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#corpse husband x gn!reader
unhonest-iago · 9 months
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Sup Darth Vader
Gn Reader
'Ready to wake up dad?' y/n asked their daughter Riley. 'Okay, push open the door for me.' Holding it so the duo wouldn't have to worry about the juice spilling or the loud clatter of silverware that'd sure wake Corpse up. 'Thank you.'
'Good morn' tulip.' Slowly turning over, waking up to Riley dive bombing onto his back, additional turbulence. 'Aw thanks guys.' His voice even more gravelly from sleep. Y/n hoped today wasn't a bad day in terms of Corpse's chronic illnesses. Knowing that raising a kid wasn't an easy task on top of that. Sitting down next to him, both listened as Riley rambled about her favorite show. The only other sound in the room being Corpse's cutlery.
'Is there any other surprises for today?'
'I didn't really have anything planned. Just breakfast so we could at least say we celebrated father's day. What do you want to do?' Corpse gulping down the last of his orange juice, purposely caught Riley's eye. An amused smile stretched across y/n's face, knowing where this was heading. It'd be a day in with a bunch of junk food and doing nothing but a dog pile cuddle. 'Blanket fort?'
'Blanket fort!' The two parents laughing as Riley ran out into the living room. Kissing y/n's cheek, 'Thanks for all this.' It was definitely a bad day for him, exhaustion rolling off him in waves despite being awake for at least half an hour at this point. 'Should we go see what the little gremlin's up to?' 
'Yea, I'll be there in a second.' He'd have to brace himself before getting out of bed.
'Okay, don't take too long.' Tone lighthearted, y/n and Riley would get the fort set up in the mean time. All comfy for when he finally did join them.
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enderfenderdragon · 4 days
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what do you think?
i've been thinking and watching corpse husband, sam and colby and just paranormal investigating.
what do you guys think about sam and colby having corpse husband do a video or episode with them?
just a thought
and i am aware that corpse husband has stepped away from content creation.
im not saying that i want this to happen.
im not saying im gonna do anything bad if this doesn't happen.
im just puting out my thoughts for you guys who watch corpse husband and/or sam and colby content.
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fxckingghxst · 2 years
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Last Hope pt.2
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pt.1 || pt.2
Pairing: Ghoul!Corpse Husband x Half Ghoul!GN!
reader
Genre: AU (Tokyo Ghoul!AU)
Warnings: reader blames themselves a lot of things
WC: ~2.4k
Request: A continuation for the corpse husband tokyo ghoul au pls? maybe it could be the reader getting a makeover and learning how to work at the cafe ?
A/N: okay this took me a really long time and I apologize. But I finally finished…this chapter!! I might make a few more like a mini-series sorta thing. I don’t really have a plan or anything (when do I ever) so we’ll see how it goes. Thanks again @tfstuffs for your requests and support <3 !! Hope you like it! (Also just like all my other work it has not been proofread 😊 enjoy the errors loves.)
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“You’re awake!” A cheery voice startles you as you peek your head out of the room you were in. “Sorry, sorry.” Rae apologizes to you when she sees you jump and cautiously approaches you.
“It’s fine.” You reassure her with a small smile, feeling the dryness in the back of your throat as you speak. You were still unsure about where exactly you were and who all was around, but it was nice to see a somewhat familiar face this morning. Or was it already noon?
“Would you like some coffee?” She offers to you and you nod your head quickly, making her giggle to herself. “There’s a change of clothes in the bathroom here. Feel free to wash up while I make your coffee. Just come down the stairs when you're ready.” She says to you as she walks down the stairs herself. You look to the bathroom she had pointed at and walked inside of it, turning on the light and finally getting a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. You almost turned the lights back off at what you saw. Face sunken and bruised on the right side. Bags under your dull eyes and hair still wet from the rain and blood. You touched the back of your head where you had gotten slammed into the wall and felt the dried blood over the healed wound. You turned your body away from the mirror, focusing your attention on how to turn on the water.
You reach the bottom of the stairs and pull aside the thin white cloth used as a half door and emerge into a completely different room. You weren’t sure what you were expecting this place to be; maybe just a normal house, but definitely not a cafe. A couple walks into the shop through the entrance and you hear Rae’s voice greet them as they find a table. They were humans. You took a step out into the dining room and looked around at the interior. Dark wood tables contrasted with the white walls and black trim around the windows. Shelves were placed high on the wall with plants and cute coffee-related trinkets on them. A wooden sign with the cafe’s name and decal covered the main wall that you see when you first enter. It was cozy and cute. How come you’ve never heard of this place before? Especially since it was run by ghouls.
“Over here!” A different voice calls out towards you and you shrink back as a man approaches you with a wide smile- almost menacingly- and grabs your wrist. “Sit over here while I make you some coffee.” He says as he begins to drag you towards an open stool. You pull on his hand, wanting him to let go of you, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“Over here!” A different voice calls out towards you and you shrink back as a man approaches you with a wide smile- almost menacingly- and grabs your wrist. “Sit over here while I make you some coffee.” He says as he begins to drag you towards an open stool. You pull on his hand, wanting him to let go of you, but he doesn’t seem to get the hint.
“Michael, let go of them.” A soft, higher-pitched voice scolds the man holding your wrist. A short woman appears behind the counter with a tray full of food and drinks. She gives him a pointed look through her big round glasses and Michael lets go of you. You pull your arm back towards you and cross your arms over your stomach to prevent that from happening again.
“I’m sorry, honey.”
“Don’t apologize to me.”
“I’m sorry.” He says to you and you nod as a response before he brightened up again and gestured to the stool. “Please sit. I’ll have Lily make you some coffee- she makes the best out of everyone here.” Michael whispers to you before turning around and running into another woman who just walked out of the kitchen.
“Everyone here makes good coffee…It’s just you that makes bad coffee, Michael.” A woman with brown hair and round face says to him. He mimics her voice in a high-pitched whiny tone and walks into the kitchen.
You take a seat on the stool and look around you. You felt too open here, too seen. After last night you want nothing more than to curl back up in the dark room and stay there till the doves forget about you. A pipe dream- you know that- but it sounded nice. You straightened your back and looked over your shoulder as another person walked through the entrance, ringing the bell hooked on the door. It was Corpse. Finally a face you recognized. You felt your body relax and you even mustered a smile when he noticed you sitting on the stool.
“You’re up.” He comments as he sets a bag down on the counter. You nod your head and eye the bag suspiciously.
“What’s in the bag?” You ask out of curiosity. He puts his hands in the bag and pulls out a box of hair dye in one hand and a wig in the other.
“Which would you rather do?”
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The hair on your head felt itchy. The hair dye burned your scalp and you couldn’t get used to how different you looked. They even used concealer to cover the noticeable tattoos peeking from the collar of your shirt and on your arms. You supposed this was better than the alternative; going underground for who knows how long until the heat was off of you. You looked at yourself once more in the mirror and then at the people who helped you dye your hair, Michael, Lily, and Rae.
“Thank you.” You say to them as you touch your hair. It felt dry and stringy, like a stick of hay, but you didn’t look like you and that’s all that mattered.
“Of course, y/n. A friend of Corpse is a friend of ours.” Lily says as she continues to dry off her hands with a clean towel. You smile and think back to Corpse. He saved your life that night, And he continues to save your life when he’s not even around; introducing you to amazingly kind people who are sticking their necks out for you.
“Hey! Would you be up to learning how to make the perfect cup of coffee?!” Michael says to you excitedly as he bounces from foot to foot.
“They’re tired, Michael. We should let them rest.” Lily says as she holds his shoulder to keep him from bouncing anymore.
“No, actually. I would love to learn.” You say as you smile at them in the mirror. All of them smile back and whisk you out of the bathroom and down to the cafe floor. You watched Lily first since Michael insisted that the professional should show you the ropes first. You were in awe at how easy she made this look. It took her less than two minutes to make you the perfect cup, and it was actually perfect. Great taste, perfect temperature, and very addictive. You could see yourself drinking ten of these a day. You watched Rae and Michael next and did one alongside them. Lily oversaw everything like a hawk and critiqued everything Michael did, causing you and Rae to laugh whilst Michael attempted to fix his mistakes and crumble under Lily’s intensity.
“Alright,” You set the cup down and smile, “done!” They all crowd around to look at your coffee. Lily grabs the cup and you anticipate her reaction; you may have winged it on a few of the measurements. She takes a sip and then smacks her lips dramatically as she assesses the flavor.
“Not bad, y/n.” She says with a small smile. “Still need some more practice, though.”
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You find yourself alone behind the bar, practicing the new skills you’ve learned. You’re not sure if you had caught on to everyone’s advice and tips on how to make coffee, but you were still gonna try through trial and error while everyone was working. You poured out the liquid into the cup and frowned as the color had looked wrong.
“You should try using a measuring cup to measure the beans.” A deep voice startles you and you look over your shoulder to see Corpse walking out of the back room.
“You work here all of the sudden?” You joke with him and he shrugs his shoulders as he leaned against the counter next to you, looking at your cup of coffee over his shoulder.
“I used to. A long time ago.” He reveals and you glance at him from the corner of your eye, watching as he puts his hands in his pockets.
“What made you change career paths?” You ask him as you taste test your coffee. It was more water than coffee.
“Always loved to make things- masks for sure were super interesting and cool to me. So once I got back on my feet here, I focused on making masks and designing them. When I earned enough money I was able to buy that place and work from there.” He says and you are overwhelmed with feelings of guilt. He had worked so hard to get that place and you led all the doves in the entire ward to his doorstep; putting a target on his back for who knows how long. You wondered how long it took him to get to that point? Months? Years? You didn’t want to know. Didn’t want to throw yourself down that rabbit hole.
“Well, I’d say it was a good career change. I don’t really picture you in a cute frilly apron, serving coffee and food to people.” You tease him, trying to rid the guilt from your conscience, and you smile when he snickers.
“Yeah, it was for the best. But, I did look good in that apron.” He corrects you with a knowing smile and you can’t help but laugh.
“I’d love to see that one of these days.” You comment through your laughter and he just shrugs and pushes himself off the counter.
“That day might be closer than you think.” He says as he motions for you to follow him. You do just that and he takes you back upstairs and turns left at the top of the stairs instead of right where the room you had slept in last night. He turns to face you when he reaches a door and smiles before opening it up.
“Ta-da!” He exclaims as you peek into the room. It was basically a small apartment. Bed in the left corner, TV in the right, a table in the middle of the room to eat dinner, a small kitchen to your right as you walked in, and a small bathroom to your left. It was plain and small, but it had everything someone would need to live happily. You turned around to face Corpse.
“What’s this?” You ask him, silently hoping he was just showing you a random room just because he wanted to.
“It’s a room. More specifically- your room.” He says as he walks into the room behind you, noticing your panicked expression as you begin to speak.
“You didn’t have to do this. I would've been out of your hair by the end of today.” You say while shaking your head. You were shocked by how gratuitous and kind Corpse and his friends were to you. It was overwhelming at times- especially now. You’ve never had someone stick their neck out for you like this before. It was scary. You wanted to trust them. To feel safe with them. But every instinct in you tells you to keep your guard up. To fend for yourself and get far from here.
“It’s no big deal, y/n. They have a bunch of rooms here for this exact reason. Everyone here helps ghouls who need it. Give them a place to sleep, a job, friends, a chance to rebuild.” Corpse tells you and you find it hard to look him in the eyes.
“I can’t accept this, Corpse. I really can’t. I’m sorry.” You apologize to him and go to walk past him, planning on gathering your old clothes and leaving for good. But he reaches out towards you and grabs onto your shoulder.
“Hey, I could've shut that door in your face when you came asking for help, but I didn’t. I wasn’t gonna leave you alone that night and I’m not about to let you walk out of here, now.” He says before walking around you to stand in front of you. You couldn’t say anything- you didn’t know what to say to him. “I was in your position once before. I thought about running away too. I didn’t want any handouts from people who didn’t even know me. But trusting these people was probably one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life.” He finishes and you press your lips together in a fine line, trying to sort through your thoughts.
The easiest thing to do for you was to leave. Go as far away from this ward as you can, dodging doves and authorities for as long as you can. Running for who knows how long. Sleeping with one eye open. Or you could stay here with Corpse and his interesting friends. Sleeping on a bed. Working in the cafe. Having friends. You know what you wanted to do, but you couldn’t admit it to yourself. You didn’t want to depend on these people forever. Bother them with your problems and your presence. It was bad enough what you had done to Corpse; the guilt was always present in the pit of your stomach whenever you talked with him.
“I’ll stay,” You start and Corpse’s grip on your shoulder relaxes as he sighs a breath of relief, “for a week. Then I’ll leave.” You finish your sentence and muster a small smile for Corpse’s sake. He seems to deflate but he nods his head, recognizing your decision.
“I can work with a week.”
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taglist: @tiaamberxx @tfstuffs
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misc-obeyme · 5 months
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Okay and here are the headcanons for Kinktober!
