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sant-riley · 1 year

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[ More task force 141 × OFC! reader headcanons] [pt2]

A/N: thank yall so much for all the love on the last hcs!! I hope these live up to yalls expectations <3 please tell me which ones are yalls favorites <3!!!

CW: She/her pronouns, Codename is Teddy, Simping, crude humor, Age gaps, cursing, British slander (if I miss anything, let me know!)

If you dye your hair, Ghost helps you dye it when y'all go on extended leave. The military doesn't allow unnatural colors so when you have a few weeks to a couple of months, he'll be the one to ask. "Cm'ere, I got the bleach already."

The guys like to go with her when/if she gets tattooed. Do they know what she's getting inked? Nope, but they like to keep her company and will go get her food if needed.

Teddy vocal stims,, alot. She has picked up on "Fuckin' hell" and it has yet to leave her brain and Ghost just stares in amusement. You can hear her echo it back to them once he says it on a mission.

Teddy is her codename but her nicknames vary from who's talking about her!

Ghost: Ted, Teds, Sweetheart, Runt

Soap: Bonnie, Rascal, Barra, Lass

Price: Rookie, Dear

Gaz: Love, Darling, Hun

They get on her ASS for being an American. They will poke fun at her every fucking chance esp if she speaks in slang.

Price shakes his head and tries to teach her the "proper" way of speaking but all she does is mock the accent. He has since given up.

The first time they see her off duty, it's shock. She looks so different when she's not in uniform, (if you have it: dyed hair, makeup) her normal civilian clothes. Soap is almost convinced it's not Teddy until she smacks him upside the head and calls him an asshole.

Being the first one to see Ghosts face because you're having a breakdown about all the murder and bullshit you've gone through, crying profusely and no one knows how to help bc everyone just shoves it down and represses it.

He trusts you, he knows he does so it doesn't take him much to take you into a secluded room and expose himself. He will say that seeing you silently stare up at him with awe made his feelings grow for you. He will not, but his heart definitely would.

Soap actively teaching you how to curse in Gaelic bc he thinks it's funny with your accent. Too bad you can barely understand when he tries teaching you so you're just kinda staring at him dead eyed.

Soap plays with your hair, alot. It soothes him to run his fingers through it or simply to yank it bc he's a little dickhead. He's the kind of person who'd let your hair routine and learn how to help you take care of it.

Ghost and Price straight up rustle your hair and thinks it's funny when you shove their hand away and get all huffy lmfao.

HELPING SOAP SHAVE HIS MOHAWK, there's no barber on base so you're the next best thing he has. Many of the team have walked in with Soap sitting between your legs bc he's way too fucking tall for you to cut his hair comfortably. Ghost walking in with you holding a razor to Soap's neck and just turning around and walking out immediately.

Price has given you a cigar to smoke, he knows for a damn fact you cannot handle it and laughs his ass off when you sputter. Top 10 favorite moments of his.

Gaz likes to give you British foods to try, he knows for a damn fact you will not like it.

"C'mon love, just one bite?" "I am not fucking eating beans on toast, you're insane." "It's a good meal!"

He gets so fucking mad when yall go to Las Almas and you devour the food there. Literally pouts bc he sees you with Alejandro and Rudy eating food and laughing together.

You play video games alot when on leave, please imagine trying to teach Ghost on the newer games that are out now. You make fun of him calling him an old man but he actually fucking wins potg/apex most of the time and looks at you smug as hell.

No one knows why you're called Teddy, so they all make up their own stories but you neither confirm nor deny. Soap says it's bc you're cuddly and cute like a teddy bear while Ghost says its bc you can maim someone like one. Duality of man.

Speaking of cuddling, it's not uncommon to have to huddle for warmth on missions. They all manhandle you to them and they all slightly do it differently.

Ghost sits you front to front with your chests touching While he sits up, arms around your waist with him playing with his knife, staring past your head and at the wall.

Price presses you into his side, a arm wrapped around your shoulders as he tells you stories about missions gone wrong, the smell of cigar smoke flooding your senses.

Soap also sits you on his lap with your back against his front while he buries his face in your hair. He tells you stories about his childhood and growing up with his mom, he wants yall to meet one day.

Gaz is usually the best prepared and has either a sleeping bag or a blanket, so he wraps it around yall making sure you're more covered than he is and sits close, yalls legs intertwined.

They worry so fucking much about you, you're young and while they have come to love and appreciate you, they can't help but wish you were anywhere else but here risking your life.

"You're too young to be here Kid." "And you weren't?" Ghost has to swallow down how much he wants to scream that he just wants you safe but he knows that's not his place, he isn't your boyfriend or husband.

Alejandro has doubts when everything goes to shit if they can trust you, since he hadn't seen much of you like he had with Ghost and Soap. But then he sees the way they speak about you and how these two burly strong men get a tender look in their eyes. He finds it funny but also feels great respect to you. It is not easy to get task force 141 to care so much about a new member but hey, you did it.

Alejandro takes you out dancing and drinking when you go back to visit Las Almas. He knows how to dance so fucking well and it's always a good time. He always has his hands on your waist and always makes sure you're okay with it. Perfect gentleman 10/10

Now Graves thinks that you're just some stupid kid but realizes quickly that while you can fight your own battles, you never need to. Just one look at Ghost staring daggers into his forehead is enough for him to swallow his tongue less it gets cut out.

Laswell treats you like her own kid, especially when she finds out if you have a bad home life. She always makes sure you're stocked up on necessaties at the base and invites you for lunch along with her wife often. She is the first one you call when you have anything personal to speak of and she is the mother figure you have while on missions.

Taglist <3 (If you'd like to be tagged in future works, please comment under my rules that are pinned to my blog!)

@tamayakii @teacupcollector @sweet-as-an-angel @marsbar127xx

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thegnomelord · 4 months

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Hi! Could you do #15 with Ghost & FTM!Reader? I love your writing :D

Sure thing anon :D and thanks for the compliment lol, play the game HERE

Prompt: "Come here. Sit in my lap and tell me what you want."

CW:NSFW, Sub Bot Ghost, Dom Top FTM reader, riding, cockwarming, dom/sub, strap-on's, praise.

Simon went off to a mission. . .but he's not the one who come back.

It's Ghost that returns to you, loud footsteps ringing like gunshots outside your room, barely able not to take the door off it's hinges when he comes in. He stands in the doorway, on the proverbial line between here and back there; the scent of blood hits you before you even see him, blood on his clothes, on his body, on his soul (or what's left of it)

You continue writing your report, but move your eyes to meet his. The blood splattered across the bleach white of his mask turns the warm browns of his eyes dark like the head of a bullet, like the soil he'd been buried under, like the rot festering in his brain; Your first instinct is to comfort him, to get up and hug him, to hold him until your presence pushes life into his lungs, to let him claw your back and bite your shoulder because Ghost loves you with his teeth first but— no.

It's not what he needs right now.

"Come in, lock the door." You order, keeping your voice steady, firm, a bit bored even.

You write down a few more sentences in your report, ears straining to hear him follow your orders, the door locking, counting the steady 'thump's of his boots as he walks up to your desk. Neither of you talk, the silence broken by his staggered breathing; can't drown the world in blood without loosing your breath too.

"Strip." Your tone never changes, like this isn't abnormal for two lieutenants to do, like it's just another order, because he isn't a lieutenant right now. He's just another soldier.

He doesn't say a word, doesn't hesitate either, even the soft 'click's of belts and buckles turned harsh from how fast he undoes them. A little bit of care returns in the way he folds his gear, neatly laying the folded clothes on the edge of your desk. He stands before you naked save for the mask, dark eyes bearing down at you.

Beneath the scent of blood and sweat, there's the undoubtable smell of gunpowder and steel that had burrowed deep into his pores, his muscles rigid and jaw so tense you wouldn't be surprised if he'd chipped a tooth.

You finally look up, rolling back on your chair to create space between you and the desk. "Come here," You pat your thigh. "Sit in my lap and tell me what you want."

There's the slightest nod of his head before he's walking around your desk, Ghost's calloused hands grip your shoulders firmly as he settles on your lap, thigh thighs caging in your own, the chair creaking. He's a mountain of muscle on top of you and he doesn't attempt to ease the burden of his weight on you, he expects you to shoulder it as much as you expect him to give you all that's weighing down on him.

You tip your head back to look up at Ghost, gripping the armrests to keep yourself from touching him — you don't reward half-assed jobs. "Repeat my last order."

"Sit in your lap," Ghost says, rough, more teeth than tongue. "an' tell you what I want." His hands tighten on your shoulders as if he's trying to see how much pressure he needs to put before you break; a dog tugging on the leash.

"And?" You keep the discomfort from his grip secret, keeping a good poker face until he relents, his hands still firm but now holding you like the edge of a cliff than something he's destined to break.

". . .want you, sir." Ghost manages and you finally reward him, just a small brush of your fingers along his naked thighs feels like a hot knife carving through ice, painful and pleasant at once.

"Good," You hum, "Now, here's what's going to happen." The battlefield's uncontrollable, chaotic, unstable. Knowing what's going to happen will be good for him. "You'll go get my cock from the dresser, you'll put it on me, then you'll sit nice and pretty until I finish my reports." His eyes darken as you speak, "Any complaints?"

"Negative." He breathes out, body already starting to buzz. You motion for him to go and he does, walking across your office as you adjust the chair so you have a better way of writing with Ghost in your lap.

Ghost sucks in a breath when he finds the toy already attached to the harness, gripping it tightly in one hand and his heart flutters when his fingers don't wrap around it all the way. It's Simon's favorite one; Long and thick, never failing to make him feel so fucking full with the prominent curve it has, covered in artificial bumps to rub and tease his prostate with every breath or minute twitch, and a thick knot at the base to make sure he's not going anywhere.

It's Simon's favorite — Ghost couldn't give less of a fuck so long it's in him.

He pads back over to you, kneeling when you tell him to. You're slow and measured as you stand up, bracing your hands on his wide shoulders. "Put it on me." You hum, fingers scratching the back of his neck in reward when he does as he's told, careful with the strap like he is with his gear, tightening the belt until the large cock sits comfortably but firmly on you.

You sit back on the chair, grabbing the lube. "Hop up," Ghost is a little more eager this time, settling back in your lap. The 'click' of the cap opening sounds like a gavel. "Stay still and relax." You order, pouring a generous amount on your fingers and trailing down to circle around his hole. "Need you to tell me if it hurts, understand?"

"Affirmative sir," He says, tries to buck his hips into your hand to speed you up but you just grip his thigh until he realizes rushing you won't get him anywhere and he stills.

"Be good now," You circle his hole a few more times to smear the lube, pressing the pad of your finger against him and putting a bit of pressure without truly trying to penetrate him, just getting his body used to human sensations. A small ragged breath leaves him and you take it as your cue to push in, slow at first, only able to push to the first knuckle before he clenches down, unsure if he wants to draw you in deeper or push you out.

"Sir," He breathes out, resting his head on your shoulder, smearing the blood on his mask on your clothes.

"Relax," You remind him, waiting until his clenching walls cease trying to snap your finger off before pushing a little deeper. You repeat this song and dance a few more times until he's comfortable having your finger slowly fucking in and out of him, a nice flush across his chest.

"I'm going to add one more now." You say as you pull your finger out to pour more lube, hearing him bite back a groan by biting your shoulder as best he can. "And no biting," You huff, cooing softly when he stops what he's doing.

"Yes sir," He sighs, eyes fluttering shut as he feels you push two fingers into him. It's a bigger stretch than before, a bigger burn, and he relishes it. He pants, chest rising and falling rapidly with every thrust in and slow drag out, not even noticing that he's rock hard. You crook your fingers, lazily searching for his prostate and you know you find it when he actually moans, muffled as the sound is.

"There you go, good boy." Praising him softly you continue to stretch him up to four fingers, feeling him wrap his arms around your neck and resting his head on his forearm, panting softly in your ear and even giving you a soft grunt every time you graze his prostate.

His thighs are covered in lube by the time you're satisfied, his cock standing stiff at attention. You pulling your fingers out has him growling low in his throat, but you placate him easily with a firm grope of his thighs while you squeeze the rest of the lube on your strap.

"Now, you'll sit until I finish the reports, no more than an hour or two." You grip the back of his neck, making him look at you. "Can you do that, my strong man?"

"Yes sir." He breathes out, and even with the mask you can see a bit of your Simon coming back, the skin around his eyes flushed, pupils dilated.

"Good boy. Relax now." You guide the tip of your strap to his hole, letting him catch his breath before slowly pushing his hips down until the head slips past his rim. He shudders, swearing beneath his breath, his arms tightening around your head as he continues to slowly sink down the large strap.

He's panting by the time he's halfway down, the bumps on the thing lined in such a way that at least one is always pushing past his prostate, the tip spreading him apart further than your fingers can reach. You start taking pauses, letting his clenching walls get used to the large intrusion before pushing an inch more, going inch after inch like that.

Once only the knot remains Ghost has almost fully melted against you, the strap so big and stretching him so wide it demands his full attention, leaving the violent thoughts in his head nothing to hold on to. "Think you can take the knot?" You ask softly but firmly, brushing a hand down his arched spine to his stretched rim, feeling how taught it is.

"Yes," Ghost breathes out, burying his head into the crook of your neck. "Give it to me sir."

