#if i find one that feels right ill do one for moon too maybe | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

ellecdc · 2 months

Note

Darling, the possessive!Remus fic was sooo good!! 🩵😫

Could i request another part please?? Hwere reader is hiding something, maybe an injury or illness or scent or something stupid she did with James... idk what but something. Anyway, reader sees Siri and Rem, stops, makes eye contact, then bolts in the opposite direction 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️

I feel like both (especially Rem) would instinvtively chase, maybe they find her begging Jamie to hide her 😭

Love you lots!! And remember to get enough rest 🩵

Do you have a moment to talk about our lord and saviour Jesus Christ? Sir? Don't run from the lord!!!! No, you're so right babes.

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: slight injury, nothing major, fluff

“Okay, well the wound is closed but there’s not much I can do about the bruising or the blood on your shirt.” James said as he gently pulled your uniform shirt back down from where he’d been inspecting your ribs.

“That’s fine – I’ll ice it later; I’ve gotta meet the girls like five minutes ago.” You said as you pulled a jumper over yourself to hide the blood staining your shirt.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t go to Madame Pomfrey?” James asked with a grimace.

You rolled your eyes. “If it hurts terribly, I’ll go later.”

“And you think you’ll be able to avoid Remus and Sirius until then?” James asked somewhat doubtfully. You grimaced in response. “This close to the moon, Remus will be able to smell that blood on you from across the castle.”

“I can’t worry about that right now; I need to go.” You said simply as the two of you rounded the corner.

You halted suddenly as you spotted Remus and Sirius down the hall – they quickly noticed your tense demeanor which caused them to slowly cease their movements too, mirroring you as you stared them down and they you from across the corridor.

“James.” You murmured without moving a muscle.

“Yeah?”

“Do you see them too?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you hide me?”

James groaned. “Y/N…”

“I can’t believe you’re leaving me to the wolves.”

“I love you, you’re the sister I never had...but I’ve got a Regulus to think about, you know?”

“It’s been an honour knowing you.” You responded solemnly, nodding in understanding.

“God speed.” He whispered back before you took off in a sprint.

You could hear a shout and heavy footfalls behind you alerting you to the fact that you were indeed being followed.

You rounded corners and climbed flights of stairs, lungs and legs burning from the effort as you very much regretted your choice to bolt. Maybe you could have talked about it? Maybe you could have convinced Remus you were fine and did not need medical attention? Maybe Sirius would have sided with you?

But no, you chose to run when Remus was at his most possessive, territorial, and protective, and he was with accompanied by Sirius who rivaled Remus’ full moon possessiveness all month round. And also, why the hell does this school have so many stairs!?

Suddenly, refuge came in the form of the third-floor girls’ lavatory. You barrelled your way through the door, clamoring into a stall and locking the door behind you. You sat on the toilet seat and pulled your knees to your chest, though it was all for naught, because even if no one could see your feet, they’d surely hear your laboured breathing.

You heard the door open again and the scuffling of feet followed by deep sighs. You pointed your face to the ceiling as you listened to the footsteps growing closer and closer before Sirius’ head and arms flung over the top of the stall beside you where he beamed goofily at you.

“Hey gorgeous! What’re you doing?” He sung casually.

“What are you doing in here? This is the girl’s room.” You hissed at him as your face heated in embarrassment – both from being caught hiding from your boyfriends and of your boyfriend for following you to the loo.

“Where you go, I go.” He said simply with a shrug as if talking to his girlfriend over a bathroom stall was common practice.

“Do you really think there’s anywhere in this castle that you can hide that I won’t find you?” Remus deadpanned from your opposite side, and you spooked (nearly slipping into the damned toilet) as you noticed he too was standing on the toilet of the stall beside you in order to look down on you.

“Oh, for crying out loud.” You muttered as you stood from your toilet hideout and exited the stall.

“Not that I wouldn’t spend the rest of my life chasing you, darling but-” Sirius started teasingly before he was cut off by Remus.

“What happened!?” He rasped as he reached for you gently.

“I’m fine, Rem.” You tried, but he swatted your hands away.

Slowly, so slowly – as if he was afraid the fabric of your clothes would somehow bruise your skin – lifted your jumper to expose the bloody button up below it.

“Baby!” Sirius cooed in sympathy.

“I’m fine.” You reiterated.

Remus shot you an unimpressed look. “Forgive me if I don’t believe you. Can you take this off, please?” He said as he gently lifted you to sit on the edge of the bathroom counter, motioning to the jumper currently shielding his view.

You acquiesced and also began lifting the side of your blouse up unprompted. Both boys hissed as they saw the bruising on your ribs.

“What happened?” Remus asked again, gently prodding the area.

“Some first years got a little too rowdy in the hallway – running around and not watching where they were going. I bumped into a suit of armour, but James healed it up.” Remus’ head snapped up to yours as Sirius’ gaze darkened.

“Prongs healed you? On your side? With your shirt up?” Sirius asked expressionlessly.

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, for goodness – yes! What’s the big deal?”

He continued his interrogation as if you hadn't said anything at all. “He saw your shirt pulled up like this? He touched you here?”

You sputtered, turning your attention to Remus. “He heals you every month!”

He grimaced in sympathy but clearly agreed with Sirius. “I guess...just seems a little...intimate.” He conceded.

“Well, do I have to get all worried about you guys on the full moons? Or that he gets to share a dorm room with you?” You asked sarcastically. Sirius smirked at you.

“Awe babes, you don’t have to be jealous – we’re all yours!” He said in a sultry tone as he moved to stand between your legs.

“You’re not funny.” You deadpanned.

“You should go to Madame Pomfrey, love.” Remus stated after completing whatever diagnostic inspection he was doing on your side.

“Wha- no! Rem, I’m fine. Nothing is broken, it’s not bleeding. I’ll ice it when I get back to my dorm tonight, but I’m supposed to meet the girls. Please don’t make a big deal of this.” You were embarrassed that you’d been reduced to begging, but you could not bail on Lily and Marlene again.

Remus grimaced. “Love, I’d feel better if you had it looked at...”

But Sirius Black – equally as likely to be your saviour and your damnation – opted to take pity on you. “Oh, come on Moons. We can fuss over her all night; let her spend time with the girls.”

Remus groaned and looked between the two of you before rolling his eyes in surrender. “Fine. But I will fuss over you tonight, got it?” He muttered sternly, but the love and affection that pooled in his eyes as he said it diminished his chiding greatly.

“Of course. I’d not have it any other way.” You sang back to him as he leaned in to press a kiss to your lips.

“Okay. Let’s get out of the girl’s loo.” Sirius said as he turned and bent down in front of you, still seated on the bathroom counter.

“What are you doing?” You asked incredulously. Sirius scoffed as if you were being intentionally difficult.

“Giving you a ride, obviously. Can’t let our poor injured dolly walk these corridors on her own.” He backed up further into you and tapped your thighs with his hands impatiently.

“I very well can, thank you very much. I’ll have you know that your poor injured dolly just outran her two boyfriends.” You scoffed indignantly.

“You know Moons, perhaps she should go to Madame Pomfrey after all.”

“Okay, okay!” You shrilled as you clamored up onto Sirius’ back.

Remus chuckled and pecked a sweet kiss to your temple – now almost at eye level with him as he placed a gentle hand on your back, protectively close to your sore ribs.

“Thank you for appeasing us, sweetheart.” He murmured into your hairline.

You feigned annoyance, but you’d do so happily for as long as these two men would let you.

973 notes · View notes

seventhcallisto · 4 months

Text

Ateez 'n free use (+ somno)

Everything has been consentually talked about beforehand, in passing and seriously !! Mwuah. Lots of smut under the cut. barking. foaming at the mouth.

"Hi love bug 💗 I wanted your thoughts and opinions on ateez with somno / free use heheh" —ask @hhoneylix (my lovely pookie bear) 7.2K WC OF FILTH.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

In a free-use fantasy, partners can have sex with each other whenever they want, no holds barred. Somnophilia refers to the interest in having sex with a sleeping person.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Wooyoung. It doesn't take much convincing for him to agree, even the words would have him nodding eagerly. He doesn't even question the trust you two have cause you're both in sync like that, maybe he hands his heart out to you on a platter, despite his own head telling him he could end up with it broken (he doesn't care cause he knows he loves you to the moon and back). But if you are just as agreeing as him it'll have his heart soaring. He definitely uses you most days, happily too. He'll tease you; not letting you cum as he gets himself off. But it doesn't last for long when he's between your thighs a minute later. Over and over again and throughout the day. Teasing you so you'll find a reason to ruin him for the evening.

When you both first started, I can see his eyes flashing with everything he'll want to do or want you to do to him. When he realizes you're not saying it as a joke anymore (like you have done before), he completely folds, he's just a whole sub for the first day you guys try it out, whether a bratty one or a good one, he cries for it either way. He gets himself worked up the entire day because it caught him off guard, so whenever he thinks about anything you're doing, calling his name- specifically the nickname you use for him- god, he's throbbing. Telling him to pick up his mess that he left like some guy who can't clean up after himself with your mad tone that reminds him of how you fuck him up when he's being a brat. He'll most likely hide away during practice to try and jerk off (knowing him, he probably also sent you an audio message of it to see if you'll be the first to cave and just brutally use him) but it's just not working :( he gets so frustrated, on the edge of being mean because he's so horny. He snaps his tone, and his attitude sours into something whiny and needy.

He gets borderline bratty when he's so horny. So, at some point, when you're doing your skincare, he pushes at your lower back to bend you over the counter just the slightest, his hands sliding to your hips when he comes to grind his erection against you, a shuddered sigh falling from his lips. His head falls over your shoulder blade. "need this, please, 'm gonna make you feel good too, just want to be inside so bad" he'd mumble as he wiggled your pants down, giving you the opportunity to stop if you'd like. He wouldn't waste a second to jerk his dick out of his own pants and line up to your core. He notices you're also wet, so you've probably thought about this as much as he has all day. You truly don't know how much that drives him crazy. And knowing that you're always ready for him has him driving his cock all the way in you.

Only stilling for you to adjust to his stinging size. But he doesn't sit there for long because he's trembling with his hands placed on either side of you, his hips grinding your ass forward cause of his pelvis. It really doesn't take long for him to cum, especially if you're telling him how needy he is. How he can't even wait til you're done to fuck. "n-no, don't move, please- ill be quick- let me cum-" He whimpers and agrees with everything you say. "You're right- you're always right- fuck I'm addicted to you- I'm your whore- oh god-" lost in the way you feel around him as he drives his hips all the way to meet yours in sloppy liquidy slaps. His hands grip the counter around your stomach tightly, his fingers turning white from the grip, caging you against it. His eyes clenched close every so often, strangled gasps choked from his throat. He paints your walls with his cum, slumping over your back and shaking ever so lightly in the afterglow. You don't get to cum because he already did before you. He verbalized that when he tried to rub circles over your neglected nerve bundle. You swipe his hand away, going on to wash your own and continue your skincare, even with him still inside. He loudly whimpers, knowing he's in for a long night for every rule he's broken today. :((( he's sorry!(no he's not)

When you brutally and completely obliterate him later, tied to the bed and shaking after every edge or orgasm he has. You finish him with an unhealthy amount of kisses to his face and aftercare that has him cuddled up on your stomach, his face digging into your side. He falls asleep like that. It's really no for long when he wakes up, jolted from a pleasant and not very wholesome dream. Your hand is already stroking him over his shorts, cupping and pushing against his hard on that's imprinted and leaning against your hip from where he's halfway thrown over you. “Are you awake now? So needy woo, even when you're asleep, trying to hump me like a pillow” he whimpers when you laugh at him, pushing his thighs apart for more friction and shoving his face back into your chest. “Come on baby, you want to cum again? So early?” your hand stops for just a second, enough for his teary and tired eyes to blink up at you. Your hand slipping past his waistband and jerking his sticky tip. He's loud and definitely more affected like this. Choking on a sob when your nails scrape against his length and veins. He cums with a guttural choking gasp, jerking forward to stimulate himself the rest of the way with your palm. Staining his shorts with semen. He's definitely fucking you when he wakes up later. Even if you're still in deep sleep. Two can play that game.

Mingi. Oh. Oh! It takes a good hard minute for it to click. He loves it, though. Of course, he trusts you (a little too much), and he'll shyly ask if you trust him as much too (and you do!). It also doesn't take much convincing for him. He gets so turned on from the idea. Just imagining being able to get off whenever you're around. You might actually be fucking more often because of it. Like, every day. His libido is crazy. But what drives his will is the idea of being buried balls deep in you. And with somno??? Oh lord.

You're asleep when he comes home from practice, and he just really wanted you. Even when he tried to wake you up with a gentle pat to your shoulder, you don't even greet him. Turning over away from him. He knows you're not ignoring him on purpose, too tired to respond to the outside world in your head. He didn't think about using you in your sleep until he was choking on a cup of cold water. Remembering the conversation you had on the phone earlier. “Yknow mingi, if I'm ever asleep when you get home, I don't mind”.

He's slipping himself between your legs on the bed, carefully. Of course, he notices when the only thing you're wearing is his shirt and underwear. Watching you sleep on your stomach with a pillow propped under your chest comfortably and your arm shoved under the pillow where your head lays. Missing the way his body would be next to yours even in your unconscious state. He'd coo internally, pushing your thigh up so it's leaning up on the bed some more, your core and ass sticking out from the angle through the tight fabric of your underwear. He'd slip his fingers into you, pushing the thin fabric aside, working you open with quick and gentle scissoring motions. He'd praise you with his own tiny breaths when you clenched around the digits. Watching your face scrunch up from the feeling. Your head digging into the pillow some more and pushing back against his hand that's rubbing against your cunt. He knows your cue and clumsily pulls his fingers out before you can cum, whimpering in your sleep.

“Shh, im putting it in now princess, don't worry” he'd kiss your neck, leaning over you. Ready to please with something bigger and more fulfilling. His knees placed on eitherside of your hips just as he pulls his pants down. He lines his tip, holding your panties aside so he can slip in comfortably. It's so easy when you're relaxed. So pliable around his big cock when he sinks in, his hands gripping your lower hips. And holy fuck. Mingi is definitely doing this again. His eyes cloud as you swallow him in, every inch being lubed up easily. He sets a slow pace, pushing you further up the mattress with his bigger body that cages over your own soft and completely willful one. His hips rock forward, every so often to pull all the way back until his tip is around your ring and just slide in. He groans under his breath, quiet in the night. Your own sounds are whimpered and small due to the pillow in your face. Your face scrunches, and mingi feels you stirring, moving in your sleep as you begin to wake up. “Hey sleeping beauty” he shushes, leaning over you to prop his hands on either side of your head instead, making sure he doesn’t slip out. “‘m just using you like you told me to” he would sigh into his words, stuttering every so often when he bottoms out again and again, his hips dig and prod so good, burying to the hilt and pushing his tip into your cervix. “Perfect pussy, was made for me..” he groans, fingers digging hard into the sheets. “mingi..” You finally whisper, driving his heart rate higher, he hums to answer you, thrusting his hips down quicker.

Groaning at your walls fluttering. You're cumming with a shudder, pushing your ass back against his thrusts. “mingi-” you heave, shoving your face into the pillow. With a few extra sloppy thrusts, mingi stills with himself buried to the hilt inside you. It pools deep inside you, leaving you warm and sticky and oh so full. “Taking it soooo good, just like that..” he praises, soft breaths fanning against your face. He slips himself out to lay beside you, just to lay down for a bit. Your eye peaks open, meeting his sweaty face. “Hi, I missed you,” he chuckles.

San. He's so excited and so ready for it whenever, just nodding along and mutually agreeing on the topic. He'll want to know you're fully in it, even going out of his way for consent first at the start of the day. Like, always asking for consent even if you tell him to just use you already. Trust is easy when it's always consented beforehand. He loves you a lot, wouldn't even debate with you on the subject of who loves who more. And it isn't even a question when he trusts you blindly all the time.

He wants you to initiate that first time, so when you pull him out of the room as soon as he's off stage, he knows the way your feet stomp, n the way you grip his wrist in your hands. He bows his head at everyone who passes, all of them seemingly put off by your behavior. But it doesn't matter cause san is about to get high off of you. His face in shoved into your core the minute his knees hit the floor of the bathroom, his pants creasing, he's still sweaty from performing on stage, but who gives a fuck when your leg is thrown over his shoulder. Pussy drinker !!! He swallows so hard and his tongue licks everything up, throat vibrating when he moans over your clit. You're tugging his hair and his scalp burns in the best way. You cum shortly after, and he devours it all. Pushing him into leaning against the wall so you can slot to your own knees and drop his pants, his buckle cluttering against the floor. His head gets thrown against the wall when you take him in your mouth, he palms your head but doesn't dare to grip it. The pace you set on his cock is yours to control and yours alone. He moans airily, thrusting his cock down your throat, I can see san preferring head to be messy, especially when you go down on him. So make those nasty gargling sounds and slurp him like you're thirsty. “Y-ah- you couldn't wait?” He asks through a moan, hands wrapping around to pull your hair out of your face. Ever the gentleman as he plunges his pulsing tip down your sloppy mouth. You hum around him, as if that's an answer. He cries, “oh- just like that- ugh” you hum again, he thrusts hard, cumming just as harshly. You swallow everything and more, overstimulating him when your cheeks hollow as you pull off him with a pop. He's pulling you up to sloppily make out. You stop him, finger over his lips when he chases you. “We have to get back baby, I can't be late.”

n somno? He's the one to initiate it. He's coming back to your shared hotel room after doing a live. Exhausted and just wanting to cuddle. The first thing he hears when he moves into the bed next to you is you calling his name, hand reaching around for him. “San?” You whisper. He heeds your call with a kiss on your cheek. Intertwining your wandering hand with his. “I'm here baby” You turn over your side, humming with content when you fall back to dreamland. Something about you calling him, just needing to feel his hand over you, god, it's ridiculous, but he's hard. He tries to breathe, to ward the boner away. But you look so pretty in those shorts, and your top is so silky falling off your shoulder like that.

