#I want to scream 'NO! This show doesn't make my eyes bleed!' | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

burstinn · 6 months

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Bro..I love your blog already

Can you please do CoD (Ghost, soap, nikto, roach, könig, price, Gromsko(if you write for him) with male reader who has mouth like mileena from mortal combat 😵 you know..sharp ass teeth, Long slimy tongue and shit

Can be nsfw if you want👀

MALE READER WITH A MOUTH LIKE MILEENA

(Headcanons/ short story?)

People shown: Ghost, Soap, Nikto, Roach, König, Price,Gromsko. As per requested.

Warnings: body/face disfigurement?,small mention of experiment and torture, mentions of slight depression/ mental breakdowns.

Themes: fluff, slight angst, comfort, no nsfw for now ain't feelin the groove can be read with mutual or start of a romantic relationship. Just wanna be held and comforted fr fr 😞😞✋🤚

Note: I never wrote about Gromsko but I do know him. Had to do a research into him. So this is my interpretation of Gromsko hope I got him right.

Also these Headcanons ARE FUCKING LONG. so I hope you saved room for breakfast, lunch, dinner, appetizers, and dessert with complimentary drinks too.

Also this is kinda rushed? I didn't have time to proofread this. So like. Yeah..

You (M/N) had a very disfigured mouth a big slash across your lower face. Making it look like your lower face have been burnt in half. Showing sharp teeth protruding out accompanying it was your long sharp tounge. Your face adorned with scars and bruises you managed to collect through your time in the military. But when you had this type of injury..Where your mouth looks so horribly scarred you had to leave the military.

Due to how long you've been in the military. And how you've been tortured and experimented on making your face look like..this. You hated it. But you wanted to be back in the military for your own personal reasons.

Now since your back in the military you've kept your face hidden. You didn't want your new team to look at you in disgust and horror. They always used to be so scared. But it's a new team! You just have to keep your mask on and none would be the wiser.

GHOST

-Ever since Ghost saw you he always felt something was..off about you. It's not like you kept to yourself no you were sociable sometimes.

-But he kept his doubts about you to himself. You were a soldier. And just because he felt off doesn't mean he had to treat you differently

-He wasn't prodding or asking you about why you kept wearing you mask.

- You have your problems on why you wore your mask, He has his problems. It's like a little understanding why you kept your mask on 24/7.

- Then that one faithful day when you both were paired on a mission and you were caught by an enemy dragged to a building.

- Ghost was quick to follow you. He was nearby and saw you get dragged.

-He made his way silently and quickly through the building. Slipping in through a cracked window as he searched around cautiously.

-A bang could be heard, then a scream. Then silence.. That wasnt good. He swiftly ran over to where he heard the scream. And he found you..you weren't dead no. The enemy was. A big gnash on their neck as they slowly bled on the cold floor.

-And you were there. Coiled into a ball quietly sobbing, shaking your head. He glanced at the bleeding enemy one more time before he ran over to you immediately making his presence known as he gently grabbed your arms covering you face.

-When he pried your hands off and saw your face. He only sighed his eyes softening in small realization. Before he hugged you. As you continue to sob. He knew why you covered your face now... And he won't hate you for that.

SOAP

- He immediately took an interest towards you when he first saw you for the first couple weeks.

- He would stalk you for a bit. Realizing you never took your mask off..like Ghost.

- He didn't mind as well. Maybe you had a similar reason to Ghost. Although that didn't stop him to ask you to take off your mask.

- You took it well. Really just teasing him that you totally would show Soap your face.(you wouldn't, never)

- That only made Soap think that you would someday show your face.

- You both grew close. Always hanging out, making jokes, hell even sleeping in the same room.

- Although he would keep pestering you about your mask.

- You trusted him deeply and he trusted you.

- Then one day you pulled Soap in a closet.. Although he was a bit suspicious asking you slyly why you brought him here. Before you shut him up.

- It was serious.. you trusted him so so deeply.. maybe..he wouldn't judge you if you showed him..your face? And that's what you did. You explained why you called him here. Hus face bellowing with excitement. As you slowly took off your mask showing. Your face.

- You looked worriedly at him. Soap had gone silent. And he was just staring wide eyed...oh no..no..no.. that wasn't the reaction you wanted.

- You tried to explain..or try to convince Soap to not make you look like a freakish fool. But Soap just..ran out of the closet.. leaving you there dumbstruck..

- It was only later in the night. Specifically midnight. You couldn't forget how Soap looked at you it was heart wrenching. That was it. He thinks you look like a freak now.

- You hold your face in your hands. Sobbing about your friend.. that now thinks your disgusting.

- Then 3 knocks came at your door. You dawned your mask wiping away your tears before opening the door. Before you even react Soap pushes you in your room and closes the door.

- You don't respond. He whispers something to you then he removes your mask. Making you panic..Then he holds your face. Gentle and soft as he looks at you with a solemn smile.

- "M/N..." He whispers your name again as he rubs your lower face. Holding you in his arms as he whispers praises.. and apologies. For you.

NIKTO

- He wouldn't care about you

- He really didn't like or want any more new recruits. He found new people annoying. So when you first bumped into Nikto. He gave you a glare before he shoved past you.

- When he overheard people talking about how you never removed your mask. He got slightly curious so whenever you were nearby he would watch you. And they were right. You never took off your mask.

- One day he got frustrated with you. Do you think you're special for not taking off your mask?

You think you are cool? He seethed.

- Although he was a brute to you he was at least modest well.. modest to not pull your mask out of your face Infront of your teammates.

- Instead he cornered you somewhere private. Gruffly asking then commanding you to take off your mask.

- When you disagreed he ripped it off your face. And saw..your.. face. His eyes slightly widened.

- And when you started to panic trying to grab your mask while hiding it. Til' you eventually snatched it out of his hands when he was frozen with shock. You wore your mask and ran out.

- That's when Nik knew he fucked up. He knew he needed to apologize. So he went to search for you after he processed what happened now the guilt weighing down on him every minute he couldn't find you.

- When he finally found you probably hiding off somewhere, most likely avoiding Nik. He sat down next to you. Unsure how to start with his apology.

- When he finally blurted it out. Looking at you with obvious guilt in his eyes. But he knew sorry wasn't enough. So he took his mask off himself. Showing his own scars and bruises. Scooting himself closer to you still with that apologetic look.

- You talked for a while maybe about how you got your scar or not. About anything else.

ROACH

-Hes quiet around you. Once he first saw you he didn't really react much. It's just a new recruit nothing special.

- You never takes off your mask? Nothing special to him.

- He kept to himself you kept to yourself.

- he was just crawling around one day. Hiding up in small spaces and just idk stayed there.

- And when you bursted in closing the door behind you. He hid himself further in that corner he was in. He's not confronting you..nuh uh..

- He watched you stand there for a few minutes before you took of your mask. Showing off your lower face. Which made him go closer to see.

- Woah.. He watched you intently without your mask. Taking in every detail. He thought you looked cool. Didn't understand why you hid your face. Looked kinda sick tbh.

- That's when you felt someone watching you and you lock eyes with Roach. Your eyes widening hastily grabbing your mask and running off. Leaving Roach there with his thoughts. He must've understood enough you don't like being seen with your mask down.

- So the next few days. He watched you looking at you with a knowing look. While you looked back nervous and full of embarrassment?.

- And one of those days he was watching you. He walked up to you without saying anything and handed you a piece of ripped paper only reading

" You look cooler without your mask ".

KÖNIG

- He raised an eyebrow when he saw you. Almost already knowing you were the type of person who would keep him mask on.

- Not like he cares or anything

- He would though keep an eye on you. Just in case.. Not like he's interested in seeing your face or anything.

- From watching to discreetly following you around. Just to make sure okay? It's nothing else.

- When he was following you today. He watched from the side when a few other soldiers with the same rank as you walked in beside you. Poking and prodding on why you have to hude your face in a mask? Did you look sexy bad you had to hide it?

- When you ignored or scolded them. They quickly got annoyed with you and tried removing you mask. Even when you tried to shove and fight them off they would eventually take off your mask anyway.

- König knows he should stop he was about to when they finally managed to take off your mask. And they all backed away from you in disgust evidently on their face.

- If you got angry or sad they would just back away from you again. They don't care you looked disgusting. If you tried to grab your mask from someone they'd back away from you while screaming at you to get away from them.

- König didn't notice your face. Well not yet anyway. He made his presence known in a booming voice as he dismissed the people who just assaulted you. They're still holding your mask

- You try to hide your face but. That didn't work. Even when König saw you. He saw your face. His face softening when he saw you.

- He walks up to you. Going on his knees to take your hands off your face. As he looks up at you softly. Holding your hands in his.

- He shouldn't judge. He didn't really care. You are his soldier and you took his interest. He talked to you softly sprinkling in praises about your face while he tries to comfort you.

PRICE

- He knew about your face. It was already mentioned in your information when he read your file. He was the one who let you in 141 anyway. And he didn't mind

- He had seen lots of injuries all varying in scales. So he didn't really mind your face

- Wether you knew that Price knew about your face or not. He would be the first to call you everytime in his office to talk.

- Just discreetly talking about you. Maybe get you to open up to him. Which would then eventually lead to you opening up to the rest of the team.

- He wanted you to feel comfortable and feel part of the team. Always.

- He told you he knew about your face. Any reactions from you would just let him make you sit down as he tries to be your personal therapist. Assuring you that no one would judge you. If anyone did. He would make sure that they would be punished.

GROMSKO

- He would eye you at first before trying to impress you. Well trying to impress all the new recruits. Always showing off how good he is in what he does.

- When he noticed you never got rid off your mask. Not even talking to anyone why you take off your mask. He had a great idea.

- His first plan with you was to get you to take off your mask to him. Just so he could show off that he was the lucky guy to see your face.

- So he made himself get comfortable with you. Hanging around you, talking to you, trying to scope you out so he could get your trust and take your mask off around him. Maybe he could get a sweet picture so he could have proof.

- He would talk to you alot. Almost everyday actually, he would make himself hang around you. Maybe even begging to be in the same missions with you. Just so he could....why'd he hang out with you again??.. ahh he forgot!

- He just suddenly.. started wanting to be close friends with you. Forgetting his original reason.

-That was when he only remembered his initial reason why he was friends with you. When you pulled him somewhere private and you asking him if he wanted to see your face.

- He got excited. Even more when he remembers why you guys were friends. But a slight guilt stung him when he remembers why. His first intentions were.. really selfish. But now he was really fond of you.

- But he nodded and when you took of your mask seeing your mouth. Of course he got shocked and to your dismay backed away from you.

- He cleared his throat when he realized that wasn't really.. a good reaction really..

- So he moved closer to you. Admiring your sharp teeth and mouth.

- He even asked you to show your tounge. Just as impressive.

- He grew even more and more fond of you. You let him touch your lower face. He takes off his own as well. Showing his face. As he held your face.

- He whispered something polish about you looking so unique.. so special?...

- Then he didn't know why but. He just..I dont know.. pressed his lips on yours.. Not like it meant anything..or something.. (it totally meant something)

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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wileys-russo · 5 months

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would you be willing to write reader getting her wisdom teeth out and being all loopy and out of it while leah takes care of her (their relationship is relatively fresh) and she asks leah if she wants to know everything reader loves about her and leah agrees, thinking it is mostly going to be like sexual stuff or about her body but reader lists almost exclusively her personality and stuff like leah being super eloquent and hardworking etc and leah is just very positively surprised and swooning at it

it’s just fluff basically but a bit cheesy lol

happy gas II l.williamson

leah spun her keys around on her fingers as she returned to the dental clinic, jogging up the stairs and shoving her keys in her pocket as she stepped inside, a slight shiver going down her spine as the air conditioning pumped down onto her.

"hi, i'm here to collect my girlfriend? y/l/n, i was told to come back around two." leah smiled politely, resting her arms on the counter as the receptionist nodded, stepping out to check with the doctor.

"she's just waking up a little from the anesthesia love, take a seat and you'll be able to see her shortly the nurse will come and fetch you..." she trailed off expectantly with a raised eyebrow. "leah." the blonde smiled, thanking her and moving to sit down in the waiting room.

shifting around in the hard plastic chair the footballer busied herself watching a the big quiz re-run playing on the small telly above her. "leah? leah? leah!" she'd become so engrossed in the show, even mumbling along answers that she almost missed her name called out.

shooting out of her seat she sent the nurse an apologetic smile and hurried after her, making small talk as she was lead toward the recovery room. "is that-" leah started with a frown hearing a familiar laughter echo through the halls.

"sure is. your girlfriend is up there with one of the worst behaved but most amusing patients we've had!" the nurse chuckled and opened the door, leah stepping in after her.

"lee lee! you didn't leave me." you beamed happily, spitting the gauze out as the nurse hurried over to replace it with some fresh ones. "no i didn't, i told you i'd be back right after your surgery sweets i just went to get something to eat to pass the time." leah smiled with a shake of her head.

"she's certainly a character." the doctor chuckled with a shake of his head. "oh yes she is." leah agreed, the two of you were a relatively fresh pairing, having gone on several dates and a prolonged talking phase you'd only been dating for around three months now.

"is that normal practice? my little brother had his wisdoms out a couple years ago and never needed that." leah frowned as she noticed your hands had been restrained to the arms of the chair with velcro.

"no its not, however your girlfriend seems determined to pull out her gauze and if she doesn't keep it in her mouth long enough to stem the bleeding she's in for a world of pain." the doctor explained as leah nodded along.

"if she's not pulling it out she's screaming, singing or yelling causing it to fall out." the nurse sighed as you rolled your eyes and leah moved to be by your side.

"love can you please be quiet for a little bit? if you don't keep the gauze in your mouth to stop the bleeding they'll need to remove all your teeth." leah warned as your eyes widened in fear at the lie and you were instantly silenced.

"well thats one way to do it." the doctor laughed as leah smiled smugly and ran a hand affectionately through your hair. "so! aftercare." with that the older man ran leah through everything she would need to do as your primary carer for the next forty eight hours.

your hands now freed and helped into a wheel chair as the anesthetic meant your limbs weren't quite strong enough to hold you up leah wheeled you out of the clinic, shaking her head as you blew kisses to all of the nurses.

"stop that! save some for me." leah teased flicking your ear, some sort of gibberish mumbled from your mouth which was still stuffed with gauze. another nurse helping leah get you from the wheel chair into the car you happily waved her off as she returned with the chair toward the clinic, leah slipping into the drivers seat.

"why am i in the back!" you huffed, words a little muffled from the gauze but with the drowsiness wearing off they were less slurred.

"because you got voted one of the worst behaved patients at that clinic and i wouldn't put it past you to grab or push something you dont need to up here." leah smiled in amusement as you scoffed.

"thats so mean! they really voted me that." you seemed genuinely heartbroken as leah pulled out of the carpark. "love are you crying?" leah bit down on her lip to stop her smile as she glanced to you in her rear view mirror.

"yeah! thats really mean of them, i was so nice." you sobbed and leah couldn't help but cover her laughter with a cough knowing this was only the side affects of the anesthesia. "baby girl you both threatened and tried to bite the poor doctor multiple times, thats not very nice." leah reminded, corners of her mouth curling upward.

"cause he wouldn't keep his dirty glove covered hand out of my mouth!" you huffed with a scowl, head thumping against the back seat. "thats because he needed to remove your wisdom teeth you muppet, which are in your mouth." leah chuckled with a playful roll of her eyes.

"lee lee i am starving, get me some food please." you demanded, kicking the back of her chair like an annoyed child. "you're not allowed to eat for another four hours my love, sorry." leah apologized, your protests falling on deaf ears as she continued to drive home.

placating your whinging and trying her best to keep you quiet so the guaze stayed in your mouth leah felt a sense of relief wash over her when finally she pulled into the driveway of her apartment where you’d be staying the next few days so she could keep an eye on you.

she scrambled out of the car and hurried to your door, opening it before you could and helping you out, your legs a little stronger now some more time had passed.

successfully getting you up and out of the car and into the house she helped you onto the sofa, dashing off to change clothes so she was more comfortable, changing in lightning speed given she didn't want to leave you unattended for a moment longer than needed.

finally after a half hour of squirming and wiggling and fighting leah at every turn to take the gazue from your mouth or get up and move about you'd settled, an ice pack resting on your jaw to help the swelling as your back pressed into leahs front.

"leah." you spoke up, tilting your head back and shuffling a little so it rested on your shoulder and she hummed. "do you wanna know everything i love about you?" you smiled tiredly as your girlfriend chuckled, already quite sure what would be next out of your mouth as she gestured for you to continue.

but to her surprise it wasn't anything of the sort that she'd expected, no cheesy pick up lines or suggestive comments, no cheeky remarks about her body or your time spent together in the bedroom. in fact, it was the complete opposite of what leah expected.

"mm well i love that you're so passionate. about football, the arsenal foundation, your friends, your studies, your hobbies, a very very passionate woman." you started, a slight slur returning to your voice as the pain medication you'd just taken started to kick in.

"i love that you make me feel loved, and safe, and accepted, and happy, and comfortable. you love me for me and you have never asked or expected me to change." you continued, leah stunned into silence as you affectionately patted her leg.

"i love that you're so well spoken, and you always know what to say. but sometimes you know what to say and you don't say it because you want to annoy me and it works! because you know too well how to annoy me." you rolled your eyes as leahs smile grew.

"i love how much you love your family, its so special to watch the bond you all have. i love how much you love football, as a player and a fan and a spectator and sometimes an unintentional gaffer!" you grinned lopsidedly, your eyes closed now as leah pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, hugging you tightly.