You grant him his wish, gently pushing his thighs down and tilting your hips up and it looks like it won't fit — then with a 'pop' the knot slips into him, tearing a loud nasally moan from him. It's insane but you swear you can feel him clenching around the strap, your hand settling on his stomach where the head of your cock is bulging his tummy, his cock leaking an endless stream of pre with how the bumps press against his prostate.

"Good boy," You praise him, groping and massaging his trembling thighs until he relaxes, fully relaxes, a long shuddering breath escaping his lungs. "Such a good boy, just sit and feel, alright?"

He hums in confirmation, slurring a 'yes sir' like he's drunk or sleepy. Even through the layers of clothing you can feel his wildly beating heart steadily slow from it's frantic beat to something calm, the pleasure and pain and everything melting away from his mind as his body finally registers he's safe. Safe to just be.

You keep your nondominant hand on his hip to keep him steady and still, brushing the surrounding skin with your thumb as you let him float in his head while you get back to your reports. . .

#Gnome's Prompt Game #cod mw2 #x reader #gnome correspondence #trinkets from the hoard #male reader #top male reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x male reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ftm reader #sub character #sub simon riley #cod modern warfare #cod x male reader #cod smut

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undercoverpena · 1 year

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trouble keepin' my eyes off you

john 'soap' mactavish x f!reader wc: 4k | warnings: angst, jealous!soap, pining summary: soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you. an: prequel to yours to keep and a thousand — and dedicated to @guyfieriii who i adore, and dedicate all my soap too. teehee.

soap masterlist

It’s uncomfortable, the heat. It clings, wraps and drapes over everything, smothering any breeze or fresh air.

The sweat builds on his brow, dripping down the back of his neck, leaving puddles at the base of his spine. Worst of all, beads drop from his hairline, sliding down his cheeks, dropping from his jawline as he runs his hand through his hair.

His hair has grown—the shorter sides having gained some length, beginning to conceal his very deliberate mohawk he had going. Which is another string to the bow of annoyance. It tells the tale of how long they've all been here, sweating, not sleeping, watching and waiting.

But the bow, the real thing which has been grating him is that you’re on the other side of a slightly ajar door, sparring—and it isn’t with him.

Soap has been trying not to listen.

But, they’re loud—you are loud.

Even his attempts of burying it have been futile. He's attempted to recall songs from home. Ones where there’s a scotch or beer in hand, swishing from side to side as his voice cracks as he screams the words—arms around a friend or two. The words which he knows are embedded into his soul—into the very fibre of his being—and yet, you’re making it hard for him to finish a verse, never mind a song.

He’s tried to focus on the quieter noises. The ones he wouldn't usually pay any fucking attention to—like Gaz tapping the keys of the laptop in the kitchen and the hot breeze trying to brush through the open window. The background noise, never loud enough to cause any impact—but he needs them to. He clings to hope that they will. He practically claws out for them, grabbing them with metaphorical hands—anything to drive the much louder noises away.

The ones coming from the door he’s forbidden from entering all because of stern words from even sterner eyes behind a balaclava.

On some level, he understands.

The whole place is small. Privacy is not something any of you are granted. But, he knows Ghost is trying to provide that for you in this case. Because you, little Squid, rarely ever ask for help—especially from him.

Gaz, yes. Price, maybe. Even him, occasionally.

Ghost—never.

But, he’s softened. He has jokes with you, purposefully having chosen to spend time with you on watch. Something rare, and very out of character for a man who initially didn't even show any of them his bloody face.

Soap knows you've done it again. Seeped under his layers, like you did with all of them, weaving your way, making it hard not to instantly take a shine to you.

He doesn't blame Ghost, he understands why. He can see that time was taken making you, carving each element of your personality, creating someone that is both good, clever and funny. You're strong-willed, giving-a-shit attitude is most likely the reason Ghost is helping you—training with you, offering guidance and support.

Handing you fucking praise.

Because he too has caught on to what they’ve all seen. He’s taken notice of how fucking splendid you are, how you’re capable and fucking gorgeous all rolled into one.

That’s it, Squidlet. Use your—perfect, that’s it, you got it. Atta girl.

He’s sure he’ll need bleach to burn Ghost’s words from his brain.

Even if it’s his fault—because he knows he shouldn’t be listening.

Having created his own personal torture chamber that he’s taken the time to design, construct, and build. Because there wasn’t a table and chairs here before—he moved them here. Choosing this spot so he could be close, just in case. Of what? He's not sure. But he needs to be here, something within him compelling him to be.

Under his jealousy, he doesn’t blame you, and he doesn’t blame Lt either. He knows the two of you can hardly be expected to spar outside, where every pair of eyes could be the enemy. Out there, the air isn't just thick with heat, but tension too.

Apprehension simmers as they come closer and closer to completing the very thing they are here for.

So, he's sat outside the room. Pretending to be interested in the latest report. Not wanting to move. Twisting and turning his emotions like playing cards, wondering why didn’t you ask him?

He bristles, chewing the inside of his mouth, breathing heavy, hating it—hating it all. His cheeks burning, coated in sweat as he stares at the words on the page, unsure why none of them are soaking in.

Why wouldn't you choose your lieutenant? That's the thought that gnaws, that sinks its pointy teeth into him. And it makes his bones ache.

Because he's so close, and yet so far. He almost has you, but not entirely. And it pecks at him, weaves into his insecurities, his need to prove himself—so much so he can’t rid the image of his lieutenant looming his big fucking frame over you. You under him, eyes staring up, lips parted, shredding your clothing for the man who rarely shows his face—

Your groan punches the air.

A sound he knows is from you being knocked on your arse, but it makes his fingers turn white. The sound so painted with frustration, and tiredness. He can tell—christ, he can even imagine the look on your face that accompanies it. Yet his brain twists it, morphs it, transforms it into something so ugly it almost breaks his heart.

It makes him want to claw at his brain, scratch out the images the tortured parts of himself keeps creating.

Because he knows you’re both sparring, that Lt is likely knocking you down, over and over again—not knowing that you’re stubborn, not knowing he should stop, that you’re running on nothing.

He’s your lieutenant, yes, but he doesn’t know you. Doesn’t know that you push yourself until you snap and shatter, leaving fragments of yourself in your hands. Pieces he’s tried to help guide back into place when he’s found you, lost and broken in such a way he’s not sure how to glue you back.

But, you didn’t choose him.

You chose Ghost.

Asked, practically pleaded with him.

So, he had to listen—even if he really fucking didn’t want to. He had to take the few sightings of you through the cracked door—the proof that you’re not on the floor, broken, breathing hard with sweat blending with tears.

Which means he also sees your body sheened with sweat, hair sticking to your face, neck and shoulders, and your tiny, tight shorts. It means he's seeing you looking ethereal, almost too good for this goddamn place.

And it nips at him—fueling his jealousy. It peels at his skin that Ghost is seeing you like this without a filter, without anything getting in the way.

All of it whisking against the vexation of the heat, the fear of failure and the growing tiredness. It makes his knuckles almost crack, his skin almost translucent as his wrists ache from the way he continually clenches his fist.

He’s down bad. He knows that.

Soap has been aware of it for longer than he’d like to admit. Each time his eyes land on your mid-smile, each sound of your laughter—all he thinks is, I want this, I want it all with you.

Not that he says those words. He just thinks them. Lets them swirl around his godforsaken mind until they try to drag him under.

Sometimes, he can’t even think because of it. The depths of his own thoughts like water, drowning him from the inside, made so much worse by the simple fact—he’s not the one pinning you to the floorboards. That he has barely seen you, spoken to you, been around you since they all landed here.

But Ghost has. His lieutenant has. The same Lt who is funny, witty, and even has his own nickname for you. The one who has height even on him, who is broader, and who your eyes land on immediately when briefs are given out.

Not his.

Each time he almost wants to exit the room, his teeth cutting the inside of his cheeks. Instead, he sits and silently stews. Bubbling away like a broth his mum used to make—hoping, waiting to get back to base where things feel easier.

And then, your squeal pinches the air, Soap unaware he's even standing until he blinks.

Then he hears the unmistakable gruff, Manchester twang of “Y’alright, Squidie?”

His heart pounds, attempting to crack his ribs and fly out of his chest. More so as each millisecond ticks on, as they add up into seconds and your voice hasn’t cut through the air—

“Not broken. Winded. But—“

You cough. Heavy. Chesty.

Soap’s mind fighting, urging him to push the door open more and visibly check you over himself. But, he hears movements, feet—boots.

“And. Stop callin’ me, Squidie.”

“Prefer Squidlet?"

"Fuck no."

"Get up.”

“Alright, alright,” you hiss, and the floorboard creaks again as you do. “Anyone tell you that you're the worst sometimes, Ghostling.”

Each night, he hopes the air will be easier to swallow. But, each night he wishes, it brings a new fresh hell he feels ill-prepared for.

Tonight, it’s sticky—the air clogged with thick, stubborn heat. There’s moisture, but it’s wrong. It smothers, makes his clothes chafe against his muscles.

All of it is made worse by you being difficult. You're kind, warm-hearted, and beautiful—but fucking difficult too. Especially on low sleep. Especially when you're woven so tightly, you're going to snap.

He’s heard Price order you to get some fuckin’ sleep—your back against the dingy wall, his palm flat against the wall, eyes close to yours. Soap watched as you lifted your chin defiantly, muttering back, I’ll sleep when you do, Captain.

Anyone else, he suspects they’d have their neck wrung. Sharing a look with Ghost—one he wasn’t able to translate—as you spit that you'll do the next watch, climbing the stone staircase and the ladder at the top before anyone can argue.

It reminds him of months ago, when you’d driven yourself to near exhaustion then. Your stubborn, difficultness being the backbone for you not to sleep, something always needing to be done—as if you’re the sole person who can stop all of this and put the world to rights.

You’ve always taken on so much.

The fire in your chest is both a blessing and a curse. He’s heard Price chew you out for the same reason. You try to do it all, not because you don’t rely on them or because you don’t trust them, but because:

“I care about you, all of you.”

Soap had been lingering, hanging outside the door of Price’s office when he heard his response.

“What makes you think you’re alone in that, hmm? You’re one of us, Squid. So, be one of us.”

When you’d emerged—tail between your legs—it didn’t take a genius to see you’d taken it hard. Not the berating, but the statement; the fact you fit in, that you were cared for.

And, even then you’d tried to shift the emotions dancing in your eyes from him. The mask not slipping down quickly enough, and the smile was not being presented fast.

“Y’alright?”

He always wondered if you’d have lied if he’d found you one minute later. If you’d have done so because you’d have known he hadn’t seen you undone, exposed—walls at your feet.

“No. Not… not really.” “C’mon, lass.”

It wasn’t the first time, but it was one of his favourites.

He’d held you against him, his sheets over both of your bodies, comfortable silence surrounding the two of you, clothes a welcomed barrier to anything else—as you held him like he was your rock in a storm.

Just like the two of them did on that first mission together.

I trust you. You know that, don’t you? Course, lass. Be bit awkward if y’didn’t? I mean, I don't do this with anyone else. Sleep with them... like this. I hope fuckin' not. You're special, Johnny. That's all I mean.

Sleep took you seconds later. Gently stealing you from him, breaths turning heavier and body relaxing and moulding around him.

Soap had found, in that space between reality and sleep, that’s when you were the most free. When your tongue is loosened and your heart is without chains. A side of you he sees in fleeting moments when he’s alone with you, but in a greater capacity like this—when you’re about to leave him for your dreams.

Now, though, it’s different.

You're weighed down by more than stress and pride, but rocks and fucking anchors. Whether because of the growing casualties or because you missed your bed, because it brought up memories you only ever half told him about.

He knows this because he's overheard Gaz ask you if you’re okay—Soap watching from the sidelines as you lie through your teeth. Something you’re getting better at, somewhat able to control your features, almost a poker face.

He knows you hate lying, to them at least. Each lie you spit opens a sore inside of you. It’s why he’s not asked himself. Not wanting to give you something else to churn and worry over, knowing it knots your insides and makes you spiral.

It’s not his turn to keep watch, but he follows you up the ladder all the same. He leans, the air coating his skin, making him already dream about the dribble they call a shower. Because even the rooftop wall is boiling, almost cooking him through his vest and clothes.

“Talk to me, lass. What’s keepin’ y’up?”

You don’t look at him, continuing your pacing, eyes trained in the distance. But your breath audibly catches, clearly startled, clearly rattled by his question—his presence.

“I hate losing.”

“We ain’t gonna lose, Mari.”

Your chin lifts, tongue swiping across dry, cracked lips. “I know… we’re the best of the fucking best. But…”

He knows.

He’s been feeling it too.

That thing. Unexplainable. The shadow in the corner, the one which has been haunting and hunting them since the wheels touched down. Sometimes, it’s easy, and sometimes it’s methodical—it’s torturous observing until the perfect moment. And when it’s the latter, it has a way of scratching at sensibility.

They all have a past. A failed mission that stands out from the rest—one that reminds each of them not to relax, to not let their guard down—what a single mistake can cause.

Your head turns, the moon casting a shadow across your features, and the hold you have on his heart tightens—nails digging in deep as the muscle tries to thump.

“Johnny, I’m just so t—“

But it’s stolen, your explanation.

Heavy boots and a masked face cut off whatever you were about to say. Eyes sitting around darkness, staring from him to you, bouncing, before frowning.

“It's not your watch, Johnny—"

"—I know—"

"You should get some sleep."

