sweetcherry-exe

[sweetcherry-exe]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved. 

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

[sweetcherry-exe]

haii ><,, could you write something for literally any homicipher character.. im starving for homicipher x reader content 😭😭😭

First kiss.

context: post blissful ending. You kiss, mwah.

Homicipher. mr crawling x reader. | Anypov. Fluff.

First time writing an anything in 2 years, bear with me I might be rusty. Didn’t really know what to write for this one so it’s a little short. Also I had to rewrite this so I hope there’s no mistakes,,

lowkey forgot * don’t italic words on this app..

For some reason, having this..entity here with you after escaping from the ‘other world’ ..isn’t bad. No one else can see him—which is honestly a bonus—and you have to concentrate really hard to see him… but it’s better than nothing. Honestly, he’s such a puppy..In a kind of disturbing way? The way he just follows you around, chirps and giggles, does his best to protect you. It’s adorable, really.

The first time this strange, attraction, hit you was when he pulled you down and crawled on top of you, sufficiently hiding you from Mr. Scarletella. And it only grew throughout your time in the ‘other world.’ Progressing as he kept protecting you, helping you.

You heard Mr. Crawling chirp, pulling you out of your daze. You glanced up at him, smiling, and he smiled back. (even if it was a little creepy..) Your hand hesitantly reached out, trailing your fingers up his arm, and then to his face. You tentatively brush your knuckles against his cheek, brushing his hair aside slightly. He looks at you, (does he even have eyes??), a little caught off guard by the action. As if he hasn’t been touched so tenderly before.

You start to wonder what his lips would feel like against yours as you stare at him intently. He stares back at you, oblivious to your thoughts. You wonder if there’s a word for ‘kiss’ in his language. But the language barrier between you two never really stopped you before. You point to your lips, and then you point to his lips, trying to get your intentions across. He smiles, but tilts his head to the side ever so slightly, as if saying: “what? I need a demonstration.”

*who knew entities could be such teases?*

But..then again, who are you to deny such an adorable face like him? You gently reach out, cupping his face in both your hands, rubbing his grayish pale cheekbones, guiding him closer to you. Your breaths mingle, lips barely inches apart, just brushing against each other before your eyes flutter close and you finally press your lips to his. The kiss was a little clumsy and fleeting, seeing as he didn’t know what he was doing, but sweet nonetheless.

When you finally pull away, he tried to eagerly chase your lips, his signature giggle falling past his lips. Seems like you’ve spoiled him, because now he doesn’t want to stop kissing you.

11:08 pm. 11/02/2024. @i90o3

[sweetcherry-exe]

no give friend

one of my fav scene because two of my favs in one place :DDDD

[sweetcherry-exe]

Sherlock Holmes (2009) dir. Guy Ritchie

[sweetcherry-exe]

They catch a glimpse of you

NSFW WARNING

This is basically just some scenarios with various idv male characters reacting to seeing you either undressed or seeing a slight part of you (female reader btw)

But the reader (you) actually has a huge crush on these characters and you realise that this is a perfect way to get closer to them (totally not writing this in my perspective 😃)

Anyways, enjoy!!!

Characters included: Luca, Norton, Orpheus and Frederick

-

Luca:

You stared at the large red wine stain on your favourite dress and sighed. Even though poor Demi continuously apologised for being clumsy and accidentally spilling it on you, it made you slightly annoyed considering that you decided to wear this dress especially for today.

You carefully took it off and placed it in the laundry basket to be washed later. As you looked down, your eyes widened as you saw that the wine had stained your skin too. The material must’ve been too thin and the wine went through it.

Time for a bath then, it seems.

Just as you were about to remove your bra, you heard a knock on your door.

“Y/N? Are you in there?”

It was Luca.

You nervously bit your lip, feeling his presence outside behind the door. What would happen if you let him in while you were in this state?

“Y/N?! Say something if you’re there!” Luca called out.

“I’m here!” You said.

You felt a blush form on your face.

“You can come in.”

You immediately heard the sound of the door opening.

“Phew, you had me wor-”

Luca was immediately cut off after looking at you. His eyes scanned your body, admiring every part of it.

“Need help with getting rid of that stain?” He said, pointing to your chest.

You heart was pounding.

“That would be really helpful.” You smiled.

Luca smirked.

“Alright, I’ll take care of it. But I’m expecting a reward afterwards.” He said, carrying you into the bathroom.

Norton:

“Hey Norton, what are you up to?” You said, entering the lounge.

“Hey Y/N! I was just relaxing.” He said.

You sat next to him, opening the book that you were carrying.

“What’s that?” Norton asked.

“It’s a really interesting book that I found hidden in the library. It has a lot of weird symbols and things in it.” You said.

Norton gave a laugh.

“You really do amuse me a lot.” He said.

“I’m being serious! Just look at how interesting it is!” You said, turning yourself to face him and showing him the page that you were on.

But Norton wasn’t paying attention to the book at all. Because his eyes suddenly drifted off somewhere else.

Your shirt was hanging loosely from your chest, showing a large amount of cleavage. As you moved in the seat, your breasts would follow your movements, practically almost about to pop out from the shirt at any second.

Norton felt his dick twitch and gulped nervously.

“Norton? Are you alright?” You said, worryingly. You saw how his face had suddenly gone red and he was sweating. You placed the book down onto the table, then turned around to touch his forehead. He immediately let out a groan.

You were confused and shocked at how he suddenly became “unwell”.

“Hold on, I’ll get you a glass of water.” You said, getting up. But Norton immediately grabbed your hand, making you sit on his lap.

“There’s no need…just stay like this…” he panted.

You then immediately realised why he was acting like this when you felt something between your legs.

Orpheus:

You knocked on the door to Orpheus’ bedroom.

“Come in.” You heard him say.

You slowly opened the door, then gently closed it behind you.

Orpheus was sitting on his desk, completing some paperwork. He looked up and gave you a smile, his face illuminated by the candle next to him.

“Ah, nice to see you Y/N. Why are you here at this hour?” He said.

“I couldn’t sleep so I thought I’d give you some company since I know that you stay up late.” You said.

You just needed a random excuse to see him, since you and Orpheus barely had time to talk to each other.

Orpheus nodded.

“I see. Well, I guess you could help me with some of my work. I won’t force you though.” He said.

“I’d be happy to.” You said.

Orpheus nodded.

“Alright, sit here.” He said, motioning to the chair in front of him. His arm accidentally hit one of the papers on his desk and it flew all the way underneath his bed.

“I’ll get it.” You said.

You went on all fours and crawled underneath the bed.

What you didn’t realise was that Orpheus was checking you out, smiling to himself as he saw the shape of your ass from behind. However, as a gentleman, he managed to control his urges to do anything with you.

You got back up and walked over to him, placing the paper on the desk.

“Thank you, but I think I shall resume my work later on. I have something else to take care of.” He said, getting up.

“Do you need help with that too?” You said.

Orpheus looked at you with confusion.

“So, you knew I was looking at you?” He said.

You also looked at him in confusion.

“You were?”

You knew damn well that Orpheus did look at you from behind but you were just playing along that you had no idea. You had purposely arched your back for him when you were under his bed, and it seems like it worked like a charm. Because the next few hours were spent in his bedroom, behind closed doors.

Frederick:

“Absolutely magnificent piano skills. You seem to be getting much better.” Frederick said.

“Thank you. I have been practicing a lot.” You said, getting up from the seat.

“I could tell. Anyways, would you like to take a stroll in the garden with me? You do need a break, after all.” He said.

“Sure.” You nodded.

Shortly after, you and Frederick slowly walked around the garden, taking in the fresh breeze. But all of a sudden, the wind became extremely strong. Strong enough to blow the hem of your dress upwards, exposing your thighs.

Frederick immediately pushed the dress down for you. But it didn’t mean that he didn’t catch a glimpse of what was under it.

“Maybe we should go inside now.” He said.

He immediately realised that what he said sounded extremely wrong.

“Ahem, I mean. We should enter the manor and resume our duties.” He said, slightly embarrassed.

You gave a laugh.

“Frederick, you didn’t need to correct yourself from the first time.” You said.