"i love how good you are with my neices, and how much my mum loves you, even if the two of you gang up on me now!" you cracked open one eye tiredly to glare up at her causing her to chuckle and run a hand through your hair.

you paused as you let out a long yawn, again shuffling back so you were laid down a little more and comfortable once again between leahs outstretched legs. the girl assumed you were finished, her heart well and truly melting at your sweet confessions.

"i love that you are unapologetically yourself and you stand up and speak out on what you believe in. i love that even though you can't cook to save your life you order me pizza and let me pick the movies we watch." leah was grateful the two of you were alone now as she was sure if any of her friends and family saw just how in love she looked with you right now she would have the mick taken out of her forever.

"i love how strong you are and how you bounce back from everything, and you always try to find a silver lining or a different way to look at things. i love that you're so honest and open about how you're feeling and what you need when you need it. i love that-" your last few words were barely understandable as you inhaled and exhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut again as leah waited a moment before confirming you had indeed finally fallen asleep.

she could have cried at everything you said, and to be honest she was shocked she hadn't given she was basically a puddle of a human being, a pile of sap and heart strings and lovesick puppy eyes for you.

"oh my pretty girl, my best girl, if only you knew just how much i love and adore you. but i promise to spend each and every day showing you so, forever and always."

#woso x reader #leah williamson #leah williamson x reader #woso community #engwnt #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso blurbs #woso

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suguru-getos · 6 months

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୨・┈﹕✦﹕ Kinktober Day 24﹕✦﹕┈・୧

-> Event Masterlist

Geto Suguru x F!Reader -> Size Kink

Summary: After returning from your trip, you found out your boyfriend is not okay. Maybe a vacation (To Venice) ;) would help. (Mentions of Deppressed!Suguru, angst, breakdowns, toothrotting fluff and comfort, Satoru being a wonderful best friend, Suguru healing) ❤️‍🩹 Basically hurt-comfort with size!kink 😭

Warnings: Angst, breakdowns, Suguru’s deranged and suc!dal and has murderUrges, Reader (us) comfort him and pull him out from it. Mentions of reader’s breakdowns, cus I mean— 🤷🏻‍♀️ Look at him!!?? Nipple-play, breeding, softsex, sensual, FLUFFY AND NICE AND SUGURU’s so Spoiling towards us it’s just 🙈

A/N: Guys I had sm fun 🥹😵‍💫🩵 writing this I swear!! Hurt-comfort is like my favorite thing in the whole wide world <33 I love to characterize Suguru & to play around with his character. *Screeches and screams* 🍨🍦 I made him yummy thank me later xx Also can we look at the images of him above 🥵 size kink BRRRR

"If you really think, you can do everything, take everything in, save people, and somehow save yourself along with the deceitful thinking that you will protect me. Then you're wrong!" Tears welled up in your eyes, the pain clearly imminent in Suguru's eyes. He looked dead inside, and no mourning was soothing your ache for your older Suguru. You just, missed him beyond beliefs… even when he was right beside you. You hoped he would response to your cry of pain, your bleeding words, but he didn't have it in him anymore. Suguru had almost, given up on himself.

Your hands found themselves clasping onto his collar, pulling him closer to you. "Suguru, look at me, I am telling you something. Can't you fucking see how much it hurts!" You screamed, losing your calm, your temper. It felt ironical to complain to him about how much it's hurting you. You can see he's got it worse; the nights full of terrors and the days full of decaying cursed spirits. You were an empath for your lover, and it was clear staying near him was subjecting you to everything he felt. He doesn't want to see you this way, desperate and hurting…

"I'm sorry, Angel." Suguru sighed, wrecked with the way you burst into tears and hugged him. Voice choking onto sobs as you earnestly tried clutching onto him for dear life. "Sugu, come back to me please come back…" You cried, wailed and eventually dropped onto your knees. The incomprehensible feeling, the heaviness of the things Suguru was going through was making you breathless.

Suguru's heart was only breaking further apart, watching you slowly scrape away in front of him. "I want to kill myself." He finally spoke up, "No, truth is, I want to kill everyone."

This was the first time Suguru was opening up, and no matter how brutal it sounded, his eyes were still kind. Maybe because it was you, in front of him. "You are a sorcerer, too, I shouldn't say this to you, but I hate those monkeys." He radiates pessimism and negativity through him. Yet, you smile a little.

"Come with me, go away with me." You held his hands, squeezing them tightly as if you were grateful they're not cold. You truly were. They were warm, they were still your Suguru's hands.

"Please, Suguru, let's go away for some time." You urged, and he knelt with you, hugging you tightly, not caring about the whimper that escapes you because of his firm grip.

"Running away, won't solve anything." He echoed, and you felt your stomach sink. Soft sniffles echoing in the room as you shook your head like a tantrum-y child. "No, we will solve everything. You and I, we can solve everything. No matter what it is." You cupped his face, becoming stronger for him. "It's okay to feel like this Suguru, it's okay. I'm here." You nudge, watching his eyes showing signs of at least, some life in them. "Can you, not give up?" You meant on himself, you meant on everything.

To make sure, he understands… you hummed again, "makes me feel like, I'm being abandoned."

Suguru blinked at that, letting your words settle deep within. "Makes me feel like, I'm not even worth fighting for." You looked down, not having the guts to say this to him while making eye-contact. "Please, let's elope somewhere Sugu." You crooned, babying him almost. "I will follow you to the ends of the earth anyway, even if your path is changed." You hum, and with the way your pupils fixated on your hands intertwined, Suguru knows you mean it.

"Okay, maybe… I do need a little get away." Suguru smiled tenderly, partial charm returning to his eyes.

Oh it felt like rain in famine, "Good, thank you, I love you."

"I love you too, my Angel."

---

The next thing was you booking tickets to go to Europe. You urged Satoru and Yaga to not assign any more missions for Suguru. It was hard, you and Suguru were both powerful special grade sorcerers; but hey- you both had Satoru to rely on. "I told you the moment he lost weight, he wasn't doing okay." Satoru scoffed, rolling his eyes, tapping at his feet impatiently in the café you decided to meet him in. "What the fuck is up with being the one to hide things?" Satoru was pissed, why would his best friend not communicate? "Makes him feel less of a man?" You chuckle at that, you knew Satoru loved him almost as much as you did. "I've persuaded him to go on a trip with me." "You did?" Satoru was… amazed. These days, Suguru wasn't even joining in for any normal outings. Wasn't going out of his house for weeks, wasn't even meeting you. Things worsened when you left to Korea for a mission longer than 3 weeks. You had to stay there for some Jujutsu School Collaboration initiative. That's when Suguru was off his leash, truly at his worst. Taking missions more than he should, succumbing to the darkness of his mind and the curses.

"Just, want you to handle things while we're gone." You sipped onto the iced frappe you've ordered. Meanwhile Satoru ate a mochi, seemingly absent-minded and bored. "You don't have to worry about that, you know I'd do that in a heartbeat for him." He bratted, raising a brow at you. "And you…"

You smiled at that, nodding gently. It felt good to have the 'Strongest' so whipped for your boyfriend, and platonically you, as well.

The higher-ups posed a threat, as always. 'Why is Suguru Geto not on missions?' ; 'Did he get off the job of a Sorcerer?' especially the cunt-faced Principal of Kyoto. You and Satoru personally paid him a disrespectful visit at his school. Nothing he can complain against, wouldn't sit well to anger two special grades, will it? Despite showing that the Sorcerer world is only filled with people who are willing to take on the role- example: Nanami switching from corporate jobs to a sorcerer job… it was still, at the end, a disgusting, foul powerplay hidden beneath shackles of rules. If you are a special grade sorcerer, they'd do anything to hold on to you. Even blackmails are not far off the list. Emotionally draining…

---

"I have booked us a flight to Venice, baby." You sat cross legged on the swing chair Suguru's house has, fondling with your iPad and searching for hotel venues. "Venice huh." Suguru was still numbed, but at least, not he couldn't avoid you because practically you lived with him now. "Yeah, we can go to Switzerland, and also wherever you want. I hear Germany this time of the year is beautiful." You croaked excitedly, swaying your legs as he walked towards you, sitting on the chair in front of you. "Satoru told me you and I are on a vacation for months." He came directly on the point. "The trip isn't that long, is it?" He manspreaded, raising a brow.

You gulped, smiling softly, the last thing you need is him feeling 'weak'. You had to approach this carefully. "Suguru, I think you and I have done enough missions for a while. I want us to spend some time together, to ourselves." You added some degree of truth, "Also, I don't want you to keep eating curses and letting them eat you from the inside and I don't want to lose the person I love the most in my fucking life." With the way you affirmatively snapped, there was no way, Suguru would battle against it. A soft nod was all you got as a response.

"Alright, I will handle the packing. Don't want you screeching like a wild animal when you discover you forgot your charger." He leaned in, giving you a chaste peck & you giggled. "Of course."

---

The packing, the preparations, the dressing up and going to the Airport, the flight where you slept leaned against his shoulder. All went by in a tender haze of beautiful memories. Inflicted and infected by his sadness, still. Though you wouldn't mind. You're ready to accept him rotten if needed.

When you two reached Venice, the Victorian style hotel with the boats and the beautiful lakes was in fact, refreshing for him; and you. You knew it because Suguru had stopped going to your shared balcony of the house, now here he was, standing there, observing the people. The couples giggling and kissing each other, the boat rowers singing in their native Italian language, the streets with so much hustle and bustle… yet calming. You hugged him from behind, breathing in his scent. "Like it?" "Love it, my beautiful baby." He crooned back, turning towards you and pulling you closer to him by your hips. "I love you." He chanted, almost in a way that he used to when he first asked you out. These past few months were hard and rough, but if you were able to have him back, even infinitely slowly… you'd dedicate it to eradicating all his sadness.

"If you want, I can dress very Lana Del Rey today and we could make steamy love." You giggled, leaning in and kissing him softly. Suguru and you… yeah, haven't made love in a while. You'd never push him when he isn't feeling it, and naturally, someone who's suffering so much would have it at the last thing on his mind.

"You're right, how disappointing of me… I don't remember the last time I treated you, I worshipped you." He thought out loud, and you pouted. "It's okay Suguru, don't think about it like that. Think about how you're gonna make it up to me." You stuck your tongue out, giggling.

It's the way he looks at you, like he's starving and you're delectable. It's the way his eyes are loud enough with their projection of love that it quiets the world down for you. It's the way Suguru Geto breathes, that makes you love him so much you'd break.

Right now, he's doing the same thing… being himself. Hands wandering to your sides and helping you wrap your legs around his waist as he walked towards the shared bedroom of the hotel. Leaning in and kissing you passionately, shoving his tongue just to show how much he's been deeply yearning. Admiration coated in every action. "So lucked out that I have you." He smiled to himself, kissing your forehead deeply once you were nestled into the succumbing softness of the mattress.

"Same," you grin back, watching him undress you with his eyes first, and then his hands followed. You mimicked the same movements.

"I can't handle the fucking hotness!" You whined, once he was left in his pants, upper body naked for you to devour. Suguru chuckled, heat rushing through his cheeks and core as he cupped your face, kissing you once again.

The thing about you and him is, Suguru is big. He's built like a bulky man. Stretched to 6'3'', broad shoulders that'd hold two of you, hands big enough you miss almost an inch if you were to compare his with yours. Yeah, Suguru was big and you were tiny. Something that only aided to you being subbier and smaller to him. Letting him manhandle and take all the control that he wants to.

"Who do you belong to, darling?" He cooed, watching you instantly answer. "You, forever and always."

It warms his heart when he hears that, spreading your damp pussy lips with his fingers and thrusting a finger into you. It's been… long. He knows it with the way you're clamping for dear life, just on his digit. "Sh-i-t," You croak out, while Suguru hushed you with a soft kiss, slowly moving his finger in and out of your pussy. Once he felt you had accepted his finger's girth, he inserted another one. "AH god-" You whined, mewling at the delicious stretch of his thick and long fingers being coated with your essence. "You want to make sweet love and you're so worked up with the fingers alone." He chuckled to himself, stretching you out so good, curling them against the familiar sensitive spot.

Your back arched, the way your pussy clamped as if she was a slave to his hands and cock.

"Oh she's close." He cooed, "Go on, cum for me then I can ruin you with me." He kissed your pelvis, holding it down as your orgasm raked through you, approaching fiercely and shuddering your body against him as waves of pleasure took over you. "Good girl. Good little girl." Suguru praised, riding it out for you. Once the orgasm's high settled, Suguru took out his fingers and suckled onto them, eyes never leaving yours.

"Want you, so bad!" You gasped out, pulling him closer to you by wrapping your legs around him, feeling the imprint of his cock into you. "Alright alright, impatient little girl." He smirks, pushing the tip of his pre-leaking cock into you in one swift stroke. Mean, Suguru Geto is mean sometimes… especially when he wants you to be scream at the stretch only he can give you. No one else, he wants your pussy to know only how he feels. Damn he's big, and when he pushes himself balls deep, your pussy is strained beyond its limit. "Shit- s- so big Sugu." You whimper out, tearing up at the ache.

"Ssh, it's okay darling. I'm still. Adjust to me, go on." Suguru patiently waits, kissing your face all over, leaning in and kissing your breasts, suckling onto your nipples while you clamped and waited for the pain to settle in.

"Move, please…" You glance at him now, doe-eyed and insatiable.

"Of course, took you some time to adjust to me huh? Tiny little baby." He smiles, thrusting into you without relent. Your womb stops him from going in any further, your insides torn apart deliciously at the feeling of being ploughed by him. "Oh- G- oh God," words fail you, the air choked out of your lungs with how good it hurts, with how pleasureful it feels.

Suguru's hand laced around your pelvis, pressing on it gently. "Got you," He smirks cockily, holding your hand and keeping it on your pelvis, enveloped by his own as he pressed.

A shrill scream filled the room, "Oh you can sense it, can't you sweetheart? Sense how deep I reach?" You moan at the pressure, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as you hopelessly nodded. Gasping and choking on air. "God yes, Sugu- AH please- oh my- g'nna," You whimpered, while Suguru was at a rhythmic pace now. Sometimes pulling all the way out and pushing back all the way in. He loved seeing you walk the rope between pleasure and pain.

"Good girl, with the way you're holding onto me, I can sense you're close." Suguru hummed, grounding you with his kisses, his spoiled little praises.

"Go on, show me how much you missed me."

"Just like (thrust) I (thrust) missed (thrust) this (thrust) pussy-" Suguru toppled off the edge right with you, painting your insides white with his warmth. "Oh god- fuck-"

You shudder, spasming around his cock and milking him further.

"That's it, I got you. I got you." Suguru reminded, leaning in and kissing you softly, tenderly, as if you'd break if he were to touch you wrong.

"I missed you, I missed this." He mused to himself, blushing a little at the sight of you fucked out and half-lidded. You nodded, still taking ragged breaths. "I love you"

"I love you too, Angel."

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declareqenius · 2 months

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all the ashes in my wake

summary: part two of "some would sing and some would scream". wanda and natasha have several heated conversations while they wait for you to wake up. it's been days and both of them miss hearing your voice, and they know the last thing you would want to see is them fighting, but wanda can't help tearing into natasha for everything that happened. natasha's guilt eats away at her.

warnings: mentions of the violence in pt 1, coma

a/n: guys i really just wanted to get this one out. i haven't read through it/edited it so any mistakes are... well, mistakes. but hey! we get wanda in this one! i feel like i could have gone a little darker as far as wandanat are concerned, but we do what we can! i hope you enjoy!

The infirmary room is cold and sterile and a heaviness settles over the exhausted woman. Wanda keeps hold of your hand as if letting it go means that you'll slip away for good. She's careful of the IV stuck in the back of your hand giving you fluids. In a way, it serves as a reminder that blood still flows through your veins and your heart still beats, and that even though your bright smile and musical laugh don't fill the room, you're still alive.

Wanda brushes a stray strand of hair behind your ear. She doesn't know how many times she has done that in the past three days, but the gesture comforts her. Tucking your hair behind your ear so she can see your beautiful face better and looking into your sparkling eyes is one of her favorite things to do. Your gaze holds so much love and adoration and it always makes her wish she would never have to live without it.

Your eyes are closed now.

Wanda hates every second of it.

Bruce said that even if you don't respond that you can still hear everything. Wanda trusts that he's telling the truth and it wasn't something he said just to make her feel better.

So she talks to you. About anything and everything she can think of. Your favorite TV show that is on the air right now or the book that you recommended and she finally read. How much she loves you and how she can't wait for you to wake up. How sorry she is that she wasn't there sooner. She makes promises that she intends to uphold. Ones about revenge and torture and everything you would hate and tell her not to worry about were you conscious. Wanda smiles at the thought. She won't listen, though. The Celestials hurt her family. Hurt the love of her life. She can't let that go unanswered for.

Right now, though, you are her priority.

The door handle clicks and Wanda doesn't need to look up. She knows it's Natasha coming back from telling Steve and Yelena what happened. Can feel the exhaustion and guilt dripping from her without having to so much as glance in her direction.

"Wands-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now, Natalia. Sit."

Wanda nods to the unoccupied chair on the other side of the bed without taking her eyes off of you. She's being harsh and she knows it. Natasha was there with you. Right by your side. Made to watch as the leader of their enemies hurt you in the most sloppily calculated way. She was powerless against Najma and Wanda knows this, but all rationality left her when she burst into the cell and laid eyes on your bleeding body, slumped over, barely an ounce of life in you, and her anger nearly consumed her.

She almost leveled the entire block.

The only thing that stopped her was Natasha, carrying you in her arms, reminding her that time was scarce.

So yes, perhaps she is being too harsh with her wife, but somehow you had become their entire lives. Their reason for being. Neither of them would know what to do without you, and they came very close to losing you under Natasha's watch.