He wants to argue. Almost bloody does, too.

Wants to dig his heels in, and get you to continue, but he’s tired—his shoulders aching, his eyes stinging.

But, it's your words from another mission that come to mind. The ones from when you’d emerged like a phoenix—fire and smoke behind you as you stumbled into his arms—

Dunna do that, lass. Scare me. Need to stop worrying, Soapie. I always find my way back. I promise.

So he nods. He leaves. His palms descend down the ladder, half-stopping when he realises he left the window opening pausing.

He's not sure what he’s expecting—if anything at all. A confirmation, maybe? That the girl who drives him mad, has feelings for the more obvious choice. The brooding, big lieutenant who spits army jokes like he has an arsenal of them; the one you spend more time under, even if it’s sparring, than any of the others.

He’s about to move, shaking his nonsensical thoughts when he hears Ghost.

“Y’gotta stop fighting us all, Squidlet.”

“I’m not.”

“You fuckin’ are, and you know it.”

Silence. Horrid, fucking silence. So much so, his mind begins to fill with images of your bodies moving together, arms pulling the other close, ripping, shredding—

“You’ll be a piss poor shot if y’don’t sleep. Plus, you’re wearing Johnny out.”

His face flushes, bloody burns in the space between the second floor and the roof.

He doesn't miss you mumble that you’re not. All dismissive. Making his hands grip the spindle of the ladder, releasing a puff of air.

“If I sleep—“

“The world will keep turnin', trust me.”

“You almost sound like you care.”

His heart sinks, drops—and fucking plummets. Because you’re right. It does. It sounds exactly like that. The nickname. The way he’s come up when it’s not even his watch. All of it screaming that it’s something—all flashing lights and loud music accompanying it.

“Go to sleep, Squidie.”

“It’s my—“

“Go.”

He has to move.

He needs to move.

Even if he wants to pull you close to him. Even if it feels like you’re slipping through his fingers.

Just like he had done when he first realised how he felt, how he’d been feeling. When he’d almost told you. Rain hammering down, drowning you both to the bone. The two of you sent east, the rest west. Splitting a building each, finding his empty, and telling you as much. Your radio silence still haunted him. His blood thumping in his ears, ripping through each room, doing what he does best—cleaning fucking house. Finding you, bruised, bleeding, your knife in hand trembling under a dead body. The sound of boots drawing nearer to the opening they’d made—

“Thanks, Simon.”

He blinks in the present. The memory faded into nothing, vanishing like smoke—like it was never even there. Whatever held the last parts of him, snapped. His eyes staring up, pricking with the heat and the moment—stinging, aching.

You called him his name.

It left your tongue wrapped in intimacy, in care.

He’s unsure how he reaches the bottom of the ladder, his palms closed, fists clenched, nothing else in his head except getting to his room. Crossing the landing, passing the room with the others, only focusing on reaching his own room. The small thing—the cupboard with a single bed he’d managed to cop.

Everything he's squashed down, rises. They all begin to angrily fuse, mixing with the heat and his pent up frustration that he’s still here—so much so he almost slams the door. Almost.

His fingers instead press the thin wood into its frame. The click blessing the air like the first strum of a guitar, his heart beating like a drum—and then a knock, one belonging to a smaller hand, calloused, but still soft, the bass that sets the mood. All of it blending, creating a song he's not sure if he'll love or hate.

He knows it’s you. Knows it as he opens the door, watching you stare up at him, sliding your vest from your body, all defeated and knackered beyond belief.

Deep down, no matter what his brain says—what he hears, what he sees—he at least knows it’s him you choose to curl up to. That when you really need comfort, it’s him you look for. It’s him you pull close until your bodies almost merge into one.

“Hi.”

“Lass...”

You look troubled, more weighed down than he really noticed. Not even bothering to hide it, to plaster a smile over the cracks.

“Can I… Soap, I can’t…” you chew the inside of your cheek, avoiding his eyes as you sigh.

He tugs on your wrist, pulling you to him. Your body falling into him like it’s weightless, like you’re all attitude and feathers. Bringing you close, holding your head to his chest—almost swaying with you.

It always starts like this.

One, long hug. Rooted to the spot. Nothing—not a single thing able to penetrate the two of you. Frozen in a moment no one can ever take. And then, he’ll turn, finding shorts and a different t-shirt, hearing you undress before finding something more comfortable. Sometimes it’s your own, sometimes it’s his.

And fuck, when it’s his.

Your wicked, but sleepy smile is a picture for sore eyes and one he wishes he could take a photo of when you wait for his invite, as if you ever need one to climb into his bed.

Your bodies slide against the mattress. Usually, the springs protest, but the cot you’re sharing just groans in frustration as both of your sets of limbs find their place.

It should feel awkward, but it never does. He shouldn’t crave this, should be able to sleep solidly without a person on his chest. But, he finds he sleeps better with you. Finds that dreams are easier, that there’s more sunshine, more hope and fucking rainbows in the world when you’re on top of him, softly breathing.

“Night, Mari.”

He waits.

Your usual sleepy ‘Soapie’ or ‘Johnny’ blessing his ears. But none come, none. And he almost tenses, almost moves you to see your face.

“You… you don’t mind that we do this, do you?”

His hand tilts your chin up, staring into those eyes, begging them to give him a reason—either to close the gap or begin the process of getting over you. Something. Anything.

Because how could he mind this, when he wants something more?

He’d ask for it too. If he weren’t afraid. The big demolition man scared of losing you, of losing this, by being greedy and wanting more.

“Neve’, lass. I like being the person y’come t’when you need somethin’.”

He doesn’t miss the smile. The soft one. The one which you rarely show, but is bloody beaming for him now.

“It’s only you, Soapie,” you say, curling tighter into him, leaving no space.

And it takes all of his control.

Thoughts of his great-aunt with her harsh accent and wiry moustache to be able to pull you closer. Your head on his chest, fingers dancing up and down your arm as he feels you relax, muscle by muscle.

“Only me, y’say?”

You let out a soft breath, one that dances warmth over his t-shirt—almost over the hair on his chest. “You’re an idiot, Johnny. Course it is, who else?”

And he smiles.

Not at his name, not at the insult, but the fact you’re falling asleep—something you’ve not done for two full days. And it’s on him.

Only him.

He buries the rest of your words. The ‘who else’ and the instant answer that appeared on the tip of his tongue. He can unpack it another time.

There’s something about waking on top of him. Clothes are a horrid, but necessary barrier between the two of you.

You don’t want things to change, for them to spoil, to wilt and fade from grasp. So, you’ll put up with only having this, having him in this way. At least then, you'll always have arms around you that you know won’t hurt you. You’ll accept the hugs, and long for the cuddles; you’ll settle for sleeping alongside him, rather than with him.

And, you won't tell MacTavish that you think he’s handsome, no matter how much he dares you to drink. That even asleep he is beautiful, even minus the evidence of his smile, and the dimples you wish to trace with your fingers. He’s still everything, without being anything.

He’s your best friend, your safety, your person.

He feels like home, a soul that grounds you and keeps you rooted. He makes you better, helps you grow and—

Your fingers draw a circle on his chest. Watching his lashes flutter, his eyes slowly opening, and your throat going dry—like it does each time he looks at you with so much softness.

I think I’m in love with you, Johnny.

That’s what you should say.

Instead, you say, “Morning, Soapie.”

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so-mordor-itis · 11 months

Note

I SAW THE PROMPT LIST AND

“can’t sleep?” + “promise me you’re still gonna be here when I wake up.”

for our boy leon..

- yes to heaven anon 🤍

Man I thought of an idea and I definitely couldn't get it out of my head so I hope you enjoy this <3

Reader and Leon are from Eye on You

I changed up the prompt a little bit I hope that's okay!

"Hush, love, close your eyes and in sleep abide"

1998

Cold air blew across your shoulders the moment you entered the hospital room. Heavy bleach and the smell of utensils wafted through you, making your shoulders sag. It was hard not to be nervous in a room where the most urgent news was carried, where the bloodied and sickly were told how their life might end. You fiddled with the helm of your sleeve when you saw Leon under the thin, blue sheets of a bed, the sky blue of a hospital gown underneath bandages scattering from his shoulder to his chest.

You immediately hated the image of it.

His eyes were closed, and you had hoped he was getting the rest he needed.

Visitors besides family weren't allowed past 8, but you fibbled a little, stating you were his lover and definitely considered family. It wasn't a full lie since he did ask you out, but you knew he would ask questions when he was more aware of what you did. You'd walk across that bridge when you'd get there.

You sat in a chair beside his bed. It groaned as you did. You sighed a little of relief when it didn't disturb his slumber. Part of you wanted to take in the peace before the storm, before he opened up the can of worms and told you what exactly happened to him. A deep pit formed in your stomach at the possibilities. The wound on his shoulder wasn't ordinary. You weren't stupid.

Regardless of what would happen next, you'd be there for him.

You bit your lip to prevent yourself from laughing at your boldness. Since when had you grown so attached to him?

You shook your thoughts away. None of that mattered. You strapped yourself in this ride, and you would see it through.

You scooted your chair closer to brush some stray bangs from his face. Your heart nearly gave out when he shuffled closer.

Yep, you were strapped in for good.

2005

You didn't really dream anymore. Visions of fantasies created from your own consciousness were replaced with memories. Most were pleasant; your high school graduation, when you first met Leon--before the mess with Raccoon City. That one wasn't as often as it used to be. Perhaps now because you found tranquility with everything. How he went from this springy, happy-go-lucky man to someone who was more guarded but still had that young man deep down. Leon just only showed him to those he trusted. You probably were allowed to gaze at that young man more than others.

Your eyes fluttered open with disagreeable ease, a stinging sensation crowded around them once the realization you were awake kicked in. You moved your legs a little in an attempt to find comfort, but a small barrier from behind made it difficult. You couldn't help the smile forming on your lips.

Protective arms wrapped around your form, creating a cage. One leg was propped against your own, the other beneath. Over the years, Leon made it a habit of being as close as he could get, and while you didn't mind this, he sometimes didn't realize how much of a human space heater he was. You always felt safe despite that.

You wanted to stay in this position to feel his gentle breathing and let it lull you back to sleep as if it were a lullaby, but the urge to remove yourself and stretch your legs became more palpable.

However, you knew what would happen the moment you detached yourself from his cage. Leon would immediately know--an alarm would sound in his brain, and he'd wake up to empty arms and immediately search for you like a lost puppy. You'd then feel guilty for waking him. This song and dance had been done more than once.

Your mind and body fought for a second, but ultimately, your body won the argument. You shuffled your way out of his arms and sat up, your vision still adjusting to the darkness of the bedroom. An image from the recent memory that woke you flashed in your mind, and you frowned.

Not what you wanted to see.

You crossed the threshold to access the kitchen. The clock on the stove glared 4:35 at you. You grabbed a plastic cup from a cupboard and filled it as quietly as you could. You took a sip as you tossed a glance toward the archway that led to the living room.

After nearly 7 years together, you knew his mind and his thought process. You had your own Leon clock planted inside your head, and it made you wonder if he had one for you in his own.

Any minute now. You thought, guilted poked at your chest. You truly hated waking him up. While it gave you ingress to his sleepy voice and pillow-made messy hair, he desperately deserved rest.

You took another sip and frowned again. Of all memories that could've popped up, why that one? The one of him in a hospital bed, bloodied arm wrapped in a guaze, pale face from all the medications he was pumped with. It wasn't your favorite memory for good reason.

As if right on cue, you heard shuffling and a yawn. "Baby?" Leon called, his voice still loopy. Nearly 30, and he still sounded so young when he was filled with sleep.

"In here," you uttered, your own voice hoarse. "Just getting water."

More shuffling, and finally, he emerged from the darkness of the hallway. He dirty blond hair was askew, and he blinked as his own eyes were adjusting to the dim lighting of night. You showed him a simper. "I woke you up again, sorry." His vulnerability still made you feel silly butterflies.

Leon just shook his head. "Don't worry about it. Couldn't sleep?"

You shrugged. "Just needed water. I didn't have a nightmare, if that's what you're asking."

"Just making sure you're okay."

"I thought that was my job." You teased. He returned your grin with a small smile of his own.

"If you're not in need of comfort, then it's back to bed for you."

"What, am I in trouble?"

"Big time. I could be cuddling you right now, but no." Leon had approached you to tilt your head to him so he could kiss it.

"Hmm, maybe I'll stay up longer."

"Nope, not an option."

"Huh -" You placed the cup in the sink, paying him no mind, before he picked you up like a sack of potatoes, lifting you by your legs so you hung over his shoulder with ease. "Leon!" You didn't fight back, only smacked his arm lightly.

He didn't say anything as he playfully put you back on your side of the bed. Leon pulled you closer to him, mimicking the same position you were in previously, only this time he was facing you now. "That's better."

"What are you a teenager?"

"At heart."

You slumped in defeat, and he felt it. He chuckled as you snuggled into his chest. "Carrying me was unnecessary." You grumbled.

You wouldn't tell him about the memory. You didn't need to. It was a part of your past, a piece of a puzzle that began the shape of your life, but it shouldn't be brought up. Not anymore, at least.

You were with him now. He wasn't bloodied and bruised. His shoulder didn't carry a bullet.

Leon was alive.

That's all that mattered.