It's a pretty well known fact (I think??) that Mary Shelley had sex on her mother's grave. (This is also the Mary Shelley who wrote Frankenstein and carried her dead husband's heart around.) It just seemed like such a perfect spooky Halloween situation, I wanted to write some headcanons about it lol.
So this is MC getting it on with our characters in a graveyard on Halloween in the middle of the night. In the case of the brothers, MC just summoned them. For the dateables, some creativity was required.
I didn't do the undateables this time because I wanted to do only one post and I didn't want it to be longer than it already is lol!
Happy Halloween!
KINKTOBER 2023
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GN!MC x the demon brothers & dateables (minus Luke obvs)
NSFW MDNI
Warnings: penetration (reader receiving), oral (both reader receiving and characters receiving), fingering (reader receiving), tailfucking (uhhh do I have to say reader receiving well here it is just in case), semi-public, outdoors, mention of corpses and the like but this is mostly kinky jokes so nothing too gruesome
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Lucifer
Why have you brought him here, MC? What could you possibly want to do in a graveyard? You had better have a real good explanation for why you summoned him to a graveyard in the middle of the night. You should know that he has better things to do than go ghost hunting with you.
The minute you kiss him, he understands. There's something desperate and needy about your lips on his. Already your tongue has entangled with his and heat has risen up between you.
He has no problem with making you lose yourself in a graveyard, but are you acting like this because it's Halloween? You're seeking some kind of trick? He won't bother to ask you because his lips are too busy sucking on your neck. Your hand is in his pants, freeing his cock, already hard and leaking. He's pulling you along with him so he can brace against whatever he comes across first, hoisting you up so he can enter you.
It's really too bad that your human world friends wouldn't believe you if you told them you were railed by Lucifer behind a mausoleum in the graveyard on Halloween night. You really wanted to tell someone because those are some epic bragging rights. Instead, you kept the memory to yourself, a little thrill pulsing between your legs whenever you thought of it.
Mammon
Terrified. Why are you in a graveyard? Why is he in a graveyard? And on Halloween of all nights! You try to distract him with kisses, but he keeps pulling away and asking you if you saw a ghost.
This seems like it's not going to work. Even when he tries not to be afraid, he's definitely too afraid. You're able to make him forget some of that fear by going to your knees and putting his cock in your mouth. Now he's scared and horny.
S-seriously, MC! What’re ya doin? He’s trying to protest but he isn’t very convincing because he keeps moaning. You pause to tell him the most ghostly thing in the graveyard tonight are his moans. He gets flustered and starts to argue but you shut him up pretty quickly.
After he comes in your mouth, he wants to return the favor, but he insists you have to leave the graveyard. He won’t be able to focus when he’s scared. Once he gets you somewhere else, he pays you back by making you scream his name.
Leviathan
Woah, MC! This graveyard reminds him of the manga I Was a Lonely Florist That Got Hit By a Bus and Now I’m a Ghost Living in a Graveyard While I Try to Solve My Own Murder! There’s a medium that tries to help the ghost florist and- you’re gonna have to cut him off unless you wanna be there for hours.
The minute Levi figures out that you brought him here because you want to have sex with him, he becomes a blushing mess. What if someone came to visit their grandma and sees you? Tell him it's Halloween, nobody is going to come visit their grandma.
He won’t protest for long once you start kissing him though. In fact, he gets hard so fast you’re pretty sure he’s just as turned on by this location as you. You have him sit down on low decorative wall so you can straddle him. He does his best to bite back his moans as you ride him, his hands tight on your hips.
Don't ever remind him of that experience. It's too embarrassing! But he does lend you all fifty three volumes of the ghost florist manga. Despite his embarrassment, the two of you read them together.
Satan
At first he’s a little confused. Why would you summon him to a graveyard like this? Then you start to kiss him and he figures it out. Actually makes you stop to ask if you know about Mary Shelley. He’s impressed when he finds out that was your inspiration.
Now he’s fully into it. Can’t resist adding to the Halloween vibe by shifting into demon form. Curls his tail around your waist as he pushes you back against a tree. Cushions the back of your head with his hand as you wrap your legs around his waist.
He’s thrusting into you at a steady pace but he’s also rambling quietly in your ear. It’s all poetry about darkness and fear, adding a satisfying thrill to the sweetness of him inside you. Your moans only encourage him.
Always after that, he will randomly recite a specific line of poetry to you, one that mentions a graveyard, one that he whispered in your ear while he was fucking you against that tree. It sends a shiver down your spine every time - a spooky little secret between the two of you.
Asmodeus
He shows up looking absolutely fabulous, fully decked out in Halloween themed makeup, clothes, and accessories. He looks around in confusion before asking why you summoned him to a graveyard. The look you give him is enough to reveal all.
MC! You want to do that here? In the dirt? Next to a bunch of corpses? He appreciates your dedication to the vibe but it’s kiiiinda gross! No matter, he's not here to kink shame. As long as he doesn't get dirty.
You decided to kiss him until his lipstick is smeared all over your lips. Seeing it makes him lose his mind and it isn’t long before he’s got your back pressed up against his chest, his cock buried inside you while he smears more lipstick across your neck. He doesn't care about being quiet and moans continually in your ear.
He may have to reapply his makeup look later, but it was worth it. Anytime he wants to send you a subtle message, he wears that particular shade of lipstick.
Beelzebub
Confusion. What’s going on, MC? Why did you summon him to a graveyard? Are you in danger? He’s looking around in the dark, ready to defend you from any ghouls that might show up.
It won’t take much for him to realize what you actually want. Oh. Oh. Once he’s figured it out, he’s more than happy to take care of you right here if that’s what you want. Wastes no time boosting you up against a mausoleum wall so he can put his head between your thighs.
You end up begging him to shift to demon form just so you can hold onto his horns. You're pulling harder than usual trying to keep your noises down and you don’t want to pull out his hair. Beel doesn’t mind, but he does what you ask.
Innocently asks if this is some kind of human tradition. Go ahead and tell him it’s an ancient Halloween ritual. It isn’t like that’s too far off from the truth anyway. Every year after he asks when you want to go back to the graveyard.
Belphegor
Ha ha, MC. He may be sleepy, but that doesn’t mean he wants to hang out with the dead. Honestly thinks you summoned him to the graveyard as a prank. Offended at first but okay he has to admit that it’s kinda funny.
That is until you start kissing him. Now he’s confused. Your hand on his cock clears things up for him. He’s going to smirk and bend you over, already moving your clothes and putting his fingers inside you. He teases you for a while, bringing you close only to pull you back.
Eventually you beg to feel his cock inside you and he finally does as you ask. You have to find something to brace yourself on. Maybe it’s a nearby tree or maybe it’s a nearby tombstone. Either way, Belphie’s prepared to make your legs shake.
He’s secretly turned on by this whole scenario. Brings it up to you occasionally just to watch you blush. You sometimes dream about that night and every time you do, he can’t keep his eyes off of you the next day.
Diavolo
You can’t summon him so you have to get creative if you want to fuck this demon in a graveyard. He’ll know if you lie to him and tell him it’s a human world custom. But it’s also Diavolo’s birthday, so you tell him you’ve got a gift for him which isn’t actually a lie.
He shows up at the graveyard as you request and he’s already in demon form. He’s hoping any humans who see him will think it’s a costume. It’s Halloween after all!
There is something about seeing the demon prince standing in a graveyard in the night with his horns and his wings and his exposed chest… he catches on quite quickly to your intentions because you can't keep your hands to yourself. As expected, he laughs, finding your idea delightful. He catches your hands and kisses you. You've already freed his cock so it's only a matter of moving your clothes out of the way before he's inside you.
What a thoughtful gift you gave him this year, MC! You can't quite tell if he's teasing you because he seems so genuine. The truth is that your boldness really turned him on, so he was being honest.
Barbatos
There really is no way to get him there without just asking him to meet you. As soon as you do, he's onto you. He finds it unlikely that you would ask him to meet you in a human world graveyard on Halloween in the middle of the night unless you were up to something. But he's curious, so he portals himself there at the appointed time.
Your sweet blush gives you away. Now that he's there, looking poised in the moonlight among the tombstones, you're a little embarrassed. But you aren't going to let this opportunity pass you by. And he can already tell what you want anyway.
My, my, MC. You really are a naughty little thing, aren't you? Don't worry, he's happy to indulge you. Before you even have a chance to try seducing him, the tip of a tail is creeping beneath your clothes. Barbatos fucks you with his tail so good you're seeing stars, clinging onto him and moaning his name.
He's not satisfied with this, though. Keeps you close as he portals you back to his own room in the Devildom. He keeps you there all night and now you've got a whole new Halloween tradition.
Simeon
At first you aren't sure how to get him to the graveyard. But you tell him that there's a place in the human world you want to show him. He seems happy enough to meet you there, but he is confused about the late hour. You tell him it's relevant to what you want to show him.
When he gets there, you waste no time and cut right to the chase, kissing him and putting your hand down his pants. Simeon, to your complete surprise, responds in kind.
Oh, MC. If this is what you wanted, you should have just told him. He's moved without you realizing and you feel something hard behind you. You look up and almost laugh - you're being pressed against the base of an enormous angel statue. You're not distracted for long though because Simeon is already moving aside your clothes. He bites down a little as he enters you, making you gasp. You wondered momentarily if the dead in that graveyard experienced heaven the way you were at that moment.
He'll never tell a soul about what the two of you did, but you know when he's thinking about it. He gets a particular look on his face, a light blush and a sparkle in his eyes. You're not even surprised when it happens in one of his future novels.
Solomon
Sure, he's happy to go with you to whatever graveyard you like, even if it's the middle of the night on Halloween. He gets it. It's spooky season, after all. You don't have to trick him into it, he's ready to go wherever you suggest.
When you get there, he waits for your direction, perhaps thinking you're on the lookout for ghosts or something. Figures out what you want immediately when you start to kiss him. And now he's turned on. Takes you into a nearby mausoleum and you find yourself bent over, hands braced against the wall. He's losing himself in you and praise tumbles out of him as your moans echo through the stone room.
You're both breathing heavily as he takes care of the clean up and fixes your clothes for you. Then he grins wickedly. Would this be considered a graveyard smash, MC? You threaten him with bodily harm for saying that, but he only laughs at you.
For a while afterward, he'll start humming Monster Mash near you, just to get a reaction out of you. You get to decide if you kiss him or hit him, but either way he's pleased about it.
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flufftober | kinktober | masterlist | Thank you for reading!
taglist: @anxious-chick @t0tallycoolname @libidinous-weeb
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uhlunaro · 2 months
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BONE-CHILL
ghost!leon kennedy x gn!reader // 6.1k words
summary: Leon doesn't come back from his last mission, and you try to cope with the shadows that soon go bump in the night.
warnings: horror, brief description of gore, death, mentions of suicide, ambiguous ending
> read on ao3
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The days drone long and monotonous after your recent shift to a home-work-home-work lifestyle, bland but necessary change given… recent events. The stagnation of limbo between reality and your own morality-fearing pessimism.
If only grief were tangible—a thing you could grasp between your fingers and rip apart. Something you could take your anger out on, sink your teeth into, hold when you cry. You think sometimes about chewing your own fingers off just for the stimulation of it. Maybe the bleeding wounds could finally bless your sadness with a chance at freedom.
After his last stint overseas, Leon failed to return. Three months gone by with no contact—a blaring red siren given his penchant for frequent calls or emails or anything to sate your worry. You kept your long-term relationship under lock and key, a decision ultimately hinging upon your safety in regards to the danger of his profession, a sacrifice greater than your need to hold his hand in public. But now the lights in your home tend to flicker, and the shadows in each room feel like the vacuum of a blackhole, and the buzzing silence might one day consume the grey matter of your brain.
What a stupid idea. A curse of hindsight.
There's been no knock at the door, no unknown number calling your phone. No government official announcing his passing, no news articles—you say this as if you would even know where to look. He kept his flights abroad tight to his chest, left details to the wolves. I work for the government was all he said, as if he owed you no explanation. As if you don’t chew your nails bloody to the thought of his corpse rotting in some far-off corner of the world with no way to bring him home.
Shit, you're unsure if he is dead, but you always preferred catastrophization. Better to accept inevitables than hold out dwindling hope. He talked in length about the danger of his job, emphasized importance that nobody ever knew you existed in his life. How lonely it was—for both of you. He loved his paranoia more than he loved you, but he also knew a lot of things you didn't.
Every homecoming brought him back to you a little less whole, a little less him. A little more angry, a little more tired.
In hindsight, you can't remember the last time you saw your Leon.
The winter wind bites at your cheeks when you step through the front doors of your office, building up to a jog on the way to your car, anticipation of full-blast heat pushing you farther. The weather spares none this year, blooms ice crystals between the layers of tissue and fat and muscle within your body. Snow still clings to rooftops, ice crystals stick to overhangs and metal and ledges. Everyone is miserable, but the weather suits your mood. Empty and dead. A shell of its summer counterpart.