They will be okay eventually. They survived many fights and many arguments before you came along.

Tears form in Wanda's eyes.

"Yelena is wondering when she'll be able to see Y/N." Natasha's voice breaks the silence. It's rough and scratchy.

"After she wakes up."

Four words and Wanda can feel how they form on her tongue. Her Sokovian accent is thick with her anger and distress despite the words being spoken soft and firm.

"Wanda," Natasha starts to protest but the finality in her wife's tone makes her go quite.

"Nat."

It's then that Wanda decides to look up at Natasha. Decides to let her wife see her and every emotion that makes its way onto her face and every thought that swirls around in her mind.

Natasha pauses for a moment, taken aback by everything she sees her wife going through. The made-up scenarios. The what-ifs. She knows because she went through every last one of them when she was in that cell with you. To see the same thoughts cluttering Wanda's mind, well, it only makes her guilt worse.

She clears her throat, "Yelena is her best friend."

It comes out as more of a fact than an argument.

At that, Wanda turns her attention back to you, "I don't want anyone except for us and Bruce to see her like this. They don't need to."

"They want to know that she's okay, Wands."

"Tell them that she is. That she will be. That's all they need to know for right now. They need to focus on getting the jump on Najma and the Celestials. Our focus is Y/N. I think our family is capable enough to come up with a plan by themselves, don't you?"

Wanda's calmness is starting to make Natasha uncomfortable and she shifts in her chair. She refuses to touch you, though, afraid of what might happen if she did. Would your body crumble under her fingertips? If you were conscious would your body recoil at her touch? For letting you get hurt. For not protecting you like she should have.

Suddenly streams of tears silently make their way down Natasha's cheeks.

"I'm sorry I let this happen."

Wanda's eyes meet hers again and Natasha feels like she can breathe a little easier. It isn't perfect and she guesses it won't be perfect for a long time, but time will help. The fear will linger within both of them because Natasha knows Wanda almost as well as she knows herself, and she knows that neither of them will be letting you out of their sight for a while after you wake up. Until Najma is taken care of, at least.

Wanda tilts her head as she tries to get a better read on Natasha without using her powers. Even if they would help in the moment she has rules for herself: never on Natasha and never on you.

"They caught you off guard. It is a hard position to be in, radnaja."

Darling. The pet name helps Natasha relax a little more, but her hands stay folded in her lap.

"We needed- I needed to protect her better. We promised to keep her safe and I couldn't do that, Wands. I failed her and I disappointed you and... and what if she decides to leave when she wakes up? I would be the reason we came so close to losing her... and then to actually lose her? I don't know if we could survive it."

"Nat... Y/N loves us with everything she is. Just as we love her. I need you to be confident in that."

Natasha wants to scoff but instead she fidgets with her hands, "Confident? In what, Wanda? That she'll wake up and we'll pretend everything is fine and that we're not the reason she almost fucking died?! That the two people she loves most in the world couldn't protect her like they promised they would? I was powerless Wanda! I couldn't stop them! I-" Natasha's tears flow freely and although the tension in the room is building, she feels safe enough to let herself go in the presence of her wife, "I couldn't save her!"

"Natalia Romanova-Maximoff!" Wanda stands for the first time in hours but she does not drop your hand. It's the only thing grounding her right now. "This is not entirely your fault, radnaja. Maybe if you would have kicked and punched more when they took you then we would be in a different position. Maybe if you had given Najma the answers she was looking for then Y/N wouldn't have been injured as badly as she is but these are all what-ifs, Natasha! What if I had been there with her instead? What if I had been with both of you that night? What if I would have gotten to you sooner? What if she had died!"

Finally, the question that has been on both of their minds since Bruce had walked into the meeting room with your blood all over his neatly ironed button up and jeans- he didn't have time to even think about putting his lab coat on- and told them that you would eventually be okay.

"I have been asking myself that question every day for the past three days," Wanda finishes, salt on her tongue, nose red, and her scarlet hoodie stained with tears.

Natasha cannot find it within herself to tell her wife the new information Bruce gave her in the meeting. While he operated and stitched until he could barely stand any longer; you flatlined once. Your heart decided to give up for a minute and Natasha hasn't had the proper amount of time to process something like that, but the time would never come for Wanda to be able to process the reality of such a thing.

Both women stare down at you with puffy eyes and red noses. You are the most precious thing in the world to them. They hate seeing you so lifeless, and the only wave of hope keeping them afloat is your steady breaths.

The fight has left both of them, but an air of tension remains. They are nowhere near finished with their conversation. With taking their frustrations out. Hopefully they'll have everything figured out before you wake up. Natasha knows how much you hate playing peacemaker when they actually have fights and really get going at each other, but she also knows that her wife can hold a grudge.

She doesn't think Wanda will actually hold a grudge after you wake up, but for now her anger and grief towards Natasha are the only things emotionally anchoring her to reality.

"I miss her, Wands," Natasha sniffs and wipes the tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand.

"Me too, Natalia. Me too."

They sit in silence for a minute, taking everything in. There are no windows in the room and during the day that means zero sunlight. You always say that time in the sun is one of the most important parts of your daily routine, and it always helps you cool down when you're stressed out or in a bad mood.

Natasha is the first to break the silence, speaking directly to you.

"You are going to hate this room so much when you wake up, detka," she muses with the smallest smile.

Wanda only glances at her before turning her attention back to you and sitting down in her chair, trapped in her mind just as Natasha is, but not all hope is lost and for that, the older woman is grateful.

"Believe it or not, she was the calm one. During everything."

"Natasha."

Her name is said softly although there is still a warning behind it, but she needs this and she believes that Wanda does too. Even if she doesn't know it yet.

"Please, Wanda."

Wanda just sighs and nods, never taking her eyes off of you.

"Najma had me struggling within ten minutes. Begged her to take me instead and to let Y/N go. I don't know why I thought it would work, but I think I just wanted Y/N to know that even if I couldn't get us out of there in that moment... I was trying. I would keep trying."

Natasha's voice is still scratchy as her exhaustion slowly catches up with her.

"Y/N was so firm with me. She said not to tell Najma anything and she meant it. I don't think I've ever heard her be that direct before, but she left no room for argument. She knew what the information would do to the family because she... she sees us as her family, Wands." The redhead sniffs and wipes at her eyes when her tears return, making a prominent trail down her cheeks.

"We are all she has left and she means the world to us! And... and I let her down so much. So, so much, Wanda. She stayed so calm! She did so good! She talked to Najma. She had a conversation with the woman who had a knife to her cheek!" Natasha's laugh is reserved, but her features are shock-ridden and amazed, bordering on flabbergasted and anxiety-filled.

Wanda finally looks up at her wife. Natasha is starting to spiral and there is no way to stop it other than just letting her get it all out, so the Sokovian keeps listening to and watching her wife. The recount of events is told with animated hand gestures and tears gliding down Natasha's cheeks, and Wanda's heart clenches.

"We were doing so well. She was doing so well. Then, Najma stabbed her and my heart dropped. I thought it was over. I thought we had lost her for good." The hand gestures come to an abrupt halt and the tension in the room is once again palpable, but not so much as before.

Natasha looks down at you with pleading eyes, "Please forgive me, malyshka," she drops to both knees and finally takes your hand in hers and whispers, "please."

She kisses the back of your hand delicately and you can feel each tear drop as they land in the exact spot she kissed. There is no need to wonder why your girlfriend is crying. You remember everything.

Your eyes slowly blink open to see Natasha's own eyes closed and Wanda staring at her wife with a thoughtful expression. The love they have for each other makes you want to smile, but the urge to reassure your sobbing mob boss girlfriend wins.

"I..." talking hurts but you need to say the words. Natasha needs to know! "Forgive... you. Always... Natty."

#wandanat x reader #some would sing and some would scream #some of you might be mad about the ending #HOWEVER #nat needed that so badly guys #reader will play peacemaker eventually i promise

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priwritesstuff · 30 days

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tw : medical kink , noncon , curvy reader

I can't get the idea of a gynaecologist taking advantage of a meek, young virgin doll that just shows up for her first checkup in the clinic out of my head! >.<

Naive baby.....she wore tight fitting clothes that hug her curves perfectly, her tits, her ass, her tummy, the doctor just wants to rip them off then and there and have her bent on his desk

but he won't, he would have a little bit of fun with his little doll, gets her to change into the hospital attire, gets her on the examination table and tells the little doe to spread her legs.

and if she doesn't spread them far enough, he's going to touch her soft inner thighs and spread them himself, while she quivers under the touch of his cold gloves.

he's very nonchalantly examining your little cunny, but you can't see his hard-on from his you've been seated.

he will rope you into a little "health checkup of your vagina, vaginal cavity and cervix" and finger the fuck out of you, while you're whimpering, trying to bite your lips and hold your moans in, holding onto anything you can find to not give him hints that it's stimulating you.

he knows it's working, little baby is giving in slowly.

he'll look up to make eye contact with you, take off his mask, get up, and lean over you till he's inches away from your face. He grabs your hands while your asking him "what are you doing, doc...no.." and he puts your hand on his hard on.

and he whispers, to you.

"you're responsible for this sweetie, what is going to happen now is you're going to take my cock in, because I can't go out like this, and you're gonna be a good girl."

"you're not going to scream into my hands, got it cutie?"

before you can scream, he puts his gloved hand on your mouth to muffle anything you say in protest.

he's gonna fuck your little virgin pussy, he's gonna take your innocence away, and he is going to breed you, so you come visit him again and again.

oh and,

it's not problem if you bleed, cry or scream in his hands, he's not stopping.

#doctors please dm me #medfet #cnc rough #tw noncon #rough cnc #dumb wh0re #fr33use #free use slvt #needy wh0re #tw dark content #r4p3 m3 #corruption kink #medical kink #dm me #dirty wh0re #chubby reader #breeding k1nk #breeding pet

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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luveline · 1 year

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

You want to see the floating lights. Steve wants his satchel back. You come to an arrangement that is mutually beneficial… sorta. tangled!au

10k words, reader insert, fem!reader, medieval times (ish!), begrudging allies, fake dating/marriage, lots of changes from tangled movie but it’s got the spirit, I tried to be inclusive of all hair types but it is magical and floor length nonetheless, magical realism, TW for abusive mother + narcissism, mother is awful, steve is gonna show her the world is a good place!! allies to friends to lovers, pining

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

Steve's hands are bleeding by the time he works his way into the tower, raw from the rough grit of old hewn stone. He hisses with every handhold he finds, adrenaline staving off the worst of the pain as his eyes scrabble for the next ledge.

Five feet, three. His hand slaps into the dark wood of a window ledge and he heaves himself up, the joints of his arms screaming in protest. Were it not for the rumbling of horse hooves like an earthquake outside of the grotto he might've given up, hoped for a soft landing.

The threat of being caught propels him forward.

He lands on the tiled flooring of the main atrium of the tower with an audible plop of fabric, his satchel clunking hard by his hip.

"Stars," he says. He breathes hard, trying and failing to slow his heart now he's found sanctuary.

He lifts his cheek from the mosaic beneath and peers around the room. He gawps.

It's mostly dark, and still he can make out the intricate, masterful artwork decorating the curved wall. Flowers made up of a thousand colours, petals dripping with dew, their anthers heavy with pollen. A field of every flower he's ever seen and a hundred others he's not familiar with. He has really, truly, never seen anything like it. Not even the spectacle of the Palace could hold a candle to what he sees before him. No books he'd read growing up had ever conjured an image as sharply magical as this.

He pushes up onto his elbows. Sunlight drips into the room from the wooden shutters he’d crawled through, illuminating the feet of each cabinet, a washing basin, and the brick oven under a staircase that ascends into the tower. He sniffs and finds the stick of coal dust heavy in the air; somebody lives here.

Steve's quickly proven right when you swing from behind an alcove near the kitchenette.

He startles backward and away from you as you advance, a cast iron pan held aloft in delicate hands and wielded with an intimidating confidence.

"Holy- Wait! Wait, please," he cries, holding his hands palm out in surrender.

Steve doesn't suppose you'd been expecting such a feeble intruder. He'd feel a strike against his dignity if it hadn't worked — you slow in the centre of the room, your breath coming in quick pants as the iron pan in your grip shakes.

You're scared.

You're beautiful.

"What do you want?" you ask, a pleading sort of twist to your question. "I don't have anything. I don't have anything worth taking."

"Please," he says loudly. "I don't want anything. Sanctuary for the night, nothing else."

Your chest rises. Steve feels smarmy, but he finds his eyes drawn to the valley of your chest, the bodice of your dress. A soft and buttery orange sewn with the palest pink and lilac embroidery. It's a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship, lovely enough that he wonders briefly if you're of royal descent, but the dress itself is a peasant's gown.

His eyes rise back to your unhappy face. Your brows are pulled up at the starts, a delicate display that betrays your fear.

You glare at him.

"You can't stay here," you assert.

"One night." Steve pulls his satchel into his lap to procure a small coin purse. He'd love to say it was his coin purse. He cannot. "I have silvers. I can pay you."

He will not be paying you anything. He won't rob you, though. He's not a total miscreant.

"You can't stay," you say again, raising your iron pan higher above your shoulder. He sees a flash of something at your hip. "My mother–"

"Holy stars, is that your hair?"

You seize up, making an almost inaudible sound of dejection. "No."

"Are you sure? It looks very much like hair."

Steve anchors his hand to the floor and leans downward to get a better look. You turn with him, attempting to shield your long hair from view and only helping him along. It sways with your movements, the ends near long enough to dance over the floor.

"You have to leave. Leave!"

Steve bites the inside of his lip. A rainbow of light arcs through the air and caresses your cheek, and the wind chime hanging in the window tinkles softly with a warm summer breeze. The tower echoes with your huffing breath. The pan is too heavy for you to hold any longer and you let it drop with a wrist-tugging defeat.

"I'm not trying to scare you. But I really can't leave. I won't harm a hair on your head," he adds with a smile, eyebrows slightly raised in wait of your laughter.

You don't laugh, nor do you smile.

"My mother, she'll come home any minute now," you say unconvincingly.

He tips his head to one side. "Then I'll speak with your mother and get her permission to stay."

"She won't give it."

You're really too handsome to be frowning as you are. Steve wants to do as he does with all pretty people and make you smile, but the task feels insurmountable. You want him to leave. He can't.

"If I leave, I'll be killed," he says. While it's not a lie in its entirety, neither is it a truth.

Your grip tightens around the handle of your pan. "What?" you ask worriedly.

He feels guilty for garnering your concern though it's exactly what he'd been aiming for, nodding his head gravely.

"I'm being pursued by ruffians. For days now. I only need to hide here for the night while they clear the forest. They'll look for me elsewhere, after."

His storytelling voice is clear. Admittedly much too dramatic and yet you eat it up like a child devours spun sugar. Your hands press to your chest, frying pan held in your palm like the pommel of a sword.

"Ruffians?" you repeat.

He swoops in. "Not to worry. They didn't see me scale the tower, or even enter the valley." He gives you a commending smile. "You're very well hidden."

"Not well enough, clearly."

"I got lucky."

You back away from him. You don't turn your back to him, smart girl, only widen the gap between your two bodies with a fluttering unease.

"I wish I could help you," you whisper urgently, "I wish I could. But my mother, if she finds you here, I- I'm not sure what she'll do."

Steve blinks dazedly. "She would kill me?"

"No! Of course not."

"Then whatever it is will be a kinder fate."

That shatters the very last of your resolve. You visually err on what to do next, how to handle his being here. Steve’s head races with thoughts of the palace guards, of Thomas and Carol, and of you — your skin lit by the sun, and your long, long hair.

"Do you want some water?" you ask quietly.

The relief he conjures is as authentic as it comes. "Yes. More than anything."

—

Your mysterious stranger sits at one end of the table in Mother's seat while you sit across from him, a small clay drinking cup encapsulated by his large hand. You're making no effort to hide how closely you're watching him, though if he's under the impression it's for safety's sake then that's best.

He's very, very fine.

You haven't seen a man in person before, and if they all look like this you might wish you'd ventured out of the tower sooner. He wears a worn brown tunic that shows evidence of numerous careful darnings, its top button popped open to reveal a tiniest hint of curled hair disappearing downward.

The hair on his head and tucked behind his ears is comely as corn silk but much darker. It shines in the descending sunlight now flooding the room. There's a golden tinge to everything at this time that leaves no inch of his person unscathed; his eyes glow with it, his irises a melting brown that reminds you of rare, thick honey.

"The flowers," he says after an aching pause. "Are they painted? They must have been a huge expense."

You follow his gaze, surprised at his question in two ways. That he would ask, and that he would think somebody else did them.

"They're how I spend my summers."

"Looking at them?"

You laugh from the pure joy of the complement he's implying, unused to his awed reaction. Mother usually nods or hums at a new unveiling, and one time you'd earned a, "That's wonderful, darling."

You're not sure she'd actually been looking at the time.

"I painted them myself."

The stranger's jaw drops. "A little thing like you?" he asks.

"I'm hardly little," you deny, neither of stature nor burden.

"You're young, aren't you? You can't be more than twenty summers."

"What a funny way of speaking," you murmur, more to yourself than him. "I'm twenty. I'll be one and twenty, in a few days."

His eyes narrow. "Well, what's wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with me?"

"You aren't married?"

You try not to be offended and fail spectacularly. "Most don't get married until they're nearing five and twenty!"

"Most," he agrees. "But a girl as pretty as you? Who can paint like this? Don't tell me you've been hiding from every man in the kingdom."

You turn your face from him in case he can tell how flustered you are. Two complements in one day is unprecedented. Your heart bump-bump-bumps.

