#(for one image beneath the cut but just to be safe)

[sweet-as-an-angel]

Hiiii, I loveeeee ur work ❤️

I was thinking about a head cannon of how some of the mw2 characters (ghost, soap, König, etc) would react to their partner sending them a nude photo?👀👀👀

Sorry if you did this already but I’m pretty sure you haven’t tho cuz I definitely would have read it already 😭

MW2 Reaction to Receiving a Special™ Photo from Their S/O

Warnings: 18+ (just to be safe), Non-Specific/Explicit Implications of Smut, No Pronouns used for Reader except 'You', Singular Mention of Graves Throwing Himself off a Cliff, Dominant! MW2, Submissive! MW2, Dominant! Reader, Submissive! Reader, Profanity, etc.

Ghost

He will literally stare bug-eyed at the picture you’ve sent him like 👁️O👁️

Since it’s a physical photograph, he keeps it on him like a chapstick, which is to say all the time.

He isn’t risking ANYONE besides himself seeing it.

And when he’s about to embark on a mission, he keeps it tucked into his vest right where his heart is so that it’s practically part of him.

He likes to think that, somehow, you can hear – feel – his heart beating, know that he’s still alive and fighting so that he can come home and see you.

And when he returns from a mission and goes to his quarters, he has some…alone time.

You know, to really study the picture.

Not that he doesn’t know every curve and edge of your body already.

But that doesn't stop him growling your name into the pillow as he rocks against it, a hole cut into the bottom of it – a poor imitation of you.

A makeshift lover.

If anyone ends up seeing that picture – if they stole it from him, if by some act of God (because that’s what it’ll take) it slipped out of his vest or pocket – they are in for a World of Pain™.

There won’t be a time they won’t flinch upon hearing Ghost’s name, or when they see his shadow like an omen on the wall as he commandeers the halls. Prowling.

He’d feel pretty guilty about someone else seeing you how he does, even if it was only for a fraction of a second.

So he’s definitely going to make it up to you when he gets back <3

König

His heart can’t take this kind of torment.

He’ll be looking down at his phone, the image of you burning into his skin like a holy artefact.

He definitely gets more jumpy around people when he has his phone on him.

Will literally clam up and shove it into the deepest recesses of his pocket if someone comes too close.

Even when your picture is safely stored behind a password-protected photo album.

He has to excuse himself from training or other commitments whenever his mind wanders back to you, and subsequently that image (which is basically all the time).

Sometimes he calls you while he’s sorting himself out.

He just needs to hear your voice – to feel closer to you.

It’s the only way he can finish.

“Engel,” he rasps, his breath stuttering, “I need you,”

And everyone just looks at him like he’s grown a third eye when he returns because, unbeknownst to him, König can’t keep quiet, and everyone who has never heard even a peep from him is suddenly aware of the carnality that lies beneath his skin, wired into his soul.

And at the centre is his love for you, boundless and overflowing so that the rest of his teammates know it, too.

Not that they mind all too much.

They all sit and think that you must be one beautiful person to evoke such a response from König.

Soap

Will tease you back.

Sends a mirror pic of him in a tight black shirt, saying something like ‘You’ll see the rest when I get home.’

Is absolutely ravenous when it comes to you.

No cap, goes absolutely ham in the shower when the image of you in nothing flashes in his mind.

His low moans are enough of a warning for the rest of the 141 to stay away for the next half an hour or so.

Aside from that, he’ll just look at the picture because he finds you beautiful.

Stares at it while he’s in bed. Laments on how much he misses you ☹️.

He’s counting down the days until he can see you again, and with each that passes, he can feel your silhouette becoming tangible in his hands, as if you were stepping out of the photo.

Sometimes, he dreams that you’re there with him, nestled between his arms.

Other times the dreams are a little more…graphic.

But Johnny can’t help it.

He just can’t contain himself when it comes to you.

Valeria

If you thought her violent tendencies could never extend to you, prepare to be amazed.

The second this woman sees what you’re trying to do – or, rather, what she thinks you’re trying to do – she is not happy.

You could have sent that image with the purest (within reason) of intentions; just letting Valeria know that you miss her, wishing her a good day – whatever.

What she sees is you trying to manipulate her by using your body as an instrument of destruction.

Dramatic, yes. But Valeria has never been one to take chances.

She’ll be deceptively calm over text: ‘Don’t tease me, Darling. You know what happens when you do.’

All day, all she can see is that image.

Whenever she turns a corner, you’re there; whenever she’s talking to someone, you’re peering at her over their shoulder; when she’s alone, you’re sat with her – on her – trying to take her attention away from her paperwork.

Redemption is a baseless concept when Valeria returns home that evening.

You will not know rest until she’s done with you.

Price

“Fuckin’ Hell, Love,” he’ll say, the darkness hanging on his voice tangible even through the voice note.

“What’ve you been up to while I’ve been away, hmm ?”

Will not rest until he knows he’s got you hot and bothered.

This entails him sending increasingly risqué images of himself; first, just one of him flexing, his arms thick and crawling with veins.

The next is of his shirt raised just below his chest, the dim light of the room keeping enough of him shrouded that his identity is unknown to all but you, his wide silhouette taking up most of the picture.

And, if you decide to be resilient against his attempts to make you feel as you have him, you’ll receive a series of menacing messages.

‘Don’t get too comfortable, Angel’, he’ll say.

‘You never know when I’ll come through that door–’

He grins as he sees you’ve read his message, hanging on his every word.

‘And ravage you.’

And you know he means it, too.

Meanwhile, he’s multitasking; keeping a clear, professional head and giving orders while resisting the primal urge to drop everything and find you.

And no amount of pleading or tears will spare you from his wrath when he returns.

Horangi

Regardless of how well the military life trained his self-discipline, nothing can dampen the sheer need Horangi feels whenever he receives a special picture from you.

I’m talking: he will literally sit in silence for ten minutes because he’s got a raging issue he needs to take care of but can’t risk anyone else seeing it.

Will thunder down the hall to the nearest bathroom when the meeting’s over and take out his frustrations there.

When he calls, you’d better pick up the first time.

If you don’t, you’ll have Hell to pay when gets home.

“Baby,” he breathes down the phone, the fog already making his mind frost over, his body burning up.

“What have you done to me–”

These brief encounters are the only thing keeping him sane while he’s away; they make him feel closer to you.

And, repaying you in kind, he returns one night, in the silence of the moon hours.

He finds you, pulls you to him, clutching on tight as you begin to wake.

And, between delirium and consciousness, his voice is all you can hear.

“Shouldn’t have tested me, Sweetheart,” he says, whispering as though partaking in a secret.

“Now I’m going to have to challenge you.” His arms are snakes as they constrict you.

“Fall asleep before I’m done with you, and I promise there will be no end to your suffering.”

Alejandro

Teasing a man as passionate as Alejandro is not going to end well for everyone involved.

Expect to receive a barrage of very choice texts back.

‘You have no idea what you’re doing to me’, he’ll say, followed by a photo of the tent in his trousers.

And a sinister: ‘But you will’.

If he’s away on business for even just a few days, he’ll go practically feral whenever he sees that picture of you.

To everyone else, he’ll be the leader Alejandro Vargas they all know him as – ruthless and righteous.

Yet, there’s something different in the way he walks as he excuses himself from the table, his destination unknown.

His gaze is narrowed and his teeth are grinding, rabid in disposition.

And when he gets home, no matter how long of a day it’s been, you’re in for a very long night.

He’ll appear behind you, a spectre, clamping a hand down on your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t test a soldier, Love,” he says, his grip tightening.

You don't turn around, an exhilarating fear keeping you frozen.

He leans down, his mouth just at your ear, his breath hot.

“Because you never know when he’ll snap.”

Rodolfo

This man is usually rather quiet and submissive when it comes to the more personal aspects of your life together.

But when you send him a picture that makes him question how long he can keep his composure for, you’re in trouble.

You’ll be receiving a phone call from a very exasperated Rodolfo, who, despite his best efforts, has succumbed to your charm.

Definitely a growler when he’s in a dominant mood.

More of a whimperer when he’s not.

At times like these, you get both.

“Darling,” he breathes, the back of his head pressed against the cold cubicle wall. “Look what you’ve done to me…”

His whining is more than enough to let you know the effect you’ve had on him.

And it’s what he says next that makes your blood run cold.

“I won’t let you get away with this.”

The husking baritone in his voice tells you he’s being truthful.

And if you try to clap back with something witty, or even an apology, Rodolfo just laughs.

“The time for mercy is long past, mi Amor,” he tells you.

“All you can do now is prepare for the Reckoning.”

Graves

This smug idiot.

Definitely smirks to himself when he gets that picture.

Has to resist the urge to show it off to everyone in the boardroom because he’s just that proud to have you as his partner.

Yes, he is hard. Yes, he’s still going to give this presentation in front of all the major shareholders.

Why ?

Because he’s Graves. Also, because he knows he has more money than everyone else in that room, and, consequently, more power.

Will shoot you back a text like: ‘Mighty fine work, Babydoll’, followed by, ‘You’re getting a promotion when I get home.’

Yes, he uses corporate jargon when discussing intimate matters.

He’s a businessman at heart, he can’t help it.

Definitely more playful than most of the others on this list.

The type to take his time with you and make you laugh while he does so.

But when he wants to be rough (and when you want him to be), he can be.

And he gets mean when he’s like that.

I’m talking hair-pulling, name-calling – basically just bullying you, but consensually.

Does his best to take care of you, though.

If he found out that he’d actually upset you, he’d literally jump off a cliff – he wouldn't be able to forgive himself.

Expect many lavish gifts if this happens, though.

But don’t tell him that I told you that 👀.

Gaz

Will nearly drop his phone – it turns to butter in his hands.

He looks over his shoulder at least fifty times before he’ll allow himself to look at the photo again.

Poor boy’s face is turning red, his palms are sweating, he can’t think straight.

Paranoid 24/7 that everyone knows he has that picture of you.

But it doesn’t intimidate him enough for him to even try to keep quiet in the barracks when he has some alone time.

Similar situation to Soap; everyone knows to steer clear of whichever room Gaz was last spotted walking into for a while.

It would take him a few days for him to send a picture back.

More than likely, it’ll be of him in a scarcely lit bathroom in nothing but his boxers with a very prominent outline in them.

Followed by a text with something to the effect of: ‘Been thinking about you all night, Sweets’

And God forbid you send him another image of yourself. And definitely do not send a message saying ‘Aww, has my good boy been behaving himself ?’

Will literally send him over the edge.

The rest of the 141 can’t commandeer the bathroom for the rest of the day after that.

And when Gaz gets home, just know that your phone screen can’t protect you anymore.

Not when you have a man made of pure intellect and solid mass running full-force at you with all the pent-up energy seen only in a nuclear reactor.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Masterlist [Continued] Masterpost Modern Warfare AI Masterlist

AO3 Wattpad

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #ghost mw2 #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley smut #ghost smut #könig x reader #könig smut #konig x reader #john mactavish x reader #soap mactavish #valeria garza x reader #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #john price x reader #horangi x reader #graves x reader #captain price #gaz garrick x reader #rudy parra

[lady-ashfade]

Matching flames

Percy Jackson x Soulmate!Reader

-£ Ask: Percy x reader who's his soul mate and he only finds out when she almost dies (could be trying to save him or just because life as a demigod is hard) @poemfreak306

-£ words: 2k

-£ Warnings: Reader being injured, soulmate au, blood & cuts, reader almost dying, angsty, comfort at the end, cursing?? (You can also imagine any Percy you want in this)

Could you count all the stars in the sky?

It was almost peaceful looking up at the stars, mind going blank and your body numb. they looked so beautiful and you realize you’ve never quite looked closely at them. burning rocks floating in space that somehow was the cause of so many poems and love stories. if only you had noticed it sooner.

Blood leaked out of your side and the hand you placed over it started to give up trying to put pressure on the wound. The monster who chased you for miles had finally got to you after being so close to camp, to being safe and sound, when it’s claws finally got ahold of you. Its sharp nails dragged into your skin ripping your clothes and stained them with the blood immediately pouring out. thankfully you had one stroke of luck when your dagger pierced its heart and it was quick to fall.

Not much time has passed since then, however it was enough time for you to loss too much blood.

Had the stars always been that pretty? Just a thought as your eyes blur and the only thing left to feel was the thoughts in your head. The sweet smile of your moral parent’s smile, how it felt to laugh with friends and how some part of you still felt on fire. The shore of the camp’s lake appeared in your mind, and sand beneath your feet as you look at someone’s figure. The smile on their face was so familiar…Maybe it was death being nice to you.

you tried to keep your eyes open but they were just too heavy. maybe you could just rest for a few minutes. there was a sense of warmth that took over your body once more as your eyes fade closed.

“He’s coming, not long little one.”

the campfire wasn’t his focus at the moment but he found himself staring into it as his thoughts ran wild. he had just back to camp but this year was so much different. there was so much on his mind that he just couldn’t focus on one thing. about his mother, his father and how he still couldn’t believe he was a Demi god. even after a long time it just wasn’t normal to him.

then a hiss leaves his lips as he clings to his side in pain. it was stinging and felt on fire. he knew how being wounded felt like all to well but nothing happened, he was just sitting. then his finger felt funny like pins and needles stabbed him all at once. from his left annabeth looks at him worried and looking of his confused face.

“What’s wrong?” But the boy just stared at himself as the pain faded away but his hand became numb and weird. He spun it around a few times to look over it, checking for anything causing it but found nothing. not even a bug.

it was your smile that popped in his head. the warm shoulder he always laid on, he could hear the laugh you had ringing in his ears. why? his name was called from your soft lips but it wasn’t like normal, he saw your lips with blood from the corner. reaching out to him like he was your only hope.

“Y/n.” He stood up immediately at the image in his head. looking around for you in the crowd of campers he didn’t find you with your siblings or around your friends. annebeth looked at him worried and stood up with him, “what is it?”

he knew those trees. he’s seen then a million times. percy knew the grass, but this was different from actually knowing where you were. something was tugging his body and he didn’t need ask where you were. he knew.

his feet moved on their own and he practically ran where they took him and only thought of you. Annebeth stayed behind and told Mr.d that something might be wrong. Percy felt off and not the normal kind he always did. his body felt weaker like it was losing its life. his chest felt off and his heart filled with sorrow.

so when he found you laying in a pool of your own blood he was quick to fall next to you. “y/n” he called out. he checked for a pulse but couldn’t do it right so he leaned next to your nose and listened for your breathing and thankfully he felt some. his heart was pounding when he saw the cuts on your body making his mind wonder to what could have done it. the camp was just a few feet away and you could have been safe.

“Don’t die,” he begged and places his arm under your head, “this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.” his words didn’t make sense to him when he spoke. how was it supposed to be? what was he talking about.

the new light in the sky made him look up to a shooting star shoot cross the sky. it was truly beautiful. something around his finger pulled again and he felt the small feeling of string so when he looked down it was red and tied around him. following the line he found it connected to you. The string of fate.

his string was tied to yours. you were his soulmate.

“no, no” he wrapped another arm under your legs and left you up slightly. he was staring at your face with tears pooling themselves in his eyes. for the first time he was finally seeing you as what you were. his. but how could the gods be so cruel to take you way from him. Percy wouldn’t let that happen. he’d fight hades himself for you back.

“just stay with me.” there he was carrying you passed the camp line to get you to the infirmary. even in the near death you looked stunning as you away did. he was just to stupid to see it before. 

when they took you away from him he was quiet and stood outside the door and refused to leave. percy even refused to leave the room at first but was yelled at and pushed out, so he had no choice but to leave your side. how could he just stay outside when he could lose the one person that was supposedly to stay with him, to love him, and who was supposed to be with him always? how could he just sit still when he was going to lose it all?

his friends came to sit with him and offered him some kind words and reassurance but not much helped. he just sat down on a chair with his legs bouncing and hands fiddling with themselves as all he could think is about you. about the cuts on your skin and all the blood.

luckily they had gotten you somewhat healed, making you stable and fine. just had to wait for your body to heal.

“Percy,” annabeth poked his shoulder as he stared at the floor. they had left and he could go in now but he didn’t notice. “you can go in now.” Percy turn quickly to her and then at the door wide open now. so he sprinted up and inside to find you laying on the bed peacefully sleeping. annabeth didn’t follow him in because he needed a moment alone. she’d let him have his moment

Percy sat beside your bed the whole time you slept. he’d fed you. he’d brushed your hair out of your face and watched you closely as if someone was out to get you. his hand was always ready to pull out riptide in case but nothing dangerous ever came. his hand stayed in yours while he whispered for you to wake up and how much he was sorry.

“Should have realized it before,” he whispered as he leaned near you. “gosh, I’m such a idiot.” he sighed to himself and ran his eyes over you.

His hands rubbed your own, “Just wake up and I’ll make up for it. For all the time we lost, just let me love you.” His lips pressed to your head as you continued to sleep unknowing to his words but your body healing by having him close.

two days of not getting much sleep himself you’d waken up. his head resting next to your leg as he sat in a chair with his hand on yours, his hair messy. you didn’t remember coming to the infirmary or how you got here. and not percy holding your hand. but you couldn’t let go off it because it was to comfortable like it was made to fit in yours.

when you moved your body since it felt so stiff from probably not moving in days you’d accidentally woke him up. you felt bad as he shot up quickly and looked around panicked with his hand going to his side, probably reaching for riptide. once his eyes found yours it made your heart sink into your lower stomach. under his eyes were black circles and his eyes looked so painful that it broke you, like he’d been crying. he was paler then normal.

A sad smile broke onto his face, he was relieved to see you awake. He let out a small chuckle as his eyes almost filled with tears when he jumped forward you take your head into his chest as a small hug. “Welcome back,” you froze at his hug but let him have his moment. of course you smiled and wrapped your arms around him too. It was nice.