He immediately felt himself tense up after hearing that.

“Pardon?” He said, his eyes glistening with slight lust.

“I’m saying…you should go inside…me.” You said, your voice filled with desire.

Frederick was almost weak in the knees after hearing you say that, especially with that tone.

He gently took your hand.

“Then let’s go. I’d like to hear you make some melodious sounds.”

[sweetcherry-exe]

Hello hello, good day to you! If you don't mind may I request general headcanons for Matthias? (I got attached to him pretty quickly after multiple successful kites)

Tysm!

☆ matthias czernin ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / matthias czernin x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / mention of blowjobs, finger fucking, tit fucking, dry humping

word count / 1,005 words

author's note / thank you anon, i'm having a good day i hope you are as well! i've been meaning to write about matthias for awhile (really, he's been in my drafts for a month now) so getting this request made me more motivated to finish.

SFW

☆ ”welcome, to the outstanding show..” a human so stiff as if he’s a puppet, he could easily be mistaken as one indeed. if there was no puppet in sigh, there’d be no telling that he was truly the puppeteer in charge.

☆ matthias czernin, a gloomy man with his drooped eyes that’d have mothers clutching their children’s shoulders as they walk past by him in the street, whispering, ”don’t look at him..” he looks almost unremarkable at first glance but if not for that burnt side of his.

☆ he’s not one to talk much, his expression seemingly to wander elsewhere and his eyes looking downwards. he’s one that lacks self confidence and self respect but oh, he so badly wants a sense of normalcy in this life. a mundane life.

☆ his uncertainty and hesitance towards commitment is clear, even after developing a relationship firsthand. he’s riddled with insecurities but god, does he love the idea of pursuing a romantic relationship. something that he’s lacked his entire life. he’d like it if you could meet him, outside of his family, his personal life. outside of ever meeting louis.

☆ matthias would certainly be lacking in the romantic field but he’d be a romantic at heart, albeit shy and very discreetly. fleeting, hidden touches of your hands in the dark or under covers. he’s not one to necessarily initiate, nor really enraptured with physical touch. however, he’d notice there’d be days where he would miss you and your touch.

☆ conversations with matthias would be with substance. he’s not a big fan on small talk, something that he’s always not been the best at. however, he’d always try his best to engage in it, only for you really.

☆ he would love to take you out, even if it’s a small outing. any moment with you is more than enough to him, a fleeting moment of you is everything to him. just to get away from his past, future, present.

☆ kissing with matthias can and could be awkward, he’s not experienced whatsoever and it’s more of a small and fast peck. but when it’s those days, when he’s completely so infatuated and need you ever so badly, he’d take you like a crazed man. it’s messy, sloppy and horrible, but you can feel those porcelain lips of his on you and really, that’s all that matters in that moment.

NSFW

☆ overtime, he would get confident on himself and those brief periods of yearning would turn into makeout sessions, him struggling to take off his layers of clothing and him gently pushing you on his bed, the sight of you all laid out for him.

☆ he’s hasty each and every time with you, not knowing where to look or how to act when he sees your naked sight. he’s embarrassed and feels as though he’s committing a great sin just having this view all to himself. but that turns him on even more.

☆ matthias czernin in bed is much more confident in both his personality and ability during bed, as if a switch is being turned on. he loves to take the reigns, to finally have some sense of control in his life. he’s slow and serious.

☆ he loves you giving him blowjobs, guiding you by your hair and pulling and tugging. those sounds of gagging that’ll come out of you and that feeling of his cock hitting the back of your throat, he can’t last as long as he likes. rather than cumming inside of your mouth, he much prefers it if he cum outside of it as he doesn’t like how disrespectful it could be.

☆ matthias is someone that’s attentive. he’ll have his hands all around you as if you’re a doll, occasionally touching you in places just to get any elicit response. whether it’s him rubbing your nipples, playing with your clit and shoving his fingers deep in you. oh, how he loves the sight of his fingers deep in your womb. “you’re almost taking it all in..”

☆ he’s very sensitive in every part of his cock but especially the area hidden and lifted up from his foreskin. tease his foreskin, tease him and graze your lips. that just absolutely drives him crazy.

☆ he wants to hear your every sound, something that reassures him that he’s doing good. he’s very vocal but tries to shield it (which he really isn’t good at, at all). the sight of you burying your head in your pillow while he’s balls deep in you, is a sight that’s practically ingrained in his mind every second of the day.

☆ he has a boob and ass fixation, his hands are always on it or nearing those areas. whether it’s him licking your entire nipples, squeezing, or even tit fucking (no matter the size).

☆ he loves clothed humping, the feeling of friction. he could do foreplay for as long as possible, pinching your nipples through your clothes, his clothed cock poking you from behind and his other hand splayed around your entire stomach. he's absolutely in love with the sight of his rubbing cock on you as you’re clothed.

☆ his most certain favorite position is cowgirl. however, he’s very insecure of his “ghastly” appearance. he’d sometimes raise his hands near his face as if it’s out of habit to conceal himself.

☆ reassure him by putting his hands down, kissing each and every part of those “imperfections”, people would call him as they jab. praise him for his beauty and all that he is. he truly needs it. to return those affections, he loves to put his hands on your face. his thumb grazing your cheek and nearing your eye.

☆ aftercare with matthias would always be one with a bath drawn. he loves to feel and be clean. he’d love to help you dry your hair and you helping him with his afterwards. something about it just seems so.. domestic to him. it’s a heartwarming comfort to him.

[sweetcherry-exe]

Mike Morton x reader HC's

Mike Morton x reader headcanons: If you are already in a relationship

-He’s cheerful, really outgoing and extroverted, though knows when to be calm and not as boisterous

-Even if you are the grumpiest, most unfriendly survivor, he’ll get on your good side pretty fast

-what can I say? He’s charismatic <3

-if you’re a hunter tho

-sucks to be you, he can be a bit of a jerk with his bombs

-but most of my HC’s are for a survivor reader (unless otherwise stated), so let’s keep it at that ^^

-during any match, he’s gonna be near you.

-ofc he plays the right way, but if you’re not gonna let him decode with you, he’ll be at the nearest cipher to yours. 

-if you lead the Hunter to his area when you’re kiting, he’ll gladly help you out and absolutely try to take over for you if you get tired.

-when you’re not in matches though, he’s still as sweet as can be

-despite being very outgoing, you two share more quiet and intimate moments than anything else

-when in public/around others, he does his own thing, happy to include you, but if you happen to be more introverted, then he’ll be outgoing beside you, but not really with you. He’s cool with pda, will give you as many good luck kisses and hugs before every match as you require, based on his belief

-one time, Norton spoke up about how he wishes Mike would stop giving you so much affection in public

-Norton got a kiss on the cheek as well

-“Good Luck, Non-Non!” Mike jeers as he walks away to let you get to your match

-You and the others almost pissed yourselves laughing so hard

- behind closed doors, however, everything is at the very least tripled

-he’s very handsy

-not even in the inappropriate way

-he just likes your warmth

-most moments before bed are spent just wrapping himself around in the weirdest, yet most comfortable contortions, hands wherever he damn well pleases

-just imagine, getting back to your room after a late night, horribly difficult match. You push open your door to see Mike pouting on your bed. He missed you. Once he realizes that you’re back, he can’t stop himself from latching on to you and pulling you to bed

-he’d never admit it, but every time you leave for a match, a pit drops in his stomach, he’s convinced one day you’ll never come back. Everything he’s ever loved will be taken away from him, again and again.

-you can guess this though, from the fact that once you’re settled in bed, he has his head nestled in your chest, both hands in an almost constricting grasp around your back, legs tangled together, and, once he’s asleep, he’ll be mumbling something along the lines of “please stay” or “I don’t want to lose you”

-it makes your heart drop to hear him say such things, especially when he doesn’t mean to

-you take great care to hug him close to you, as tight as he holds on to you. One hand in his hair, the other on his upper back, scratching it lightly until you, too, fall into a deep sleep

-don’t expect it to be like that in the morning, Mike is not a still sleeper

-usually, you wake up with his hair in your mouth as he’s curled up, comfortable, as the little spoon

-you almost always wake up first

-But he wants you to wake him up

-His favorite thing is spending lazy mornings with you

-Taking your sweet time to get up, and when you finally decide to make the first move out of bed, he pulls you right back down saying he’s not done yet. You grumble, but you don’t fight back. 