"Are you married?" you ask swiftly, hoping to redirect this line of conversation away from something as treacherous as your own isolation. Any answer would expose you.

"I am, actually. She has the most gorgeous shine to her face, and her laugh is melodic and sweet as anything, a tinkling sound. She's bronze-skinned, a slight thing, but she's worth her weight in gold."

He grins. You can't help but smile in response, infected by his endearing affection.

"What's her name?" you ask, voice near a coo.

"Argento."

You stare at him. His smile gets so big it looks like it could bruise his cheeks.

"You're talking about money."

"She's a brilliant bedfellow, isn't she? She keeps me warm and fed every night. She's a good girl." He sighs and crosses his arms behind his head. His attempt at nonchalance is ruined when he cringes in pain and drops them gracelessly back into his lap.

You cover your mouth and laugh. He's funny. Mother doesn't make half as many jokes.

Mother. As if the mere thought of her is enough to summon her presence, a shrill call echoes from the bottom of the tower.

"Y/N, darling, throw down the rope for your mother!"

You jump to your feet, slippers sliding against the mosaic floor in a hurried scratch. "You have to hide," you whisper harshly.

The stranger pouts at you. "Seriously, let me talk to her, I–"

You shake your head voraciously at his loud volume and press your finger to your lips, eyes begging with him to be quiet.

"Please," you whisper, "hide. I'll hide you 'til tomorrow, when she leaves in the morning."

He doesn't move.

"Y/N? I don't have all day!" The irritation in her voice is obvious.

"Please," you whisper again.

He gets up with a mild eye roll. You rush to the window and look down at your mother where she stands at the bottom, looking impossibly small.

"There you are! What are you waiting for? I'm not very happy with you, darling."

You lick your lips. "Sorry!" you call, turning to the rope spooled to the right of the window. You throw the rope over the hook at the top of the frame, pausing when you see the stranger lingering in your peripheral vision at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing? Go!" you whisper.

He nods toward your hands. "Couldn't have thrown that down to me, could you?"

You shoo him away, his easy laughter doing nothing to assuage your racing heart as you drop the length of looped rope down to your mother. You wait until she's secured her foot in the loop before you start to walk backwards, lifting her weight.

It doesn't get any less laborious as you grow up. By the time she's reached the top of the tower you can hardly breathe. You cough so hard you feel nauseous.

"Holy stars, you sound ghastly. And it's completely unbecoming to cough like that without covering your mouth. You know that."

"Sorry, mother."

She hums. You can't decipher what it means, but it likely isn't something forgiving.

"I hope you had some time to think about our argument."

You hold your clasped hands behind your back, hair tickling your knuckles. "I did… I'm sorry, mother."

She stares at you for a moment from under dark eyebrows before her face lifts, the wrinkles in her soft forehead appearing more prominently as she says, "Darling, why do you do this? Why do you insist on making me angry?" She raises her hands to your neck, long fingernails weaving seamlessly into the mass of hair she finds there. "You know I'm only trying to protect you."

"I know," you say, tears burning hot behind your eyes. You will them away. Crying will make it worse, it always does.

She toys with your hair, eyes on your shoulder. You have the peculiar feeling that though she's looking at you she isn't truly looking at you, but through you. Her eyes are distant, unfocused.

Her finger wraps into your hair, twisting a strand behind your ear over, and over, and over. You shift uncomfortably at the tugging feeling at the back of your scalp but don't protest to her touches — any touch at all feels like a gift. Mother isn't generous with her affections.

"Maybe I've been too hard on you," she murmurs.

You loose a pained breath as she takes her hand from your hair and brings it to your face instead. She draws a line from the corner of your eye outwards, a kind, soft petting that gives you goosebumps.

"No, mother. I'm grateful for everything I have. I was being unreasonable, I don't need anything else. I… shouldn't have asked about the stars."

"No, you shouldn't have."

She moves from you to hang her robe up on the hanger. You tamp down your frowning because mother hates when you make her feel guilty and try to decide how it is you're going to escape to your bedroom for the night. You have lots of questions you want to ask the stranger.

You spot something out of the corner of your eye as your mother flits to the kitchen. There, on the table, sits two clay cups half empty and at opposite ends. You side eye your mother and find she's distracted herself with putting a wooden log into the oven's belly, grumbling about how you've neglected your afternoon chores.

You throw yourself in front of the table with a thud.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, disgruntled.

"Nothing! I mean, I'm cleaning up. I forgot to empty these cups of paint after I finished."

"Why doesn't that surprise me?"

The thing about mother is that most of the things she says are neutral. Anybody else might think she was being light-hearted or blasé. She phrases everything so meticulously.

But she is not kind.

You laugh breathily and turn to the cups. Your heart leaps into your throat when you find the cup isn't the worst of what might give you away. Hooked over the back of the chair is the stranger's leather satchel, a ratty old thing sagging with the weight of its contents.

You take it. The zipper snags and the cause of the weight reveals itself in a clinking upheaval, a flash of light across the floor. You throw yourself over the chair to grab for it, a mindless scrambling, silver and gems cool and sharp under your hand. You shove it back in the satchel, no clue what it is. You've never seen anything like it.

"What are you doing?" Mother asks, her voice occluded by the soft bubbling of the cooking pot.

"It's dusty down here!" you call.

"Yes, well… it's to be expected when all you do is paint all day, darling."

"You're right," you say quietly. "Of course you are, mother."

Steve hadn't suspected your room would look as plain as it does. You've a simple bed with a modest quilt and one tired looking pillow, though it's been made with neat folded corners. A stuffed rabbit sits at the bottom, lavender velveteen with a pink button nose. He doesn't touch it, though he'd like to. He's not sure he's ever touched a stuffed animal before.

He can hear you talking to your mother, or rather your mother talking at you. He must say, she doesn't sound like the easiest woman to get along with. But Steve's never had a mother, so maybe that's just what they're like.

You have a small table to one corner covered in small trinkets. Shells, stones, papers loose and bound. He flips open the soft cover of a book and finds it filled with pencil sketches, corner to corner of every page.

You've drawn the most mundane things in remarkable colour and detail. The cooking pot over the stove top, the washing basin, the wooden table. Your slippers, your hair brush. Ordinary things in extraordinary detail, and extraordinary colour.

He pauses at a loose leaf of brown paper tucked toward the end of the book. It's a bird on the window ledge, a fruit dove. The face and beak are in great detail, white feathers made corporeal by the smudge of hard pastel. The wings are rough, white and pale pinks and greens unrendered.

Footsteps sound up the stairs.

Shit, Steve thinks. They're a hurried sound. He's been sussed. He turns on his heel to find a place to hide.

"Shit," he says, climbing the circular platform that holds your bed and collapsing to the floor, wriggling on his back until he's hidden underneath the bed and sheets completely.

He holds his breath as the door creaks open.

"Um… mister… uh, stranger man?"

He waves his hand from under the bed.

"Oh, right. Move over," you say, and then you're getting under the bed to join him.

Steve moves over and suddenly you're there beside him, the two of you pressed arm to arm under your bed. Your smell is impossible to ignore, the fruity fragrance of jasmine and milk-soap. He stares at your face as you settle, your eyelashes fluttering, your subtle smile.

You turn your head to his. The two of you flinch in tandem, eyes flying away from each other to the underside of the bed.

Oh, Steve thinks. Holy stars.

You've painted lanterns on every slat. Purple paper lanterns that glow orange and yellow in their centres, tens of them in different sizes. It's as breathtaking as your field of flowers downstairs despite the major decrease in scale.

"Wow," he says, on impulse, "these are amazing."

You inhale happily. "Thank you. The floating lights are my favourite thing. They always come out-" You cut yourself off with a cough. "Well. I love them."

"'Floating lights,'" he quotes. You're strange.

"I wanted to go see them, but…"

"But mother said no?"

"No," you murmur weakly. He takes it for yes. "She doesn't believe they're not stars."

He can hear each individual breath you take this close and suspects that you can hear his own. It's a funny thing to be this close to you when he doesn't know you beyond your painting and your too-long hair. He can see a lot more of your details, your tiny bumps and fine hairs.

"What's your name?" he asks quietly.

"I'm Y/N." You lay your ear against the wooden floor to look at him. "What's your name?"

"Steven. Steve will do just fine."

"Steve," you say, like you're testing it out. "Steve, you lied to me."

His eyes widen.

"Did I?" he asks, trying to disarm you with a smile and failing yet again.

"You lied," you whisper. "What's in the satchel, Steve?"

"It's not what you think."

"I think it's exactly what I think."

You're giving him a hard stare. He smiles and smiles and smiles, his facade cracking the longer you look at him. His breath all falls out in a rush, blowing the hair from his eyes as he sighs. "Alright, fine. I lied about the ruffians. In my defence, there isn't a big difference between those fools from the palace and true ruffians."

You sit up and wack your head on the bed slats above. Steve reaches out to help though there's nothing to do.

You push his hand away. "Palace guards?" you ask in an urgent whisper, hand held to the top of your head.

"Obviously. They don't just let you walk out of there without a fight… Wait, why are you surprised?" He measures your sheepish face. "You conniving, deceitful gir!"

"I might not know what it is, but I can tell it's not the kind of thing someone like you would have on his person," you say, grumbling at his insults.

His injustice at having been tricked drops away. "You don't know what it is? You've never seen a tiara?”

Your embarrassment is adorable. You change the subject deftly. “You lied to me, let’s not forget. You’re in danger because of the consequences of your own actions. Can’t believe I fell for your sob story. I should tell my mother exactly what kind of man I have hiding under my bed.”

“Who you’re hiding under your bed with.”

You climb out from under the bed with an irritated harrumph. Steve untangles a length of your hair that’s gotten wrapped around one of the beds feet before you can yank your own head back and follows you out.

“Don’t be mad,” he says.

“You’re a criminal,” you say angrily.

“Nobody’s perfect.”

Your furious whispers pause when your mother starts to sing downstairs. Steve can see the debate on your face. Yes, he’s a liar, yes, he’s a criminal, and yes, you should churn him back out into the valley. Send his untrustworthy self on his sorry way and wipe your hands of him entirely.

To do so would mean admitting to your mother that he’s here.

“Just… don’t talk to me. And don’t steal anything.”

He grins. “As you wish, my lady.”

—

“Y/N?” a voice asks in the dark.

It’s impossible to relax with him here. You’re worried he’s going to slit your throat while you sleep. You’re doubly worried he’ll see your unattractive resting face. Warped priorities aside, you can’t make yourself sleep.

“Yeah?” you whisper.

“The floating lights?”

Your eyes fly open. You get the disorienting feeling of blindness and blink in the dark until you can make out the faintest glow of moonlight under the door. “Yeah?”

“Those are called lanterns.”

You swallow a rough breath. “Lanterns.”

“Mm-hm. They’re made of paper. You light them and send them up with the breeze. The ones you’ve been seeing, they’re probably for the lost princess.”

“The lost princess?”

“Yeah. The entire kingdom floods into the town and each person lights a lantern for her. It’s more of a festival these days, but… They're supposed to help her find her way home. If she’s really lost, that is.”

You hum something, an attempt to reply, but you're too distracted to say anything else. Floating paper. A lost princess. You close your eyes and clouds of purple, pink and orange burn against your eyelids.

—

"You want me to what?"

"I want you to take me to see the lanterns."

Steve's back aches from sleeping flat on the floor all night long, and his shoulders scream every time he moves from climbing, and his hands are gross and sore with scabs, and he truthfully doesn't have the patience for this conversation.

"No."

"Fine. Don't take me, and I will keep the tiara as an innkeeper's fee."

"There's usually breakfast at an inn," he says.

You slap a steaming hot bowl of porridge in front of him. You've drizzled the surface with honey and placed red berries over the top to form a smiling face. The heat of the porridge has melted the berries into blobs that break from their skin when he pokes them with a spoon.

"Oh," he says. Nice.

He looks up to find you dressed in a different gown than yesterday, this one made up of a green bodice with white sleeves and a white skirt. The bottom hem is sewn with dainty yellow flowers, the bodice with vines in a darker shade of green. It's a very sweet dress on an otherwise sweet looking girl, if you ignore the formidable twist of your brow.

Fine, he'll bite. Your frown is sweet too.

"I'm not taking you anywhere," he says, about to scoop up a bite of porridge. He's starving.

You pull the bowl away from him, his spoon diving straight into the gnarled wooden table.

"You'll take me, or I'll tell the first palacemen that I find who you are and where you were."

"This isn't how you negotiate."

"Good thing I'm not negotiating."

He tries to intimidate you. Steve is not very intimidating. He frowns and he looks unhappy rather than angry, the worst he dips into is a pestered annoyance. His stomach gurgles in the ensuing silence.

"Why do you need someone to take you? Your mother left just this morning by herself."

You raise your eyebrows.

Steve sighs. "And if I did take you… then what? I suppose you'll want safe passage home, as well?"

You slide his porridge a little bit closer to his outstretched hand.

"You'll be coming back this way anyhow."

Well, yeah. He didn't know you knew that. Steve sighs, the most pained and inconvenienced groan he can muster because everything is awful and he's hurting in six different places. You don’t budge.

"Fine. Fine! I'll take you into the city to see the lanterns, and I'll bring you home. And you will give me back my satchel and my- uh, findings."

You push the porridge toward him. "That was easier than I expected."

Steve wishes he could pretend your smugness wasn't sweet, either. Because he isn't going to make this easy for you, not one bit.

He watches you pack your bag from the table and feels very, very sorry for you. For starters, you don't really have a bag, only a sack for potatoes now emptied. You take two clean dresses down from the clothesline they'd been hanging on and fold them before putting them at the bottom of the sack carefully, and then you're clueless.

"It'll be five or six days," he says, "now I've lost my horse."

Lost isn't the right word. His stolen horse had sprinted off into the forest and left him stranded. Another ailment to add to his list — thrown bodily off of a stallion.

"Do you have any better shoes?"

You look down at your pretty slippers and grimace. "No."

"You don't get out much, do you?"

You ignore him and pull a case of things out from under the small counter in the alcove of your kitchen. You drop a roll of linen bandages into the sack and shove the case back under the counter with your foot as you bring out a block of cheese and a box of matches.

Poor girl, he thinks.

"Don't worry too much about it."

"I'm not worried," you say, topping your provisions off with a punnet of fruit and the last of your fresh flatbread covered in a beeswax wrapping. "This will be fun."

—

You're scared enough to feel tears welling in your eyes.

Steve walks ahead of you, shoes hidden by lush green grass as he makes his way toward the valley's exit. You're not sure he's realised you're not behind him, or maybe he has and he refuses to wait. You've finished bricking the secondary entrance to the tower closed again, and while it seems obviously disturbed you have no choice but to hope mother doesn't steer around the back anytime soon.

Your adrenaline has been pumping ever since you jimmied the tile and unlocked the trap door. Your chest physically aches with anxiety, and your breath has begun to feel short and shallow.

"Are you coming?" Steve calls.

You heave the potato sack over your shoulder and take a step forward.

The earth is soft and hard underfoot, an impossible sensation. You rock your heel back and forth and test the uneven ground for purchase. The temptation to reach down and touch it for the first time is high but Steve's still watching you, so you hurry toward him and try not to fall over. You take a huge, calming breath.

It smells gorgeous out here. Despite keeping the window cracked and the tower clean, there's a lived-in smell that can't be escaped. Out here, you can practically taste the earth. The crisp air burns your nose.

Steve keeps a fast pace and neither of you talk. Your companion isn't happy about his predicament and you can't blame him, you've practically taken him hostage. He isn't a poor sport either, and he hasn't been cruel. Quiet, he parts the ivy covering the valley exit and lets you pass.

The world is even bigger from there.

"Stay close, okay? I don't know what kind of vagrants we'll come across this far from town."

You swallow a lump in your throat. "Uh-huh."

You stay likely too close, your arm gracing his own every now and then. Each time you pull away and each time you end up drifting back toward him. The quiet is impenetrable. You don't know what to say to a man. To anybody. Mother's usually the guiding force of every conversation, and her insistence has left you poorly equipped.

Steve seems content to languish in silence.

You walk. You watch the sun move, heat burning your skin by midday. You're not used to walking such long distances or being so exposed to the elements, and by evening you hurt everywhere. Your face shines with perspiration and your shoes chafe your ankles raw, each step a barb.

As if things couldn't get worse, guilt grabs and holds you. Guilt and fear. What will mother think if she finds out you've left? What would she say? How ridiculously naive, darling. I told you, you aren't to leave the tower. Do you seriously think you know better than I do? Do you think I'm stupid? I'm hurt. I'm hurting that you'd think so low of me.

You try to shake the thoughts away. A shiver rushes down your spine.

Steve holds a hand over his eyes, turning his head to the West where the sun approaches the horizon.

"It'll be dark in a few hours,” he says.

You nibble the inside of your cheek, voice hoarse and throat dry from your lack of conversation. "Will we camp for the night?"

He shakes his head, the sun climbing up his neck to paint his brown hair blonde. "If memory serves, there's an inn not far from here." He smiles. "You'll like it."

"Oh. That's good."

"Yeah."

You kick a small stone. "How do you know where we're going?" You'd been on a dirt path now for an hour or two, or rather two dirt paths, worn by carriage wheels. "Everything looks the same."

"I'm an excellent navigator."

Sure enough, he navigates the two of you toward a pretty little inn snugly hidden between a crop of towering, leafy trees, a shock of beige and brown in an overwhelmingly green landscape.

"Le Vilain Caneton," you read off of the sign, giving him a bright smile. "That sounds nice."

"What did I tell you? You're gonna love this."