“Percy, how long was I out…How did I get here?” Pulling himself back with a red tint in his chest he sat back down.

“I found you outside the barrier. Y/n, I thought you were dead, you were barely breathing.” his voice broke. “but I got you here and now you’re awake. not dead,” there was that damn smiling again that pained you, like he was convincing his demons something.

humming and nodding your head along you look at your side to see it healed, lifting up your shirt just a little and saw a scar on your skin. it made you frown knowing how big it would be. “If it means anything, I think you’d look badass.” you put your shirt back down and look at him.

he was trying to make you feel better. “Percy when I was- When I closed my eyes I heard something and my body, well it felt different. Do you know anything about that?” his heart skipped a beat and his eyes slightly going wide.

was it obvious how fluster he was? was his skin as red as a tomato, did he look like a fool? “I have to tell you something.” Percy played with his own hands again and looked away for a second. you swing your legs to the side of the bed to stretch.

“Go ahead.”

You watched him closely and you could see he was working himself up to speak. how his body bounced and twitched, he was turning redder by the second. he was cute. and you yourself found your own cheeks turning hot when you looked at him.

“I saw you at the campfire in my mind. I could feel the pain you felt, or somewhat, like I was dying. my body was pulling me to you and I knew exactly where to find you without having to look.” As he explained you listened carefully and tilted your head to the side.

“then I saw it. The red string of fate tied to my finger. I saw a shooting star, then I saw your string tied to my. And for the first time I saw you for the first time, as my soulmate.”

“Oh.” Damnit. That was bad.

Percy nodded and now started to shut down as he watched you, your brain moving to figure out what to say. he just ruined everything. you wished to not be his soulmate, that was it. he didn’t blame you. Percy brought danger whereever he went.

But that wasn’t it. you had been thinking something else. everything made sense to you now. why you looked at him when no one else was looking. why he made you feel high in the clouds when he was near. and how he just fit so well in your life without trying. “Percy,” you call out to him again and move closer and scoot to the end of the bed with your feet hitting the floor.

you should have known from his eyes. as they look at you now it just hit you like bricks, how they were so powerful. as you take his cheek in your hands his breath hitches and holds in his chest. “i’m glad you’re my soulmate.”

he pulled you close to him and held you so tight in how arms as you giggled at how happy he seemed. his laugh made your stomach fill with butterflies. “I’ll make you happy.” And that you had no doubt about. you pulled back from his grasp and looked at his lips. you needed to kiss him. and Percy knew what you were thinking and wanted the same.

his face moved forward as his kiss captured yours in a soft but passive kiss, his hands moving to wrap themselves around your body as yours wrapped around his neck. it was nice but didn’t end short. after all you both waited for a long time to feel the love of a soulmate and you didn’t know that you craved it this badly.

The stars never lied when it comes to love. And now you knew that he was the burning fire within you.

#percy jackson x you #percy jackson x male reader #Percy Jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #angst to fluff #soulmate au

[toorurs]

to love is to learn

synopsis: aventurine is still unexposed to the many concepts of this world. but that doesn't mean he won't try to get to know them if it's for you.

pairing: aventurine x reader | wordcount: 1.0k | content & warnings: hurt/comfort, insecure aventurine, established relationship, my ass wrote this in an hour and its super late rn i just wanna upload this and my lazy ass did NOT proofread this + im on mobile so hell, kinda HELLA rushed ; ficlet

a/n: just the other day me and azul were talking about what body parts of aven would be sensitive and we got to his collarbone and azul said that he thinks that it'd be super evident so i pointed out that it might be cause he was used to starvation and barely ate even when he got to the ipc/had the chance to do so. SO I JUST HAD TO WRITE SMTH.

tags: @azullumi

aventurine shudders under your touch. your nimble fingers trace across his collarbone, featherlight movements, touch so delicate, it makes him tremble.

the pads of your digits lightly dance across his clavicle, one finger turns into two. your index swiftly slides over the pale skin that separates the bone that lies underneath. while your thumb starts inching closer the neckline of his satin pajama, diving beneath. at that he can't help but flinch.

“oh god.” he laughs out. “someone's being touchy today.” his voice is filled with joy. hearing, seeing, knowing that aventurine has fun around you, makes you crave for more. his laugh is an intoxicating drug. something that you'll always long for, absorbing it until every part of your body is stained with the tantalising essence and puts you to your demise.

you don't stop your actions, instead continuing to glide your fingers along his delicate body. “sorry, for i couldn't help it!” a giggle escapes your mouth.

“i just thought about how pretty it is.” you let out a small hum.

“my collarbone? pretty, how come?” he's confused, what is the beauty you see within his body?

his body is fragile. it's a hollow shell he carries around. ugly and not worthy of your attention even less your admiration, abused and marked in burns. when the digits that he carries around like a sacred body part of his, roughly engraved on his neck, come in contact with any kind of substance, liquid or his own fingers. he's reminded of the mishap his body was or rather is in. how it was abused and dragged through the mud.

putting his calloused fingers around the tattoo, stings. the touch lingers like a nostalgic scent which still remains on an old piece of clothing, one that has never been washed so the smell never fades away. it burns up at the slightest touch. hurting just as much as when it was freshly inflicted onto his young body.

kakavasha doesn't even know what he looks like. the only person he sees in the mirror is aventurine. sure he walked past puddles of dirty rain back in his childhood, reflecting his younger self, but the images are vague and blurry. he doesn't know what kakavasha looks like and he probably never will.

and neither do you. the only thing you have in front of you right now is aventurine. a shattered soul that doesn't know where it belongs. his being consists of a thousand fragments, they're scattered thoughts that are similar to broken mirror shards.

they reflect the tales of his heart and reveal its greatest desire. mirroring those untold stories like the surface of the water. thoughts and wishes that are full of pureness, almost childlike.

the broken pieces that make up the man who's named aventurine long for a haven which he can call a safe space - a home. but on the other hand he thinks that he's not permitted to find such a place, that he's not allowed to stay, undeserving of it.

“no particular reason. i just like the way it stands out, it's easy to find and trace.” the words that roll off your tongue sting. they probably hurt as much as a paper cut you've received as a little kid, but it's not like kakavasha knows or is able to relate - he didn't get to grow up like the other children. but he can't blame you, you're oblivious to his past.

his body has gone through physical and emotional abuse. beat ups, labor or starvation. the reason why his collarbone is so evident, the face you adore is so slim, and his rips slightly poke through his body, is all because kakavashas hunger has never been satisfied and the dryness in his throat has never been quenched.

even after he put on the mask of the man who calls himself aventurine - a wealthy man, who’s a member of the ten stone hearts that makes more money than he spends, he's still reluctant when it comes to eating. of course he could buy all the delicacies that kakavasha never got to try - never even knew, but he hesitates.

the concept of chewing and swallowing the bits is still something aventurine can't befriend himself with. it's unfamiliar - he's not used to it, the feeling of a full stomach, what it's like to be satisfied after a meal. it's something foreign to him, a feeling he's not sure he'll ever get accustomed to.

he doesn't think he deserves to eat. to know what it feels like to be full, the rumbling that comes from his stomach is the one he grew up with is what brought him here. he fears that if he gets too comfortable with something or someone he'll forget who he is.

a lost soul that mourns after the past, but saved itself from the dark abyss, freeing itself. not allowing himself to get too close, always keeping everyone that comes near him at an arm's length. worrying he might grow too attached.

so why is he still here? here with you, chattering happily and conversing freely, he doesn't deserve it - he doesn't deserve you.

but is it wrong to be selfish for once? he knows the answer already: it is. but he can't help it, not when you coax him into this position, one which he can't leave, no matter how hard he tries.

“i love you.” you trace the letters along his neck, over the tattoo that is engraved on his skin.

you don't need a verbal answer to know that he feels the same way. perhaps, he himself hasn't realized it yet but he's conveyed his love for you many times already. just like now as he continues to lie in bed with you.

the both of you are oblivious, but that doesn't mean that either of you will stop in your tracks, turn back and leave. (even though he sometimes wishes to do so)

both satisfaction and love are two unfamiliar concepts for aventurine. but he'll try to get to know them. for the sake of you.

© TOORURS 2024. stealing, copying, translating, reposting my works on other platforms is not permitted.

#toorurs #hsr #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #aventurine x reader #aventurine hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine imagines #kakavasha x reader #aventurine fluff #kakavasha fluff #aventurine

[munsons-maiden]

𝐒𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐘𝐨𝐮

Here's a little oneshot for you, lovelies! I hope you enjoy 🖤

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | Eddie Munson x female reader (no physical descriptions, though)

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Based on this request: could i request maybe eddie brings reader to a deal but wants her to stay in the van so she’s safe but the people he’s dealing to see her because she walked out to tell eddie something and it doesn’t go so well. and after the situation eddie and her argue but eddie’s upset and just what’s to protect her 🥺 but ofc it ends well🫡

- I hope you like it, dear!🖤

𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭 | fights turning into love confessions, angst with a happy ending, friends to lovers

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 3k

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 | angst with a happy ending, attempted (sexual) assault

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

You can barely make out your surroundings, the little dirt path leading you deeper into the woods, in the darkness between the trees as you slowly draw closer – the moon and stars have vanished behind the clouds as if they’ve gone into hiding, and the taste of a summer storm already laces the stuffy air.

In all these years of being Eddie Munson’s friend, there’s been one simple rule when it comes to him meeting his customers for a drug deal:

Stay in the car.

The customers are harmless. It’s the cops I’m worried about, he tells you, expression stern, whenever you crack a joke about him being scared you could scare away a customer.

It’s tiny little Hawkins, and the deals gone wrong that sometimes make it into the TV news or newspaper headlines are over coke and heroin and all the hard stuff Eddie would never sell, not over something as harmless as weed or the occasional pill of ketamine.

Tonight has been no different.

It was supposed to be a quick deal on your way to the Carnival two towns over at Sycamore where you’re supposed to meet the rest of Hellfire.

Some new customer sent by Reefer Rick.

But the longer you’ve been sitting in Eddie’s van, in the dark, in the middle of the lonely road that cuts through the woods surrounding Hawkins…this nagging feeling started to grow in your chest. First into worry, then into outright panic when you’d watched the clock on the old van’s display tick, one minute turning into five, and five into ten.

What if something went wrong?

What if something horrible happened to him?

What if Eddie needs your help?

You wanted to tell him, tonight at the fair, beneath the see of glittering lights of the Ferris wheel. That you’re in love with him. That you’ve been, for a very long time. That even if he doesn’t feel the same, you need to say it out loud, how you first fell for all the tiny little pieces that make him Eddie and then wholly and utterly and completely.

When ten minutes bled into fifteen, and your mind had come up with the most horrid scenarios fueled by news coverage of drug deals breaking into violence, conjuring up gruesome images of Eddie bleeding out between the ferns and brambles covering the forest floor, blood soaking the moss, you couldn’t stay cooped up in the confines of his old van a second longer.

You broke Eddie’s one rule. You left the car and went looking for him.

As you’re now traipsing along the small dirt path cutting through the brambles and ferns, the fabric of your summer dress you’ve spent an entire weekend picking out at the mall just so Eddie might finally start seeing you as something else as his friend, sticking to your sweaty skin and thorns scratching at your legs, you realize that even if Eddie needs your help…how the fuck would you even be able to help him?

It’s not like you’re carrying a gun in the little bag you’re clutching at your side.

The sound of voices startles you out of your thoughts, and in the dark, your eyes lock on the two silhouettes in the little clearing ahead of you.

You recognize Eddie first – you’d recognize him everywhere.

He’s standing with his back to you. Even with the remaining distance between the two of you, the darkness of the woods, you can tell that his shoulders are tense.

His whole body is holding a kind of tension you’ve only ever seen on him once before, a few years ago, when his deadbeat father had shown up at the trailer park drunken and shouting curses into the wind before Eddie had dragged you into the safety Wayne’s trailer.

A twig snaps beneath your sneakers, and both Eddie and his customer whirl around to you.

And you realize you’ve made a huge mistake.

The guy in front of Eddie is no nervous classmate, not one of the chill stoner guys always hanging around beneath the bleachers. No friendly family dad or stressed housewife looking for a little relaxation or piece of rebellion.

The guy’s buzzcut does nothing to soften the harsh angles of his face, the lines around his mouth formed by the frown that seems to be engraved there.

There’s something menacing in his eyes as they lock on you.

Something evil and predatory.

The guy licks his lips, and his mouth curls into a lewd smirk, a twisted mirror to the abysmal panic in Eddie’s wide eyes as he stares at you.

You can read them like the pages of an open book.

What the fuck are you doing here? I told you to stay in the car!

The guy slaps a meaty hand on Eddie’s shoulder, hard enough to make Eddie sway a little on his feet with the impact. And contrary to what the jocks at Hawkins High believe, Eddie is strong.

“And at first I thought you’d brought the cops,” the guy laughs – but it’s not a friendly laugh. It doesn’t reach his eyes, either. He’s got muscles. A lot of them, flexing beneath his skin as he lets his arm sink from Eddie’s shoulder. “Wouldn’t do that to your old friend though, would you? Instead, you brought me a present.”

There’s an eagle tattooed across the guy’s throat, wings spread wide. It’s fitting, this bird of prey marking him. You feel like a tiny little robin beneath his gaze.

Eddie’s eyes haven’t left you for a single second.

“I told you to stay in the car.” His voice is strained with barely suppressed fury and, above all else…panic.

“Nah, we’re good,” the guy grins, letting his eyes roam over you.

Making you wish you were wearing something other than a short little summer dress.

“Come on closer, little birdie,” he drawls, “Don’t be shy now.”

“Go back to the car,” Eddie says, louder, the vehemence of his tone flashing in his panicked eyes. His voice is trembling. “Now.”

“What, you don’t want to introduce us?” The man drawls. The threat in his own voice is as clear and tangible as the panic in Eddie’s umber eyes as he shakes his head, the movement subtle, barely visible. Go, he mouths. Now.

At the guy, he adds, “I thought we were here to talk about business.”

“You want me to focus on business when you brought your pretty girl with you, boy?” The guy makes a beckoning motion at you, still frozen like a deer in the headlights, rooted to your spot only feet away from him and Eddie. “Come closer, doll. Don’t be shy now.”

“No,” Eddie interjects, fervor smoothing his voice as it cuts through the rain-laced air of the clearing, despair flashing out beneath the panic, “She’s not part of this.”

You’re scared out of your mind.

But hell will freeze over before you leave Eddie alone with this man.

So you do what the guy told you.

You step closer, coming to stand beside Eddie.

“Tell you what, boy,” the man purrs, tearing his eyes off of you to meet Eddie’s, a flash of yellowed teeth in diffuse moonlight, as his smirk grows into a grin so devilish you wouldn’t have been surprised had they been pointed, “I’m gonna give you a few more bucks and you’re gonna give me a few minutes with your lovely lady here.”

Beside you, Eddie inches closer to you, shifting to place himself between the guy and you.

Trying to shield you with his own body, you realize.

Eddie Munson, who always swore he was no hero outside of D&D, is becoming your hero right now.

“I’ll give you everything I got with me right now, and you leave,” Eddie counters, voice hard.

A desperate attempt to get you out of this situation.

Almost completely hidden from the guy’s field of vision with Eddie having placed himself in front of you, his muscles taut and ready to fight, your hands slowly dive into the bag slung over your shoulder, fingertips carefully feeling for something, anything, to use to protect him, to protect both of you –

“Or,” the man drawls, taking a step closer, with the ease of a predator rounding in on a wounded fawn, “I’ll just take whatever you got and have some fun with your pretty lady.”

It happens too fast to see it coming.

There’s a snapping sound as the flick-knife the guy must have been holding, concealed in his meaty fist and the dark of night, is flipped open, the jagged blade flashing in the obscure beams of moonlight filtering through the clouds and the foliage of trees above your heads – and Eddie pushes you farther behind him.

Placing yourself between you and the knife’s path as he snaps, voice vibrating, “Stay the fuck away from her.”

The man lets out a low, rumbling chuckle. “And what are you gonna do, hm?”

There. Your fingers wrap around something smooth and cool nestled at the bottom of your bag.

And not a second too soon.

Before the guy can let the knife in his fist soar down to hurt Eddie, you duck around your friend, your own hand flying up as you press your index finger down in the spray bottle in your sweaty grip, sending a blast of hair spray straight into the guy’s face.

He screams, hands flying up to cover his eyes as he stumbles backwards, and the flick-knife lands between the ferns.

Eddie doesn’t waste a single second.

His hand finding yours, he pulls you away from the screaming, staggering man and pushes you towards the path that leads back to the road and the van and safety. Together, you break into a run.

You don’t notice the thorns of the brambles cutting your legs, the burn of your lungs, your muscles, because it all fades to white noise beneath the roaring of blood in your ears, the wild pounding of your heart, Eddie’s own racing steps behind you.

Only at the edges of your panic-addled mind you realize that he’s staying behind you to make sure you’ll get away, first.

The van comes up in the distance, a flash of white among the leaves and branches, and you feel the first tender burst of relief wash through you at the sight.

Eddie rips the driver’s side door open, all but shoving you inside and onto the passenger seat as he climbs in after you, and the old engine comes to life with a sputtering roar. The van jerks forwards with screeching tires as your hands shoot out to grab the door’s handle to avoid toppling over into the footwell.

As the vehicle bolts down the country road leading out of the woods, silence descends upon you, heavy and loud even beneath the roar of the engine, your own panting breaths slowly calming.

You cast Eddie a careful sideways glance.

He doesn’t look at you.

His eyes are glued to the road the way his foot is glued to the gas pedal, jaw set, and his knuckles clamped around the wheel are white.

You’ve never seen him so angry in all the time you’ve known him.

You’ve never felt so angry in all the time you’ve known him, either.