The coworker you closed with calls you over to wish you well, reminds you of the upcoming pizza party that possesses all the appeal of ripping out your own teeth by brute force (something you choose to keep private). Heat pours from her window and you lean down to defrost your cheeks as she complains about her husband and her kids and the fast food she has to get on the way home.
The ring on your finger settles a heavy weight inside your chest, stalling the thump of your heart. But you smile and nod and laugh when she says something you perceive as a joke, grateful that she's perfectly content to talk at you and not with you. Exhaustion wrings you dry of energy these days.
After the five minute, one-sided conversation ends, she drives off with a wave, leaving you to glance around the parking lot: a concrete shell of ice sheets and empty spaces and shadows that defy the laws of light. You turn your head toward your car at the far end. The chill of each inhale burns your lungs, makes you expel a heaving cough, and the bright, full moon shines down on you. The maker of tides, of fate, bright enough to light the remaining hundred feet to your car. Mocking in its own right. If that's even possible. Anything seems possible these days.
Home is lonely. Quiet and dark and solemn when you step through the front door. The air stagnates, fills your inner ear with a dizzying static, a chill that bleeds through your coat. Frost smears across each window you pass to turn on lights and adjust the thermostat, and—
Wait. You shouldn’t be seeing the glass of the windows. You keep the curtains drawn to protect your privacy. Such an odd little detail that tightens your shoulders until you remember that, no, I opened the living room curtains this morning to look out at the snow. Just forgot to close them. Maybe that's what happened with the others.
And maybe it's the loneliness, or the darkness that permeates every corner of this place, but you stay on edge the rest of the night. A simple, odd detail, but you swear by routines, and leaving the curtains open is not one of them.
But you've been stressed lately, left on autopilot. You unlocked the front door to get inside and nothing else appeared tampered with.
Still. Your gut shifts and gnarls, alerting you to other, less realistic explanations.
Ultimately, you blame a bit of forgetfulness. Home is impossibly colder without Leon here. You miss him until you can't anymore and then you miss him again. It's natural to be a bit out of it.
At work, your coworkers sniff out a problem, express their concern, implore you to think about yourself before pulling another double shift, but home is not home anymore, and you prefer exhausting yourself so extensively that you barely make it to the couch every night. A better alternative to staring at the cold, empty side of your bed.
You hadn't seen Leon smile in ten years. Really, truly smile: all teeth and full cheeks and a scrunched nose. But you dream of it. A younger version of him you recall only through pictures at the bottom of a shoe box. But here, amidst the wispy fractals of sleep, he smiles. Says you worry too much, that he's fine, that he's here.
You wake the next morning with tears wetting the pillow. An emptiness claws, taints, scars the tissue of your lungs. Each breath feels like rotting.
After readying for work, you dig out the shoe box and look through each photo. Some of them are bent, torn at the edges, yellowed on the back. All of them marked with the year, most accompanied by a short sentence for commentary. At the bottom of the pile, you find the one that started the search. Taken two years after his military training, the first time you had seen him since he left for Raccoon City. He came back changed, a lot less himself, but still. He smiled for you.
You leave the box open and the pictures scattered all over the floor after rushing to leave for work, and when you arrive back home, the pictures are put away. The box tucked back into the closet. You dig through the contents, now a mess of scattered images, a haunting in and of itself. The smiling picture of Leon nowhere to be found.
It’s the first time dread overtakes you.
Your method of rationalization goes as follows: I've been stressed from work, had to rush, forgot I put the box back up. A justifiable, realistic explanation. No signs of break-in, no other tampering. Just the messy intestines of the box and the missing photo. Your coworkers were right. Gotta take it easy.
But the incidents continue.
A few days later, you startle awake to the pitch-black darkness of the living room, curled up on the couch. The television is off, everything lay quiet. A cold sweat sticks your shirt to your back, sharp spikes of fear lingering in the pit of your stomach. Your breathing stutters, leaves your mouth in loud huffs.
You can't move. You try to sit up, to curl in on yourself, to adjust the blanket, but your body refuses to comply. Can't even twitch a finger. You hold your breath, close your eyes—please snap out of it please help me please—and that's when you hear it.
Something hovers just over the back of the couch, a presence suffocating, almost tangible in the air, like sulfur in the back of your throat. The sound of its breathing strikes you as unmistakably human. Fear-filled, panic-induced huffs.
Your heart might actively give out, might break a rib with its hummingbird beat against your chest. But your eyes never open. This is a bad dream. Sleep paralysis. A fucking nightmare.
Something frigid—a finger, has to be, oh god—touches you at the elbow, trails a path up your arm, back and forth and back and forth. Your eyes clench tighter, breath mirroring the thing's: a sharp panic, acidic on your tongue, each muscle squirming against your brain's inaction.
After a moment, the longest moment of your life, either a half-second or three hours, the thing pulls away. The huffing stops. Your thumb twitches, then your wrist moves, then your head twists deeper into the pillow.
You never understood the phrase ‘frozen from fear’ until now, and although your body is your own again, you can't bring yourself to move off the couch. You want to run to the bathroom and switch on the light and lock the door and curl up inside the shower. But you can't. Can't settle the worry that the thing still watches you, remains at the back of the couch just waiting for overwhelming curiosity to turn your head.
You lay there for an unknown amount of time, until sunlight bleeds through the curtains and triumphs over darkness. You've always felt safer during the daytime.
Sleep paralysis used to feature prominently in your life a few years back. Always catalyzed by stress, worse when laying in bed. But it seems the past has followed you to this couch and brought some demons along with it. Nowhere is safe now.
Leon always knew what to do. Always shook you out of it, talked you through it, blotted out the visions with his voice and his face and his touch. And you wish—
(you call your friend in tears, inconsolable as you recount the events of the past few months)
—god, you wish he was here.
You pack a bag for the next few days after an internally waged war about rock bottom and how far you can reasonably cope like this. Your friend offers a way out, a vacation stay for however long you need.
You leave that night.
Truly, the hallucination didn't scare you. In the moment, yes, of course, but you knew the cause. Sitting with the aftermath alone, in the cold, dark, silence, unsure of the trust you place in yourself? Questioning your own brain? That broke something within you.
Maybe the events leading up to the incident didn't help, either. The curtains then the picture that you failed to find and all the grief and worry added to such an oppressive bout of fear that you had no choice but to flee.
You don't tell your friend that, though. Instead, you twist the truth to recount a more rational version of events: haven't been sleeping well, grieving, misplacing objects, memory loss, sleep paralysis. You can't tell them that a war wages on inside you between earthly realm and ether. That you might be going insane.
By Wednesday, you sit on the same couch that chased you away, bag dropped at your feet, holding the lost picture of Leon in your hands. Found on the coffee table upon your return. His smile taunts you in a way indescribable to your brain. He would know what do, make you feel better, but where is he now to banish the darkness from this house?
You shove the picture into one of your drawers beneath a wrinkled mess of clothing. That isn't how you remember him anyway.
The next morning, you shower with invisible eyes watching, a gaze that soaks you in hot oil, that no amount of scrubbing relieves. Five separate times you peek out from behind the shower curtain and prepare to meet the gaze of… something. The subject of your fear doesn’t matter. You still wish to crawl inside your skin and curl up at the bottom of the tub.
When you step out, the familiar smell of Leon's cologne freezes you in place. Your hand remains outstretched toward the towel folded up on the toilet. The bottle sits on the sink, untouched, but you smell it. You smell it. Hints of musk and sandalwood, and against your better judgement, you inhale deep and home feels like home again.
If only for a moment.
When you spray a spritz or two, it's a reclamation of your space. A decision made with intent. You spray another on your chest for good measure (not at all because you wish for his smell to follow you around the house).
The chill of the kitchen floor helps calm your heartbeat. You flipped every light in the house on, but the curtains refuse to stay closed. A direct portal to the outside world and the darkness that threatens to overtake your haven, but you’re too afraid to close them, to look at your own reflection (and what might stare back).
Things escalate shortly thereafter.
You arrive home a bit clumsy on your feet, fresh out of the bar after a drunken evening with your friends. Can't remember the last time you had so much fun, allowed yourself to forget about the shadows haunting your home.
Dread settles like a lead weight in your stomach, a common sensation nowadays made worse by the alcohol. Eyes always watching, a presence lingering just out of the sight. The whole house feels cursed.
But you shake it off. You've had your best day in months. Can't let the cage of the walls collapse in on you.
You remove your shoes, drop your belongings on the table beside the door. Start to sing the song that played in your friend's car before you pause, hair rising on the back of your neck.
Even through the darkness, the poor adjustment of your vision, you recognize the silhouette sitting on your couch. The strands of hair, dark blond offset against the color of blue-tinged shadows. You should run to him, ask where the fuck he's been, but something keeps you locked in place, swaying on drunken feet.
It's Leon but it isn't. You know it, your brain knows it, your gut knows it, your heart knows it. You accepted his death long before this moment. Knew down to your bone marrow that he was gone for good.
And now something wears his skin.
The figure doesn't move, and you glance back toward the light switch. Just a few feet away, close enough that if you really stretch, you could reach it. You look at the couch to find the silhouette still sitting there.
You take a step and the floorboard creaks just as a finger finds the protrusion of the switch. Behind you, the couch groans.
You shouldn't look back. You shouldn't look back. A bad fucking idea—one of your worst—but blood-curdling curiosity leaves you turning your head.
Staring at you over the cushion are two shadow-logged pits where his eyes should be, the suggestion of his hair blotted out and cloudy. Too dark to make anything else out, but that same feeling from the shower soaks you in a bucket of cold water.
You can't move. You need to, should grab your keys and bolt out the door, but the communication between your brain and feet misfires. You hold your breath.
“Please don't,” the thing says, so quiet and pitiful and hoarse that you almost listen. Still, you flinch at the sound, the familiar words. The whisper goes off like a gunshot.
Something eats at you, deep down inside your belly, that this thing doesn't wish to hurt you. Let it in. Let it stay here. Let it warm your bed.
The thing stole Leon's voice.
You flip on the light switch and the thing disappears.
Over the coming days, you consider the possibility of a psychotic break. What hallucinations entail. How deep the paranoia punctures. What is real and what is a byproduct of your degrading mind.
You shower with the curtain open. You safety pin the window curtains together. One day, you spend three hours deciding which lights are necessary to keep the darkness at bay, and you never turn them off. You stop drinking. You park closer to the front doors at work.
Sometimes you cry in the car on your way home.
And still yet, the thing reappears. Your safety pins sit in a neat little pile on the kitchen table. You find blown bulbs after spending too long away. A bottle of brandy and a glass wait for you beside the sink.
After spotting a splotch of blond hair in the fogged-up bathroom mirror, you cover it with a sheet only to find that same sheet folded neatly on the end of your bed the next morning.
After your late shift, you spot a figure occupying the passenger seat of your car. Pinpricks of ocean blue in the rear-view mirror. You drop your keys one morning underneath your car and they skid back across the pavement before you can crouch down to fish for them (you were fifteen minutes late for work that day).
You don't get it. Can't understand why you're haunted by the memory of your dead love, why the grief manifests only to terrify you.
The days are lonely and the nights are horrifying. Even if you could tell somebody, what would you say? ‘Listen, I know this sounds unbelievable, but something is wearing my dead husband's skin. I can't sleep or eat or think straight anymore. I need help.’ That is a one-way trip to a mental hospital—the last thing you need right now. Nobody would believe you, and you can't even blame them. Can't trust your own senses these days.
You use your lunch breaks at work to nap. At your most exhausted, you consider sleeping under the desk until your morning shift. You consider couch surfing for the unforeseeable future, or sleeping on a friend's porch in the middle of winter.
But you think in inevitables. Going home happens to be one of them.
Winter turns to spring, bringing longer days and balmy weather and the occasional thunderstorm. The incidents go on and on, but they don't escalate.
After a week-long stint with the same friend as before, you return home bright and early on Sunday. The curtains in the living room are drawn shut, but you never shut them. You know that for certain. Stopped fussing over it after the tenth time you walked into the room to find them open again.
On the kitchen table sits the photo of Leon. Smiling, arm curled around you, eyes crinkled at the corners. You pull out a chair and sit down, and you think you want to die.
A fleeting yet comforting proposal. An end to everything, a perpetual nothingness. Maybe your souls would find each other in the aftermath, between the empty space of atoms.
You miss him.
Whatever lurks beyond the realm of possibility that resides within your home views this picture as important. It wants you to look. To remember.
You grab a photo album from the side table in the living room and switch out the picture (already a shot of you two) with the Smiling Leon.
“Okay,” you say, setting the frame on the kitchen table. “I'm leaving the picture out, so just…” A gnawing part of you knows this crosses some sort of line. Never interact with the scary thing haunting you, “move it wherever you want, I guess.”
You haven't yet tried appeasing the thing, communicating with it. Maybe it's lonely, same as you. Maybe it needs a friend, stuck in your apartment twenty four hours a day. Maybe that's why it watches you, likens your presence to a hamster on a wheel, a bird in a tree, a zoo animal. Entertainment.
