#dusky’s dreams

[duskys-dreams]

The class had gone on a trip to a sort of museum, we weren’t really sure what it actually was.

I stayed with the class, but I started to realize that something was wrong. Nobody ever even looked at me, even when I spoke or stood in front of them. It eventually became clear that I was a ghost.

I was confused and a bit upset, but I decided there wasn’t much use in trying to fight it. I stuck close to my friend Alex the entire time, even though they had no idea I was there.

At one point, Alex was taken aside by a strange old woman. She told them that they needed to do something important: find the secret in the attic. To do this, they needed to steal the collar from the tour guide that was watching over our class, as it contained the key. We also needed to steal the bible that was also contained inside that collar and read the passage. I asked which verse it was, but my voice was useless.

Alex was confused and overwhelmed, and I put a hand on their knee in an attempt to comfort them, even though it also did nothing. They rejoined the class, and they started to go back upstairs.

Meanwhile, I stayed below, trying to find the collar the old woman mentioned. I saw it on the guide’s hips (it was a big collar) and then I ran up the stairs to find the rest of the class.

The first group I saw was not my class, but a group of kids who were tormenting someone, taunting and throwing things at them. With a start, I realized that Alex was the centre of their mockery, and they were clearly upset. I tried to stop them, but I could do nothing as a ghost.

Alex finally ran away and cried in the hallway. I went after them and wrapped them in a hug.

After a long moment, Alex started to grow concerned, asking if they were dead. I backed off, and saw that they were looking straight at me. I wasn’t a ghost anymore! I reassured them that they were not dying, I was just finally back.

Together, we went looking for our class. We found another one and nearly joined them, as I recognized a classmate, Bennett, but it wasn’t the same group we were with before. We went back down the stairs, and found our group in the same basement as before, for some reason.

Now was our chance. We had to steal that collar.

I ran up to the guide while Alex tried to find people in the group to join us, and explained everything. He took off the large collar and gave it to me, but alarms started blaring as he did so. He was not supposed to take off his collar.

I knew if I ran through the museum with this thing I would be caught immediately, so I pulled the hatch in it and found a little bronze star attached by a string. I quickly asked if I could rip it off, and the guide said yes, so I snapped the string and pocketed the star (which was also the key) and gave the collar back.

I found Alex again, who had gathered a small group of people, and we all started running up the stairs.

Alarms still blared and people ran around, but nobody tried to stop us. We went up more and more sets of stairs, and the hallways started to get more narrow.

Eventually, we made it to the top. There was a long space to stand, and a bunch of platforms one could hop across to get to the final level, which was four feet up. There was a gap between the two levels that seemed to go down a very long time.

Without pausing to consider, I hopped across all the platforms and stood on the final level. I looked back, and was confused to see that nobody had followed me. I asked why, and someone explained that those platforms were clearly unstable and probably unsafe. I was the most reckless among them, they said.

Snotlout somehow found a huge black golf bag and passed it over to me, telling me to hold it in place so the rest of them could climb it like a bridge. I thought this was ridiculous. Surely running across some circular platforms for four seconds (which I had already done, mind you) was safer than straddling a bag of golf clubs. But whatever, I still held the bag in place.

Most people eventually worked up the courage to follow my path, but Fishlegs stubbornly climbed up the golf clubs anyway. It took forever, and we were all waiting for him.

After that, we looked around the room. It was of a decent size, around the size of my bedroom, and had a large grey-white bed taking up the left side. Other than that, it was empty.

We poked around, looking for a keyhole. I thought I found it first, but Alex pointed out the real one for me. I slid the star into place, turned it, and suddenly the bed transformed into a wooden table with a black case on it.

Opening up the case revealed a board game that seemed to include sweets in it. We set it up on the table and started to play (which meant moving our pieces around and making absolutely delicious treats) but we were having a different conversation now, about families.

Fishlegs said that he’d never met his mom, but Snotlout lived with both of his parents. He described his mom, and I wrote it down in my journal. Fishlegs watched me eagerly as I wrote “scrawny, blonde, with icy blue eyes.” Writing “eyes” was a bit of a struggle for some reason.

Fishlegs was excited. That’s exactly how he’d had his mom described to him. That meant that he and Snotlout were half-brothers! So Fishlegs started to leave, picking up the golf bag and trying to get it to stick.

I protested. He couldn’t just up and leave! We were playing a forbidden board game! But he didn’t care. He wanted to go meet his mom now.

Eventually, I gave in. We didn’t need him anyway. Snotlout and Fishlegs left together, and the rest of us kept playing the game.

#dusky’s dreams #dream journal #ghost #forbidden board game #httyd #httyd snotlout #httyd fishlegs

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

this is so self indulgent... I wanted to draw my ideal Nadder. the Nadder i would want. im obsessed with her

even more indulgent cringe:

#i got in my httyd feels and. #here she is... #nadders have always been my fav for some reason!!! theyre just so neat!!! #i wanna scritch their big ol cheeks and hang out under their wings and hhhhh #it was true in 2nd grade and its true now. i want to be in the httyd world #i want a dragon. i want to fly. #the one time i had an httyd dream where i was on a dragon - i was on a nadder. ME REAL WHEN??? WHEN- #scribble garnish #httyd #deadly nadder #her colors are my fav color combo! #a nice creamy off-white w/ dusky blue + yellow accents #she's so pretty... why isnt she real and in my backyard #why am i not going on a flight Right Now.

[duskdragonxiii]

Chunky girl from a dream last night

#dusky art #dragon #she doesnt have a name but like the dream was very vore-y so im not likely to use her

[skyhighchibi]

Choose violence ask game:

7. What character did you begin to hate not because of canon but because how how the fandom acts about them?

13. Worst blorboficiation.

16. You can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc).

7. don't really have anyone like this lol

13. in general? c!dream. that's a canonical abuser. there's nothing wrong with liking a character like that but you need to. not ignore that you're liking a character that's like that. ask @proudfreakmetarusonniku for elaboration lol

as in the character that I have the most severe case of blorbitis for? oersted (including duskie)

16. Luigi x Bowser. it's just. ??? good for you tho! I just don't really get it lol

#Mario #dream smp #Ask game #Asks #Chibi.exe #chibi.txt #live a live #duskie!oersted

[builtlikeastickofcelery]

last nights dream: my older brother comes out as bisexual. the Great Storm is descending on our traditional Korean-style house. we must prepare (my mom's entire side of the family)

#duskys dreams

[mirrorhouse]

i was looking around in the files and found the epilogue camp outfit uuids, and they all have unique names and descriptions so i thought i'd post them all here in case anyone's interested :-)

GALE (human / god)

ASTARION (spawn / ascended)

LAE'ZEL (faerun / githyanki)

WYLL (blade / duke)

SHADOWHEART (selunite / sharran)

KARLACH / DARK URGE

JAHEIRA / MINSC / HALSIN

MINTHARA (drow / city)

edit: UUIDs under the cut if you wanna spawn them yourself

GALE: Human (Embroidered Ensemble) - 1cb24313-5ed1-43b7-ab4a-cdf2118422ea God (Weave-Touched Robe) - 1068659c-f12b-4930-ac4f-c4892af58cd7

ASTARION: Spawn (Dandy's Dream Ensemble) - 13084436-5d19-4cef-ae53-02857497fc28 Ascended (Decadent Ensemble) - 76f26388-daff-440a-a4f3-dba4f78e548c

LAE'ZEL Faerun (Nomad's Garb) - 9747dbb0-0f92-483e-80fc-391390d416f9 Gith (Senja'si Finery) - 8c953ad4-1103-4215-9a09-ff95e51cc8e4

WYLL Blade (The Blade's Padded Armour) - 46c97e62-7d3e-449f-a130-586e8e871947 Duke (Duke's Magnificent Raiments) - 7f89e3b8-61ef-498b-bd1b-77f996c5ec42

SHADOWHEART Selunite (Dusky Ensemble) - 79bb5a64-2019-4818-a898-de179b6bc44c Sharran (Robes of the New Moon) - 8fc09773-7083-466a-8988-e030b6d647e3

KARLACH Avernus/Avernus Wyll/Avernus Tav (Hot Pants) - 24149d5d-c509-48dc-b026-491c11e60a5c

OTHER Dark Urge (Grubby Ochre Clothes) - bdc2247f-32a3-4ded-bffc-8aeb770f23d4 Jaheira (Harper Finery) - bdef460b-374e-45d6-86f7-d272a927b380 Minsc (Very Handsome Shirt) - 54c4b72d-0f2d-40be-bab7-c70c5f3adb97 Halsin (Finely Crafted Ensemble) - d873fb44-94c7-4b74-a272-1d2e5e43a7ef

MINTHARA Drow (Cut-Throat Leather Ensemble) - 9c035563-05ee-47e1-a3e0-e0420a07f534 City (Moonlit Ensemble) - 7d65044d-0d01-44c8-b665-165f0ecc768c

#baldur's gate #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #gale dekarios #astarion #lae'zel #wyll ravengard #shadowheart #karlach #jaheira #minsc #halsin #minthara baenre #i don't think you can look at these normally unless you're playing an origin character #blade of avernus wyll / avernus tav also wear the 'hot pants' outfit but it displays differently on characters other than karlach

[keisobe]

: 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 — (𝐧𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐲𝐚𝐦 + 𝐥𝐨’𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐥𝐥𝐲)

— from avatar 2 : way of the water (spoiler free!!)

contents. f! reader, reader is a na’vi, established relationships, teen romance, small kissing scenes, use of a pet name, all fluff + wc. 701

notes. this was really fun to write, though i struggled to write lo’ak around this time ㅠㅠ hope you guys enjoy tho!