When the van emerges from the woods and lights of the carnival come into sight, the twinkling form of the Ferris wheel rising over the rolling fields of wheat covering the landscape, Eddie steers the vehicle to the side of the road.

By the time he cuts off the engine and pushes the driver’s door open with a force that makes you fear it’ll just rip off its hinges, he still hasn’t uttered a single word.

You reach for the latch in your own door, but before you can open it, Eddie has already rounded the hood, and the door is ripped open to reveal his face, unreadable and void of all the usual humor and goofiness.

“Are you okay?” It sounds strangely hollow, the way he says it.

“Eddie –“

“Are you okay?” It’s nearly a shout, but not an angry one. Only scared. So fucking scared that it makes his voice shake as much as his hands coming up to rake through his curls while his dark eyes roam over you in the diffuse moonlight over the field, the dim glow of the lights inside the van, scanning the tiny cuts decorating your face and arms and legs where the brambles and branches of the woods have left their marks during your flight.

You give a tentative nod.

The breath he seems to have been holding leaves in a sharp exhale as he rakes his hand through his dark curls once more, sending stray leaves falling out as he starts pacing at the edge of the road.

You climb out of the car.

And the storm that’s been building the past few minutes breaks lose – not in the sky, but down beneath it.

“I TOLD YOU TO STAY IN THE FUCKING CAR!”

Eddie has never shouted at you.

You’ve never shouted at him, either, but it breaks out of you like a flood-wave.

“ME?! THIS IS MY FAULT?!”

“YES! FUCKING HELL YES IT IS! SHIT. IF YOU HAD, JUST FOR ONCE, LISTENED –“

“ME?! I’M NOT THE ONE MEETING FUCKING KILLERS IN THE WOODS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT!”

“THAT’S WHY I TOLD YOU TO STAY –“

“IF I’D STAYED IN THE CAR, YOU’D BE DEAD ON THE FOREST FLOOR NOW!” The thought of it, of Eddie, bleeding out between the ferns, scared and alone and in pain, makes the tears spill over and your voice shatter as you choke out the rest of the sentence in a miserable little whisper. “You’d be fucking dead!” Saying it aloud brings back the fury at him for being so fucking careless. “HE WAS ABOUT TO HURT YOU!”

“AND THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN WAY BETTER THAN IF HE’D HURT YOU! I CAN’T LOSE YOU, I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

Eddie’s words shut you up.

They ring through the night, mingle with the soft summer breeze that ruffles the stalks of wheat in the nearby field, the rustling too loud in the shellshocked silence.

The tears which have been glittering in his dark eyes have started running down his pale cheeks.

For a few wild heartbeats, you just stare at each other in the moonlight piercing through the passing clouds, the glow of colorful lights of the fair at the edge of the field sending flares into the night, the stuffy summer night’s air pressing down on the two of you.

In a few quick strides, both of you cross the small distance between the two of you, meeting in the middle.

And then, you’re kissing.

And the world stills, heartbeat accelerating as panic and adrenaline bleed into something entirely else, something that’s been trapped within you for so long it takes a second to realize this, right now, is truly happening.

Eddie’s lips, soft and hot against yours, his palms cradling your face, the metal of his rings warm with the heat of his body as they press gently against your skin.

He kisses you like he’s been waiting for this moment just as long as you have.

He kisses you like he really, truly means it.

Because I fucking love you.

It’s better, so much better than even your wildest daydreams.

You know you’ll never want to kiss anyone else after this.

You know you don’t ever want this kiss to end.

It does, eventually. Eddie pulls away, wide-eyed and panting, lips slightly apart in a gape and curls in a tangled mess – from his own hands raking through it or yours right now, you can’t tell. Even in the half-dark of the night, you can see the blush dusting his cheeks.

“I – I’m sorry,” he breathes, the kiss-dazed gleam in his eyes making room for an appalled expression. “God, fuck, I’m – I didn’t think. I didn’t even ask –“

“I’ve been waiting for you to do this for a very long time,” you say quietly, giving him a soft smile.

For a moment, Eddie just stares at you, as if he’s contemplating whether his mind is playing tricks on him. “You, uh. You did?”

“Yeah,” you whisper into the few inches of between the two of you. “And now I’ll be waiting for you to do it again.”

He does. Not a single beat of hesitation.

This time, when Eddie’s lips meet yours, it’s softer, slower, yet just as intoxicating and feverish as that first kiss.

His hands snake up to cup your cheeks and angle your head as he slowly walks you backwards, until your back meets the side of the van, the metal still warm from the day and the sweltering night air, and butterflies flood your belly, your entire body, a colorful swarm of them making your skin tingle in all the places his body brushes against yours. His chest against yours, one of his knees between yours, his calloused fingertips gently trailing down the column of your throat.

Kissing Eddie Munson is as easy as breathing.

“I meant it,” he breathes into the kiss, before resting his forehead against yours, the curls of his bangs tickling you, “What I said. I’m so fucking sorry I dragged you into this mess. I’m so fucking sorry I put you in danger.” He swallows. “And I’m so fucking much in love with you.”

“I love you, too,” you whisper, placing a kiss to the corner of his lips, feeling his smile. “I’ve been loving you for a very long time, Eddie.”

You place your hands over his, still holding your face.

“I was so fucking scared,” Eddie murmurs, voice trembling again with new tears. “Fuck. I was so stupid –“

“We’re okay,” you whisper, fingers squeezing his, “We’re safe. You saved me.”

“Shit, you saved me. What even was that? Pepper spray?”

You chuckle. “Farah Fawcett hair spray.”

Eddie blinks, before he gives a breathless little laugh, as if he’s not sure he’d rather laugh or cry. Probably both. “Pretty fucking metal.”

“I wanted to look pretty for you tonight,” you amend, and Eddie’s expression grows serious again.

“You always look pretty, sweetheart. I’ve been having a pretty hard time not ogling you every second we’re together.”

“You need to promise me you’ll never ever meet clients in the middle of the woods. Not at night. Not by day either. And –“

“I promise,” Eddie interrupts, voice sincere. “I’m gonna stick to the clients I know. No expanding the business.”

“Good,” you breathe, letting your hands fall away from his to lock them at the nape of his neck, fingertips playing with his dark curls.

“Your hair is really soft,” you breathe, lips not an inch from his, feeling stupid all of a sudden for saying it out loud, but Eddie replies with an adorable little giggle that makes your heart soar and race and squeeze with love all at the same time.

“Thanks. It’s…uh. Don’t laugh. It’s Farah Fawcett conditioner.”

Your own soft laugh fades into the night as Eddie’s lips find yours again, the summer storm brewing over your heads and the glittering lights of the carnival in the distance and the moment of terror in the woods blurring against the radiant joy of knowing the one you love loves you back just as much.

𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐲, 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝🖤

Requests for angst/smangst remain open. If you want to check out my works in progress, here's the list🖤

#eddie munson #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic

[flametrashiraarchive]

Hi, it says your requests are open! Can I request a nsfw scenario for Giyuu and his crush going to a public bath house, and the receptionist mistakes them for a couple so they have to share a bath.. hehe.. and he gets a boner and tries to hide it?

thanks and feel free to ignore im kind of embarrassed aaaa

AAAAA THIS WAS SO MUCH FUN! Thank you for being my very first ask! I hope you enjoy!

I'll try to work on the other asks tomorrow too! Thank you so much!

NSFW under the cut...

Bathing with Giyuu 💦

You've traveled with the water hashira long enough to know when his quiet stoicism slips into panicked silence. 

To the uninitiated, Giyuu's facial expression is one of dead calm, but his deep blue eyes give away far more than he realizes, and right now he's shitting himself. 

"It'll be fine," you sigh, standing shivering in your yukata. It's morning and the sun has barely begun to warm the world up. "I won't peek. We'll just bathe, get out, and never speak of this again."

You're mostly trying to assure him, but there is a little part of you that's nervous too. It's just a simple mixup; the lady running the bathhouse just mistook you for a married couple and sent you to the same private onsen. And if the pair of you weren't so damn introverted you could probably have the mistake rectified fairly quickly, but the thought of the awkwardness and the apologies... no this is somehow simpler.

Giyuu is already in the bath, submerged up to his shoulders, the steam and clear water doing very little to obscure his… everything. 

He sighs as you shiver and says flatly, "Fine. Get in. But if you tell anyone about this, especially the other hashira…"

"My lips are sealed… turn around."

He does as you ask, turning his back and lowering himself until his chin is touching the water. He stares at the rocks surrounding the edge pool as if they're the most interesting thing in the world.

Your heart races as you slip off your yukata and leave it hanging from a nearby tree. As desperate as you are for this bath, and as much as you tried to brush it off, it is a little weird to be naked with Giyuu.

You quickly get into the water. It only reaches your bellybutton, but you can crouch and fully submerge your body just like he's doing. "Okay, I'm in." 

You expect his shoulders to relax but if anything they get more tense. What little you can see of his face is bright red. "Ugh this was a bad idea."

"It's fine! Come on Giyuu, we've been traveling and fighting demons for days without a break. Everything hurts. I need this bath. If it's so awful sharing with me then you can always get out."

He shakes his head firmly, still looking away. "No. Absolutely not."

"Okay well… let's not make a big deal out of it." It is pretty fun to annoy him so you tease a little. "We're just two unmarried friends, bathing together…naked. Nothing weird about it."

He brings his hand out of the water to pinch the bridge of his nose. You brace yourself for his exasperated reprimand, but in the same heartbeat as he opens his mouth to speak you hear something. You sense movement behind you. 

He hears it too and the pair of you instinctively stand, both on high alert. After days of fighting for your lives against demons, neither one of you can fully relax yet. It takes a moment to realize it's daytime. The demons are all hiding from the sun. You're safe. Your yukata just slipped down from the tree branch.

Breathing a sigh of relief, you turn your head to face him. "Probably just a squirr- oh god!!"

You're naked. He's naked. The water is waist deep on you but he's taller…

And God, he's rock-fucking-hard.

He doesn't speak. He just releases a panicked grunt, attempts to cover himself with both hands, fails to conceal it fully, and dips down to hide beneath the water. 

And you just freeze as your heart lunges against your ribs. That image is burned into your mind forever; his lean, muscular body… the way it curved. The veins…

"Sit down!" He says finally. 

You bring up your arm to cover your tits. "Oh! Right."

As you submerge your body in the water. You're facing each other, both bright red, unable to make eye contact. Your heart is racing and you're pretty sure his must be too.

You're the first to break, your eyes sliding across to him. The corner of your mouth tugs upward.

"Not a word," he whispers.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Giyuu's eyes flicker to you and then away again. 

You can't hold it anymore. A laugh sputters out of you. "We're so ridiculous."

His well-practiced stoicism starts to falter, and a faint smile curves his lips. "Yeah. We are, aren't we?" 

It feels good to laugh; days of tension and exhaustion slip away, rising with the steam of the onsen. And it feels even better to laugh with him. 

#giyuu tomioka #kimetsu giyuu #giyuu smut #demon slayer giyuu #giyuu x y/n #giyuu x reader #kny fanfic #tomioka x y/n #kimetsu no yaiba tomioka #demon slayer tomioka #tomioka giyū

[solitaryearthperson]

They’re okay

Summary: Instead of being greeted by the reader, Daryl is only greeted with silence.

(The reader is 18+ and uses they/them pronouns. The ethnicity/race is preferably black.)

“(Y/N),” Daryl yelled your name, as he came through the door. Shit, he thought, feeling a corner of the crossbow digging into his back. He quickly deposited it onto the floor then closed the door behind him.

Walking into the foyer he looked around and frowned at the silence of the house, not having been used to it in a long time.

“(Y/N)!” he yelled again, waiting to hear the scurry of your feet hurrying to greet him with a hug and a kiss, but was sadly disappointed again.

The hell are they, he wondered, walking into the kitchen. He was about to open a cabinet and fix him a plate of food, when he noticed the mess on top of the counter and stopped, what he saw almost making his heart stop. A cutting board with chopped bell peppers, garlic, and almost finished chopped onions was sitting on the counter and next to it was a knife. He knew his (Y/N), and he knew they were a bit of a neat freak and would never leave a mess like this on the counter, usually scolding him for doing something similar. Taking a small step closer to the counter, he squinted his eyes at the blade of the knife, hoping that what he was seeing wasn't there, that he was mistaken, but he was indeed right. On the knife was blood.

“No,” he muttered to himself, feeling his chest beginning to tighten at the possibility of what that blood meant. They could be alright, he mentally told himself, placing his hand on his chest, rubbing where his heart was, hoping the action would comfort him. There's nothing wrong with them. I just have to find them. Against his control, images of lost lives began flashing through his mind. Carol’s daughter, Sofia, as a walker. Merle as a walker. Beth’s dead body. The images kept appearing behind his eyes like a projector and he could feel the tightening in his chest getting worse with each one.

“(Y/N),” he yelled again. Still no answer. He then thought of someone else, someone who he knew would answer him without hesitation. “Dog!” Surprisingly there was no answer to that either.

“Shit, shit, shit!” he mumbled, hurrying out of the kitchen and going to the front door, picking up his crossbow from the floor. He was slinging it back on his back and ready to open the door, when he heard something that made the tightening in his chest loosen instantly.

“Daryl!”

“(Y/N),” he yelled back, throwing the crossbow back on the floor, before hurrying to where he heard their voice. “(Y/N)! Dog!”

A loud bark answered him back, and he followed the sound, quickening his pace to find them both in the backyard, the backdoor slightly ajar.

“Daryl, hey! When’d you get back,” (Y/N) asked. “Me and Dog didn’t hear you.”

Dog quickly greeted him with a wide smile and wagging tail, jumping on him with glee. Catching him, Daryl scratched the excited dog behind his ears and rubbed down his back, happy to feel its fur beneath his fingers and see the animal happy and healthy.

They’re okay, he told himself, looking at (Y/N). He didn’t see any serious injuries on their body, no limping, and no wincing. Running his eyes down their body, his eyes caught the sight of a bandage wrapped around their right hand, with a little blood seeping through.

“Yer hand,” Daryl nodded towards it.

"Oh," they looked down, noticing their blood through the bandage. "The smell of the onions were so strong that my eyes were starting to water and I accidentally cut my hand."

"Why were ya out here?" He let go of Dog and walked over to them, gently taking their hand in his.

"The smell was so strong," (Y/N) repeated, "I went outside to get away from it."

They're okay, he repeated, feeling a weight being lifted off of his chest. The bloody images of fallen friends and family were no longer appearing to him. The only thing he saw now was his love and his dog both safe and sound.

"Daryl-"

Daryl cut them off pulling them to his body and wrapping his arms tightly around their body, nestling his head into the side of their neck, breathing in their scent.

"Daryl, are you okay?" (Y/N) asked, their voice muffled by his shoulder.

They’re okay. Everybody's alive. Everybody's okay. He breathed in their scent one more time before answering, "I'm fine." His mind at ease once more in the arms of his love.

#The Walking Dead #TWD #The Walking Dead imagine #TWD imagine #The Walking Dead x reader #TWD x reader #The Walking Dead x black!reader #TWD x black!reader #Daryl Dixon #Daryl Dixon imagine #Daryl Dixon x reader #Daryl Dixon x black!reader #Daryl Dixon x poc!reader #Daryl Dixon x woc!reader #Daryl Dixon x G/N #Daryl Dixon x Y/N

[fandomxpreferences]

Secrets Secrets Are No Fun

Masterlist

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x female!reader, past Barry x female!reader

TW:18+, mentions of alcohol consumption and drug abuse, angst, fluff,smut, oral (f receiving), dominance, mild breeding kink, I think thats all

Summary:Rafe discovers some interesting information about your past and reminds you who you belong to.

Word Count.3.6k

Rafe has never been one for involving you with his work. He insists that you're too sweet and pretty; his perfect girl that should never have to lift a manicured finger. 

Deeper than that though, is his desire to protect you. It's no secret that Rafe has gotten involved in shady dealings in the past, and he wants you nowhere near it. 

He isn't aware of your own suspicious past; your younger years before him spent on the cut and around less-than-moral people. 

One of the things that drew him to you was your natural ability to be the life of the party and he was hooked when you beat him in a game of beer pong. He never stopped to ask where those qualities came from though, and you never offered up the answer. 

To say you're surprised when he brings you along to a "business" meeting on the cut is an understatement. You're not entirely sure what he could possibly have arranged on that side of the island, but you don't press for details. 

Familiar streets and houses blur by as you draw closer to your old stomping grounds, and your stomach sinks when he pulls up to a house you recognize all too well. 

His hand falls to its usual place on the small of your back as he leads you up the yard, the man you were hoping never to see again slamming the screen door behind him when he hears your arrival. 

You stay tucked into your boyfriend's side, his fingers digging into your waist as a reminder that you're safe. Little does he know, this used to be a place of solace for you and danger isn't even a thought in your mind. 

Your eyes lock with Barry's momentarily, widening the slightest bit to try and communicate as Rafe looks forward. 

"Shiiiiiit, if it ain't the princess herself. Long time no see."

He flashes a toothy grin and you do your best to conceal the panic clawing up your throat as you shift on your feet. 

Rafe frowns a bit, unaware that the two of you have met. 

"You know him?"

He's turned to you now, confusion swimming in his ocean eyes as your gaze stays locked on Barry. 

"Yeah, she knows me re-"

You cut him off suddenly, tilting your head to peer up at Rafe.

"We've met at a few parties and talked some. We're just acquaintances, really."

You give him a blinding smile that seems to convince him, and Barry eyes you knowingly. A devilish grin splits his feathers as he casts his eyes toward the ground and shakes his head.

"Yeah, country club. Acquaintances."

Rafe glances between the two of you suspiciously, picking up on unspoken tension and the slight edge to Barry's voice. He doesn't like being in the dark, and he has a nagging feeling that you're not telling him something. 