Maybe you do need to go to a fucking hospital.
The picture frame turns into a little game. You wake each morning and come home each evening to find it moved, and spend the next few minutes searching for it. You find it under your bed, beneath a pillow, on the sink in the bathroom, between the couch cushions, in one of the closets.
The more you think about it, the deeper unease roots into your stomach. A ghost with free reign of your house, tangible proof of its existence. It journeys around your bed when you sleep, at your most vulnerable—the most horrifying thought of all.
You could capture the activity, but your ghost seems too smart for that. It watches you sleep and shower and watch television. Surely it would watch you set video cameras up. As if you have the money for them anyway.
Unfortunately, your plan backfires. The ghost grows more active at night. Footsteps echo from the kitchen, you wake to find furniture moved, it hides your keys. One morning your front door sticks while you already run late for work, as if a body leans against the wood.
As if the ghost doesn't want you to leave.
You're forced to squeeze yourself through the living room window, a prickly bush breaking your fall. When you get to work, a coworker plucks a leaf from your hair, asks about what activities you got up to this morning with a jesting laugh.
Nothing much. Just that the ghost haunting my house tried to hold me hostage.
It's an isolated incident, and you scold the ghost after you get home with all the intensity of an owner housebreaking a puppy. Ridiculous, all things considered, and you take the rest of the evening to reflect on how the fuck things got to this point. If you're in denial about your own mental state and you truly do converse with thin air or move things around without remembering. Maybe this is all one big scheme conjured up by a fractured mind to cope with the loss of your husband.
You aren't sure when the footsteps in your kitchen went from horrifying to comforting.
But even that changes.
You fall asleep on the couch during a rerun of some eighties movie you've seen half a dozen times. The dreams are vivid, fleeting, fragmented in execution. A loud, ragged death rattle wakes you, the water-logged image of a man with an unhinged jaw and a concave skull imprinted on your retinas when you open your eyes.
An infomercial for a cookware product plays on the television, and the air stagnates thick and buzzing, as if the house itself holds its breath.
You sit up to leave for the bathroom but a sudden cold blankets you in hesitation, turns your muscles sluggish and weary. It's so late and you're so tired, and maybe you don't have to pee that bad.
But you get up and pass by the kitchen and turn the corner into the hallway.
You don't believe it at first. Blink your eyes, dig the heel of your palms into the sockets, and yet. A figure remains stood in the doorway of your bedroom at the far end of the hall. A shroud of darkness outlined by the pitiful bloom of light from your bedside lamp.
This is not a thing, but a man. Flesh and blood. As real as yourself. If you look close enough, his lungs expand with breath. Blond hair catches on the light.
Fear collapses your legs, and you land hard against the wall. The thing—a man, a man, a man—takes a step toward you, swallowed up by blackhole shadow, and you pitch backward, hands dragging you toward the kitchen. Toward the sight-breaking safety of the island and the corner you know well.
This isn't like the other times. You were fine, okay, content when your ghost appeared as nothing more than a figment, a blink-away darkness from the corner of your eye. Present only in the aftermath of its hijinks. This thing is real, tangible.
You curl into yourself on the floor, shrinking toward your knees as heavy, stilted footsteps grow closer. Thumpthump… thump, thump… thump…. thump….
From your spot in the kitchen, you look toward the front door. Both locks are turned. The man is not an intruder in the literal sense, but that makes your predicament worse somehow.
You can't fight a ghost.
The footsteps stop somewhere in the living room, and your body shakes so hard the cabinets at your back threaten to creak. You bite the hem of your shirt to quiet ragged breathing.
A bloated silence drags on, and on, and on. Like that night on the couch, you fear moving, making noise, breathing too hard. You're sure the beat of your heart is audible, trapped in your ears, lightheaded as it makes you.
But you have to move. Gotta get to your phone on the coffee table, run outside, call a friend to help you pack your shit tonight because you're done. Fuck this house.
You glance around your corner of the island to find the path clear. A relieved breath chokes from your lungs. You shuffle toward the other, peek your head around the edge, and—
“Please don't,” the thing croaks, crouched down on the other side of the island, blue eyes wide and piercing as its head tilts to stare at you.
A phrase said once before, the first time it revealed itself.
Those eyes bore a hole into your chest, through bone and muscle and flesh already swallowed up by the rot of grief. If you compared a picture of the eyes you remember and the eyes you witness now, they would undoubtedly shine the same shade.
A wailing sob rises up in your throat, chokes off wet and reedy at the base of your tongue. Your chest squeezes tight with each inhale, halting the relief of a full breath.
It—he—moves back behind the island, and after a long moment, heavy, arrhythmic footsteps fade into the hallway where you found him.
You hide the rest of the night in the bathroom, sobbing so hard you cough then gag then vomit into the toilet. You shake and shake and shake, teeth suffering such a fierce chatter they risk cracking and breaking off.
Throughout the night, something knocks on the door in slow, regular intervals. You wonder for a moment what might happen should you answer, what manner of horror you would face, but your hindbrain forbids you from finding out. The noise stretches on for hours, until you finally use his words against him—please don't!—and the house falls into a solemn silence.
Only when hunger claws at your stomach do you emerge from the sanctuary of porcelain and tile, your home swaddled in shadow and melancholy, though the morning sun attempts to shine through the curtains. The lamp from your bedroom reflects off the glossy sheen of scattered pictures on the floor before your nightstand.
You hesitate to cross the threshold into the hallway, unsure of what lurks behind each corner, as if the four walls of the bathroom ensure protection. But you spot the open door of the bedroom closet, and the tipped-over box of pictures now empty.
Against every working cell in your brain screaming for you to run, you creep down the hallway. A shiver racks your spine, gooseflesh rising on your arms as you near the open door. It's cold here, impossibly so. Like someone bottled up a snowstorm and shook it loose within this place.
You step into the room and turn on the ceiling light, the mess of pictures coming into clear view. No harm has come to them, but they look as if someone violently slung the box. A few scatter across the bed, a few landed inside the closet.
The picture frame sits on his pillow.
Your ghost's breaking point, it seems. No coincidence that the picture scattered around all feature him in some form or another. He’s telling you something.
He's—
You really, really, really didn't want to believe it. You didn't. Fought this conclusion since the activity started because acknowledging the possibility means confronting your worst fear.
But it's not—
It is a he.
He is not a mimic.
He is Leon.
Your ghost is Leon. Has been this whole time. Which means—
Fuck. Fuck. You knew. You knew this whole time that something was wrong, that he died when the calls stopped.
And he tried to tell you. He showed you the picture you loved so much. He kept the curtains open so you could look outside at the snow like you did every winter. You smelled him. He tried to comfort you on the couch (god, you felt him). He didn't want you to leave.
You blink, and the image of his eyes peering from behind the island sears into the darkness of your vision.
Please don't—
be scared.
You sink to the floor, thoughts a scrambled, incoherent mess, and busy yourself with putting the pictures back in the box. All your tears ran out last night. The numbness pulls you down, suffocates you, cloys and thickens in the space between your organs. It's better this way, you think. Easier to find an explanation without emotion clouding your judgement.
But you know better. You know better.
“I get it now. It's you, isn't it?” You take a seat on the edge of your bed and the bed dips on the opposite side, facing the window. Perhaps he doesn't wish to scare you again. “Leon, I—” your voice breaks, shatters like the glass inside your picture frame, “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
Saying his name carves resignation into your chest, right where all the love resides. That chamber of your heart is bloated, fit to bursting, stretching apart each woven sinew. It hurts. Everything does.
Maybe that's why, despite every atom in your being yelling for you to flee this place and never look back, you stay. Something broke inside you a long time ago, and you lost the energy to piece yourself back together. Leon's still here, still with you just as he promised in your dream. You'd be crazy to leave now.
As an effect of your loyalty, he appears to you more often. The first few times startle you: you wake one morning to find him stood just outside the doorway of your bedroom, where light fails to reach; he rides home with you in the backseat after a long shift at work, face turned to gaze out the window; he paces back and forth around the island as you lay on the couch watching a movie, footsteps ever off-rhythm.
But he never allows the light to touch him, finds safety in the brooding maw of darkness. And you leave the lights off to encourage his presence, to catch glimpses of his eyes peering from closets, around corners. A mess of pretty hair in the mirror.
You open the living room curtains for the first time in months and see him standing over your shoulder in the reflection. The thing that stares back at you.
You talk to him daily. Fill him in on work, share the latest gossip around the office. Warn him of long shifts or nights out with friends. Ask him about what movie to watch, or what you should cook for dinner (one knock for yes, two for no).
It's crazy. You're self-aware enough to recognize this. Keeping one-sided conversations with a dead man is no doubt categorized as a blaring-red-flag symptom in the DSM. You just don't care.
The first time you touch him is when real transitions from metaphorical to earthly.
You wake from a nap to find nighttime in its infancy, fresh after sunset. Your ears buzz, alerting you to a nearby presence, and you glance around to find him (a new game of his that you fail to see the humor in). He stands before the window, facing away from you, following each car that passes by.
You greet him with a quiet, “Hey,” and his head tilts toward the sound of your voice.
He rarely speaks, but you don't mind. The familiarity of his presence comforts you enough. You would prefer the alive Leon, always, but you cling to him any way you can. Can't let him go when you just got him back.
“Is this what you do when I'm gone all day?” you ask, sitting up with a slow creak of the couch. “Maybe I should leave the TV on, or buy a radio. That's gotta be boring.”
He knocks twice on the window (”no”) and a laugh bubbles up in your throat. When your lips spread into a smile, the muscles almost ache from disuse. Can't remember the last time you truly experienced happiness, but this is as close as you're going to get.
You approach him from behind, the need to feel him, skin-to-skin, so overwhelming you almost choke on it. Fingers brush against the back of his hand, relaxed at his side, and you swallow down a gasp at the chill that consumes each point of contact. Frostbite, gangrene, the preservation of a fresh corpse buried beneath snow. So cold your nerves ache, threaten permanent damage, but his skin remains soft as you remember. Callouses scar his palms (you remember the way they held you, caressed you, the thickness of his fingers). But you'll never experience those things again.
The realization ruins your sunny mood like a grounding thunderclap.
“What happened to you?”
Still, he doesn't respond, and you slot your fingers between his. It's easy to pretend like this. He's just come back from an overseas trip, extremities still thawing out after all the cold he suffered through.
Easier still to pretend when your eyes are closed.
Over the next few days, you weigh your… options. The price of mortality. What living truly means to you. If chasing his ghost around would be worth it in the end.
“Are you staying behind for me?” you ask one night to the shadow sitting at the end of the bed. His weight dips the mattress, wrinkles the bedding, reminds you that he's no longer a figment of your imagination or a result of grief-triggered psychosis.
He remains silent.
“I mean… say I died for whatever reason. Would you come with me?”
He remains silent. The outline of his figure curls in on itself.
“Is there even anything after this? Somewhere else to go?”
He remains silent. You grow restless, agitated. Shoot up in bed at the sound of his sigh.
“Why won’t you talk to me?”
The silence burrows holes into your skull, gaping and deep. He turns his head, a pretty, piercing eye staring over his shoulder.
“Don't.” He hisses out the word like it burns acidic on his tongue. As if he knows the goal behind your questions, the contemplations that keep you awake far outside your normal schedule.
“I—” you swallow thick, throat clicking as a warning buzz charges the air, “I wasn't.”
“Don't.”
Don't—
even think about it.
“I wasn't, Leon. I swear.”
As if he would let you go through with it anyway.
257 notes · View notes
delcakoo · 1 year
Text
enha when you’re on your period * ❁ཻུ۪۪♡
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requested by kuma <3 (i lost the ask woops)
❃ PAIRING ! enhypen x gn!reader
❃ GENRE ! cavity inducing fluff n’ some comedy
❃ WC ! 3.7k
❃ WARNINGS ! blood n’ periods ofc
a/n: for my lovely kuma who can’t read this until she’s back from her trip :( thank you for this adorable request and please enjoy all my period havers out there, ilysm we’re so strong!!