-When he’s ready to get up, he’ll let you do what you need to do to get ready, him as well, though keeping a close proximity to you, then lead you down stairs, hand in hand

-despite having such intense affection for you, “I love you’s” are rare. 

-They usually happen in intense situations, both negative and positive, if u catch my drift

-He definitely said it when confessing to you for the first time

-but you two had been friends for a while, so it was warranted

-In my view of the Manor (mostly how I see it for the purpose of fluff) neither party can die, but can get hurt pretty bad

-I could talk forever about how I like to see the Manor and how the games work for when I write them, but I won’t get started heere

-That being said, if this is a situation where death is a possibility

-he would be devastated

-traumatized

-he’d never recover

-Like, he lost what he considered his home and his family, and still, technically, has not recovered from that

-but he would never go back to being the person he once was

-He’d try though, he’d try so hard

-It would never be enough

-BUT! That’s not likely, seeing as though I don’t like angst very often, and these are fluffy hc’s

-So instead, What if you get hurt? Like badly??

-He’d pamper you 110%

-Unless you expressly asked him to give you some alone time, He would not leave you alone

-Except maybe to get you food, or water, or honestly anything you ask for

-He would absolutely cry

-he wouldn’t in front of anyone though

-but this would be one of the times he’d tell you he loves you

-you look pitiful, wrapped up in bandages and barely able to move. Mike had run in the moment he got the news that you were in the infirmary after your match. No one told him anything, so he assumed you had a few bigger scrapes or wounds that had to be treated. He didn’t think he would ever see you like this. If he had been in your match, he wouldn’t have had to see you like this. He would have protected you. He genuinely almost throws up because of how terrible you look.

-It isn’t because it’s disgusting, it just makes him feel like he’s in an elevator with a cable that just snapped. He hates violence that much.

-Once you spot him, you’d smile. His eyes don’t leave your face once he sees your sorry attempt at a grin, but he’d be smiling too, relieved to know you’re ok. He couldn’t help a few tears pricking at the corner of his eyes as he put his forehead to yours, whispering, “I’m so glad you’re ok.” and “I’m so sorry.” 

-You have trouble making words, or even moving, but you manage to lift your arm to wipe his eye with your thumb, the rest of your palm resting on his cheek. At this, he chuckles and can’t help the rest of the tears falling. He screws his eyes shut for a moment, sniffles, then takes your hand from his face, gently placing it where your arm can rest on the bed. Then, he takes his place beside you, softly tilting your face to face him. He wants to look at you in the eyes, when he says

-“I love you, truly.”

-It won’t take you long to recover with Mike by your side.

So funny story, I actually didn’t really like Mike at all before I got a request to write for him, and that story was like the best I had written, and that shit still makes me kick my feet and blush, it really made me think about him and how cool and sweet he is <3 what a babe

I’m really tempted to repost it here lmao

Also also, I used to play idv religiously for like 2 years, but that was a long while ago. But! I’ve picked it up again and have been playing for over a week! (I kinda skipped though the most recent Orfeo’s Game event) If I miss something in the lore/someone with a hyper-fixation on the lore/a specific character wants someone to rant about, I’m all ears!! <- this applies to honestly anything, I promise I want to hear it and will listen, if anyone wants to talk! Anyway! I love you all <3

[sweetcherry-exe]

This is going to be a heavy request, so if it's not your cup of tea please feel free to delete this or not acknowledge it, please.

That being said, would it be okay to request a comforting scenario involving at least Norton with a reader who struggles with SH? And if I had to push, maybe Ithaqua and Luchino as well?

On a separate note, I love your writing and blog. Your past posts are both entertaining and comforting to read. I don't use Tumblr a lot but I check back in to see if you and a few other blogs have updated. Thank you for your time, and I hope you're well.

this kind of comfort fic can be hard to come by, i know 🥲 thank you for the req and the well wishes♡ same to you

inspiration hit for luchino first so i'll post his for now. the others will be linked here as they get finished. they won't all be this heavy on the medical care, i promise!

luchino diruse x you he dresses your wounds; you worry you're a burden to him

⚠️ graphic SH wounds, medical treatment (stitches)

Luchino’s ears prick at the sound of your footsteps.

He could hear you from a mile away—one of the perks of being part-reptile—as you sidestep the creaks in the floorboards, careful not to draw the attention of any curious night prowlers. He hears you pause at his door, your fist hovering above the wood, mustering the strength for that impossible knock. This happens occasionally. Sometimes you decide against it and retreat back to your room. Luchino never stops you, just like he never tells you that he’s been counting each of your visits, even the ones you think escape his notice.

Just when he thinks the silence has lasted a beat too long, his gaze drifts to the door, and it creaks open without a knock. Apparently you’ve decided to skip over it altogether. Not that that bothers him; he was hoping you’d choose him from the start. You’re slow and deliberate when you push the door in, giving him time to protest if he needs to. He doesn’t.

“Still awake?” you whisper.

Luchino is sitting in his reading chair. It’s the only lit corner of his room, with an open book in his lap and an apple core browning on the table beside him. Clearly he’s retired for the night. The sight of it makes your stomach churn, as you know you’re disturbing his quiet evening, but you’re not sure what else you expected. He flashes you a tender smile.

“As a matter of fact,” he says, closing his book and passing it to the table, “sleep has abandoned me entirely. Staying here tonight?”

His question doesn’t hear its answer. You wander into the room, shutting the door behind you. It wouldn’t take a fool to know you’re a little out of sorts—you haven’t even acknowledged him, and your eyes sweep the room erratically, trying to land on anything but him. Luchino watches you with curious patience. You gnaw on the inside of your cheek. Best to just get it out with.

“Stitches came out again,” you say.

He doesn’t bat an eye. “On their own?”

“Mhm.”

As he stands up, your legs stiffen, hanging under you like lead. All you can do is send him a glassy stare when he comes to inspect your arm. Luchino had just refitted your sutures a few days ago, after their first instance of “falling out on their own.” He’s well aware that wasn’t really the case. Even if he won’t admit to it outright, you know he knows, and you both keep the lie going anyway. He’s considerate like that. Or maybe he’s just placating you. Blaming sloppy stitches should be a blatant insult to his medical expertise, and Luchino is far from unskilled with the needle. Even so, this is one detail he never questions you on.

He curls his fingers gently around your wrist. You’re wearing a loose nightshirt with sleeves that reach your elbows. Somewhere in the back of his head, he finds it unusual that you’d walk around the manor with your forearms exposed, but he reasons that this was urgent enough to warrant an exception. It’s a grisly sight. Frayed silk knots dot your skin, all tattered and picked at, and the wounds between them have begun to pool again. He heaves a sigh as he examines it all. Guilt spikes through your throat.

“I could go find Dr. Dyer instead,” you offer, already trying to pull away. Luchino’s gaze flicks up from your arm. The eyes reflecting back at him are wide and winded and pierce straight through him, as if afraid of something he can’t see. He cups a warm hand around the base of your neck.

“This is nothing you and I can’t manage,” he says. His thumb tenderly traces over your cheek. “They won’t heal as neatly as they might’ve before, that’s all. Wait in my chair.”

He releases you to rummage through his bedside cabinet, where he fishes out some ampoules and a leather tool bag. You don’t move right away. The longer your eyes linger on Luchino’s frame, a burning sensation prickles over them, but no tears want to fall. He turns around with an armful of medical supplies.

“Are you feeling faint?” he asks.

“Kind of,” you admit. The dizziness hasn’t whittled away your consciousness yet, at least.

“Well, I’d rather not have you testing gravity today. Sit down.”

His chair is still warm from his late-night reading. You watch him clear away his book and the apple core before spreading a cloth on the table. You’re thankful he’s able to stay so calm each time this happens, chatting with you as if this is a practised routine. But he surely can’t be ecstatic about having extra work to do this late. Work that could’ve been avoidable, at that. The guilt clouding your mind wins you over again.