NETEYAM 𖥔 ݁ . ༅ — “good girl.”

“hey!” your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice, stopping you from observing the array of herbs and gleaming seeds that you needed to restock for your medical supplies.

turning your head, you see neteyam running through the patches of glossy leaves and fresh soil— a bright smile adorning his blue face. you couldn’t help but smile back, resuming back to arranging the seeds and herbs into different pouches as his footsteps became more distinct.

neteyam lingered behind you, amused by your fluid fingers hastily grinding apart certain herbs and seeds to make them into a fine powder— he was always fascinated by how attentive you are in becoming a healer. one day you’ll make an amazing tsahík.

“do you have the medicine for tuk?” he asks, swatting off the insects that flew near your dewy skin. you nodded in reply, rummaging through the purple woven basket that neteyam gifted you. the basket was embroidered with personal designs that were done by neteyam; it nearly took him a month to make.

“yes, i just made it a while ago,” you assured, the sounds of bottles clicking against each other and the intense fragrance of heady floral aroma filled neteyam’s senses.

“here it is,” without looking at him, you held the vial of green liquid behind you as he took it from your grasp— resuming back to stocking up on medicine.

neteyam knelt down to your level, leaning towards your pointed ear.

“good girl,” he muttered, patting your head gently before sweetly running his fingers through the locks of your hair.

your cheeks burned with an obvious blush, completely flustered by his word choice. but before you can comment on it, neteyam presses a quick peck on your slightly agape lips, returning back into the forest to tend to his little sister.

LO’AK 𖥔 ݁ . ༅ — “so pretty.”

the marui was lit with a burning lantern, only you and lo’ak lay awake in the night. he was longingly staring at the enchanting scenery through the entrance— milky white splotches and dashes of blue adorned the sky. you sat beside him, resting your head against his shoulder.

“this will never get old,” your voice cuts through the nightly air, the glowing waves sloshing beneath both of your feet.

lo’ak only hummed in reply, his eyelids feeling heavy with exhaustion. after swimming for most of the day, he couldn’t help but feel an ache penetrating through his muscles— recalling back to the crazy stunts he did to impress you.

you instantly noticed his fatigue and decided it was time to sleep. lo’ak felt your warmth disappear from his bare shoulder, he groaned from the loss of contact— a bubble of irritation coursing through his veins.

still, you managed to drag him deeper to the pod, despite all his slurring whines and poor attempts to blink away the sleep.

with a warm woven blanket and a plush pillow, you gently tucked lo’ak to sleep. he felt your fingertips smooth out the wrinkles of the sheets— slowly lulling him to sleep. your touch traveled towards his face, brushing off the stray braids that threaten to hide his yellow eyes.

for a little bit, you hummed a calming melody that your mother would always sing to you, helping you doze through the bad dreams. lo’ak watched the way your hair glistened under the dusky sky and the flutter of your lashes when you hummed the favorite part of your song.

he reached towards the hair that fell from your face, tucking it behind your ear.

“so pretty,” lo’ak whispered, running his thumb on top of your balmy lips. warmth prickled onto your cheeks as he said that, relieved that the darkness could hide the color that developed on your skin.

before you could wish him a good night, lo’ak was fast asleep— a low purr exhaled from his mouth. you smiled at how peaceful he looked in his sleep, grazing a soft kiss onto his lips before your eyes wander back to the night sky.

© 2022 keisobe – please do not copy any of my writing and repost or translate to other sites.

#✩.*˚ — ina’s works🎂 #ੈ♡˳ — (atwow) 📁 #* ੈ♡˳ — (neteyam sully) 🎞️ #* ੈ♡˳ — (lo’ak sully) 🎞️ #— ౨ৎ ࣪ . ⊹ : drabbles #avatar fanfiction #neteyam x reader #lo’ak x reader #neteyam sully x reader #lo’ak sully x reader #avatar imagine #avatar headcanons #avatar way of water #avatar 2

[zorosdimples]

BETWEEN YOU AND ME (AND THE SEA)

pairing ༄ zoro x gn!reader

warnings ༄ suggestive content (this takes place after sex). slight angst that ends in sweet comfort. brief descriptions of violence and wounds. love as religion/love as worship.

word count ༄ 911

notes ༄ this fic is just an insanely intense pillow talk session with my favorite man (i don’t know how to be normal). it’s brimming with love. please enjoy!

p.s. i use the word “bokken” to denote a wooden practice sword.

“i would die for you.”

your breath caresses zoro’s heaving chest, his tawny skin damp, glistening under the moon’s pearly glow. the air is still in the crow’s nest; the only sound to disturb the lulling midnight is the gentle lap of the wine-dark sea.

it takes the swordsman several moments to process your words, his mind still hazy from the events of your shared watch. one wide palm rests on the soft curve of your lower back while he absentmindedly strokes the arch of your neck.

“hm?” zoro belatedly rumbles, brows knit in confusion.

you raise your head to meet your lover’s steel gaze. the look in your eye—zoro knows it well. beneath the heady cloud of contentment is the crazed glint of worship, shining like a honed blade. it’s a look that both terrifies him in its depth and comforts him in its earnestness.

will he ever be worthy of your devotion?

“i’m not particularly brave or strong,” you start, a fingertip etching love into his flesh as you trace the jagged edges of the scar that slashes across his torso—the ghost of an injury that almost took him from you.

“but i would do anything for you, zo. i would die for you. and it should scare me, that i feel so deeply.” your finger stills, hovering above his heart, beat steadfast as the foamy tide. “but when it comes to you? i lose all my inhibitions. i would die for you in an instant.”

even in the dusky quiet, zoro’s hands are broad and warm as the sun. they are an extension of his weapons, instruments of death. yet he cradles your cheeks with devastating care as he pulls your face to his own. his jaw flexes resolutely as he grits out, “don’t say shit like that.”

“not saying it doesn’t make it any less true,” you murmur.

few things scare the swordsman; he knows death’s face, having brushed shoulders with the endless ether more times than he can count. when he dreams, he wades through a river of ichor as asura, violence incarnate.

but your vulnerability frightens him—how you lay your heart bare and expect nothing in return.

the way you live goes against everything zoro has ever known, against his basest instincts to keep his emotions close to his chest, to fight the burden of existence with blood in his maw, to survive at any cost.

(it’s a bitter january evening and snow flurries paint the eaves of the dojo white. zoro’s stomach growls, hunger gnawing at his intestines. his young, scrawny limbs ache with overuse. the room is frigid; his simple robe is not nearly enough to keep the color in his cheeks.

this dreaded overnight practice is punishment for pilfering onigiri from the kitchen several days prior. hunger is but a distraction for the weak. he must repent with grueling drills. but in the middle of an overhead swing, he loses feeling in his arms, the bokken clattering to his feet.

his sensei tsks in disappointment. “the way of the sword is absolute, roronoa. you eat and sleep and breathe by the blade. the second you lose focus—the moment you lose sight of what is important—you will cease to be a swordsman.”

tears of frustration prick the young boy’s eyes, but he holds his tongue, picking up the bokken without sound or complaint. he doesn’t realize that his palms are cracked and that the wooden hilt is stained sanguine. he continues training until dawn.)

zoro licks his chapped lips. his tongue is always loose when it’s just the two of you and the sea. “i’m not worth it.”

a frown pinches your features. adorable, he wants to say as you wrap your arms around his neck with a huff.

“what makes you think your life is worth any less than luffy’s? than chopper’s? than mine?”

zoro assesses you for a moment, feline eye unreadable. he measures his words with unusual care. “my role is to protect. it was—it is—my vow to luffy.”

threading your fingers through his mint tresses, you tug, concern rolling off of you in waves. “then who’s left to protect you, zo?”

his mind answers without hesitation: no one. (the little boy with the bloodstained bokken weeps.)

“let me protect you,” you entreat, lips brushing his, ardent as a prayer.

the fates, in their divine and impartial wisdom, must have made a grave mistake: spinning the claret thread of your fate, meting it out, and mistakenly intertwining it with the swordsman’s. zoro is certain that it’s a miscarriage of justice—not that the gods have ever been preoccupied with fairness.

did he do something in a past life to deserve your reverence?

“i can’t,” he breathes. but his iron resolve is rusting, fissures compromising the once-gleaming surface.