And soon enough he's giving into his desires and working his cock with his hand that isn't in yours. Tugging himself off and hiding his noises, it's not enough, of course not, cause it's not your pussy, he's just not in it, even when he spits in his hand and uses his precum. He can't even focus, turning you over to lay flat on your back, his hand slipping from yours. You stir, just slightly, eye peaking open to look down at him over your waist, he holds himself just above you, pecking the skin where the shirt rid up on your tummy. He kisses your hip that's free of the cloth on it, trailing kisses everywhere. “Can I pretty? Can I please have you right now?” he whispers so sweetly. You nod, despite still being groggy. “let me sleep still okay?”. You don't have to tell him twice, he kisses just under the swell of your stomach, appreciatively, dipping his hands into your shorts and undies to pull them off in one go. “Just let me do it all, don't worry your pretty head about anything” Pussy drinker !!!! His face is buried inside you, grinding his cock against the white sheets, you hum and moan quietly, urging him on.

He brushes his nose against your clit and indulges himself on working you with his tongue and his fingers, praising you through breaths when you come to the edge, he lets you cum with a gaspy call of his name, encouraging your thighs to almost suffocate him when he laps up your juices. He crawls up to you with one more appreciative kiss against your clit, pushing his cock in with ease, neglected and so red :( he practically falls apart above you. Snapping his hips a couple of times to be as close to you, pushing himself to cum from all the strain he's been putting his poor cock through. He pants when he cums, your name falling off his tongue like a sinatry, all the while you hardly stir, eyebrows scrunching at the warmth of his load gathering in your cunt. You're so warm, he falls atop you with a sigh, stilling inside. You're both definitely going for a second round, cause he woke you up and now he's the sleepy one.

Seonghwa. Oh! Okay! Oh god. He loves the idea, although a little nervous at first, all mutual agreements might end up with you both already going through a list of things that is completely fine. Would want to know everything you don't like and do like beforehand. He's so happy to know you trust him, although it took a hard time for him to open up to you, he's completely and wholeheartedly in it as soon as he knows, communication is the first thing with him and then trust. It's very sweet for a while until you guys actually get to doing it.

Uhm, I also see him as a pussy drinker, sorry not sorry. He wants to be buried in you all the time. But it isn't until you're propped up on the couch, the tv playing in the distance, he's been needy for affection lately and maybe you haven't noticed it as much, he shifts against your hip, head leaning over your shoulder, watching your eyes slump close and flutter from his breath on your cheek. For a second you think he's getting up when he slips down the couch, but the next he's throwing your legs over his shoulder and tossing your pants. When did that happen? “Go on love, keep sleeping, don't mind me” you do mind. A lot. He kisses your inner thigh. Even as he pushes his hair behind his ears softly and sticks his tongue out to lick along your entirety. You buck as he swirls your little bud, sucking on it. His eyes are closed in bliss, hands gripping your thighs so tightly.

He eats you out like a man enjoying a five course meal, knowing every sweet spot that has you seeing stars, even without his fingers you cum with his name on your lips, but he keeps going, nosing your thigh before he's diving back in. He has you there in mere minutes again, you can't even focus on the dream you were just in. I can see seonghwa with his head buried in your thighs for hours with a few breaks in between that has you thinking he's done(he is not) trying out every little thing he thinks of, how quickly he can get you there and how easily you come undone if he just puts even his fingertips in. He teases you with his words and edges you on. Every so often if you're just doing something casual, he'll stick his hands down your pants and make you cum on his fingers. “That was a good one love, you sounded so pretty” you hate him. But it's no different when you straddle his waist when he's laying on the bed, his own phone in his hands.

He greets you gently, it's really innocent at first cause you're touchy and seonghwa loves it when you're touchy. When he notices your hips are wiggling back and forth over his lap, he places his phone to the side to watch you, you're just,,, just there. Hovering above him, he can feel the heat of your body over his own, your head on his chest as you pretend to relax with him. He knows what you're doing, and he lets you, his cock stirring in his silky pants at the thought of being inside you. Your finger scraps against the hem of his pants, he moans quietly. You pull him out of his slacks and pump him the rest of the way to make him fully erect, his hand lulled to the side as his phone continues to play the video he was once watching. You pump him slowly, watching his tip pebble with sticky white drops. He watches you come up to hover your hips above him, lifting your oversized shirt to the side. It's then he realizes you're not in anything other than the shirt. His lip perked up into a smirk, it's quickly wiped away when you sink down on him. His mouth falling agape. Screw his phone, it's already gone, across the bed. His hands guide your hips in lazy swirls, pretty moans falling from his mouth. His eyebrows furrow and he's just so pretty as you lifts your hips and drill them down on him, cutting off his moans every time you do so. His fingertips dig into your waist, pleading for you to keep going and helping you out when you slow down. Taking it at your own pace until he swings you forward and thrusts up into you.

It's you using him, but he needs to be buried to the hilt the entire time. “Keep going- mm” His cock throbbing against your insides and hitting so deep cause he's so long. He can get loud but it's mostly breathy moans. When he cums- and it's inevitable- he's crying from the overstimulation of you continuing to hug his cock in your cunt. He watches you swirl your hips forward to chase your own orgasm, pleading for you. “S’too much please please- cum on my cock- need it so bad” Not to stop, but to get there with him as he sputters with tears down his cheeks from how good he feels. You cum quietly, falling over his chest and leaving yourself buried in his neck, he whimpers. Your hips continuing to swirl. He grips them, stopping them so he can get some relief. When he's softening inside you, he kisses your head gently. Picking up his phone to continue scrolling.

Hongjoong. Again! He loves the idea. It doesn't take any convincing. He might be the one to bring it up first. It'll start off with free use and gradually get to talking about the somno part. He'll tell you he wants to know your thoughts before he voices his own, just so he isn't pressuring you into it. He buzzes with excitement and also just so much love. He's always wanted you both to feel comfortable enough to get to this part of your relationship. And when it finally comes up, he just uses and abuses it after the initial agreement. God. He loves knowing you trust him to do it to you whenever, and he vocally tells you he loves the idea of you using him when you feel like it. Despite being shy with how he says it. It doesn't take much time for him to fall completely for you and trust you with his entire being.

I see him using you all the time. Whenever he can get his sneaky fingers around your hips and dig his boner into you. Casually talking about his day when you're standing at the kitchen counter, well- he's already pulling your dress up and slotting your underwear down in a swoop. His nimble fingers slotting into you quickly. “What was that? Go on angel” he'll want you to talk through it, telling him about your day through whimpers and stuttering. “n then she- oh god joong just like that-” you’d end up a mess, and he hums, encouraging your words. Pulls out just as you're about to cum. And then he kisses your cheek and pulls your underwear back up. he's the worse. Ugh. You'll have to be the first to fuck him up. He's talking as he drives, a quiet tone to his voice in the peace and quiet, completely oblivious to the heat in your eyes. He stares at the road and practically jumps when you lean over into his lap, his hand goes to hold your head, on instinct.

“Bab-” you're pulling his zipper down. oh! Oh!!! OHOHO. He quirks in your grasp, cock springing to life the quicker you jerk him off. When you spit on his length that's when he moans lowly, you slap his thigh. And he jolts. “Pay attention to the road.” Fuck him up!!! Despite reaching that edge with only a few short tugs and your painted lips swirling over his tip lightly, he doesn't cum at all cause you're already at the destined location. He hates it, he drove as slow as he could and yet he still didn't cum in your pretty mouth :( Grumbled whines under his breath as he shoves himself back into his jeans. The fabric hurts. And you're smirking at him like the devil. You're playing a dangerous game. And when he gets you alone in a house full of people you know, he's got you crying, pretty mascara running down your face and throating his length until your nose brushes against him.

“hngh- You did this to yourself angel” He clicks his tongue, head thrown back against the door. It's lewd and it's definitely free use for him when he uses your head to jerk himself off on your tongue. He takes a good solid time getting there, shoving his load down your throat and pulling out enough to watch the rest spurt over your lips. Swipes it off with his thumb and puts it back in your mouth. “suck,” if by chance he's sleeping or resting, which is rare. You won't be the one to do it to him often, on the other hand he'll want you to. But he definitely won't make you. So one day when you've had it rough, just tug his sweats down with his back resting against the bed, a soft edge to his face when he sleeps. pillow slotted under his grasp and head thrown to the side. Oops, he's already hard. Morning wood. Or was he just having a nice dream? You're already on him in seconds, bottoming him inside til your pelvis meets his. His eyebrows furrow and his breathing picks up. Gasps falling out of his parted mouth, his hands twitch every so often when you call his name quietly. As if he can hear you in his dreams. Your name is the only thing he says every so often, jumbled and under his breath when he moans prettily.

Whenever he twitches too much inside you, and his face scrunches you stop so he can't cum just yet. He'll whimper and whine, throwing his head back and around. His hand comes to rub his face and then fall back to his side, right next to your knees. You swirl your hips against and practically write your name on his dick. He'll stir the second time you edge him, waking him up to one of the best sights. “Ah. m- fuck- cumming” he whimpers, pistoning his hips up to meet yours, he continues to do so even when he cums, load splattering against the sheets when it pools out of you, he tells you to keep going, encourages it too. Sloppy the whole time, overstimulating himself so he's hard again, throbbing and moaning loudly, his cheat shuddering with every breath he takes. When you cum he's pulling you down to shove his tongue down your throat, catching every sound and vocal cue with his fingers rubbing against your clit. He overstimulates you in the process too.

Yunho. Might genuinely take a couple of times to talk about it more than once. He just wants to know you're the one completely fine with it. (cause he is!) He'll work his way up to it, sleepy sex and telling you he'll handle it the whole time. And when he feels the need to be buried in you, he'll always ask beforehand, tell him he doesn't even need to ask, cause he always will. He trusts you with his heart, so of course, he trusts you completely when it comes to sex. You both are completely in tune.

It's mostly casual when it happens. It usually starts because you're in a position he likes, letting his imagination go on for a bit, you're on your tummy on the couch, feet kicking behind you and typing away at your phone. He could feel like a perv for the way he's looking at you, oblivious to his growing hard-on. But he can't help it when he crawls over you to lay on your back, his dick pressing into you through his sweats. You go to question him. He smiles shyly. “Nothing baby, just want to be close to you” yeah uh huh sure bud. It's fine for a couple of seconds until his hips move, and he's sighing in your ear. You just let him get himself off, typing away. Ignorant to the way it's just not working for him, he slips your shorts down, and you only slightly help with lifting your hips. He'll immediately go at it, kissing your shoulder and neck, appreciation on his tongue when he tells you he'll be quick. He slips himself out and bottoms inside with ease. The stretch is perfect.

Yunho has a big cock but you take it like a champ, he always has you prepped for him too. It's just so easy to slip into you. His hand snakes under your waist to pinch your clit, you jolt away from the sensation, dropping your phone. It slides too far from your reach. It's not long of yunho's soft pace before you moan at him to go faster. Through a gaspy groan he laughs, his large palm holding him up on the arm of the couch and the other spreading your thigh farther open for him to watch you suck him inside. His pace quickens, it's enough for you to feel satisfied, throwing your hips back to meet him. The slapping noises are lewd, consuming the entire living room with just you two. Yunho is just big in general, so the tiny couch(that needs to be replaced) hardly holds his size. He's using his foot to push himself harder into you, his knee bending the couch harshly. Soft grunts and heavy pants coming from his chest, it reverbs off your back, although he's leaning over you he's still close.

His other hand circling your clit and swirling the bundle. You cum with a guttural whimper, his name quiet on your tongue. “gonna fill you up real good baby,” he smirks through his words. “You're gonna keep it in, yeah?” You nod your head, whining from the sensitivity. Yunho cums with your name chanting off his lips, hips stuttering above you. If you do use him while he's sleeping he's more likely to move with you, meeting your hips as he ruts in his sleep. Eyebrows pulled taunt and mouth agape. He lets out the prettiest groans. He cums with one final loud moan, fisting the sheets, and completely and wholeheartedly falls back into sleep. It's like he didn't wake up at all, and he didn't! Make sure you clean him up tho. Carefully. I see him using you more than you using him, only on occasion though. When he's sleepy and just wants to feel you around his cock. So hard he can't take the strain anymore, he throws your thighs over his lap, already pantsless both of you. Your sleepy body leaning into his warmth.

He kisses your calve, propping both of your legs over his shoulder before he's sliding in. He's already prepped you with his fingers. He's a bit more quiet then, focus on just having his way with you(because you let him) but also to see you unravel with him with no filter or anything blocking you from letting it all show on your face? He really likes it, like. Really. Likes it. His sloppy hips are more likely to make you wake up, or the stretch in your legs as you're bent over him, sandwiched between him and the bed, his thumb drawing figure eights on your clit to reach you there faster. Your whine is scratchy, signaling you're close. He'll coax you with words even if you can't hear him “go on baby, cream around me” He groans right in your ear when you tip, hands reaching out to hold him close because you've suddenly woken up to your legs shaking and an orgasm wracking your body. Yunho often cums with you and this time is no different, he's stilling with his chest shaking from his breathing. Curling his hips forward so he's all the way in. Keeping you full with his essence.

Yeosang. It takes sooo many words of affirmation for him to even think about it. He's just a bit too scared of the idea of you not being in the mood or enjoying it. He puts your pleasure before his all the time and when you tell him to just use you to his heart's content he just really can't :((( baby just wants you to be in it as much as he is. He wants to know his pretty baby is feeling as good as he is, and eventually, he'll tell you that himself when you bring it up again. You're free to use him whenever !!! He'll always be prepared and ready for you. He gets turned on by you, even mentioning you want him in that way. (He loves being the one you want even if the situation isn't sexual), so when you tell him to imagine, you're always wanting him (and you do). His thoughts on it will shift.

Once again, he doesn't act it out much when it comes to free use. On the other hand, I could see him turning over in his sleep, waking up from a sweaty dream. He can't get the thoughts of dream-you out of his head, so he does what you've recommended you both do before, kissing your shoulder to see if you'll wake. You don't, and so he goes on, trailing them down your collar before he's at the hem of your shirt. He's slipping himself under it. Sucks on your boobs while he jerks himself off :( I don't really see yeosang using your cunt as you sleep; he prefers to see his pretty baby up close to see your eyes flutter. But maybe on a special occasion if he really really REALLY wants you, he'll push you to your side so your back is pressed against his chest, pulling your shorts and undies down enough to push his cockhead in. He sighs so prettily and makes sure you don't show any discomfort from the stretch, his pace is slow and sleepy, just trying to get there from a few thrusts in your warm and wet hole.

He'll use his fingers to rub soothing circles around your clit. Paying special attention to the way your body reacts cause you can't really use your words. When it comes to sex like this he's quiet. Not very vocal cause he's so focused on driving his hips in and out of you. His length soothing in its pace against your cervix. Your eyes flutter when you feel the heat of needing to cum, waking up in the movement of yeosangs thighs against your ass. “Yeo-” you cry quietly, cumming tightly, the fluttering around his length has him airily groaning, your hand reaching to hold his that's kept on your waist to hold you close. He hums, broken and short and breathy. Before he's speeding up his messy pace and cumming inside. He stills and doesn't bother moving for a good minute, even as you turn your head to pepper kisses on his temple, his face shoved into your neck. Genuinely could see him almost falling asleep like that, buried inside you and completely comfortable. But as soon as he feels you wiggling he'll get to cleaning up. Also the type to just let you use him whenever you want too, he'll gladly just sit back and let you.

He'll be on the couch with his phone in hand, probably in one of the many dressing rooms waiting for the rest of the guys to get back. You drop to your knees in front of him and he immediately fumbles, eyes dashing to the door. “I locked it, don't worry” you pull the zipper of his brand new pants down, the leather straining against his thighs. His cock throbbing in your tight grasp, pumping him to stand full. He'll throw his head back against the couch and bite his lip to hold his moans when your mouth wraps around him. Getting him there quicker than he can proudly say, he'll whimper and hold his own hips down. Noticing every sound and how loud it seems to him. He'll hold your head, gently, following you with it against the back of it. Your pace is rough and brutal, getting him off with sticky noises and humming against his tip. He might actually start whimpering through his bruised lips.

“Sl-slow down-nng” oh my god he feels a bit bad when his hips thrust up against your throat. Eyes scrunching with pleasure, his hips don't know whether or not to pull away or to keep drilling up into you. So he's squirming on the couch, little sounds escaping here and there when you swallow around him. He warns you when he's about to cum, his hips driving away from you and digging into the couch. His hand fisting against the back of your neck shakily. Your name is the last thing he says before he's seeing stars and shooting his load on your tongue, if you swallow it up greedily he will definitely start shaking from the stimulus. “Jagi- ah.” His hand curls, your lips popping off him. He completely deflates on the couch. You'll have to do the cleaning up, be gentle though he gets really sensitive.