“You’re too good to me,” you murmur, eyes drifting to the floor. “Do you ever regret it?”

“Being good to you?”

“Putting up with me. I can’t imagine it’s been fun.”

“No,” he agrees, unraveling the leather bag. “Seeing you this way grieves me in a way I’ve never known before—hold out your arm.” One of the ampoules contains some kind of clear fluid, an anesthetic he made himself. He breaks off the neck. “But I’ve never considered this to be ‘putting up’ with you.”

“Would’ve been easier to find someone who doesn’t have all these problems.”

“And lose out on you? Not a chance, my dear.”

That cheeky pet name prompts you to shoot him a glance. He ruffles your hair.

“Too good to me,” you mutter again, looking away.

“One of the many pitfalls of being in love, I’m afraid.”

Forceps, scissors, needle and thread. As he lays out the rest of his equipment, your heart skips a beat. This is always the worst part. You always forget how much you dread it until it’s right in front of you. Watching him draw a syringe of that anesthetic, you instinctively squeeze your thighs, clenching your jaw and fists to steel your nerves.

It takes two doses to numb each stitch. Luchino says he’s working on a stronger anesthetic, one that can be ingested, or at the very least one that numbs a larger area. But he is staunchly against the idea of using you as a lab rat, so you’re not sure how far along its progress has gotten. For now you’re stuck with this method. You suppose you don’t hide the unease on your face very well. All he needs is one look at you before he reaches for the foot of his bed. There he grabs the crumpled shirt he wore earlier that day, balling it tight and holding it to your lips.

“Open.”

Thankful to have something to bite down on, you roll your eyes to the ceiling, toes curling off the floor.

Luchino works quickly. You can’t bring yourself to watch, though. He finishes dressing your fresh stitches in thick layers of gauze. You’re sure it’s to deter you from picking at them again. At least for another night, you think, but you refuse to voice that thought. You murmur out an awkward thank-you for treating you.

Instead of answering Luchino keeps his gaze fixed on your arm. It’s silent and scrutinizing, lost in thought. You know that look in his eye—he’s caught on to something. You quickly jump up, trying to sidle past him, but he catches your arm.

“(Y/N),” he starts, standing with you. You don’t say anything. His fingers find your sleeve and slowly begin to roll it up your shoulder. There’s no hiding this from him anymore. He’d figured out your patterns a long time ago. You can’t stop your secret from being exposed, but you can keep your gaze locked on him, searching anxiously for a flash of annoyance, exhaustion, bitterness—anything to reveal how much of a nuisance he finds you. Surprise, you think. More work for you. Aren’t I inconvenient?

Luchino lets no indication of his thoughts appear on his face. All he does is trace a gentle finger alongside a barely-congealed string of blood. These ones are new. There’s a long strip of them, neatly in a row, just a few hours old.

“They’re not too deep,” he observes. “The bleeding’s already stopped. I’ll bandage them now.”

He smoothes down your sleeve and looks at you for a moment. Then he lets out a sigh, drawing your body into his chest. You let him hold you, not quite returning the embrace.

“Will you find me before this happens next time?” he asks.

You don’t answer.

[sweetcherry-exe]

SMOKE SIGNALS

character(s): akashi takeomi x gn!reader

notes: i remb the first time i smoked a cig i choked so bad i hit my head on the wall lmao

warnings: shotgunning

the tap tap tapping of rain outside your apartment window sets the mood for your weekend. dark, slightly dreary, lazy as you slide around your apartment on socked feet with the television buzzing low in the background. saturday is your off day, the one you reserve for movie marathons and avoiding any and all responsibilities no matter the costs.

it’s going well, too.

you’re currently curled up on your couch, cheek smushed against your hand as you stare blankly at the movie playing. you don’t even know the name of it, but you do know it’s boring. (not boring enough for you to care to change, but boring nonetheless).

then there’s a falter in the rhythmic tapping of rain, another tone of taps—harder, more firm than that of liquid—sounding throughout your apartment. but not from the door.

your eyes flit frantically towards the source, and for a second your heart screeches to a halt inside your chest at the sight of silhouette in your window. then, you notice the familiar leather jacket and horrid tri-dye job of hair and rise off the couch to go meet your intruder.

“i got scared because i thought there was a criminal on my fire escape,” you greet as you slide the window open, smile gracing your lips. “and look, i was right.”

“funny,” takeomi huffs, rolling his eyes. a cigarette hangs off his lips, dripping wet from the rain and the slight trace of a soggy ruined light on the end. “now back up, i’m freezing my ass off out here.”

you do as you’re told, stepping back to let the man crawl through your window and quickly shutting it back before too much rain gets in. not that it matters, because takeomi’s soaked form is doing well in drenching your floor regardless.

“haven’t you heard of an umbrella?” you tease, watching as he takes off his boots before turning to walk towards your bedroom. “or a door for that matter?”

“i was in a rush,” he answers, nonchalantly, as his wet socks pat against the floor behind you with each step.

“let me guess,” you hum, walking into your bedroom and gesturing him to the bathroom, because his sogginess can’t ruin tile. “running from the cops and you need to lay low for a few hours?” you sift back to the corner of your closet that holds clothes that don’t particularly belong to you (though that hasn’t stopped you from wearing them occasionally, only when your laundry is in the wash, you swear!) and grab out a t-shirt and sweats. “and me, your favorite person, was who you decided to run to. why omi, i’m flattered.”

“turning myself in is sounding better by the minute,” takeomi simpers, leaned against the doorframe of the bathroom as he watches you approach him. the loose bangs that hang in his eyes, cutting through deep irises, have you wanting to run your fingers back through them.

“oh you’d never,” you wave off, handing him the clothes. his fingertips brush against yours as he takes them. “you couldn’t bare to be away from me that long.”

he scoffs at you, but that tilt never leaves his lips as he turns and slams the bathroom door in your face. you bite the corner of your lip, “towels are under the—“

“i know where they are!” he barks before you can even finish, and for some reason that makes something stupidly giddy pool in your stomach.

you shuffle your feet out of your bedroom and into the kitchen, instantly on a mission. you keep his favorite drinks in the back of your fridge for times just like this, so with a little pep in your step you shimmy on over. you can hear the bathroom door click open and you smile to yourself at the ridiculously fast pace he’s able to dry off and change in.

(you think it has something to do with having siblings, sharing a bathroom growing up, that sort of thing).

you’ve just leaned up from your scrounging in the fridge, nudging the door shut with your hip when he emerges into the kitchen along with you—faded shirt and worn out sweats never looking so good. holding the drink out, you step up to him, reaching a hand forward to pick a piece of lint off his chest.

“you don’t look so much like a wet dog anymore.” it’s teasing, light, comfortable as it always is as you let your palm rest against his chest for a little longer than necessary.

and, as if to simply spite you, takeomi shakes his still damp hair, slinging the remnants of rain all over you—much like a bad, wet dog.

he cracks a grin at your pout, taking the drink from your hand and leaning down just low enough to press his lips to your temple. you can feel the upturn of lips against your skin and you want to revel in it, grip the front of his t-shirt and keep him there.

but he leans back just as soon as he leaned in, a hand meeting to top of your head to rub it in the way an older brother would, and you remind yourself you shouldn’t think like this.

because you’ve known him since forever, a constant in your life since you can remember really, and you need to remind yourself that that’s where the comfortableness comes from.

you were just a little tag along, clinging to takeomi’s shirttail and admiring his every move with wide eyed awe—now you’re a run to, lending spare sweats and eyeing the way he walks around your apartment.

you’re a dependent and dependable at the same time, that’s the reason he comes to you.

nothing else.

“so,” you clear your throat, watching as he makes hisself at home and plops onto your sofa. trailing after, you take your seat beside him. “what was it today? murder, robbery..”

“for your information, dollface, i’m completely innocent. didn’t do a single thing.”

you snort, rolling your eyes as you lean back on the couch cushions, arms crossed over your chest as you stare forward at the t.v. (mostly because you don’t think you’d be able to look away if you dared to even steal a glimpse of takeomi right now).