Still, he lets it go for now and takes a step forward. You hang back with your arms crossed, toying with the grass beneath your feet as you tune out their conversation. This is a new level of trust from Rafe; he's never let you know any details in the past. 

It causes an ache in your chest; guilt eating at you as he puts his heart in your hands while you hide the truth. You try to convince yourself that it's not particularly deceitful, you're just not giving him the entire story. It wouldn't do anything but cause problems anyway; so what's the harm in a little white lie?

What he doesn't know can't hurt him. 

You're lost in your thoughts; images of white lines and passion-filled nights flashing behind your eyelids. It's not your proudest moment, climbing into bed with a drug dealer. You're ashamed of that part of your life; you were lost and willing to risk everything just to feel something. 

You've since grown up and found purpose. You're happy and it's all behind you. So really, why does it matter? It led you to where you are. 

Your little fling, if you can even call it that, with Barry was short-lived. You only hooked up with him while high, so honestly you could argue that it wasn't really you. It was an alter ego that comes out when you're under the influence, on a war path to make bad decisions. 

Granted, you were sober when you woke up still in his bed and decided to stay, but that's neither here nor there.

Is that a little toxic and twisted? Perhaps. At this point, you're making up any excuse to convince yourself that you aren't wrong for keeping it from Rafe. 

Besides, what were you supposed to do? Stroll up to him and casually say 'By the way, I used to do coke and fuck my drug dealer. Love you!'? That most definitely wouldn't have gone over well. 

You're torn out of your thoughts when you feel Rafe beside you again, and let him lead you back to his truck wordlessly. You don't cast Barry a second glance, though you can feel his gaze burning into your back. 

The drive back is silent, and you can tell by the tortured look on Rafe's face that he has questions. His fingers are tapping the steering wheel rapidly, deep creases between his brows as he scowls. 

As soon as you get back, you hop out and make a beeline toward Tannyhill. He's hot on your heels, ready to pick a fight, but you don't give him the chance. You grab your keys, spouting off an excuse about an errand you need to run, before practically sprinting to your car. 

He lets you go, a sinking feeling in his gut as he watches you peel out of the driveway. 

You're not exactly thinking clearly as you follow the route you know by muscle memory, panic clouding over any logical thought. You need to make sure this stays a secret. 

Your tires squeal as you skid to a stop, and you nearly gag at the victorious look on his face when he sees you. 

"Couldn't stay away, huh?"

You march forward, hands coming up to shove him back before pointing a finger in his face. It does little to deter him, his eyes darkening with lust at your defiant and bratty attitude.

"Don't start with me. Our deal still stands, Barry. Whatever the fuck happened stays between us."

You take a step back when he moves toward you, wanting to keep as much distance as possible. 

"Ah, so I was right. Country club doesn't know."

You scoff and roll your eyes, hands coming to rest on your hips. 

"Yeah, I told him that I used to fuck a low-level dealer on the cut that I didn't even know he was aware existed. Of course he doesn't fucking know, Barry!"

He barks out a short laugh, bringing a joint up to his mouth before holding it out as a peace offering. You shoot him a harsh glare, and his hands come up in surrender. 

"Just figured you would've told your boyfriend about us, baby doll."

Your nose scrunches at the nickname and a new fire surges through your veins as you step into his personal space. 

"There is no us, Barry. There never was!"

He raises his eyebrows, not convinced that you believe your own line of bullshit. There were one too many mornings spent over with tangled legs and a few too many secrets shared for it to have been nothing. 

"That's not what you were screaming when I was buried inside you and doing a line.." His finger moves to trace the valley between your breasts as he continues. "Right here."

You shudder at his touch, not from desire but rather disgust at feeling his hand on you again. 

"Don't worry, I won't say nothin'. But if he ever fails to satisfy you, you know where to find me. I still remember where all those little spots are that make you sc-"

You cut him off, not able to bear the rest of his sentence. 

"Yeah, whatever. See ya never."

You flip him off before turning on your heel, but stop mid-stride when his voice rings out. 

"Oh, and doll? The two of you may have more in common than you think. How you think he knows me so well?"

The question swirls around in your brain as you climb back into the driver's seat and start toward your boyfriend's house. That hadn't even occurred to you. Barry was known for one thing, so how the hell would Rafe know him? Let alone come to be in business with him. 

Your thoughts are racing by the time you arrive, questions that don't have logical answers plaguing your mind. 

Rafe is in front of you within seconds once you cross the threshold, concern and anger clear on his face. It seems that both of you have had time to stew and come up with various scenarios. 

You walk past him casually, finding a glass to fill with water as he leans against the kitchen island. 

"You know, I was thinking,"

So it begins. Rafe thinking is never good; but in this case, he doesn't know that you have ammo of your own. He's going to regret pulling at this thread, that much you're sure of. 

"You said you've met Barry at parties, but he wouldn't be caught dead on Figure Eight. Which means you were on the Cut. So you wanna tell me the truth before I go beat it out of him?"

You turn around slowly, sipping leisurely as you hold eye contact over the rim of the glass. He falters slightly at the steely look in your eyes that rivals the fire in his but holds his ground. You take your time, giving him a chance to back down. 

When he doesn't, you set the cup down and lean forward to match his stance, pursing your lips for dramatic effect. 

"You know, Rafe, I could ask you the same thing. It seems neither of us have been completely honest."

Satisfaction blooms in your chest when his eyes widen slightly, no doubt wishing that he had just dropped the subject. His mouth opens and closes a few times as he flounders, and you cock your head to the side in a mocking manner. 

"Cat got your tongue, country club?"

His eyes darken when you repeat the nickname he loathes, and he stands up straight while moving to loom over you. 

"Don't change the fucking subject."

His voice is deeper than usual, dripping off his tongue like molasses as anger bubbles up inside him. 

"I'm not changing the subject. I'm just asking how you know Barry since you seem so pissed off that I know him. We both know what he does and you said yourself that he wouldn't come to Figure Eight, which means you sought him out on the cut. Seems like your casting stones from a glass house."

Your tone is far too casual as you shrug your shoulders like you're discussing what to have for dinner and it pisses Rafe off more.

"What was the errand you had to run, sweetheart? You came back empty-handed."

Your silence seems to confirm his suspicion and he nods his head, his tongue darting out to wet his lips as he chuckles. 

"Did you fuck him?"

The question is dripping with venom, but you don't miss the heartache lying just under the surface. You soften a bit at the realization he thinks you cheated and shake your head. 

"Today? No. Ever? Yes. It was a long time ago, Rafe. Way before I even knew you. I used to do some fucked up shit, but that's not who I am anymore."

Your voice is timid as you finally give him the answer he was looking for, a weight lifting off your shoulders as your last secret is revealed to your boyfriend. 

His eyes dart back and forth as he processes the new information, and he cages you against the counter while dropping his face to be level with yours. In any other circumstance, it would be intimidating. However, when you see the raw vulnerability he's displaying, it's anything but. 

"Were you in love with him?"

Your eyes widen, realization hitting you that he doesn't have all the information. As far as he knows, you were in a relationship. 

"No, Rafe. Not even close. We would do blow and then hookup. It started turning into something more towards the end and that's why I walked away from it all and never looked back. I wanted more for myself."

Your voice is soft and comforting, and he searches your eyes for any sign of deceit. 

"You did coke?"

You nod slowly, unsure how he's going to react to your confession. Against your better judgment, you decide to circle back to your question. 

"How do you know him, Rafe?"

The fury returns to his eyes at the prospect of being held accountable, and any compassion that was there just a second ago is gone. 

"I'm not done with my interrogation, baby. Did he fuck you right?"

Your mouth falls open at his brazen inquiry, unsure what the right answer is. The truth is yes, he did. However, telling Rafe that doesn't seem like a good choice so you remain silent. 

"Did he make you scream like I do? Huh? Did he know all the right places to touch? Did he know your body the same as me?"

You release a sharp gasp when his hand shoves into your pants, instantly finding the bundle of nerves and pressing tight figure eights. You choke on a strangled moan when the coolness of his signet ring grazes across your folds, his index finger dipping down to collect your slick. 

"Is this for me? Or is it for Barry?"

There's a cruel glint in his eyes, blue irises barely peeking out behind blown-out pupils. You can't bring yourself to respond, too focused on the sparks of pleasure jolting through your body. 

"Answer me! Or I won't let you come for a week."

You know that Rafe is nothing if not a man of his word, and try to muster up the strength to speak. 

"You, Rafe. It's always for you."

His lips press to the pulse point just below your ear, his hot breath causing goosebumps to erupt as he whispers into your skin. He tsks, not satisfied with your answer. 

"I don't believe you."

You're about to plead your case, when he picks you up and sets you on the counter, forcing your legs apart and ripping your shorts and lace thong off in one fell swoop. 

"Does he know how sweet you taste?"

It's a rhetorical question; and even if it wasn't, you wouldn't answer anyway. Rafe is too far gone when he's like this, anything you say will only make it worse. 

Before you can process, his lips are wrapped around your clit sucking harshly as he shoves two fingers into your soaking heat. 

Your hips jolt up as you let out a scream, his large hand resting on your lower stomach to shove you back down. 

"Don't fucking move. I want you to scream my name so loud he can hear it all the way across the island. You're never going to think about him again. Do you understand?"

You give a short nod, only to be met with a sharp sting on your clit when he bites down. 

"Words."

A shrill whine rips from your throat, desperation leaking out of every pore. 

"Yes! Yes, I understand!"

You're rewarded with his fingers curling up into that spot he knows by heart, eyes fluttering closed at the blissful sensation. 

"Look at me. I want you to see who's making you feel this good."

You do as he says, prying your eyelids open and propping up on your elbows so you can watch him devour you. 

"Fuck, Rafe."

He groans into you, alternating between licking and sucking as your high approaches at record speed. Your pussy clamps down on him, mere seconds from release when he suddenly pulls back. 

You whimper at the loss of contact, and he pulls you down to your feet. His hand presses down harshly on your head, pressing your hips into the counter hard enough to leave bruises. 

"Whores don't get to come. Maybe if you're a good girl for me and take this cock the way you're supposed to, I'll give you permission."

You moan out at his filthy words, a chuckle reverberating from his chest as you hear his belt buckle clink. 

"You just love when I treat you like a little slut, don't you?"

His hand comes down on your ass in a sharp slap when you don't respond quickly enough, and he teases your entrance with the tip of his cock. 

"Answer me or I'll leave you here dripping."

"Fuck, yes. I love when you treat me like your slut!"

He nudges inside you just enough to draw a deep moan from your chest before stopping and leaning forward so his body is covering yours. 

"Yes, what?"

The raspiness of his voice has you keening for more, now willing to do anything just to find relief. 

"Yes, Rafe."

"Good girl."

He thrusts into you suddenly, your body lurching forward at the force, and sets a brutal pace. 

"God damn, you're so ti-tight. Did he fill you up this good?"

You shake your head from side to side, turning to sink your teeth into his bicep resting beside your face. 

"No, Rafe! Fu-fuck, never."

You push your hips back to meet him, and nearly come from the groan he lets out. 

"Keep doing that, baby. So good for me."

You follow his command, a thin sheen of sweat coating both of you as you're lost in the throws of passion. Rafe can feel you tighten around him, a sign that your high is imminent. His nimble fingers reach around to rub fast circles on your clit, blistering heat itching to explode. 

"Oh, my- Rafe!" 

Your voice echoes off the walls as you scream out for him, and he remains consistent in his efforts. 

"I know. Come for me, pretty girl. Give it to me."

His words send you over the edge, and your body convulses against him as every nerve ending ignites. Your repetitive screaming of his name never ceases as your vision goes white, Rafe's strong arms holding you steady. 

"Shit, I'm close. Gonna fill you up and give you a baby so everybody knows you're mine. Taking me so well."

The desperation in his voice hurtles you into your second orgasm, barely giving you time to come down from your first. This triggers Rafe, his movements becoming erratic as he coats your walls.

He pumps into you a few more times before slowly pulling out, a combination of your fluids dripping down your legs. His fingers reach down to fuck his cum back into you as your body trembles, completely spent. 

"That's a first."

Your eyebrows furrow at his statement, turning just enough to see what he's referring to. Your jaw goes slack when your eyes land on the puddle at his feet, along with his soaked thighs. 

"Holy shit."

He chuckles with pride, his large hand coming to smooth down your hair. 

"Yeah, you made a mess baby."

He kisses your spine a few times before cleaning up quickly, his arms encompassing you once he's done. Your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you up to his bedroom, allowing you to cling to him with ease while he turns on the shower. 

Once it's to the desired temperature, he steps inside with one arm completely wrapped around your back and his other hand on the underside of your thigh. 

You release a sigh when the warm water hits your skin, nuzzling your face into his neck when he kisses your temple. 

"You have to get down if we're going to wash up, baby."

He's met with your face rubbing against him as you shake your head, and laughs loudly. 

"Come on."

He sets you down slowly, not relinquishing his hold until he's sure your legs aren't going to give out. It's peaceful for a few minutes while he goes through the motions of washing your hair, lips pressing soft kisses to your bare flesh every few seconds. 

It's a stark contrast to his persona twenty minutes ago; the side of him you love more than anything. 

"He used to be my dealer."

Your head jerks up at this, your eyes meeting his as an encouragement to continue. 

"I had a coke problem when we met. As soon as I realized you were special, I quit cold turkey. Haven't touched it in almost two years. Withdrawals were a bitch, but I just kept picturing your face and it got me through."

You nod slowly, taking in his honest answer before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. 

"Why didn't you tell me about you and Barry?"

His finger rests under your chin, gently guiding your face back up when you turn it toward the floor. 

"You never asked, and honestly I didn't think it mattered. Probably the same reason you didn't tell me. It's in the past and I don't read books backward. Once a chapter is closed, it stays that way and I didn't want to revisit it."

He hums in understanding and presses a lingering kiss to your forehead. 

"I love you."

You lean into him, allowing your body to press flush against his toned abdomen as he blankets you in comfort. 

"I love you too."

@genius2050

#rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron fluff #rafe cameron smut #outer banks fic #outer banks #outer banks angst #outer banks imagine #outer banks smut #obx fluff #obx angst #obx imagine

[parad-ice-lostandfound]

Prompt: "You, whose image the Dark Mirror did beckon forth... If your heart bids it, take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror."

Pairing: Dire Crowley and GN!Prefect/ Yuu/ MC

Genre: Yandere (platonic)

TW: Yandere Dire Crowley, crow man's delusional and literally does not give two fucks, just generally creepy vibes all around.

AN: I am so, so, so sorry for what you are about to read now lol. If you get too confused in the middle, don't worry, I was just as confused writing this but my brain just wouldn't rest until I finished and posted this so here we are. The basic summary of this is that Yuu or the Prefect is trapped in an endless cycle because Crowley overblotted. You might have to read this twice or thrice to understand the how and why <3

He knows.

From the moment he sees them, he remembers.

He remembers and he watches as they do it again.

And again.

And again.

A puppet, unaware of their being handled by someone else, someone kinder and gentler who just wants to keep them safe and sound.

Even if it means trapping them in an endless cycle.

Even if he is the only one who sees and notices and remembers.

Dire Crowley cuts an imposing figure as he stands in his office, facing an ornate mirror. Not the Dark Mirror, no. This particular mirror has its roots in mystical arcane magic, from the times of Jupiter and when the Titans roamed free. Dire has a faint memory of his mother, the Crowley Matriarch, telling him to be careful with it, to pass it down to his heir as she had, to him.

Crystal clear, it beckons to him to reveal himself. To bare himself, imperfections and flaws laid out in the privacy of his office for it to see.

A selfish, sadistic desire to pick apart every carefully constructed lie, each bejeweled facade to show the utter mess of a man that lies beneath it all arises in him; he finds himself indulging in it more often than he likes to admit.

The masked man removes his mask for what is not the first time, and most certainly would not be the last. Sharp golden eyes look on as black ink, once held within the confines of his mask, drips down his face. Times like these make him wonder and marvel at how he has not met his demise yet.

Fingers adorned with golden claws rise and touch the blot, marveling at how cold it feels as it stains his skin. Lesser mages would have been dead long ago, Crowley knows this. Slight dread rises in him at the thought, knowing that his magic reserves are long finished; he lives on borrowed time and magic.

But then again, who cares? As long as he can have them here, where they belong, safe and sound-

A knock resonates through the room, startling the headmage. He quickly puts the mask on his face again and clears his throat, saying, "Come in."

He watches as they walk in, no doubt to complain about something, or to talk about their financial situation. Perhaps he should increase their allowance? After all, it is their being, their magic that sustains him, and allows him to live through these lifetimes watching over the unassuming, now magicless human he had imprinted on and the students they had endeared themself to.

Crowley watches as they speak, unable to stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He hems and haws and lies through his teeth about not being able to find them a way back.

He sees the light in their eyes dim; it is a small change, one that doesn't stay for long. But the magicless human is precious to him, and so he observes them. He watches them leave his office silently, a stark contrast to when their impatience and indignance have them cursing his name to the skies. No outcome, no outburst of their emotions will be able to move his cold, frozen heart to thaw, however; they belong to Twisted Wonderland, as Twisted Wonderland belongs to them.

In their first lifetime, Crowley recalls with the fondness of a father thinking of his grown-up child, they did possess magic; far different in nature, but magic nonetheless. And powerful too, considering the aura of it radiated from their being even as something stopped them from being able to use it.

Crowley wonders if it was so that he could see how invaluable, how indispensable they were.

How the entirety of Twisted Wonderland was made for them.

He did try, the first time, to find them a way back home. Endless efforts were dedicated to researching the existence of universes and multiverses. Of course, such exhaustive research would take time, time which he saw them spend getting close to the students of Night Raven College and fighting overblots.