—

Steve doesn't feel bad, at first.

He throws open the door. The handle slams hard enough into the wood behind it that he's surprised there isn't a cracking sound. He ushers you inside, finding that the handle hasn't broken a hole in the wall because there's already one there.

It's sleazy, all things considered. Steve has avoided this place pretty much his entire adult life after a trade gone wrong, and while he feels his appearance has changed enough to spare him a skirmish he affects the Steven Harrington manner. Two-timing baby Stevie is nowhere to be seen.

He's still a two-timer. Case in point.

"Isn't it charming?" he murmurs to you, hand held aloft behind your back. Not touching but ready to if you step back.

"Yeah," you say weakly. "Really cute."

Adorable.

Steve takes a step that encourages you forward into the main area of the room. The smell of cheap ale blooms and the floor is sticky with it. He regrets how it will likely ruin your pretty slippers but he isn't a coward, walking you right up to the bar where a scary looking guy stands wiping glasses with a dirty rag.

"Are you the innkeeper?" he asks jovially. "We'd like a room."

Scary guy squints, looks between you and Steve with apprehension.

Steve's trying to scare you, not get caught. He throws his arm over your shoulders. You shrink under his touch. It's too late for him to pull away, guilt softening the grasp he has on your shoulder as he lays down a thick facade.

"My wife's tired as a lamb from walking all day, could we get a hot bath drawn with that?"

Scary guy spits into the cup with a scoff. "Judy?" he calls out gruffly.

Steve beams. You curl into him slowly, a flower turning to the sun, hiding from the cold. You still smell of jasmine milk soap after all these hours of walking, but he doesn't miss how the lengths of your hair have grown dishevelled with sweat and wind. He wonders how long it might take you to brush free the knots and tangles. He wonders if you do it in the bath.

You turn to him with your face shining with a trust he doesn't deserve, like you're seeking his protection.

"Steve, I don't have any money," you whisper.

His hand rests in the nook of your neck. "That's alright. Consider it part of your innkeeper's fee."

"Does this come with breakfast, too?" you ask genuinely.

Judy, a tall, lithely woman who can't be more than thirty takes her station behind the bar and smiles at you before her eyes follow Steve's arm to his body. He freezes at the calculating tilt of her head, the subtle but not invisible squint.

"Breakfast is an additional two silvers."

"And for the room and bath?"

"Ten for the room, five for the bath, two for breakfast." Judy grins. Her hair is like copper, shifting around sharp cheekbones. "Seventeen silvers all together."

Steve frowns but hands over the money.

Judy takes you up the first flight of rickety stairs to your room, and nods toward the bathing room as you pass it. She shows you where you'll be spending the night, a ramshackle room with a bed made of what Steve suspects to be more straw than padding. He's relieved at the thick quilt set and folded at the bottom. It looks clean enough.

"I'll knock when the bath is drawn. Will that be for both of you?"

And so. Steve had feared this, feared the bath in general, and had forgotten to explain this fear to you.

"Both of us," he says, nodding.

You're thankfully smart enough to keep any grievances you have at that to yourself. At least, until the door closes, and you pin him with a look that's a mixture of betrayed and furious. Your eyebrows pinch together.

"Why did you say that?"

"It's what's expected of us."

"By who?" you ask, near belligerent.

He shushes you, a frown of his own taking form. "By everybody. It's what married couples do, they share the water when travelling. And it wouldn't be proper for you to be in the bathing room by yourself, how could your husband protect your honour?"

"You're not my husband."

He shushes you again, this time with a severe expression that finally has you giving pause. Your eyes flash with fear and quickly clear. You take a step back.

He holds a hand out toward you amicably. "Sorry. But it will be much safer for both of us if we can keep our ruse alive. Someone as handsome as you, it isn't right for your reputation to be travelling with me while you're still unmarried, you know? And for me…" He doesn't want to explain the horrible truth to you. If Steve refuses to leave you, to share you, to let men do what men would like to do to you, that might invite a riot.

"I don't have a reputation," you say.

He shrugs. "It is safer for us to be married." He hesitates, remembering why he'd brought you here in the first place. The horrible truth may be unseemly, but it could be enough to get you to bow out. "If we aren't married… Well, it doesn't bear saying."

"What?" you ask, a curious thing. He loves it, and not only because it works to his advantage.

"Men will take anything they find beautiful. And without care."

Your fingers tighten around the mouth of your potato sack bag.

"I see," you say. "Of course. I knew that, mother always says, but."

He winces at the reminder of your cruel mother. He feels cruel himself, suddenly, for scaring you on purpose as your mother likely does, for being another member of the opposition in your life. All you want is to see the Princess' lanterns, so much so you've hidden under your bed and painted their colours painstakingly onto each slat of supporting wood. A hidden wish, and one you'd deigned to share with him. He starts to think, Maybe I should just take her. How much could it possibly cost me?

But Steve's from nothing. He was born from nothing, he grew up with nothing. He is, in the grand scheme of the universe and its many, many stars, nothing. Another orphaned boy destined to waste his life stealing coppers from coin purses and sleeping in doorways.

The sooner he gets that tiara, the better. No more sleeping outside. No more staring up at the wine dark sky and wondering if any of those blistering stars can hear him.

If they can, they aren't listening.

You put your bag down on the floor. It thunks.

"What have you piled in there, sweetness? A mountain?" he asks, momentarily distracted.

"Nothing!" you rush to say, standing in front of your bag like it might hide it from his view.

The door knocks before he can question you further. "The bath!" comes Judy's solid tone.

"Thank you," Steve says, "we'll be right out." He nods at you. "Your change of clothes?"

You search through your bag with your shoulders to him, hunched to shield the mystery.

"You can keep your secrets," he teases lightly. The stars know he keeps his own.

Through the hallway to the bathing room, Judy kicks open the door, points to the bath as though he might not see it otherwise, and then the small weight by the doorway to keep the door closed. There's no steam to the water.

"How conning," Steve mutters, closing the door after Judy's departure.

"What?" you ask, your voice curiously strung.

"The water’s barely hot."

"I've never had a hot bath before."

He looks at you through the corner of his eye. "Never?"

"Sometimes mother would pour warm water through my hair, but no. Does it hurt, when it's too hot?"

He can't help grinning at you. "Some of the time," he concedes. "It's a nice kind of hurting, though, do you know what I mean? You'll feel much better after." He chuckles, sticking his finger into the water. It isn't not hot, but it could be better considering its cost. "Not that this could ever hurt you."

"A nice kind of hurting," you mumble.

"Mm. You should try to be quick, they might want the bath for someone else soon."

You nod, eyes darkening with your remembered predicament. You hug your clean dress to your chest. He thinks, suddenly, that your hair looks very heavy, and that it must hurt your neck.

"I won't look," he says, voice soft with sincerity.

Your shoulders relax.

He sits with his legs stretched out and shoes pressed to the door to stop a potential intruder, listening, trying not to listen, as you peel out of your clothes. Your bare feet sound strange over the wooden floor, a shushing sound. Your dress and corset fall in rustling waves.

You gasp as you step into the water. "Oh," you say, the small sound imbued with a simple, common pleasure.

He feels the tension like fog over the kingdom waters in summer, when the heat is tangible and the nights are short. You look so soft in your clothes. Outside of them, Steve can only imagine.

He tries very hard to push it from his mind, feeling an unwelcome heat rise anyhow. He blames it on the humidity of the room.

You pitter for a moment, in awe of the heat.

"How–" His voice gets caught. He clears his throat, tries a second time, "How do you wash your hair?"

"I lather the soap in my hands and–" You seem to be victim of the same affliction as he is. "Steve, could you pass me my soap? I'm sorry, I've left it on the vanity with my dress."

"If you want me to help you, you need only ask. I've been said to have very hard-working hands."

"I thought you were a thief?"

Steve stands up grudgingly. He usually has much better luck with the ladies, yet all his joking flirtation soars straight over your head. Not that he actually wants it to land, nor does he think he could handle your attention.

He doesn't look at you as he grabs your bar of soap. He unwraps its beeswax covering and hands it to you, looking decidedly at the damp wall opposite. He feels your wet hand touch his. Your skin is so hot it startles him, and the bar of soap slips between your outstretched fingers, slamming and sliding somewhere unknown.

"Shit," he says. "Alright, best cover yourself."

He hears quick movements in the water as he turns to you, throwing his gaze to the floor, only a split flash of your naked skin to be seen. Your soap has rounded the corner of the wooden tub, lying behind your straight back. He kneels to pick it up, scowling at the scum sticking to its underside, and nearly headbutts your forehead as he stands.

He springs back, and he stares. You have water running in rivers down your face, your wet hair framing your shining cheeks, pooling down. It covers the swell of your chest so precisely that Steve bites his tongue, forcing his eyeline back to your waiting face. You have water in your eyes like tears, their lashes turned to triangles, clinging to one another.

You look like one of the women from his storybook. A water nymph. A siren. The room is warm with steam, and his cheeks, hot to begin with, emanate enough heat to warm your tub again as he makes the comparison. Your looks alone might draw him to drowning.

"Steve?" you ask, holding out your hand.

Hair shifts over your body like a dancing shadow, or a beaming light. He isn't sure. There's something about it that feels extraordinary, not just in the length of it.

He passes you your soap. Ridiculous, he thinks. Imbecilic. Your hair is hair and nothing more. While you're achingly pretty and you have a fine hand, that is where your remarkability ends.

"Could you turn around again?" you ask, flustered.

He turns around.

—

"You brought your pan?" Steve asks you, bewildered. He's standing by the small, thin window, metal-wrought panes that filter the last of the sun's rays.

You stand shivering by your potato sack and frown at him, setting the pan on the sheets. "I think we might have a more pressing issue."

"We don't have anything." He seems to appraise your condition. "How do you usually dry your hair?"

"You wouldn't believe me."

"How cryptic! I'm afraid you're destined to freeze here, my heart. Or we could take you home, where you may comfortably perform whatever ritual it is that you perform and dry your hair."

"Wasn't there a fireplace downstairs?"

"We aren't going back down there."

"We aren't," you say in agreement, turning his distaste of the collective pronoun back on him. "I'll go by myself."

"That is a horrible, terrible, awful idea."

"I'm not going home. I want to– I’m going to see the paper lanterns."

Steve sighs. After your bath, he'd taken the smaller basin of clean water and washed up, now standing in front of you in his only change of clothes, a darker, navy tunic buttoned to the throat and simple slacks. His shoes are tightly laced even at this hour. You look down at your bare feet and feel majorly abashed by their new blisters and haphazard bandaging. You can't make yourself put your slippers back on.

He continues his sighing as he crosses the room. He's still grumbling when he opens the door.

"Well?" he asks, holding it open.

You pat his arm gently as you pass. "Thank you."

You trek down the stairs, careful with each footstep that you aren't trodding on a misplaced nail or scary splinter. Wood changes to stone flooring, tiles of a terracotta colour that are large and misshapen. You keep your eyes on them as you cross the room to its only source of heat, a blistering hearth just shy of the room's stage and piano. Somebody sits behind it on the piano bench, though they aren't playing the piano at all, but a great wooden instrument you've never seen.

"What is that?" you ask Steve.

He doesn't bend under your attention. He frowns ever so slightly. "What?"

You point to the instrument as conspicuously as you can.

Steve takes your shoulder into his hand and guides you toward the fireplace without malice. He's prompting you along, as you've stopped in the middle of the room.

"You've never seen one of those?" he asks.

"Not in any of my books."

"I guess they're still new. That's a vihuela. It's a… it's a nice sound."

You nod appreciatively, and feel much happier as Steve pulls a nearby chair as close to the hearth as he can without garnering any disgruntled looks from the other patrons. You sneak a peek at their faces. Most are naturally intimidating; there are men with weathered, unkind faces lining the walls with tankards of ale in hand; there are travellers such as yourselves, though they look hardened, sharper than you ever could, coin purses on tables as if daring you to try lifting them; there are women, sparsely, who are sharper in a different way. They remind you of a summer rose, darkly red, a gorgeous head of petals distracting from a thorny stem.

You sit down in your chair and feel the heat of the fireplace greet your chilled skin, and your soaked back. Your dress has soaked up much of your hairs dripping, the kind of unfortunate happenstance that might spiral into your hypothermic death. Steve puts his chair beside yours and turns his entire body toward yours. You like it. It's like he's hiding you from everybody else, replacing their sneering gazes with his fed-up acceptance. You find extreme comfort in this feeling, as though Steve is the only person in the room with you.

"Turn to me."

"What if my hair catches?"

"You aren't close enough for that."

You turn to Steve completely. You look like lovers, you must, worse when he takes your slippers and holds them on top of one of his thighs. He has wide thighs, and they make you feel a feeling you don't understand. Everything you know about men has come from Mother or books. Mother claims them to be evil in their entirety. Of the few books you have, and fewer that talk of men beyond the factual, none have ever mentioned why their legs look like that, and why it will make you feel like you've swallowed something much too hot.

"I'll make sure your hair doesn't go up in flames," he promises grandly, unnecessarily, "consider it one of my guidely duties."

A shy, pleased smile takes your lips. "Thank you."

"Yeah, you're welcome." He closes his eyes and tips his head back. "Stars, I'm hungry."

"I have–"

"We'll buy dinner. They have hunter's stew here, have you ever tried that?"

"No."

He laughs, crossing his arms across his chest. "Of course not. Alright, this will sound gross, but it's really old stew. Years old, maybe decades. They keep adding and adding to the pot with whatever’s in season."

You don't know everything, or anything, really, but you know that sounds like food poisoning in a bowl. "How doesn't it kill you?"

"They keep it really, really hot, all day long."

You like the way he says it, even if he's maybe making fun. He almost sings each word, a melodic cadence to his pronunciation that endears you further.

"And you've had it? What does it taste like?"

"See, you'd think it tastes a bit muddled, right? But it's good. You'll like it."

He makes no move to get up and get the aforementioned soup. You aren't particularly hungry, leaning back just a little so the brutal heat of the flames can warm your damp shoulder. The wetness of your dress is fading, warmed but still undeniably wet, and you wonder if the heat is hurting your hair. Mother always says to keep your hair as far from the hearth as you can at all times, and gets angry when you sit too close.

The soot, darling. The soot will cling to your hair and ruin it. It is, in Mother's opinion, the most beautiful thing about you.

Mother. She shouldn't be back home for days now, and still you're worrying. Mostly about being caught. But if you're caught, and she knows you left…

You have a strange love for your mother. The kind that makes you feel sick in intensity. You want, at all times, to please her. And you know this isn't something she would approve of, Stars, she'd be so disappointed in you for taking this risk.

You stare up at a wooden beam past Steve's head and try not to tear up. Anxiety eats at you until there's nothing left but your skin, your insides a tangled dark whorl of misery. She must know you've left home. She must know how terribly ungrateful you are for everything she's sacrificed. She must know–

"Are you okay?"

You blink hurriedly and face Steve, hoping this will dispel the quick-welling tears clouding your vision. It doesn't work: blinking can’t erase years of pent up worry. You wipe your eyes before they can roll down your cheeks and humiliate you further.

"I'm okay," you say.

Steve frowns again. He's a frowny guy.

"What's wrong?" He takes your elbow into his hand.

"Nothing. Uh…" You smile through your embarrassment. "We don't light the hearth at home, often, and uh, I think the smoke is irritating my eyes." You nod for emphasis.

Steve does not believe you, clearly, but he squeezes your elbow and nods back.

He looks at your face until you're uneasy.

"I'll go get that stew,” he says, patting your arm.

You feel strange once he’s gone. It's nice to be by yourself for a moment. You've spent the majority of your adult life alone while mother goes here, there, and everywhere. You're never allowed to go with her, too stupid for the outside world and all its challenges.

You look around the room now and wonder if this is really the world she means. Sure, it's foreign, and it's unsettling, and without Steve by your side you might not be left alone as you have been, but you'd expected more. Where are all the insects that make you sick, and the men with cutlasses and shackles?

Your eyes drift to the vihuela player. He's moved to sit at the opposite side of the fire. He strums lackadaisically at his instrument, his shoulders against the wall and a cup of mead at his feet. It's obvious nobody's given him any coin in a while.

Behind him sits the piano, glimmering with the flickering firelight. You've read about them, you've even seen drawings of harpsichords, but never heard one played. You wonder what it sounds like. Any music at all is amazing to you. All you've ever heard is singing. One song.

Steve returns with two bowls of hunter's stew. You're scared to try it but horrified that you might look like a coward in front of him. Again. Your tears had been bad enough.

You swallow a spoonful and your eyes water unbidden. "Oh, wow."

"Good, huh?"

You try not to cough. "It's rich."

"I guess you haven't had stuff like this before, huh?" He forks through his bowl and pulls out a big pale vegetable roughly cubed. "You like potato?"

"Yeah," you say, and before you've finished he's pushing the potato against the lip of your bowl and pulling the tines of his fork free. It falls into your stew with a small splash. "Oh. Thank you."

You try to eat as much of it as you can but start to feel sick somewhere in the middle. You set your bowl aside and Steve, bowl emptied, drops his next to it, wiping his hands together and standing.

You look up, puzzled.

"Come on."

Your hair isn't quite dry, a tugging weight for your neck as Steve slides his hand over your warm shoulder. You worry it might never full dry again, not without a helping hand.

He leads you up the small platform to the piano.

You look to him inquisitively.

"It's alright. I asked them if you could try it. Just try not to play too loudly and disrupt the bard."

"How do you adjust how loud it is?"

He pushes down on your shoulders until you're sitting on the bench. "You play softly. It's going to be a little loud no matter what. Don't smash the keys."