And you would be there when he woke up, just as he would for you.

|Tags:|

@seraphiism , @uhlunaro , @unhealthy-leon-brainrot , @mandalhoerian , @honeyfict , @konigbabe , @inaflashimagine , @boundinparchment , @justanother-fic , @izuniias , @leonskillshot ,

#resident evil x reader #resident evil 4 #resident evil imagines #resident evil #leon kennedy resident evil #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon x reader #leon x you #my writing #yes to heaven anon

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star-born-mars · 5 months

Text

Brother's Best Friend (I Don't Care)

"God, as much as I love you, your brother will kill me if he finds me with my tongue down your throat," Stiles said, pulling away just enough to get that one sentence out before he was hauling you back in for a kiss.

You hummed, trailing kisses down his neck as you ran your hands up his stomach. "I don't care, he'd have to get through me."

"Shit, shit, baby, just... oh, who am I kidding?" Stiles muttered to himself, cupping your face in his hands so he could pull you in for another breath-taking kiss.

You grinned against his mouth, pulling his t-shirt over his head. "Nobody, now," you told him, pushing him back onto the bed so that you could climb into his lap.

"Have I ever told you how gorgeous you are?" he asked, sliding his hands up the back of your shirt to fidget with your bra clasp. "Because, really, you are one of the most beautiful, ethereal, b--- mh!"

"Stiles, less talking, more kissing," you said, sliding one hand down his abdomen, towards the waistband of his jeans.

The sound he let out was nearly a whimper, and it had you grinning against his mouth, especially when he looked up at you like you'd already started.

"Hey, sis, can I--- what the fuck!"

Scott was standing in the doorway, cringing away from the scene with a hand over one of his eyes, and the other was squinted. He looked so fucking stupid.

"Heyyyyyy Scotty," Stiles drawled, cringing at the sound of his own voice.

"Stiles, get your hands out of my sister's shirt," Scott demanded. "Now!"

"Stiles, keep your hands right where they are. This is what he gets for barging in unannounced!"

"You have super hearing!" Scott argued, still half torn between looking and not.

"I was a little distracted, Scott. Like you've never gotten distracted with Allison," you said, rolling your eyes.

"Allison isn't my best friend's sister!" Scott snapped.

You rolled your eyes. "What did you need Scott?"

"Right now I need to bleach my brain and my eyes. I needed the notes for---"

"No, get them from Allison or Lydia. If you can't pay attention in class, that's not my fault. Now leave, before you see something else you don't want to see."

Scott looked like he wanted to argue, but a small shift from you had Stiles making another noise, and Scott slammed the door on his way out, practically screaming.

"He's going to murder me the next time we're alone," Stiles muttered.

"Don't worry about him for right now, I think we were in the middle of something," you murmured, nuzzling Stiles' jaw.

"You're right, what was I worried about?" he asked as you tugged your shirt off.

"Exactly."

#stiles stilinski #teen wolf x reader #stiles x reader #stiles stilinski x reader #reader #borderline smut #implied smut #making out #making out with stiles #i am torn between wanting to suck stiles off and cradling him to my chest and cooing #there is no in between

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bump1nthen1ght · 1 month

Text

Do the Crime, Pay the Time (M!Reader x M!Undead Knight)

Pairing: Male!Artist!Reader x Male!Undead Knight

Genre: Urban Fantasy, Misunderstandings

Warnings: Extremely Dubious Consent, No preparation

Word Count: 2254 words

Summary: All you had wanted was to paint, to decorate these abandoned ruins with your art. But it seems your presence is unwanted at these ‘abandoned’ ruins.

Request: i have an idea for a request,,

how bout an Undead Male Knight x Male Graffiti Artist

The Graffiti artist would wander into some ruins away from the city to paint a mural, unknowing of its origins and get caught by the Undead Knight…

Maybe some punishment for trespassing on the ruined kingdoms property,,? 🥹

You should have known this place was too good to be true.

You had stumbled upon it wandering one day, shocked that the crumbling ruins weren't kept behind a “KEEP OUT - PRIVATE PROPERTY” sign. That wouldn’t have stopped you, of course, but the fact the large complex was seemingly abandoned made it all the more interesting.

Most of the ceiling had caved in, remnants of flying buttress and great arches overgrown with moss and water damage. Some remains of stained glass lay shattered on the ground, brushed into the corners by the wind or wandering animals.

But what takes your attention is the surprisingly intact wall, clean of debris and dust. It’s perfect for a mural, and on first site the painting is already forming in your head.

You head home to pack up supplies and pray it stays unsigned by the next day. Your arms shake from all your equipment - a ladder, cans, some brushes and paints - and you mentally cheer once you see the clear wall left intact.

The high of uninhibited artistic creation must dull your senses, because you do not hear the crunching of rusted armor or the dragging of long-slept limbs. No, it’s not until you’re being choke slammed into your easel that you realize this place was very much inhabited.

“Speak your name, intruder.”

Your attacker’s voice is low, tense and full of authority. Your nails scramble at the armored hand holding you up, trying to pry them off your throat.

I need to breathe to speak, you psycho!

You try to scream with your eyes, feeling your vision go spotty.

All you can see of your assailant is a glowing green eye, trembling like an open flame out from their dark helm. The light from it hints at something underneath, bleach white like bone, but it must be from the lack of oxygen to your brain. Surely he isn’t-

The man loosens his hold on your jugular, blood rushing back in as you suck in a deep breath. You slowly regain your faculties, and your eyes begin to adjust in the low light of the morning.

“I didn’t realize-”

The arm pushes you further against the wall, raising you so your legs dangle like a ragdoll.

“I asked for your name, not an excuse.”

The voice says, no less angry than before. A filtered beam of sunlight comes through one of the stained glass windows, and you see another glimpse of his face.

Your brain hasn't deceived you. It was bone, a stripped clean skull right underneath a fiery green eye. But it was only one half, the other side being that of a shockingly handsome knight, sharp cheekbones and a smatter of freckles. His more human eyes are the same acid-green as the other, but doesn’t burn or glow the same way.

“___! My name is ____!” You gasp, hands still desperately trying to rip away his fingers.

The knight hums, eyes rolling down your form. It’s just some painter's overalls and a t-shirt, surely different from the thieves and nobles he is more familiar with.

“Why do you trespass on this place that is not your own?” He commands, holding you up with minimal effort. The bulk underneath his armor must not be just for show, especially with the large greatsword he wields on his back.

“I didn’t know someone was here! I just wanted-” You choke, feeling the palm of his armor digging into your jaw. You tap it furiously, and the knight must deem you harmless enough to set you down on the ground without a fight.

You drop to your butt, hands clutching what is surely your bruised throat.

“I just wanted to paint.” You urge, trying your best to seem innocent and non-threatening. This dude seems to have a hair-trigger temper.

The human eye appraises you again, the knight humming with burgeoning thoughts.

“I see.” The bared teeth of his skull clink together as his mouth grits, brow half-furrowing as he thinks on what to do with you. You eye that massive sword, brain going for the worst.

“Listen, I can go right now. I won’t tell anyone about this place, and once again I am so sorry-”

A palm is in your face, the other creasing the growing knot in the knight's brow. He seems less angry now, more frustrated. The bared teeth clink together.

He keeps his thoughts to himself as he stews, seemingly having a mini argument in his head.

“I see you are not a thief, nor do you seem to have…” Both eyes roll down your outfit again, taking stock in your lack of weapons or tools, “...nefarious intentions. But nonetheless you have disturbed this holy place, and for that my cursed commands I punish you.”

You grab your throat, instincts somehow believing your hand could stop that sword from separating your head from the rest of your body.

But the knight just sighs, arms not going for his great sheath, and instead kneels before you.

The gauntlet is cold against your flushed cheek, the knight's hand nearly the size of your face as he tilts your jaw to him. His face has fallen back to flat, contemplative and in control.

The human iris feels hot as it looks down the column of your neck, eyes your heaving chest, still full with nervous breaths. You think you see it sweeping lower, lower, before darting back.

“I suppose I can provide punishment in an alternative way to the convention.” The knight grips your jaw, yanking you forward.

His glowing eye is hard to look away from. You feel like a moth, drawn in by the flickering emerald spits in his eye. Your heart thuds in your ears, wondering if you’re about to get the beating of a lifetime

And then the bastard kisses you.

Well, half-kisses you. The lips he has are soft and plump, conveying a lot of experience with one smooth motion. The bone is a little more jarring, jagged teeth crashing against yours, yet making the same movements as the lips.

All in all though, not the worst kiss you’ve ever had.

The knight pulls away, no breath being lost on his end as a string of saliva connects your wet lips. Both eyes burn with something familiar,and he flicks a tongue across his half-lip.

“Yes, I think this will do perfectly.”

Before you can clarify, the knight meets you in another steaming kiss. It's quicker than the last, lips traveling down your neck and sucking hickies into the flesh. The knight seems particularly enraptured by your pulse, lingering and nipping at the pumping blood.

Ok, I guess this is happening.

You don’t really have a place to complain, as it seems your options are this or grave bodily harm. But even so, the flight-or-fight, survival monkey part of your brain tries to see the bright side. The bright side being that this guy isn’t too bad looking, and seems to be a very affectionate lover.

“U-uh mister knight-” You stutter out, brain beginning to bounce back from the shock of the last five minutes, “-what may I call you?”

“Sir Arthur.”

“Okay, Sir Arthur.” Your voice becomes breathily as Sir Arthur’s hands drift down your coveralls, deftly undoing your straps and yanking your pants loose around the waist. A metal hand caresses under your leg, groping the bottom of your thigh before reaching the fat of your ass, where it pushes and kneads like it was bread dough. Your body's instinctive reaction is to lurch forward, unintentionally grinding your crotch against his. There's muffled growls against your skin, and those gauntlets are back to yanking off your pants and underwear.

The castle floors send goosebumps down your bare legs, Arthur’s armor feeling ixy as he throws them over his thighs. The steel sends a jolt through you, your hips canting backwards as your cock feels the cold steel. But Sir Arthur’s grip is strong, his forearm keeping your power back in place. His hips swivel, groaning as he paws at your ass.

Does he even have a-

Your sarcastic question is answered with a couple pull of straps and the clank of armor falling to the ground. Something hot, heavy, and sticky thwaps against your stomach, brushing against your cock.

Sir Artur is still lost in kissing your shoulder, leaving several hickeys behind, and you feel comfortable letting your eyes drift downward. Unsurprisingly, his inhuman cock is as green as his eye, though luckily not on fire. No, in fact the ghost-cock seems to ooze a neon fluid, not dissimilar from cheap ectoplasm effects in movies.

Well, I guess we don’t need lube.

Your thoughts take a turn as you're suddenly thrown on your back, ankles still hooked around his back as Sir Arthur pins you to the ground. He’s pulled away from your neck, now focused on pushing your thighs back to your chest.

“Too long I have been without touch. This heat-” Sir Arthur’s chest rumbles with a purr, the flaming eye pulsing, “-it’s addictive.”

A warm head pushes against your entrance and you thank whoever’s up there for that spooky slime he has going on, because wow this man was packing.

Sir Arthur takes his time sinking inside of you, savoring every second of stretching you open. His armor clinks together as his body shutters, head thrown back in a moan.

“By the gods.” He swears in a dead language as he reaches his hilt, green drool seeping out of his skull jaw. A keening whine comes for your chest, your cock twitching as the tapered head grazes against your prostate.

The first thrust is tentative, but Sir Arthur seems encouraged by the yelp which explodes between your bitten lips. The nex thrust is slightly faster, sending a shock of pleasure all the way down your spine. Your toes curl behind his back, a drunken haze making your nerve ends tingle.

Sir Arthur’s armor trembles again, but it seems he’s found the rhythm he needs, and begins fuckign to you with a feevent desperation. Trails of slime connect your ass cheeks to his crotch as he thrusts down and into you, raspy breaths leaking from between his ribs.

Beads of precum bubble at your tip, cock aching for a single touch. Your balls twitch and tighten with each of his guided humps, all targeted perfectly at your sensitive spot. Bubbles of blood come from your worried bottom lip, and your needy moans echo across the destroyed ruins of the castle.

A part of you prays no one else stumbles upon this site and overhears your debauchery, sees you spread wide open for this hulking beast of a corpse. This knight who is far too good at fucking, whose cock deserves to have a dildo modeled after it. With a slime function, of course.

Heavy balls slap against your ass, cold trails of Sir Arthur’s ooze dripping down your ass crack and onto the floor. An armored thumb presses down on your lower lip, prodding you to open your mouth. With a brain too cock-drunk to fight your jaw opens easily, the taste of polished metal on your tongue.

“Suck, whore.” Sir Arthur commands, voice dripping with desire. Your tongue wraps around each groove and sucks, your cheeks hollowing as Sir Arthur groans at the sight. The tears bubbling at the corners of your eyes, the mating press, it all drives him wild. The position of knight suits him well if all it takes is a little power to make him horny.

He’s not a particularly loud lover, Sir Arthur. Most of the noises is slapping skin and clinking armor, only some low grunts and curses joining the cacophony as fucks you with more and more fervor. But it’s the way his fiery eye begins to ignite, the way he bites his half lip enough to draw sickly green blood, and the tightness of his balls which tell you he’s close.

“I’m going to fill you to the brim.” Sir Arthur punctuates his sentence with a hard thrust against your prostate, spots dotting your vision. “You will leak of me for days, trespasser. I will make sure of it.”