Seven overblots, in the span of one year.

A record untouched by any other being, mage or otherwise. A record they kept making each and every lifetime they spent in the loop. A record that became his new normal, so much so that he no longer gives more than a cursory glance to the overblots and their aftermath.

He knows how it all ends, after all.

In their first lifetime, his efforts had bore fruit. His studies revealed a way to connect the Dark Mirror to their plane of existence, through the use of the very mirror that was hidden behind his back. His blood had run cold at the revelation, and he spent the next few weeks? months? looking for alternatives. For other ways to be able to send them back.

Until one day, the Prefect found out.

As they angrily interrogated him for the reasons behind his silence, asking him why he would not send them back even though there was a way, he realized exactly why he was hesitant about sending them back.

Crowley had no spouse, no children. But the mirror, the mirror which had been in his family for generations, needed an heir. One who could gain control over it, rather than have it control them like it did with so many of his ancestors, including his mother.

Surely the one dubbed a beast-tamer could tame such a dangerously powerful magical artefact?

He desperately begged and bargained with them, trying to change their mind. Trying to entice them into staying forever in Twisted Wonderland, as his heir. He offered them gold and silver, riches beyond what one would expect a man like him to have. He offered them the immense honour and prestige that came with being a deity that the entirety of Twisted Wonderland bowed to.

But they... they refused to stay. The only thing that was in their mind was to go home. Why couldn't they get it through their head that Twisted Wonderland was meant to be their home?

The aftermath of that argument... Crowley's memories are hazy at best. He remembers waking up in a pool of blot, the sticky ink covering his hands and the top of his face, dripping constantly. He remembers the mirror glowing as he dragged himself to it like a mindless moth flies to the flame even with the risk of getting burned.

Words had slipped through his mouth like the prayers of the devout at the altar of their deity, the faint and familiar hum of magic accompanied by a slight crackle of dark miasma.

"Ah, my dear esteemed benefactor... My proud, beautiful flower of evil. You are truly the fairest one of all," he had spoken, not knowing exactly what spell he was casting. All he knew, was that he was succumbing to the mirror, the same way his mother had; the same way all of his ancestors had, giving into the madness that such unchecked power and magic could create.

"O magic mirror, thy wisdom I entreat... Reveal unto me the visage I seek.." A vision of them, standing on the other side of the mirror, had Crowley try to reach out to them. His hand grazed the solid glass, before passing through it. He watched as their eyes widened and they took a step back.

"You, whose image the Dark Mirror did beckon forth... If your heart bids it, take the hand of the one reflected in the mirror." A shiver of thrill ran up his spine as they gingerly placed their hand in his after giving his words some thought, even with all the doubt in their eyes. He curled his fingers around their warm hand, and pulled.

He later found out that, during his overblot, he had managed to trap a significant portion of their soul in the mirror that was his family heirloom. The mirror rejected their magic, foreign as it was, and somehow those powers transferred themselves over to Crowley.

The words Crowley spoke, was the way to invoke their soul and bring them back each time they left Twisted Wonderland. A reset button, if you will.

Every time they show the slightest hint of wanting to leave, the slightest glimpse of understanding that he is the one they need to defeat in order to go home, he resets. Memories get wiped and Twisted Wonderland moulds beneath his gold-plated fingertips to what it was before. They say time waits for no man, but then again, Dire Crowley is more monster than human now. And so it bends to his will, but not without taking away his memories as well.

But then he sees them.

And he remembers.

#ice write #twst writing #twisted wonderland #twst #twst crowley #dire crowley #gn!yuu #gn!prefect #twst yuu #yandere twst #yandere dire crowley #platonic yandere #gn!reader #gn!mc #dire crowley twst #yandere crowley and gn!prefect #i dunno what this is #but it is something

[goodnightmemes]

THE FALL OF THE HOUSE OF USHER SENTENCE STARTERS

❛ I'm sorry for your loss, your...your losses, rather. ❜

❛ Nobody gets away with anything. Not really. ❜

❛ Don't lecture me about family values. You're just as shit in that department as I am. ❜

❛ That day was the last day we were all in the same place. Alive. ❜

❛ They will love you because I love you, and the only thing stronger than love is how scared they are of getting cut out of the will. ❜

❛ And most people go their whole, wasted, stupid lives without one minute of true resolution. Not me though. ❜

❛ You know what a resolution is? It's a deal you make with the future. ❜

❛ The people in charge of making us healthy make us sick. We cheat the dying. We fleece the poor. Promote the racist. Let the demons run amok. This world needs changing. ❜

❛ You're supposed to be shadowing me. Shadows don't fucking talk. ❜

❛ This is beneath you. And you're going to kill it. But you're better than all of this. And the minute you figure that out, you're going to be unstoppable. ❜

❛ There's no such thing as a step back. You go forward. If you hit a brick wall, you don't go back, you go through. ❜

❛ Nearly realized is the sweetest. It's better, I promise, in the moment just before than in the moment after. ❜

❛ You are consequence. And tonight, you are consequential. ❜

❛ You are a pretty, pretty little thing. ❜

❛ You wonder why people hate us. This is why. ❜

❛ Everybody knows that edible arrangements are what you send to people you hate. ❜

❛ If you start thinking this is reality, you'll just slip into the abyss. ❜

❛ We can talk about it after because I've had a shit day and I really just wanna starfish and forget the world. ❜

❛ Don't talk to me until I've come at least twice. ❜

❛ I love how deliciously, pointlessly mean you lot can be. ❜

❛ You still didn't need to come here though. It could have happened quiet. Peaceful. In bed. But I guess it's got to happen like this. ❜

❛ It's amazing how far you can get on denial. You know why so many people use denial to get by? Because it really fucking works. ❜

❛ You can't enhance this image? You see it all the time on TV. They hit a button, it enhances it. ❜

❛ I don't even own anything funeral black. ❜

❛ Satin is silk for poor people, no one should wear it to a funeral, unless they died in it. ❜

❛ Nobody knows they're the fall guy until they're falling.❜

❛ Women are the natural leaders of the species. Ancient Egypt had it right. ❜

❛ Okay, just because the door's open doesn't necessarily guarantee you a seat at the table. ❜

❛ You're not who I thought you were. ❜

❛ I really didn't want to think it, but...you're all fucking monsters. ❜

❛ Watching you shit on your principles would have been worth every fucking penny. ❜

❛ The mind of guilt is full of scorpions. And I wouldn't wish their sting on anyone. ❜

❛ Don't have to be smart to be dangerous. I'm not scared of rattlesnakes 'cause they're so smart. ❜

❛ You're so out of touch with your human side...you can't even listen to anything outside your own head. ❜

❛ I haven't seen you sleep in like...I mean, it's been a fucking long time. Like, horror movie long. ❜

❛ Life is insane. It is madness. The sooner you understand that, the better off you'll be. ❜

❛ The world might not be safe but listen to me, and listen carefully. I won't let anything happen to you. ❜

❛ All these terrible things and I thought, that's when people come together. But we've never been further apart. ❜

❛ Tell me it's worth it. Tell me you know the risk and I'll be there with you. I'll back you up. Just tell me. ❜

❛ Shut your mouth, get your shit together. The fuck is wrong with you? ❜

❛ Men, when they think they're immortal, all they want to do is fuck. When they figure out they're going to die, all they want to do is fuck. ❜

❛ It just makes you think, you know, life is so fucking short. ❜

❛ You don't have to be a tyrant, but if you don't want to be consistently cruel, then you have to be sufficiently brutal at least once to establish authority. ❜

❛ I thought it was an act. I figured you just played the housewife so you could keep a roof over your head. Spread your legs or suck his dick twice a week and you're set. You never have to work a day in your life. And I thought, "Good for her, she found her angle," but...this is really you. Isn't it? ❜

❛ Words got us into this, words can get us out. ❜

❛ You're a collection of impeccable, elaborate masks in orbit of a stunted heart. ❜

❛ There are certain things one shouldn't have to face in life. Time enough for self-reflection after. ❜

❛ I don't normally like to get my hands this dirty, but honey, you earned it. ❜

❛ I see you now. I look at you and I see... You. The poverty of you. ❜

❛ The real world is Darwinian. Survival, chaos, power. Leverage. ❜

❛ You feel it. In the air. We're sitting outside of time and space. ❜

❛ This is the moment luck meets opportunity. ❜

❛ In the ancient world, we'd seal this with blood, or spit. And then later, papyrus. But, a deal's a deal all over the world. ❜

❛ We're a... virus, I think. People, I mean. ❜

❛ But everyone loves something. And in that love there's collateral. ❜

❛ I say this with love. Let it go. Let it all go. ❜

❛ So I say, we stand tall and proud. Bill's come due. Let's not hide here in the basement like we've got something to be ashamed of. No. Not us. You and me against the world. ❜

❛ It may not have been perfect, but you can't say we didn't change the world. How many people can say that at the end? ❜

❛ I knew I would climb to the top of the tower on a pile of corpses. ❜

❛ It don't matter in the end why you did any of it. I don't fucking care why you did it. We don't want your confession, or your rationale, or your explanation. ❜

#a condensed version of the previous two #rp meme #rp prompt #sentence starters #sentence meme #roleplay prompts #roleplay meme #inbox memes #*tv #*tfothou

[bingwriterxo]

arachnophobia

pairing: tara carpenter x reader

summary: in which tara protects you from one of your worst fears

warnings: none

word count: 800+

Your scream cut through the silence of the apartment like a hot knife through butter, and Tara jumped at the noise, her heart dropping into her stomach and chills rising along her skin. She quickly pushed herself from her bed, grabbed the taser that was resting on her night stand--courtesy of Sam--and rushed toward the bathroom. 

"Y/N?" she yelled as she thudded against the door, hand trying the doorknob only to find it locked. Horrible images were flashing through her mind: you, dead and bloodied on the ground; Ghostface tilting his head at her, that horrible white mask gleaming; a knife, sharp as ever, dripping with your blood. Tara pounded on the door. "Y/N!"

When you whipped the door open, Tara nearly fell on her face, stumbling into the small room with her taser at the ready, her eyes flitting around and preparing to catch sight of the black robes or white mask that haunted her dreams. However, she found nothing, or no one, to suggest the return of Ghostface, and she let out a sigh of relief, tucking the taser into her back pocket before turning to you.

You stood in the doorway, skin pale as a ghost and eyes wide with fear. When Tara reached out for you, she could feel you trembling beneath her, and she furrowed her eyebrows with worry. "What's wrong?" she asked quietly, careful not to spook you.

"There--there's a..." You gulped and pointed toward the shower. Tara whipped around, eyeing the shower curtain. She couldn't see any shadow behind it, but that didn't mean that someone wasn't there. She slipped the taser from her pocket, took slow steps toward the shower, and then ripped the curtain to the side, her arm jabbing out to catch who--if anyone--was hiding in there.

It was empty. 

"Huh?" she mumbled to herself before placing the taser on the counter. She peeked her head farther in, as though perhaps she had missed something, before shrugging and turning around. You still looked horrified, however, and she asked again, "Baby, what's wrong?"

You swallowed hard and inhaled a shaky breath. "Don't you see it? It's huge!" you said, which offered the brunette no further explanation. Still, to try to calm you, Tara looked inside the shower again, and then she realized what you were so afraid of. 

There, just beneath the handle, was the tiniest spider Tara had ever laid eyes on. It wasn't moving, simply just existing in the space, and the brunette smiled softly at it. "Well, hello little guy," she cooed. She turned around and looked at you. "What do you want me to do with it?" she asked. 

You waved your hands around. "I don't know! Kill it or something! Anything!" you rushed out. 

She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and glanced back at the spider. She didn't want to kill it--that felt a bit harsh, especially because it wasn't even doing anything menacing. Instead, she grabbed a few squares of toilet paper, folded them so that it was thick, and held it out to the spider, waiting for a moment until it climbed onto the paper. 

Tara maneuvered her way to her bedroom quickly, gigging softly when she passed you and you squeaked at the sight, and then opened her window, urging the spider to hop off the toilet paper with a small, "There you go, little dude!"

"Is it safe to come in?" you asked from the doorway of her bedroom. Tara turned to you, grinning, and nodded, shutting the window once the spider was finally gone. You sighed, falling onto the brunette's bed. 

She rounded the edge of her bed and stood between your open legs, resting a hand on your knee. "I didn't realize you're so afraid of spiders," she teased, nails running along your bare skin softly. 

You shivered, both at the thought of those eight-legged freaks and the feel of your girlfriend's touch. "They're horrifying. I fucking hate them," you admitted. "Nothing creeps me out more than spiders." You sat up and wrapped your arms around Tara's waist, resting your chin on her chest and looking up at her. "Thank you for dealing with it, though."

She laughed. "No problem, baby. I mean, when you screamed, I thought that Ghostface had returned or some shit," she said, moving her hand up to scratch at the back of your head. You pushed into her touch as you frowned.

"I was wondering why you brought a taser into the bathroom."

"Well, you screamed bloody-goddamn-murder. Can you blame me?" 

You chuckled, an embarrassed blush rising to your cheeks. "I guess that's my bad," you said softly. 

Tara hummed with a smile. "It's okay." She leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to your lips, pulling away just enough to whisper, "I'll always be around to protect you from the big, bad spiders," before kissing you again. 

bonus: when sam returned home for the night, you could hear her out in the main room of the apartment, shuffling around and putting her keys away and whatnot. you didn't pay her much mind until her voice broke out. 

"tara?" she called, confused. "why the hell is your taser in the bathroom?!"

#tara carpenter x reader #tara x reader #tara carpenter #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega #scream 5 #scream 6

[gretavanlace]

Blank

Josh Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, dirty talk, discussion of poor self image/shaky mental health, praise, degradation, dumbification, impact play (spanking), etc

You’re standing in front of the floor length mirror when Josh’s voice finds you…turning this way and that with your t-shirt pulled tight around your belly and a frown furrowing your brow.

“The movie’s ready, baby.” There’s a smile in his tone, and a dramatic flare, as there so often is, as he leans against the door jamb. “And I made the popcorn on the stove like you like. None of that microwaved bullshit for my darling doll.”

You’d like to find your excitement in order to match his own - movie night is his favorite night of the week. Often, it turns into several nights a week, in keeping with his passion for film and curling up snug and warm with you on the couch.

And normally, you look forward to it as well, but tonight…

Well, tonight you’d just as soon crawl into bed alone and in the dark. How else will you ever manage to tune out all those poisonous thoughts hissing through your mind? Obsidian. Ominous. Hateful.

“What are you doing, babe?” There is concern in his query. He knows you far too well.

Dropping your shirt as if it’s white hot, you slip away from the mirror, praying he’ll let the matter drop. Though, you hope in vain. You know him far too well, too. “Nothing. C’mon, whatever masterpiece you’ve selected isn’t going to watch itself.”

He steps into the room and you suppress a sigh of defeat. “Waterloo Bridge.” He clarifies, studying you intently. “And you’re a shitty liar. What’s wrong?”

“I said it’s nothing, Josh,” there’s a touch too much venom in your tone, but sometimes you wish he didn’t see so damn much. Sometimes you wish you could skate around things with him.

“And that’s a lie,” he points out, sidling up behind you when you turn away. “Do we lie to one another?”

“No.” You concede quietly as his arms cradle you from behind.

“So, would you like to try again?” His embrace is soft, but it makes you feel safe and protected all the same. He has this way about him - he is love and light, sunshine and smiles, gentle poetry…but something lies hidden away behind it all, something only you get to see, and it makes for the most deliciously dark and menacing aura when it comes out to play.

“I just,” now you’re stammering like a child caught with a crayon in her hand and scribbles on the wall.

His lips move along the nape of your neck, brushing over your skin and the whispers of hair that have fallen from your bun, “You just, what?”

“I had lunch with my sister today.” You offer meekly. Can’t he ever just leave things alone? Can’t he ever just let you curl up with your self-loathing?

“Yes,” he nods, now pecking at the curve of your jaw, “And I adore you for not making me come along…she’s exhausting.”

“I know.” His palms are now running along beneath your shirt, circling your belly with tender possessiveness…it’s soothing and filled up full of love, but you wish his hands would land somewhere a little more flattering “But she’s also truthful. She thinks I should start going to the gym with her, and she’s right.”

He stills behind you instantly, and you can feel him shaking his head, though you’ve closed your eyes against the embarrassment of it all.

Eager to fill the room up with words rather than your own vulnerability, you rush on “She’s is, though. Right, I mean. I’ve put on weight, and the older I get, the harder it will be to take off. Obviously, I’ve never been small, but—“

He cuts you off with a loose palm around your throat and a snapped, “Stop.” Breathed in your ear.

“Josh,” Christ, you want to melt into the floor, “I love you for always being so sweet, but I,”

You haven’t the chance to finish your thought and his grip is tightening, “I said, stop.”

A joke will quench the fire burning in your cheeks, “C’mon, what if I got all adorable and tiny like your little hippy girls in the crowd? I—“

A sharp pinch to the curve of your hip shocks you into silence, which he promptly fills. “Don’t say things like that. You’re fucking beautiful. Soft and warm. I want to nestle my face right here,” his hand is splayed out wide across your belly again, “and right here,” his touch drops to find the dimples in your thighs, “for the rest of my life. If we get to choose our heaven, you will be mine. Gorgeous, perfect girl.”

Now you’re struggling to squirm out of his insistent embrace. You feel too seen. And though you know he is nothing if not sincere, always…those lovely words of his, they feel like untruths.

“Josh,” you snap, a little too harshly, “let’s just go watch the movie, okay?”

But it’s too late, he has spotted the quiver at your bottom lip.

“Hey,” he spins you around to face him and you know it’s useless to shut him out at this point. “What’s going on up here, hmm?” He taps your temple gently, “Is it getting loud?”