"Are they fragile?" you ask worriedly, holding your tensed fingertips above the white and pitch keys.

"No," he says, laughing without any judgement, "move over, I'll show you."

He sits on the bench beside you. There's not a whole lot of room, and his arm presses hot to yours. He places his hand above the keys like he knows what he's doing, and presses down. He plays a line of notes, the sounds a plinking rising melody that has you gasping in awe.

"Don't," —he presses down a huge chunk of keys, and the sound is awful— "do this."

You look up to see if anybody's glaring. Then you burst into giggles, face pressed to his shoulder on automatic as you try to smother the sound. He laughs warmly near your ear.

You probe curiously at the keys and try to make a song. You don't know how, don't know one note from another, you can't fathom how someone might make this into anything more than the bard's lazy fingerings.

"Do you know anything?" Steve asks.

Do you know anything? Mother demands. Darling, I've told you a million times…

"No. Sorry," you say.

His voice is sincerely sweet, like he's confused you'd ever be sorry, "For what? I can play you something. Choose a song."

"I only know the one."

He blinks at you. You shrink into yourself as he averts his gaze, knowing what he's thinking. How useless you are.

The song starts slowly. Steve taps one key, and then another. It lends and lists into music suddenly, the repetition of a simple melody. He doesn't sing, just speaks the words as he plays.

"She sends me a flower to hold me," he says, an echo of song in his tone. "She sends me a flower to– night." He moves his hands up to a higher sound. "She loves me too much, so she's told me. But if she loved me, oh loved me, she might… Come to see me, oh sweetheart, come to see me, oh lover, come to see me, oh darling." He smiles at you. "Come to see me to– night." He clears his throat, hand stilling. "You'd sing the bridge again, but I think I'll spare your ears."

"Is that yours?" you ask him.

He drops his hand into his lap. "No. Steve Harrington doesn't pen love poems, I'm afraid."

"Only plays them."

His smile turns to a smirk, so sticky it's catching.

"You're not the mouse I'd thought you were," he says.

"Was this realisation before or after I tried to maim you with a cast iron pan?"

He's about to answer, a spark behind his eyes, when the door opens wide enough to split its hinges. The origin of the hole in the wall is clear, and he waltzes in with a band of men behind him, grinning.

"Oh, for Stars’ sake," Steve mutters.

"What?" you ask.

The man at the front of the group of men — or, as they step into the light and reveal themselves, boys — sets his one un-patched eye on you and Steve, smiles like the devil, and croons, "Stevie!"

Steve's smile is gone.

"Eddie," he says tiredly.

"You're back!" Eddie looks you up and down, and his expression turns to one of complete surprise. "With a wife? My, my, we have been busy."

Steve stands, and Eddie, in all his darkness, dark hair and eyes and tunic, his grin turns mean. You hide behind one of Steve's thighs, hesitant. He drops his hand against the top of your head.

"Why's it matter?" Steve asks.

"It doesn't." This Eddie sounds all too cheerful. "What does matter, I'm afraid, is the debt between us."

"I don't owe you anything."

You watch with widened eyes as Eddie unsheathes his sword. The scabbard has a mottling of shiny reds and blacks, and the blade glows silver to white in the light. It's sharp.

Steve pulls a small knife from his hip. You hadn't realised he was carrying a weapon.

Eddie takes a step forward, his shoes like a thunderclap across the wooden floor.

"I'm afraid my Sweetheart here doesn't agree."

˗ˋˏ ☆ ˎˊ˗

eddie isn’t a bad guy he’s just confrontational <3 thank you so much for reading! i hope you enjoyed, and if you did, please consider reblogging i promise it makes a huge difference <3

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4 #tangled!au

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gojos-thot-patrol · 7 months

Note

Listen, don’t tell canon Sukuna hold your back from delulu. But what if .. what if he lost someone?

Someone that was killed and whose weakness was they loved him? Like his s/o murdered in retaliation for his actions?

The shame and the guilt that he felt and that was the first and last time Sukuna let love distract him. I imagine a more naive Sukuna… during his youth and maybe not as established as a national menace.

I mean his s/o would be accepting of his actions and views but they found home in his heart because they loved him for him and not his power uwu

oh my god, anon your brain is so wrinkled and beautiful. (┬┬﹏┬┬)

Sukuna would have been convinced he was unlovable if not for you. If not for your soft words and gentle touches. His childhood friend who saw past the feral boys snarls and found the soft puppy there underneath.

You never clipped his claws or filed down his fangs. No, quite the contrary, you sharpened them. You stood tall next to him as he eviscerated his abusers, and firmly behind him as he took what the world owed him. Due payment for the pain he was forced to endure.

You showed him a different kind of strength. One that couldn't be built through training and fighting. You showed an emotional strength he wished he had. The ability to not only understand, but to harness and control your emotions. A strength he coveted.

He thought he would keep you by his side forever. His Queen, His Darling, His Lover. His Love. In your arms was the only place he found peace. The only place where he could ever feel truly safe. Your arms were his home.

Maybe he shouldn't have shown you off so proudly. Maybe he should have never left home that day. Or maybe he never should have dragged you into any of this shit in the first place.

He when he thinks back on the event now he remembers it in flashes and feelings. Feelings he desperately wanted to run away from. He remembered the stiffening feeling of your blood on his hands as he tried to stop your bleeding. He remembered cursing the bastards for not even having the decency to make it quick.

He remembered how your eyes glossed over. He could still feel your icy hand on his cheek. Could still hear your whisper.

"Don't stop fighting my Love."

He remembered you going limp in his arms. Still feel his hands shake the way they did as he tried desperately to bring you back, please. please just come back you cant leave him like this. He remembered the clap of thunder that shook the palace when he realized you weren't coming back.

Or maybe that was his scream.

He hadn't felt much since then. The cold hard steel of indifference being far more favorable to him than the sharp poison of an open heart. Love was a fucking joke anyway. He couldn't believe he was so naive. So foolish as to let himself be dragged around by his cock, it was pathetic. Love was pathetic. Love was an inherent risk that he would never take again.

Still. Sometimes late at night, when the rain pours down and he's forced to remember if was your favorite kind of weather, he can't deny the now foreign feeling in his heart. When he closes his eyes its your perfectly sweet smile that visits him at night. and for just a second, he feels himself crumbling again.

And then he snaps out of it. He doesn't have time for love. He has to get back to fighting.

#jjk #jujutsu kaisen #ryomen sukuna #sukuna x reader #sukuna x reader angst #sukuna angst #hurt no comfort #angst #whats up nonny?#sukuna ryomen

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blackopals-world · 6 months

Text

For my Art

Jamil Viper x fem Dancer!Yuu

Venting from a former ballerina

The ballet was everything.

It is is your life.

Your reason to move.

To dance.

It will take your blood, your sweat, and your tears.

This is not a metaphor.

Yuu engraved these words in her heart from the moment her instructor said them to her at the age of 8. She had started later then her peers and had to catch up.

They had already started graduating to pionte shoes.

Those beautiful shoes.

Silk, pastel pink, the one thing that would make their fairytale ballerina dreams come true.

Now they were her's.

Now it was real.

She would be the next Primadonna. The star.

But heavy will be the head to wear that crown. The beautiful feathered headpiece.

She had to train harder.

She had to dance till her arms and legs bruised turning purple and red. That's what makeup is for.

She danced while her feet bled and ached. Her teacher told her it would make her stronger.

She would stand before the other girls and be weighed and measured. Her every imperfection was pointed out.

Because a ballerina was perfect.

Graceful

Delicate

Effortless

Gorgeous

Perfect

And she wanted to be perfect. Needed it.

She would do what it took. To achieve that dream. Break herself if needed. It was all for she sake of dancing on that stage.

Another grueling practice ended as a guest arrived at the studio.

"Hey, Jamil. You're here early." She said wiping the sweat off very brow with a hand towel from her bag.

"I was hoping to see you practice since basketball practice ended early." Jamil said taking a drink from his water bottle.

Yuu smiled as she bent to take off her slippers, wincing due to her sore feet.

Jamil's eyes were drawn to the scene, his eyes widened.

Unmistakable red marks stained the shoes as Yuu sucked in a breath and dig into their bag for her first aid kit.

"You're hurt!" He exclaimed bending down to examine the wound. "What happened?".

"What do you mean?" she said tilting her head to the side. "It's normal."

"Nothing about this is normal. Your bleeding! Especially not from dancing. You need to take a break" Jamil said taking the bandages to wrap the wound.

Just a quickly he was shoved back as Yuu took the bandages back.

"I can do it myself." She said coldly "I've done this for years. Honestly, what do you know?"

"Enough to know that you're hurt and that's all I need to know," Jamil said strained.

"Butt out!"She yelled before stealing herself "Look I'm not mad at you but you don't get to tell me what I should do. You're not my father and you're not my boyfriend."

Jamil tried to respond feeling his cheeks burn but was stopped.

"You don't know what ballet even is. What it takes. Blood, sweat, and tears. I can't afford to waste time. It's a cut-throat world, Jamil. My form must be perfect!" Yuu said adamant.

"Why are you so set on this!" He yelled trying to find sense in this argument.

"BECAUSE I DON'T HAVE MUCH TIME LEFT!" Yuu screamed at the top of her lungs.

And just like that it was said. She fell silent her chest heaving, tears in her eyes, and her lips twisted in a frown.

"I...don't have time." She said again quieter. Sadder.

"Time for what." Jamil lowered his voice too.

"Ballet isn't forever. Girls don't last for long. You're prime is only a few years, and then the roles dry up. You're body changes as you get older. They don't want that. You're body doesn't last either." Yuu said sadly.

Ballet is a bloody industry and you must do what you must to survive.

It starts so innocent and pure. Little pink tutus and leotards to eating disorders and chronic pain.

But little girls still dream of the stage.

"So you'll break yourself to do it? Don't you care about yourself." Jamil asked taking her hand.

Yuu sighed and looked away. She couldn't look him in the eye.

"I don't know..." She said finally.

Yuu had never felt good enough. She never saw herself as worth much.

"It's okay, I'll show you that your more then you think. You matter to me. Even if you don't see your worth, I do." Jamil said hold her hand to his chest.

#dancer!yuu #twst jamil #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland jamil #jamil x reader #jamil viper #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland yuu

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h3yl4dies · 3 months

Text

❀ 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐦 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬/𝐨 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐡𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧!

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬 : 𝐊𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐨 𝐒𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐛𝐮, 𝐌𝐮𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐭𝐨 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐫𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐧𝐫𝐨𝐣𝐢!

𝐓𝐲𝐩𝐞 : 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬!

𝐒𝐦𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 : 𝐈 𝐦𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐝𝐨 𝐚 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨, 𝐢𝐟 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐤 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰!

𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐝𝐞𝐦𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭? 𝐇𝐞𝐫𝐞!

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 : mentions of blood and mentions of death, if you find this disturbing please don't read! Thank u!

✿ 𝐌𝐔𝐈𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐎 𝐓𝐎𝐊𝐈𝐓𝐎

- he actually didn't expected that

- the attack was way too fast, he couldn't catch the movements with his own eyes

- he didn't knew what to really do at this point, he was too scared.

- "Y/n! Are you alright?.. Where did he hit you?.."

- he hated the smell of your blood, it just pisses him off so much

- the anger he hide was finally uncovering

- with no hesitation, he ran and flashed onto the demon and snapped their head off

- when he was done with his business, he ran up to you and quickly ripped a part of his clothing to bandage your wounds

- "help is on the way y/n, please handle this for a little while.. I don't want to lose you"

- he was tearing up a bit

- after the mission, he was laying on the bed with you as the nurses tried to tell him to get out to let you recover but he couldn't. He just can't leave you alone.

- it took a few months for you to wake up and recover fully again.

- when you woke up, he hugged you tightly, resisting to even let you go

- "I am happy your awake y/n but please be careful next time. "

- he cares for you but doesn't really want to show it..

- my poor air-headed baby 😭..

- when you were still recovering, he would visit you almost everyday, sometimes when he's too busy.. He would also try to make some time so he can visit you, almost not missing a single day of visiting you

- when he follows you in a mission, he would be more cautious and aware of any attacks harming his s/o

✿ 𝐌𝐈𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐈 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐑𝐎𝐉𝐈

- she was actually so scared

- as soon as she saw you laying on the floor bleeding, she shouted and screamed with tears.

- "Y/N!!!! WHAT HAPPENED-"

- she was already crying at that time

- how?

- how could she?

- how could she not notice you already bleeding and is on the edge of death on the floor?

- she couldn't and I mean COULDN'T. stop blaming herself for not noticing earlier

- she was actually so scared she was trembling, her legs were trembling and could barely stand

- she couldn't even stand the sight of her lover being on he floor bleeding

- she even couldn't look and stare at the demon. The demon who hurted her s/o

- but she did. She faced the demon and slashed the demons head off for you.

- as the demons head was fading away, she quickly flashed to you and hugged you tightly

- "y/n.. Please don't leave.. Me!! I can't let you die.. Without me! Please.. Wake up! WAKE UP! "

- time passed, you couldn't answer her. The wound was so painful that you passed out. Making her concern more..

- when the people arrived, mitsuri begged. BEGGED them to do something quickly before you left her.

- after months, you woke up on a comfy bed with bandages all over your body.

- but.. Someone was beside you crying.

- it was mitsuri. As soon as she saw you awake she bursted into joyful tears as she hugged you tightly

- "Y/N YOUR AWAKE!! THANK GOD I LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND!! You actually scared me that time! Please.. Don't make yourself bleeding on the floor in front of my eyes again.. I can't.. Take it.. "

- why do I feel guilty writing this

- oh well, onto the next one!

✿ 𝐊𝐎��𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐎𝐁𝐔

- same as muichiro, she didn't expected that either. She was actually confused

- the death of her sister already stressed and frustrated her more, now it's her s/o?

- what can she do without you and her sister? Both of you were her everything..

- anger.

- yes. Anger was the only thing that came right up into her mind as soon as she saw te demons face.

- "what is wrong with you? What did we ever do to you? if you wanted to hurt someone. It should had been me. "

- she ran out of energy, she couldn't take it anymore and quickly used one of her deadliest poison ever

- it was so disgusting. The sight of her s/o bleeding. The sight of the demons ugly face. The sight of the blood

- everything was bothering her.

- the anger couldn't handle.

- and yet, she still tries to keep a gentle smile on her pleasant face.

- but.. She couldn't.

- she quickly jumped on you and wrapped the bleeding wound with her haori.

- "there, it should be stopping it from bleeding. "

- don't worry, she would also inject a syringe in your blood to make sure there isn't infections

- " hold on dear, this might hurt a bit but it's for the best. "

- as soon as the people arrived, shinobu angerily told them to take care of you

- she would NOT. allow someone to take her s/o away from her. Never.

- it took a few months for you to get back on your feet again. And when you did, shinobu was finally no longer stressed

- calmness and reliveness had come into her.

- she was so relived you were alive.

- she believed love in you

- "your finally back. I missed you. "

- she gave you a gentle small hug and her smile were wider.

- I swear she deserves a happy ending 😭!

Note : 𝐡𝐞𝐲! 𝐈 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧'𝐭 𝐝𝐢𝐝 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐲𝐞𝐭 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥? 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐞 𝐈 𝐰𝐨𝐧'𝐭? 𝐈𝐝𝐤!! 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐈 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 (𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲𝐞𝐝!) ♡♡♡

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moon-fics · 11 months

Note

Hi! Any chance you’d be open to writing an angsty Ghost fic? I’ve had the idea that because they’re relationship is secret (both on 141) they give each other 3 taps to say I love you. Somehow the reader gets mortally injured and because they can’t speak they cradle his face in a hand giving him 3 taps. 🥺 I know this is really specific so feel free to change anything if you feel like writing it! :)

A/n: My first request and I love it🥺 I literally do this with my partners!! This is gonna be so cute thank you for the ask!! Please feel free to return!

Warning: Swears, mentions of blood and injury, angst

The moment you knew you loved Ghost was when you were tending to his wounds. It was a rough mission and both of you needed patching up, Ghost insisting you get fixed first. There's no arguing with him when it comes to survival.

He's sitting upright in his desk chair, the moonlight shining through the window. You can see the white of his mask reflecting the light, his eyes are shadowed by his mask.

Your hands barely touch his skin while wrapping a bandage over his cut arm. You're so focused on ensuring the dressing isn't too tight you completely miss his gaze that's locked on you. You tie off the bandage, reaching for some bandaids from his medical kit. He got lucky on this mission, he doesn't need stitches.

Once you finish you unknowingly tap his leg three times, getting to your feet. It doesn't even enter your mind that he might know what something so intimate. From the amount of time you've spent with him you've only known him to be reserved and cocky, you've never seen a soft side to him.

"Any other injuries I should be worried about?" You ask, picking up the first aid kit and closing it. Your eyes finally meet his and your breathing stops. There's something in his eyes that makes you wonder if he somehow knew what you meant when you tapped him.

"No." He responds, his voice raspy from screaming into his com all day. You nod, assuming he'd want you to give him privacy. He usually needs a day to rest after a hard mission, tonight is no different. At least, that's what you think, meanwhile, Ghost is barely holding it together in front of you. "You and Soap goin' out for drinks?" He grumbles, leaning back in his chair, spreading his legs in a relaxed position.

"Probably, I'm not really in the mood but knowing Soap he's gonna drag me down to a bar somewhere." You shrug, placing his medkit on his desk. You're tired and you know alcohol will only add to your pain in the morning, but Soap can convince a grumpy old man to smile.

"I'll join ya." He keeps his tone low, almost uninterested. You're not sure why he's showing interest in spending time with you and Soap. He spent a whole week never leaving your side and he still wants to be around you.