You feel your own orgasm brewing in your stomach, cock weeping as your balls grow tight. Your eyes roll to the back of your skull.

“F-fuck.” Sir Arthur draws out his vowel as he ends with several harried thrusts, hilted deep inside when he finally climaxes. What feels like a gallon of oozing, green-tinted cum fills you up, bursting from between the seams of your connection and spurting into the floor. He was right, you will be leaking him for days. Your own orgasms comes just as dramatically, mouth open inna breathless scream as you finish all over your stomach,

You don’t quite remember him leaving you, only the gaping emptiness left behind. It's taking a bit for your consciousness to reboot, to remember where you are. But there’s the sensation of cold against your skin, a wet rag rubbing down your sore entrance and across your stomach. A dull heat radiates through metal, massaging your thighs and neck as you’re laid on your back.

True warmth comes in the form of a heavy blanket, and your eyes flutter close under its softness.

“Rest your eyes, artist.” Sir Arthur whispers. “I will escort you back when you awake.”

Your last thoughts are vague, somewhat remembering the various paints you brought with you, and the pain they’ll be to carry home unemptied.

#my writing #reader insert #monster romance #male reader insert #monster x reader #requests

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snakeredbirdbatkatana · 2 months

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How Tim Drake stole the show and lost millions for a good cause....... aka getting laid

Part 2

Kon didn't really expect this, to feel so powerful he's fucking Superboy after all but being with Tim watching the envy and just the pure power his boyfriend walks with it's hot and addictive.

The entire gala is practically watching. Tim's arm which is decorated by a Rolex that they picked up today which cost more than Kon has ever seen. It feels good like he deserves it and for now he feels like kryptonite couldn't even touch him.

"How you feeling baby, you look a little flustered." Tim's whispers in his ear voice dripping with sex.

"I'm good but I have to ask is this like you, I don't know how to explain but is this a show?" He feels a little ashamed asking like he is questioning how much Tim loves him but this doesn't seem like Rob.

"Kon, everytime I see you it takes every bit of training I have from bending you over. Right now I want to show all of Gotham who you belong to." He looks straight into his eyes licking his lips.

"I was a Drake before a Wayne this will always be where I belong I want you to know every bit of me. I don't know the cost of a bannana but I know that the woman standing across from us is wearing ten thousand dollar heels that are out of season. This is me and I'm proud of who I am, who you are." He can't help the smile that slips onto his face.

"I didn't mean anything by that I just needed to know this feels like a dream I feel like a queen and I just I love you sunshine I just needed to know." He shoots forward kissing Tim falling into his arms were he belongs.

It's feels like it last forever and not enough when Tim pulls away.

"Now as much as this is my gala and I would love to pull you into a closet and have my way with you My Air we need to go greet Bruce and my siblings so let's go."

Tim directs him over to where the entire batfamily stands looking like gods who are being disturbed by the lesser he especially sees Batman looking him up and down with what seems like disgust.

He wants to hide but he remembers he's on Tim's arm and nothing can happen to him when he's with Tim.

"It's amazing gala don't you think Bruce I decided to come a bit later than expected I was distracted had to pick a couple things up." Tim's voice drips with something he can't name.

He sees Jason and Damian also looking at him something in their eyes that makes Kon want to cry beg for his place as if they are kings and he's just the pathetic peasant asking for scraps. It sends a rush of anger and he does something that he hopes doesn't cause Sunshine to kill him.

"Daddy, You think we could go grab something I'm starving, we barley ate this morning you wouldn't let me out of bed." Giggling as he kisses the side of Tim's neck.

He looks straight at Bruce his face frozen the other bats not much better but Rob catches his attention eyes burning his voice comes out commanding.

"Of course Bruce I have more important matters to attend to good night see you at home." The arm that he somehow forgot for a moment wraps tightly around him leading over to the food and far away from judgemently Bats who seem to hate him.

Bruce thinks he should have just never gotten up today not only is his child causing him a migraine. He just heard said sons boyfriend call him a word that he can never hear again. Nevermind the recount of a sex act that he wishes he could bleach from his brain. Luckily his second oldest is always willing to distract him in his own twisted way.

"Am I the only one who feels like they are missing something, I know I tend to piss of Baby Bird but he seemed more high strung than usual." Jason mutters eyes calculating.

Dick doesn't hesitant to also insert himself of course giggling like a school girl.

"Oh you sweet summer children you at a Gala with Tim Drake and I love my baby brother but he's much like his name sake. He has a fair maiden and a love of precious gems this is Tim." Tone changing to an almost growl.

"You all looked at Kon like he wasn't worth anything and to Tim that's the one thing he loves more than anything you pissed off the dragon now I will be going to make my amends for not being more welcoming have fun." He throws over his shoulder making a beeline to Tim.

Bruce really wants a god damn drink.

#tim drake #batfamily #timkon #dick grayson #jason todd #damian wayne #batfam #protective Tim Drake #tim is so done #bamf tim drake #kon is tim's sugar baby #kon is slightly insecure and not an accurate narrator no one in the batfamily is looking at him badly he just can't read them #Blame Clark for Kon's insecurity don't worry Tim will fuck it out of him #Tim is swinging his money and Dick around and I don't mean his brother

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powerfultenderness · 1 month

Text

Home

Pairing: König/F!Roommate!Reader

Rating: T+

Summary: After a long deployment, König's roommate helps him return home.

Warnings: fluff

Word Count: 1130

A/N: There was a whole backstory about how Reader came to live with König, but I've been struggling so much with writing lately, I'll take whatever my brain will let me write.

[Multi-fandom Masterlist]

You shouldn’t have had that extra glass of wine with dinner. It wasn’t that you drank too much, you weren’t going to be nursing a hangover tomorrow, but it made you wake up at an unreasonable hour to relieve your bladder. You made it to the restroom without turning on a single light, saving your eyes for just a few moments more before you flipped on the light in the bathroom.

The flat had two bedrooms and two baths, one connected to the master bedroom. The master bedroom was not yours, so you had to cross the hall to get to the bathroom. Your eyes were still adjusting to the light when you left the bathroom, and caught sight of a dark looming figure in the living room.

You gasped and rushed to the hallway light, thankful that when it flickered on, the figure in the living room actually turned out to be someone familiar.

“König!” You sighed with a hand over your heart, “shit, you scared me!” But you smiled and crossed the cold hardwood to the living room, excited to see your roommate, your friend. “When’d you get…back?”

Your excited question faded as he stood and turned to face you. You knew he was partial to masks, from simple medical ones and balaclavas, but you had never seen this. A black hood draped down his shoulders to completely cover his face. His eyes were startling, with crudely cut holes in the fabric and bleached stained tears trailing down the face.

König stared at you, the black paint over his skin and the black fabric of his mask made his eyes pop more than usual, but there was a frightening sharpness to them. “Get some rest, I’ll take watch.”

“Uhm,” you fidgeted, shifting from one foot to the other, “but. But you don’t have to. Not uhm, here.”

He stared at you for a moment then blinked once before he mumbled your name.

“Uh-huh,” you swallowed thickly and slowly raised your hands. You eyed what looked to be a giant bowie knife in his hand. “Think you can put that down, big guy?”

He tilted his head, the creepy hood swaying with his movement as he looked down to where you gestured. “Shit.” He set it down on the coffee table and looked back at you, his own hands flying up in a mirror of yours. “Hello, darling.”

Your smile went from tense to genuine as you heard him greet you in German, using that cute little nickname he often used for you. He continued in English, “I’m sorry. I’m not going to hurt you.”

There was your gentle giant of a friend!

You gently tapped his arm and nodded towards the couch. “Soo, guess you can’t sleep? Wanna sit?”

He sighed, “do not worry about me, darling. You should go back to sleep.”

You shrugged and sat down, patting the cushion next to you. “Don’t think I’d be able to after the scare you gave me.”

He sat down next to you with another apology on his lips.

“Don’t worry about it. This is your home, after all. If you need to sit and stare at the door all creepily in the dark, then you should be able to.”

Thankfully he didn’t take offense to your little quip, chuckling instead.

“You ok?”

He was sitting stiffly and kept glancing between the door and window. Finally he heaved a sigh and looked at you. “I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about me, darling.”

You nodded, “ok, well then can I hug you?”

His head snapped to you, eyes looking comically wide within all that black. “What?”

You grinned at him, “you can’t think that’s a weird question! We’re friends, König, and you’ve been gone for three months!”

He tilted his head, his eyes darting up for a moment before he nodded, as he recalled how you had hugged him rather tightly before he left. “Alright.”

Even as you threw your arms around him in a bit of a clumsy hug he remained stiff. He hadn’t turned to face you, and your arms couldn’t even reach across his broad chest, so you ended up with your hands resting on his far shoulder instead.

You started to pull away just before things started to get a little too awkward. His hand gently catching the back of your arm stopped you, though.

“Wait.” His whisper was so quiet you almost didn’t hear him. “Stay.”

You pulled out of his loose embrace anyways. He finally turned towards you, his eyes locking with yours and silently pleading for you to stay.

You smiled at him, reassuring him that you weren’t leaving quite yet, and put a hand on his arm. “I have an idea,” you shifted from your knees to standing in front of him.

König looked up at you as you stood between his knees and put a hand on either of his shoulders. “But, can you take this off?” You gently plucked at the hem of his mask.

He cursed under his breath and ducked his head down and pulled the mask off. “Sorry. I wear it in the field-”

“Yea, I figured.” You glanced down and noticed the iron grip he had on the mask.

Then you gently cupped his face in one hand, your smile growing a bit wider when he leaned into your touch. “Hi.”

His eyes flicked up to yours, a smile of his own finally gracing his lips. “Hi.”

And his smile fell, eyebrows shooting up, as you slowly, one knee at a time, straddled him. “Wh-what-?”

You moved your hand from his face to the base of his neck while you wrapped your other hand around his shoulder. “Relax.” You guided his head forward until his forehead was gently resting against your sternum.

Once again he was stiff, unsure of what you were doing, but when you started to softly run your fingers through his hair, he sighed and finally started to calm down. He shifted a little, turning just enough that the side of his face was resting against your chest, the warm plush of your flesh and soothing heartbeat lulling him further into relaxation.

His hands, which had been in tight fists before, first settled on your hips, then he thought better and fully wrapped his arms around you, his hands nearly spanning the entirety of your sides as he pulled you flush to him. The new position had you slightly arching your back, with his face now settled on top of your breasts. His mask fell to the couch, forgotten for now.

“Welcome back, König.”

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, your warming scent enveloping his senses bringing him back to where he should be. Home.

“Thank you.”

#könig x reader #könig x fem reader #reader insert #x reader #not at my pc so i don't have access to my usual dividers 😞

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dreaaspeaks · 6 months

Text

How Tokio Hotel members would be in Hogwarts

idk why no one has thought of this but thanks to my irl, this idea has been rotting away at my brain (these ain't my gifs ya'll)

Bill Kaulitz

I know some people might disagree but Bill is a Slytherin, HEAR ME OUT

he is ambitious, cunning and highly persuasive

He is definitely one of those students that no one really knows why at face value why he got into his house

People presume, if he isn't in uniform, that he is a Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw

He takes his passions and ambitions very seriously and is willing to overwork both himself and sometimes unintentionally, the people around him to reach his goals

I feel like he hates potions and transfiguration but loves more easy going subjects like Care for Magical Creatures and Divination

He probably likes the idea of Defence Against the Dark Arts but hates the amount of essays required

Bill took Astronomy because it looked and sounded cool but after he saw the graph paper on his table during the first lesson, he has been trying to drop it ever since

No one believes that him and Tom are related let alone twins, people just thought that their last names were a coincidence

Very personable so I think he would be quite popular amongst students but his dislike for too much authority doesn't make him too popular amongst professors teaching subjects he doesn't like

Professors teaching subjects he is passionate about however, LOVE HIM

always doing random extra studies just because he wanted to and for extra credit

The type to not study and fail for subjects he hates

But will still pass even if he didn't study when it comes to subjects he likes

Likes to watch Quidditch matches to support his friends but will rather die than get on a broom

Barely passed Flying in first year

Is that one friends that knows everything about everyone in Slytherin and surprisingly, Hufflepuff (why? even he's not sure)

Has gotten so many detentions because of going against dress code

He bedazzled his robe and tie with fabric pens, bleach and rhinestones and never changed them back no matter how many warnings he got

He got asked to the yule ball by a Beaubatoux boy and istg Bill laughed at first thinking it was a joke

When he realised the guy was fr he said he would think about it and get back to him

He literally put off thinking about it until Tom and Georg sat him down to talk about it so he could finally make a decision

Bill said yes to the date literally three days before the ball but mumbled it so fast and left so fast that Gustav had to repeat what Bill said to the boy

Tom Kaulitz

Tom would be a Gryffindor.