Jongho. It really is about trust with him. It will take a lot and so long before you guys even get to that part. Trusting you completely will be the most fragile part of it, jongho doesn't necessarily wear his heart on his sleeve so when he gets into it with you, he really has to think about it on his own for a good couple of days. So when he comes around and brings it up again, you tell him he doesn't have to agree for your sake. But he genuinely is agreeing because he loves you, and he's beginning to love the idea of being used by you when you need him. He just always wants to provide in every way possible. He'll only want to use you on the most stressful of days, though.

His cock is there for you to use and abuse to your content. He won't verbally say it (ever) but you know he finds a certain love for you using him so much. He'll be resting with his head on the couch and his body completely relaxed, drifting away in his own head. He'll immediately wake up to you leaning on his lap. He's no fun for somno, he wakes too easily especially if he feels you on his lap or anywhere near his dick. He'll paw at your hips and sigh knowingly. Eyes still closed and just the hint of a grin on his lips. “Right now?” He'll tease, his sleepy voice just ugh, and the little chuckle he does. Slide down his shorts and help him shuffle them down a bit, he'll help with pumping himself a bit so you can shuffle your own clothing off. Just slow strokes to his growing cock, he shudders when you line him up and use his tip to drag through your folds. Might even get impatient with the way his hips buck. But when you sink down his eyes are slowly opening to watch your joint area. Swirling your waist back and forth on his lap.

He's not very helpful this way; you're the one who woke him from his nap and now you should be the one to get you both off. You're cumming before he is, hips stilling and falling on his chest. He clicks his tongue, a short amount of teasing coming from his chest. His hips stutter, pushing you back down with his strength. He cums shortly after. Just buzzing with domesticity, he'll just be happy to stay like that for a while, but the liquids dripping along his body just won't do for him. You're the one cleaning up cause you initiated it ! Sorry not sorry. If it's a long day and jongho is just coming home, his body is heavy and his head pulsing with a growing headache from the amount of things memorized. You'll be the first thing on his mind, being close to you always blows off steam but he will debate on whether or not he'll want to wake you up or just go on ahead.

So he takes the easier option. Cooing at you gently when you sigh softly, he's positioned right by your butt as you're turned on your side. You’ve definitely fallen asleep from waiting on him. You'll call his name softly, propping your head up to look at him. “Shh, just relax and let me do all of it for you, turn your pretty head off for me” he kisses your lips so sweetly, just a short peck and you're already turning your head back into the pillow he brought from the bedroom, body sighing and falling back. Preps you with his hands and fingers, gently swirling them inside you and working you open for him. Encourages your orgasm when he knows you like a certain thing he does, shushing your soft moans. He always preps you to take him. He likes it better that way. So he's already strained and hard to the touch in his palm when he slips himself out of his jeans. Hissing from the harsh fabric under his breath. He'll make sure to lube himself up with his own spit beforehand so you're not lubing his length up completely by yourself.

Works the head in and gently leans over you, breathing softly above you. He'll swirl his hips to get himself all the way in, stopping to pull out and ease more of his length inside. Eyeing your comfortable state the entire time. His pace will be erratic and slow, just finding what works best for the angle and what makes you squirm around him. Once he finally finds it, he'll encourage it on, pouding into your gummy spot until you're whimpering. Hips stuttering occasionally from the way you clench around him “There you go, sweet girl, just like that” he coos, watching your body shake from the orgams ripping out of you You sigh so prettily when he drills his cock back in, holding your thigh to keep you close even as you pull from the overstimulation. His breath stuttering our of his lungs when he paints your insides. Falling the rest of the way over you. He sighs heavily. Brain shortwiring. He'll definitely be doing that again.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

UHM UHM, I... I GOT CARRIED AWAY.

Thank you to my pookie for being so patient with me ;( ily bb, here's that request you've been waiting for. And my cutie patootie @uhhheather for helping me out w jongho n yeosang. U played an important role so thank uuuuu

1K notes · View notes

peachesofteal · 5 months

Text

Dead Disco / Chapter 10

Dead Disco masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 3.1k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ no smut but this fic contains mature themes. Relationship issues, anxiety, self loathing, crying. Angst. Brief mention of asshole ex. Eating related issues. Mention of prescription medication, mental illness and depressive/manic episodes. Pre established throuple. Darling is her/your own tag/warning. Excessive internal monologue. You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt.

"Look at me."

"I can't." You keep your eyes clenched tight, so tight it hurts, lungs burning inside your chest.

"Yes you can, darling. Just open your eyes." Simon's voice is soft, an entreating melody, grit and gravel smoothed out with the gentleness of his words. You get lost in it, the soft murmuring, the easy request, and when you open your eyes, he's still right in front of you, thick palm on the back of your neck, Johnny by his side. "Good girl."

"I'm sorry." You whisper, and Johnny's brows crease, his fingers brushing along your cheek.

"Ye dinnae have anything to be sorry for, darling. Ye never do."

"I didn't-" you gasp for a breath, and Johnny shifts, moving so that you're in front of him, sat between his legs, back against his chest. His hand holds yours, nestling above your breastbone.

"Breathe with me. Ye can do it."

"I didn't- I wanted to be better. Be different. I didn't want you to see." You try to explain, try to make sense of it for them. Simon's fingers intertwine with Johnny's, his other hand still firm on the back of your neck, your body cradled between them, in the space that once never existed, a space that now feels like it's been carved out just for you. Johnny pushes closer, holding you tight, and Simon leans forward, forehead touching yours, voice barely a murmur.

"We've always seen you, darling."

The floor is a fairly comfortable spot to lay.

It’s comfortable enough, you suppose, as you lay on your back with your eyes fixed on a spot along the ten-foot-high ceiling. Maybe you could paint the ceiling. With clouds. Or a night sky. That might be cool.

Voices vibrate through the flat, locked door the only thing separating you from them, Johnny’s tone pitching with increasing anxiety, Simon’s cadence soothing, and calm.

He’s calling your name. Calling you darling. Calling you anything to try to get you to come to the door.

You’re overreacting.

You’re a fool.

You close your eyes. A night sky might be cool. You could do a lot with the stars, or maybe even the milky way. Get some greens and greys and cobalt in there. Make it look like a long exposure photo. And the moon, you could certainly paint the moon. You’d have to find a ladder tall enough though. And you’d probably need help. You haven’t painted from a ladder in years, not since you did that one mural for-

“Darling.” It’s Simon. Again. And again, and again, again. Darling, darling, darling. “It’s getting late. Will you open the door?" You keep your eyes closed, but for a minute, your mind fractures, splitting in two, confusing emotions and thoughts bubbling up to the surface.

Don’t think about it. Don’t.

“No.” You croak out in a whisper. It’s quiet, but he hears it. You know he does.

“Please. I need to know you’re alright, at least.”

You held onto the hot pan too long, and now you’ve been burnt.

It’s late. The streets are probably mostly empty. You could run down them, if you wanted. You could take a train anywhere. You could take a plane, even, go on a vacation. Go somewhere nice. Go somewhere tropical, maybe get a cute rental, spend some time in the sun or by the oc-

The thoughts are rapid fire. They spill over, trying to patch up the expanding wound in your heart. They grow and twist, convincing you it’s a good idea, the best idea, to just slip away for a little bit. To go somewhere you don't have feel this, where you don't have to know this as well as you do.

Don’t think about it. Pack it up. Put it away.

Johnny’s eyes haven’t left your face. His fingers stroke from the crown of your head and hairline to your temple, your cheek. He’s staring at you like you’re something precious, like you’re a piece of gold, something marvelous he’s never seen before.

“What is it?” You ask, half asleep, drowsy in the bed. You’re still wrapped in a post orgasm haze, cocooned in the soft and sweet of their attention, affection, and Johnny only smiles, leaning forward to press his lips to your forehead.

“Ye’re so special to us. Ah love ye. Did ye know that?” You shrug, ducking your face away, pressing it into his shoulder to avoid his eyes.

A wave of longing crashes over you. It swells in your heart until tears prick in your eyes, and you take a deep breath to steady yourself.

It’s so much. So much more than you ever imagined. So much more than you ever thought you could have.

“She doesn’t.” Simon says over your shoulder. His hand sits on your waist, the touch firm. Grounding. Like a tether to their world. Their love. You turn, nose pointing up towards the ceiling, looking at him through your peripheral, your fingers intertwined with Johnny’s, holding onto them both. Seeing them both.

“Tell me again.”

The TV in the living room is on.

You can hear it’s faint murmur, some movie playing on low volume, the guys undoubtedly sitting stiff on the couch, waiting for you to appear.

You stare at the dark, nearly blackened trees that you’ve painted onto canvas, long, broad brushstrokes taking up too much space, bark texturized to appear burnt, nearly dead, forest scourged by a disease or fire, you’re unsure.

“It starts to chafe us.” Us. Us, he said. Us. Him and Johnny. Right?

“It doesn’t seem fair.”

You’re unsure of everything right now. Unsure about how you should feel. Unsure about what’s happening inside your head.

“-sometimes I worry… about it being the right thing…” The more you think about it, the more you start to lose your grasp. Were those his exact words? Did he mean something else?

For the first time in a long time, you think about one of your ex's. You think about a person who made you feel so small, so much like a burden, a horrible, unwanted responsibility, all the time. You'll never have what regular people have, he said. No one will ever be able to put up with this fucking circus. No one will want this.

Was he right?

You should have gotten out. The sentiment replays over and over in between your ears, the awful, miserable doubt and fear and sadness picking away at you until you can feel yourself starting to compartmentalize it all, trying to sort it into neat little bins, trying to keep the weight that is sinking to the bottom of your soul from drowning you, trying to build a wall around your heart.

It’s not conscious. It’s like you’re not even in the driver’s seat anymore, not feeling the full effect of your emotions, not letting it in.

It’s how you felt, when you packed your bags the last time. How you felt when you checked into the hotel, like you were on autopilot. Buried beneath a mountain of feelings but enclosed in a glass cage, segregated from it all.

You should have gotten out.

“I said I was listening.”

“But I don’t want ye to listen. I want ye to talk, darling. I want ye to tell us how ye’re feeling. We can’t do this if ye’re not able to communicate.” Johnny’s voice is steady, but there’s a hint of anger behind it, a small flare just starting to light. It makes you angry, that he’s getting angry, and it churns in your stomach until you’re biting out a retort.

“I communicate just fine!”

“Do ye?” He snaps, exasperated, your head jolting backwards with wide eyes. “Because from where I’m standin’ it feels like ye’re trying to be stubborn on purpose. Like a child.”

“A child? You’re calling ME a child?” The air in their apartment is suddenly paper thin, and you hold your breath as Johnny watches you with that same, unchanged, irritated expression.

“Alright. This is over. We’re taking a break from this conversation.” Simon tells you both, fingers sliding over your shoulder, the touch meant to comfort, reassure, but you jerk away.

You eye your purse, your keys on the counter.

“I’m just gonna go home.”

“No.” He rebukes, and Johnny pales.

“No, darling. Ye just got here, and we missed ye so, so much. I’m sorry, I dinnae mean-” Johnny pleads, crestfallen, and it makes you feel worse. Like you’re failing him. Like you’re failing at this. Like you’re not good enough for it, for them. “Please?” He adds, and you wilt, silence falling over the three of you again, awkward and wrong.

“It’s alright.” Simon says. “If you want to go. I’ll take you home.”

“I can get home on my own.” You try not look at him, finding mundane details in the floor, the sink to stare at instead of their faces, resisting eye contact until Simon steps directly back into your line of sight.

“I’ll take you.” He steps closer, and like there is a magnet pulling you into his orbit, you respond, tilting your face backwards, letting him see everything. The tears. The anger and sadness. The confusion. He’s intentional with his movements, letting you anticipate everything, the movement of his hand, the bend of his body as his lips come down to press against your forehead. “Tomorrow, alright?” He asks and tells with the words, seeking permission, giving command. Tomorrow, you’ll talk. Tomorrow, you’ll get it sorted. Tomorrow, you and Johnny will apologize. And you’ll try again. Like you always do.

You nod, because the promise of tomorrow, the assurance that this hasn’t all come crashing down, is the only way any of you will be able to sleep tonight.

“Tomorrow.”

They both straighten on the couch when the door clicks open.

“Hey.” Johnny says softly, hopefully, and Simon says nothing, just watches you like you’re a wounded animal that might try to flee at any moment. On edge. Vigilant.

Your mind turns, but nothing comes out of your mouth. No response. No acknowledgement. Just empty silence that feels like a thousand pounds, all laying on top of the three of you. Suffocating you. Killing you.

You beeline for the bedroom.

Running away. You’re running away. Are you really going to run away?

The memory of the hotel haunts you, the awful, empty pit in your stomach that could have swallowed you whole, the dark curtains and dark room enveloping you in a never-ending spiral.

All you wanted was to be found. All you wanted was to be home, with them.

All you wanted was your home, the one you built, made, suffered for, with them. The one that you carved out inside your own bones to hold space for two others, not just one. The home that you completely changed your life for, the love that you believed would see you through it all.

The love that was always them first. The love that you barged in on, knocked walls down, forced yourself inside of. The love that they held for one another, before they ever held it for you.

Your head feels like it's underwater.

Did you make a mistake? Should you have sent them away that time? Should you have fought yourself harder?

The bed calls to you. It begs you to lay down in it, to burrow yourself beneath it's soft sheets, curl up on top of it's ridiculous mattress. Get lost in it. Be found in it. Let your boys curl themselves around you in it, let them kiss you softly and make you promises about how much they love you, or how they understand the way you feel.

If you close your eyes, you can almost see the future. Minutes would pass before Johnny crept inside the door, scoping it out. Doing the recon. Looking for you. His heart would soar when he saw you in the bed, his fears allayed, and he'd hold you so tight you'd think you were suffocating.

If you were lucky, Simon would come and turn your brain off. Johnny would pass you to him and he'd bring your deepest insecurities, your worries to light, dragging them out to be exorcised and vanquished, by the only men capable of doing so.

Is that what you want?

Should you have gotten out?

“There she is.” Johnny coos above you, warm palm cradling your cheek. You blink, fog encasing your mind struggling to clear, and you push yourself up onto your elbows.

“What-“

“Happened?” Simon finishes from where he kneels next to the couch, concerned eyes trained on yours, not missing a beat.

You blink. What did happen? Did-

“When was the last time ye ate something, darling?” Johnny asks, not unkindly, palm at your back to relieve the pressure from your elbows, moving you into a sitting position so he can take the spot on the couch behind you, effectively wrapping you up in his arms as Simon settles on the other side.

Shame curdles your stomach, hot embarrassment flaring in your veins. You avoid peering over Simon’s shoulder at the disarray of your kitchen, wincing when you realize he’s sitting on a pile of your dirty clothes.

“I had breakfast.” You whisper, but Simon shakes his head.

“When?”

“Yesterday.” You try to adjust, to sit more upright, but the sudden movement has your head spinning, and your palm covers your eyes, little groan in your throat.

“Easy.” Johnny soothes. Your water bottle is in his hand, and he unscrews the lid for you, lifting it to your lips. “Slow sips, darling. Not too much.”

It’s easier this way, you realize. Easier to do what’s being asked of you, easier to listen than to think. After a few sips, Johnny pulls the bottle away, and wide fingers stroke your cheek.

“This is what you were talking about. A few weeks ago.” Simon murmurs, concentrating all his focus, all his attention, on you, fingers still caressing your skin gently. Lovingly.

“I didn’t mean for it to get so bad this time. I… usually have a better handle on myself.” You try to lie, but Simon cocks his head.

“Do you?” His fingers hold up the scrap of paper, the one with your note to yourself scrawled across it.

‘You HAVE to, or you’ll regret it.’

You bite your lip, but Simon’s thumb presses into it, rolling it out from beneath your teeth, as Johnny rubs your arm, lips soft against your temple.

“I’m going to take you home. To ours.” Simon tells you slowly, each word deliberate “Johnny is going to clean up your apartment and pack you a few things for the rest of the week.” When you don’t answer, brain slow to catch up, Johnny murmurs in your hair.

“You have to agree, darling.” Simon watches, silent for a moment before he answers the unspoken question, still cradling your face with one hand.

“You can trust us.”

“Where are ye going?” Johnny asks when you appear from the bedroom, hesitant steps keeping him far enough from your body, desperation written all over his face.

“Out.” Your answer is short, sufficient. It feels like it’s coming from another person. You still think you might be underwater.

“Out? No… we need to talk and-“

“I don’t want to talk. To either of you.”

“Darling. Stop.” Simon tries to cut you off, but you turn sharply, away from them both, backpack swinging on your back.

“Ye canae run away from this, from us.” Johnny pleads. “We need to talk about it. Communicate. Like we promised.”

“Like we promised?” You hiss, sizzle of anger breaking through the ice that’s frozen in your veins. “The promise that we made to always tell each other how we’re feeling, the one that he can’t honor?” You jerk your thumb towards Simon, who tries to take a step towards you, only for you to retreat. “Don’t corner me!” you snap, and against your attempt at control, your voice breaks, sob welling in your chest.

Don’t think about it.

“It’s alright.” His hands are palms out, cautious. It’s supposed to make him look like he’s not a threat, make him seem harmless. But he’s not harmless. This gaping hole in your heart says so. “We don’t want you to leave.” He implores. “Please. I- let me explain.”

“There’s no need. Everything is pretty clear.”

“No, it’s not.” Johnny argues. “Just, let Simon at least tell-“

“Tell me what? Tell me how it’s not fair? Does it chafe you too, Johnny? You also thinking what’s the right thing? Because it’s an us thing, right? You and him. It’s an us and me. It’s the us that I suffer for.” Your voice crests, and Johnny flinches.