“yeah, okay,” you dismiss, “and that’s what you said last week. and the week before that. and the week before that. and then i got to see your ugly mug on my evening news.”

it’s silent for a moment, the rain and television taking over the apartment. you realize your mistake instantly.

“oh, i’m ugly, huh?”

the smirk in his voice is audible and you try to duck on instinct before he even makes a move to grab you. but it’s useless, you should absolutely know that by now, and the ducking proves pointless when an arm wraps around your shoulders and a hand collides with your head to rub at it in a way that has you kicking and screaming.

“get off me you lug!” you squeal, pushing at his arm and doing your damndest to elbow him anywhere that will get him to let go of you.

“take it back!” he huffs in return, grunting as your elbow meets his ribs, but not loosening his grip in the slightest.

“never!”

“then no!”

“you’re an ass!”

“you love it!”

the argument dies down but the angered tension doesn’t, neither of you wavering in your positions as takeomi keeps you in a damn near chokehold and you pout as you refuse to admit defeat. because like hell you’d tell him he isn’t ugly. and do what? just watch as his ego inflated tenfold? no way. you’d never live it down. you’d rather die.

nearly a minute passes, no moves made between the two of you, when suddenly you feel a shift and the fumbling of a box. you dare to glance over and see takeomi pulling his box of cigs out of his sweatpants, because of course they couldn’t have been soaked to ruins by the rain. before he can even fumble on your end table for the lighter he knows you keep there, you’re elbowing his ribs again.

“not in here,” you frown, wrinkling your nose at him, “you know it jacks with my alarm.”

the glare takeomi sends your way as if it’s your fault that your smoke alarm seems to only go off because of his cigarettes makes you want to punch him, but the pout that takes over seconds after as if he’s totally broken about it has you softening. you sigh, placing your hands on his arm to shove him off and grunting when he still doesn’t release his grip.

“do you want to smoke or not?” you groan, “we gotta go to my bedroom window, it’s the only one that won’t get you soaked.”

he looks at you for a moment, brows canted like it’s taking him a while to actually consider and weigh his options—which you find odd, because he normally never hesitates to jump at the opportunity to get his precious little cigs between his lips. then, his arm slowly loosens around you enough for you to break free and lead him to your room.

you’re not entirely sure who built the little makeshift awning outside your bedroom window. it’s always been there, since you moved in you’re pretty sure, but it’s obvious it’s not really supposed to be. but it’s kind of nice, shields it from the rain and weather when you sit in the sill.

which is why it’s takeomi’s favorite window in your apartment.

he’s a picture as he sits there, back pressed to the side and a leg propped up on it haphazardly. his head falls back as he inhales off his cig, and the way it twists tantalizingly out of his mouth and fades into the damp air has your stomach fluttering in a way you only wish you could ignore. like always, you find yourself drawn back to him—as if you weren’t just trying to break free from his hold moments ago—and make your way to the sill. and, like always, he shifts his leg to rest outside the window so you can sit across from him.

it’s moments like these, specifically, that you’re reminded why he has you wrapped so tightly around his finger. because yeah, he’s annoying and irritating and pisses you off to no end, but then he’s this. innocent kisses pressed to your temple and joking on your loveseat and sitting across from you on your window sill—just tiny moments that don’t mean much but are somehow worth it all.

“oi.” takeomi’s voice cuts through the fog of your mind, bringing you back to his hazy presence as you peer at him through a sheer layer of smoke. “want one?”

“what?” and surely you didn’t hear him correctly. he’s.. offering you a puff of his cigarette? there’s no way, not takeomi, because he used to tell you he’d kill you if he ever caught you with one. because someone as pretty as you shouldn’t do such a thing, should stay away from all that bad stuff.

(you found it ironic, since he literally murders for a living, but you never argued).

he holds the half burnt cigarette out to you, eyebrow cocked like he’s confused. “do you want a smoke? you keep staring at it.”

“oh.” it hits you, then, that he was simply asking because he caught you staring. but you weren’t staring at the goddamn cig, you were staring at him. maybe he doesn’t really have to know that part of it, though. “ah no, i don’t wanna put it…”

you gesture with your hands towards your mouth, internally cursing yourself that that was the best excuse you could come up with, that you didn’t want the cigarette to touch your fucking lips. for a second, though, you’re relieved, because takeomi nods like he gets it. like he approves. but then he’s leaning forward, reaching towards you again.

“well that’s not a problem,” he says.

and then he’s gripping your jaw and taking a hit and suddenly something completely foreign and definitely not oxygen is being blown into your mouth and infiltrating your lungs.

this is not like breathing, you decide, as your throat burns and your eyes water just a little bit, but you absolutely refuse to cough. not when takeomi’s face is so close. not when he’s still holding onto your jaw. not when his thumb is rubbing gentle circles into it while he stares at your lips and runs his tongue over his own and.

oh. the breath gets knocked out of you so fast that you forget you were supposed to be choking on cigarette smoke.

you almost miss it, the near silent “fuck” that slips out of his lips as he sees you release it all smoothly, like it wasn’t your first time ever inhaling cigarette smoke. something clicks in you, in him, at the same time. the rain is still pouring outside and the window sill is starting to cut into your leg a little and the humidity is making you dizzy but none of that really matters as takeomi shoves your back hard against the window frame and takes another swig from his stupid cig before slamming his lips to yours.

this time is inherently different than the first.

for starters, it’s not just a hand to your jaw restraining you, but takeomi’s got his other hand securely locked on your hip. you wonder where the cig is, if it’s still between his fingers, if it might burn you on accident, but you can’t think about it long.

the next thing you notice is that the burn is worse. because this time there’s no exit for he smoke that’s drifted it’s way into your system, you’re not too sure how to blow it out your nose and takeomi’s mouth keeps you trapped save for the few curls of grey that slip out every movement of lips.

and lastly—it’s so much fucking better than before.

you wish you could stay like this forever; the harsh burn in your lungs countered by the soft press of lips making you go totally dumb. but your body defies you, and this go around it’s not so easy to fend off the cough that starts to rack through your chest, so (begrudgingly) you shove takeomi back before you can hack in his mouth.

you find that it’s very very hard to try to catch your breath and cough every ounce of smoke out of your lungs at the same time, and if your eyes weren’t watering before then they sure as hell are now as you hold a hand to your chest.

“shit, sorry. ‘m sorry. that was stupid, are you alright?” takeomi rushes, hand sliding to rub soothing little patterns into the side of your throat. the cig is gone now, you realize, as he raises his other hand to swipe at the stray liquid that slips from your eye. “i shouldn’t have done that.”

“no, no, i-i’m fine. swear.” even you can tell your smile is sheepish as one last cough bubbles up. you stare at the man in front of you for a second, then dare to reach forward to brush the bangs out of his eyes. “that was, uh..”

“yeah,” he laughs, biting the edge of his lip. “shit, yeah, alright. not really how i planned for that to go.”

you snort at him, throat feeling a little rough but not necessarily bad as it vibrates with it. your fingers find their way to the front of his shirt, toying with it and smiling to yourself as he shifts impossibly closer to you on the cramped little sill.

“the nearly choking me to death on smoke or the kissing?” you ask, finally, and takeomi rolls his eyes so hard you think they might get stuck like that.

“the kissing, you fucking ass,” he retorts, pinching your cheek and doing it again when you pretend to bite at him. “though i have to admit, the whole choking thing was kinda cute.”

“i hate you,” you scoff, shoving his chest with no real effort or force, and leaning into him when he snakes an arm behind you to tug you forward.

“you’re sending me really mixed signals then.” and that damned smirk that twists up his lips, all knowing and cocky and charming has you winding your arms around his neck. “care to clear them up?”

you smile against his lips, a cant to your own that you just can’t help as the scent of cigarette smoke lingers in the air.

“gladly.”

reblogs appreciated <3

[sweetcherry-exe]

HI SORRY OMGG I DIDN'T CHECK THE IDV TAG AGAIN, Basically I like wanted to request something Smutty for weepy topping the reader 😭 like ok it sounds impossible cuz look at him he's like so submissive but maybe he can Sub top omg I'm getting into so much detail SORRY 💔💔 thank you for even considering my request, weepy barely gets content but happy he actually does get it, Hope you're having a great super day today

Anon I see the vision, I’m here for it, and I’m on it 🫡 Ty for resending it in anon, I’m an absolute mess rn cause hormones, mitski, tv girl, and modern baseball, hit way too hard ;-;

First time writing smut so.. here we go. Nice criticism is welcome!