“you can.”

zoro has never considered himself to be a good man. you are eager to give, and he wants nothing more than to receive. he drinks in your affection so greedily that he doesn’t notice how his lone eye burns when he claims your lips with his own, heartfelt i love yous exchanged between spit and tongue.

the tears are silent as they drip down his freckled cheek; you swipe each of them away with a thumb before dotting kisses across his salty flesh. zoro has half a mind to be embarrassed—swordsmen don’t cry.

but if there is one absolute truth in this cursed world, it’s this: his heart is safe with you and you alone.

#artwork is a detail from granville redmond’s painting ‘moonlight along the coast’ (c. 1918) #zoro x reader #one piece x reader #zoro <3 #༄ kae writes

[duskys-dreams]

I was playing Minecraft Story Mode, and found a secret route that was unlocked by letting Axel lose his arms. This started Stella’s redemption arc early, and also let you not wear the pumpkin on your head (which let the admin not steal your brain.)

We wandered back to Beacontown, and Stella and I had a bonding moment where I was calling her “brother.” I had her sit on a block, then turned on a waterspout which pushed her off. We laughed about it.

Olivia came running toward as and frantically told us that something terrible was coming. We ran back into the woods and found the Witherstorm, which was strange because I was playing season two. Axel, Olivia, and Whiteout from WoF were taken away by the purple beam. I tried to run away, but I was sucked in too.

We were dropped in a huge icy dome that resembled the Icy Palace of Despair in episode two, but this was still chapter one. This didn’t make sense.

We saw the admin in his snowman form, who greeted us cheerfully and declared that we were going to die unless we figured out how to defeat him. I told everyone to look for a flower (because that was how you beat him at the end of the game, according to this dream.) We found flowers arranged in a cross shape and dug down beneath them, finding buttons. I somehow knew mine would just make him more powerful and tried filling the hole back up, but the dirt slid down and pressed the button anyway, revealing two admins, the snowman, and Romeo in his normal form. They were both massive.

I paused the game and told Marcel that I had unlocked a secret route, and he came over to watch me play. We came back, and I went through some intense trials, for example having to eat an entire wooden bat before something came to kill us.

Eventually, the admins stopped tormenting us. They opened up a door to the outside and told us that the kids today were tempted by flying, so they would let us leave if we chose to. If we did, we’d be permanently changed into hawks and be free.

Stella, Axel, and Olivia all left. I was tempted to do it too. I asked if we’d ever have another opportunity to leave, and the snowman said he didn’t know, likely not.

Wanting to continue the game and see how it went, I declared that I would stay. The two other people who were still undecided, a guy my age and a younger boy, started to leave, but I screamed at them to not leave me alone. They turned around and stayed.

The door disappeared, and we had to continue the game.

They handed us a long wooden bat with nails on the end and a folded-up letter, saying that both had to be disposed of properly. We broke the bat into smaller pieces for easier handling and gave it to the young boy to deal with, so the rest of us could figure it out the riddle.

I read it, and realized that it was about Animorphs, a letter David was sending to Rachel. Rachel was swinging through the trees, and David was a pigeon somehow. He was asking her for his power back.

#dusky’s dreams #dream journal #mcsm axel #mcsm olivia #mcsm stella #mcsm romeo #mcsm admin #minecraft story mode #mcsm #mcsm au #animorphs #animorphs rachel #animorphs david #whiteout wings of fire #whiteout wof

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

i keep forgetting to scribble the mothwoman i saw in my dream the other night... she was so big and beautiful...

#one last post before i sleep #gotta get those z's in so i can Drive For An Hour #but man that mothwoman. i cant get her out of my head #she had big eyes set in a soft white face #and a dusky blue-purple fluffy body.... #and yeah i might be a bit in love! why isnt she real! can she become a recurring dream please! #took a break from packing today to sit and daydream about resting my head on her Chest Fluff #world cold and hard... mothfluff warm and soft... #i met her in a diner <3 dont remember the other shit that was happening but our group was in Danger <3 #absolutely unprompted #alright sleeping now snzzzzzz #may i see mothwoman in my dreams....

[duskdragonxiii]

Golf. Truely the sport that belongs in Hell.

[read my Webcomic]

#dusky art #i dont know why i drew this it came to me in a dream #bte: lucifer #bte: jeffrey

[sprout-fics]

(Gif originally by @shadow0-1)

Today. Yesterday. Tomorrow. Again.

(Soap x GN! Reader)

Rating: Mature Wordcount: 5400 Tags: Doomed Narrative, Time Loop AU, Heavy Angst, Blood and Injury, Self-Sacrifice, Whump, Hurt Very Little Comfort, Happy Ending, (I PROMISE THERE'S A HAPPY ENDING!!) Warnings: Major character death. That's...literally the plot A/N: Hi here's the doomed timelines AU nobody asked for

Call of Duty Masterlist

Summary:

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

The first time you meet Soap, it’s how you expect. 

It’s a warm spring day, the kind where you need to shed layers in the brightness of afternoon, only to don them again come sunset. He stands just beyond the shade of the barracks, awash in sunlight that seems to catch the blue of his eyes. You blink as you take him in, and it’s the only barest indication you give at the instant impression that he’s handsome.

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You reach for it automatically, remember yourself and offer a pleasant smile in return, along with your name. 

“Looking forward to working with you, John.” You reply, and John- Johnny, as you’d come to call him in the tender moments between you, chuckles. 

“Call me ‘Soap’.” He tells you easily, and you smile a bit wryly, tilting your head at him. 

“The hell kind of name is ‘Soap’?”

- - - - -

It’s easy to work with Soap. He has a cheery, bright demeanor to him that is immediately endearing. He’s friendly, outgoing. His smile is contagious, and the bark of his laughter becomes familiar to you. You listen and guffaw at his jokes over the comms, try vainly to hide your smile when he says them before you. 

It only makes his eyes twinkle to see you try and conceal your amusement, and that becomes familiar too- the sparkle of his irises with endless mirth. 

He catches you during your duties, sidles up beside you during weapons training, becomes the first to suggest himself as your partner during drills. The company he offers is warm, welcome, lifting the dusky heaviness of your heart into something more tender, fragile. You hold it for him, feel his grin bleed into yours, lay awake at night and sometimes think about the shake of his shoulders when you get him to laugh. 

You feel endlessly special when he devotes his time to you, feel as if Soap treats you like you’re the only person in the world. Even in the presence of others he finds ways to indulge himself in you. A nudge of his boot against yours under the table of the briefing room, tossing you an extra round of ammo as you gear up for a mission, finding an excuse to sit next to you on the chopper ride home. Soap feels like a breath of fresh air, the first taste of a cool breeze during summer, a respite from the weight of the world. 

Like two stars in orbit, you circle each other, drawing closer into the gravity of each other’s gazes. You try at first to resist, to hold yourself away from the feelings of the other sergeant, knowing at any moment that he could be taken from you. It’s written in the wheels of fate, your destinies as soldiers. If you’re lucky, if you stay alert, if you train hard enough, if chance smiles upon you, maybe you’ll both live to a day where the sound of rockets and bullet-fire doesn’t haunt your waking dreams.

Yet you can’t resist him. When you fall asleep against his shoulder after a days long mission with hardly any sleep, when he playfully grapples with you over the last slice of pizza during movie night, when he gives you that smile during a rare night off-base at the pub- how can you resist?

Gravity pulses between you when you at last fall into him, feel his breath against your lips as your fingers comb through his mohawk. He breathes the blessing of your name against the corner of your mouth in a panting gasp, flexes his fingers across the small of your back when he drags you even closer. The taste of him is honey and ale, a sweetness with a beloved bitter aftertaste, one you drink down greedily in the form of his moans against your flesh. 

When you lay in bed together after, sweaty limbs tangled together, you watch the tender, soulful smile form across the handsome planes of his face, and you know. 

He’s yours. 

There’s kisses stolen in the hangar before take off, moments hidden in the shadows of safehouses. He cups your face and lifts it to him in the aftermath of battle, smears ash against your cheek with his gloved thumb. You try to carve each moment into your heart, never fail to try and memorize the glint of his eyes, the soft slope of his smile. You know the shape of him in the darkness of his bedroom, know the sound of his voice even blinded by the brightness of his mere presence. 

Johnny is the sun- emanating a gentle, beckoning warmth from afar. Yet when you get closer you see the glory of his inferno, see the flashing burn of his eyes in the midst of battle. The solar flare of his battle cry seems to carry you like soar of Helios's chariot upwards into the heavens of his devotion. When you touch him, you’re seared, branded by his fingers as they trace sentimental sketches across the dip of your waist. You want to bask in him, feel the ember of his stare as he gazes at you silently across the table of the restaurant he takes you to for your official first date. 

“What?” You ask him, averting your eyes a little bashfully, catching his shrug in your periphery. 

“Just lookin’.” He replies with a grin, his cheek smushed as he balances on his hand. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

You kiss him for that, and when he laughs you kiss him again. 

You kiss him a thousand times, each as sweet and passionate as the last, know the curve of his smile on your lips. You kiss him before your next mission, when he holds you against the wall of the armory and tells you how he can’t wait until you both get back. 