“I made a mistake.” Simon whispers. “Don’t let my stupidity make you question your place in this relationship. We love you, darling. I love you.” Tears burn at the back of your eyes, and you feel the horror of the truth, the confusion about your love for them, their love for you, searing together into a snarled mess.

“If I left you, the both of you, at the end of the day, you’d still have each other. You’d still be together, and I would have nothing!”

“That’s not true. We canae exist without ye.” Johnny sounds broken, hopeless, but you blow by it, dancing around Simon to pull your prescription bottles from the kitchen cabinet by the sink.

“If I died tomorrow-“

“Do not say that.” Simon cuts you off. “Don’t ever say that.” His knuckles are white at the edge of the countertop, expression stricken, and Johnny looks horrified. They both watch you like they’re afraid of what you might say next, what you might do, and nausea pools saliva on the back of your tongue.

Don’t think about it.

You close your eyes, and search for that underwater feeling. That untouchable feeling, the boxes being packed away in your mind, and try to cling to it, try to shut up the incessant stream of doubt and loathing and everything going wrong inside your head.

They don’t need you. They have each other.

You chafe them.

Don’t think about it.

“I need…” You trail off, trying to take a deep breath. Trying to organize your thoughts. Trying to hear yourself through the noise of everything else, through the searing pain that’s ripping through your heart.

“It’s alright, darling.” Simon murmurs, encouraging you. “Tell us what you need. Whatever it is.” Johnny’s face has shifted from despondent to hopeful, eyes wide and locked onto yours, while Simon waits, his normal steadfast and patient demeanor nowhere to be found, instead he’s more anxious, more nervous than you’ve ever seen.

You close your eyes again. Your voice shakes when you finally speak.

“I need a break.”

#dead disco #peaches writes #ghost x soap x reader #soap x ghost x reader #ghost x reader x soap #female reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #johnny mactavish #johnny mactavish x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghoap

794 notes · View notes

ghostieyanyan · 12 days

Note

yandere ruggie bucchi!

pls

hehe~~ i love writing about yandere beasts~ hehe~ this is a little shorter than some of my fanfics but I hope you like the art for it! (I’m proud of it ^^)

~The Bite~

Yan!Ruggie x mc

Warnings: yandere, bite marks, biting, stalking, chasing, pin down, struggle

~~~~~

You always have to remember... you are human and magicless at that. You always have to stay aware of your surroundings. You always have to be careful with going out at night.

Of course you have grim, ace, and deuce. but they like to get themselves into trouble and sometimes you cant help them.

So tonight, you were walking home... alone. you didn't mean to, it was just you were helping Jack and Epel, then Dire Crowley needed help, and it just piled up for you. Before you knew it, when you finished, it was pitch dark outside. Only well lit lanterns here and there but still. It was dark enough for the long unnerving shadows to give you chills.

You took a breathe and started to head to the dorm... normally you'll have grim talking your ear off with food, or assignments, or the "just you wait, ill become the most powerful mage in all of twisted wonderland!!" speech.. but now you have to walk and just listen to your footsteps on the ground.

Beside it being cold, it was a lovely night. the sky was clear and you could see the stars and moon nicely. it definitely help ease your nerves.

Sadly that didn't last long..- you walked past some forest, right before your dorm, and you heard some rustling. you would have just thought it was just a small critter... if it didn't make a loud thud and have a gargling growl.

you felt your blood run cold and shivers down your spine. practically every fiber in your body told you to run! you were about to- but you then remember something that rook said a while back...

"Some animals, when they see something go by fast, their instincts tell them to chase it! even before they know what they're chasing~! isn't that fascinating~?"

In this moment, NO, its not fascinating!!!

so instead of doing a full sprint, you went for a speed walk? maybe whatever that thing is, it'll leave you alone?

Ohhh hahaha... your hopeful thinking. Ya, no. whatever that THING was, stopped whatever it was doing and you could practically feel it's eyes piercing right through you.

You could barely get another step in before you heard it rush towards you. your auto-pilot kicked in and you booked it home, you didn't even dare yourself to turn around and look behind you. you ran like you never ran before. your feet ached by how much pressure your putting on the ground. next time, Deuce and Jack invites you out for a jog. maybe you'll tag along next time... that is if you live.

you made it to your dorm and slammed the door behind you. your chest was practically about to pound out of your chest. it felt like you were gasping for air through a straw. you were sitting against the front door on the doormat. you had to give yourself a few minutes before you could do anything.

what were you gonna do..?

when you finally got enough air to calm your heart rate a bit. you peeked outside... all you saw were the lights of the lanterns by your dorm...

no one was there...

you quickly ran to find any unlock doors and windows and quickly lock them! you also grabbed the phone that Cater gave you and called Jack and Epel. it took a bit and they weren't happy to be woken up but after hearing your shaken voice and begged to come to the ramshackle dorm, their angry turned to concern.

they told you they're on the way and told you to sit tight.

so you waited.

what were your suppose to do as you wait..? you could recheck the windows and door? you could also get a weapon, too! ya!

you rushed to the kitchen to grab a pan, and checked all the doors and windows again. you even checked the upstairs windows. you were in a magical world, you are not gonna stop and think about logic on how anyone will get to the top floor!

Good thing you did check though... Well unfortunately, your bedroom window was wide open.

you felt the cold wind blow through the window, you held the pan close to you as you slowly stepped away from the window. but your back hit something.. it was definitely not a wall! this thing wrapped it's arms around you and pushed you down on the ground. you tried to fight this intruder off but it was met with your limps being pinned and your pan being thrown across the room.

you couldn't turn and look at this person but you knew they weren't human. their sharp nails dug into your wrist. their knees on the back of your thighs so you are unable to move.

This monster, lowered themselves to you and spoke.

"Shye he he...~ you're such good prey~"

he probably felt your body freeze in realization but he didn't give you a second to think about it as he took his chance and sink his teeth on the back of your neck.

you let out a painful scream until your voice eventually gave out and you've succumb to the pain. you felt light headed and your vision began to blur. your limps became cold from poor blood circulation.

but before you fell into unconsciousness you heard Ruggie whispers his parting words...

"see you next time, prefect~"

~~~

when you woke up, you were in your bed. you slowly sat up and felt the unpleasant feeling of blood rushing in your head. you noticed the sunlight shining through your room and that the window is now closed.

you thought to yourself. that was a horrible dream...

but if it WAS just a horrible dream..? why is Jack and Epel sleeping on the floor in your room..?

and why is your neck patched up....

Without text

199 notes · View notes

kismets-barista · 4 months

Text

Hold onto your Stetson, @ohposhers; have I got some personal HickDory lore for you 😎💜🌟🫧

Excuse the insanity for those who don't feel compelled towards these two

SO!

Hickory and JD met a few good years before the events of the World Tour when Dory was traveling to find Lonesome Flats, got heatstroke and passed out in the desert. Wakes up to Hickory shadowed in the flickering light of a campfire beneath a canopy of the brightest stars he'd seen since the Neverglades, but it wouldn't be until QUITE a few months later until they really started developing crushes against each other. (Cowboy under the stars, you'd think he'd fall right then and there, right? 🌟)

Why was Hickory already in Lonesome Flats, you might ask? Where was Dickory?

In a glue trap, I say in response. Hickory came from Yodelsberg (is there a canonical name for this?) for international study and to learn about new music. He fell in love with country because yodeling and country music are actually quite gorgeous together. She Taught Me to Yodel, anyone?

Delta Dawn obviously didn't take to Dory showing up and around the town, but after some convincing by Hickory and lots of proving himself (plus a vulture attack that resulted in John Dory saving the very young niece of Delta Dawn- Clampers-) he 'earned' a place there and began to work around town.

It was weird for him.

He'd never quite settled down, until then.

(Now, the specific timeline, yearly I mean is a little muddled because I'm still crafting this, but I'll put them out about three years, now.)

John Dory was still living in Lonesome Flats, and he'd started a relationship with Hickory. They loved each other, as my cohort in crime @protagonist-art (CHECK OUT THEIR ART I LOVE THEM SM MUAH) has Hickory tell John when we get write them, "More than the moon loves the ocean." As surely as the tide pulls in and out, so the lovers return to each other.

So Via, what does Hickory think about BroZone?

Oh, my sweet star.

He doesn't know.

After returning to the devastated Troll Tree, John Dory lost a piece of his heart in the damaged pod they used to live in. It was the first time he went grey, and the memories of his brothers started shifting from what was, to what would never be again. He couldn't find it within himself to talk about them, and has his secrets.

But so does Hickory.

Girl wdym stop being so mysterious.

Heh. I know. It's just a glimpse into my dark mind /ref. Anyways, Hickory never told John Dory he was a Yodeler troll. (Another piece of lore that Quizzy and I worked on together and I think it's brilliant.)

Huh? Aren't they in a long-term relationship? Won't this cause issues later on if they don't share these things with each other?

Oh, they love every aspect of each other too much for their bond to truly be broken.

And yet.

One morning, years after just living and loving, John Dory wakes up with a massive headache and nausea.

"Maybe it's that horse that kicked me yesterday, could've gotten me harder than we both thought."

"Lemme check for a knot, Darlin'."

No knots, but there was an egg.

🌟 (Here I'll say that I'm massively in love with the headcanon that trolls conceive through true love- it isn't quite necessary for them to physically do anything unless they want to. Just them, wholeheartedly trusting and putting everything into their relationship and pouring their heart out to their partner.)

They were absolutely ECSTATIC, and rightfully terrified in their own ways. Neither of them were looking for children but not against it, and after resting for a few days they began to plan. A nursery in the house, baby books with millions of names scattered on the coffee table, toys and cute little baby clothes for when the little one hatched.

Wanna know two of the names John Dory had in mind? Rhonda and Dolly.

They were ecstatic until the night John Dory woke up absolutely ill and with a pit in his stomach.

They lost the egg, and it was the second time John Dory went grey in his life.

A week after this had happened, John Dory left a bundled lock of his hair at Hickory's nightstand and did what he knows how to do all too well. He ran.

Hickory never went too far out of Lonesome Flats in the hopes that John Dory would come back. He couldn't imagine what would happen if his love came back and didn't find him there.

The events of World Tour come about, Hickory meets Branch, and travels for the first time since John Dory left.

John Dory continued to travel, until the events of Band Together.

But don't worry, dear readers, for as surely as the tides come in, so will the lovers meet again. 🌟

Aaaand BOOM! That's it! 💜 I've got lore behind the names Rhonda and Dolly as well, and am SO down to answer any questions about them that anyone has. For you, Posh, thank you for asking and helping me to share a story I've been working on, and for everyone else that read this, thank you kindly! I hope that everyone who made it this far has quite a lovely day, or if you didn't, have a lovely day anyways!

Remember to take your meds, drink water, eat something, and stretch!

💜🌟🫧

371 notes · View notes

oceantornadoo · 11 days

Note

hii! can you do what it would be like asking price to put pads on the shopping list?? and then when price goes shopping he has to call you to ask for what size ?? 😭😭 btw i love love your work, hope u had a good day💞.

im pretty sure you're referring to this post but i decided to make this price x reader so :) enjoy!

bsf marriage pact!price x reader, he's slightly creepy but he's sweet (this is actually a bit dubcon but its in good spirit)

you had had a shit day. actually, make that a shit week. emotional the whole time, feeling lonely, depressed, and with the weirdest cravings. right when you were about to call your best friend and rant about how terrible you felt, you had went to the bathroom and- oh.

that explains a lot.

and now here you were, sitting on the toilet for the past ten minutes, contemplating. you were completely out of all period products and your flow was so heavy there was no way you were making it to the store free bleeding or with toilet paper as a makeshift pad. of course, that's when john decided to call you (let's be real, who doesn't take their phone to the bathroom. don't judge.)

"evenin', duckie."

"ugh john, i told you not to call me that. its so annoying."

john grunted a chuckle into the phone, swiping a hand over his beard. "you love it." silence. he could practically hear your eye roll. "dinner tonight?" he was pacing his apartment, uncharacteristic for a man like him. calm, cool, collected. never when it came to you.

"can't, sorry. maybe in a few days." he grunted. "could order a takeaway?" you sighed in his ear, the sound a melody he craved to hear over and over again. on lazy saturdays and in-between small fights over laundry. baby steps, though.

"its just not in the cards tonight, john, i'm sorry." you were never like this, withholding information. even when you cancelled on him, it was with a long-winded explanation with the names of about seven people he didn't know and plans you didn't want to go to. "'s wrong, duck? got a hot date or somethin'?" he mentally crossed his fingers, not allowing a physical expression. he wasn't that whipped. not yet.

"no, im just sick. and tired." his muscles relaxed. he started putting on his boots and grabbed a fleece, something gaz insisted was not too tryhard for someone like him. "i'll run to the store and grab ya medicine, hm? what'dya need?" you sighed again, rubbing your fingers to your forehead. he obviously was not giving this up and you did really need pads...

"ill text you a list when you get there. thanks john."

"anythin' for you, duckie."

list: pads, advil, that one chocolate candy you know i like, something for dinner

shit. price had been with a woman or two, but had never had to buy her pads. of course, he'd never let it get to that stage, not when he had you to take care of. but now here he was, staring at playtex and always and what the fuck was a diva cup? he'd better call you.

"all ok, john?"

"ya didn't give me a color on your pads, duck." you giggled. of course he paid attention to the green versus orange pads.

"its pretty heavy so some of the overnight and extra daytime ones would work." silence.

"...there's numbers." your cheeks warmed. you couldn't believe you were talking about this with john of all people.

"god, john. this feels so embarrassing. so weird to talk about with you."

"why? gotta know this for the rest of my life, duckie." shit. he was referring to that night a couple weeks ago, when you confessed to him you thought you'd never find love. when he said he'd marry you in a heartbeat, just say the word. when you compromised by telling him if you were still single in two years, you'd go to the courthouse then and there. when you didn't see him turn and write the date in phone, just as a reminder.

"5, john. there should be a moon symbol or something. and then 3. should be green, i think?" he grunted an affirmation, putting the respective pads in his cart. he turned around, having said goodbye and ended the call, and was subsequently greeted by three women, staring. paused in their product selection, staring openmouthed at how nonchalant he was about buying pads.

30 minutes later he was at your place, groceries and takeaway in hand as he used his spare key to let himself in. "duck?" all quiet. he stalked through your place and noticed the light on in the bathroom. one, two, three quick knocks. "john?" "'s me. can i come in?" "no i- need you to get me something." he waited patiently. "can you go to my dresser and grab a pair of underwear. something ugly, lots of coverage." who was he to say no to a free invite to your underwear drawer?

john dropped the pads outside your bathroom door and headed to your bedroom. finding your dresser, he had to give himself a second. calm down, old man. they're all clean.

that didn't stop him from sniffing a few, reveling at the scent of your laundry detergent. he almost groaned at the scent, imagining you in them. even in the "unsexy" pairs, your curves clothed in cotton and elastic, wrapped up in a lovely package. all his.

john selected a pair with "lots of coverage", whatever that meant, and headed to your bathroom. he opened the door with ease, setting your pads down on the counter. you shrieked.

"john! im half naked, you need to knock." obviously, the sight of your bare thighs and the top of your mound peaking out was most welcome, but he was more concerned about getting you off the toilet and putting food in your belly. "jus' me, duckie. come on, show me how to do it." he gestured at the pads. he couldn't be serious.

you slowly unboxed them, taking care to cover your naked body as much as possible. even while moving slowly, your shirt still shifted and he caught glimpses of your pretty pussy. an image for another day, when you weren't in pain. he focused on your fingers, deftly putting the pad on your underwear with years of practice. he memorized how you placed the pad, ensuring it stuck to your underwear before tearing the paper off the wings and tucking them on the other side. you looked up at him and he nodded, mission complete. "thank you, by the way." he kissed your forehead, so quick you could have missed it in a blink.

"turn around, i have to put it on." he sat back on his haunches, staring. "go'on. 've gotta learn somehow." you were too tired to care, ready to devour your dinner. you missed his hungry gaze as you revealed your cunt to him, wanting even though it was covered in blood. you missed his fingers twitching as you slowly pulled on your underwear, fabric caressing your skin like he yearned to. you got up, flushed, and washed your hands, missing how he tucked his fingers in belt loops and leaned back into the wall, a move he'd done many times in his tac vest.

"thank you, john. truly." he gave you a grin under the muttonchops, all satisfied. task finished, mission accomplished. you had asked him to do this, a husbandly duty. after you dried your hands, you made a move for the door, but he stopped you with a hand to the jaw. he brushed his beard against you, feeling the shiver in your bones. his mouth hovered near your ear, accent coming out low and sultry. "anythin' for my future wife, duckie."

ngl this got a bit weird but i like it??? had to struggle to not lean into my simon riley weirdness tendencies as im still learning john as a character.