Do I need to elaborate?

okay I probably should

He is less outwardly warm compared to Bill but he is more reliable

Tom is a loyal mf especially when it comes to his friends

However, he is in Gryffindor because he is very much willing to take a leap of faith

He is impulsive when it comes to a lot of things especially when it comes to school life

Went to Quidditch tryouts during second year as a dare from Georg and Bill with neither expecting him to do well

Bitch came out of tryouts with a Quidditch uniform and an inflated ego

Plays chaser for Quidditch team, pretty good player and uses Quidditch practice as an excuse to put off every other subject

"Why isn't the essay finished? It was due three days ago"

"Quidditch practice..."

that convo happened on the last week of school and he fully thought the Professor would buy it

To say he sucks at Potions is an understatement

When he found out he could drop potions in 6th year he ran a lap around the Gryffindor common room

He goes to every house party and gets absolutely smashed

SO.MANY.RUMORS

He is surrounded by rumors, literally unless they are in his inner circle, no one really knows what is true or fake when it comes to Tom

People think he is some mean asshole that pushes people away from Bill but in reality he is just protective when it comes to who Bill mixes with since Bill is in Slytherin

Plays the student population's need to drama well so he is a traditionally popular type of guy

At some point he ends up ACTUALLY liking a girl and everyone doesn't recognise him, like he is stumbling over himself and begging to do projects for just a slight chance to do the project with her

Starts to show off more during Quidditch games like tries to do tricks

almost falls off his broom but he will deny it and swear to Merlin that he meant to slip off the broom

Georg Listing

he is a Ravenclaw you cannot change my mind

He isn't like the nerdy super studious type of Ravenclaw (but really is any Raven though?)

He is the seven cups of coffee in the morning, two hours of sleep a night and getting constantly distracted by small side topics when studying type of Ravenclaw

off topic but I think he would be a muggle born who just adjusted really quickly to wizard life??

He would be into Defence Against the Dark Arts and charms like the hands on subjects mixed with essays

He HATES herbology, he could never keep the plants alive no matter how hard he tried

No one thinks he studies like everyone writes him off as the guy who didn't study because he doesn't do homework but he does really well in tests

Horrible credit

Great grades

Georg doesn't really speak up in class unless necessary and I see him falling asleep during Astronomy class

Like when his voice dropped after puberty people didn't even realise it was him talking because he talked so little in class

OUTSIDE OF CLASS HOWEVER

he parties just as much as Tom but stays more sober just incase they come across Professors

Georg plays Beater for Ravenclaw after he was asked to go to tryouts

When Tom and Georg are on the field together it is a bloodbath, Georg targets Tom and only Tom

One of those lowkey popular students, think Cedric Diggory

always helping the guys study and convincing them to at least study a bit

He isn't a sought after guy as a tutor but will accept to help anyone if asked

Kinda scary looking and isn't as open as Bill nor as big a party animal as Tom so he isn't approached very often by younger students tbh kinda feared for no reason, Gustav makes fun of him about it a lot

When it comes to dating at Hogs he is very straightforward, think how Fred asked Angelina

Romantic enough for it to be endearing but not too much for it to be creepy to a random cute girl yk?

Is definitely a Quidditch player boyfriend if you get where I'm going like will make the girl wear his jersey at his game and would magically become a better player after getting into a r/s

Gustav Schafer

I know people will argue that he is a Hufflepuff but like bffr have you actually seen how he acts on Tokio Hotel TV??

Gustav would be a Gryffindor

He would be a Gryffindor in like a Dean Thomas kinda way

If Tom was Cormac, Gustav would be Dean

Becomes besties with the House Elves during first year because he got lost on the way to potions

Never went to Bill's dorm because he is scared shitless of the Black Lake and that damn squid

the muggle born that never got used to magic

Like he would be sorting out his trunk or cleaning his house and halfway through he remembers he went to fucking magic school for 7 years

BIG Quidditch fan

Paints his face and has merch like the whole nine yards

If Tom misses ONE shot during a game, he would not hear the end of it from Gustav for like a month

Refuses to use a quill

Will straight up in front of a Professor use a pen

He would not get an owl, Georg talks so much shit about it because they can't write to each other the 'aesthetic' way

Gustav just gives people his email/number

Naturally with that he isn't the best in DADA or Transfigurations but he would be good in Herbology and Arithmancy

Throws Tom under the bus SO OFTEN

That's why everyone thinks he is so sweet and innocent, he would push Tom into the way of a Professor on the way back to the common room from a party

Sends Howlers to his friends as pranks

He doesn't know he's popular but he is popular and gets so many confessions every day but just shrugs them off

Like the confession letter could be from the hottest girl in their year and he would go

"Awe that's sweet"

AND MOVE ON

He is a sweetheart so he will ask a close friend to the Ball if he isn't interested in anyone

Even if he isn't interested in a romantic way he will still make it very cute and sweet to make his date feel special

If he is asking a girl on a actual date he would bring her to HoneyDukes and insist to pay for all her sweets

That's his big move, the HoneyDukes date (It's his thing)

(anyways so this is the first post of miiiine kinda long ngl)

#tokio hotel x reader #tokio hotel #tokio hotel imagine #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #tom kaulitz x y/n #bill kaulitz #bill kaulitz x reader #bill kaulitz imagines #georg listing #georg listing x reader #georg listing imagines #gustav schäfer #gustav schafer x reader #early 2000s #fanfic #harry potter au

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electronicwitchcollection · 4 months

Note

What nicknames do you think bleach men give their S/O?

Since you didn’t specify, I’m just going to choose a bunch of my favourites 💜

Shunsui

Ok, so I feel like I’m the only person who hates when Shunsui calls their SO “petal” 🤢 Don’t ask me why, I just hate it 😂

Shunsui is a man who would have endearments abundance, here’s a few I think are his most used.

-For his partner Love/my love. This isn’t used for everyone, just you. You are his love, everything he feels in his chest when he sees you, it’s subtly telling you he is in love with you every time he says it.

-He would use my sweet, my darling, my perfect, before your name. He would use them teasingly and in the purest form of affection.

-If you were to be brazen, surprise him with a new underwear set, or wrap yourself up in nothing but his clothing, he’d call you a little minx.

-Beautiful. Cliche, but he means it with every fiber of his being.

Urahara

I don’t think he’s one for pet names. He loves YOU, and loves saying your name.

though I think he would ironically call you babe. Snuggled up watching a film where some guy kept calling the girls babe made him scoff, after you teased him about it, he purposely called you babe a ridiculous amount of times

“Babe, you ready for bed babe? Want me to get you anything before we go babe? Need help babe? Babe, let me tuck you in babe”

Since then he’ll call you babe when he’s teasing you or trying to get you out of a bad mood. Anything to get you laughing again.

Shinji

This suave guy is all about the pet names, to the point you often question if he actually remembers your real name.

Doll, babe, chick, darlin’, sweetness, precious, princess, All incredibly common and will be used every time he addresses you. He likes calling you Trouble, naughty girl, good girl, when he’s teasing you. Kensei

Idiot

Aizen

I don’t particularly think he would give nicknames either, or any endearment 😂 His lordship is far beyond the drivel of lesser beings. Your name will surfice

Grimmjow

Not a captain, but the boys on my brain 😂

Woman, girl, bitch. Pretty much any word describing females. Grimmjow is all action, he’d rather SHOW you how he feels about you than tell you with weak words.

Jushiro

This sweet man could give sugar diabetes 😭

My dear, I believe he would use the most, because you are so dear to him. Darling, sweetheart and love are also consistently used. I think if you’re having a particular tender moment, he’ll call you “my heart”

Gin

Darlin’, just something about the accent, makes the word darling sound so much hotter 🥵 he’s a wind up, so expect things like Shorty, half stack, vertically challenged, munchkin. Anything to get a reaction out of you.

#bleach #bleach fanfiction #shunsui kyoraku #bleach fandom #Asks #jushiro ukitake #shinji hirako #kensei muguruma #aizen sousuke #gin ichimaru #grimmjow jaegerjaquez #kisuke urahara

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rouzuchan · 10 months

Text

(Your) Nuisance

𝑷𝒂𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈(𝐬): Yuken Odajima x Reader (ʏᴏᴜ/ʏᴏᴜʀ; ꜱʜᴇ/ʜᴇʀ) 𝑮𝒆𝒏𝒓𝒆: drabble; fluff 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: female reader; blurbs reused from this piece of work I made

“Speak your peace, Odajima-san. You can’t stay here forever” You said, not tearing your eyes off your book.

Yuken had his arms crossed, leaning against the clinic’s door frame with a relaxed smirk on his face. He chortled, strutting towards you. “C’mon [Name]-chan! What excuse should I have to visit my favorite medic of Housen?”

His breath tickled your neck, catching his bleach-blonde hair in the corner of your eye. “Correction: Your only medic of Housen.” You forcefully pushed his nose back into his nasal bone, his tuts of pain falling onto deaf ears when you walked towards the windows.

You had a strict rule as Housen’s most esteemed medic: unless you were Sachio, only visit when injured or in an emergency. The clinic stood at the corners of the campus, away from all the rough housing and fights. It was your safe haven to protect you while you were still paying off a debt Sachio held above your head when needed.

But, his annoying and, the admittingly, handsome nuisance of an adviser didn’t heed your rule at all.

After his intervention, you resumed your productive reading session, flipping two pages before a chin rested above your shoulder, two slithering hands resting themselves on your belly.

You bit the inside of your lip, trying to ignore his presence and warmth. He hummed and ‘awed’ reading through the chapter. You highly doubt he was absorbing 80% of it. “Even in her free time, [Name]-chan is still prolific as always.”

You sighed, “You’re hiding from Jinkawa again, are you?”

“Yup” He admitted, snuggling closer.

Routine as always.

Even when you give off the demeanor, liking and falling for Yuken Odajima wasn’t a hard assignment. No matter how much you admit you enjoyed solitary, his personality brightens your mundane days, even more than the company of that favorite scene from a book.

In the serene silence, a loud, growling shout of Yuken’s name that vibrated through the halls.

“That’s my cue.” With one last squeeze, let go of your waist and scrammed outside. Your eyes lingered where he stood before.

And even more so hard to admit, knowing you were always on his mind gave you… assurance. Even amid conflict, he’ll always opt to call you and rant about Housen’s victory, while Sawamura in the background tells him to tone down his sugary words.

Yuken Odajima was that utterly entangled in your life, sneaking in while keeping your heart captive from anyone who dared.

Your eyebrows creased when Yuken returned, panting as he gently crashed his chapped lips into yours, his head angled slightly for his glasses not poke you. ‘What the…’ Your brain shuts down for that one second.

He pulled away, a cheeky yet giddy smile painting his face. He saluted you and started to run off, not missing a zooming Jinkawa from your doorway.

A nuisance indeed.

Dedicated to the biggest Yuken girly on HiGH&LOW Tumblr @star2fishmeg 😘 I said I'll be trying to post fics per month... but that just went down the drain LMAO! If you must know, I'm working on a fanfiction book that I put a due date on. So I'm dedicating my time there. But enjoy this Yuken word vomit I whipped up ;> HiGH&LOW babes: @airbendertendou, @straysugzhpe, @simpforchuchu, @strxwberrychocolate, @prodbyblush, and others plz mention yourselves 😫🥹🫶

#rouzu fics #high&low #high&low x reader #high&low the worst #high&low the worst x reader #high&low the worst cross #housen academy #housen #yuken odajima #odajima yuken #yuken odajima x reader #stream 'top down' by EXILE THE SECOND

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upsidedownwithsteve · 1 year

Text

JJ Maybank x fem!reader[1.8K] friends to lovers, through the years sort of fluff.

When JJ Maybank was sixteen years old, he learned how to style his unruly hair, ride his surfboard to the shoreline without tumbling off and how to make girls fall at his feet.

He knew how to smirk just right, baby blue eyes glittering and he’d turned to you all charm, flirt and false bravado and said:

“Don’t go falling in love with me, my old man says I’m no good for pretty girls like you.”

You’d snorted and rolled your eyes, the back of your hand smacking at his chest ‘cause you were his best friend and he was a stupid boy with a stupid amount of confidence.

But suddenly you were both older and JJ Maybank was still your best friend. He had the ocean in his lungs, saltwater skin and a map of the whole island hardwired into his brain. He looked at you the same way he did back then, with sticky fondness and adoration, a little heat and too much playfulness to be taken seriously.

And you’d done exactly what he’d told you not to do, all those years ago on the porch of the chateau.

You’d fallen in love with him.

It was hard not to. JJ was all sun bleached hair that was messy with sea salt and sand, with a penchant for trouble and a loyalty to you that made your heart burn. For a boy that was taught he was no good, nothing but trouble, destined for despair, JJ Maybank tumbled through the island with the brightest smile there was.

He made it too easy.

He was a hand held in the dark, a shared joint, the one at your side when the waves got too big and the ocean got too deep. He was bruised knuckles and bad decisions, he was a boy that said he didn’t know how to love but poured all of it over you anyway, a constant touch, familiar and warm and full of affection. He was the solid wall of heat in bed next to you after a party gone too late, he was smoke and salt and sun and he was a kiss that sometimes got too close.

Everyone thought he was yours anyway. The same way they all thought you were his. Everyone assumed it, two best friends who’d grown up together, scraped knees and detention at seven years old, fighting for each other in the school yard at thirteen, fists swinging, legs kicking, the others names etched into your heart.

A shared joint at seventeen, fingers touching, legs tangled in the hammock at John B’s, your head on his chest and his hand resting on the curve of your stomach because the constant need to touch each other was normal normal normal.

A bad storm brewing at eighteen, the island too loud, much louder than it had ever been and your house was as empty as JJ’s. So the boy rode his bike through the wind, both of you making stupid decisions for the other ‘cause that’s all it took. You told yourself not to watch when he stood at the side of your bed in the dark of your room and stripped off his shirt, no his socks, his shoes.