He doesn’t. He doesn’t come back. 

He’s looking at you in the chopper when you hear the sound of the RPG. The explosion has him backlit for all of a moment before the world is spinning, the roar of the dying engine in your ears and Price’s holler to “BAIL BAIL BAIL-!!”

You reach for the rope, glance behind you to see Soap not out of his seat- a breed of panic in his eyes unlike that you’ve ever seen from him. The jammed clasp of his strap is caught in his hands as he tugs at it desperately, and you meet his gaze for all of a moment, seeing the imminent knowledge of what comes next in his beautiful blue eyes. 

You fall, without him, are caught by the canopy of trees where the snap of branches under you muffles the distant sound of the helicopter exploding as it lands. 

You ignore Price’s orders, run desperately for the wreckage, only to be greeted by an inferno that stretches towards the sky. 

Johnny is on fire, and this time when you reach for the burn of him the flames are real. They scorch your flesh and you shout his name even as you try to reach him, already knowing it’s too late. When Ghost and the others haul you back you fall to your knees, grip the scorched earth beneath your fingers and scream.

And then you wake up. 

Warm springtime. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You blink, heart still hammering in your chest, feeling the warmth of flames chase you even as songbirds sing in the trees. Yet Johnny is alive before you, whole, smiling, looking so much like the man he was when you met him for the very first time. 

“Was it a nightmare?” You ask him breathlessly, and Johnny- Soap- merely arches a bewildered eyebrow at you. 

“What?”

Nightmares, you come to learn, are so much more kind. 

It happens all as it did before. The jokes over comms, the glancing gazes over drills, the bump of elbows in the mess hall. It’s familiar, sweet, amorous…

And you know something is terribly, terribly wrong. 

Back to the start, somehow. You don’t know how, you don’t know why- but there’s no denying what has happened. Johnny died. You went back, and now you have a chance to save him. 

It’s months before the helicopter crash. You replay the scene over and over again in your mind, and you keep arriving back to the look in Johnny’s eyes as realization washed across them. Everyone who dies a sudden death is confused, scared, not ready, and the knowledge and horror you saw in his stare haunts your waking dreams. 

Yet Johnny falls in love with you just as he did before, and you fall into him so readily, desperate to accept his warmth in the wake of his death. Orpheus embracing Eurydice, you try to trace him into your skin, imbue the memory of him into the marrow of your bones and pray that you can reverse his fate. The gears of destiny tick in the back of your mind even as he stares at you over the restaurant table on the evening before your departure. 

“Just lookin’.” He tells you when you return his stare, mistaking your concern for confusion. “Just seeing how pretty you are.”

When you kiss him, you try to swallow the sob in your throat.

When you get on the helicopter, you point out his jammed strap with shaking fingers, and he blinks in astonishment. 

“Hell’s bells.” He huffs, fiddling with it before it comes loose, and it stays that way for the remainder of your journey. “That coulda been terrible, ey bonnie?”

He makes it out this time, and when he rises from the forest floor he rushes to you, cups your face in his hands and stares down with eyes glinting in concern. 

“Sweetheart.” He breathes, chest heaving with exhilaration. “Are you hur-”

He jerks back at the sound of a gunshot, and you drop automatically, crawl to him just in time to catch his hand as he reaches for you. The bullet wound at his collarbone gushes red, red, red, and your hands are coated in it as you plead, tell him he’s going to be okay-

The light fades from his eyes, still staring up at you, the last thing he sees. 

You still feel his heartbeat on your hands when you wake up. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you. You tremble, take it and see him blink in surprise when he feels the uncontrollable shake of your palm against his. 

The second time, you think it’s a fluke, a horrible prank. 

He steps on a landmine, scattered to the four winds.

The third time, you’re petrified. 

A man hidden in the darkness, he lunges for you. Johnny pushes him aside. The blade wedges between his ribs.

The fourth time, you beg destiny for answers.

You make it to the compound, the fence lights him up like a firework.

The fifth time, you try to tell him, only to find your throat clogged, unable to speak. You try to tell him a hundred more times in the months that follow, and each time the words are stolen from your breath, as if fate forbids you to inform him of his doomed destiny.

“...Nothing.” You tell him when he asks after you’ve tried to speak over the restaurant table, your food barely touched. 

Johnny shrugs. “Doesna matter, too busy looking at how pretty you are.”

You cry silently that night in his bed, while he dozes gently next to you, unaware of what awaits him. 

You can’t tell him. You don’t know how to save him. You still love him. 

He’ll forget he knows you, forget he loves you by the time he wakes up

You’ve found eight ways for Soap to die, and have taken years to defy all of them. You have to write them down everytime you wake up unless you somehow forget. The notebook is filled with scribbled reminders, ever present in your pocket even as he steals the last slice of pizza out from under you.

He doesn’t have enough ammo. Remind him to take extra clips

He put his knife on the wrong strap that he usually does, fix it for him.

He steps on the landmine fourteen steps after the creek. Stop him.

You can’t stop trying. Not when it’s him.

Yet each time you find a way to outsmart the latest execution of him, fate finds one more thing to steal him out from under you. Unstoppable, imminent, condemned to wake up and see his smiling face mere moments after his heartbeat slows to nothingness.

“I love you.” You whisper as you cradle his head in your lap, knowing he already can’t hear you, glassy eyes staring up at the sky. “I’ll see you soon.”

You burst into tears by the 19th time, buckling in on yourself much to the shock of the men around you, relaying startled looks of confusion between them. You excuse yourself, find a dark corner to fold into and sob, knowing this time you’ll fail too.

It’s Soap who finds you, sits beside you, says barely a word when you cry into his shoulder even though he doesn’t know you. Not yet. 

Falling in love with him each time is painful. Your heart beats for him and him alone, but you know it’s only a matter of time before you lose him again. You’ll go right back to the start, to him having just met you, not yet falling into gravity with you, even as you hear the tick of gears turning ever closer to the moment you’ll watch him die.

“Don’t you know me?” You want to ask him, want to bunch his shirt between your fists and let tears stream down your face. “Don’t you know you loved me?”

His smile doesn’t waver. He jokes and laughs and playfully teases you and it hurts. It’s a balm that burns, heals your heart and yet doesn’t erase the scar. He’s your only comfort, the only thing you have as you feel your soul chipped a little further each time he leaves you. You can’t tell him why you cry into his arms, can’t confess to him that you’ve seen him die more ways than you care to remember, that you’ve tried to save him in dozens of lifetimes and he doesn’t even know.

He holds you even though he doesn’t understand, hushes sweet endearments into your hair and comforts you, not knowing how this will end. 

“I love you.” He tells you softly as you hiccup against his chest, not knowing what else to say. “Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

Your tears drip into the fancy china at the restaurant he takes you to and Johnny looks afraid.

The 23rd time you meet Soap, you don’t bother to smile. You know how this ends.

“Nice to meet you, Soap.” You say for the 23rd time, words that have passed your lips in more lifetimes that you wish you didn’t remember. “I look forward to working with you.”

And I don’t look forward to watching you die.

He looks at you, blinks. His brow furrows.

“How’d you know my name?”

This time, you forget to warn him about the rigged doorway, and he vanishes in a flash and puff of smoke. 

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

You wake up. Everything happens as it did before. You meet him, you listen to the sound of his laugh, you finish one of his jokes over the comms and he groans.

“Don’t tell me ye know that one too!” He grouses, and when you smile your chest aches with the force of thirty lifetimes. 

You place a palm against his back, unable to help yourself as you enter the compound, wanting to feel the frame of his body just one more time before destiny finds a new way to kill him. He looks at you over his shoulder, smiles even as uncertainty colors the blueness of his gaze. 

“Yer like my guardian angel.” He tells you, still smiling even after all this time. “Dannea what I’d do w’out ye.”

A grenade at the staircase. He pushes you out of the way. He doesn’t duck out of the way in time.

You close your eyes when you wake up. You can’t bear to look at him, knowing you’ll just lose him again.

You try to keep him from loving you, thinking perhaps that is the crime to warrant this eternal punishment. You can’t stop loving him, but maybe, maybe you can stop him from loving you. Maybe if you never have him to begin with, maybe you can save him. 

Yet Johnny is drawn to you anyways, sucked in by the way your smile doesn’t reach your eyes, like a moth to an infant flame. He hovers at the fringes of your soul, tries desperately to find his way inside, and you can’t help but let him. He comforts you when you cry against the futility of it all, and there’s nothing you can say to him to explain. You wet his shirt with your tears, knowing it’ll be the one he dies in.

The next time, you force yourself to not speak to him, to try and avoid him at all costs, try everything to drive him away. If he never loved you to start, then maybe he’ll live. He seems pre-ordained to find a way to confess to you, ask why you hate him so, look at you through glistening eyes and ask “What did I do?”

You wonder if maybe that’s destiny too, if it’s truly Soap falling in love with you, or his strings being pulled by the same machinations that inscribe his death. 

When he asks you again, tries to approach you with flowers and apologies, and offers to take you to dinner on the eve of his death, you wheel on him in desperate fury. 