#john price #price #cod price #captain john price #captain price x reader #price x reader #john price x reader #captain price #price imagine #price headcanons #price one shot #john price x you #captain johnathan price #john price x y/n #tornadothoughts

203 notes · View notes

lilithess · 1 year

Text

ASTRO OBSERVATIONS III

water moons are just so … love naive. it breaks my heart how much these people get taken advantage of. if you come across a manipulative, hard cored water moon, know that they’ve already been hurt too much. this especially goes for cancer moons. like when a crab closes its shell

i already spoke about capricorn and scorpio placements getting the most hurt in this life but i’ve noticed it’s somewhat different. capricorn’s pain is obvious and “logical”. these people couldn’t catch a break because saturn and pluto have been transiting the sign of capricorn and now aquarius so it’s decades od having two malefics going up and down on your placements. mother died, father left, grandma got ill, parents divorced.. whatever it was, naturally, when you hear their life story, it makes sense as to why they behave as rigid or even pessimistic and frustrated with others, with themselves. they’ve been through so much and their childhoods were one of the most difficult i’ve seen (especially aquarius/capricorn stellium). burdened by everything that happens, they usually buckle up and dig themselves in their work. work is the most favorable medicine for saturnians.

scorpio, on the other hand, might not even have any of these life circumstances. i’ve noticed plutonians can create their own misery. they can be healthy, employed, even have both parents, a house, friends../ yet somehow they’re suffering. this is because scorpio needs the wound to keep it going. it needs something to die over, then be reborn, because without it - there’s no point. it wouldn’t be a scorpio to begin with. say you might be going through a heartbreak. and you hurt, you buy icecream, you go shopping, cry for a while, then move on. regular life, it happens. plutonian going through a break up is like peeling the skin of your bones. it goes on and on. it can be years over something that can be finished in a month. they hurt with every cell in their body. everything is deep, everything is big, everything is an apocalipse. this is how scorpio/pluto processes hurt and betrayal and most often in secrecy. i say - the rest of the zodiac suffers, and then there’s scorpio

venus being harshly aspected by saturn could manifest as having an extremely low self esteem that you’re not even aware of. it could prolonge a happy relationship or any sort of relationship at all. if you do get into a relationship, make sure they are treating you right. there’s a good chance you have to work on your confidence a lot

i’ve witnessed libra mars be so peaceful about an issue that i wanted to pluck their words out with pliers. they can really swipe things under the rug and just stay aggressively silent. my father has this placement as well and i’ve seen him stand up for himself and loose his cool maybe - two times. other libra placements don’t have this sort of passiveness (except maybe libra rising) so idk where the stereotype on libra suns is coming from. also, i find libras to be much darker than people see them to be. maybe because there’s a good chance they’ll have some scorpio placements as well but. i think this sign needs a deeper analyses

SYNASTRY TIME! there is one guy who has loved me for the past three years no matter where he’d been and who he’d been with. whenever he sees me it all starts all over again and these are most significant synastry aspects that we have: - my saturn and mars square his moon (he is hurt all over again every time. i have a situation where i’m the moon and i was the hurt one. beware of malefics on your moon!) - my sun conjuncts his venus (this aspect seems very powerful be it in synastry or composite, but i don’t feel it much. my venus also conjuncts his sun and i see him as nothing but another friend) - his neptune opposite my venus and mars (he is the infatuated one, not me) - my moon, venus, mars and jupiter in his 8H (feels possessive over me, stares at me to the point i have to yell at him to stop, looks at me like a lost puppy, has no control over his dignity and if he sees another man flirting with me he gets mad and the rest of his night is ruined) - my ascendant conjunct his moon and my mc conjunct his sun (i have no idea how this plays out but it seems important)

#astrology #astro observations #astro notes #astrology observations #synastry #whew this was long

1K notes · View notes

lovlive · 15 days

Text

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ midnight insomnia' - c.yj

SYNOPSIS - its the middle of the night and you have 2 problems; no.1 you cant sleep, and no.2 you miss your boyfriend. PAIRING - choi yeonjun x f!reader GENRE - fluff, established relationship WARNINGS - reader is depicted with a pink colour, reader is called ‘baby’ and ‘girlfriend’, just yeonjun and y/n being really cute with eachother <3 requested from anon: hi! i dont think you've posted yet, maybe your busy or just dont know what to write about since your a new blog, but i want to put in a req.. could you do reader x yeonjun with the prompt “i can’t sleep, come to my bed” id actually die AAH im so curious what you could turn this into, thanks :}

notes: thanku sm for the req! yeah, i havent been writing yet since my brain was blank tbh i had no ideas for a fanfic in mind 😭😭 but now youve added fuel to my fire and ill try start writing more often :3 (and yes, the 127 in the fic was on purpose)

The moon cast a soft glow through the small sliver between your curtains, painting the room in hues of silver. In the quiet of the night, you tossed and turned under your soft blanket, unable to find solace in slumber. As you battled with your insomnia, you just couldnt keep your mind off of one thing; Yeonjun. You couldnt stop thinking about the way he would hold you through these chilly early-spring nights, and how much you missed his warm body next to yours. At this point you’ve realised just how starved you were from him despite only seeing him a couple of days ago.

You gave up on your slumber, rolling like a log from one side of your bed to another to pick up your phone. The sharp glow from the screen hit your eyes, your face instinctively scrunching up since you werent used to the brightness. Your fingers lazily glided over to the message app icon, and then tapped on Yeonjun’s contact. The time at the side of the screen caught your eye, and your realised it was 1:27 AM. You were a little weary of texting your boyfriend at this late hour; you knew that he was probably tired after a long day of practicing and you didnt want to seem selfish or too clingy. But you shook off your bad feelings since you knew that Yeonjun wasnt the type to be able to fall asleep easily either. You began to type your messages…

“jjunieeee..”

“baby… ☹️”

As expected, Yeonjun was of course awake. Your one word messages were opened by him a minute later. He looked at the texts, a little confused on why you’d be texting him right now. Any how, he started typing back.

“y/n? why’re you still up. you better not be up to some weird shi 😐”

“jjunie, i cant sleep. come to my bed.”

“baby, its half 1 in the morning.”

“please..😔 i really cant sleep and i need sum1 by my side 😞”

“y/n you’re going to be the death of me... but what wouldnt i do for my beautiful girlfriend”

“ill be there in 5”

“yippee! 😇 i love you ❤️”

“love you more baby ❤️”

Your face lit up as your boyfriend agreed to come over. You immediately put your phone back on your side table and plugged it back into charging, then quickly tossed the dirty socks that were lying on your bedroom floor underneath your bed to appear a little tidier. After a little while, you could hear a quiet knock echo through your small apartment; your face lighting up once again. Your feet quickly brought you to your hallway, where you rummaged your drawer for your keys. Eventually finding them, you jammed the correct key into the keyhole, twisiting it and gently opening the door. As your boyfriend appears from behind the door, you immediately pull him into a hug, shutting the door behind him. “Whats up with you today?” He teases as he feels your arms lock around him tightly, wrapping his arms around your waist in response. “Just missed you baby.” You responded, taking in his soft scent which you missed badly. “Y/n, we just saw eachother a few days ago..” His chuckle landed right in your ear, warm breath brushing right up against your ear. The sensation of course did not fail to make you blush a little. “Yeah, but ‘just a few days ago’ feels like an eternity to me.” You whisper into his shoulder, finding comfort in just burrying your face in his shoulder and hiding from the world. You feel his hands come away from your waist and up to your back, rubbing small circles. “You really arent a patient person, are you? Now, lets get you to bed.” He whispers as he takes your hand in his and begins to lead you over to your bedroom. You obviously dont resist, and grip his hand back as you walk behind him. None of you made a sound as you walked to your bedroom. Both of your social batteries were drained from the long day you’ve survived today, and all you wanted to do was to hold eachother in peace as you tried to fall back into a slumber.

You walk into your bedroom, and Yeonjun leads you straight to your bed. He lets you crawl in and under the covers as he takes off his jacket and throws it onto the chair you have by your desk. He came just wearing his pajamas, since he knew all you were going to do together was snuggle and sleep. He climbs onto your bed, arms wrapping tightly around your body as your face hides in his chest. His hand runs through your soft hair in a consoling manner, trying to get you to feel more tired and sleepy. His hands work like magic, your eyes beginning to feel heavier by the minute. But before you fall asleep, you give his hand a gentle squeeze and manage to whisper a set of three familiar words.

“I love you.”

94 notes · View notes

sky-kiss · 7 months

Note

Hi there, it's me, your girl, knocking on your door and asking for a tiny fic if you take to this prompt 😊

Strip poker. Lmao no. But maybe. It'd just be Tav getting naked as they lose horribly to him.

Okay actual prompt, sorry. I love possessive Raphael, it shivers me timbers.

What if after he successfully gets the Crown with Tav's help. And Tav thinks they're done forever, and is sad about it during their hurrah meal (THAT HE PROMISED US BUT WE DIDNT GET IN GAME?), but Raphael is very much not done with Tav yet. But plays them along a little, delighting in how attached they seem to be to him.

But also, feel free to do the strip poker adjacent if that appeals more. 😉 Thank you my dear!

________

A/N: I’m going to be super honest, babe. I almost did the strip poker prompt.

________

“This, my dear, to a most successful partnership.” Raphael held up his glass, a beautiful crystal flute that seemed to catch the firelight; held it. Tav didn’t want to guess how rare it was, or how much it cost. Raphael seemed inclined to excess; the meal he’d promised so many moons prior reflected those beliefs. The first wine he’d served was centuries old; the second was even older. The gown he’d left provided, perfectly tailored, was set with enough jewels to sustain a small kingdom.

Tav smiled at his toast but could not find it in herself to respond. As fine as the night had been, it held a note of finality that sat heavy on her heart. It was the bow on his victory and his crown. After this, they’d go their separate ways.

It was objectively the correct course of action. Dealing with a devil of any sort was ill-advised; dealing with one so intimately bordered on suicide.

Raphael smirked at her, cocking his head to the side. The firelight caught him in profile, sharpening already fine features, casting his eyes in deeper shadows. He leaned forward. “My, has the cat finally caught your tongue? Here? At the end of all things?”

“Not in the least. Only tired.”

“I could send you back…”

“No!” The answer was far too quick. The devil arched a brow, smiling with teeth. He folded his hands in front of him, long fingers interlaced. Tav tried not to fixate on them, or the way his thumb shifted, stroking some invisible line across his wrist. “No, that isn’t necessary. It’s only…I supposed a part of me didn’t expect things to end so soon.”

“But it’s been months, my sweet. Are you not tired of the road? The violence?” Lower, a note of teasing crept into his voice. “My company?” Tav huffed. The adventurer sipped her wine to stop her immediate reply. The one the devil undoubtedly wanted. His eyes, bright as hellfire, glowed. “It should grieve me to leave you wanting, little mouse. You need only say that word and…” he snapped his fingers. The candles leaped with new liveliness before fading to a more intimate level. “We might find some new way to occupy our time.”

“You have hells to conquer.”

“And what is a conquest without dear friends?” He chuckled, and Tav fought the urge to shiver. The fireplace was far too large for the banquet hall. Avernus was naturally hot. The air in her lungs felt stagnant and overheated. “Admit it. You're curious. What will Raphael accomplish?”

“I don’t doubt you if that’s what you’re implying.”

“Never. I would not dream of slandering my talents or your good sense, pet.” He extended his hand, palm up. “But I would never force my suit. You are, as ever, entirely free to make your own choices.”

Tav pursed her lips. The little alarm in the back of her head was screaming. Run, it said, get far from here and far from him. She’d never been good at listening to those notes of reason. Raphael must have seen it too. The devil smirked, the right corner of his lips curling back to highlight the point of his fangs. “I wouldn’t…see us part ways. Not yet.”

“Mmm. And why not? Indulge this…inquiring mind.”

She sighed, shrugging. “Because I’m…fond of you, devil.”

“Good girl, honesty is always the best policy.” Gods, but he looked insufferably pleased with himself. Raphael leaned back, resting his chin in his palm. He drummed his fingers against his cheek. “It would be dangerous for you to stay, of course, and I could never endanger one so dear to me. Unless…” he let the sentence hang between them, full of potential and thoroughly premeditated. Tav could feel the noose tightening, the hooks he’d set in her flesh from their first meeting tugging at her soul. “A patron makes all the difference in the hells. Were you to swear yourself to me, you might remain.”

She laughed. “Is that all? Just put myself in your hands?”

“My hands, my lap, my bed.” His smirk took on a particularly feline quality. “Don’t look so surprised, pet. I kept the Emperor out of that lovely head. Did you think I hadn’t seen what was in it?”

He made a vague gesture with his left hand, and those lurid imaginings came forward. The dreams that had chased Tav into an uneasy sleep for months: his touch smoothing over her hips. His mouth on her breasts. Touching, and teasing, and…

“Enough.” She swallowed, head spinning. “You’ve made your point.”

“Swear you are mine, devote yourself to me, and I will give all your imaginings form. What is one mortal life compared to pleasure eternal?” He held out his hand again.

And Tav took it.

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #raphael x tav #my fic #asks #tav is drinking idiot juice bless their heart

309 notes · View notes

thedemonsurfer · 2 months

Text

hey uuuh im procrastinating on other things so let's write a big ol' essay about

Eclipse 3.1, and Why Moon Is Doing a Disservice By Writing Him Off As "Insane*"

*insane in this context being the definition of 'acting erratic and unpredictable with no regard to consequences' and not an actual mental illness diagnosis, I know, I wish they'd pick a different word too, but this is an essay about Eclipse's behavior, not linguistics

So! If you've only been sorta keeping up with SAMS, the current plot is someone (we still don't know who) revived everyone's favorite dusty Dorito that had been forgotten under the couch, slapped him on the ass, and pointed him at the Daycare. This has made a lot of people (in universe) very angry and been widely regarded as a bad move, even by Eclipse.

Especially by Eclipse.

Our buddy boy has magic (dunno how), incomplete memories of both the original Eclipse and the backup (no clue how he got those), and directives embedded in his code that can't be removed without killing him (¯\_(ツ)_/¯). He literally woke up in the hallway outside the Daycare and then went inside and started monologuing.

Eclipse wants to find the person who brought him back, maybe or maybe not ask some questions, and then kill them.

He reeeeeally wants to kill them.

(This whole arc honestly boils down to Eclipse grabbing various folks and shaking them while screaming "ARE YOU MY MOMMY?!")

In recent eps Moon has accused him of going 'insane', mostly due to his insistence on picking fights and threatening others, and that he cannot shut up about wanting to get the guy that made him. He very recently picked a fight with Lunar, who killed him again-- and proved at the moment he can't be killed permanently, he'll just come back in a new body.

Huh.. fighting a programmed compulsion, becoming more erratic and aggressive over time, breakdown of logic and reasoning... That seems kind of familiar...

Oh yeah! This is Eclipse's kill code. I'm calling it the 'bother code', but 'cringecode' and 'pain-in-the-ass code' aren't off the table. Unlike Moon's kill code, the expression seems to be 'be a distraction to Moon' rather than like, outright murdering people.

Like the kill code, fighting the compulsion seems to make his behavior more unstable. Because here's the thing: Eclipse isn't stupid.

Well.

Okay, Eclipse is stupid, but not... like this.

Eclipse is a manipulator. His thing has always been to recruit others to help him achieve his goal, and he's patient about it. He's willing to work for months on someone, and while he does shoot himself in the foot eventually, it's usually more indirectly than this. Moon is currently helping him search for the guy, it makes no sense for Eclipse to continue posturing and threatening.

Except-- that's his only outlet right now.

The "I need to find the guy who made me"? That's Eclipse's goal, the one he's pursing with all the stubbornness he has.

The "hey what if I killed or maimed some of your family"? That's the directives.

What we're seeing with Eclipse's behavior is him desperately trying to keep himself on track, when the bother code is trying to yank him in another direction. Threatening Moon so he'll 'work faster' is an outlet, a way for him to briefly pacify the code while redirecting it back into his own goal. He knows it's a stupid suggestion, but he's going to make it anyway because he has no choice.

I think he feels like he's running out of time as well. Because Eclipse can be patient, but he gets frustrated and short tempered the closer he gets to a deadline (this is why I believe he started being meaner to Lunar-- he was frustrated about not finding the star and had given himself only a month to do it).

So like.. yeah. I don't think he's going 'insane' or 'losing his mind'. I think he's fighting a losing battle against his own programming, and taking the frustration and panic out on everyone else. Because the kill code couldn't be fought off indefinitely, eventually the bot would crack under it. And it'd be nice if Moon could acknowledge that Eclipse's behavior isn't entirely voluntary, and he IS I think honestly doing his best-- he outright came to them for help, something he's never done before.

Idk maybe they need to let Eclipse put Moon in a stupid trap again for an ep to get it out of his system so he can chill out for a while.

A sidenote! Its interesting to me that Eclipse's behavior in the coming back ep seemed to be erratic only as long as Moon was present. Once Moon left, Eclipse changed gears in how he was talking to Solar, and had some very classic "you know you're better than this, don't you want to go apeshit?" lines. The kind of thing that we've seen from the previous Eclipse incarnations. Dunno yet if it means anything, but it's interesting!

#the sun and moon show #tsams #tsams eclipse

89 notes · View notes

gg-pedro · 3 months

Text

can you hear the music (ch. 4) - joel miller x reader

masterlist

summary: everyone in jackson is trying to distract themselves from something. you teach ellie piano and find yourself trying to help more than one miller settle into their new world.

chapter 4: joel asks for a blessing. in the end, you aren't sure if he gets it.

warnings: post outbreak!joel, jackson!era, joel x reader, AFAB!reader, platonic!ellie x reader, protective!joel, implied age gap, brief smut (p in v), mentions of blood, non-gratuitous descriptions of a wound, alcohol consumption, gun violence, rampage!joel, angst, and more angst.

words: 3.5k

a/n: sorry in advance! alternate title: waiting room.

Joel apologized to you second.

You woke up to Joel draping a throw blanket around you and the sound of mugs being set on the coffee table. When you opened your eyes to see him sitting on the edge of the couch next to you, you worried.