FREAKY TIME WITH WEEPING CLOWN ❤︎

Warnings: NSFW, Sub!Top!Joker, missionary that slowly turns into mating press cause it’s my fave.. and I think that’s it?

Shlick.. Shlick.. Shlick…

Heavy panting rings in your ears, small whimpers leaving both of your lips.

Joker decided he wanted to be.. top tonight. It wasn't unusual but when you're the one to be on top most of the time, then it's a bit of a surprise.

His hands were wrapped around your thighs, keeping your legs hooked around his hips as he thrusted. Mumbling praises in between, "You look so gorgeous under me.. never wanna leave.. mhm..”

Your hand reaches into his hair, gripping it tightly to bring him into a rough kiss. This elicits a loud moan, which was silenced by your mouth in his. Drinking in his noises. Only breaking away to breathe, and say, “Doing so well, such a good boy.. You like being on top don’t you? Thinking you have more power? Does it feed into your ego knowing that no one else could have me like this? I bet..”

Joker nods whimpering at your words, his hips stuttering from the sudden pleasure your words bring. The praise and degradation to much for his foggy brain. He just can’t keep up.. “love it, love it so much.. no one else.. Mhph.. so close.. wanna cum..”

You laugh a bit at his lust drunk words and expressions. Bringing your hand away from his hair and to his neck, squeezing a bit, letting your other one graze across his chest. “You wanna cum? Well.. I believe you deserve it. Go on, bring us to the end.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His hips slam into yours, making your back arch. He grips your thighs harder, bringing them to your chest, and spreading them open as far as possible. Giving him better access, so he get reach that spot. The one that has you seeing stars. You couldn’t tell who was louder, your head going all misty and blank. It was so good.. his whimpers, his watery eyes, the way he was fucking you so well. It was all perfect. And it was all yours. It didn’t take long for your hands to grip onto his shoulders, hole clenching around him so tightly that it had him reaching the edge with you. His frame slumping over yours as he rode out your highs.

His forehead against yours as you mumble, “Did so well, love. Absolutely perfect, as always.”

———————————————————————-

SORRY FOR THE CUT OFF AT THE END AND IF ITS RUSHED😭 I didn’t know what to put after this.. so.. my bad 😞

Ty you for reading!

Please don’t steal my work :(

[sweetcherry-exe]

“The guy who smiles every day has so much going for him. Perhaps it’s time for a change.” Also, included a small easter egg as a homage to the lore! That is Margaretha’s ribbon he’s holding between his fingers, the one Joker tied to his rocket. :’(

[sweetcherry-exe]

Tracy’s new S skin is ringing a bell for certain circus people

[sweetcherry-exe]

“strikes” 🃏

memories from joker's time in hullabaloo

i thought abt him & short circuited & suddenly there were words

Anyone would know that clowns are inherently very clever, funneling all they can reach into jokes for their acts. Likewise, that same cleverness could be horrific to manage if their intentions turned sour.

Joker thought he'd seen the worst of it-- his colleagues had been ripping him apart all his life, after all.

It began with the "secret admirers" who wrote him fake love letters, complete with lipstick stains and envelopes spritzed with perfume. Or he’d wake up to find that he had 'misplaced' his prosthetic leg—really, how do you lose that in a one-person circus tent?—only to later find it hung on a tree somewhere.

And then there was the same joke he heard every show, by someone who thought themselves to be the pinnacle of comedy: "This show ought to be at half-price, eh? Why, we're only watchin' half a clown!"

As long as his audience laughed in the end, that was fine.

His emotions often got the better of him off-stage. But those blubbering tears were what garnered him his fame in the first place, so he supposed he was just exceptional at his role.

Natalie caught him crying once before. Joker would never forget it. The pitying smile on her face had struck an odd chord with him.

"Oh, you crybaby," she cooed, glossy curls bouncing as her head shook. "Wipe your tears, would you?" Then she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed his cheeks.

That alone startled the tears straight out of him. His cheeks colored, his eyes widened, and he fumbled to thank her for her kindness. And once he finally reigned in his awful lovesickness, he had a moment of clarity: the humiliation he'd endured all these years was an unavoidable part of working as a clown. Maybe he'd be better off taking it as inspiration for his own acts.

By nightfall, his morale dropped again. He went out for a cigarette and watched the stars and wished he could resolve this war he had with himself. He loved to make people laugh. But a part of him, somewhere, wished he could smile the same way the handsome clowns did too.

[sweetcherry-exe]

☆ "weeping clown" ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / weeping clown x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possessive nature, choking fixation, body worship, orgasm denial

word count / 1,335 words

author's note / i wanted more miserable, pathetic, lore accurate toxic weepy so i decided to just write it myself.

SFW

☆ a very clingy man that is far too quiet to ever be the one to initiate a conversation with you. after all, how dare he have such thoughts when you’re shining all so bright. altruist you can say but behind it, he is all but possessive.

☆ you will always find letters forwarded to you by someone of anonymity but his handwriting is all but so familiar. you will always feel a set of eyes following you in everything you do around the circus. whether it be practicing for your next act, applying your makeup, eating, or paying attention to your own body care, it's always on you.

☆ weeping clown by his stage name is very self explanatory. even with his wishes of being so much more than what he is branded by, he carries on his sorrowful demeanor behind the stage. meeting you, whether you’re the first to ever truly acknowledge him or give him the light of day of your time, he will think of that interaction of so much more.

☆ he’s completely infatuated by you, not having the guts or confidence to ever approach you, he will make gifts for you in secrecy, going to great lengths to have it personally delivered to you by a postman to possibly hide the fact that it was him all along.

☆ however, you have suspected the clown for awhile now. the way his eyes avoid your own, his stuttering and brightening red state of his. you have always thought of it as normal for the clown, his cowering state, but there is just something about him that rang alarm bells.

☆ weeping is easily flustered. any hint of your attention on him has him already a profused bashful state. especially any physical contact with each other, even if it’s just holding hands, his hands will instantly clam up and become so warm. he gets embarrassed at these times and would begin to avoid eye contact so you wouldn’t have to see him in such a “pathetic condition”.

☆ kissing the weeping clown is rough due to his very chapped lips. he’s a clumsy and messy kisser, having no prior experience and frankly, only kisses with pure want and no thoughts at all behind it as if you’re going to disappear on him. you’ll always feel his hands messily messing the back of your hair and at times, when he’s pushing his tongue down on you, he loves it when you tug down on his scarf.

☆ his love, to be blunt, is completely unconditional. it doesn’t matter if you kill someone with your own bare hands, even if his idea of you shatters, his ideology still stands. he’s a man that is completely obsessed with the idea of you and while it is a harmful train of thoughts, that obsession turns into a sick love.

☆ even if his love comes from a twisted place, he cares for you in his own little way. he’s overprotective of you and attentive to your mental and emotional needs of yours. if someone is bugging you, he’s immediately on the band wagon in planning on how he’s specifically going to privately and in secrecy, handle it.

NSFW

☆ joker is not a confident man as we all know, and especially in bed. even if he’s bigger than most, around 8 inches or so, he is all but insecure about the approach. he’s a virgin and only has experience by touching himself late at night, clutching a crumpled picture of you and imagining your hands pumping his cock.

☆ he’s always the type to indulge in his personal fantasies and to finally have it happen to him, he’s all but overjoyed but extremely confused and insecure on how you can ever pick someone like him. he has always dreamed of you touching him, even when he’s ashamed of such thoughts when facing you upfront, he’d always go hard over the smallest things from you.

☆ your voice, your lips, your eyes on his, your scent, you brushing skin contact with him even if it’s just a small graze, oh god his dick is practically about to burst out his boxers. he loves the rough feeling of his dick begging to be dicked down and would often grind himself in his own boxers, imagining that friction is your pussy.