‘Cause the sky was an angry purple outside, the rain had started and the ocean was furious but the heat of the island sun had been trapped under the cloud since that afternoon and everything about JJ was warm.

Neither of you had hesitated when he crawled in beside you, when the thunder rolled and the trees outside your house groaned in protest. It didn’t take much to touch, bodies curling into each other, no party, no alcohol, no weed and smoke to numb the sensation of skin on skin.

Nothing had happened apart from sleep and hands wandered almost too bravely. But it all ended with strong arms wrapped around your waist, your cheek to his chest, his on the crown of your head and the boy called you princess before you closed your eyes.

After that, it was all shared clothes, JJ’s shirts hanging open over your bikinis, threaded bracelets made by you adorning his wrists, some faded and old, aged with seawater, bleached by the sun. And there was the fine gold chain around his neck, your initial hanging from it ‘cause you’d bought it for yourself and after three beers and too much flirting, the boy had stolen it in jest and never gave it back.

You’d never asked for it.

Your friends didn’t comment on it, not too much, not anymore. Raised eyebrows from John B when you sat too close, a knowing look and a smirk from Kiara when JJ got high and touchy and wanted you on his lap. Full on heart eyes from Sarah when she watched the boy watch you across the sand, his own gaze softer than she’d ever seen it. Pope was just sick of hearing about you.

And then JJ turned twenty, fought his dad for one last time and took what cash he had and rented a fish shack much, much older than the one he’d grown up in on the edge of Rixon’s Cove. It had a bed and an old sofa, a toaster that didn’t work and a mildew spotted coffee machine that Sarah promptly binned and not much else.

But it was free of fist sized holes in the wall, the glitter of smashed glass on the carpets that would never disappear and it was so, so quiet. It was JJ’s and that’s all that mattered.

You kept your board beside his on the porch and JJ saved an empty drawer for you without you having to even ask. There was a toothbrush for you in the bathroom, your shampoo next to his in the shower even though stole your bottle on a regular basis.

The only thing that made the carpets glitter was pulled in sand from the beach after days in the water, noses burned, new freckles on shoulders and bodies exhausted from riding wave after wave.

You stayed more than you didn’t, John B quickly realising that when the rest of them eventually rolled off the sofa after a movie, when the stars were out and everyone was yawning, he didn’t need to ask you if you needed a ride home. ‘Cause you were already leaning into JJ, his shirt acting like your pyjamas, his wide, warm hand curled around your thigh as if he was daring someone to try and take you away.

And when you lay in his bed with him at night, an overly comfortable closeness, next to no space between you, you thought about the young boy, messy haired and scraped knees, who told you not to fall in love with him.

You wondered if he knew you’d done it anyway, hopelessly so, recklessly so. You lay in the dark with your nose pushed to JJ’s neck ‘cause he’d fall asleep and refuse to let you go, and you wondered if he’d rebelled like he always did and fallen in love with you too.

He always told you that he’d grown up seeing nothing but vodka and viciousness between his parents, how he didn’t know what love between a boy and his girl was supposed to look like but… but—

JJ slept with his hand pushed up the back of your shirt, wide hand splayed over your spine and he held you closer than he ever dared to when he was awake. He softened around the edges in sleep, blonde hair falling over his eyes, lashes casting navy shadows across high cheekbones.

His thumb would stoke over your skin, make you shiver, keep you safe. And when he was bone tired or maybe too far gone after an extra joint he shouldn’t have shared with John B or Kie, he’d push his face to the crook of your neck, or the soft of your chest and sleep there, lips grazing over what skin he could reach in a sleepy kiss he didn’t even know he was giving you.

On your twenty-first birthday you got too drunk at the boneyard, sand between your toes and your shirt lost to the ocean. You spun around the bonfire with boys you didn’t know in your shorts and a cherry red bikini top and JJ got too angry too quick.

Maybe it was the lukewarm beer, maybe it was the island heat or maybe it was just sheer and utter jealousy, ugly and sad and causing him to yell and you to yell back louder.

Pope and John B took him home, told him he needed to calm down and think about what he wanted to say to you in the morning cause it had been well over a decade of watching you both trip and fall into some kind of wonderful not relationship and they weren’t going to sit back and watch the boy wreck it one night.

The next day, when you woke up at the chateau, too warm from the afternoon sun and the smell of cheap coffee in the air, you found JJ on the porch with his head hung low and a tiny box in his lap, a messy bow wrapped around it.

He was the colour of the sun, of summer, all gold and bronze and eyes bluer than the surf. He’d looked tired, a little defeated but then he’d lifted his head and spotted you at the door, barefoot, bare legged and swamped by his old Pelican Marina shirt.

He didn’t say sorry, neither did you, didn’t have to after all these years. But he held out his hand and gave you the box, whispered ‘happy birthday’ and tried his hardest to keep his cheeks from going pink when you opened it.

There was another gold chain, finer than his own, a delicate ‘J’ hanging from it. You let it twist around your fingers, swallowed the lump in your throat and nodded, eyes glassy, smile watery.

Neither of you had said anything, no questions had been asked, but JJ saw you nod and he grinned, twisted his lips to try and hide the most genuine kind of joy and he didn’t hesitate when you handed him the box, turning to life your hair from your neck.

You could feel the huff of his nervous breath over the nape of it, baby hairs lifting with how close he was. His fingers traced the skin there long after he’d closed the clasp, the necklace and his initial setting above your breast bone. And then, a kiss, one that was real and one he gave you when you were both fully awake and completely sober.

The softest little touch, his lips against the back of your neck, barely above the space between your shoulder blades and it was hardly there and it burned all at once. It was awfully innocent and utterly possessive, it was an apology, it was a claim, it was a promise, it was the start of something else.

#JJ maybank #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank fanfiction #jj maybank fanfic #jj maybank fluff #jj maybank one shot #jj maybank blurb #jj maybank imagine

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majimasleftasscheek · 4 months

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Here’s a brain scratcher aniki, besides Kiryu and Kazuma-San what kind of parent would each of the main cast be. (Just the major players from the games IE protags and antags. You can include Ichiban’s party to!)

let's see...

Majima: good! but irresponsible parent. would spoil immensely, compensates for things he can't do or messes up. very open to whatever the kid wants/thinks but can be unintentionally harsh when scolding. promotes living to the fullest but will worry to the expense of his health when he can't be around to take care of things. will be overbearing with good intentions but suffocating.

Saejima: very nurturing and attentive but tough, a bit overbearing on the life lessons and shit like that. would leave a child to their own devices often to encourage individual growth and accepts failures well, very patient. would be hard to get a read on though normally, leaving a kid to guessing how he's feeling/doing, making his parenting feel a bit lonesome.

Nishiki: great with kids in a cool uncle sort of way. would be friends with his kids vs being their actual parent as he worries a lil too much about what they think of him. spoils them a lot, especially if it makes him look pretty great in front of others. doesn't handle problems very well and has only the basics of advice for a struggling child - would have to ask others what to do.

Ichiban: good parent but bumbling. would try his best to be a good dad but realistically good vibes and idealism isn't always enough. would rely on others for help with kids, especially if it's something he can't provide himself. would teach them to be kind and open minded, careful to not be too strict. would prolly relate the most to kids, being a child at heart himself though his personality would make it seem like he's not taking things seriously.

Ryuji: would raise a kid to be just like himself, brutish and confident. the type to be like, let's go to the junkyard and smash car windows for fun. values traits that align with his own like strength and a strong will - would be disappointed in anything he'd deem too whimsical. would think it's funny if his kid rebelled against them and teach them the hard way that it wouldn't fly but also encourage them to keep trying to be their own person anyway.

Daigo: would be a good parent to the best of his ability, compensating for his own experiences (Dojima lol). very patient and a good listener, excels at consoling to where his kid would feel very comfy telling him anything. can be a bit too soft and unintentionally ignorant to underlying problems a child might have. a child might feel guilty towards him for his kindness and oppositely *not* want to dump their worries on him. sometimes plays too much a teacher than a parent.

Mine: no lmao actual answer: he'd suck ass. he'd be a tiger parent, strict and cold. growing up is about accomplishment and being self sufficient. if a kid wants his time, better schedule an appointment. would teach a kid the harsh realities of life whilst ignoring the good stuff to temper expectations. punishments are often harsh. doesn't really relate to his kid other than they both breathe and blink.

Akiyama: do I even gotta say it ksdlagjlds he would be *squint* alright at parenting in the same way it's alright to drink bleach. he's there and he exists but is irresponsible. can't be counted on to make important dates on time or remember things a kid needs. frequently has to ask for help (Hana). will 100% give a child secondhand smoke and be skeazy about the types of life lessons he'd not necessarily teach outright but would imply with his behavior.

Tanimura: I don't got much of a read on him tbh but being that he's got a gambling problem, I feel like that would have some play in childcare lol, that being he's prolly a bit inattentive until it comes to money. he's a bit skeavy so he would prolly turn a blind eye to his kid doing something wrong and enforces rules poorly. would at least instill good teachings to help others, tho how, would be sketchy.

Shinada: he'd do pretty well I think if he had a stable living situation. he's very passionate about his interests and would share that with his kid, and if the kid wants to do their own thing, he'd encourage following that too. being goofy, he'd be a fun dad. I'm prolly the only motherfucker on earth who ships him with Milky-chan so I think they'd do really well as parents who come from rough lives trying to make a better one for their kid.

Sagawa: including him cuz he's my fav villain. he defo seems the type to have a kid somewhere with an estranged partner who left him first. he's caring, in a sinister type of way, one that makes you feel like you're being manipulated but not sure enough to say. "he knows what's best" and would for sure turn a child against his partner. in an alternate sense, he could also lead a double life, being an actual decent person to his family but a dickhead on the side. very psychopathic.

#I don't uhhhh remember a lot of the antags lol so I won't mention em cuz I wouldn't get a good enough read on them tbh #but hope these thoughts are entertaining to someone #my hcs #yakuza #ryu ga gotoku #I don't wanna tag all the names kdslgkjlgds

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gloomysoup · 5 months

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when the world stops turning (my heart stops beating) - pt. 2

so i decided not to be TOO mean and keep writing this... there will be at least one more part, maybe more, i haven't decided yet. honestly i'm just playing it by ear and seeing how far my brain chooses to take it. so here we go!!

ao3 pt. 1 pt. 2 pt. 3 pt. 4

cw: drugs, drug abuse, illusions to overdose, minor character death, dissociation, hospitals, illusions to child neglect (i think that's it but please let me know if i missed anything)

Eddie hated hospitals.

He sat in the waiting room with his bandmates and their tour manager, thinking about the first time he ever had to go to the hospital.

He was seven years old. His mom had been self-medicating really badly again, floating through their house like a ghost. Pale and lifeless in a way she often was those days. His dad was always out of the house, claiming he was working. Eddie had always been suspicious of that, never sure exactly what kind of work he was doing. His dad never said what his job was, but Eddie knew he had a long history with criminal activity. Wayne had taken him out to the park that day for a couple hours in an effort to get him out of the house.

The nearby park had this line of trees by the pond, set off several feet from the playground itself. Eddie liked to climb those trees when he was a kid. He liked the way the bark felt, digging sharply into his palms. He liked feeling the wind blow, the leaves brushing against his face. It made him feel free. The scary parts of the world couldn't reach him in the treetops. Earthly fears stayed near the ground, tethered to the dirt while he put as much distance between them as he could. Wayne had warned Eddie not to climb too high. Eddie should've listened.

He climbed a few branches up on the tallest tree. His favorite tree to climb. He sat on one of the thicker branches, back against the trunk. He watched the leaves waving in the wind above him. His brain still itched with ground thoughts, so he climbed higher. He kept going until he wasn't worried about his mom anymore. He kept going until his head was blissfully empty of those stupid anxieties. He was finally free.

And then he was falling.

Eddie doesn't remember much of what happened. Wayne says a branch broke unexpectedly, giving way beneath his weight with a loud snap. He hit the ground and passed out. Wayne took him to the hospital, where the doctors said he was lucky. A fall like that and all he had was a broken arm. They put his left arm in a cast and kept him for a few hours of observation, just to be safe. They were worried about a brain injury, or internal bleeding. Wayne called his mom, to let her know what happened, but Eddie always assumed she was too drugged out to understand. She never showed up. Wayne stayed with him the whole time, trying to keep him entertained and distracted. The doctor had given Eddie something to help with the pain, but it didn't help with his dislike of hospitals. He hated sitting in a sterile, white hospital room. His nose burned with the smell of bleach and lemon-scented floor cleaner. He didn't know why they used that stuff. It was overwhelming. He couldn't escape the ground thoughts if he was tethered to the ground.

Once he was finally released, Wayne took him to the pharmacy to pick up his new prescription. Pain meds; take one as needed while the break heals— those mysteriously went missing only three days later, and Eddie suffered in silence from then on. Then Wayne took him home, where his mom was asleep on the couch and his dad was fuming. Eddie vaguely remembers laying in his bed while Wayne and his dad argued in the living room. He isn't sure what they argued about; Wayne never told him and always changed the subject if Eddie asked. He assumed it was about the hospital. Hospital bills aren't cheap.

He wasn't allowed to visit his mom when she was in the hospital. Wayne said she needed space to get better. He knows Wayne just didn't want him around all of that. The hospital always kept him from his mom in one way or another. And then there was the spring of ‘86. It only further solidified his hatred of hospitals. Confined to the lumpy, scratchy hospital bed for weeks. Beeping machines and lemon-scented floor cleaner. Sticky patches and wires that always tangled. Itchy IVs and sharp needles and drugs that made him float just on the edge of too far. He didn't like those. Reminded him too much of his mom.