He looked ill. The pallor of his face clashed with the peaceful resolve that was mixed into his expression. When you sat up, he took your hands into his, and his eyes were pleading with you to stay.

“I’m sorry for makin’ so much trouble for you. Last night… that wasn’t right. I didn’t want you to have to– y’know, have to deal with shit that should be mine.”

You shook your head. “It’s–”

He cut you off. “Don’t say anything yet. I’m gonna tell you a few things first.”

Joel had woken up before the sun that morning with you curled up on his chest and a 50 pound weight on his shoulders. He slipped off the couch, trying his hardest not to disturb you, and walked by the light of the moon back to his and Ellie’s place.

She was asleep in her bedroom, a comic book spread open on her chest and her blanket twisted up near her feet. He straightened out her duvet over her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

In his bedroom, he dug the framed photograph of him and Sarah from his pack. He apologized to her first. He held the picture in both hands, stared at it for a long time, and asked for her forgiveness. And for a blessing– he told her about you, the girl that he was seeing and wanted to be with, for however long time would allow.

And maybe a sign, too. Just to know that she was still there.

Now, dipping his head down as he gripped your hands in his, he would apologize to you.

Joel told you a lot of things. Some of it vague, some of it not. Mostly about how he couldn’t save his daughter. You were feeling lots of different things. Mostly, you just felt sorry for him. Entirely winded by the pain he experienced. It was like that old adage– you get to know someone so well that you end up on the other side of them.

At the end of it, still gripping your hands, he looked into your eyes again. “I know you’re gonna see me differently now. That’s fine, I’ve done things I’m not proud of. Real, real bad things. And if you don’t wanna do this anymore, that’s fine too. Or if–”

“Joel,” you said quietly. “There’s not a single skeleton in your closet that would make me feel any differently about you. Because the you that I know?”

You brought your hands up to cradle his face. “You've got a heart of gold, baby. And if I can say that now, after all this– I know it isn’t going anywhere.” You brushed tears away from the hollows of his cheeks. “Neither am I.”

Joel just nodded. He didn’t say anything, not even if he believed you, but you already knew he did. For the first time, he held you in his arms and it didn’t feel like he was waiting for you to crumble into dust.

Tommy was third. It wasn’t much of an apology, though. The whole recanting of the situation in the bar the night before brought Tommy to tears from how much he was laughing.

“Wasn’t expecting that this would be so amusing to you,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy, wiping his eyes, said, “You swing and you miss sometimes, brother. But fuck, I ain’t ever lettin’ you live this down.”

That made Joel laugh too, which made everything less heavy. As collateral for Tommy not mentioning any of this to Maria, he made Joel promise to take his night patrols for the next two weeks. That was the deal, and that was good enough for him.

He had a memory come to mind of him sitting in church once, staring at a vaulted wooden ceiling and wondering how many confessions it would take to wash his hands clean of sin. It was a lifetime’s worth, even back then. Now, though, he was starting to think it would take a whole lot less.

Joel and Tommy’s deal was a just punishment. He could stand the lack of sleep, the chill that the early spring’s night air carried. But it meant he couldn’t spend every night of the week with you.

The two of you were in his bed this time, fresh out of a warm shower. Joel tried to convince you that it was practical, saving the commune on hot water, but you realized that was a farce the second you undressed and his hands started roaming.

He wanted you to be his. Grabbing you by the back of your thighs, he lifted you up and pressed you against the tile wall. He sucked and bit the slick skin of your neck and shoulders in a way that made your senses fuzzy with desire. You wrapped your legs around him, whining and needy until he gave you what you really wanted.

He fucked you then and there, bodies tangled together between light and water. You could moan and beg as loud as you needed to on his right side. Still, he’d complain, telling you to use his good ear to cry out his name. Wanna hear how much you want me, pretty girl.

As you laid in his bed afterwards, him tracing circles up and down your arm, he startled suddenly.

“Time is it?”

You strained to read the time on the alarm clock. “Half past midnight.”

“Damnnit, I’m late,” he hissed.

You watched as he got up, pulling on a pair of jeans and a white tee shirt. “Can I come?”

He gave you a pointed look, one that clearly said over my dead body. “No.”

“Joel,” you began, sitting up in bed. “I’m getting tired of this– living the same day over and over again. Besides the kids, you’re the only thing that I look forward to anymore.”

Buttoning a flannel up almost all the way, he shook his head. “Good. Means you’re safe. Better bored than dead or infected,” he said. “Going out there ain’t gonna fix anything for you.”

“You think I can’t handle myself,” you said. “I’ve gotten this far. I got here alone.”

Joel sat on the bed next to you and took your hand into his. “I know, baby. But I can’t. Can’t risk you,” he said quietly. “Stay here tonight. Stay with Ellie. I’ll be back by dawn.”

That was the end of that conversation. But you kept asking, and asking, and apparently you passed his ‘show-me-how-you-hold-a-gun’ test, so he relented. He relented, and he shouldn’t have.

You took the same mare that you did on the previous trip, arms wrapped tightly around Joel’s middle and the cool metal of his shotgun pressing against your chest at the same time. There were three other pairs out there with the two of you, covering the east, west, and south while you and Joel took the north edges.

It was the dead of night outside those walls, and winter had melted away even further since the last time you’d seen it. Still, the exposure left you shivering, and the wind still howled in the trees like it was coming from the bitter north.

“This ain’t all for fun. You keep your eyes open. infected, hunters, camps, anything you see. That means tracks, smoke from fires, noises– anything. You got that gun ready, too?”

You reached into the holster on your side that he’d lended you, fingers gliding over cool metal. “Mhm. Ready to shoot off some heads,” you joked.

He huffed. “Yeah. Hilarious.”

He led you northward and you wondered how he did this so often. You weren’t sure if he was actually fearless to a degree or if he just had a constant sense of duty inside of him that he felt the need to fulfill. You get so used to putting your life on the line for others that eventually, you feel useless when you aren't. You just assumed it kept him going in a way you couldn’t understand.

“I wanna show you something,” he said after a long lapse of silence. “You gonna be awake for it?”

He must’ve been able to tell with the way you had your face slumped against his back that you were trying hard to fend off sleep. “Tell me what it is first?”

“That ruins the surprise, baby doll,” he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

He let you doze off for a while, but the uneven motion from the horse walking up an incline roused you again. Your eyes quickly adjusted to the blue dawn and sitting there in the foreground, like you were seeing a mirage, was a white farmhouse.

It could’ve been sitting on three acres of cleared land. A few hundred yards away from you was a barn and a silo to go along with it. Dead moss and other foliage had twisted its way up around its sides, creeping into broken windows and cracks in the wooden planks that made up the facade. The roof sagged inwards and the door seemed to have vanished from the hinges. It was beautiful anyway.

“Me and Tommy found this place a while back. We were thinking of how nice we could fix it up. In another life, maybe,” he said musingly. “You like it?”

You rested your chin on his shoulder and rubbed his arm with a gloved hand. “I love it. Feels like I’ve dreamt about a place like this.”

“Me too,” he agreed. “Just needs a big ol’ fence around the whole thing.”

You laughed and leaned over to kiss the shell of his ear. “I think that’d ruin it, Joel.”

He scoffed at you. “No. Can’t live here if it’s all out in the fuckin’ open.”

“I thought this was a hypothetical. And it doesn’t even have a door– I think it needs more than just a fence.”

“Well no shit. In my hypothetical, it’s all fixed up.” He waved a hand out in front of him. “New paint, big shutters on those windows. Slate roof. Maybe a blue door. Then I’d put up a fence. That make you happy?”

“In my hypothetical, there’d be no need for a fence. No infected, no hunters, no raiders. Just us. Dream bigger, Miller.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded. “But if I’m bein’ honest, there’s no hypothetical where I would wanna live in the middle-of-fuckin’-nowhere Wyoming.”

Still with your head on his shoulder, you watched the sunlight crest through the valley and light up the peak of the farmhouse in a warm glow. You dreamt of what could have been. What life would be like with Joel in the big white house of your dreams. In another life.

But if you were being honest, you wouldn’t have gotten to meet him in this one if the world hadn’t fallen apart.

“Yeah, alright. You win,” you replied quietly.

“I’m never wrong, hon.”

“Mhm. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

You headed back south from the farmhouse, traveling across a slight ridge that overlooked an open field. About a mile out, you could see Jackson’s walls in the morning light. A sudden gasp from you made Joel pull at the reins and stop the horse in its tracks.

“Oh, look,” you said, throwing a leg over to the other side and sliding off to get a closer look. “Wild poppies. I thought it’d be too early for flowers.” You crouched next to them and felt the warm soil beneath your fingertips.

“Flowers? Get back over here. I’m serious, you’re already too far,” Joel called, staring at you from two yards away.

“Oh, fuck off. Let me enjoy myself before we have to go back,” you yelled back behind you.

You were grateful for your life in Jackson. Beyond content there. It made you restless, too. As if it was some utopia that shouldn’t exist because the world had fallen apart. You had a home, you had your people, you got to show kids music, for fuck’s sake.

You didn’t know what was missing. Maybe it was just the mourning of the life you could’ve had that never really went away. There was more, though. There was something.

Joel slid off the horse after you, jogging to catch up. “I said I ain’t kiddin’, get back from the fuckin’ led–”

Joel barely had his hand on your shoulder when the distinct crack of a shotgun being fired rang out through the still forest. He grabbed you as quickly as he could, trying to cover your body with his, but he wasn’t fast enough. A strangled sob still wrenched itself from deep inside of you.

Joel paled. No. No. No. No. No. Baby. Baby. No. Please. Please, baby. Please.

Your knees buckled, and you would’ve sank to the ground if not for Joel’s hands around your waist, pulling you up against gravity. You pressed your hand against your upper arm, hot and sticky. When you pulled away, blood was left smeared across your palm and dripping between your fingers.

Dizzy and still reeling, you fought against his grasp and dropped to your knees. Joel went with you, grabbing your arm to assess the damage. You cried out, trying to pull it back from him, but he ignored your protests.

“You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, sweetheart, you’re okay.” He repeated it over and over again, probably trying to convince himself more than you. “It just grazed you, baby. I know, I know, it hurts, you gotta let me, though–”

He stripped off your coat and pulled your sleeve up. A remarkable chunk was missing from your arm, replaced by a red massacre of blood and flesh. Joel tore off a strip of his flannel and tied it tight around the wound as a makeshift tourniquet.

Just then, hurried footsteps approached the two of you. A lone man with his hands raised up in the air and a rifle strapped to his back. Joel drew his pistol, getting up to stand between you and the hunter.

“I’m so sorry,” he began, breathless. “I thought– I thought I saw a deer. I have medical supplies at my camp, I could treat that–”

The man was cut off by being promptly shot in the foot. He screamed in response, the sound full of shock and confusion, before crumbling to the ground.

“You thought. You fuckin’ thought? Oh, I bet you did. You fucked up. You really, really fucked up.”

Joel grabbed the man by his hair and smashed his fist into his face, over and over again, until even the poppies a few feet away had crimson blood spattered on them.

And you, you couldn’t even hear the man’s sobbing and pleading. You were hearing symphonies ringing through the woods. You were so sure you heard music, flowing and crescendoing with every throb of pain that shot through your arm. You wanted to shut your eyes and lean into it completely.

Still, you knew you were yelling. Trying to, anyway. Screaming at Joel to stop. It was a mistake. That man hadn’t meant to shoot anyone.

Joel, with his field of vision entirely red, watched the man look at clear blue sky and utter his last words to God–

Joel. Joel. Joel, Stop it, fucking don't, please, don’t–

And Joel, like the executioner he had been molded into, put a bullet straight through the other man’s skull.

The music pounding in your ears faded, vision dipping into cloudy darkness, and the last thing you felt was Joel’s arms catching you before your body hit the ground.

Your consciousness was spotty the entire ride back to the city. You knew you were in Joel’s one free arm, tucked in close to his chest, while he controlled the reins of the horse with the other.

“It ain’t so bad… you’re gonna make it. Can y’hear me, baby? Talk to me, please.”

You mumbled something into his skin and groaned. The adrenaline coursing through your body was making you shiver, and every slight movement sent waves of pain through your arm.

“I love you. I love you. I love you.” He repeated, grip tightening around you.

You heard him yelling to the guards at the front gates before your senses dulled to static black.

Oh, you wished you would’ve stayed unconscious.

In the clinic, there were multiple people pinning you down. Someone forced whiskey down your throat as they debrided the wound. You choked on it initially, but as they sewed the hole in your arm shut, you were screaming for more.

The bullet should’ve gone right through you– it was centimeters away from it. You were told that it should have. You almost wished it did. But the hunter was a poor shot, and now both of you were suffering for it.

After passing out from drinking more than half a bottle of bootleg whiskey, you woke again when it was dark outside with a hangover and a dull throbbing in your arm.

Ellie was there.

She perked up a little when she saw that you were aware. “Oh, hey. Let me go g–”

“–don’t get Joel. Please.”

“Oh,” she said again. “He didn’t shoot you, right? He’s telling everyone that he didn’t, but–”

You pinched the bridge of your nose and cut her off. “No, no, he didn’t– fuck… where is he?”

“At the house. Maria made him. I wanted to stay. Make sure you didn’t die or some shit while everyone was gone,” she said.

You sat up more fully from the cot you’d been sleeping on. Half of it had pools of dry blood on it, overlapping. “Mmh. Thanks, Ellie.”

“Don’t mention it.”

You stared down at your hands clasped in your lap. You swallowed. “Did they say when I could go home?”

“Dunno. I think Joel said he was ‘gonna be the one to decide’,” She told you, imitating his low southern drawl. “You wanna play cards? This weird kid at school taught me how to play Euchre.”

You agreed, of course. You and Ellie sat together on the bed, both trying to ignore the way it was splotched with red. Halfway through the second round of her kicking your ass, you popped open the decanter at your bedside and choked down the rest of the alcohol.

You sat awake long after Ellie had left. She beat you five times in a row until you played Go Fish and finally won a round. Tommy came to walk her back home, informing you that you should stay there for the night. He didn’t mention Joel.

You were drunk, definitely. Half your bloodstream was probably alcohol. But it made you woozy and it blurred the pain, so who were you to complain.

Joel came to you a quarter after midnight. He just stood at the door, staring at you as you stared back.

“You shot him,” you stated.

A long pause. “He shot you.”

“You didn’t have to, Joel. I didn’t want you to.”

You could see him biting the inside of his cheek. He looked like a complete mess, not having slept in at least a day.

You sucked in a breath. “It was my fault and you know it.”

He didn’t reply. He approached you, picking up the empty bottle of whiskey before setting it down again. He sat down on the edge of the bed and let his head drop into his hands.

“I did what I thought I had to do. All I could do. Someone hurt you, and I– baby, listen to me.”

I ain’t gonna let nothin’ happen to you. D’you understand that? Nothin’. I’m gonna take care of you. Keep you safe. Keep you happy.

“I know it scared you. I’m so, so sorry. Nothin’ was your fault. Don’t think you got any blood on your hands,” he said. “It was my choice. You gotta understand… I couldn’t just let someone hurt you and walk away clean.”

I will. You just gotta let me.

You thought of the big white farmhouse. Out in the middle of nowhere with nobody trying to burn it down or hurt it. You thought of a different life. One with him. One where he’d never have to think about the trigger of a gun ever again.

You pushed it away. You’d ruin the memory if you ever touched it again.

Tears pooling in your eyes, he pulled you into his arms and held you. He rocked you back and forth, pressed so close to his chest that it was difficult to breathe.

“I know, baby doll, I know. It’s for the better. It’s for the better.”

You shook your head and gripped him tightly. “I’m scared. It hurts, Joel.”

He shushed you and ran his hand up and down your back. “I know. It’s gonna be alright. I’m gonna take good care of you. I just– I couldn’t let it happen again. Not to you.”

Maybe it was for the better. He kept you safe. He had shown that he’d go to any length for you. Not that you had doubts about that before.

But he didn’t kill that man for you. He did it for himself.

147 notes · View notes

kikiyoomis · 8 months

Text

kissed me breathless

how many drinks has it been? seven? eight? maybe nine?

it may be even more, you've certainly stopped counting after a couple of drinking games that had you too competitive to focus on anything else. everything's a blur, you don't remember who you came here with nor remember the reason why you're here at this house party.

it's early in the morning, possibly 3 or 4 am. the moon is high in the sky and the number of people at the party has significantly decreased since you've arrived. you feel like it's also time for you to leave, to finally go home and reduce the pains of an oncoming hangover but you're unable to bring yourself to.

you're instead threading your fingers through dark, messy curls, tugging it ever so slightly as he continues to kiss you like it was his last time. it probably will be his last time. and so you kiss the stranger back.

he's tall, handsome, and a good kisser on top of that. he's doing everything right. kissing with the right amount of pressure, holding your face tenderly while pulling you in for another round. the kisses are slow, sensual and despite the fact that the both of you are drunk, it was the most romantic make out session of your life. it's clear that he doesn't want to let you go, and you don't wanna go either.

you're not quite sure how you got into this situation. was it the countless shots of liquid courage? this was something sober you wouldn't have ever done. but after hours of doing nothing but make out with this stranger, it has been the most enchanting thing you've done tonight and you don't regret it at all.