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// LEE HEESEUNG !
bro is more prepared than you with the calendar app n’ everything
you’ll be on the couch minding your business
and he’ll just pop out of nowhere like, “babe, i just got a notification your period starts this week, do we have everything?”
first of all mr lee
why does he know this before you do
you’re not the uterus haver
second
aw. he is so cute :(
the only thing heeseung likes about this time of the month is that you start to get extra clingy
it makes him feel so special n’ loved <3
he’d be playing league like a nerd, also making sure to stay quiet since you’re napping only a few feet over on his bed
well at least, you were
all of a sudden he hears your whiny mumbling from behind him before you throw yourself onto his lap
mans is just smiling like an idiot, lifting his arms around your waist as you cling to him like a koala with your chin resting on his shoulder
“g’morning love, how’s your tummy?” he lazily kisses your head, eyes still glued to his laptop
“s’not morning,” you grumble, “i’m still sleepy.”
luckily, heeseung is very good at reading your random mood changes
he can tell whenever you’re getting grumpy and needy instantly
so with that he quickly abandons his screen, ignoring the fact he’d definitely get an ingame penalty for it
“okay, let’s go lay down then, yeah?”
the rest of the day consists of you and hee cuddling and watching every shitty movie you could find on netflix (there’s a lot of those) <3
there’s been a few times where you’ve sent your boyfriend on pad buying expeditions
and surprisingly, he seems to have done his research, bringing back just what you asked for every time despite the intimidating amounts of numbers and brands he had to scan through
“okay, so i got this one for when it’s heavier,” he says, pulling all sorts of boxes out of his grocery bag, “then these are just liners i thought would be good, then i got..”
okay, maybe he was a bit too excited and went overboard BUT
you were so proud of him!!
and very grateful, remember to give him lots of love as a thank you <3
one time he even got you a cute plushie that gave off heat when you clicked it’s stomach
you use it to this day :)
“this will make do for when i’m not here to kiss your cramps away,” he had giggled, presenting the bear to you proudly
all in all, just very casual and loving gamer boyfriend!!
but maybe don’t tell him you love his gamer side too much or else he will 100% try and convert you into a league player (gags)
// PARK JAY !
it’s been said a million times but it’s just the truth
husband material
absolutely ready. no matter if you’re two weeks early or two weeks late
he’s at your service
though when you first started dating he didn’t have any experience with periods at all
so the first few times it started he was a little
oblivious
“babe, you look like a corpse with that posture, c’mon let’s go out and do something,” he said teasingly
the speed in which your neck snapped towards him..
bro was scared for his life
you feel your eye twitch
“yah, which one of us has blood coming out of their uterus and cramps digging into their stomach?” you bark
he just 🧍🚶🏃💨
the next thing you know, your boyfriend has come back with takeout from your favorite restaurant as an apology, along with another bag full of snacks and candies
of course you reach for the snack bag first
only for it to be snatched away from you :(
“uh uh, dinner first babe.”
you feel like a scolded child as jay spoon feeds you every single bite
“but i’m full,” you whine, watching your boyfriend bring another scoop to your lips
“just one more for me, baby.”
you’d oblige, only for him to start getting another spoonful ready
“if it was my homemade cooking, you would’ve eaten more,” he’d brag to mostly himself
you let him believe what he wants 😒
(it’s true)
jay also keeps track of your supplies in the bathroom
as soon as you started dating this rich mf, not once have you ever paid for any pads or tampons again
if he notices something is getting low in your drawer, a whole new box of it will magically appear the next day
however
sometimes he does go a little overboard
“babe, you know i don’t need the same pads in all these different brands, right? it’s the same thing,”you giggle, observing your almost overflowing drawer of menstrual supplies.
he’d pout in defense, “yeah but this one had these cute animals on it, i thought you’d like it. and this one said it’s extra, exTRA absorbent or something.”
you snort, “what? they should all be absorbent, that’s the whole point, love.”
listen he’s trying
but but, give him some credit! this man catches on quick
soon he will demand you to let him know whenever your period starts so he can come over n’ happily take care of you
get ready to have 5 star meals for breakfast lunch n’ dinner, your chef boyfriend is on the job 👊👊💥💥
// SIM JAKE !
HE'S ON A MISSION
soon you will completely forget about the pounding stabs in your stomach! 🤬
jake just wants to see you smile n’ laugh like you always do around him
but when it’s well,
bloodfall week
he doesn’t get to see your pretty smile very often :(
so he’ll do anything he can to distract you and cheer you up!!
and by anything he means anything
literally you could ask him for a mini concert
and he’d be like “okay, let’s go! what song first?”
only moments ago you were sitting on the couch, contemplating life with a heating pad pressed to your stomach
but now you’re too busy watching your boyfriend dance to blessed cursed with music so loud even the neighbours can listen in to
cramps??? who’s that?
now you only know jake singing polaroid love to you in your living room :)
shit, he’ll even dance to billy poco just for you despite the pounding urge to plug his ears everytime the annoying melody turns on
anything’s worth hearing your laugh <3
so the first time you requested jake to pick up some sanitary napkins for you he was strangely.. enthusiastic
it’d go something like this:
you - 3:21: babe
you - 3:21: *1 attachment* if ur free can u pick up some more of these for me?
jakey <3 - 3:22: omg
you - 3:22: ???
jakey <3 - 3:22: sorry love, i’m just excited 😊 i’ll be there in 15 😘
you’re the definition of 😟🤨
what on earth is this man planning
pads are not that exciting in your opinion
and like usual you were right to be worried
bro shows up at your house with a whole care package and a pink ribbon n’ everything
“there is no way you made that,” you gasp, standing with crossed arms in the doorway to your apartment
he snickers, walking in and placing the gift bag on your counter
“okay, i did get some help from an employee at the store. she recommended to me a bunch of stuff you’d probably want,” he announces proudly.
you sigh in disbelief (even though you were secretly really thankful and wanted to give him a big kiss), “baby, i’m not dying. i just needed pads.”
“yeah but i wanted to make you feel better! periods don’t sound very.. pleasant.”
you snort
well, he wasn’t wrong
inside his little basket of goodies was basically everything you could ever need during the week
along with the pads you’d asked for there was a tub of ice cream, chocolates, a teddy bear, and a brand new heating pad
aaand best boyfriend award goes to sim jaehyun 😞😞
// PARK SUNGHOON
lord.. i’m so sorry for you dear
he’s so confident. for no good reason
you ask him to get some pads and he’s like YEAHH, ITS MY TIME TO SHINE
so you offer to show him a picture as reference, and he really goes “i don’t need some stupid picture babe. i knOw what i’m doing.”
then off he goes
waddling through your front door with a dumb, smug smirk on his face
you sigh, an anxious feeling stirring in your stomach
you’re just sat on your couch, thinking of all the things that he could do wrong
and just like that, your phone begins violently ringing only ten minutes later
“hoon?” you question with furrowed brows, holding the phone to your ear
he doesn’t greet you back, his stressed voice blasting through your eardrums, “since when did these things have wiNGs? why are they flying and why are there numbers everywhere?! this one says it’s 100% absorbent, but this one says it absorbs 10x it’s weight, what the fuck is better??”
you can’t help but let out a cackle
it’s so easy to imagine him just. 🧍 in the middle of the menstrual aisle
“okay calm down love, do you want the reference picture?”
his ego says no, absolutely not!
but sadly, if he wants to survive this mission, he has to admit to being clueless, sighing a reluctant yeah.. through the phone
so you rush over to your bathroom, still giggling through the phone
“babe, this isn’t funny,” sunghoon mutters, “all these middle aged women are staring at me, and they don’t look impressed.”
you just laugh harder, “well, i don’t know what you expected mr. period expert, i thought it was ‘your time to shine’?”
he just groans in embarrassment
to say the least, he learned his lesson
but now he’s absolutely prepared
in his notes app, he has a locked folder called “y/n grumpy week reminders”
you were extrEmely offended when you found out about it
you’re not thaaat grumpy on your period…
ok maybe a bit but still :(
you quickly forgave him for the name when he actually allowed you to go through the folder
bro has typed down everything like literally EVERYTHING
your favourite snacks had a pretty big section including your top three ice cream flavors, chip brands n’ candies
and of course in big bold letters he had the exact pads/tampons you used
he did not need a repeat of the first time 😕
sunghoon knows very well how bad your cramps can get, especially at night
so when you guys get ready to sleep, he purposely turns you around so he can throw an arm over your waist and rub comforting circles on your stomach until you fall asleep <3
it makes him feel like he’s really doing a good job taking care of you, which he is!!
but don’t tell him this or his ego will skyrocket. it’s already high up enough 😕
// KIM SUNOO !
having an older sister, sunoo isn’t really phased when your period comes, he’s fully prepared and used to it
it does make him pretty upset seeing you in pain though, and the fact that he can’t do much about it makes him sadder
so he resorts to doing little things with you in an attempt to cheer you up!!
you’ll just be curled up in bed with your boyfriend
when all of a sudden he ruins the peaceful atmosphere by jumping out and running over to the bathroom >:(
instantly you let out a whiny grunt, searching desperately for his warmth once again
“sun, what’re you doing?” you complain
he suddenly prances back in with a pile of random shit in his arms, smiling cheerfully
“i brought face masks! and there’s some other face products i wanna try out, then i wanna paint your nails!”
what were you expecting dating the skin care king
at first you were a bit unsure since well, with your cramps you just wanted to curl into a ball and sleep
but after some more convincing
you realised the fun distraction was helping much more than trying to sleep
an hour went by with you and your boyfriend taking pictures and laughing at each other in bright green face masks
the selfies you took were chefs kiss as usual, queue the new matching instagram pfps <3
then while you waited for the masks to dry, you painted each others nails purple and blue (yes, you convinced sunoo to have matching nails with you 🫶)
by the end of the night you’ve almost completely forgotten about the cramps digging into you ✊
whenever you ask sunoo to buy you menstrual supplies he’s just the biggest sweetheart
the most enthusiastic “sure!!” you can imagine paired with that pure smile of his 💔
mr perfect is also the most educated out of all of them
“wings or no wings? should i get multiple sizes? also, i’ll get some underwear liners too just in case~”
he’s not embarrassed at all with his basket full of items for you, when ladies stare at him in the store he just offers a smile n’ waves 😭
and and, right after leaving the store he’ll go to your favorite ice cream place and bring you back a whole sundae of your choice!!
10/10 sunshine boyfriend. highly recommend
// YANG JUNGWON !
ultimate caregiver
won hates being mushy okay
but period week is a whole different conversation
if you tell him you’re having cramps he WILL appear at your door five minutes later with open arms
he’ll give you a greeting smooch before tackling you to the couch like a real cat
his favourite thing to do is make you sit in his lap n’ reach his hand around your waist to gently massage your tummy
every once in a while the peaceful silence is interrupted with a quick ‘love you’ right in your ear along with a peck
those moments are really healing for him y’know
as the leader he’s pretty much constantly stressed and busy but when he can just sit down with you and. breath
it makes him so happy even though he hates the fact you’re hurting :(
throughout the day he’ll always be checking on you
“want me to reheat this?” he inquires, gesturing to the heating pad on your stomach
“jagi, let me give you a massage.”
“should i run you a bath? i can add some bubbles!”
wonnie also has a sister, so he’s a bit more experienced than the other members
he claimed that he was an expert on getting pads/tampons because his sister would always force him to get some whenever he went out
so you put some faith in the boy and sent him a picture of what you need
but but HE WANTS TO BE 100% SURE so when he gets to the store he’ll literally put you on facetime with speaker and everything
“okay got it, and should i get the ones with wings? okay, and how about these underwear liners, they’re on sale?”
like he does not care at ALL even if the other pedestrians are all 👁👄👁 at the sound of your casual pad conversation in the middle of the store
all he cares about is you and getting everything right, very efficient boy
one time you were sleeping over with him at the dorm and well
mother nature decided to surprise you <3
the millisecond you woke up you knew something was wrong
yeah
the red waterfall had fallen a few days earlier than anticipated
meanwhile your boyfriend was in dreamland mere centimetres away from you
“shit, shit, shit,” you murmured, carefully looking under the covers to see a giant patch of red right on your sleeping shorts and jungwon’s bedsheet
to say you were freaking out pretty bad would be an understatement
would if he’s grossed out?? will he be disgusted?
with the softest movements possible, you do your best to creep out of bed without awakening the boy next to you
but jungwon, being the light sleeper he is woke up to the mere sound of the blankets ruffling
“jagi?” he rasps, rubbing his eyes
your head whips around, looking down at your bloodstained shorts, “close your eyes!”
it was too late, you cringed as you witness jungwon’s eyes widen, quickly sitting up
“what- your shorts- are you okay?”
you quickly cover the patch of red, “i’m so sorry won, i didn’t know it would be starting, i swear-”
he interrupts with a shake of his head, “jagi, it’s totally natural, don’t apologise,” he states, already hopping out of bed to pull his bedsheets off, “go clean up, i’ll throw these in the wash and make you some breakfast, hm?”
you were a bit flabbergasted, just watching him carry his stained bedsheets out the door
perhaps it was the bare minimum, but for you his comforting and calmness was extremely appreciated
by the time you’re done cleaning yourself up and changing into a pair of jungwon’s shorts, your boyfriend has finished making waffles and eggs
when he sees you he runs over to pull you in for a kiss, “g’morning! want to go on a movie marathon today? oh- i can also pick up some supplies for you if you need,” he offers happily
at that moment you just feel your heart burst in love and adoration
wonnie supremacy, please give him lots of cuddles n’ kisses to show your appreciation!