You know he means those intrusive thoughts that plague you when the love and admiration he beams in your direction isn’t enough. He knows the way they scream and yell at you no matter how badly he’d love to quiet them for good.

Ashamed, you stare down at his t-shirt, toying with the cotton between your fidgeting fingers, “Maybe a little,” you hush.

His fist tucks under your chin, tilting your face upward, but still, you refuse his gaze. “You need it, baby?”

Voice soft and leading, he lures you out of your bashfulness just enough for you to find the bravery to blink up at him with the tiniest of nods.

“Yeah?” He sounds so unlike himself - but also, exactly like himself. “You need me to make it go away? Wipe that wild mind until you’re as blank as you are pretty?”

Josh is small, and he has never shied away from that, but in these moments, he feels larger than life…looming like a God sent to bring you peace. “Can you, please?’

With a taunting flick of your nipple, he switches on. “Well, how could I ever say no to such a sweet girl? You sound like honey when you say please.”

The warmth of his body, so near to yours, is suddenly missing, but you’re feeling a little too meek to glance up to see where he’s gone…opting to stare at your thumbnail in earnest instead, resisting the urge to pick your cuticle.

“Come on, doll,” his voice comes hushed as a siren’s secret song floating through a cove “Miss you already.”

You feel unworthy of this. Of him. Of all the tiny ways he loves you just right. How he has memorized you in and out. The way he looks at you like he could happily stare forever. How he understands even when he doesn’t quite understand…how he took your heart and turned it round and round until he had mapped out every inch. How he dives inside your mind every day and does the same, no matter how tragic and treacherous it can be to wade through those waters.

When you had stumbled upon this, it had been by accident really. A harsh crack of his palm against the globe of your ass by way of quieting you when you’d argued with his stuttering praises as he pushed into you over and over from behind. Your brain had short circuited in the most welcomed and stunning way. That stinging impact, the shock of it, the tangible pain, had left no room for cruel thoughts…your mind was muffled up like lavender cotton with nothing but Josh and what he saw fit to give.

Most times, he loves you hard enough just by being himself. Golden, shimmering aura, grinning heart, sure and tender hands…but sometimes you need this from him - and he is always willing to oblige. You hold the key that turns all his locks, and he would sink into a bed of hot coals for a nap if you thought to ask it of him.

With a clipped call of your name, he’s got you hustling across the room to fold yourself shyly over his knee at the foot of the bed.

“That’s perfect, baby.” He coos down at you, palm stroking over the backs of your thighs before bunching your t-shirt up around your waist. “Gonna make it all go away, aren’t I? Is that what you need? You need me to take it all away?”

“Please.” You sound pathetic, but already it’s a sweeter sort of shame. One you can name. One you can love.

His fingers tuck under the cotton of your panties, hooking at the soft lace that adorns the edges, straightening them as though he’s adjusting the ribbon on a present he’s waited a very long time to receive.

“If I had to guess,” he hums, a little like the kindest bully you’ve ever known, “I’d wager your pretty pussy’s feeling lonely already. Maybe a little whiny. Maybe starting to swell…” his hands continue to pet at your ass, your thighs, your hips, “I love that, you know? Watching how puffy and swollen you get. It’s adorable…and fucking sexy. Your body begs without a sound.”

Your grip is twisting into the blanket beneath you now as your cheek nuzzles against the downy softness “Josh…”

“Quiet,” he bestows a single, much too delicate smack in the wrong place. It’s too far off to the side for your liking, and he knows it. “We’ll get there. You’re gonna listen first.”

An obedient nod tugs yet another delicious hum of approval from him and you squirm lightly under his hands, thrumming with pleasure at the sound of his validation.

“You’re alright, baby…” he’s being so gentle. Too gentle. But you would lie here beneath his hands and his gaze for all of eternity if that’s what would suit him. “My poor thing just needs it, doesn’t she? Busy little head needs to just leave…” a soft swat lands upon your cheek just below the waist, “her…” another, “alone,” and another.

“Harder, Josh…” it’s a piteous plea, one that pairs nicely with the honeyed, condescending melodies drifting off his tongue.

“Tell me what you’d like me to do to you.” He’s coaxing so kindly, but you know what lurks below that shiny surface. “Say the words, my darling doll. Say the words.”

With a deep, centering breath, you find the calm in your storm by way of his scent…eucalyptus and bergamot…woodsy hint of lemon soap lingering beneath. You find strength in his presence, and love there, too.

“Spank me.” It pants out of you like an urgent prayer. “Make it stop.”

As if in punctuation to your begging, he lands a harsh, loud, cracking strike against the fat of your ass. It comes quickly, shaking your equilibrium though this is exactly what you’ve been imploring him for.

“Fuck!” The curse pushes out of your lungs, long and grateful. Blindsided and aching.

Another blow lands in exactly the same place, setting the flesh there on fire. “Yeah? Fuck?” He taunts, “That’s a good fucking doll…you just take it.”

“More,” you’re rocking around, blissful at the pain and the twitching of his hard cock beneath you.

He begins laying into you without restraint, blow after blow raining down on you like merciful salvation. Your brain is numb now - quiet, hazy and clouded with his perfect wrath.

Tears are streaking like fire down your cheeks, a graven image of mother Mary sobbing blood in a candlelit room of worship come to life. He is your alter. He is your God.

“That’s my girl,” his accolades stutter out between smack after smack until he pauses to jerk your legs apart. “You’re dripping all over me. Baby needs it right here, too?” There is his touch, love and reverence woven into the very fingerprints nudging at your covered entrance. “Dirty little cunt needs a spanking, too, doesn’t she?”

Embarrassingly, a mumbled, indecipherable sound croaks out of you, and your entire body flushes hot with an indignity you happen to relish.

“What was that?” He sounds like sex…like he’s thinking with his throbbing cock - but if your mind’s eye could see straight, you would know better. He is careful and controlled in these moments. Never losing sight of himself, never risking a move too far. “Aw, poor doll is just a dumb little baby, now? Spanked all quiet and wet? I like that, beautiful. I like that very much. No thoughts, right? Shh, no thoughts.”

Again, you manage merely a sound, a murmuring of his name no one but yourself could ever transcribe.

A violent strike buries its way into your covered folds. You jolt and cry out, writhing against his thighs, fighting for more.

You want him inside in any capacity. Fingers, tongue, cock..it matters not, just inside. That’s the only word you seem to know in this moment - inside, inside, inside. But with another sound slap against your cunt, it explodes through your nerve endings like a wire kicking up sparks and skittering against desolate, lonely pavement. You’re climaxing hard and fast, releasing all over the fleece covering his thighs, thrusting against nothing, mourning the heat of his impact though it was there for but a breath.

“Yes!” It wails out of you, warbling and wild…teeth clenched and grinding, body wound so tightly your muscles will protest and complain later.

There will come a time tonight where you’ll long for a way to thank him. For a way to call his name and cradle his face and express your absolute gratitude for this blank slate he molds your mind into…for the way he takes all the ugly and chases it right out of your orbit…

But for now, you fall limp and spent against him. Breathing heavily and deeply. Drawing oxygen way down into your chest that no longer feels so tight. And for now he’ll hear no talk of reciprocation, for now he continues to cater to you with devotion in his touch and a worshipful cast in his gaze as he slips away to draw you a bath.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @poofyloofy @jakeslovehandles @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet fic #greta van fleet smut #greta van fic #greta van smut #fanfic #gvf fic #josh kiszka #gvf josh #josh kiskza smut #josh kiszka fic #josh kiskza fanfic #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh gvf #josh kiszka x reader

[spacecowboyhotch]

The Dead Horse

summary: santi brings you back to reality.

pairing: fem!black!reader x santi garcia

contents: angst & fluff— happy ending, canon typical violence, blood, gore, ptsd, depression, feelings of hopelessness, friends to lovers, kissing

wc: 2,419

an: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now bc of nerves, but always wanted to write Santi with a black love interest. planning to dip my toe into that pool more in the future 🥰

oscar issac characters masterlist

You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here like this. It could be minutes, hours, even days. In these four walls beneath the shower’s spray, there is nothing that matters. Not even you, not anymore. And while you’re usually the first to be cheery, to tell each of the guys that the work they do— the work you all do together— doesn’t compromise the goodness you see in their hearts, you’re having a hard time believing that right now.

Not with what you’d done. It was to survive, and while you’ve come to terms with how scary you could be in the past you thought it stayed there.

In the past.

Tonight had proven to you that you could always access that piece of you. That terrifying piece that was a killing machine. The emphasis doesn’t lie in efficiency, but in ruthlessness. You had shown no mercy, the switch for empathy and compassion turned off as soon as your hindbrain decided that it was fight or flight. Dormantly thirsty, lurking in the shadows waiting for its time, it chose to fight. But you had gone a step too far—like always— because of your lack of control.

You were messy, enjoying the cutting of thick flesh, the warmth of the blood as it sprayed you. The copper smell, so familiar and embarrassingly comforting, though you didn’t have the mind to think that now, not when you were exposing the pink underbelly of a corpse.

Santi’s been pacing the hallway since you all made it back to the safe house. He’d tried to chat you up on the way home with no success. You wouldn’t meet his eye, and when he drew nearer to catch your gaze it was empty. It chilled his blood. He wasn’t sure of what exactly happened in that room you’d gotten ambushed in but he’d seen the aftermath. Recalling the image of standing over one too many dead bodies, a gleam in your eye had made his stomach curl. He’d smoothed his hand over your knee and left it at that, trying his best to banish all the red and pink and white.

It’s been an hour since you’d stumbled into the bathroom. He can hear the shower still going when he puts his ear to the door and sighs, a mix of frustrated and concerned. He’s not sure what to do– he’s never had to take care of you before. He’s always been grateful for that given all the fondness he has for you bubbling just beneath. Any acknowledgement could jeopardize too much– missions, the dynamic of the team, and most importantly your friendship.

“You alright in there?” He calls softly through the door.

He’s met with silence. He rolls his neck, cursing beneath his breath as his mind goes back and forth, trying to decide what to do.

“Just go in there and check on her,” Frankie says from behind him, causing the other man to flinch. “Didn’t mean to scare you. You alright?”

“I’m fine,” Santi assures Frankie, leaning against the wall to face the man. He nods at the door. “She could be naked.”

Frankie snorts, shrugging. “She’s seen all of us at least half naked and well, Benny—“

Santi quickly cuts him off, trying to keep the sour jealousy out of his voice. He knows that there’s nothing going on between you and Benny, that Benny is as much of a flirt as he is but sillier and less concerned with his image. “But we haven’t seen her. I don’t— I’m a dog but I’m a respectful one.”

“If she’s gonna get help from anybody on this it’d be you. She trusts you man.”

Santi looks at him like he’s grown two heads but feels a little warm, “She trusts all of us, kind of a prerequisite of living and working with a group of men.”

“It's different with you. You should hear the way she talks about you when you’re not around.”

Santi almost lets himself think about it. Almost lets himself dream a little. Almost.

“Or see the way she looks at you when you’re not looking. Like a lost fucking puppy,” Benny pipes in, breezing down through the hallway between the two of them.

“Don’t sound so concerned, Benjamin,” Santi calls after the man, mouth quirking into a grin.

“Don’t look so smug, Santiago,” Frankie teases.

“I’m not smug,” He denies. He decides to go in, okay with being kicked out by you if it means that Frankie will be gone, done poking and prodding at what the man must know is his heart.

“Good luck.”

Santi murmurs a quiet thanks before slowly entering the bathroom, shutting the door behind him. He stands, frozen in place for several moments as he digests the sight of you. It's heartbreaking. His chest goes tight, and he curses softly again. What could he do for you? He’d do anything, but he’s just not sure what. He feels helpless seeing you like this. He could burn this entire city, burn anyone who would look at you wrong. Hell, he’d burn the entire world if it meant some warmth would come back into your eyes.

You’re curled up, your arms resting atop your knees, head resting to stare forward. Your curly hair that usually frames your face is completely soaked like the rest of you, flat and sticking to your face in various places. He knows that your eyes are unseeing, that you’re so incredibly removed from yourself because you make no indication that he’s stepped into the room.

“I’m gonna come sit beside you, okay? That’s it. No words,” Despite his words he stays where he is for a handful of seconds, hoping to get some sort of answer from you. You don’t speak a word, don’t utter or sound or so much as look in his direction. But you do shift slowly, making more room for him underneath the water.

“Fuck, it’s freezing,” He grits out, drawing close enough to you that your shoulders rest flush against each other.

He gazes over at you, noticing the way the water glimmers on your brown skin. The way its collected on your dark eyelashes. If these were different circumstances maybe for just a handful of seconds he’d let himself get lost in your beauty. But then you acknowledge him– sort of. You hum softly and the leaning of your head on his shoulder. It's a good sign and he relaxes beside you.

“Do you want me to shut it off?” He asks gently, reaching out to take your hands into his. Your fingers are cold as ice, and he rubs at them in a futile attempt to generate some heat.

“No, please. No,” You beg hoarsely, suddenly springing to life. You grip at his hands desperately, eyes wide with panic as you finally meet his gaze.

“Alright, hush, cariño, I’ve got you. C’mere, baby,” He shushes you, pulling you into his arms and flush against him.

At little more present in the moment, you feel the chill registering. You curl up, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. There’s still some warmth in his skin and you press into it, letting the sound of his steady breath lull you back into a dissociative state.

Santi holds you for an undetermined amount of time. He runs his hands up your back, over the crown of your hair, feeling the difference of how your curls feel when wet. His hand drifts to your chin, and he leans away, tipping your head up.

“Honey, you’ve gotta talk to me,” He whispers.

Your dark eyes have a little more life to them, but that’s only amplified the sadness they hold. “Santi, I can’t. I can’t. Don’t make me, please.”

“I have to, you can’t stay like this. We’ve got to get it out in the open.”

“Like you do?” You challenge– your voice distinctly unkind, harder than he’s ever heard it before. His brow furrows and guilt blossoms inside of you. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. This just fucking sucks, Santiago. Its all wrong again.”

“Tell me what’s wrong and we’ll fix it.”

“There’s no way we can fix it. I’m just broken. I’ll always be haunted by her. She’ll always be here, waiting for an opportunity for that.”

“You preach that shit to me and the guys. Day in and day out. Every mission, and you don’t believe it?”

“I do— I did. I believe it for you. For them. You’re good people, Santi. Good men, all of you. You take care of me.”

“You take care of us, honey. Fish hangs on your every word. Will too. Benny is well— Benjamin.”

“And you?”

He shrugs, “You know I gave into this a long time ago. Before we even met. No other way for me to be.”

“Do you believe me?”

“I try to. I want to. There are parts of me too that I don’t like. I want them gone. I rip them up and bury them but they always come back to haunt me. I don’t think that means I’m not trying to be better, but it means I’ll never be the man I want to be.”

You frown at him, concerned, “Santi—“

“It’s okay. I accepted that after the first tour. Sometimes you gotta let the horse be dead.”

“Do you think my horse is dead?”

There’s no room for his ego, no room for hiding when he hears the blatant fear in your question.

He rests his head back against the wall, murmuring, “I think you’re the sweetest thing this earth has to offer.”

“You think so?”

“Bouncing around with your curls, and your sweet little smile. Kicking Benny’s ass with grace while you’ve got a cake in the oven. You should see yourself with Frankie’s little girl.”

“Seems like you watch me a lot,” You suggest softly.

“I watch you all the time,” He admits, but there’s no shame in his voice. In fact you can see resolve in his eyes, and possessiveness. A chill runs down your spine and it’s not from the water. Santi mistakes it for that anyway. “Let me turn this off for us?”

He’s still asking. Still checking in with you though there’s much more light in your eyes.

“Yeah, okay.”

Santi leans up and turns off the shower, letting out a sigh of relief. He runs his hands over your wet curls, pushing them away from your forehead. His thumbs swipe your cold cheeks, brushing away some of the water droplets.

Without that steady sound of the shower, sheets cascading down on you, you both are feeling a little more exposed.

“I came in here to make sure you were alright, not spill my fucking guts. I just had to take care of you,” He says, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant.

“You can always take it back,” You say teasingly, though most of you expect him to bite at your offer.

He’s said much more in these last few minutes than he ever has to you— Santi’s a sweet guy under all his charm, but he never lets you see below the surface. Not until now, when letting you in seemed like the only way to get you out.

It takes more effort than he expects to pull himself away from you. He leans back against the shower wall, nimble fingers lacing together in his lap. “And lose you?”

“You could never lose me, Santi,” You murmur, reaching out to grab one of his hands.

Your eyes roam him, a little in disbelief at what’s happening right now. But yes, it is Santiago Garcia sitting next to you. With his dark brown eyes, his sharp jaw dappled with stubble, his salt and pepper hair looking much darker and curlier than usual due to the water.

“Yeah?” Santi asks, eyes glued to where yours sits atop his. He traces slowly over the sight of you two linked together, admiring how soft and rich your skin looks even after sitting in a shower for so long.

He’s a goner isn’t he?

“Yeah.”

There are butterflies in his stomach. Butterflies, sweat slicking his palms despite the fact that he’s soaked through his clothes and down to the bone. He realizes in this moment that he’s not just a goner. No— he loves you. He knew that he was harboring some kind of feelings for you, but when your eyes meet his— earnest and tender— he can only think one thing: I love you.

His eyes hungrily drop to your full mouth, and another shiver runs down your spine. “Let me kiss you.”

You nod, squeezing his hand that’s still in yours.

“I need to hear you say it. You have to say it for me, so I can believe it.”

“I want you to kiss me, Santiago. Please.”

He’s on you then. All over you. His hands move quickly, guiding you back into his lap before one loops around your torso and holds you close. The other cups your jaw, angling it back so that he can press his mouth to yours. You’re breathless before the space between you is closed, chest heaving at how sure and firm his hands are. He kisses you. Kisses and kisses you, like his life depends on it. Like you’re lost and the only thing that will guide you home is his insistent tongue.

