the lines of 'it'll be no one important'.

Subtly rolling her eyes, the woman leans in her seat to get a view of the ringing phone that sits on a small table beside the front door.

Another woman sits next to Tom, but with a still considerable (awkward) distance between them. She pulls her lips up into a small, closed mouth smile that practically radiates discomfort and the need to please.

"I'll go get it," She gets up from the couch, lightly placing her hand on Tom's shoulder, who at that glances up and watches her as she exits into the room where the phone still rings.

She goes to grab the phone, the screen showing her a number she doesn't recognise, when it goes silent and the screen fades to black. Tilting her head, she shrugs, and walks back to where the three adults remain in a palpable silence.

"They hung up before i could answer, probably a wrong number," She 'smiles' like she did before, remaining the only one standing among the four of them in the room.

Tom nods, his mind preoccupied, not fully hearing what the woman just said, or even comprehending the current situation.

The woman sits back down, and any hopes of conversation is gone. No one knows what to say, or if they should say anything at all, so they remain in the deafening silence.

At least the phone doesn't ring again.

reblogging helps me so much and means more people can see my writing !!! and i love hearing people's thoughts on my writing , it makes me so happy and helps me grow as a writer !!! &lt;3 :D

thank you for reading , have a fabulous day &lt;3

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