“You don’t actually love me!” You cry, face hot with tears. “Can’t you see that?! All this time it’s just- it’s just the story we’re in. Just because you’re supposed to love me doesn’t mean you do. It’s all just a fucking lie.”

Soap is stunned, too shocked to speak. In all the dozens of lives you’d lived, you’ve never ever yelled at him before. 

Hurt flashes across his eyes. His eyes drop along with his hands, the bouquet limp in his grip. The bitterness of his smile as he refuses to look at you threatens to shatter your heart like glass. 

“You hate me.” He murmurs, as if to himself. “I’m…I’m sorry. I didn’t mean tae…”

He falls silent, and eventually he walks away. 

You don’t get on the chopper this time. You can’t stand to watch him die again. 

You try to tell him again, ask him why. Why does he have to torture you like this? Why love you, why allow you to love him so deeply, only for him to leave at the end of this doomed story bound to repeat? Why would he love you?

He looks torn. He’s hurt. He wants to comfort you. He doesn’t know what to say

“Why wouldn’t I love you?” He asks in a whisper, devastated by your outburst. 

You can’t speak. You’re forbidden to tell him. You want to. You can’t.

“Bonnie-” He tries, stepping forward, trying to embrace you as if that will somehow solve everything. 

“No.” You manage, pressing backwards as he reaches for you, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively. Pain dances across his eyes. “Go away, Johnny.”

He leaves. 

He dies anyway. 

When you wake up, your body feels weighed down with the passage of a hundred lifetimes, and your legs fall out from under you without warning. Johnny hauls you into his arms, his blue stare flickering with concern. 

You forgot how much you love being held by him. 

This time, you don’t push him away. In fact, you never do again.

Yet things are different now. It’s subtle at first, things you take for granted. Something in this story has changed, and in turn it’s changed him. Johnny walks into rooms and seems to forget why he’s there. He asks what day it is and frowns in confusion when Ghost replies blandly for the second time that day. 

“Didn’t you already tell us this?” He asks of Price during a meeting, and Gaz’s head snaps to him, to the smartness of his tone towards your captain. 

“No.” Price responds gruffly, succinctly, and continues on. You watch Soap, see the way he doesn’t seem to understand. His fingers tap on the table, and it’s a small gesture meant to conceal the worry in his eyes- the knowledge that maybe, maybe he’s been here before.

“I saw you in a dream, once.” He tells you one night as you both clamber onto the roof of the barracks to stare at the stars. “Before I even met you.”

You stare at him, and he laughs a little nervously, rubbing at his nape. “A bit crazy, eh? Sounds like am’ off ma heid.”

You shake your head, slide your hand over his, feel your heart thump when he looks at you in surprise. “Tell me.” You whisper, and when he smiles you shudder, feel the weight of destiny press heavy on your shoulders. 

“I saw you crying.” He murmurs, and his eyes are a little distant, like he’s looking back at a life that no longer exists. “I told you not to cry.”

“Don’t cry.” He wheezes when you bend over him, words pouring from your lips in a ceaseless mantra. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. “I always hated watching ye cry.”

This time, you nearly die beside him, and almost wish fate would take you too.

He has nightmares now. He thrashes in his bed, a cold sweat dampening his skin when he wakes. You ask him what it was, what vision plagues him, and he only shakes his head, eyes distant and terrified. He clings to you like he’s a little boy frightened by shadows, gazes at something you can’t see but know all the same. He doesn’t have the words, but he doesn’t need them.

You roll over one night, startled to find him wide awake, eyes unblinking as he stares at you. His voice sounds like an echo of himself, a dark magic winding through his words that sound like an all too familiar prophecy.

“I saw myself die.” He tells you, in a voice you’ve never heard- one you’ll never forget. “You were there- and then you weren’t.”

He finds bruises on himself the next morning, in the same places you watched him become riddled with bullet holes. 

You’re running out of time. You don’t know when you’ll wake up and he won’t be there. You don’t know if this will be the last time you ever see him. 

“Please.” You beg him, tugging on the straps of his vest as he steps towards the chopper. “Johnny please, don’t. Stay here. Don’t go.”

His eyes shine with worry at the sudden, fervent desperation in your words, and he opens his mouth to respond-

Only for his eyes to take on that foreign, distant stare once more.

“Why wouldn’t I?” He asks, and once more you’re forbidden to tell him. 

Because you’ll die. Because I’ll be forced to watch. Because I have no way to stop it. Because I’ve seen it happen a hundred times and I can’t do it anymore.

Inevitably, you arrive here, and this singular moment in time, at the place where you’ve yet to find the part in which he survives. 

It always ends like this.

You survive the crash, fend off the ensuing ambush, weave past the landmines and the soldiers patrolling the perimeter, disable the electric fence and disarm the rigged door. You make it inside, stop him before he triggers the tripwire, disarm the pressure plate, lob the grenade back up the stairs, open fire on the door to his left before he passes it. You anticipate the reinforcements at your back, fix the radio when you signal for ex-fil, remember to give him your extra ammo. You know when the roof collapses and drag him to safety, point out the missed charge in his demolitions package, take out the turret before he even spots it-

Then you arrive here. 

“The detonator doesn’t work.” He tells you for the thirty sixth time, out of a hundred and forty eight lifetimes. You know what comes next. The chopper will get here, you will be overrun, and Johnny will kiss you one last time with an apology, push you into Gaz’s arms even as you scream. Then he’ll make his way to the control room without you all, will stay behind and make it his final, valiant act. 

Then you’ll watch the facility explode with him still inside, hear the gears of fate click and send you hurtling back to the beginning.

If you stop him, you’ll all be shot down. You’ll be the only survivor of the crash, and will see the broken bodies of your teammates join him. Or someone else will take his place, and your rescue chopper will be shot down anyways. 

There’s no escape. This is always the moment that you can’t save him from. Thirty six lifetimes and you know in just a few minutes you’ll wake up, will hear his voice begin it all again, over and over until one day you wake up and he isn’t there. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish, at your service.” He tells you with a grin, leaning forward to extend his hand to you.

You had a dream last time. You were both sitting at the restaurant table, and you spoke before he could. 

“Are you going to tell me how pretty I am?” You asked him, swallowing down grief, feeling it bloom like a macabre bouquet when the sound of his joyous laughter tickled your soul.

“Stole the words right from mah mouth.” He chuckled.

You blinked, and the seat across from you was suddenly empty. 

You close your eyes, in this moment, try once more to find the part where you all make it out alive. You try to find the part where you don’t lose him. Where you’ll go back to that restaurant and it’ll be the last time. 

You’ve had enough.

“I’m going to stay.” Soap declares, eyes grim with resolve. 

He turns to you.

You close the distance, reach up and kiss him. You tangle your fingers in his mohawk like you did the very first time, listen to his shocked gasp as you try and drink in the taste of him just one more time. Just one more time.

Honey and ale. A bittersweet goodbye. 

You snatch the detonator from his hands, raise your hands to his shoulders and push.

He topples backwards, nearly colliding with Price, and it gives you just enough time to bolt for the door leading towards the control room, locking it behind you. 

Soap screams your name, hurls himself at the door, frantic desperation coloring his beautiful blue eyes. The color of a sky in summer time, of a fresh breeze that reminds you so much of him.

There’s a nervous smile on his lips, one that doesn’t reach his eyes. He thinks it’s a prank, another joke between you two, and he says just as much, voice wavering when he asks you to unlock the door. 

“I’m sorry, Johnny.” You whisper, tears warming your eyes. “I can’t lose you again.”

Confusion makes him pause, but it’s only for a moment. 

“Open the door.” He demands then, jiggling the lock uselessly as his voice rises. “OPEN THE DAMN DOOR!!”

“I love you.” You whisper, raising your hand to the glass pane, your splayed palm against his closed fist and the world between them. “In this lifetime, and the one before. Ever since the day I met you, I’ve loved you, Johnny.”

He calls your name, voice cracking in desperation and he begs you to come back. You take a few more moments, and think to yourself how unkind it is that the last time you see him will be like this. Afraid, broken, desperate.

Terrified.

Just like how he was all that time ago, the first time you failed to save him.

Not this time. 

“Don’t cry.” You tell him quietly. “I always hated watching you cry.”

You leave him even as he screams after you, running in the direction of the control room. 

You don’t know this part. You’ve only ever watched Johnny or one of them vanish in this direction. You aren’t prepared for this the way you are with the rest of this story. You’re not ready for the hail of gunfire that greets you, the bullets ripping through flesh. Your blood drips red onto the floor, you run low on ammo, and yet somehow you press on.

Not this time. You think. Not ever again. You can’t take him from me any longer. I won’t allow it.

You’re limping, heavily wounded, riddled with bullet holes, chest seizing and smearing an abstract of crimson behind you as you finally make it to the control room. By the time you dispatch the remaining soldiers you’re on the floor, feeling the corners of your vision pulse red and black as the gears turn, as the clock ticks down. 

The timer has just enough time to make it out once you start it. You know you won’t be able to. 