// NISHIMURA RIKI !
here’s your one chance to be free from his constant playfighting and teasing
when it’s that time of the month niki has learned teasing you is not the way to go if he wants to wake up tomorrow
he found this out the hard way when you first started dating
“yah,” the boy playfully pushed your side, making you groan in pain, “i thought i'm your boyfriend, why aren’t you giving me attention? you’re just staring off into space with that weird grumpy face. y’know, you’re going to get wrinkles just like jay hyung- ow!”
then you proceeded to chew him out on how much you’re suffering and he’s just 🧍
new side to him unlocked
niki is usually not one to be very clingy, in fact, he’d say you’re usually the one clinging on to him
but on your period suddenly he’s following you around like a lost puppy
he will wrap his arms around your waist and waddle around with you in his embrace
and while he’d usually say something stupid about your height or call you a midget, instead he just plants kisses on the top of your head and asks how your tummy’s feeling :(
another example being when you want his attention
usually when you come over to him being all needy he’ll grow this stupidly smug smirk and be like “wow. you’re so obsessed with me” (lovingly) 🙄
but now he’ll just smile warmly n’ pull you in for a comforting hug with some stomach rubs if you want
“you should watch me beat heeseung hyung in smash bros, it’ll distract you from the pain~”
“babe, come sit,” he pats his lap, making grabby hands in your direction, “i’ll hug your cramps away~”
and oh god
the first time you asked niki to get you some pads he ALMOST let his excitement show through his face
he was nervous yes
but it also made him proud that you could depend on him y’know
it made him feel manly!! like you really needed him and he could take care of you!! :)
even when he’s at the store he’d be all giddy and excited
though when he actually sees the full rows of colorful, intimidating products he just 😊… 😟
yes, you texted him the brand and everything but there were thoUSANDs of different ones by that brand in specific
but it’s too late now
niki is too determined to impress you and show how good a boyfriend he is
he will not bother you again
and even though he has sisters he was a bit embarrassed, so instead bro goes to ask some random clerk
“hi, my partner asked me to get these but i’m a bit uh- lost, could i get some help?” he shows the clerk the text you sent him, fidgeting with his hoodie string nervously
“ah of course sir! right this way,” the employee replies, already setting off down the aisle
“we have lots of different options, honestly these ones are really good because they’re very comfortable and longlasting, but these ones are very popular because..”
the clerk ends up describing literally every single box there with detail and the whole time your poor boyfriend is just nodding in utter confusion
at this point he was even more lost than before, if they were all so amAZING like this lady said, how was he supposed to pick just one?
a lightbulb appears above his head
“and that’ll be sixty eight dollars and seventy cents, please.”
niki gulps, looking down at his basket filled to the brim with literally just pads
when he got back.. oh boy
“are you fucking kidding me? what is all that?!” you exclaim, watching your boyfriend walk over with two whole grocery bags in his hands
“uh, in my defense this lady was a really good salesperson and well..”
when he opened the bag for you to look inside while murmuring the amount he spent, you nearly fainted right there, immediately scolding him
“that’s it, you’re officially banned from going shopping for me.”
“what!? babe, please! give me another chance, next time i’ll only get one i swear, seriously!”
okAy he wasn’t lying
next time niki actually did do a good job and got ONE pad box instead of ten, you were so proud <3
and he even brought some snacks back along the way!!
biggest softie ever right here, just give him some time to learn pls 😭
if you enjoyed, reblogs n’ feedback is always appreciated and motivating for me to keep writing!
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givemea-dam-break · 10 months
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Hey, I love how you write! I wanted to ask a Lockwood x reader where reader is an orphan, and the agency accepts a case where the ghost is y/n's mother, and after the case Lockwood comforts her. Sorry if it's weirdly specific, feel free to change something. Thank you!!! (Sorry for grammatical errors, English is not my first language, I'm using google translate)
a/n: don’t worry about grammar or anything pahaha, i’m here to write the things you like not criticise you about something that isn’t your first language 😭 and i’d be more than happy to write this! i hope you enjoy (and i hope it’s alright to read my love <3)
warnings: mentions of death, blood, mild description of panic attacks words: 2.2K gn reader taglist: @wellgoslowly @waitingforthesunrise @irisesforyoureyes @aayeroace @neewtmas @ettadear @mirrorballdickinson @gotlostinfiction @locklylemybeloved @mischiefmanaged71 (let me know if you want added to my taglist <3)
My Flower - Anthony Lockwood
There are creepier houses in London, but somehow this one feels worse.
As you scan the contents of the living room, there’s an odd feeling in your chest, tugging and squeezing and flooding your stomach with nausea. It’s a pretty minimalistic house, probably because there’s only a small space to work with, but something in it has made your throat dry.
This isn’t the first time you’ve come on a case to deal with a woman murdered by her husband, as horrid as it is. It’s not even the first time you’ve worked on a case where the victim, and number one suspect for the Visitor, has been killed within the last two decades. Fifteen years ago, George had told you. Slit throat. The thought makes you shiver.
Maybe it’s because it was this very room where the murder happened, and where their young child had been left beside an aging corpse, wailing, for two days. No one helped, not until the neighbour grew sick of the crying.
The case was in the newspaper for months as DEPRAC and police forces tried to find the husband, but to no avail. Reading them in the kitchen back at 35 Portland Row had made you feel ill. This is worse.
“How’s it going through there?” Lockwood calls from the kitchen.
“No sign of her yet,” you say, glancing down at the iron circle around you. “But I can feel her.”
Creaking floorboards sound, and then Lockwood is in the doorway, glancing around the room. He’s wearing those stupid-looking sunglasses of his to block out the deathglow in the room – one that is horribly strong, apparently. You wouldn’t know. Your sight is terrible. With a swish of his coat, he’s standing beside you, too close to be considered appropriate for colleagues but too far to satiate the twitch of your fingers.
“You want to use your Touch?” he asks. “Try getting a sense for what the source could be? For all we know, it’s one of these creaky floorboards.”
You huff a laugh, but it feels rather strained. “Where do you suggest I start?”
“Wherever your heart takes you.”
“What are you, a poet, now? Wheesht.”
He snorts as you step out of the iron circle. A chill passes over you, and looking down at your temperature reader, you can see it’s fallen three degrees since your last check five minutes ago. If not for the gum you’re chewing, you’re sure you’d be able to taste the bitter miasma on your tongue.
“Watch my back.”
You can practically hear his grin when he says, “When don’t I?”
“That time in Soho. That other time in that house in Hackney. Oh, or that park in Greenwich –“
“Right. I get it. But I’m watching your back now.”
A smile tugs the corners of your lips upwards, but you have to set the words aside. With a deep breath, you place your hand on the wall in front of you, just short of the window facing the front garden, and close your eyes.
The world rushes away, taking with it the creeping fear in your soul and the chill on your skin. Warmth floods your bones as you open your eyes, greeted with an older version of the living room you stand in. There’s no sign of Lockwood or your equipment. The minimalistic décor has been replaced with clutter: children’s toys; blooming plants; photos along all of the walls; a comfy-looking sofa draped with a fluffy blanket. Even with your moderate Talent in Listening, you can hear soft music playing, followed by laughter and a child’s voice.
A figure crosses into the room, a beautiful woman in her twenties, and in her arms is her child, no older than two and babbling incessantly. The woman laughs, pinching the child’s cheeks before setting them down on a plush rug and handing them one of their dozens of toys. She looks at them fondly, perched on the sofa’s arm, and you have a clearer view of her.
She looks just like she did in the photos in the newspapers – young and beautiful and hauntingly familiar. Something in the way she smiles, how she laughs, has an odd feeling sparking in your chest.
There’s a moment where it’s almost like a photograph. Nobody moves, not the woman, not the child, and not you. But then the woman stands and crosses the living room until she is standing beside you, peering out of the window cautiously. Her fingers fiddle with something at the windowsill.
“My flower,” she says, glancing back at the child, “I do love you so. Remember that.”
You frown, and though you know how the story turns out, you still jump when footsteps shake the house. It all happens too quickly. The husband storming in, furious at God knows what, shouting at his wife, shoving the child away when they toddle over for a hug. When he reaches the woman, it feels as if all the air has been sucked from your lungs, and you can only watch as he berates her, blames her for problems that were of no cause of hers. You feel like you’re going to be sick when he grabs a glinting letter opener. It shouldn’t be sharp enough to harm, not really, but it is. And he kills her.
There’s so much screaming, even with your muted Talent, and it’s deafening. It tears you from the vision, and with a feeling similar to whiplash, you become aware of the real world’s surroundings; of someone’s hands holding you up and their voice asking you if you’re okay.
But you can barely focus on that.
A few feet in front of you, there she stands. She’s beautiful, even as a ghost, even with the blood on her throat and lips and the hollow cheekbones. You can’t breathe, fixed on the sight of her alone. And her words. The few, raspy words she speaks have got you by the throat.
“My flower,” she rasps, and there’s a horrible gargling sound like blood in her throat. “(name).”
You stumble back into Lockwood, who uses one arm to hold you close and the other to point his rapier at the ghost. His heartbeat is pounding furiously against your back, the only sign of his nerves.
“I’ll hold her off,” he says. “You get the source. Do you know where it is?”
“Yeah,” you manage, grasping his arm. “But…”
“But what?”
He swipes with his rapier as the ghost nears, and for a moment she disappears, only to return. Repeating, repeating, repeating. My flower. (name). My flower. (name).
“Lockwood, don’t hurt her.”
“She’s a ghost! She’ll hurt us.”
Your grip on his arm loosens. “Do you trust me?”
“Usually. I’m not sure I do right now.”
Regardless, you pry his arm off you and take a step forward.
The woman’s ghost makes no attempt to attack you. She simply hovers in place, watching you with careful, curious eyes as you step closer to the window. Your hand slides onto the sill, shocked by the sharp cold, and it could very well be a figment of your imagination, but you swear there’s a glimpse of a smile as she repeats your name.
With a trembling hand, you find that the edge of the windowsill is loose. Carefully, you pull it upwards and try not to jerk your hand away as a spider rushes out, climbing over your fingers and down onto the wall. The wood, old and weathered, cracks and snaps upwards.
“Why’s she not moving?” Lockwood is still in a defensive position, now slowly moving to stand between you and the ghost.
And there it is. The source. You pluck it out from a hastily-made hole beneath the wooden windowsill, as if it had been formed solely for the purpose of hiding this very thing – a small box, one with your name written carefully on the top.
A sigh of relief. Your name repeated.
Slowly, so as to not startle her, you pull a silver net from your belt and gently wrap the source in it. And with a wink of light and once more, My flower. (name), she disappears.
The chill immediately lifts from the room, and warmth creeps its way back into your bones. Cautiously, Lockwood sheaths his rapier and turns to you. He looks a little bewildered, apparently unused to a ghost not wanting to kill him. His eyes are a little wild, but they soften when they find yours.
“What just happened?”
“I think…” The sentence goes unfinished as you stare at the source.
Keeping it mostly wrapped up in the net, you peel away the top to reveal the lid of the box, brushing a finger over the faded cursive. Lockwood’s there in an instant, looking between you and the box as you open it warily.
The box isn’t big by any means, but it’s large enough to hold some little polaroid photographs, each with a date and little notes written in the same handwriting that dons the top. There are photos of a baby dressed in silly outfits, ones of the woman with her child on her knee, grinning. The one at the very bottom shows a newborn, wrapped snug in a blanket, with a birthdate and name written below that has your heart ceasing all actions.
Lockwood’s fingers brush the pictures. “I thought… I thought your mother was dead.”
“She is. We just met her.”
You’re not sure why it didn’t click sooner. After years of living in foster care, you always clung onto your surname, knowing it was the last thing you had of your family. You never knew who your mother was, or your father for that matter, and had never known the first names. But why the surname didn’t give you a hint… You’re not sure.
Part of you feels relieved to have that clarity now. To know who your mother was, and that she loved you, but at what cost? Having to watch her brutal death as her child – you – sat and cried? To have only seen her again in the form of a ghost-hunter with the intent of destroying a ghost? To know that your father was a murderer who abandoned you?
All at once, the emotions hit you like a tsunami. It’s hard to breathe, so damn hard to breathe, and your head is swimming. Bile rises in your throat as you fall back against the wall, dropping the photos and their box to the ground. Your legs shake, giving out, and you slide down the wall until you reach the ground trembling.
But Lockwood’s there. He’s always there. He gathers up the photos into the silver net, wrapping it tight before shoving it away to the side and kneeling beside you as you reach for his hand. It’s warm, familiar, and it makes you feel tied down to the world, but, god, it’s still so hard to breathe. It feels as if your throat has closed up, unwilling to let anything pass but horror and grief and a strange piece of relief.
Lockwood doesn’t say anything. Instead, he gently moves your hand from his until it rests against his chest atop his steady, strong heartbeat.
It feels like years before the ability to breathe without feeling like you’re dying returns. But Lockwood stays, calm and collected, holding your hand to his chest and acting as your lifeline. He doesn’t tell you to breathe. He doesn’t tell you that you’re okay. He tells you you’re safe. That he’s there.
Shakily, you take a deep breath and rest your head back against the wall. Your face feels sticky with tears, and you can taste salt on your lips, but Lockwood doesn’t care. No, he brushes the hair off your sweaty forehead, his hand lingering for a few moments.