"i can't get enough of you," he says, breaking away slightly to catch his breath. you take this chance to really take a look at his face. it's slightly sweaty from kissing you but you find him extremely attractive. the two moles above his eyebrow steals your attention, preventing you from looking away. and his voice was deep and quiet, saying things only for you to hear.

he leans in for another kiss, this one lighter and more cautious than the previous ones. it makes you yearn for more.

and so you kiss him back with more intensity.

i want you, your kisses seem to say.

and he understands it completely, matching your speed and pressure as his other hand slides towards the small of your back to pull you in closer for a deeper kiss.

with your heart pounding, you gather the courage to finally ask the stranger for his name. you don't want to leave this night without knowing the stranger that left you so breathless.

"sakusa," he says, and after a brief pause he adds on, "kiyoomi."

with a smile, you whisper his name back to him. repeatedly saying it between each peck you leave on his lips. it was like the more you said it, the less likely you were to forget it.

"hey, you have to tell me your name too," he says, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. and so you tell him your name.

by now the party is nearly at a standstill, the only people left were those passed out drunk, those waiting for a ride home and the small group of friends still talking and laughing about something that had happened.

sakusa takes a step back, leaving you afraid of him leaving. you knew it would happen soon but "soon" didn't actually prepare you enough for when it was actually going to happen.

"the party is pretty much over," he says to you. you nod in agreement, looking around at your surroundings.

"i don't want you to go," you blurt out honestly. an instance of regret washes over you for saying something so bold and blunt without thinking. but if he leaves, what if this was truly the last time you see him?

"well, i dont plan on sleeping here. it's a one way ticket for various illnesses to enter my body since the end state of this party is so disgusting. i already shouldn't have come here to begin with, my head hurts from all the alcohol miya had me drink," sakusa says in a matter of fact tone, different from the tone he used when he was kissing you.

your heart drops, thinking that this was his moment of clarity and that he regrets the time he has spent with you. you wish it wasn't this way.

he pulls a mask from out of his pocket, looping one end around an ear. "however, my place has a bed fit for two. this party might be done for the night but if you want, ours can end a little later," he says with a grin before covering it with the mask.

you smile at the opportunity, and happily accept it. this was not going to be your last time seeing sakusa.

#haikyu #haikyuu #sakusa #sakusa kiyoomi #hq sakusa #sakusa x reader #sakusa kiyoomi x reader #gn reader #sakusa fluff

134 notes · View notes

chemdisaster · 7 months

Text

okay so i made this post a while back and now i've had more ideas

so there's a lot of potential with this. whether or not scar knows what he's doing, what kind of curse it is - things progressively going more and more wrong for the other hermits, them falling ill over the course of season 8, scar turning everyone into hybrids, SCAR CAUSING MOON BIG-

the idea i'm most insane over is the curse being an illness of some sort. so last life ends and everyone feels off. and at first they think it's just post-life game stress. but it doesn't stop. maybe it starts off as a small cough - but then it's cramps and lightheadedness and then people are fainting and coughing up blood. it's rough. by the time moon big happens, everyone's in awful shape and no one can figure out what's going on.

now, scar. he comes back from last life and he's - well, he's miserable. so he isolates himself, doesn't really speak to anyone if he can help it. he does hear bits and pieces about what's going on, small rants in chat, that sort of thing, and he's torn between "why should he care" and "good, let them suffer". he feels weird, himself - but compared to the anger and betrayal and hate and hurt coursing through him, it doesn't really stick out.

then maybe at some point he realises that stewing in his misery isn't healthy. and he wants to fix things, he misses his friends. so he starts making an effort to talk with the others more again. tries to convince himself that everything's fine, enough time has passed, he's fine. but he can't get rid of the burning anger and hurt he feels when he looks at them. can't help the vindictive pleasure when they cough in front of him.

so now things just keep getting worse for everyone, right. and scar is starting to suspect something's wrong. he knows what using his magic feels like, and something feels off. imagine the slow progression of that. him going from suspecting that something is going on, to dreading it, watching everyone bend over in pain whenever he's near, still being partly satisfied as they do-

when he's finally sure that he's the one causing this, i'm imagining him having the worst breakdown. it's everything he's feeling - all the things that happened months ago that hurt as if they're still happening now, but worse. the realisation that he lied to himself when he said everything was okay, that it's not and now other people are suffering because of it. the hopelessness because he doesn't know how to stop it. he doesn't know how to make himself not feel. he wants to fix this and a part of him is still happy that they're in pain.

now, imagine when they get to s9. all the effects of the curse are suddenly gone. everyone is happy. and scar immediately goes as far as he can because he can't let that happen again. and now he's not just sad, he's afraid. afraid of himself and what he can do, afraid that there's no amount of distance he can go, that as long as he exists everyone involved will keep hurting. and at this point maybe the curse turns inward.

imagine someone - grian because i'm a desert duo bitch - finding him. he finds him and scar is just curled up on the floor, pale, hugging himself, in pain, both physical and emotional. and grian kneels next to him and holds his face in his hands. and scar doesn't look at him, and he doesn't say anything. because nothing he says can fix this. not anymore.

imagine when it turns out that this can be fixed. scar lets grian know that he's too far gone, and he expects, begs him to drop it. but grian just keeps coming over. and others start coming over, too. they help scar through it, just sitting next to him as he writhes in agony on the floor, in enough pain that he finally truly lets himself feel - all the betrayal and hurt and guilt and why are they here, after it all, after what he did and what they did to him.

scar barely notices when it eventually eases up, at first. when no one around him falls ill. when he can look at the others and not feel the cold of a lonely mountain and the burning of a pool of lava. when he can breathe and not be tripping and stumbling over every inhale. when, bit by bit, it starts getting better.

his magic notices, though. and it starts to go outward again, but this time it's good. instead of dragging blood out of his friends' throats, now his magic grows flowers all around him - they're soft and pretty and a sign that he's healing. and maybe one day scar inhales their scent. and he gives grian a bouquet and asks if they can still be friends. and it's - it's okay. it's all okay.

in conclusion, aaaaaaaaa

#gtws angst #gtws #gtwscar #goodtimeswithscar #grian #desert duo #last life scar my beloved #last life #last life smp #llsmp #ll scar #last life scar #last life gtws #last life series #life series #life smp #textdisaster

90 notes · View notes

ashintheairlikesnow · 9 months

Text

The Heretic's Confession, Chapter One

CW: Captivity whump, some... implications... references to branding. This is just me getting a feel for the idea and character, though, really.

The robes he once kept pristine are caked in dried mud around the hem. Grigory frowns as he inspects them, rubbing along the seam. It flakes away, leaving imprints of itself behind.

Maudlin, certainly, but it feels like the stain of their sins painting his soul.

Maybe suffering can give even a man of the Goddess the sentiment of a poet. His lip curls in disgust at the very thought.

Please, please speak to me, Dromada. Tell your priest what he must do to escape this nightmare.

She is, and has always been, silent to his pleas for Her assistance.

The Goddess the people worship may be a paragon of compassion and forgiveness, her sculptures solemn and grave with hands outstretched to embrace even the lowest-born of Her children, but Grigori is beginning to suspect the holy men have got it wrong.

She isn't gracefully wise. She does not reach Her hand out to hold Her children. No, as each day passes without Her so much as whispering a reassurance, he begins to feel She is th goddess of laughter, and he is Her current favorite joke.

A knock at the door to his room - his cell, really, but of course they all like to pride themselves on keeping him in high style in his gilded cage - has him looking up, a little startled. The moon has only made half of its trek across the night sky, through the looping swirls of galaxies far, far beyond the reach of mere mortal men. That milky spin of stars, everyone knows, is where the gods live.

He wonders how many of them are looking down on him, sipping crystalline waters, and mocking his pain.

He would spit on every last temple step, if he could.

If he could just leave the fucking room-

“Brother Grigori,” His guest singsongs, half-dancing into the room. Grigory turns away from him, laying one palm over one of the iron bars that blocks any escape through the window. His fingers close slowly around it.

“What do you want.” His voice is curt, it cuts short and sharp. “Bastard.”

“Oh, see you got my name all wrong again.” The leader of this little gang is tall - too tall - and all knees and legs, lean muscle making him heavier than he looks. Grigori is tall enough for a man, but he seems like he’s half-grown, compared to the bandit. The man’s hair is a shock of white atop his head, shaved on the sides, while Grigori’s curly brown grows to the bottom of his ears, as is prescribed for the priests. He swaths himself in black kohl around his equally dark eyes and shining black leather worn back to brown from age and ill-use at the knees and elbows. Grigori’s hazel and his dirtied robes look like a joke, placed next to the bandit’s appearance. “It’s Bohli, remember? Or that’s what my mother calls me, anyway. Or she would, if she were still alive. She probably uses that when she curses my name from the heavens above, granted. I mean, probably, unless she really is suffering in the Dark After, like she deserves-”

“What do you want, Bohli?” Grigory’s head is already starting to hurt. “I don’t have time for this.”

“Nonsense. You have all the time in the world. You have nothing but time.”

“Not for… you. Please leave.”

“Nope. Not going anywhere. This is my house, remember? I just let you stay here.”

“Let me.” The words are sour in Grigori’s mouth. “Right, of course. Let me. Because I asked to be branded and trapped here in this room-”

“Hush. I take you for walkies every day, little god’s dog.” Bohli winks, and Grigori - who took a vow of pacifism, once - imagines stabbing his own knife through his eyeball until it comes out the other side of his head. “If you don’t want a leash, you just have to prove you won’t run off.”

He would, of course. Run. Outside, the woods stretch far and wide. There’s a path he could take to find a village, to find freedom...

Or… more realistically… to get arrested for being in league with Bohli and his bastards, which he isn’t, but everyone knows the goddess would save Her most faithful, and he’s been here too long. He would be branded a heretic. Everyone knows he’s a heretic. His own fellow priests would turn their backs on him. The people would burn him at the stake, for being defiled, degraded, a paragon of nothing but the filth they have covered him in. Little more than a bandit himself.

Maybe he is one.

Dromada would have saved him if he were truly Hers to save. And instead, here he is, the infamous giver of absolution to the men and women who massacre whole towns in defiance of - in direct insult to - the power and might of His Majesty, the King.

No. he would be burned as an enemy of the King's, and he would have no standing to defend himself. A captive this long isn't a captive at all, in the eyes of the world.

Just a man who no longer wants to be saved.

Tears prick at his eyes, and he struggles not to let Bohli see them and mock him even more. It’s not like he hasn’t already been marked. It was one of the first things they did. Bohli had given the order and watched while they tied him down. Grigori himself had been made to look as they put the iron in the fire, made to watch them heat it to red. Bohli had been whispering in his ear when when they pressed it to his pelvis, and Bohli had cooed over him while he screamed, stroking through his sweaty hair.

“Just leave,” He whispers, the area aching all over again. They branded him over the symbol of Dromada tattooed, a mark of his vow of chastity.

Another one broken.

Maybe that was when She stopped listening.

“Oh, but I can’t, darling Grigori. I’ve come to make a confession.” Bohli laughs, and his laughter could make you bleed even better than his blade. But somehow Grigori can’t seem to die from the loss. “Isn’t that why I keep a priest of Dromada around, anyway? For to save my poor mortal soul?”

Grigori fights the urge to wish aloud someone would poison the asshole’s food. “You would burn if you touched the Hem of her robe.”

“Maybe.” Bohli shrugs, kicking a chair over and dropping down into it, loose-limbed. His eyes spark with delight as he takes in Grigori’s misery. “But you wear Her robes, and yet I never burn when I touch you-”

“Speak your confession,” Grigory snaps, his heart twisting and going briefly silent and still in his chest. He feels blood rush to his face, and Bohli’s peal of bright, brittle laughter tells him the flush isn’t going unnoticed.

“Say it.” Bohli watches him, and it’s like being watched by one of the terrifying big cats that roam the woods just beyond this hideous prison. Unblinking, a predator’s stare. “Say the words, priest.”

Each time he does, they feel more bitter on his tongue.

But still.

Grigori draws the ruins of his robe closer around himself, and sits up straight. He swallows and sets his jaw. “Bohlinde hir Maksma en Ygridsen, the goddess Dromada hears and forgives all from those who love Her. You have only to ask. Speak, child, and be forgiven.”

Bohli licks his lips, leaning forwards. Somehow, Grigori can’t make himself look away. The bandit leader’s teeth are sharp - those canines can rend skin from bone. He’s part-elf, they say, somewhere in his bloodline the half-mindless shrieking hordes of the elven race lurk. You can always tell, so it’s said, from the sharpness of their teeth. From how little they care for the lives of men.

Maybe he’s half-elf.

It would explain why he’s so fucking smug.

“Forgive me, Dromada’s Chosen, for I have sinned against Her,” Bohli says, and he doesn’t even try to feign sincerity. Why he even plays this game, when Dromada isn’t a goddess for the elves of their wretched offspring to begin with, is beyond Grigori’s understanding.

Grigori fights the urge to sigh. He makes Dromada’s Sign, wondering if it even calls to Her any longer. If She even feels the spark of a follower’s call, or if he’s cut off from Her entirely. Who hears him when he prays?

Does anyone?

“How have you sinned against Our Mother, She Who Gave the Waters?”

Bohli licks his lips. His smile is a little too wide, shows too many of those sharp, sharp teeth. He'd be blisteringly handsome, if it weren’t for the sight of fangs where none should be. “I won’t lie, Brother Grigori. I set some stuff on fire yesterday. And I’m going to do it again. Will I be forgiven?”

Grigori imagines the mud climbing higher and higher up his robes, pulling him into the earth, forcing itself down his mouth and pressing over his eyes. He imagines the gods in the sky, looking down from their stars.

The image shatters with the memory of first sitting at the table with the dozen or so of Bohli's favorites, each of them smiling at him, while he sat in his pure white robes and felt himself bared, as if naked, before them.

Until Bohli had given the order for what to do with him.

“Dromada forgives all who seek Her,” Grigori intones, thoughtless. The words memorized before he was even thirteen years old, before he was old enough to take his vows. Before he was taken, and they were all broken, one by one. Bohli loved breaking Grigori's vows. “You have only to ask.”

“Good.” Bohli’s voice drops low. He has to focus to hear it, which is probably the bastard’s entire point. “Because I really, really love asking, and I love the sound of your answers.”

The bandit stands, walking over to him, putting one finger under his chin and forcing Grigori to look up - and up, and up, and up - to see the demon smile.

Grigori is sure, as Bohli watches him with his head tipped to the side and his black eyes as bright as the stars, that he can hear the goddess laughing.

#whump #new whump #the heretic's confession #captivity #captivity whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #fantasy whump #some weird fantasy race stuff happening here #just go with it #religious whump #religion whump #fantasy writing #bohli is a bad bad man #grigori is just a tired blorbo

91 notes · View notes

fairy-writes · 7 months

Text

TREES OF GREEN, RED ROSES TOO

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

__________________________________________________________________________

Fandom(s): Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing(s): Nanami Kento x Reader

Word Count: 4.3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Grim Reaper!Nanami, Gender Neutral!Reader, Reader is terminally ill

Notes: This is for the Spooky House Collab done by Willow’s House/@willowser! Go check out the other pieces!

The title is lyrics from “What a Wonderful World” by Louis Armstrong.

TW for death, illnesses, coughing up blood, and hospitals

__________________________________________________________________________

You didn’t expect Death to wear a suit.

All the tales you had heard swathed the Grim Reaper in robes of pitch and tar. Like a night sky without the moon or stars.

The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was borderline driving you up the wall. All day, every day, it was all you heard as you wasted away in your hospital bed.

You hunched over and coughed into a tissue that you managed to grab before your body convulsed. When you pulled it away from your mouth, it was tinged red with blood.

So when your hospital door opens, you expect a nurse to come to your aid.

Not the actual personification of Death.

You know it’s him the second you see him. Something in the back of your mind knows. Some primordial part of your brain recognizes just what you are face to face with.

He’s tall and blond, with hair styled neatly and his eyes hidden behind glasses. He’s dressed in a neatly pressed black suit, an almost leopard print dotted tie around his neck, and a very expensive-looking watch around his left wrist. The necktie seems an odd combination, but with the literal Grim Reaper in front of you, you didn’t give yourself much time to think about it.

But… surprisingly… you don’t find yourself scared at all.

“Are you here to kill me?” You ask once your coughing has subsided. The man cocks his head slightly, watching you with eyes almost like a bird.

Unblinking.

Unmoving.

And then…

“No. Not kill you. Help you pass on, maybe, but I don’t kill anyone.” His voice is smooth and deep, rich like the notes of an orchestra. You shudder at the sound and stifle another cough.

“What if I don’t want to pass on?” You ask, and he raises an eyebrow. Immediately, you feel like a child being scolded by a parent.

However, instead of scolding you, he simply sighs, adjusts his cufflinks, and takes a seat next to your hospital bed.

“It’s your time.” Is all he says, and all you feel is anger. You clench your fists until the skin is taut across the knuckles.

Who is he to decide that?

Who gets to decide when and who dies?

Death or not, you should get to decide when you go. Not some man you’ve just met.

“You have a valid train of thought. But everyone gets to pass on some time.” The man says, and you realize you have just said everything out loud. You duck your head in embarrassment and stare at your hands twisted in the cotton blanket that is draped haphazardly over your legs. It’s silent for a beat. Then two.

“I don’t want to die.” Your voice cracks, and your eyes burn as you realize that you genuinely don’t. For months, you had waxed poetic about wanting to finally pass on. To finally be free of this pain. To be free of this life you have lived, in and out of hospitals for years on end.

But when faced with the one person who can grant you that… you find yourself… afraid and clinging to life.

The man’s eyes soften until he simply looks sad.