☆ he would get so long in those surreal fantasies of his, wanting to just breed you. but once actually having you, his insecurities of having little to no experience comes crashing down once more. you’ll be on his lap and he’ll be completely dumbfounded, absolutely having no idea where to put or place his arms and would stare at you undressing on him which god, is so hot to him.

☆ he’s the type to just cum right then and there in whatever you do to his body. touching his cock, oh he’s already seeing stars and tearing up. your warm mouth on his, he’s grinding his waist and dragging you by your hair to go deeper and deeper, causing you to choke and him getting off by your gagging sounds.

☆ he’s a big crier during it all, his eyes seeming to always tear up whenever he feels absolutely stimulated or from pure happiness, he’ll always throw his head back and bites his lips to the point it begins to start bleeding and then planting his blood soaked lips on yourself.

☆ body worship. weeping clown is ashamed of his disability and amputee, but you praising it and giving it utmost attention (not just only during sex of course) gives him an unexplainable emotion such as relief of your acceptance of him. how you don’t immediately shun him.

☆ he loves to worship you and your entire being, not just being the only one praised. he will always be going on and on, muttering about your beauty. he always feels as though he shouldn’t even have the privilege to be in your presence, let alone touch you. it’s an emotional moment for him the entire time, enveloping himself to your existence.

☆ he absolutely can’t get enough of you, always loving it when he’s the one on your lap or vice versa, he loves to look up at you and you wiping his tears off with your thumb. he loves to nuzzle on the palm of your hand every time you do it. once he’s more familiar and confident with your body, he finds himself more and more lost in sex.

☆ he’s a verbal partner, always gasping and lowering his moans. it’s not a hard feat to have him a mess over you and especially when you’re verbal, he can’t help but feel good knowing he’s the one getting those reactions out of you.

☆ he loves it when you deny him of his orgasm. tie him behind his waist and fuck his cock with your finger, palm, boobs, thighs, anything. he’ll start whining and drawing his voice out, begging for your touch, his tears practically streaming out by then.

☆ bouncing on his cock, he’s still so scared over the fact that you’re in his but he can’t help but get so lost in your touch. he’ll watch you with astonishment, watching your boobs bounce along your actions and begin latching his mouth on the bud of your nipples and sucking on it to the point there’ll be a prominent, red mark.

☆ aftercare with weeping clown would be him cleaning you up with a rag and bringing you the glass of water from the bedside, very quiet and unsure on what else to talk about. it’s a comfortable silence on your part but for the clown, he’s particularly anxious. you’ll have to be the one praising and tucking him for the night. during these moments, he’s especially emotional. he never wants to let go of this moment and then, decide to do everything that he can to keep you by his side no matter what.

[sweetcherry-exe]

Hello! I've come across your post and was curious:)

Luca, Victor, Andrew, Matthias, Norton, Florian, Weepy x reader(not s/o) headcanons/oneshots/anyway you like but if I can be a little more specific, a shy/anxious reader?:)

The characters listed are just examples, you can remove, add, or choose whoever you want^^ I just like being a little specific but I completely do not mind with changes to your personal preferences. Thank you!!<333 Have a wonderful day💜💜

Andrew, Matthias, and Weepy With A Shy/Anxious Reader (Platonic)

(A/N)

Ofcc thank you for the request! I'll definitely make a part two with the other characters! i just wanted to make sure I got your request out in a short time!

Andrew Kreiss

-I feel like Andrew would do better with a shy friend. He likes being able to relate to them.

-But, if their anxious about something, Andrew will try to help them calm down. He'll try his best, using things that help him calm down.

-If anyone tries to make fun of them for their shy nature, Andrew isn't scared to stick up for them. He may have a generally shy deminer, but he can be mean when he wants to.

-In social settings, if they get overwhelmed, he takes them out of the situation.

-If their still kind of quiet even after he gets to know them, he's fine, just sitting in silence and enjoying his time with them.

-However, if they do get more talkative when he gets to know them, he loves listening to them talk for hours.

Matthias Czernin

-Matthias finds that he does better around other shy people.

-I feel like Matthias also gets anxious and quite easily at that. So he prefers someone not as loud.

-Matthias isn't very good at calming himself down, let alone someone else, so he can't help much during a panic attack.

-When they get closer to Matthias, he loves to talk about and show off his puppets.

-He tries to keep Louis away from them. He doesn't want him around since he is scared of him ruining his friendships.

-If their getting made fun of, Matthias won't really know what to do. I don't think he'll say anything, but their definitely not getting saved in matches now.

-Matthias will avoid most big social gatherings in general, so he'll 100% skip anything with them.

Weepy

-Weepy finds their shyness cute. He's just happy they want to be friends with him he doesn't care if their shy or not.

-If they have a panic attack, he doesn't really know what to do, but he'll try his best.

-Weepy loves listening to anything they have to say. He also loves talking If their not talkative.

-Weepy loves trying to make them laugh.

-If their getting made fun of, Weepy will comfort them, but he probably won't say anything directly. He'll also send them towards the hunter with his rocket.

-Weepy is quite anxious himself, so he relates to how they feel.

(Sorry if it's kinda short or not what you wanted 😿 feel free to give criticism)

[sweetcherry-exe]

☆ florian brand ; general sfw & nsfw headcanons

pairing / florian brand x afab gn! reader

disclaimer / possession, jealous themes, manipulation themes, overstimulation

word count / 1,174 words

SFW

⭒ florian brand is a man who masks his true nature. he presents him as need be, a humble and altruistic man. in reality, he is a man who does what needs to be to get by. a man who hides himself from the rest of the world.

⭒ when he first saw you, so helpless trapped in the fire. this was not a new sight to him but oh, something awoke in him. the mere sight of you completely overwhelmed the man of want. of need. your arms frantically clutching his shoulders as he carries you out of the fire. he can’t help but think how pathetic you are, just like everyone else. “i am your savior. you do not need anyone else.”

⭒ his brain is already going into gear mode, racking up on how to mark you his. and so he decided, he doesn’t wish for you to just want him. he needs you to need him, unable to do anything but depend on him. “no one could ever love you like i do.”

⭒ he is a manipulative and cunning man, that you had already suspected ever since you met him. he seemed far too good to be of a man with that sham of a smile. he scared you with the way he looked at you, already having expectations of you. it was intimidating to be in his presence.

⭒ in this tiny town, there are far too many fires to be marked as “wildfires” and too little of individuals who’d just want to start fires every now and then. there can only be a serial arsonist you suspect and you can only be cautious to florian brand. yet, everyone brandishes him as a savior. he was this town’s liberator and even though he was the one who saved you from the fire, he was simply off putting to you.

⭒ he knows of your suspicions on him and finds it so humorous of you to be scrambling around about. after all, there will never be any evidence that points back to him. dropping tiny little evidence and hints every now and then just to tease your little self, he was done playing with you and decided that it was finally time for him to approach you more. not just as the boy next door, but something much more.

⭒ he’d frequent and commute to your house your neighborhood more often. since it was a tiny town and florian is a busy, sociable man in the morning and day, the townspeople around you didn’t suspect at all. it’ll start with morning visits, you’d open your door to start on your chores and already, florian is passing by your house. greeting you with a “good morning!” and then nodding his head and waving to the rest of the townspeople in acknowledgment.

⭒ then, as time progresses, those morning acknowledgments would be nightly visits. he’ll finish his work shift and you’ll find himself knocking outside your door. don't let the little fire investigator in.

⭒ kissing with florian are straight up make out sessions, no matter how soft you go at him at him, he’s going to have his tongue deep down in your throat and your lips will start to bruise.

⭒ when you’re finally all in, he’s the type to be showing you off. he loves physical displays of affection and loves to brandishes you in his love. your shoulders (his favorite place to mark you) would be littered with his hickies. he loves to give you kisses, repeatedly in one area. and especially in a private setting, he’ll be giving you trails of kisses down your waist to your hip.

NSFW

⭒ florian is average in size and in width, much skinny (even though he’s very strong). however, give him some time with you and already, he knows exactly where to get you absolutely mindless.

⭒ he’s such a childish man, he gets too easily jealous as if he’s a little school boy competing for his first love. he’d absolutely have jealous sex with you, repeatedly ranming himself into you in that same area of yours and yet, it hits differently and so deeper each time.