Your hands slip and slide against the fabric of his wet shirt before you give up, raising them to tentatively cup his face so that you can have leverage.

“That’s it honey, kiss me back. Take what you want to. Whatever you need,” He encourages between kisses.

Take you do. You squirm in his lap until he lets you shift and straddle him. It had started with him leading you, consuming you but now it’s your turn to surround him. Santi gives in, sighing into your mouth as your tongue goes on the hunt for his. You kiss him. Kiss him and kiss him until your mouth aches. When you pull away his is flushed pink, newly wet. You run your thumb over his lips before wiping your own mouth.

He looks up at you like hang the moon. His eyes are soft and hazy, pink mouth pulling up into a smirk. There’s the Santi you know. The Santi you love. But even now, he’s softer and sweeter, gathering you close again.

“What do you need now, sweetheart? What can I do to make it better?”

“You.”

“I’m yours.”

santi taglist: @jitterbugs927, @theconsultingdoctor10, @tanzthompson, @clairevoyanceee, @moonmalice, @tiffanypooh, @dearvirtualdiary-blog1, @marc-spectorr, @xbellaxcarolinax, @toracainz, @mccn-bcys, @missdictatorme, @whatthefishh

#santi garcia x reader #santi garcia x black!reader #santi garcia x fem!black!reader #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia x black!reader #santiago garcia x fem!black!reader #santi garcia #black!reader #santi garcia fanfiction #santiago garcia fanfiction #triple frontier fanfiction #arson writes

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Black Light 12

Warnings: noncon, namecalling, violence, other dark elements. Proceed with caution.

Note: Thank you for waiting! Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You feel a bit dreamy. Well, you always do. You sit in your bed, freshly made, fragrant with fabric softener, as you cut through the pages of old catalogues. Your fingers are sticky with glue as you arrange the images just so.

You can hear your mom downstairs, the bluetooth speaker playing Hall and Oates to her content. Your dad's outside trying to fix the fence post. You can hear him swearing through the crack of your window.

You hold out the scrapbook. You just need that globe right in that little space. Oh, the leather sofa is perfect.

You leave the book open on your bed to dry so the pages don't stick. You put on your dress with the daisies on white and spin in the mirror. Your yellow beret will go perfect. You put the hat on and a pair of matching clunky maryjanes.

You go downstairs and find your mother scavenging in the tupperware container you left on the counter. You squeal as she quickly closes the lid and covers her mouth guiltily. She backs away and giggles.

“I couldn't resist,” she says through a full mouth.

“Mom!” You stick your tongue out as you snatch up the container of cookies.

“You don't need all those,” she accuses.

“They're not for you.”

“I know, so… who are they for?” She tilts her head coyly.

“Someone,” you roll your eyes.

“A boy.”

You harrumph, “he's too old to be a boy.”

“Oh my gosh! That's so cute! Do we get to meet him?”

“No,” you pout and turn your chin up, “it's new.”

“Well, be safe. Don't get into too much trouble.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you drag your feet and stop in the doorway, “mom, can you not tell dad?”

She laughs again, “sure, sweetie, our little secret.”

You smile, cheeks twitching. You don't need your parents nosing around. You're still figuring this all out.

🍪

You wait outside the club. It's almost seven. You thought he'd be there by now. The other bouncer is. Lee, that's his name.

You're not weird or anything. You've just been watching from across the street for an hour or two. Not your fault he didn't leave his number.

You cross the road as you see Lee come back out. He sees you and smiles. He's so friendly, you wish August would try that.

“Hi,” you hop over the curb, “is Auggy here yet?”

“Auggy? Nah, he's taking his time,” he eyes the container in your hands, “what's this?”

“Oh, just a surprise. You want one?”

“Depends. What's the surprise?”

You balance the container against the scrapbook beneath it and pop the corner of the lid up. You offer him one of the jelly cookies. They took you hours as you baked and waited to cool before adding the layer of jam and custard.

“Wow, you're a big baker,” he muses.

“Sometimes,” you preen.

He takes one and admires your craftsmanship, “my wife ain't so good about it. But she tries, bless her heart.”

“Oh, you have a wife?”

“Sweetest gal in the world,” he grins, “she's at home with the baby.”

“Baby?”

“Ah, just a cat, but she treats him like a child,” he chortles and takes a bite, letting out a hum.

“Ooh, I love kitties! What's his name?”

He swallows, “Hickory. He likes her better'n me.”

“Aw, adorable.”

“Maybe you can come meet em one day. You and Auggy. Like a double date?”

“Really!?” You snap the lid shut, “oh, I'd love that so much.”

You hear grumbles and the tramp of soles as a shadowy figure appears from the alley. Lee turns and throws a hand put derisively, “bout time.”

August stops short as he looks between you and Lee, his expression limned in the early hue of evening. His brows draw together as he coughs. He crosses his arms and glowers.

“What is she doin’ here?”

“Ask her,” Lee says before he tosses back the rest of the cookie and turns on his heel.

He pulls open the front door and disappears as you stand watching August. He drops his arms and marches towards you, past you as he goes to follow his fellow bouncer. You quickly get between him and the door.

“Sweetie, I brought you cookies!”

“What?” He reaches past you as you put your back to the door.

“I haven't heard from you in…. Like three days.”

He glares at you. You open the container and show your wares. He only pulls on the door, jarring you but not dislodging you.

“I got work–”

“And I brought you a surprise! So eat a cookie.”

He narrows his eyes. You stay locked in a stalemate as he tries to pull the door again. You lean into it and plant your heels.

“I'm being real nice here, sweetie, so take a damn cookie,” you feel a surge in your chest.

“Can't you take a hint?”

“Can't you?”

“What– look, I told you, this isn't a relationship or whatever you think it is.”

“I'm not stupid. This is real,” you insist, “get it? Me and you, Auggy Bear, together forever.”

“What are you–”

“Here,” you shove the container at him.

He doesn't move but you jam it into his chest and he finally relents and supports it.

You slide the book from beneath it and open it up, “this is our future. You see? Our home,” you show him the little touches of colour amid the neutral hues, a perfect melding of your personalities, “and our honeymoon. I'm open to change but I was thinking a cottage–”

“Are you insane?” He breathes scratchily.

“Insane?” You repeat and bat your lashes, “don't call me that.”

“We fucked. Once. There's nothing else between us–”

“There is!” You holler and slam the book shut, “and you know it. You would never have followed me home if you didn't mean it–”

“Shhh, shhh,” he waves you down, “hey, lower your voice.”

“That's what you did. You stalked me, sir, so… you want me too. You want me or you wouldn't have done what you did.”

“Please, just… calm down.”

“You won't even eat a cookie!” You accuse.

“Be quiet,” he hisses.

“Eat a cookie!”

“Would you listen, girl?”

“No! No, you will eat a cookie. I spent all day making them and– and– I'm not crazy. I'm not,” you clutch the book tight.

He sighs, his blue eyes gleaming as he slowly lifts the lid. He takes out a cookie, showing it to you before he takes a nibble. He swallows without chewing.

“There, happy? Now go home.”

You scrunch your nose at him, frustrated, “you could at least tell me you love me.”

“Love you?!?” He chokes and nearly drops the cookie.

“Yes, I know you do, because I would never give my virginity to someone who doesn't love me.”

He blanches and glimpses down at the cookie. His throat bobs. He raises his eyes and takes another deep breath, “I didn't realise…”

“That you love me, right?” You sneer as you step closer, “say it.”

“If I do, will you go?” He growls.

You nod and smile up at him, “I'll do whatever you want, pookie.”

‘Pookie… jesus, alright, I love you. Go home.” He nudges you out of his way and grabs the door with his free hand.

“Don't eat those all at once,” you call as you turn to peek inside the club, “oh, and you have crumbs in your mustache–”

The door slams between you and you pout, “love ya too…” you trail off. It's okay, it seems like it's new for him too.

#august walker #dark august walker #dark!august walker #august walker x reader #au #the club #series #drabble #mission impossible: fallout #black light

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

Brief history of this request! 🤡 I originally wrote this as a response to it; the original interaction went up a little while before the book 7 part 3 update was released… and that update happened to give us a lot more information about the Shroud family dynamics. It was unfortunately bad timing!

This post is a rewrite which incorporates the new Shroud family canon from the update.

***Contains major plot spoilers for book 6 of the main story!***

Family means Nobody is Left Behind or Forgotten.

The students of Night Raven College had become accustomed to rather odd sightings—so when young Ortho Shroud sailed by them with two floating tablets in tow, no one batted an eye at it. That shut-in brother of his, the rumor was, maybe he multiplied. In a sense, there was truth to that theory.

“It’s so nice to have the whole family together!” gushed a woman’s squeaky voice from one device. “Isn’t it, Papa? Everyone’s so busy, we hardly get to do these kinds of things anymore.”

Beside her, her husband cleared his throat. He replied with a blunt, somewhat stiff, “Mmm, quite. It is… certainly a different environment than the laboratory.”

Idia didn’t know which was worse—his mother’s smothering cuteness, or his father’s calculating aloofness. The love and the logic. In anime and manga, they were amusing enough archetypes. But in reality? Cringe with a capital C, especially when they were acting as a unit in public.

He could feel the heat of his peers’ gazes directed at him as they passed like phantoms trailing over a graveyard. The curiosity, the whispers, the stares. The only thing that was keeping Idia sane was the safety offered by his tablet’s screen.

Hunkered down in his Ignihyde bedroom, he was safe from direct judgment—but not free of the embarrassment his parents provided. No, that was always eternal.

“Wh-Why did you guys even bothering showing up on the NRC Family Day banner…” Idia grumbled under his breath. Man, the one time I didn’t want to pull the SSRs… and they came home anyway!

There was an appalled gasp from the end of the line. “Of course Mama and Papa came! It’s Family Day. It’s a time us parents to see what mischief our genius little boys have gotten up to while they’re away!”

Idia couldn’t see his mother’s image on her screen, but he could only imagine she was winking in a conspiring manner to Mr. Shroud. He would give an awkward smile beneath his helmet and probably say something in agreement with her.

“Ideally, we’ve have liked to come in person,” his mother continued.

Mr. Shroud cleared his voice and neatly cut in. “However, with the recent incident… well, let’s just say we’ve had to lay low and wait for the dust to settle. My staff are working overtime moderating the metrics of this situation.”

“Quite right, dear! We can’t exactly waltz into Night Raven College! It would put us at risk of being scrutinized, especially with all the viral internet rumors swirling around.”

“Shadowy secret organization puppeteers Twisted Wonderland,” Mr. Shroud recited, shaking his head in disapproval, “Lizard people real, global warming is a hoax, tap water turning the frogs gay… Where do the youths come up with such preposterous claims?”

They’re covering their bases, Idia told himself. After that incident… We never wiped the subjects’ memories with the River Lethe. It exposes a chink in our armor—they could talk, spread what they know.

Then… Th-There’s no way people wouldn’t be curious. Internet sleuths with nothing better to do will dig up dirt from the most obscure corners of the web and tout it as truth!! That’s why even STYX has been having such a hard time containing it.

“What are you gonna do? Haters gonna hate.” Idia shrugged. “… I get it. You don’t have to go explaining yourselves to us. It’s a waste of breath.”

Cynicism slipped in at the last second. A habit, hard to squash.

Ortho chimed in, clearing the air with his cheer. “Nii-san’s right! What’s important is that we get to spend time together, bonding like any other family does.”

He extended his arms to them, as if reaching for hands to hold. Bur though there was nothing for the android to grasp, there was no hiding his effervescent smile. “I’m really happy that we can do this!”

Idia’s heart, so familiar with the ice that encased the Phantoms and the chill of Tartarus, melted. “Ortho…”

An ear-splitting squeal came from one of the tablets. “Kyaaaah! You’re so cute, Or-kun!! Mama wishes she was right there on Sage’s Island to squish your little face!! You too, Idia-kun! Don’t think you can escape from your mother!”

Mr. Shroud’s voice dragged into a patient sigh. “We discussed keeping a low profile.”

“Aww, but papa!” (Idia could practically hear the pout in her tone.) “It’s a parent’s instinct to want to hug and shower her children with love~”

“Y-You’re going to attract unwanted attention though…” Idia nervously pointed out—one thing he could see eye-to-eye with his father on. They were split down the middle.

Through his camera, he could already spot passerbys slowing and staring. Sweat collected on his palms, on his forehead.

“What’s going on over there…?”

“There’s a boy with blue flames for hair.”

“Is he a Shroud?”

“He has weird things floating around him.”

Unperturbed, Ortho waved at the curious gawkers. “Hello!! I’m spending time with my family today!” he announced with his full chest out.

“Aw, what an adorable kid.”

“Are they phoning in? Gosh, they must be busy—but they still care enough to attend. That’s great!”

“Have fun with your family, champ!!”

Eh? Ehhhhh?! What’s what this after-school special I’m seeing play out?! Everyone’s so upbeat and sparkling… a-almost like one of Cater-shi’s impossible Magicam filters was just applied to the whole campus!!

Something in Idia wanted to scoff at the sight, to dismiss it outright. For as long as he could remember, the Shrouds had been shunned by the sunlight. A bloodline cursed by the gods. Never to be heroes, never normal.

But if Ortho is happy, then… this was all worth it, wasn’t it?

Yet something else, too, called out. Some small, almost forgotten, fragmented part of him. A small flower growing in the darkest pits of the Underworld.

Hope.

A zero that had suddenly turned into 0.001%. Connected again, heart to heart—even if only for a single fleeting moment.

“… Dad, mom, Ortho,” Idia said slowly, “we can’t stand around like NPCs waiting to be talked to. We’ll miss out on the limited time event. Let’s go, the whole party.”

“Nii-san…!!”

Ortho’s whole face lit up, his joy turning absolutely electric. He nearly tackled Idia’s device as he seized it and spun in a giddy circle. There was laughter from the younger Shroud, and confused sputtering from the elder one.

“Would you look at that, Papa?” Mrs. Shroud giggled softly to herself. “It looks like our boys have become such good friends.”

“… That’s good,” her husband replied. “I was concerned that Idia was still beside himself with grief—but thankfully, he’s made tremendous progress.”

“Ehehehe. It’s all thanks to Or-kun coming into our lives. He ended up being the password to unlocking Idia’s almost impenetrable fire walls.”

“Indeed. Our children have come a long way.” The corners of Mr. Shroud’s lips threatened to pull up and back. “No longer boys, but young men.”

#twst #twisted wonderland #Ignihyde #Ortho Shroud #Idia Shroud #disney twisted wonderland #spoilers #NRC Family Day #twst interactions #twisted wonderland interactions #twst scenarios #twst imagines #twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland scenarios

[t-tomuras]

Gyuutaro x reader, modern au, wc 1k

He knows he should be wearing riding gear, that it was something essential and he knows his sister will ask about the first time he comes to pick her up. He wanted some as well, helmet at the very least so he could really enjoy riding the bike but it was insanely expensive and he spent a good chunk of his savings getting the bike in general.

And pretty much only the bike. 

No insurance, no proper license, no tags, no helmet, he wasn’t even wearing sleeves nevermind a riding jacket. Gyuutaro shouldn’t have this 1000cc death machine in the first place. 

But it offered a decent amount of freedom that he could taste on his tongue immediately. Feel it whipping against his skin in a way that didn’t feel like torment for once in his life while he weaved between the painted lines on smooth asphalt. 

His speedometer ticking upwards steadily, downshifting as broad palms grip tight to the cushioned handlebars. Shifting his weight to lift the bike from two wheels to one, balancing himself carefully as Gyuutaro howls with laughter. 

Grin splitting his face wide and flashing jagged teeth, baggy shirt pushed back with the roaring winds from the high speeds outlining his thin frame. 

And his mood doesn’t falter even when he wobbles slightly, tensing his forearms as he straightens and falls back onto both wheels. Bouncing slightly as he opens the throttle and rockets down the near empty highway. Reaching new speeds the shitbox he’d owned up to this point could only ever dream of achieving. 

Yes, there are ninety nine reasons for Gyuutaro to treat the road like it was his and his alone. Could count and reclaim each and every one of them while his music blasts like his own personal OST. 

Laughing maniacally despite how the rev of his engine through a short tunnel drowns out the sound with its reverberations. Adrenaline surging as the numbers climb higher. 

120.. 140.. 180.. 

One arm cutting through the torrential breeze he causes with his speed as it relinquishes its hold on one of the handles. Angled to make waves before it opens his palm flat to let the force throw it back like he’s riding a bucking bronco. 

His exit is soon, but Gyuutaro already feels at home right now before his song stops abruptly. Snarl marring his lips almost as quickly as he splits the lane between a few cars before the automated voice reads out the text you’d sent him. 

Dinner will be ready soon, get home quickly but drive safe okay?

‘Would you like to reply?’ The AI preprogrammed into his phone asks and he does, he always fucking does but he doesn’t have a helmet to muffle the loud howling of the wind. He’s lucky enough that the headphones you’d gotten him for his birthday hadn’t fallen out yet, it’d be nothing short of a miracle if the tech could decipher a word he says. 

So he slows, decelerates quickly yet safely just like you’d asked of him. 

Yes, Gyuutaro has ninety nine reasons to drive like a bat outta hell. But the one that matters most is you. 

The image of you waiting in the doorway when you hear the purr of his engine down the street. A scene of him backing his bike into your little carport before long legs cut the distance between you in a hurry before your arms wrap around one another as he kicks the door closed behind him plays in his mind. 

And just as the numbers tick down on the speedometer, so do the reasons for him to drive as recklessly as he pleases. 