“I can’t believe…” You can’t even say the words.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”
“It didn’t even click. I should’ve guessed when –“
His hand on your cheek stills yours words. “Should’ve nothing. It’s not your fault you didn’t realise. If it’s anyone’s, it’s mine, but, as horrible as I feel right now for bringing you on this case, I think you needed this.”
You want to scoff at the words, to shout at him for even suggesting that seeing your mother’s ghost after fifteen years of not knowing her is good for you, but you can’t help but agree with him. If George or Lucy had come instead of you, you never would’ve known who she was. What she looked like. How she sounded when she laughed. How beautiful her smile was. What your nickname was. My flower.
When you lean forward slightly, your forehead finds Lockwood’s, and you rest against him for a few moments, finding solace in the evenness of his breaths and the familiar scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo. After a moment, he pulls away and presses a feather-light kiss against your forehead, and you find yourself leaning, now, against his shoulder, breathing in the comfort of him.
“I’m here if you need to talk,” he says quietly into your hair. “Or if you just need someone. I’m always here.”
It’s not until he brushes his lips against your head again that you can move.
And he holds you the whole way home, fingers entwined, so that you know the words are true.
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unicornletters · 5 months
Text
izzy hands x gn reader, s2 spoilers, no mcd, part 2
Izzy Hands, feared first mate of the dread pirate Blackbeard and finest swordsman in the Caribbean, can't eat neatly to save his life. There are crumbs all over your commandeered bed, though you suppose that's not much worse than sleeping on other people's dirty linens in the first place.
"So," Izzy says around a mouthful of bread, "what's our next move?"
It's impressive, you think, that he managed to wait until now to ask, but you're going to have to disappoint him.
"I'm going to take care of you," you tell him, "for as long as it takes for you to get well."
Izzy grumbles and glowers at you. This reaction would, once upon a time, have had you quailing, but not now. Not at your Izzy, with his golden voice and unicorn leg and tender heart.
"What then?" he asks, resigned to being taken care of for the moment.
"I don't know," you say. "We could look for Jackie's husbands. She's on the Revenge and they're -- well, I don't know where they are."
Izzy raises an eyebrow.
"Jackie left without her husbands? Anders must be something," he says. He's always refused to call him the Swede.
"Or she needed to get away fast," you say. "I think she'd like to know someone checked on them."
"If I know those boys," Izzy says, "they're rebuilding the bar right now." He shifts a little, trying to get comfortable. "We could stay in a room there, eventually, instead of in some poor sod's house."
"We could," you say. It's a nice idea, even though you're enjoying your alone time with Izzy, circumstances aside. "Finished with your tea?"
"Yeah," Izzy says, and makes to get up. You still him with a hand on his shoulder. When you fell in love with Izzy Hands, you fell in love with all of him, including the part that thinks he has to do every single goddamn thing that needs doing all the time. Maybe someday he'll accept that you can and want to do things for him, too. For now, you take both your cups and head to the kitchen.
It's not bad in there. There's food, anyway, and tea was a lucky find. No sugar, so you pretended you didn't notice Izzy grimacing as he drank it, but the caffeine should stave off headaches for both of you.
When you get back to the bedroom, Izzy is on his back with his eyes closed and you hate it. Just yesterday you thought he was dead for sure, and this resemblance to a corpse does unpleasant things to your insides.
So you crawl up beside him and steal a kiss, making him smile under your lips. He turns on his side, laying on his good leg and draping the stump of the other across your middle. You play with his hair, so soft without the pomade, and he nuzzles against your shoulder as the morning light plays across the bed.
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bbgthoma · 1 year
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— PLAYLIST FOR THEIR S/O genshin impact x gn!reader
ft. thoma, scaramouche, tomo, diluc ragnvindr, childe, kaeya alberich
a/n. this bc i was talking to my friend about what songs thoma would listen to and then i had the idea of writing this🤭
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❥ thoma - he would land on some tiktok about how making playlists for your s/o is some sort of love language and immediately start making one for you - he’d make it a private playlist - the second he’s done with it, he’s sending it to you and you’re the only person who can access it the songs in the playlist: line without a hook by ricky montgomery in my mind by lyn lapid something about you by eyedress, dent may mr loverman by ricky montgomery all i need by lloyd chicago by michael jackson as the world caves in by matt maltese 0 (zero) by lmyk i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys 505 by arctic monkeys looking out for you by joy again dark red by steve lacy me and my husband by mitski juliet by cavetown die for you by the weeknd
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❥ scaramouche - he’d just randomly get the idea of making this playlist - he’d obviously make it a private playlist - he’d also never tell you about it - childe would once find it while going trough his phone and immediately show it to you the songs in the playlist: hot demon b!tches near u!!! by corpse husband, night lovell partners in crime by ash costello, set it off hayloft ii by mother mother all i want is you by rebzyyx, hoshie star killshot by magdalena bay hearbeat by childish gambino starboy by the weeknd into you by ariana grande in my room by insane clown posse into it by chase atlantic something about you by eyedress, dent may out of my league by fitz and the tantrums stalker’s tango by autoheart i love you so by the walters e-girls are ruining my life! by corpse, savage ga$p
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❥ tomo - the day he started catching feelings for you, he made this asap - he would keep it a private playlist but when he starts dating you, he’ll make it a public one - he has like 16384772 playlists, but this is the one he listens to the most - he didn’t tell you about it, you found it yourself on his account the songs in the playlist: dark red by steve lacy you get me so high by the neighbourhood reflections by the neighbourhood les by childish gambino me and your mama by childish gambino moment by vierre cloud babydoll (speed) by ari abdul so anxious by ginuwine stargirl interlude by the weeknd, lana del rey on my own by darci ohmami by chase atlantic killshot by magdalena bay two birds by regina spektor slow down by chase atlantic uhh by framed
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❥ diluc - i am sorry but his playlist would look so dry😭 - kaeya was the one to tell him to make you one - kaeya also helped him choose the songs bc this man had no idea wtf to put - he would never tell you about it but bitch kinda forgot to threaten kaeya to not tell you🙆 the songs in the playlist: line without a hook by ricky montgomery everything i wanted by billie eilish swim by chase atlantic fetish by selena gomez, gucci mane mind games by sickick promiscous by nelly furtado, timbaland pretty boy by the neighbourhood stargazing by the neighbourhood you get me so high by the neighbourhood woo by rihanna 死ぬのがいいわ by fujii kaze you right by doja cat, the weeknd moonlight by chase atlantic right here by chase atlantic softcore by the neighbourhood
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❥ tartaglia - he’d make just like that and immediately show it to you - public playlist ofc - he’d force you to make a playlist for him too the songs in the playlist: stargirl interlude by the weeknd, lana del rey les by childish gambino i was never there by the weeknd me and your mama by childish gambino consume by chase atlantic, goon des garcon vacation bible school by ayesha erotica beggin’ by måneskin adore you by harry styles this side of paradise by coyote theory woo by rihanna bad habit by steve lacy on that time by playboi carti belong to the city by partynextdoor new magic wand by tyler, the creator
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❥ kaeya - he’d make it the day he starts dating you - he’d show it to you and remind you that he loves you more than anything - it’d be a public playlist, he wants everyone to know that he loves you the songs in the playlist: i bet on losing dogs by mitski closer by nine inch nails supermassive black hole by muse law by yoon mirae, bibi on my own by darci killshot by magdalena bay in my mouth by black dresses numb to the feeling by chase atlantic santanny by bktherula cooler than me by mike posner, big sean all i need by lloyd first love / late spring by mitski i want you by mitski sofia by clairo beautiful is boring by bones uk
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mrspandas · 2 years
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smut masterlist
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karl jacobs:
wet dreams | subby!karl x fem!reader
have you ever heard of knocking | dom!karl x fem!reader
comfort | roommate!karl x dom!reader
voodoo doll | dom!karl x gn!reader
maybe you aren’t that bad | sub!karl x fem!reader
mine | dom!karl x fem!reader
corpse husband:
nothing here yet…
foolish gamers:
stepbro | innocent!foolish x dom!reader
sapnap:
punishment | dom!sapnap x fem!reader
dream:
nothing here yet…
multiple:
caught | sub!karl x dom!sapnap x dom!dream x switch!reader
blurbs/headcanons:
rope bunny | sub!karl
sucking off sub!karl
pegging sub!sapnap
pegging sub!karl
calling karl bitch boy
possessive | sub!karl
karl eating you out on your period
what sapnap is like in bed hcs
sapnap with inexperienced reader hcs
sapnap eating his gfs ass hcs
karl fucking his gf while she sleeps
teaching sub!karl who he belongs to
dom!karl destroying you
157 notes · View notes
stsgooo · 1 year
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—  𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ( updated: 02.05.24)
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎navigation. ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ♡ - oneshot ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ♥ - multi parts ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ♢ - smut 18+ ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ♦ - series/challange
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ! ‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎( steve harrington )
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PARK IT. ( a drive-in showing of alien allows for an opportunity that neither steve or the reader are willing to pass by.) ♡♢ 3.10.22 steve harrington x reader.
JEALOUSY, JEALOUSY. ( after seeing a customer flirt with you, steve is less than confident. he decides to make sure you know what you two are. ) ♡♢ 10.24.22 steve harrington x reader.
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‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎𝐣𝐮𝐣𝐮𝐭𝐬𝐮 𝐤𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐧 !
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‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎𝐠𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 !
HAUNTED. (  geto had suffered enough, why should he let you go too? ) ♡ 11.27.23 gn!reader.
MISCLICK. ( an evening where you feel particularly confident leads to an embarrassing and bountiful encounter. ) ♡♢ 11.28.23 fem!reader.
WHAT ONCE WAS. ( you had numerous problems, but resting at number one was geto suguru. ) ♡♢ 01.23.24 fem!geto, fem!gojo, fem!reader
SUSPENSION OF DEATH. ( a widower, a corpse, and a curse with ulterior motives walk into a bar. They make a vow. ) ♡ not yet posted. fem!reader.
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏𝐠𝐨𝐣𝐨 𝐬𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐮 !
SUBCONCIOUS REASSURANCE. (  even the strongest has dreams he longs to be reality. ) ♡ 12.02.23 fem!reader.
LOOK AT HIM. ( your attempts at reentering the dating scene is foiled by your ex-husband. ) ♡ 12.04.23 ex-husband!gojo x fem!reader
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎𝗶𝗲𝗶𝗿𝗶 𝘀𝗵𝗼𝗸𝗼 !
LOVE, HATE, LOVE. ( shoko reminisces. ) ♡ 02.05.24 fem!reader
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎kamo choso !
ENTER STAGE RIGHT, HUMANITY. ( choso's desperate grasp to feel human. your last attempt at remaining human. ) ♡ not yet posted. gn!reader
‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎apothecary diaries !
CLUMSINESS. ( maomao notices that the eunuch's behavior is odd recently. she's set on discovering the root of the cause. ) ♡ 12.13.23 fem!reader
MOONLIGHT GODDESS. ( the toy that got tucked away, would eventually come back out to play. ) ♡ 12.15.23 fem!reader
BRIDGE THE GAP. ( PT2 ) ♡ 02.04.24
98 notes · View notes
unhonest-iago · 7 months
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Shanah Tovah
Corpse had the dates for all the Jewish holidays circled on his paper calendar, remembering that they changed every year. It was something y/n had mentioned once or twice in casual conversation. Corpse had picked up bread making as a new hobby, needing something to do when he couldn't come up with any new songs or music video concepts. Y/n could hear the clatter from their apartment next door, the walls unfortunately thin. And the kitchens even tinier to the point you could barely call them kitchens. Joking through the walls as y/n laughed at his one sided fights with tin foil.
Corpse decided to go with a three strand braid, not wanting to overdo it with his fibromyalgia. Already feeling a pins and needles sensation in a few of his fingers. The risen dough sat on his counter top, divided into three pieces. Rolling them into more a tube shape like you would clay for a coil pot. Corpse double checked the measurements, wanting to be sure it'd fit in his pan. Hands lightly shaking, quickly lacing the strands together. Still neat enough for his liking.
Sitting on the counter as he waited for the timer to ding, not having the energy to do much else. Y/n, picking up the smell of freshly baked bread assumed Corpse was trying a new recipe that he'd ultimately fuck up and curse up a storm about. Confused when they heard a knock on the door. Looking in the peep hole, seeing Corpse stood at their door. 'Hey Corpse, what this all about?'
'Heard it was a holiday for you and figured I'd surprise you. Swear on my life I didn't mess it up, tried it a dozen times just to make sure.' Rambling a little before handing it to them. Looking down, the poppy seeds staring back at them. 'Oh, jar of honey as well.'
Y/n thought of what they had planned for the day, or lack thereof. Shifting from foot to foot as they made up their mind. 'Wanna come in?'
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enderfenderdragon · 5 days
Text
which one do you prefer?
corpse husband
or
colby brock
which one do you prefer?
or someone else?