"Whatever you say, LT." You smile, following him to find Soap.

You think back to that moment, when you secretly confessed your feelings to Ghost. You can't help but laugh at how stupid you were to think the man who knew more about body language than you did about, well, anything. It's a fond memory, the moment Ghost knew he shared those feelings with you.

Even now as you bleed in Ghost's lap, you still smile at the memory. His frightened eyes stare into your slowly dulling ones. You wonder if this is how it all ends if your life story is slowly coming to a close.

"We'll get you patched up and you'll be sent home." Ghost assures you and himself. Your vision is getting blurry and there's darkness creeping in. You want to believe him, the man you love. However, the numbness in your fingers is reminding you that he's wrong. "I know for a fact you'll be hanging this over my head for at least a year." He tries to lighten to mood, but you can't laugh.

You know that he'll blame himself by the end of the day. He'll break everything in sight and then himself. You took the bullet for him, you jumped in front of a loaded gun and got shot. You can't give him a reason as to why other than the fact that after the night out with Soap, he tapped your hand three times before going to bed.

You can tell you only have minutes, maybe just one, before you lose everything. You can barely lift your arm, and shakily reach out to hold Ghost's face. His mask feels so foreign in your hands after months of getting to know his skin.

As silence surrounds you, you force yourself to move your index finger. Tap tap tap.

#ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #cod x y/n #cod x you #ghost cod x reader #ghost cod #modern warfare x you #modern warfare x reader #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader

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bones4thecats · 5 months

Note

I love your work so much and saw you have open request can I please request a female douma(from demon slayer ) in record of ragnarok.

( buddha. loki. Aphrodite. Qin shi )

A human turned God because of her cult because of hers beauty and after her becoming a demon somehow still was seen a godly plus she not being able to feel emotions makes her act friendly towards other gods calling them their best friend and doesn't care some hate her

You can do whatever you want with this request the thing I wrote was an idea I came up with.

A/N: Omg, one of my fav demon slayer characters! He may be an asshole, but he’s a funny asshole. I used the Uppermoons here as well, so WARNING, there may be mentions of; gore and murder. Also, this was one of my hardest pieces yet, so it may be kinda meh compared to others. Anyways, enjoy!! P.S: I couldn't come up with anything for Qin, so I didn't write for him, sorry!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🍭 He and you had a love-hate-okayish? relationship

🍭 While he did enjoy watching you tease and anger the other Gods without a care in the world, he didn’t enjoy how you just didn’t seem to show anything for anyone

🍭 You would take humans and break their bones and just letting them bleed on the ground for a while before letting them go free, without any explanation of the brutality

🍭 The Twelve Kizuki Pantheon was one you were not created into, but molded into

🍭 He smirked as you poked and prodded at your fellow pantheon member, Akaza, prompting the man to punch the top of your head off, making everyone else in attendance to the Gods’ Council meeting scream

“ She’ll be fine. Y/N stop fucking around. “

🍭 He glared at Muzan, your head, for being so brutal with his words, couldn’t he see you were basically dead?!

“ Aw~, Akaza-dono, why did you do that? It’s rude to treat your superiors so awfully~ “

🍭 Okay- wtf?!

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

🐍 Loki and you were basically best friends, despite your constant teases to Akaza

🐍 You smiled as he threw a pie filled with spiders in front of Aphrodite, making her scream and run away, her guards chasing after her

🐍 The Twelve Kizuki did not like him being around you, as it made you even worse of a person to deal with

🐍 Despite being the technical third strongest, behind Muzan and Kokushibo, God in your pantheon, you were by far the second most childish behind the girl whom you named Daki, that you adopted

🐍 Loki strolled in and would go with you in tormenting Akaza and today was no different, but what made him stop in his tracks was seeing you holding Gyokko, Upper Five’s head, staring at it with such dead eyes

🐍 Akaza knocked half your head off, which made him chuckle before standing upside down above you as you regenerated

“ You see how mean he is to me, Loki-dono? “

🐍 You give your ‘families’ such bad headaches to the point where the only person who can really handle you both is Kokushibo because he’s fairly quiet and ignores you both easily

●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・○・●・

💐 She adored your eyes so damn much!

💐 Aphrodite met you through Daki, as she wanted her new mentor to meet her technical adoptive mother

💐 And when she first saw you? Woo!

💐 You were teasing Akaza severely, causing him to get angry and punch the bottom half of your face off

“ Don’t touch me, you bastard. “

💐 She ran up to you and held your half head up, but it somehow appeared quickly, like it just disappeared and reappeared

💐 After you guys actually met, she had to admit, watching you tease your fellow Gods and everything just made her smile, especially when they tried killing you, which resulted in you hurting them without a care back

💐 She isn’t fond of you not really feelings things, it reminds her to much of Poseidon and that makes her feel gross

💐 Aphrodite also loves messing with your hair, just feeling the long locks that seemingly look knotted but are actually very well-kept just makes her smile

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sadcambion · 1 month

Text

Frustration

R-18 Haarlep x f!Tav x Raphaël

A little angst at the end but not TW I guess ?

(No I didn't have a better idea for a title.)

You swing fervently over Haarlep, his cock buried deep inside you. Your moaning and heavy breath break the silence of the room and Haarlep’s claws are half-buried in your hips. He gives pelvic strokes in sync with your movements and he looks at you in a dominant way, lustful. The boudoir is full of your sounds and the sound of skin that collides.

Raphael stands there, sitting in a sofa, in front of the bed, a glass of wine in his hand, sipping it gently and seems to enjoy the show. He doesn’t take his eyes off you while you get hammered by his incubus. He doesn't touch himself but his erection through the fabric of his pants is obvious.

He watches your breasts bounce. Your hips bleed out because of the claws of the incubus. He looks at how Haarlep’s cock stretches your mistreated hole. You’re a complete mess. Haarlep gently growls with pleasure under you.

In a way, Haarlep’s pushes are gentle, deep, he strikes specific points in you, those that make you throw your head back and make you scream. You hear vaguely Haarlep talking while you are lost in pleasure.

"Master, I need to cum."

He asks permission to fill you. And you know that Raphael will refuse. Raphael’s index finger plays with the edge of his glass lasciviously, he looks at the incubus with a cold air.

"No."

"But master…"

The voice of the incubus is strangled by pleasure and has the way you feel it pulsating in your hot and wet walls he is close, really very close. The half-devil looks at you, and speaks directly to you.

"Back off."

Raphael’s voice is cold and without appeal, he will not let Haalep end up in you. You reluctantly withdraw. Your body is sweaty and panting, your breath is heavy. Haarlep obviously looks disappointed and frustrated but you don’t want to be the target of Raphael’s anger. You drop carelessly into the bed next to the incubus, its erection is covered with your juice, and you have never seen its length be so painfully tense. Raphael has been playing this little game of frustration with him for long, very long minutes. This is his punishment for finished up inside you without his permission while he was busy with mortals on the material plane. When he came back and found you intertwined together, your thighs and your sticky entry of his seed he was mad with rage. That you fucked together could still pass, that him finished in you, he definitely did not accept it.

He wanted to frustrate the incubus to the max. Drive him crazy. The idea of Haarlep filling you with his semen and getting you pregnant disgusted him. He wanted to be the only one, the only one who would have this privilege and this power over you.

And he would have your womb.

Your womb belonged to him. He wanted to fill you with his devil spawns. He already imagined you the round belly of his heir inside.

He puts down his glass of wine and gets up from the couch. Haarlep doesn’t move, and neither do you, you know what’s going to happen now. The half-devil snaps his fingers and he is naked, his erection finally released from his layers of tissue. He gets on the bed and crawls on you, Haarlep starts touching himself, seeking his own release after so much frustration. Raphaël laughs wickedly.

"Forbidden to cum until I have finish."

Haarlep throws an angry look at him but he knows he has no choice, Raphael is the master here, it is him who controls the situation.

You look at Raphael while you are under him, his body overhangs you, his wings outstretched as if to hide you from the incubus. You are shivering and you still feel aftershocks of pleasure because of the blows that Haarlep had given deep inside you. Raphael grabs your thighs and spreads them wide. His smile has something sinister.

"My dear… you should know that no one but me can fill you, right?"

You stammer, you know you should be afraid when he smiles like that. But you feel excited.

"I.. I’m sorry, Raphael, I didn’t…"

You do not have time to finish your sentence that him slips into you, in a fluid and deep way. You moan gently.

He starts to move. His thrusts are hard, deep, so deep that you can feel it against your cervix. His mouth hovers over your neck and his claws dig into your hips, worsening the cuts Haarlep left you. A gasp of pain and pleasure escapes from your throat. You hear Raphael growling faintly at the sensation of your walls. He speaks softly against your neck, his voice is calm, controlled, but you feel a threatening note.

"I hope for your sake that this child will be mine…"

You answer nothing, your mind is clouded by pleasure, Raphael is more brutal and more controlling than Haarlep, but it remains good, you like it. Your hands are firmly gripped in his back.

You hear vaguely the sound of Haarlep jerking next to you while you get fucked by the devil.

Raphael hammers your body mercilessly, he wants to show who you really belong to. He wants to show that he is your master. You feel a warmth in you, the pleasure rises, you head for a new orgasm. You hear Raphael again between two strokes.

"Otherwise, my dear… My dear little mouse…"

A threat. You tense at his words, a dull fear filling you. He smiles mischievously and slyly against your neck. You feel sharp teeth touching the soft skin of your neck. He gives a deep and more brutal thrust. You feel his cock throb and hit your cervix every time. Your moans become more throaty. His claws gently lacerate the bruised skin of your hips. He doesn't finish his sentence yet.

A dull growl escapes from Raphael's chest and at the same time he floods your insides with his demonic seed. Despite the fear building within you you feel your orgasm coming at the same time and your walls contract forcefully around him, pumping out more of his cum. You moaned, exhausted beneath him. He doesn't not whithdrawing yet and seems to be enjoying the situation, he senses your fear. He glances at Haarlep, still nearby, as he finishes, his warm, thick ropes landing on her stomach. He continues to stare at Haarlep, and finally he finishes his sentence.

"Otherwise, I would kill the child."

#raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 #bg3 haarlep #raphael x reader #haarlep x reader #bg3 writing

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sleepyboywrites · 1 year

Text

Creepypasta Fluff Headcanons for Trans!Male Reader Pt. 1 (Being a boy on his Period)

Because it's nearing that time again and being a boy on his period sucks ass. I'm making this to provide some comfort! For myself as a trans man and hopefully you too. This takes place with established and healthy relationships. Or as healthy as relationships with these characters come.

Tw: Possessive behavior, not necessarily wanted affection, rough contact, references to slight verbal abuse.

Eyeless Jack

• Run. Run right in the opposite direction if he hasn't eaten in a bit/is agitated. You will make him hungry due to his blood lusting demonic nature and he's not very friendly when he's hungry.

• You already aren't feeling great so if you go to him in that state anyways expect to be more uncomfortable albeit supported as a half-apology.

• If he has been satiated and is calm you may proceed to tell your demonic boyfriend that your cycle has begun and you are distressed and dysphoric about it.

• Cuddle bug. Like sits you directly into his lap and burries his face in your neck. Telling you words of encouragement. Think "I'm so sorry Baby boy." and "You're so strong y/n. One of the strongest men I know, I mean other men can't live through bleeding for 4-7 days on average."

• He's a med student so he knows the best ways to help with cramps and the physical pains that come with a menstrual cycle.

• He also gives you high testosterone foods and encourages you to wear one of his shirts and your boxers over your underwear to help with the dysphoria aspect. But he won't let you bind if your chest area gets sensitive.

• Tries to distract you and keep you as comfortable as possible

• Extremely protective during this time. He has a lot of self control but his instincts are still spiking under the surface screaming at him to lock you up/protect you. His emotional attachment to you paired with his constant hunger leave him clinging to your side and glaring at anyone else who approaches/gives you a weird look. Attacking anyone who hurts you emotionally or otherwise.

• Honestly a bit feral in a way akin to nesting.

• Insists on taking walks together once a day.

Laughing Jack

• A bit confused at first in his eyes he has erased any of your perceived biological imperfections.

• Hits you with the "But you are a boy" when you tell him you're feeling dysphoric and crying. "One who's very very important to me as well so please don't cry."

• Gives you your favorite candies and sweets

• Rubs your back when you're curled over in pain and sings you songs to help you calm down.

• Takes you to his amusement park and takes you on all your favorite rides and shows you all your favorite shows

•Always introducing the act as "Dedicated to the best boy in the world/my Favorite boy."

• Essentially his mentality is "I'm going to make sure this boy has so much fun he forgets the torment of having his brain stuck in the wrong body."

• And it fucking works. He has you laughing so hard that you can't tell where the stomach ache ends and the cramps begin.

• He likes to play "dress-up" in the sense where he has an array of gender affirming costumes and each day he insists you choose from the extensive array because even if you don't feel well at the moment doesn't mean you have to be reduced to a puddle of stained oversized clothes. He was always one for theatrics.

• If you say you really aren't up to dressing up he'll bring out an array of hoodies, baggy tees, shorts, sweats, or jeans instead.

• Genuinely just trying to distract and cheer you up

Ben Drowned

• Pretends to not know what you're talking about or why you're so upset. "Bro I assure you no one cares?" Followed by a long silence as he stares at you followed with "We all still view you the same, man."

• Then promptly refuses to leave your side

• Think anything from lurking in nearby electronics to straight up following you around everywhere.

• If a mission comes up he'll take you with him and make up some sort of excuse like he needs your help and your avatar is better abled than you physically. Alternatively if you have a mission he'll grab you and say he's coming with, before dragging you with him.

• Makes sure everyone is careful around you. No roughhousing or insults. Not at this time even if you protest.

• You had to break up a fight with the intent to maim once because Jeff had called you a "Pussy" in an attempt to agrivate you to change your mind about not being up for training today. Ben who had been lurking nearby lunged at him and you had to break the two apart.

• So much Gatorade. This boy makes you drink so much Gatorade.

• He also has a collection of snacks you normally crave and hoodies specifically for you in his closet.

• Let's you bind during your period until you don't take it off on time or act like you're in pain then he will take and hide it until it's passed.

• if you complain about dysphoria he'll roll his eyes as he drags you to his realm where your avatar already matches your gender and have you hang out there.

• Naptimes are mandatory once a day during this week because he knows it takes a lot out of you.

• Reminds you to take showers despite how much you hate having that reminder because you'll feel better afterwards and it helps with the cramps.

Jeff the Killer

• I promise he's trying. He's trying to keep things as normal as possible by being a jokey asshole dick like usual.

• Mans has your cycle engraved in his memory so on the first and worst day when you're at your grumpiest without fail he'll go "Can't you just give me a bloody smile god damn it?"

• You know he's joking and he knows he's joking but without fail you'll mock laugh at him, sock him in the nose, and walk away.

• One time you ran out of products and Jeff went to get them for you he called from the store and went, "Hey man, what size cunt do you have?" You shook your head, called him an asshole, and hung up.

• He tried to apologize by calling and texting and when you wouldn't answer he made you a care basket with hot wheels and various manly items such as boxers and button-ups/baggy tees. He also covered the pads wrapping in dinosaurs. And replacing "girl" with "boss" on the labels

• He's made a habit of getting you one of these everytime your supplies run out.

• Insists on more training and fighting because what better way to blow off steam and frustrations than a good ol fashioned fight.

• One time it went too far and the two of you ended up being patched up by EJ who scolded the two of you and said "If I catch you boys doing this again I will make sure Slender needs two new proxies."

• Always carrying ibuprofen and water. Always.

• Rubs your back if it hurts too much and treats you more gently.

•Will attack and maim anyone who misgenders you.

Homicidal Liu

• Liu is already constantly holding your hand as if he's scared you'll disappear, like the rest of good in his life, so you two are fairly well synced and sometimes you swear he can read your mind.

• You keep him calm, in a way that reminds him of before the incident because of this he knows all of you, obsessed over it and memorized it, including when your cycle is, it's linked in his internal clock.

• You'll often wake up to a warm bath and clean comfortable clothes if your cycle started during the night. While you bathe he'd change and wash the sheets then bring you breakfast to eat together after you finish.

• Tells you he's sorry that your body doesn't match your mind as he nuzzles into your neck. Snaking his arms around your waist and engulfing you in his weight. Sometimes uncomfortable but you know by now if you try to pry him off he'll only tighten his grip and agressively albeit incoherently mumble

•calm and supportive/protective and possessive are how his alters have always treated you. Both affectionate sometimes overly so. Heightened during your cycle due to you being in a more easily hurt and in a distressed mood.

• Think overlap of Liu and Sully's voices, "What did you just say to my boyfriend?" Followed by "You'll pay for that." should anyone so much as look at you funny in a way that'll make you feel worse about your current state of being.

• Said anyone would be carried away in a body bag. <333

• Gets you trinkets as well as anything you may be craving.

• Owns heating pads as well as cold pads at his disposal to help with cramps.

• Water/Gatorade and a variety of pain meds on hand. Always.

• Doesn't want to leave your side out of fear of you running into a less than kind individual without him there to support you and maim your instigator.

Ticci Toby

• You'd have to go to him about it because his ass doesn't know. His brain is on fifteen different topics at any given time. You occupy at least five but he doesn't have much memorized.

• He'll know that something is bothering you but won't know what unless you blatantly tell him.

• Once you do he'll probably try his best to limit his roughness/aggression and increase softer touches/tones.

• Much more pet names a lot less insults. IE: Instead of calling you a dumbass he'll call you pretty boy.

• If he gets frustrated expect said pet name to be said with aggression.