And now here he was, sitting in the dull waiting room of a hospital in New York. He felt numb. Tears still rolled silently down his cheeks, though he wasn't sure how he had any left. He was completely unaware of the passage of time. It could've been minutes or days, and he wouldn't have noticed. He couldn't stop thinking about his mom. He hadn't thought about her this much in years.

“Eddie?” He looked up at Gareth, but he was barely seeing him. “I'm going to go call Wayne, let him know what's happening. Do you want to come talk to him?”

Eddie blinked slowly a few times, his eyes still glassy. He didn't answer. All he did was stare, unseeing and silent. Gareth sighed, shooting Jeff and Grant a look.

Jeff frowned, also standing. “I should call Robin. She should know too.”

“Go,” Grant said, nodding toward the phones. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

Their tour manager was talking to a nurse a few feet away. Eddie couldn't hear what they were saying. He didn't know how this could've happened. He didn't understand how he missed this.

His thoughts wandered back to the day Wayne found out he was selling.

Eddie sat on the front step, watching Wayne and Hopper talking in the yard. Wayne was frowning, nodding along to whatever Hopper said. Eddie knew he was mad. Why wouldn't he be? Eddie was illegally selling drugs, and just got caught by the chief for it. Luckily, Hopper was in a good enough mood just to give him a warning and a ride home. Made him promise he wasn't going to do it anymore. They both knew that was a lie.

When Hopper got back in his cruiser and drove away, Eddie watched Wayne take a breath before he turned around. Eddie shrank back at the look his uncle gave him.

“Wayne, I-”

“Hush up.” Eddie shut up instantly. “You're gonna listen close, understood?” Eddie nodded. “Jim was kind enough to let you off this time, but he won't be next time. There better not be a next time.”

“But, Wayne, I-”

“No buts.” Wayne gave him another look. Eddie knew he was disappointed. He hated disappointing Wayne. Hated it even more than he hated making Wayne mad. His uncle had always done so much for him. The least he could've done was not cause trouble. “Drugs are a dangerous thing, Ed. I know you know that.”

He did know, is the thing. He knew better than most people just how dangerous drugs were. Drugs tore his family apart. Drugs killed his mother. Drugs were the main reason Eddie lived with Wayne at all.

Eddie looked down at his hands, fiddling with one of his rings. He didn't have all that many yet. “I just wanted to help with the bills,” he said softly.

Wayne sighed and sat next to him on the rickety steps. Eddie slid over to make room. “You ain't gotta worry ‘bout no damn bills, Ed. That's for me to take care of. You just gotta be a kid.”

Eddie frowned. “I just thought that, maybe, if I could help, you wouldn't have to work so hard. I know taking care of me is a lot of extra money.” He paused. “I'm sorry I'm such a disappointment.”

Burden. That's what he wants to say. Disappointment is what comes out. Maybe that's for the better.

“You're not a disappointment, Ed. I just don't want you endin' up like your mama, that's all. And while I do appreciate you wantin’ to help, I don't need ya to. I'm perfectly capable of takin’ care of us. You're fifteen, Ed. Be a kid, for Christ’s sake. Don't worry ‘bout anythin’ else yet.”

From that day on, Eddie stayed away from anything harder than weed or the occasional shrooms. He made a promise to himself that he'd stay away from it. For Wayne. For his mom. Wayne knew he kept selling, but they didn't talk about it. The K he intended on selling Chrissy that fateful night was a fluke. A one-off. It was something extra Rick had given him before he got locked away. Eddie hadn't even intended on selling it at all; he was just going to keep it hidden away until Rick got out, and then he'd give it back.

After Chrissy, Eddie didn't touch anything for a long time. When the band got themselves a record deal, when they started going out to parties to network with more of the industry, Eddie started smoking weed again. He never touched anything more than that. He knew better. He worried about his bandmates falling to the same vices that killed his mom, even though they also stayed away from it. Her ghost still haunted him. It kept him hypervigilant. He was always watching for addictive behaviors.

So how did he not see it?

How long had Steve been falling down that path without Eddie even knowing?

He should've known.

Eddie blinked, and Gareth was standing in front of him with a bottle of water. When had he come back?

“Eddie, you gotta drink something,” Gareth said gently, holding the open bottle toward him. Eddie pulled his knees tightly to his chest and shook his head. Gareth sighed and sat next to him in the uncomfortable hospital chairs.

That was another thing Eddie hated about hospitals. Everything was uncomfortable. The chairs, the beds, the wires and tubes. IVs itched and the gowns crinkled weirdly. It was a sensory hellscape, truthfully. How did anyone handle it?

“Eddie.” He blinked again, looking beside him. Gareth was still holding the bottle toward him. “Come on, man. At least a little bit. We're worried about you.”

Eddie took the bottle, but his hands were shaking so much he could barely keep a grasp on it. He forced it toward his mouth, his throat burning as the cool water slipped past his lips. He gave it back to Gareth. He looked like he wanted Eddie to drink more, but took the bottle anyway.

“Are you…” Gareth started, but his sentence fell off as he seemed to search for the correct word. “Obviously not okay. That'd be stupid. Of course you aren't okay. I don't know what I was even thinking.” He looked over at Eddie, his rambling cut off.

Gareth always rambled when he was anxious. Worried. It didn't happen all that often. Gareth was pretty laid back, never worked up about much. The exact opposite of Steve. Steve worried about everything. Steve rambled a lot, like Robin. God, Robin. Eddie should talk to her. They hadn't had time lately to call. She was probably worried. Eddie could easily bet she'd been rambling a lot lately. Then again, Robin always rambled. She wasn't like Gareth, who only rambled when he was worried about something or someone. Speaking of Gareth, he was sitting there staring at Eddie with that worried little pinch in his brows. Eddie should answer. He should, but he can't. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth. It won't form shapes or push air through his lips. It won't do anything it's supposed to do. It just sits there, heavy, making it impossible for Eddie to say something, anything.

“Eddie?” Gareth waved a hand in front of him. Eddie blinked. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

Eddie thought hard. Gareth’s mouth had definitely been moving just a few moments before, but anything after the ramble was lost on him. He had no clue what he had said. He shook his head. Gareth sighed.

“I talked to Wayne.”

Oh. Wayne.

God, Eddie didn't know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he needed Wayne. The man was a solid figure in the storm of Eddie’s life. He had always been there. He never walked away like Eddie’s dad. Eddie wanted little more than to curl up on the lumpy couch with Wayne like he had after his mom died. On the other hand, Eddie didn't want Wayne to know about any of this. He didn't want Wayne to have to live through this again. He didn't want Wayne to feel like he had to deal with Eddie again.

“He said he’ll try to catch the next flight out.”

Eddie’s head snapped up, eyes wide. He quickly shook his head back and forth, so hard that his neck popped and his hair flung across his face. Wayne couldn't come. He shouldn't have to. He would have to call out of work. Wayne never calls out of work. Eddie didn't want to be the reason he started. He opened his mouth to protest, but nothing came out. He couldn't force his tongue to move. His lips failed to form the letters and syllables required to speak.

It was then that their tour manager approached, looking somber. Like he had bad news. Eddie wanted to be anywhere else. He wanted to go back; back to when things were simple and Steve wasn't dying. He wanted to go back to being a kid and stop his mom. He just wanted this to stop.

“Eddie, he's alive.”

Eddie hated that instead of being relieved, his heart crumbled.

Steve was alive, but at what cost?

--------------------------------------------------

tag list: @acowardinmordor @mugloversonly @djohawke @hallucinatedjosten @geekyfifi @current-steddie-brainrot

i tagged people who either asked to be tagged or showed interest in wanting more but lemme know if you wanna be added! like i said, there will be at least one more part, but probably more than that tbh

hope you've enjoyed !!

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boydepartment · 11 months

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Hello! I was wondering if I could request something soft and sweet with riki. I'm so soft for him always atm. Like maybe a warm lazy afternoon nap where you gently push back his hair from his face careful not to wake him and you run your fingers over his eyebrow and press a kiss there and then you gently brush your knuckles across his cheek and press a kiss there too and of course you can't resist his cute little nose so you press a kiss there too and when you pull back riki's eyes are still closed but he's smiling and you belatedly realize he's been awake the whole time 😖😖😖😖

Maybe riki teases you or maybe he quietly lies there as the tips of his ears pinken. Maybe he opens his eyes when you call him out and pulls you in for a kiss. Maybe he keeps his eyes closed and simply mutters a 'you missed a spot' meaning you better kiss those pink pouty lips of his or you'll be sorry. Maybe you're ~just~ friends toeing a blurry line.

Honestly you can write whatever you want I just need sweet tender moments with riki 🥺😭🥺😭🥺😭🥺

I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE THIS!!!! 💓💓💓💓💓 THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR REQUESTING I LOVE U SM

RIKI SHUT UP- Nishimura Riki x Gn! Reader

warnings: like one joke of throwing urself off a highway lol

wc- 900

MASTERLIST

It was a really hot summer afternoon, the kind of afternoon where the bugs outside sounded like powerlines and you didn’t need a blanket to have a nice nap basked in warmth. That is where you and your best friend found yourselves. You woke up a little while ago and let yourself relax in this peaceful atmosphere. As much as you wanted to- you stopped yourself from looking at your friend next to you. He was still peacefully sleeping; you could hear his soft snores. It had been a long week for him so getting this rest in, even if he didn’t want to- was vital.

Now who was sleeping next to you? Right, your best friend. Nishimura Riki. Your relationship has definitely crossed to a territory that has you questioning what you were. You both would do things that couples do all the time, of course not publicly. Your activities included, baking together, holding hands at random points, cuddling and watching movies, and lastly an abundance of staring at each other for way too long. It got to the point where your heart knew you were in love with him, but your brain did not want to accept it. I mean how embarrassing is it to ask, “what are we?” Especially because what if he just thought it was normal friend things. You gripped your hair and rubbed your eyes.

Finally giving in- you looked at him…

Your brain clicked and agreed instantaneously with your heart.

Riki was still sleeping, the sun hitting the back of your wall now letting the light bounce off and onto him. He looked like he truly didn’t have a care in the world, he looked like his brain finally was relaxing. He always works so hard so seeing him this peaceful made your heart so happy.

His hair perfectly fell in front of his eyes- as cliché as it was. His mouth slightly agape as he breathed. Riki was truly beautiful, you’d never tell him that though. Without thinking your hand brushed through his hair. It was a little damaged due to the heavy bleaching but it’s not like you minded. You told him he should start sleeping in a bonnet, but he only agreed if you guys got matching ones. You of course agreed and bought a set on amazon.

“You’re so pretty…” You mumbled ever so quietly. Surprisingly… he didn’t wake up even with your hands brushing through his hair. Your fingers then rubbed his eyebrows. Your heart smiled as he nudged his face in your hand.

“What am I going to do…” You whispered to yourself. Your eyes studied his face like you didn’t know it like the back of your hand. Every mole, smile line, acne spots, everything. Your fingers lined his face more and he stayed sleeping. You found yourself giving him a kiss on his forehead. This wasn’t unheard of in your weird “platonic” friendship. He did this to you all the time to tease you. You went from his forehead to his nose. When you pulled away you saw him grinning widely like some psycho.

“WHAT THE HELL!?” You pushed him and he practically got halfway shoved off the bed.

“HEY!” He moved his body back on the bed and got way too close to you like when he was obsessed with that stupid dance on tiktok.

Your face felt like someone poured lava on it, “YOU WERE ASLEEP!”

“Um no I wasn’t obviously.” Riki threw his head back and started laughing.

“WELL! WELL! When did you wake up!?” You didn’t even want to look at him.

Suddenly he started giggling, “I woke up before you, then pretended to be asleep.”

Your jaw was on the floor. You felt immensely embarrassed, and you wanted to genuinely throw yourself on a highway.

“Sooooo you think I’m pretty?” He asked and poked you. You jumped and glared at him.

“No-“

“Oh what ever shall you do-“

“RIKI SHUT UP!” You started laughing as he started poking you more.

You kept laughing until you couldn’t anymore, you settled down and you were both left facing each other.

“For the record, I think you’re really pretty too.”

Your brows furrowed and you scoffed a bit, “your job leaves you with seeing really hot people everyday- I don’t think I meet their level of attractiveness.”

Riki suddenly sat up, “WHAT IS THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?”

“DUDE, you are literally an idol, you are surrounded by idols like all the time. I am not an attractive idol. Cause shocker I am not an idol.” You spoke as if you were explaining why 2+2=4.

Riki looked down at you, “like that matters, I like being around YOU, I think YOU are pretty. I LIKE YOU!”

Suddenly the air shifted, and he looked like he just farted in church.

“You like me?” You sat up now. Riki looked at you and took a deep breath, he looked like he was contemplating. You watched as he nodded.

“I do like y-“

“ilikeyoutoo!” You said quickly, not wasting another second. His face lit up and he grinned just like he did when you “woke” him up.

“Okay now pretend to be asleep so I can kiss you all over your pretty face but then you ‘wake’ up and then we tease-“

“OKAY OKAY I GET IT!” At that, you pretended to fall asleep and he fulfilled his promise of kissing you all over your face.

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