6 notes · View notes
Note
Hi friend!! For the spooky fic fest - can I request a Kylo fic in the same atmosphere as Rosemary's Baby? I just think Kylo fits the satanistic + apartment horror vibe so well 😩👌
Hi Bo!! the minute this came in I ADORED IT. This was the perfect combo and I hope I did it justice! thank you so much for requesting, friend!! 🎃 Spooky ficlet fest masterlist (CW: non-con elements. This is heavily inspired by Rosemary's baby, so Kylo is written as her husband in the movie (who is not a nice guy at all). There's a scene that references the movie, when Rosemary's husband is taken over by the devil when they have sex. It's briefly mentioned here and there's nothing explicit or too graphic, but I wanted to warn ahead anyway! There are no pronouns used and the reader is merely implied to have been pregnant. A baby is mentioned, but it's also very open to interpretation how that baby came to be. Tried to leave this as open as I could!)
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His Eyes 🎃 Kylo Ren x gn!reader
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In the first seconds upon waking – still groggy and head all fogged up – Kylo’s big, callused fingers caressing your temple make you wonder how you’ve come to this position, sprawled on the bed and drained of life.
This is but a mere remnant of the touch of your beloved, from back when you’d first moved to New York, full of dreams of starting a new life after he’d grown astray from his family. 
Kylo had always been brooding, yet tender when it was just the two of you, alone in this apartment with sparse furniture but filled with love. 
Until they came into the picture. 
That tenderness faded away. It was sucked away by the elderly couple that lived next door. How you loathe them. 
Snoke and Palpatine. 
They looked like living corpses, and their presence was just as gruesome.
One day, they knocked on your door and never left. 
In bed, you could hear these low, forbidding chants coming from behind the wall, that started at midnight and ended until three AM. Should’ve been the first warning, but at the time, it only caused you and Kylo to laugh, imagining ridiculous scenarios of what on earth they could be doing in the deep hours of the night, hoping your laughter wouldn't be heard by your neighbors.
One evening, they invited you over to theirs for dinner, and Kylo had never been the same since. 
He didn’t touch you anymore, merely sulked and left the apartment at odd times to hang out with them.
Like clockwork, he’d return at three AM after the deadly chorus next door died down.
‘They’re like father figures to me’ he’d said when you’d ask why he was suddenly more interested in being with them than to make it to your date nights.
‘I fell down the stairs’ he’d brushed you off when he returned with a vicious looking scar that cut his face from his forehead to the side of his cheek. 
One night, they infiltrated your dreams, and ingrained themselves in your life. Only, it had been no dream. 
One minute, you’d been awake and ready to make love with Kylo, then everything became blurry. 
You were lying in bed, looking up at your lover’s black curls and pale skin through a hazed vision; you remember his hands on you, soft at first before feeling him scratching at your sides, as if suddenly he had claws for nails. You remember his deep bourbon eyes one moment, turning a macabre yellow in the next. 
“Where is it? Where’s the baby?” you croak as you return to consciousness. 
“Go back to bed, you’re not supposed to be up.” Kylo's voice is so soft and deep, he could've have you fooled.
“What have you done, Kylo!?” you howl through your tears, “What have you done!?” 
You’re up in an instant, which makes you see stars and get dizzy but you push through it, supporting yourself on the walls as you stagger through the corridor of your apartment, all the way to the living room, where you find Palpatine and Snoke in black robes, looming over a black cradle at the center of it, with a downwards cross hanging from the trim that lined it. 
All around you, there were people you’d never seen before – dressed in the same fashion, some even wearing skull-like masks and velvet globes. 
You feel even more faint the second you look down at the black crib, and a guttural scream escapes out of your throat from deep within your guts – right from the place where they’d ripped the life you’d nurtured with such hope. 
“HIS EYES!” You shriek, turning to the cult of people surrounding you. “What have you done to his eyes!?” 
“He has his father’s eyes...” Palpatine replies ominously. 
“What are you talking about!? Kylo’s eyes are normal! What have you done to him!? 
“Kylo is not the father…” Snoke cuts through your cries.  
“...Satan is.”
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eyeliveinabook · 1 year
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Corpse Husband x Youtube reader (gn!)
OMG idk if you’ll see this but maybe a corpse x reader where they are playing a game with a mutual friend of theirs but they are lost in their own world interacting with each other a lot (they aren’t dating but they know that the like eachother).  Warning: mentions of alcohol
Don’t forget to request they are open.
This story includes Sean (jacksepticeye), Mark (Markiplier) and Corpse Husband
___________________
“Can anyone hear me?” You ask into the discord server. “(Your Name), you are finally here!” Sean screams.  “Ow! Thanks I don’t need my hearing.” Mark say as you start laughing.  “Are we ready to start?” You ask, taking a sip from your drink.  “No we are waiting on one more person.” Mark informs you. “What up baby?” You hear Corpse’s voice and you spit up your drink and start coughing.  “You okay there (Your Name)?” Marks asks. “Bad Corpse, you made (Your Name) choke.” Sean starts ringing his bell. “My bad, I am sorry.” Corpse says to you as stop coughing.  “It’s okay Corpsie I think I will live.” You say and blow kisses to him.  “Oh great now chat is going crazy!”  You turn and look at chat.
Chinchilla: OHHHH I AM SO HYPED!  XXFlimflam18752XX: Anyone else loving the energy already? Hopefully (Your Name) and Corpse don’t flirt to much. grapevforvendettaneo: Yay another stream with (Your Name), Sean, Mark and Corpse. Im so ready!!!!!  spacexdragonpumpkins: I hope they play phasmophobia.
“Sorry Spacexdragonpumpkins, no Phasmo tonight.” You say. “Actually.....” Sean starts trailing.
“No you promised! I am only here because you promised no scary games!” You whine. “Look we needed a fourth player for the stream. Please don’t be mad (Nickname).” Sean begged as he moved the camera to angle downwards and got on his knees.  “Holy shit someone quick take a picture I got Sean graveling.” You start laughing.  “She’s played this game before she just wanted to make you feel bad.” Corpse chimes in. You hear Sean scoff, “That’s it (nickname) is not picking any of the maps.” Sean said as he readjusted.  “Righto, let’s play shall we.” You say.
After picking out your characters and supplies everyone decide to go with the Brownstone High School map.  “Okay what are we going to take?” Mark asked. “I can grab the journal.” You say.  “Okay I got the Spirit box, Sean wanna grab EMF reader, and Corpse the camera?” Mark suggest.   “Sounds good.” Sean and Corpse grab their stuff. “Oh my god, boys this place is huge!” You say.  “Maybe we should split up?” Sean says. “I will go with (nickname).” Corpse says.  “Yay! Corpsie time! Let’s go!” Your character starts running up the stairs.  “Hurry up Corpsie!”  As you go up the stairs you start chatting about his music career.  ”It must be so cool to have a music career.” You say while walking from room to room.  ”It’s fun, what about you you thinking about it?” He asks while looking for dirty water.  ”I found dirty water in this room.” You say and wait for him to take a picture, “Nah, I don't think I really want to. I rather just focus on school and do some YouTube/twitch.” You say.  ”Wait you stream? What do you stream?”  “It’s kinda dumb but I stream when I study, and I use the time to give people a quiet place to study as well. Some people join and when we take breaks we talk about different things.” You say.  “Hmm I’ll have to check it out, might actually help me write more music. Plus it would be fun to see how often I can distract you.” You hear the smirk in his voice.  “Corpsie you are going to make me fail.” You say while laughing.  “I mean, I can be your sugar daddy if ya want.” He then sent you a wink face emoji over chat. You feel your heart stop.  “(Your name), Corpse, have you found anything yet?”  Mark asks. “Huh? Oh yeah, just dirty water.” You say.  “Dirty water wasn’t part of the list of things we need to take a picture of.” Sean said suspiciously. “Opps.” Corpse said and laughs.  “Chat, what where they doing?”
stormcroissantotter: They where flirting up a storm!  Ramenmilk: I am shipping it so hard starsthegodfatherowl42: Corpse offered to be (Your name)’s sugar daddy,
“Flirtin’ Oh my lord! The scandal!” Sean laughs while you blush, “Wait Corpse I thought you were my sugar daddy.”  “When did I offer that?” Corpse asks confused.  “Okay okay very funny, are we going to get back to the game?” You asks.  “Wait so now that you are not flirting you want to get on with the game?” Mark asks.  “Guys! I just saw the ghost!” You scream as the ghost starts getting closer to your group. The group run downstairs. You hear Mark screaming as he is dying.  After laughing your asses off, the group goes back upstairs to loot Mark’s dead body. “Okay what type if ghost do we have?” You ask.  Well I am not sure, since you were busy making Corpse your sugar daddy.” Sean says. The three of you decide that Corpse should put the camera back in the van and take the spirit box. When he comes pack you all go room to room calling out the ghost. Eventually the ghost reveals itself through the Emf Reader, Spirit Box and the Journal which meant it was a spirit. Y’all select that and leave in the van.  “I am glad you guys found my death so amusing.” You hear Mark’s voice. You continue playing the game for a couple of hours.
“Martha White you are a bitch!” Sean screams, his accent thicker since he has been drinking Jack and Coke. Between the third and fourth map you and Sean decided to take a small break and do a couple of shots together. Now both you and Sean are pissed drunk.  “Yeah!  And father smells of elderberries!” You yell.  “These two are going to get us killed.” Mark says. Corpse is busy in the van getting the spirt box, “Well that is why you and I can be closer to the exit when Martha shows up.” He says.  “Corpsie you wouldn’t leave me would you?” You ask. “If you keep insulting the ghost I might.” Corpse says teasingly. “You bastard, that is it you loose your nickname! I will now refer to you as Corpse Husband.” You stick your tongue out at him.  “Aw come on baby, you really going be mad at me?”  “I don’t hear anyone with a deep voice talking do you Sean?” You ask. “Don't throw me in your love quarrel! I just want to find this stupid ghost.” Sean response.  You take another sip of (fav alcoholic drink), when you get a ding. You look over at discord and notice that Corpse sent you a message over discord.  You really mad at me baby girl? “Yes Corpse Husband I am mad at you! You would sacrafice me to Bitchy Martha.” You yell.  “Will you all shut up how are we suppose to hear the spirit box?” Mark says.  Everyone is quiet and then shit hits the fan. The spirit box starts talking saying “Die Die Die” over and over. You, Sean, and Mark see the ghost behind Corpse and all try to warn him, but it is too late. He screams as the hands over his screen and he is dies.  “Martha you fucking cunt! How dare you take Corpsie from us? He was too young to die!” You say while laughing. “Okay so we have ghost orb, ghost writing and spirit box. So Martha is a Mare!” Mark yells as you all run out of the house.  Back in the bus you all select mare, after loading back into the safe house you each start looking to spend your money.  “So I am back to Corpsie now?” Corpse says with an obvious smugness in his voice.  “Oh shut up! She killed you so I am not mad cause I got to ditch your ass.” You explain. “Well guys I am going to say goodnight I have class in the morning.”  “Yeah, I think this was a good stream.” Sean says. After you log off you hear the ding of your phone,  Night baby girl sleep well. -Corpsie <3 You smirk, Night Daddy text you tomorrow. you text back to him. 
You are going to be the death of this man. 
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finelinebarnesx · 1 year
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Corpse Husband || unrequited love
Masterlist
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Pairing: Corpse x GN!reader
Summary: Corpse and Y/N have been friends forever but he ends up falling for the person who doesn’t love him back.
His POV:
I couldn’t stop thinking about them, everything they do and the way they speak or the way their eyes sparkle when talking about something that excites them. I just wanted them to myself but I knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Y/N and I have been friends since we were at least four or five, we did absolutely everything together and they’ve been there since I started my YouTube channel, no matter what time it is they’re always with me when I need them. I knew I needed to tell them how I felt, the feeling is eating me alive.
-
I found myself knocking on their door, checking my watch it was four in the morning but I couldn’t sleep. I waited awhile before the door opened. “Corpse? What are you doing here? Is everything okay?” Y/n looked tired and I felt awful.
“If I don’t say this now I’m never going to say it and I already know what your response is going to be but y/n, I’ve been in love with you for so long; everything about you just makes me fall harder for you and it’s sucks. It’s not fair that I’m not the one who gets to kiss you, it’s not fair that I’m not the one who gets to call you mine” I took a deep breath.
“Y/N, what I’m trying to say is..I love you and-“ they looked at me with regret in their eyes. “What’s wrong?” I swallowed the lump in my throat hiding my shaking hands, I don’t know what I was so nervous. ‘Everything’s going to be fine’ is what I told myself waiting for an answer and that’s when my heart dropped.
“Corpse, I love you too but not in the way you love me” I stood in silence trying to hide how much that hurt me. “Uh yeah no that’s cool” I laughed lightly. “I should probably go um, goodnight” I gave a slight smile as they shut the door.
“Fucking idiot!” I shouted to myself taking the long way home to clear my head.
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