• He owns several weighted blankets he'd offer you to use on top of his own body weight when he flops onto you, should you want that affection. Though he still will with a piss-poor excuse of an apology if you don't and he does. Which he does frequently because you're one of the only people whose touch is gentle with him.

• Bad about carrying liquid. Good about carrying meds. So if you need an ibuprofen he will give you one but you'll need to either dry swallow or find liquid elsewhere.

• Also not the best at comforting you through your pain seeing as he doesn't experience that kind of thing himself. At least not in the same way, so he doesn't know what to do nor what you expect from him.

• He'll pick you up something he thinks you'll like when he goes out during this time but that ranges from "really sweet" to "the thought is what counts." Because sometimes his thoughts cross paths one too many times and he accidentally got you cleaning supplies instead of menstrual or edible treats.

• Think: "This rock made me think of you. Do you like [insert candy], because I grabbed some on my last mission. I meant to grab you strawberry mentos, because of a song I heard that made me think of you but accidentally grabbed menthol instead, I don't know how you'd use it but here."

• Essentially when you tell him he'll say "Okay, don't push yourself too hard." And then continue fairly normally while attempting to be nice.

Brian/Hoodie

• Initial reaction depends entirely on where/how you tell him. If you tell him in public in front of others he will simply look at you and say, "...okay".

• If you tell him in private he'll stare at you for a moment and then he'll give you a few well-thought-out sentences on how he'll be there to help and how you aren't any less of a man.

• If you give him a note or written thing however he will build you a cathedral out of paragraphs telling you that he'll do what he can to make you feel as good as you can, how this aspect doesn't change who you are not how you're received, and everything masculine and in general he adores about you.

• Always has water, meds, and a spare hoodie for you in close proximity.

• Doesn't treat you any differently in public or private.

• Very sweet most of the time, including this, minus his aggressive outbursts.

• It's very much the same old same old. He'll still melt into you and expect the same he'll still yell and throw things when he's having a n outburst.

• He'll still treat you as softly and as roughly as he does the rest of the time.

• Will get you your cravings if you ask but he won't really if he's unprompted.

• He may ask for your hand more often if he notices your distress/squeeze your hand more often.

• Though most of the time he won't he's too busy in his head or in what he's doing.

• Or alternatively trying to figure out what is in your head and what you're doing but not necessarily how you're feeling.

• He cares about you he's just not the possessive type in the way that leads to outwardly or intense displays of affection. Though if you even hinted to not wanting to be around people on your cycle you wouldn't be. He would hole up.with you until its over and be reluctant to let you go.

Tim/Masky

• Throws his reeking bomber jacket at you with a raised eyebrow. "Things like this provide some comfort right?"

• Cocky Bastard knows it's in his god-damn calendar and he likes to inadvertently let you know he knows.

• IE: throwing one of your favorite snacks at your head while you train or work.

• Bringing you water, Gatorade, and medicine to you when all you did is hold your head in your hands for five seconds.

• It's become almost a game of whether or not you can get away without him knowing.

• Mocking you lightly if you ask for help with anything. If you need supplies, or would like one of your cravings, or would like a heating pad anything. And you say, "Hey could you get me [blank] if you don't mind?" Or anything along those lines you will be met with an, "Ah ah ah pretty boy, say pretty please." When he returns with what you asked for dangling it out of reach.

• Also always asks for a kiss as payment for being your knight in shiny armor. When he gets you anything. One time he bought you a bag of chocolate kisses you were craving and when he asked you threw a chocolate at him and he chased and tackled you until you gave him an actual one.

• Deliberately and as a rule of thumb, Masky shows you a playful and cocky side he's created because you respond to it best.

• He rarely gets angry at you but when he does that anger translates to avoiding you and not speaking to you should he be in this state he will give you nothing, not even a hug during this.

• If you tend to be touch-starved during he'll be less likely to fall into that angry rut but if you're touch-adverse he's more likely to get into angry ruts because he'll take it as the front he crafted for you not being enough or attractive to you.

• Despite the fact it has nothing to do him and has everything to do with you being in physical and psychological pain.

#creepypasta x male reader #creepypasta x transmale!reader #eyeless jack #laughing jack #ben drowned #jeff the killer #homicidal liu #ticci toby #tim masky #brian hoodie #creepypasta fluff #or at least most of it #creepypasta headcanon #requests open #multiple/all

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zwolfgames · 2 months

Text

Yandere Draco Malfoy x reader (Part 3)

Requested by: /

Warnings: Talks of murder, unlogical magic use, abuse of spells, violence and yandere stuff.

Parts: Part 1 , Part 2

And it was ass-

Draco woke up early to do his hair, insisting that he'd do yours aswell. And no, you were never as high end as him, so getting all these forgein products put into your hair wasn't pleasant.

He began choosing your weekend outfits. Styled your school robes when he didn't approve of how ruffled they were, he even went as far as to push you into the bathroom to shower when he found you too greasy. By wich you mean everyday....

You hadn't expected the blonde to be such a control freak, but he was. Okay, maybe you should have...

Currently, you were simply walking down a secluded hall.. again, when the statue next to you and Draco let its axe drop.

You weren't fast enough to completly save your most controlling friend, tough you did pull him into you out of reflex. A bleeding cut was created on his left arm... but it was better then getting an axe trough your head, you suppose.

Draco screams out in angony and you wince as the sound hurt your ears.

You drag the fool with you to the infirmairy while he's crying out in pain, hoping you get there before he passes out because in no way are you strong enough to carry this lanky kid.

You grit your teeth as you think back to the now thrid attempt at Draco's life. What student even has the balls to attempt this even once? And how had the teachers not caught them?

And why is Harry Potter staring at you and Draco from behind a corne-

What.

You whip your head around to face the chosen one who freezes as he's caught.

"I can explain-" He stutters out with his hands up to show his innocence.

"Did you try to kill him?" You ask simply while Draco's just screaming.

"No-"

"Okay." You turn back around and keep walking, you had bigger problems then Potter's questions right now.

"What? No wait-" He runs after you as you keep walking.

You don't really react as you keep dragging Draco away to the infirmairy.

Mrs.Pomfrey gasps in shock as you bring Draco in, she immeadiatly gets to work and you can finally drop the screaming blonde onto a bed, tough he's mostly just crying now.

Draco demands that you hold his other hand while Pomfery heals his arm.

So you suck up your free will and sit next to his bedside to hold his hand.

Harry hasn't left... Just stares at the scene in confusion.

"Why are you friends with Malfoy?" The dark haired boy asks.

You eye him for a moment, as you've never talked before.

"I'm not." You shrug and Draco almost snarls.

".. You are." The blonde croaks out in pain, just to correct you.

You roll your eyes and Harry's frown tightens.

"Do you have any clue's on who's trying to kill him?" Harry asks, as if the target isn't right by you two.

"A student, thats all I know. And if you're going to be asking questions atleast make it less obvious that you're interogating us." You scoff and the boy bites his lip, pushing his glasses back up.

"I want to help-"

"Yourself. We know."

You finish for him and he looks baffled.

"Thats not what I was going to say." Harry frowns more, fidgeting with his sleeves.

"But it was what you meant. It's a student, thats all I know. Now shoo because the more I talk to you the harder this git squishes my hand." You side glare at Draco who is currently glaring at Harry.

"Then let go of him. He'll be fine on his own, come help us search." Harry suggests a bit calmly now.

Wow, you've never tought of just letting go- Ofcourse you had! Draco just had a deathgrip on your hand.

"This doesn't concern you, Potter." You shake your head. Harry steps closer to look you in the eye.

"No, it does concern me. Nothing at this school ever happens without Voldemort being behind it, it has to be some kind of elaborate plan to get the schools defences down." Harry tries to convince you.

"Ah yes, killing Lucius' son is gonna bring all of Hogwarts down! The worst it's gonna do is have Draco's dad sue the school or something." You explain.

"You know his father?" Harry asks in disbelief. "Well not personally, why?" You ask in confusion, eyebrows scrunching together.

"He's evil." Harry whispers as if he isn't being glared at by the blonde.

"Yea so? Thats not my problem?" You shrug again and ignore the pulling on your hand from a clearly annoyed Slytherin.

"What? That... Y/N, just help us, you're with Draco all the time, and you've saved him too. We can solve this together." Harry starts again with his proposal.

"No, Potter, let the teachers solve things for once, go study or something. And why do you know my name?" You narrow your (e/c) eyes.

Harry stiffens. From what you've heard of Draco's shittalking, he's quite the stalker. Tough you'd never expected to be a victim of it.

"Don't worry about it, you're well known-"

"I'm not."

"You're friends with a Malfoy."

"I'm not." You repeat again.

"..You are.." Draco buts in again.

You sigh at the absurdity of this all. Harry wanted that thrill of mystery. Draco wanted a friend he could control and you just wanted to pass this year.

Very diffrent wants and needs. Not compatible.

So you'd ditch them both.

Easy as that.

When Draco was allowed out of the infirmairy you helped him back up to your shared room and ran off as fast as you could.

Two goals in mind, catch the mystery person and avoid everyone else.

So, out of pure desperation, you stole a polyjuice potion from proffesor Snape's supply. How, you may ask. You snuk a letter up under the door of his office that said he was needed by Dumbledore in terms of his potions career. It couldn't be too obvious, but it seems you had nailed it.

So without furder ado, you threw a hair of your blonde 'friend' into the potion. You had snatched a Slytherin tie from his closet. Quite an idiotic descicion to let you live in his dorm...

Oh well. You were transformed in a matter of minutes, tried to adjust the now blonde hair back to how neat Draco usually had it and set off to go find the most secluded and dark places off the castle.

If they wanted Draco malfoy dead, then they'd have to try harder.

It didn't take long before you felt watched. But you had to keep the cocky air up around you. Chin up, back straight.

And bam! A spell again! Right past your face from behind. Since you weren't actually Draco, you had been on guard. And this time this sucker wasn't getting away.

You chugged down a speed potion, accio-ing your broom as you ran after the person. Draco's height aided your sprint, tough you hoped the polyjuice potion didn't affect your own pyshical abilities because you doubt that Draco could hold up running as long as you.

Your broom flew into your hand not long after, stealing tricks from Potter wasn't a bad idea as long as no-one saw it!

You didn't even sit on the long stick, no time for that. You just let it drag you along as it flew. You didn't know brooms could even work like that, but your will power was enough for it to do so.

You pushed off against walls as you followed this person into the darker parts of the castle. Deeper into the dungeons. They must have realised long ago that you weren't Draco, or they'd have tried something to hurt you.

Glidinf off of stairs, ignoring the harsh thuds you made against walls and the layers of skin under your pants that were getting torn up by your landing and frantic turns and collisons.

It could all be fixed. As long as you finally caught this damm person it would all be worth it.

With a last jump you caught onto the persons black hood, togging it off and holding in to keep them in your grip.

A feminine yelp left the wrongdoer's mouth as you threw her onto the ground. Letting your broom fly out of your hands so you could pull out you wand, aimed right at her neck.

A....

A child....

First year, maybe.... second year?

You didn't know. But you eyes widened at the sight of this... scared girl.

But now's not the time to be weak, who knows, maybe she took a polyjuice potion too to get the wrong person jailed.

"Explain, right now." You demand in a snarl. It must have looked a lot more intimidating considering you had Draco's face at the moment... It was strange hearing his voice say your words...

"I-I only want him dead!" The girl shouts out. You stiffen and tug her up by the hair.

"And why?" You narrow your now grey eyed gaze. Glaring harshly.

"His father ruined my family! Why are you helping him!?" The girl sobbed. You weren't sure what to do...

Let a kid kill Draco or just turn her in...

You couldn't let her roam free and try again. If Draco actually died you'd be suspicious too.... And intergogated. Truth serum and bam, they had you as the one that let the murderer get away.

Is that a selfish tought?

Are you allowed to think that way?

"I'm helping him because I'm not letting someone die, Malfoy or not." You bite back.

"Thats stupid, he's using you! Let me go!" The girl tries to kick you, a quick 'Stupefy' to the face knocks her right out.

No, you made your desciscion, better safe then sorry. You'd just... deliver her to Dumbledore... Thats better then.. Snape? Better then McGonnagall? Atleast punishment wise. Maybe.. they'd just send her to therapy?

Yea.. lets believe in that...

You carried the girl out of the dungeons. Exhausted by the end of the stairs. If only you knew a spell to make bodies float, too bad thats a Potter exclusive.

After some breaks and huffs, you got to Dumbledore's way too high up office.

Trying to make the walls open or whatever, you hadn't ever been here before...

And you still looked like Draco...

Oh this day couldn't get any worse.

You managed to open the gateway, dropped the kid on a chair at Dumbledore's office and looked him in the eye.

"Malfoy, what brings you and Delaine here?" Dumbledore inquires calmly.

"It's L/N, sir. This is the girl thats been trying to kill Malfoy, excuse my looks..." You sigh and run a hand trough your- Draco's hair. Too much gel for your liking...

"L/N? I see. And how did you aquire a polyjuice potion?" Dumbledore asked with an amused smile.

He didn't look mad but you were'nt going to risk it.

"Lucius Malfoy aided me and Draco in our plan, sir." You lied spontaniously. The old man didn't seem to question it and just nodded.

....

"She isn't going to.. Azkaban, right?" You ask in a whisper.

"No... Miss Delaine hasn't killed anyone... yet. She'll be undergoing a trial. I'll be sure to give your house twenty points for your heroic behavior. You like it on the down low, don't you?" Dumbledore smiles.

You stiffen at his sudden.. correct assumption.

You tought he knew lots, but to know personal things about you? Some random student? Weirdo...

What's he? All seeing?

"You're dismissed, L/N. Be sure to visit the imfirmairy, you look quite rustled." Dumbledore advised and opens the gateway for you again.

You nod and walk out.

Only when the door closes again does your calm expression twist into guilt...

You just ruined some girls life... Not as bad as going to Azkaban... but you defenitly fucked it up..

But.. but it would have been worse for her if she had actually killed Draco. You keep repeating that all the way to the infirmairy.

Why did it have to be some kid?

You weren't sure wether to tell Draco the morning after.

You had come back to the dorm, no strange onlookers glared at you now that you looked liked Draco.

Tough you watched in the mirror as the potions' effects wore off. As the blonde melted back into (h/c) and your body became your own again.

All while you saw the person you were sleeping behind you.

He wasn't even tucked in correctly...

So you did that first... then went to bed yourself.

And now here you were, with Draco gushing over how amazing you looked with the Slytherin tie and how you should steal his clothes more often.

You refrained from looking angry since he didn't need to know all about your reasons for it.

A shame you forgot to change before going to sleep...

He made you wear that tie for the whole day.

It was like a claim.

You weren't sure how you felt about this whole 'friendship' anymore now that the murder problem had been resolved...

Maybe you'd just stick around untill one of the teachers officially announces that the case was solved.

You just wanted your old friends back, your old roomates...

But luck was never on your side.

Not a week after, it had been revealed, wich seemed good. You weren't mentioned, just like Dumbledore knew you wanted.

But oh boy. Someone else knew.

Lucius Malfoy.

The man himself came to visit Hogwarts and singled you and Draco out after dinner.

Exposing your heroic deeds and making Draco like you even more.

he assumed you cared about him to do all this. You just had the basic human decency to not let someone die.

Thats all there was to it.

Atleast on your side.

After Lucius' visit, Draco didn't let you leave him like you had planned.

And you were finally fed up.

Packing your stuff, you'd just move back to your dorm without asking.

"What do you think you're doing?" Draco stood in the doorway. Closing the door behind him as he walked in.

"Moving back. The murder is solved." You state calmly, trying not to provoke anything in the blonde.

"Y/N, you can't do that." He shakes his head and opens your wardrobe again to put your clothes back.

"I can. I've helped you, it's over now." You refuse and put the clothes back in your suitcase.

Draco's face twists into a frown as he comes closer.

"We're not over."

"That isn't what I said-"

"You're mine, Y/n."

Draco announces so directly you needed a moment for the shock to pass so that that cringe feeling could swarm over you.

"Excuse me?" You ask in offence.

"You're mine. In everyway a person could be mine." Draco elaborates, it isn't making his words any better."

"You're sounding absurd." You facepalm but your wrist gets snatched and pulled to his chest.

"You don't understand. I want you in every way there is to want. You're my soulmate. Platonically, Romantically- whatever ally there is. You're the first true friend I've had. You're mine." Draco grins slightly... pshycotically.

Sure mental problems are allowed but keep them to yourself, jeez.

"Did someone make you chug a love potion? Go sober up in the corner and then we'll talk." You keep your cool. Even if you're freaking out on the inside. He isn't acting normal. This has to be a potion of somekind.

Surely it is.

"My father has already agreed that I can court you, Y/N. Don't you see how good this could be for you.?" Draco smiles, trying to convince you of his ultimate love.

You cringe and try to back away, but the blonde just backs you up more into the wardrobe.

"Don't fight our bond." Draco whispers rather creepily.

You'd rather fight both the bond and him if you could choose.

But the moment that you did, or well, attempted to punch him, you were out like a light.

Just like that girl you caught, Draco had 'stupefied' you too.

Knocked out cold for him to gush over.

He just needed a friend that wouldn't leave him.

A friend that wasn't fake.

And you were perfect, seeing as you had no trouble insulting him.

So you were his.

You'd stay his.

You had chosen wrong.

_____☆_____

Kinda lame ending, I know.

But I mean, good enough for a long ass one shot like this. Coudln't let it get too long.

Requests are always open. This is also on Wattpad (its one whole chapter there), and request can be done there too! Whatever you prefer!

have a nice day/night <3

_____☆_____

Words: 5210 (If you read all three parts)

taglist: @maggiecc

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