“There are few people who do. But your time has come.” He says gently, and you hold back a choked sound that threatens to break the confines of your chest. You lurch awkwardly away from him as if that would keep you from dying. He half-stands when you nearly fall out of your hospital bed but returns to his seat when you right yourself.

You refuse to say anything, refuse to take his hand, refuse to do anything that has to do with the man next to you. And he doesn’t say anything in return. He simply sits and watches.

Until…

“Can I do something before I die?” You whisper, and he checks his watch, adjusts his tie, and nods.

“What is it?” He asks, and you reach for your diary on your bedside table beside your hospital bed. He hands it to you, and you take it, fingers brushing his.

His hands are… warm.

Not cold as death as you had so often heard in stories.

But you shake your head and open the book, flipping through pages of poetry and ideas, and finally come to a stop on a page simply titled “Bucket List” and hand it to the Grim Reaper.

“I want to do everything on that list before I die.” You say firmly, and he scans the pages, arching an eyebrow when reading over the list.

“This isn’t very long.” He comments, and you shrug, relaxing against your pillows now that imminent death isn’t looming on the horizon.

You had stalled for time.

More time to remain alive.

More time to come up with a way to get out of this.

“I tend to be picky.” That is all you say, and he nods once.

“Very well then. Let us begin.” He says and extends a hand. You frown and hesitate to take it.

“You aren’t going to just kill me, are you?” You inquire, and he huffs,

“Of course not.”

Something in you says to trust him.

So… you do.

Entry #1: Go to a haunted house

The crowd to the haunted house is bustling, almost overwhelming to your ears with the sheer amount of noise. Your nose is assaulted by the smells of popcorn, cotton candy, sweaty bodies, and spilled drinks.

The wheelchair creeks, but you almost can’t hear it. It was one of the crummy ones the hospital provided when you were discharged. You weren’t sure why you were released early, but you had a feeling it had to do with Death. He had approached the nurse checking your vitals, touched her shoulder, and whispered in her ear. Her eyes had glazed over, and she had nodded numbly before leaving.

You had been checked out within the hour.

Some kid bumps into your wheelchair, and you flinch. Perhaps this was more overwhelming than you anticipated.

Death seemingly notices and leans down,

“We can leave.” He suggests by whispering in your ear, and you can tell he isn’t judging. He’s simply stating a fact because he noticed you were panicking. But you shake your head and swallow your overwhelming panic,

“No… I’ll be fine.” You say, and it’s finally your turn.

The atmosphere is spooky but not scary. You didn’t even flinch when the first scare actor dressed as a wolf-man jumped out at you with an ungodly shriek. Perhaps it’s because you have the literal Grim Reaper pushing your wheelchair. Maybe it’s because you know you’re dying, so a haunted house feels… trivial. Either way, you don’t feel scared.

Another scare actor. This one dressed as a zombie. Another scream. But you simply smile, say, “Good job!” and move on. Death doesn’t so much as flinch with each wail. He doesn’t even say anything. He simply keeps pushing you through the haunted house at the same steady pace.

You two finish the haunted house easily. As Death begins to push you back down the sidewalk toward the hospital, he speaks.

“What did you think?” He asks, and you shrug, leaning your head back to look at him. His eyes are carefully trained on the scenery ahead. You look ahead but see nothing but a few people meandering about.

“It was alright. Not at all like the movies.” You say and hear him huff out a noise of amusement.

Looking back up at him, you look in time to see a quirk on his lips.

“Things rarely are.” He says wisely, and you can’t help but smile a little.

Entry #2: Make candy apples

You stare dumbfounded at the sight before you.

There’s Death at the sink, making his way through washing a bag of apples. His suitcoat is hung over the back of a chair, and his black button-down sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His watch had been taken off and carefully set aside so as not to get water on the expensive article of clothing.

“Why are we in the kitchens? Why are they empty anyway?” You ask as you slowly roll your wheelchair closer to the man. Your arms shake as they strain to push you closer. You had another round of treatments today—another bout of attempting to extend your life for as long as possible.

“Your list says you wanted to make candy apples. I managed to get the supplies.” That's all he says, and you blink.

“You actually read my list? You didn’t skim it?” You ask, surprised. He looks at you with a slight frown.

“Of course I read it. Why wouldn’t I?” He asks in return, and you look down at your hospital-issued sweats.

“No one ever does.” You whisper and hear the water turn off.

Death doesn’t ridicule you. Doesn’t laugh. He simply walks behind you and takes ahold of your wheelchair handlebars. Then, he pushes you to a small kitchen table that has been set up and lets you get comfortable. He returns to the counter, brings you the bowl of washed apples, and instructs you to start twisting the stems off while he boils the corn syrup, sugar, and water.

“What color do you want the candy apples?” He asks, and you pause in your endeavors.

“Surprise me.” You say, and he simply makes a noise to show he has heard you.

Stabbing the apples with sticks and dipping them takes little over twenty minutes, and soon, you have a bushel of drying, dipped candy apples on a tray of parchment paper. The green fruit is coated in a deep red hard candy, and your mouth salivates at the thought of biting into your sweet treat.

“Thank you, Mr. Reaper.” You say as you poke at one of the apples with a spare skewer. Death looks up from where he is fastening his watch back around his wrist.

“For what?” You look at the man,

“For allowing me to do this. I’m sure you’re busy. But—”

“Helping souls pass on is part of my job.” He cuts you off gently, and you nod numbly, looking down at your lap.

He stands, gently working one of the dried apples from the parchment paper and handing it to you.

“You can also call me by my name, you know.” He says abruptly, and you pause from where you are about to take a bite.

“What?”

“My name isn’t Mr. Reaper. Just call me Nanami.” He says, and you squint, a bit skeptical about the entire exchange.

Ultimately, however, you decide to smile and extend a hand, offering your own name, though you are sure he already knows it.

“It’s nice to meet you, Nanami.”

Entry #3: Do a corn maze

Nanami gets you checked out of the hospital at dusk. He wheels you out to a nondescript black car with tinted windows. You slide into the passenger seat with some difficulty as he folds the wheelchair and puts it in the trunk.

The ride to wherever you are going is filled with aimless chatter. Nanami seems to have relaxed some after introducing himself properly, so he makes it a point to ask you questions.

“Don’t you already know this stuff?” You ask incredulously, and he nods once, keeping his eyes on the road as he switches lanes.

“I do. But I prefer to hear it from you.” He says simply, and you feel your ears warm.

The Halloween festival isn’t crowded like the haunted house was, but it isn’t completely empty. You spy a few families, some pushing strollers and others carrying children. Nanami parks the car and gets out; you get out as well, wrapping your coat around your thin shoulders and tugging mittens onto your fingers. It’s already cold out. You can see your breath.

The Reaper unfolds your wheelchair, and you take a seat. The two of you make your way over the gravel parking lot toward the entrance, where Nanami pays for two tickets with what looks like a blank card. Your hand is stamped, and you are ushered inside.

All you can smell is carnival food and corn. And it smells utterly delicious. Nanami must be able to read your mind or something with his freaky powers because he stops and purchases a caramel apple for you to snack on.

Soon enough, you are at the entrance of the maze. The dirt path is worn, and you are jostled back and forth as you are pushed forward.

“They really ought to level this out. Someone is going to trip and fall.” You complain in between deciding where to turn. Nanami makes the wise choice not to say anything.

Once good and lost, you then make the decision on getting out of the maze. However, there’s a problem.

“Nanami, I can’t see. And I don’t have a flashlight.” You say once you realize it’s indeed too dark for you to make out anything but the bare minimum of the corn stalks.

“I can see just fine.” He replies, and you huff,

“But that takes the fun out of it for me. Isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” You try, and he pauses, clearly having not thought of that.

So he touches your temple with one warm hand, and suddenly, you can see everything.

It’s like the sky is as clear as day!

It’s like you can see the very turn of the universe as you stare up at the brilliant sky speckled with stars.

It’s magnificent.

You are gobsmacked the entire way, not even noticing that Nanami easily navigates the corn maze. It isn’t long before you make it back to the car, and it’s only then that you realize that you are back to seeing the pitch-black sky.

“How’d you do that?!” You demand excitedly as he starts the car.

“I can temporarily share some of my powers.” He replies, and you nearly bounce in your seat with your sudden bout of energy.

“That was brilliant! Can you do it again?!” At that, he shakes his head,

“Not tonight. Maybe some other time.” He says and leaves it at that.

You don’t have the heart to remind him that your time is coming to a close.

Entry #4: See the cherry blossoms

Fog rolls over the grounds as you are wheeled through the park. It’s late into the night by the time you are quite literally teleported to your destination. The Grim Reaper holds tight to the handles of your wheelchair and begins to walk. You have a blanket thrown over your lap, a hat over your bald head, and mittens over your hands as the wind stirs up the leaves.

It’s not that cold. Really, it’s only a bit chilly. But with your emaciated body from all the treatments, you shiver nonetheless.

“Would you like to go back? You’re trembling.” Nanami points out, and you shake your head vehemently.

“Absolutely not. This isn’t like the haunted house. Plus, I want to see the blossoms.” You say firmly, tugging on your mittens, and he makes a noise but doesn’t stop pushing you at a slow, leisurely pace.

The park is beautiful.

The paleness of the cherry blossoms is washed out in white, making the flowers seem silver in the full moon’s light. And with no one around, you have the entire park to yourself.

Well… except for the man pushing you.

You tilt your head back to watch the twinkling stars peeking through the cherry blossom trees. The branches sway in the light breeze, and petals flutter onto the sidewalk. You hold your hands out and catch a few in your palms. Bringing them close, you inhale deeply, smelling the faint scent of the flowers.

It’s peaceful.

At least… until frost begins to cover everything, and you go from chilly to downright freezing.

And see a tall, cloaked figure standing at the end of the sidewalk, massive scythe in hand and a blackened hole where their face should be.

Now this was what you imagined when meeting the personification of Death.

“Nanami…? Who is that?” You whisper, pointing, but it seems Nanami has already noticed the figure. You can hear his bones creak as he tightens his grip on the wheelchair bars.

Worryingly, he doesn’t say anything. He simply comes to a stop and waits.

And the figure begins to walk. In long strides that eat up the distance between you until they stand before you, carrying that massive weapon as if it were a mere twig.

“Who’s this Nanamin?” The voice is powerful and childish, but that of a man at the same time. When no one answers, the figure reaches up with a skeletal hand. It’s almost as pale as the moon, and he flicks his hood back.

The man has alabaster hair that defies gravity, and his eyes are hidden from you under a blindfold. You can see the sunken sockets where his eyes would be if he weren’t wearing the cloth over his eyes. He stares at you seemingly through the eye covering with a cheeky grin on his face. You don’t have to look at Nanami to know he’s scowling.

“What do you want.” It isn’t a question but a demand. The cloaked man lets out a petulant whine and leans heavily on the staff of his scythe.

“Rude!” He scoffs, and you can practically hear Nanami roll his eyes. He goes to turn you around and leave when the base of the scythe digs into the cement between the wheels of the wheelchair.

“Now, now, no need to run! I’m just being a dear friend and checking in on our dearest Nanamin! You’ve been gone ages! And for what? Hanging out with some humie—”

“Humie? Who even are you?” You blurt and flinch when he turns that look onto you. However, instead of getting upset at you interrupting him, the cloaked man gives you that cheesy grin again and bows,

“Gojo Satoru, Grim Reaper, at your service!”

“What do you want, Gojo.” Yet again, Nanami wasn’t asking questions. He was demanding information. Gojo straightened from his dramatic bow, once again leaning on his scythe.

“Like I said, I was checking on you. You’ve been gone forever!” He exclaims.

“I’m taking care of a soul. Can’t you see that?” Nanami says succinctly, and you pull your blanket on your lap closer around yourself.

Gojo lets out an almost annoyed noise.

“Yeah, but you never do that. It’s always business with you.” He complains, and you hear Nanami sigh.

“What I do is none of your concern.” He says, and readjusts the wheelchair so he can start to wheel you away. Your mittened hands are twisted in the blanket that is now around your shoulders to keep you from shivering too much.

Maybe you should have stayed at the hospital.

Entry #5: Carve a pumpkin

“What is he doing here?” You ask as Gojo seemingly melts from the shadows of the corner of your hospital room. Nanami looks up from where he’s setting up your “activity,” and his face sours.

“What are you doing here?” He directs the question at his fellow Grim Reaper, and the taller man removes his pitch-black robe with a dramatic flick of his wrist, leaving him in a black zip-up and trousers.

He hangs the cloak on the coat rack in the corner of the room.

“Checking in on you and your favorite human, of course! And I brought a friend!” He steps aside, and a shorter figure steps out of the shadows. They’re dressed identically to Gojo, red hood up and obscuring their features until they draw it down.

“You’re just a kid!” You sputter, surprised at the sight before you.

Because you’re right.

He’s just a child.

With messy pink hair on account of his hood and a boyish quirk on his lips, he can’t be any older than seventeen.

Was he another Reaper?

He had to be.

The boy’s grin quickly faded, and he frowned.

“I’m not a kid!” He argues and flinches in surprise as Gojo sets a hand on his shoulder,

“You are the youngest one in the room, Yuji.” He points out, and “Yuji” deflates.

Nanami gathers your attention with a sigh, and you look over and can’t help but smile.

Pumpkins.

A smattering of orange, warty pumpkins are set up on a cloth-covered table, a variety of carving tools laid out neatly next to them. You excitedly squirm to the side of your hospital bed and accept Nanami’s hand to help you stand. Your knees are weak from all the time spent in bed and the medications wreaking havoc on your body. So you shake as you take a seat at the table.

All other furniture has been pushed into one corner, giving ample room for holiday festivities. But you don’t move, not at first.

“Would you three like to carve a pumpkin with me?” You ask suddenly, and the three reapers freeze. But Yuji grins and takes an enthusiastic seat.

“I’ve never carved a pumpkin before! Is it like in the movies?” He asks, and you shrug,

“I don’t know. I’ve never done one myself. Hospital visits tend to take precedence.” You say, embarrassed at the thought of you, a grown adult, never having carved a pumpkin before.

Nanami and Gojo pause before taking their seats in the creaky folding chairs around the table. One sits more excitedly than the other. Yuji and Gojo dive right in, chattering like schoolchildren. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before picking up a tool and getting to work.

You are halfway through cutting the top off your gourd when you realize that Nanami hasn’t moved.

“Are you not going to do one?” You ask, and he looks at you from behind those glasses of his.

“I’m content just to watch.” He says, and you feel a pang of disappointment.

So you push a pumpkin in his direction gently and offer what you hope is a hopeful smile.

“It’s just a pumpkin, Nanami. It won’t bite.” You say, and he rolls his eyes. You can’t help but giggle, but he takes the gourd and slowly begins to cut open the top.

Entry #6: Visit Malaysia

Your arrival in Malaysia was surprisingly quiet.

Of course, it was. It was the middle of the night. Everyone was long in bed save for a few teenagers drinking on the beach when you are pushed from the shadows. They don’t pay you any mind as your wheelchair is parked, and you stand on your own for the first time in what feels like forever.

Nanami is at your side immediately, offering you his arm for you to grab. You take hold of it gratefully as your knees begin to shake with the energy it takes to simply stand upright. You kick off your shoes and socks and walk through the sand.

The water is a bit cold, but nothing too bad. You are staring out at the horizon, where the moon is just peeking over the water, when Nanami finally speaks.

“Look.” He gestures downward, and you gasp.

The water is glowing blue.

A brilliant blueish-white color laps over your toes, and you tighten your grip on Nanami’s arm. He pats your hand once, then twice.

“What is this?” You whisper in awe, bending down shakily to trickle your fingers through the water.

“It’s called the Blue Tears. It’s caused by bioluminescent creatures in the water called dinoflagellates.” Nanami explains, and you look up at the man from where you are slowly soaking the bottoms of your trousers by crouching on the shoreline.

It’s hours before you are tired of watching the glowing water. Thankfully, you had thought to bring a towel and sit on it next to the Grim Reaper as you watch the sun rise over the water.

“You know I wanted to move to Malaysia when I was human,” Nanami says abruptly, and you look over at him. He’s bathed in the growing sunlight, hair turned gold in the bright reds and oranges of the sun’s rays.

“Why didn’t you?” You ask, and he just looks sad.

“I died before I could.” He replies, and you feel a pang of emotion.

And then comes a realization.

“I’m ready, Nanami.” You say suddenly and realize it’s true. You had done everything on your list. Your fear has left you. And surprisingly, you feel at peace. You see Nanami turn his head to look at you out of the corner of your eye.

“What do you mean?” He asks, and you smile a sad sort of smile.

“I’m ready to pass on.” You whisper and see his eyes widen behind his glasses.

“Are you sure?” He replies, and you nod once.

He looks at his hands, clenches them into fists, and seemingly steels himself.

Then, he extends a hand. And you take it. Looking down at your joined hands, you realize you are quite literally glowing. Golden specks of dust slowly eat away at your physical body. But you don’t feel pain. You just feel warm.

“Thank you, Nanami.” You say, voice cracking and tears falling.

“Kento. My name is Kento.” He says gently, and you nod once, smiling a brilliant smile as you disappear, your final words but a whisper on the wind.

“Thank you, Kento.”

#nanami kento x reader #nanami kento x you #nanami kento x y/n #kento nanami x you #kento nanami x reader #kento nanami x y/n #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #jjk nanami #jjk kento #jujutsu kaisen nanami #jujutsu kaisen kento #fairy writes

66 notes · View notes