So you watch the numbers click on the countdown, flop onto your back and cry.

You didn’t want this. 

You wanted just a little more time. Maybe you should have let him go, let him finish this if only he can wake up and not know you. Maybe you should have let him die one more time, if only to get the chance to fall asleep in his arms months into the future and past, knowing he was going to die. 

It’s too late now, and as the numbers click down, as your heartbeat thrums in your ears and your vision pulses red, you can only try to remember the feeling of his smile against your lips, the sound of his laughter, your name breathed into your skin as he wraps his arms around you, safe from destiny in his embrace.

“Ever since the moment I first saw you, I’ve loved you.”

You love him. You’ve always loved him. In this lifetime, in the hundred lifetimes before. In a thousand lifetimes to come you will still love him. Even if you go back, wake up again to that warm spring day, you know you will only love him once more.

You wish he was here, at the end, and wish that even if he was he’d find a way to live without you.

When you exhale, it’s the sound of his name, the memory of his eyes as they stare across you from the restaurant table, full of endless devotion.

The world goes dark. 

And then you wake up.

It’s bright. 

You don’t expect what comes next. 

There’s no birdsong. No springtime warmth. Only the beep of a heart monitor, the feeling of cottony sheets tucked into a hospital bed, the fluorescent glow of overhead lights. 

And the sound of a voice. 

Johnny is holding your hand, head bowed, tears falling freely down his face. 

“I did it.” He sobs, words choking his throat, shoulders trembling. 

Whole. Alive. Just like you. 

“I did it.” He cries again, looking up and finding your eyes with his that swim with emotion. When he speaks, it sounds like the weight of a hundred lifetimes presses down on him. 

“This time. This time, I saved you.”

Taglist: @soapskneebrace @guyfieriii @writeforfandoms @alicesfracturedmirror

#john soap mactavish #johnny soap mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #Soap x reader #soap mactavish x reader #my writing #my fic #to add to masterlist #Alex play Dumb Ways to Die

[blueparadis]

❝ HAUNTED ❞ + XAVIER THORPE !

+. CWs —» f!reader, switch!reader, outcast!reader, fluff, she/her pronouns, mutual pining, sexual tension, family drama, flirting, manipulation, mentions of abuse, blood, wounds & therapy, flashbacks in italics, supernatural themes ; explicit smut, s & d dynamics, bottom-dom!xavier, cowgirl position; word count-3.5k

+. PRECIS —» Xavier Thorpe has finally found the girl of his dreams after being haunted by her.

+. NOTES —» this is for my beloved sister @zoraedits ’s brainrot contribution.she won't stop making edits on him. && I'm tagging @orchid3a cuz i luv u

you can browse more of my works here. || also available in AO(III). reblogs and comments are very much appreciated.

feel free to send in thirsts and suggestions for this show, Wednesday. This is my first time writing for shows like this; my main fandom spectrum is animanga but I do hope this was a good read for ya’all as much as I enjoyed writing it. <3.

The table calendar was full of red inks all over, dirt sedimented on the sketchbook, and the pencils laid in the case in absolute solitude. Xavier looked at the calendar kept on his desk near his bed in all despondency and a heavy sigh escaped from his lips. It has been days since he stepped into his studio, have not touched his art accessories for almost a month. One thing was for sure, he was plagued by visions in his dreams but this time it was nothing demising. 

This time his sketchbooks were not filled by a monster, this time he was not afraid to draw rather he was drawn to it; part of him was stoked while sketching while a part of him was reluctant to draw the whole picture. He had spent countless sleepless nights before, not resorting to sleeping as he was threatened by nightmares. And now his sleep was peaceful as if entering into the realm of dreamland.

Xavier was sure that his mind was captured by a girl who came to visit him in his sleep, never showing her face, only showing herself in bits and pieces. He had spent his childhood receiving showers of praise for his talent for drawing but the origin was never happy. Of course, he enjoyed it and liked to show off his talent for art but secretly he wished his power would vanish into oblivion, for it was never pleasant.

People say that the art of someone reflects one’s persona, one’s raw feelings but Xavier always begged to differ since those memories, those incidents were never his. There always had been a wave of remorse that washed over him after he stepped out of his art studio since the praises he received never belonged to him. 

Many were astoundingly taken aback by his knack for drawing and suggested he pursue art, to be a renowned artist but he knew he would lose all the glory once he stopped having those dreams. Moreover, he did not always have such dreams so the possibility of waking up one day and being unable to paint and as a result, staring at a blank canvas scared him to death. Heck! He even considered going to Doctor Kinbott so that his sanity would not be hanging by thread.

For the last couple of weeks, he has been dreaming of odd landscapes. Xavier had never seen them in his life yet he saw how the dusky crimson hue smothered the snowy mountain ranges, how the clouds gathered before the arrival of a rainstorm, how the birds sang songs and all the owes and pangs of nature. One thing he could conclude from those dreams was that whoever it belonged to was a chaser of freedom, that is, was a soarer of the sky.

Xavier had not told anyone about his dreams, nor put them on paper to ease his mind. What would he tell? What would he draw? Last night was particularly odd concerning the regular pattern of his dreams. He dreamt of falling from a high cliff into the water and a broken wing. When he woke up, he was all soaked, even his bed, and his olfactory senses did not miss the subtle scent of stagnant water. He was breathing rashly as if he was the one who drowned as if he was the one to fall.

He closed his eyes and tried to recapitulate his dream, searching for a mark, searching for a recognizable feature, searching for something, anything, anything at all. His desperation knew no bounds when left his dorm and rushed into his studio in the middle of the night since somewhere at the corner of his hopeless heart he knew he found one, a ray of hope.

A lot of crumbled papers surrounded Xavier as he tried accumulating the pieces from his puzzled mind. Around two o’clock he left his studio on his bicycle, the paper where he drew tucked in his pocket. He was sure he had witnessed the scenery before unlike the others.  When he finally reached the top of the highland, he witnessed the view from his most recent dream. 

The only thing that engulfed his presence was the sound of the waterfall echoing through the woods. He noticed a pond nearby and an adjacent high plateau near it. It was higher from where he was standing. After looking around for a few minutes he figured that there was no way to go there unless one swam through the stream or flew toward it.

On his way back, he felt happy, he felt sane. At least he had proof of the existence of a creature that haunted him, even in his wake. Xavier showered before going to bed just to clear his head before a good night's sleep. He kept a white feather as a bookmark in his sketch pad while a smile smothered his face. He was right. He was haunted by a fairy-like creature.

“Two cappuccinos”, Xavier mumbled as he went back to the counter at Weathervane. It was another event where all the students of Nevermore set foot into the world of normies to carry on the ties between two polar opposite worlds. But no matter how much one tried, the other always tried to retaliate. Their relationship was always on a tightrope, it could snap at any moment. And it certainly did.

“And you did not bother to tell me about this. . .”, Principal Weems trailed off as she left her seat, walked past her desk, and inclined against it, “until everyone in town became aware of it.”

“I thought I was going to be called insane or bullied. Last time I told something about my dreams, I found myself behind the bars.”, he responded, keeping his eye on the ground. Principal Weems exhaled grudgingly. She had no grounds to punish this boy since he was not entirely wrong. Hence, Xavier was dismissed with mere detention. 

Xavier was forbidden from the school campus for a week. Everyone felt sorry for him, in his situation but secretly he could not be happier because he had all the time to draw, sketch, paint and think — and it was all about her, y/n. 

That day at the café, Xavier was the sole witness of a crime. It happened so quickly, so fast that all she could do was succumb to her fate. A man was standing near the corner of the kitchen with his back facing Xavier. Xavier was not supposed to be here but he had to fetch some ingredients for making pastries and cupcakes. 

As the man turned around, Xavier saw a bloodied butcher's knife in his hand. Near his feet lay a girl with a bloodied back the blood quickly spread all over her blouse. She stood motionless, like a statue. The eye contact was merely for two seconds and he immediately smashed the sugar jar on his head, distracting him, to tackle her out of the way.

The other townies turned up for help. Not all people in the world came to be cruel and heartless. All Xavier did was contact Principal Weems so that she could swiftly take care of this matter, which she had to otherwise the reputation of the Nevermore Academy would be in danger. The girl was taken to a nearby hospital. 

Y/n L/n was her name. After the untimely death of her parents, she was raised by her uncle, by a normal family. Naturally, when she began to bloom, she was forced to be normal. One would think she tried to run, tried to hide or fight but Alas! none was the case for this matter. She felt indebted to her uncle and his family, for taking care of her, aiding her upbringing, fulfilling the role of parents, and hence helping her to be normal. But Xavier's presence on that day turned her life upside down. She was now a student at Nevermore Academy, funded by Principal Weems’ study forum. 

After you recovered within a week, the first thing that dawned on you was to meet him, Xavier, the ‘ hero ’ of your life. You knocked on the door of his studio and waited for a while. There was no answer for a few minutes and when you finally made up your mind to leave, Xavier showed up. He was in his casuals with a teeth-flashing grin on his face.