His sister, the smell of dinner in the home he’s steadily moved into with you, the feel of your skin against his beneath your weighted comforter. Knobby and calloused digits intertwining with yours as he pins the back of your hand to the mattress in moments of intimacy. The way he fills you, the way you preen so prettily for him and the pleasure he provides. 

The intent to watch the swell of your stomach that only grows the more he comes home to you, and sure it would continue if he didn’t. Time would tick on if Gyuutaro’s was cut short but the thought makes his chest ache. 

Finding the actual speed limit as he veers off the on-ramp to take the exit home. Wavy locks styled chaotically from his trek back to you but you love it either way. Choosing not to question it but you do mention going shopping for a helmet when you receive him with open arms. 

Giggling between smattered affections to your forehead, the apples of your cheeks, the corner of your jaw and finally to plush lips because he wasn’t one to interrupt you when you talk. Your fingers carding through his soft curls with care, working out any tangles he’d caused just like you had many times before. Threading delicate digits together on the nape of his neck as you drape against him, telling Gyuutaro you’d already looked online for a few. 

“Pretty affordably priced with practical reviews,” because you always do your research especially when it came to him and his sister that you’d accepted into your life with ease. With a quiet compassion that spoke volumes of your character that he was more than aware he didn’t deserve but you fill his head with cooed confessions and his chest with their sentiment. 

And each kiss, meal, outing, lost restful night of sleep he’s ever gotten as well as each domestic and carnal moment alike replaces all of the desire for destruction. Be it internal or external, Gyuutaro was born to be a man that wrought and collected as he pleased. 

Yes, there are ninety nine reasons for Gyuutaro to speed on his bike, but they’ve morphed. Shifted and molded into something lovely instead of ghastly like he’s always known. 

An effect you’ve had on him from the moment he’d met you purely by coincidence. A stroke of luck in his underrated little life. 

Now, all of them revolve around you and the way you’ve integrated so effortlessly into a world that never belonged to him. 

He knows maybe you won’t like it, that you’ll worry and chastise him every single time but what reason could he give to not? Not one he thinks is worth it.

#vixen drabbles #gyutaro x reader #gyutaro x you #just me rambling about this man

[jackdraw-spwrite]

Fine, Chapter 3

Skin has two sides.

Words: 3188

Characters: Danny, Clockwork

"Your seams fit well together," Clockwork commented. "You won't have many problems with dust."

Danny wasn’t listening. He was staring at the hole in his forearm. At the gleaming metal within.

It hadn't even hurt.

Read the rest on AO3, or below the readmore:

More than that, he hadn't even felt different before Clockwork had pulled part of his arm off with a series of faint clicks and a tug.

Realization and horror were ricocheting around his skull, bouncing off one another and back and forth. If he didn't feel different now, then how would he know when he was like this for real? Would Skulker or someone else just tear his arm open one day and there wouldn’t be any blood, any ectoplasm? Just metal?

What if Clockwork was lying and Danny already looked like this on the inside and that was why he didn't feel any different?

No, Danny told himself. Frostbite had shown him the scans. They hadn't looked– they hadn't looked like this.

Clockwork was kneading his shoulder.

Belatedly, Danny realized a high pitched whine was emanating from somewhere near his collarbone. His free hand left Clockwork's cloak to feel at his chest and found a faint but distinct vibration beneath.

He couldn't muster even the dregs of horror at it, just a kind of detached and clinical note-taking.

I whine like this, came the thought, dilute. Before long it evaporated to leave the rest of him behind.

The rest of him, transfixed by the hole in his arm.

The edges of it were smooth, because of course they were, they were machined. Beneath, beneath–

Danny heaved a ragged gasp. Or tried to. Something in his throat ground unpleasantly but there was no intake, no air–

Clockwork covered his arm with a cloth.

Danny felt an incredulous laugh bubble up and collide with the grinding in his throat, merging into a twisting sensation that felt two degrees to the left of nausea. Did Clockwork think that a cloth would help? Danny wasn't a bird, he wouldn't forget what was under there just because he couldn't see it.

He wasn't sure he'd stopped seeing it, anyway. Wasn’t sure he ever would. The image felt seared into his brain, and–

Clockwork hummed.

It was not an articulate noise, but Danny could hear what was meant regardless. The gentle, deep vibrations reached around and through his panic and told something deep in Danny's psyche that he was safe. Safe, and protected. Safe, and that no worry need touch him there.

Safe.

There was an ebb and flow to the sound. Danny found himself following it, letting his mind fill with the gentle rise and fall.

Slowly, he let other things fill it, too.

The texture of his suit was familiar, the cloth of Clockwork's cloak soft where it pressed against bare skin and the line where Clockwork had cut his suit rough and chafing. Danny’s hand was still on the apron and as the vibration of his panic faded Danny found that the leather itself was unfamiliar. He so rarely removed his gloves as a ghost that he often forgot: touch was different like this, too.

His shoulders fell from around his ears.

Danny turned his attention outwards. The room was full of warm browns and golds and the verdigris hues common to the rest of the lair. It was full of colors that spoke of dust falling through sunbeams but there was no dust here in Clockwork’s workshop, no sunlight.

But there was a rhythm.

Clockwork was cradling his head, stroking fingers through his hair in time with everything else.

There was a song.

The thready whine in Danny's chest vanished completely, as did the urgent buzz of it at his fingers. In its place were fainter vibrations, sure and steady.

Tick, tick, tick.

But there was something wrong about them, a sour note.

Still wrapped in Clockwork's cloak and tucked to his chest, Danny frowned. Clockwork's own ticking was loud with Danny's ear pressed against his chest, and Danny's fell just a hair earlier than his.

Danny pulled his hand away, unsettled. He didn't like ticking.

"Would it help," asked Clockwork, "if I showed you my own arm as well?"

Danny thought for a moment.

"Maybe," he allowed.

It was no wonder Clockwork had pulled Danny's arm open so easily, Danny thought. Clockwork's arm came apart the same way.

Clockwork placed his own panel on a cloth beside Danny's, and then there was nothing left to distract him, nothing left to look at but Clockwork’s arm.

Clockwork’s arm, and the, the–

It was easier, looking at it on Clockwork. If there was a time before the old ghost had a clock embedded in his chest, he'd never mentioned it. As far as Danny knew, Clockwork's natural state was mechanical. It would certainly explain why he had such trouble with the idea that Danny might find it distressing.

But Clockwork's arm.

Clockwork’s arm, and the hole in it.

Danny shied from what lay inside, let his eyes find purchase at the edge.

…It was smooth.

Clockwork's skin had flexed as easily, as smoothly as Danny's always had. Just like his face, the skin of Clockwork's hand and arm had seemed only a blue version of something human.

But that similarity was only skin deep. Not even that. Humans couldn't pull sections of their skin off like they were disassembling a machine. Clockwork could.

(Danny could.)

Clockwork tugged at Danny to pull him closer, but his shoulders had gone rigid again.

"Would you like to touch?" he asked.

"Not really."

Clockwork waited.

The only way is through, Danny thought again. He couldn't, shouldn't ignore this either.

Danny swallowed, tried to swallow. He heard a quiet tk-kt in his neck.

His reaction to that took another moment to fight down, but finally, finally he reached out his right hand (his whole hand, his good and unaltered hand except that wasn't really true was it, all of him had changed…) and–

He felt at the edge of Clockwork's skin.

It was cool to the touch. It was smooth, like porcelain. Without the barrier of skin–whatever it was–skin, Danny's ghostly hearing could pick out a chorus of tiny clicks. Whatever lay in Clockwork's arm glimmered, turning, churning away in the corner of Danny's vision though he still refused to look.

He pressed, and the edge beneath Danny's fingers flexed like no porcelain Danny had ever seen. Even when his parents had accidentally brought Grandma Fenton's china set to life, it had stayed rigid.

Unlike Clockwork.

(Unlike Danny.)

Next, Danny poked the surface of Clockwork’s skin farther from the edge. It gave as it always had. It felt cool, as it always had. Beyond that, Danny was less certain. Clockwork was rarely without his gloves and shirt, and Danny had never cared to examine his skin closely before now besides.

He’d never noticed before that Clockwork’s arm was hairless.

Danny withdrew his hand, wondering if his skin would be the same one day. If the seam in his own arm was the same now.

"You may also hold this," Clockwork said, and picked up the panel he'd removed from his own arm. The hold he used was clearly delicate.

"Is it fragile?" asked Danny, curious despite himself. "Can you feel it?" He reached out and brushed his fingers over the panel, and found it gave just like the rest of Clockwork's skin.

Questions exploded in his head.

"How does that work?"

"What do you mean?"

"Like, it feels just like your," Danny groped for a word, "attached skin. But it's not supported by anything?"

That earned him a pleased hum and a ruffle of his hair. Danny mumbled in mock dislike but leaned into the contact anyway.

It had been so long.

The thought returned a twinge to his chest.

"There is also an underside," said Clockwork instead of explaining, and tilted the panel of skin so the other side was revealed. It had a mother of pearl sheen and in its depths glimmered hints of etched symbols.

Danny tilted his head, and the symbols moved with it. Or stayed still. It was hard to tell. He reached out to touch, and paused inches away. Should he touch the underside of Clockwork's…skin? Panel?

"Go ahead," said Clockwork.

Danny’s nails met it with a faint click. 

He hadn't expected it to be hard. He had expected the coolness, though. And the way it was smooth to the touch.

Clockwork placed it on his upturned hand.

"It's light," Danny said, surprised. It wasn't just light, it was feather-light. He could barely feel the weight of it.

"Yes," agreed Clockwork.

Danny stared at the panel resting on his open hand. At the weird, isolated bit of skin stuff.

…At the piece of Clockwork.

Danny worried at his lip.

Clockwork was really trusting him here, wasn't he? Maybe not trusting, since Clockwork could see the future. But this was a piece of Clockwork in Danny's hand. Balanced there. Danny had a vision of himself taking it and whacking it against the table and the mother of pearl shattering and Clockwork making a sound like squealing gears and–

And it was so light it barely felt like anything at all, and with the underside on his hand the sensation was so like the ill-fated china that Danny could almost see a bowl, light and fine and translucent.

…It felt so delicate in his hand.

"Clockwork?" Danny found himself asking. 

"Yes?"

"What happens if I drop this?"

"It is best not to," said Clockwork after a moment. "Though it will not break, it may dent. And then we will have two repair jobs on our hands."

"Oh," said Danny. "Wait, it could dent? Just from dropping it? But…" Danny trailed off, frowning. Clockwork had always seemed much stronger than that.

"Ordinarily no. But we are vulnerable like this, far more so than when we are fully assembled."

We.

Danny was like this, too. Would be. Could be. Was now.

It didn't feel as precipitous a change as it had, at the doors to the tower.

Danny swallowed, tk-kt, and asked "What am I like?"

In lieu of answering, Clockwork plucked his own panel from Danny's hand. Then he picked up the skin-panel-skin of Danny's arm with the same grip he'd used for his own and oh.

Before, Clockwork had been too fast and Danny too surprised to feel it but now Clockwork was being slow.

Now, Danny could understand why the delicacy.

It was odd, a sensation halfway there and upside down, like a light pinch across his forearm but inverted. Clockwork set it on Danny's upturned hand, skin up, and Danny felt a light prickling on the missing part of his forearm. It didn't really feel like a part of himself, like this. It felt disconnected. Despite the feedback it was easy to think of it as just another oddity Clockwork had shown him, and the prickle at his forearm just the texture of cloth on sensitive skin.

He couldn't use his other (mechanical, frozen, jammed) hand. Not to move, not to feel. He didn't want to face that yet, anyway.

Danny tipped his hand enough to set the skin-panel-ski–

"What do you call these?" he asked Clockwork as he set it on the work table.

"Panels.”

The smooth wood had a different character to it than the cloth or his hand. It still prickled at his–at his panel, but the sensation was growing to remind Danny of a sleeping limb, like the interior of it was starting to wake.

Danny poked it.

“Oh, weeeiird,” Danny said. He did it again.

It felt like he was poking his own forearm. Probably because he was.

“Weird?" asked Clockwork.

"Very," said Danny, and prodded some more.

Eventually, Danny tired of poking the exterior of his panel and flipped it over.

He froze.

He had expected something like Clockwork's mother of pearl, not–

"Stars," Danny breathed, and stars there were.

Unlike Clockwork's, the inside of Danny's skin was dark, bordering on black. Inlaid in it were so many splinters of silver and gold and glittering gems that they resembled the sweeping arm of a spiral galaxy.

Or part of one.

When he brushed it with a careful finger, the prickling was almost gone. The curious inversion of sensation remained, and between that and the lightness of his touch it felt almost like a shiver leaving ant-tracks over his skin.

It was smooth. That was the second thing he noticed. Though he could see a slight depth to it where gems were set, and where tiny wires had been driven into it, it was as though its surface had been coated in several layers of lacquer and polished to a shine.

Danny tilted it, and dark ribbons of something like wood grain caught the light.

Beside him, Clockwork remained silent as Danny continued his examination. Something watchful crept in as the minutes ticked by, but he spoke only when Danny finally returned the panel of his arm to the table with a click.

"There is another panel I think you would enjoy seeing," said Clockwork. He tapped a spot just below Danny's collarbone. "I could remove it, too."

Danny turned the idea around in his head. But really, now he was curious. Even if he asked Clockwork to tell him, the specifics would eat at him until he forgot this entire thing. If he ever did. Even with his life, he didn’t think he’d forget getting turned into a machine by his mentor anytime soon. Especially if it didn’t happen again. He hoped it wouldn’t.

"Okay," said Danny.

This time, Clockwork handed the panel to Danny with the inside facing up.

The collarbone piece was a slender triangle, and it held the same rippling dark as the other. It held the same style of stars too, though the gemstones were far more scattered, the wires even finer.

But what captured Danny's eyes was the tiny image of the ISS, inlaid in gold and silver and mother of pearl and other, stranger materials that caught the light, that made it seem almost alive.

"The solar panels," Danny began, and ran out of words.

"Gold," said Clockwork. "Just like the real one."

Danny ran a finger over it. Just like the forearm piece, this one was mirror-smooth to the touch but he could imagine, couldn't he? Imagine being there…

"Do you like it?"

The question took a moment to reach Danny's ears, and then another to follow them to the rest of his head. It did not take another moment to reach his mouth, because the answer was already on his tongue.

"I love it," Danny said, and meant it.

"I am glad," said Clockwork.

It seemed only a short time later that the ISS vanished off the edge of the panel Clockwork had removed. Apparently, the material of its solar panels was not where the similarities ended; the ISS under Danny's skin had an orbital period of 90 minutes, too.

One last time, Danny traced the edge where the last corner of a solar panel had slipped away.

"Okay," he said, and handed the panel back to Clockwork.

Clockwork traced over the piece with his own fingers, a pensive gesture. He pulled a polishing cloth from the table and covered the interior with gentle circles before tugging Danny to face him with equal gentleness. Danny complied easily, thoughts on the feel of the cloth.

On the soft pressure of it, on what it felt like to be polished.

He'd never imagined that it might feel pleasant, like care. That it might feel like love.

The missing part of him felt a bit like it did when Clockwork cradled a cheek in his hand. Not warm, but soft and calm. Safe.

Clockwork held Danny's shoulder with one hand as he fit the panel back into place. There was a feeling and a sound like sliding glass, and then the panel settled into a groove with a release of tension.

Danny relaxed.

"Not yet," Clockwork said. "I still need to secure the clasps."

He pressed on the panel firmly, then took the other end of the tool he'd used before and did something. There was a click.

Automatically, Danny raised his hand to feel at the spot. It was flush, but as he trailed along the line of his collarbone his fingers found an edge that rose away until it was nearly as thick as his panel.

"Eleven more," said Clockwork. His voice had gone quieter again, and like this it blended with the chorus of Long Now.

Another click, and another. The pressure was regular, the clicks in time with the rest of Long Now. One two three click, one two three click. Danny let the repetitive pressure rock him a little. His eyelids felt heavy, his chest calm. As more clasps joined the first Danny found himself wishing he weren't fractionally ahead of the tempo. It would be wonderful to sink into the song again. To sway in time with everything else.

The pressure ended.

A whine of protest crawled halfway out of Danny's throat. Clockwork hummed back. He'd settled beside Danny again, and the sound transmitted from the barrel of his chest, reverberating deep in Danny's bones.

"There will be more when I replace the panels of your arm," said Clockwork.

Mind too fuzzy for a coherent question, Danny made a questioning sound.

"I'll need to remove more than just one panel of your forearm to repair it. The first panel was to introduce the concept." Clockwork paused. His next words were stilted. "I am aware this has been a difficult topic for you."

Clockwork paused again to return to stroking his hand through Danny's hair and Danny hummed, pleased at the contact. It felt nice.

"I am glad you like your panels," said Clockwork as Danny pressed against his hand.

There was a span of minutes where Danny simply enjoyed the moment. From the accompanying hum in Clockwork's chest, he was doing the same. But like all things, it came to an end.

"You have yet to examine the mechanisms your panels protect," said Clockwork.

Oh. Right.

Danny opened his eyes and sat back up, attention back on the table. The cloth draping the hole in his arm was still there. If he looked closely, he could see the spot on his arm where the cloth curved in instead of out.

The joy–and weirdness of the panels of skin and their cool decorations had made the whole thing seem a little less scary, a little more interesting.

Interesting, at least, when he could pretend that was all they were.

But the delight from discovering the starscape hidden on his panels was curdling back into dread the longer he looked at the cloth covering his arm. The shine of the metal within still blazed across his mind's eye, too bright by half. Burning. Danny wanted to see the inside of his own arm again about as much as he wanted to see the inside of Jazz's: not at all.

But the only way was through.

Danny steeled himself.

“Okay.”

#danny phantom #danny phantom dp #clockwork dp #jackdraw-spwrite #jackdaw-spwrite #fine dp fic