“How’re you, y/n? The last time I saw you, you were in a hospital bed and now you’re here. in front of me.”, Xavier danced on his toes as he walked into his studio. You followed him and the moment you stepped into his studio you were taken all in awe. The room was filled with artboards, canvases, and sketch supplies, and everything reflected you. Indeed, y/n did not come here to be thankful for what he did since she was not. She was not happy with how her life seemed so devoid of any family. Her uncle was the last of her family and now he is gone. All because of him, Xavier.

“You look better than the last time I saw you.”, Xavier added as he felt the silence between the two of you deafening. You swallowed hard as he tried to ease the tense ambiance thinking how rude of him to remind you of the very wound he was responsible for. There was a desk with a closed sketch pad that caught your attention. 

“Your drawings are very beautiful.”, you pitched in opening it and your heart dropped at the sight of your feather that was kept safely in between those rusty pages. A short gasp escaped your lips as the whirlwind of your life hit you.

Xavier was standing behind you, close to your shivering body. “They are all about you.”, a low whisper before he extended his hand to remove the veil from the canvas. The cloth dropped at your feet revealing every bit of dreary in you that you always wanted to hide. You hated how he could see through your pangs and pathos, you hated how he could and would have eradicated all of it, even if it meant being burnt by it. You swiftly tackled out of his towering frame, feeling naked even though you were more dressed than him. 

“Stay away from me. You shouldn’t come near me.”, Surprise took Xavier in all proportions. His eyebrows became congested as you continued. “I’m grateful that you saved me but do not do that again, ever.” With that, you walked out of his studio but a firm grip on your wrist kept you from running away anymore.

“Listen, I’m being haunted by you, your pain, your emotions, and everything you feel for the past few months, and all you could say to me was to stay away from you… not even a proper thank you.”, His breath hit your lips as he drew in a sharp breath before his amber eyes landed on you, your shaky lips and pale eyes.

Embarrassment rushed into your cheeks and you pushed him lightly uttering, “Stay away” with a little glare to ward him off but when you vanished out of his sight he was not dejected, not at all. Sure, he was conflicted but the way you told him to stay away whereas your body spoke otherwise made him relish the chase that has haunted him for months now.

They say one can only save people only if one wants to be saved. You neither needed help nor saving but you could see why Xavier begged to differ, wanted to be the odd one out, and craved the crown from saving you from your only family. You always had been a rebel since your childhood, going against the flow of the stream. Somewhere in the corner of your heart, you knew you were different, you would be different. 

It was the end of June when you first felt your body ache, back arch, muscles cramping excruciatingly as if someone was poking needles in your skin. Your arms clung to your body as your back bled for the first time. The wailing of such lethal agony submerged amidst the sound of rain as two enormous wings grew with lustrous hues of carmine and amber. Your breathing became regular again, your body stopped hurting as the wings flapped open involuntarily. Every mark, scar, and wound on your body since you were a child began to heal, all by themselves. 

Everyone rejoiced when you went through the family ritual and stood in front of your clan as the last phoenix of your bloodline. It was a miracle that a phoenix had been born in the bloodline but just like with blessings it came with a massive price. You were a healer and a destroyer at the same time. Somewhere something has to die to keep you alive, again and again. Every time you were wounded or hurt, your mother had to lose some of her life until she became lifeless, forever. But the family oracle told your father that it is a part of the process, part of a phoenix's journey that every one of their loved ones had to sacrifice in one way or another. 

Your father just had a miraculous idea to save you and himself from the bottomless pit of despondency and mutual hatred lurking in his heart because of you. He volunteered to sacrifice himself even if that was against his will. The oracle seemed to be unsure about the idea, saying that the cycle might shorten but not cease. But your father was right, the cycle did cease and you became aware of it when your uncle tried to chop off your wings, uprooting the evil once and for all, and no one in your family was harmed. Still, unfortunately, you were under the radar of an outcast, Xavier Thorpe. ‘What would happen if someone not from your bloodline were to sacrifice? What would happen to your mate if they were not an outcast? What would. . . thoughts would not cease to bombard your mind until a knock disrupted your trail of thoughts.

You lifted your eyes for a glance only to find Xavier inclining against the bookshelf with a saccharine smile on his face. Your stomach turned at the sight of him. ‘How can a person be so forgiving?’ but it seems that he is rather forgetful than forgiving. He picked up a random book from the shelf and sat in front of you.

“You’re hurt. . .”, you murmured to which he responded, “more than you think . . .” while turning the pages of the book and occasionally stealing glances from you. You rolled your eyes and leaned towards the table eyeing his hands that had a lot of scratches. It was probably from a silly fight with other boys, maybe the normies; for him, it was just a scratch yet for you it was an opportunity to apologize for the other day. 

“Give me your hand.” As you extended yours, Xavier's reflexively recoiled under the desk. “I’ve no intention of harming you.”, you uttered touching the palm of his other hand that was still on the desk. “Besides, I’m just clearing my debts.”

“Um-hm.”

You inhaled sharply before you flapped those lustrous enormous wings to heal with him, his wounds. Your wings glowed for almost a minute and the hand that was hurt was healed which he was hiding under the desk. It is impressive how Xavier hurt the very hand that can create masterpieces. What a clutz!  He interlaces his fingers with yours as he murmured, “A touch . . . is all you need.”

You begrudgingly pulled your hand away standing up and yelling whisperingly, “stop it. stop this. . . and don’t come near me.” With that, you grabbed your book and went towards the exit of the library. Xavier sat like a child who would mourn for the broken toy rather than demand anew.

“Wait.”, Xavier followed you. He kept yelling in the middle of the corridor, “Y/n. wait.”

“Your wings.”, you finally turned your head but not without letting out a sigh of annoyance. “You’re hurt. . .bleeding” and that is when fear crawled underneath the skin. 

“I never bleed.”, you retorted.

“And, I never lie.”

If it were someone else, you would have shooed them away. But this was Xavier, who saved you from an inevitable, to whom you owed nothing but the truth. Even though you tried to heal yourself you could not, perhaps because you healed someone and that too for the first time. 

Xavier might be persistent but he was not dull. It didn't take him long to connect the dots and hence you had to do the very thing you wanted to avert from the first place. His room was not tidy but not neat and clean either. With Rowan gone he has the room all to himself. You wanted to go to the infirmary, but there wasn't anyone available. Besides, with all the mess you are in you didn't want to risk it.

“I promise I'll behave.”, he said, swinging his hands up in the air in a form of surrender. That made you smile a little as you turned around so that he could tend to the wound. He unzipped your dress and carefully tucked it along your waistline without harming the feathers. Even though you had your camisole on, you still felt naked. His fingers brushed against your skin. It was ice cold. You had to hold your breath as he dressed the wound. 

Xavier noticed how your shoulder blades had been marked. He grazed his fingers over the part from where your wings grew that made you instantly shriek and move away from him. 

“Are you done?”, you asked, surprise and embarrassment coursing through your skin. Your upper body was barely clad, nothing but an unhooked bra. 

“No.”, and within a blink, his lips were already on yours. You could taste the longing and desperation with each suck. Your hands curled around his nape as his hands got rid of the minimal clothing from your upper body. “First time?”, he asked as he moved away leaving you breathless yet craving for more.

“Why? You care?”, you blurted out stepping out of your dress. Xavier eyed you from up and down. You did not flinch but rather smiled as you noticed his astonished face. You had nothing on but just the underwear. 

“I do.”, one of his eyebrows jumped as he knelt near you. “I don’t wanna hurt you.”, he murmured grabbing your calf muscles and kissing your femininity over the cloth. He took a glance before tucking the hem of the panty in between his fingers and undid it. Your hand reflexively went over his head as he kissed your entrance, lapping over your pussy lips that made you suck in a sharp breath. He sucked on your skin, followed by a feeble bite into your inner thighs. 

“AH!”, you winced pausing his ministrations. “Don’t you taste divine?”, he whispered kissing your lips, wetting them with the blend of his saliva and your slick. He was too dressed. You cocked an eyebrow at him and he took the hint. You co-operated as he became almost naked, and was back up even though you wanted him to continue.

“You won’t hurt me. worry for yourself.”, you said as you felt his hands palming your cheeks a little too long than they should. His hands traveled back to your entrance and you moaned under his slight touch.

“What? Never played with yourself?”, he added that surely turning the cogs in your head. You pushed him onto the bed, sitting on him struggling to take his cock in and he was not even helping. All he did was watch you let out whimpers of frustration as you lazily glided on his cock. He rested himself on his elbows saying, “Look at me.” And as you did, his fingers dig into your plush ass cheeks slowly adjusting you at a proper angle and stretching you. You kissed him so break the eye contact that made you feel naked, even though you were. Both of you jolted as you could feel his cock inside you.

His hands clamped around your waist as you bobbed on him, with greater force and broader strokes but slow. With each sloppy hit you felt his cock twitch inside you; your hands desperately roamed all over your body, heat bubbling as you could feel your body tensing, picking up the pace he was setting you in, and the orgasm lurking underneath. You can tell; a few more strokes and you would cum so easily. 

He can feel it too. Xavier winced as he felt you clenching around his cock. His legs folded to support your back while your hands flew to his shoulder blades, his knuckles turning white, his grip growing stronger around your waist and you came right away, back arching and your wings flapping open involuntarily, eyes rolling white relishing the high as your thighs squeezed in.

With your breathing rash and heavy, you felt all mushy in the head and so was he. Xavier could have sworn that he has not seen anything more beautiful than this, than you sitting on him with his cock buried inside you; your skin glistening in sweat with your gorgeous wings at the display. 

As soon as Xavier’s breath relaxed a bit he pulled you into his embrace for a kiss. He could not help it, you were too beautiful to look at. Besides, he was not done, not yet.

—

by @blueparadis

#xavier thrope x reader #xavier thorpe #xavier thrope x you #xavier thrope fanfic #xavier thorpe smut #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe x y/n #xavier thorpe x you #xavier smut #xavier x y/n #xavier x you #xavier x reader #wednesday #wednesday fanfic #wednesday fanfiction #xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thrope imagine #wednesday netflix #wednesday netflix show #smut fic #smut fanfiction #wednesday smut #wednesday fic #xavier fanfic #wednesday xavier #cw bl00d #cw abuse #netflix fanfic #netflix #netflix wednesday

[juneknight]

Beneath His Breath

Kink: Forced orgasm

Dorm room Marc deserves this.

*

“I can do it,” he mutters softly, not to you, but to himself. He repeats it again and again, his head slowly lolling to the side. He suddenly jerks against his bonds, cock twitching in your grasp as he loses the battle against relaxing his muscles and thinking of something—anything—besides your lubed hand smoothing up and down his shaft. Marc lets out a frustrated breath, head thudding backwards against the headrest.

“Don’t you want to cum, Marc?” you murmur.

“No,” he mutters. His lips start moving again. Maybe he’s whispering song lyrics, like he was ten minutes ago. Or praying, like he had briefly twenty minutes ago. You glance down toward his cock and give your own shaky sigh. You have never seen him harder than he is now, his cock a dusky red. To switch things up, you let your lubed hand down to cup his balls, to feel the heft of them and how tight they’ve become after thirty minutes of focused edging.

Except it isn’t really edging if you’re trying to make him cum.

“You’re so pretty, Marc, you know that?” He doesn’t respond, lips still moving. Your thumb brushes along the spot where his sac meets his shaft. No response. “This iron clad willpower you’re scraping together is truly impressive.”

“Thanks,” he mutters. You lift his balls gently, searching for that spot behind them, pressing the pad of your thumb against it softly. Marc’s eyes open, staring at everything and nothing all at once as his jaw goes slack. Then his mouth shuts with a click, eyes squeeze tight as he swallows down the groan that vibrates through his entire bare, sweat-slicked chest.

“Very impressive,” you remark. “But baby, we both know you’re a little slut for me. How long do you really expect to last?”

“Til you give up,” he mutters, feet shifting restlessly beneath him. Though his hands are bound behind his back, you left his legs free. You know he likes to bounce his knee when he needs to distract himself. A glance toward your time shows that you have ten minutes and thirty-three seconds to make Marc cum or it’s Game Over.

“I’m never gonna give up, baby,” you whisper. “I’m gonna spend the rest of my life with your pretty dick in my hand. I’m gonna fuck and suck it as often as I choose, because you’ll always be hard for me, won’t you?”

“Stop,” he says, breaths growing even shallower. You know Marc’s body well: the length and girth of his cock, the spots that make him groan, the ones which give him goosebumps. The scars. The freckles. You know just where to touch and with how much pressure to coax a symphony of different sounds from him. All that, and you know that nothing turns him on more than getting inside his head, and the best way to do that is by talking to him.

“I don’t know why I’m even trying to make you cum,” your murmur. “I should leave you just like this, on the edge. Maybe put a ring on your cock. Then you’ll just be my toy, won’t you baby? A pretty toy. Prettiest cock I’d have ever fucked myself with, that’s for sure.

“Please,” Marc mutters, eyes flickering beneath his lids. He loses the rest of his breath, just mouthing the word again and again. Please, please, please.

“I’m gonna fuck myself so loose with you,” you sigh happily. “Keep you inside me even when I’m sleeping, ‘til my pussy feels empty whenever you—”

Marc cums. The first indication that you’ve pushed him over the edge is the breath he takes: full, chest expanding in a way he hadn’t let himself dare until now. His head lolls back, baring his corded throat to you as his mouth parts. In your lubed hand, his cock twitches, lengthening that last little bit before it bursts, cum splashing against the hard line of his abs in one, two, three spurts before spilling down over your knuckles as you work him through his orgasm. The groan that rips free of his throat is enough to haunt your dreams in the best way.

When at last his body has stopped trembling, you pump your other fist in the air.

“Haha! Take that, Spector! Now who’s doing the dishes?”

“Me,” he sighs.

“Say it, say it all in one sentence, it’s so beautiful—”

“I am going to do the dishes.”

You lean in and place a smacking kiss on his lips. He grins against your mouth and laughs at your enthusiasm, shaking his head a little as you untie him. Watching him flex his wrists and fingers, you see his mouth mutter one more thing.

You think he says, Worth it

#marc spector x reader

[hollytoshaw]

paradise | harry lewis

summary : ig feed & short blurb of harry and y/n being cuties on their holiday together !! face claim : dua lipa a/n: this is my first piece from my y/n x harry insta au omg !!! planning on basing them off random things in their relationship so they can be read in any order! excited to see where this will go, hopefully you all like it! bit nervous!!

read the rest of my stuff here : masterlist

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y/n_username posted a story! wroetoshaw posted a story!

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y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by wroetoshaw and 243,902 others! y/n_username first day in paradise with my boy 💘 tagged : wroetoshaw ... faithlouiseak hottest girl ever ↳ y/n_username no you are !!!

freyanightingale enjoy cuties ↳ y/n_username miss you already!!!

ynfanpage such a fit couple omg

calfreezy as if bog's got you on the paddle board already😭 ↳ y/n_username we'd barely left the airport and he had them hired already ↳ wroetoshaw yeah and she could barely stay on it ↳ y/n_username die xoxo

- y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by ksi and 345,290 others! y/n_username swipe to see a very excited man and his cocktail 🍹 tagged: wroetoshaw

... wroetoshaw absolute violation ↳ y/n_username love you too theburntchip never seen a man more happy about a pina colada in my life ↳ y/n_username his 10th one aswell taliamar can't swipe too busy looking at you in the first pic 😍 ↳ y/n username i love you??? tobjizzle enjoy my guys ↳ y/n_username 🤍🤍🤍 y/nfan20 i love y/n and her weird boyfriend w2slover love these losers

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y/n_username posted a photo!

liked by miniminter and 345,290 others! y/n_username my two favourite things: beer and bog tagged: wroetoshaw

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wroetoshaw also my two favourite things in life ↳ y/n_username i hate you actually

arthurtv shocking pints

freyanightingale have you two been sober at all this holiday ??? ↳ y/n_username this is our idea of relaxing 😭

behzingagram my man crush ↳ faithlouiseak get a room

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wroetoshaw posted an instagram story!

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As the sun dipped toward the horizon, casting a warm, golden glow over the beach, Y/N and Harry found themselves nestled in the soft sand, their toes buried beneath the grains as they watched the waves roll gently onto the shore.

With a cooler by their side, they cracked open two ice-cold bottles of beer, the crisp fizz echoing the excitement that danced between them. The salty sea breeze carried with it the scent of adventure, mingling with the rich aroma of their drinks as they raised their bottles in a silent toast to the beauty of the moment.

Whilst they took their first sips, a comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the rhythmic sound of the waves crashing against the shore. Y/N leaned back against Harry's chest, her head resting against his shoulder as they gazed out at the vast expanse of the ocean, the colors of the sunset painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.

With each sip of beer, they shared stories of their past adventures and dreams for the future, their laughter mingling with the gentle lapping of the waves. They talked about everything and nothing, lost in the magic of the moment and the undeniable connection that held them together.

As the sky turned from gold to dusky blue, they sat together in companionable silence, savoring the last sips of their drinks as they watched the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky. And as the night stretched out before them, filled with the promise of endless possibilities, Y/N and Harry knew that they were exactly where they were meant to be—side by side, sharing a beer on the beach, and falling more deeply in love with each passing moment.

''Doesn't get much better than this,'' Harry said, clinking his bottle towards Y/N, the last remaining bit of beer swaying slightly.

Y/N tipped her bottle towards him, humming in agreement ''Feels like paradise.'' she said.

#wroetoshaw #w2s #harry w2s #w2s x reader #w2s imagine #w2s fic #stephen tries #chrismd #willne #harry lewis #sidemen #arthurtv #chris michael dixon #chris md #wroetoshaw x reader #wroetoshaw oneshot #wroetoshaw imagine #harry wroetoshaw #hollytoshaw #sidemen x reader