⭒ he’s the type to just fuck you over and over as he blabbers on and blabbers on in your ear. when he gets really into it, he’ll start biting your ear to the point it’ll feel like it’s about to break off and you have to give him repeated jabs in his back for him to finally notice he’s hurting your ears. or better, pull his hair and make him look at you. god, he loves that fiery look in your eyes and that sharp pain that comes with it.

⭒ he loves oral (reader receiving). he loves to suck on your clit and getting lost in it as he goes down on you. he’s the type to close his eyes and just enjoy it all but every now and then, he’ll look up at you and bats his little eyelashes with his eyes upturning and you know, he’s chaffing at you and loving it. after he’s done, with your legs shaking with how many time you came in his mouth, he’ll show off his tooth eating grin to you with your essence dripping down his lips.

⭒ he loves to overstimulate you and everything about your body parts. he’ll flick and play with your clit on hours and end, humming to himself and whispering lovely pet names to you such as “dear” and “honey”.

⭒ he gets off on your praise. everything you say with him, especially praise, keeps him going during sex. even degradation as any emotions that you feel towards him. whether it be happy, sad, or even mad at him, it has his blood boiling with endearment. he loves your attention and every form of it. as long as it’s directed towards him and nobody else.

⭒ he loves overstimulation. he loves to br overstimulated, you bouncing on his cock or him ramming you in to the point your mind goes blank and you’re practically twitching by the end. he gets so full of himself when he sees that sight of you.

⭒ he loves mirror sex. balls deep in you and having that sight all to himself, your bodies touching each other and you gripping his shoulder like the first day he met you. he’ll take you by your chin and have you turn your head to see yourself and him. “look how good you’re taking me darling. so lovely.” sex with florian is all messy, filled with need and want.

⭒ during sex and aftercare, you can always smell a faint gasoline on him. but what can you say? in fact, you already stopped caring about that little investigation of yours. you must be imagining. who are you to question him as he cleans up the mess and as he stradles you so lovingly in his arms with soft, buttery kisses to put you to sleep.

[sweetcherry-exe]

Protection

Yet another little blurb series that absolutely no one asked me for. BUT YOU KNOW WHAT? WHATEVER GETS THE JUICES FLOWING AGAIN.

warnings for violence, angst, and comfort. Use of potentially triggering words like "psycho" and "whore."

The manor was a hard adjustment for any new face, but some handled it worse than others. This mystery man was particularly defensive, particularly paranoid of the manor’s nightmarish circumstances. He was stressed, and scared, and confused, and bleeding out in his first match was the last straw needed to tip the scales towards an outburst.

Norton

You were just trying to be friendly when you spoke to him at breakfast. Really. But looking back you could see how a terrified mind might misconstrue your small comforts and placations about death as mocking. He stormed off mid-meal, and you spent the rest of it stewing in quiet guilt. A walk in the gardens would do you some good, you decided, but Norton was still busy with his second helping of steak and eggs and told you to go on ahead.

So alone you exited the room, lost in regretful thoughts, but you didn’t make it halfway down the hall before the new guy appeared again. He stopped down ten feet from you, coiled tight like a cornered animal. He didn’t look like he had calmed down at all, but then he hadn’t seemed calm since he arrived. In any case, it seemed like the best chance you would get to give an apology.

“I’m sorry for upsetting you earlier,” you said, stepping aside to let the fearful man pass, so he could go finish his meal.

But he reacted to your words like a viper strike, flinching and then snapping forward to put his face in yours. His eyes were wild.

“Don’t play coy about it,” he hissed. His hands, at his sides, itched and twitched to grab and you were too fear frozen to move away from them. “You’re part of this hell too, I know it. All of it an act, AN ACT! But you won’t trick me. You won’t get to make it worse for me!” He raved and threatened in your face for what seemed like forever, so close he took up your entire vision and you forgot where you were. Maybe that’s what it was like for him, right now, you faintly mused, still trying to understand. You hadn’t been like this when you first arrived… you or anyone else that you could recall.

He stopped talking suddenly, eyes tracked on something behind you.

You looked over your shoulder to see what had caught his attention and spotted, back through the doorway to the dining room, Norton tipped back in his dining chair and watching. Watching you. Watching him. A steak knife was in his hand and a dare was in his eyes.

Your attention was drawn back by the sound of the new guy stomping off again, hurried, tail still between his legs. When you looked back at Norton again, he tipped his chin to beckon you. When you stepped back through the door, Norton took his foot off of the table (its placement earned a side-eye from Fiona) to lower his chair back to four legs, and kicked out the empty seat next to him for you to reclaim. You sat down meekly, shaken by guilt and fear.

“I was just trying to—”

“I know,” he interrupted, biting again into his food. “And he’ll figure it out himself too eventually. In the meantime, let him be someone else’s problem.”

In a rare show of public affection, Norton leaned over and kissed you on the temple. “And stick closer to me for a while. You’ll be fine.”

Naib

Shit had hit the fan as soon as everyone was back and healed from the match. You and the new guy had both died—you to the chair and him to bloodloss—but a tie was a tie and worth at least a small celebration. But when he joined you, Tracy, and Margey for the tea party, he completely lost it.

He leapt across the sun room table for you, tipping it and all its contents to the ground, and the girls screamed with a genuine shock and terror you hadn’t heard in a while. Your back and knees smarted, all whacked by the scattering wooden furniture. Hot tea seeped into your shirt and scalded your belly. Sharp, broken porcelain lay dangerously scattered around your head. You couldn’t tell what the girls were shouting because you were too focused on your assailant. On keeping his hands off of your throat, out of your eyes, and getting his pinning body off of you. His nails clawed at your face, you knew that much, but if the matches taught you anything it was to not give up on a struggle.

Just as you started in on some dirty fighting Naib had taught you (pulling, trying to rip his ears off), the man himself came charging in like a bull and tackled the new guy off of you. You got kicked a bit in the process—but that was a fair price to pay for being able to scramble to the other wall and watch, secured by Tracy an Margey, as Naib completely wailed on the guy.

Naib didn’t talk about his background much, but you knew he knew how to fight. This was barely a fight—a one-sided beatdown morelike—but in your bitter soreness you felt it was well deserved. Naib knew how to make every swing count, and it was only well after the new guy was limp on the ground that William showed up and hauled Naib off of him. Emily followed next, running to check on the new guy since you were already being doted on by the girls.

When William finally let Naib go, he huffed and puffed and flexed off some of his remaining aggression before spitting out a spiteful, “He ain’t dead. I ain’t that nice.”

Then he turned and shooed the girls off, scooped you up, and marched right out of the room. He held you too tight for your sore back’s liking, but you couldn’t begrudge him the positioning to keep his nose in your hair while walking to somewhere more secluded and safe. His chest was still heaving against your side, still high with adrenaline and worry. His knuckles were split and bloody. The day had only just started.

“Sorry,” you sighed into his neck. Naib scoffed, mouth still pressed to your scalp.

“What for? He’s the cunt.” He kicked open the door to your bedroom, fully pulling back enough to give you a smirk. “Don’t ever be sorry for me stepping in. I’ll take care of everything.”

Ithaqua

The manor sometimes held garden parties to welcome new inhabitants. Usually, though, it had better timing.

The poor new guy had had the awful misfortune of being a valuable player. He was good at getting in the hunter’s face, and the others did all they could to get him off his first chair safely. Because of the great team effort, he’d wound up bleeding out while the Hunter—Ithaqua, your boyfriend—dealt with the others. You knew that wasn’t Ithaqua’s modus operandi; it hadn’t been on purpose. …but he wasn’t exactly sorry about it, either.

As a result, the party was tense in some areas. Specifically, the areas where the new guy went. He walked around with a deep frown and a nervous jitter. He’d been anxious when he first arrived too, but it was understandably worse now, in witness of the two factions being chummy with one another right after one had just killed him. The hunters avoided him from the get go, and the survivors gave up on conversation with him not long after.

And you, well. You didn’t get to see Ithaqua in peaceful settings often.

That’s how you wound up here, you supposed.

“So you’re a fucking traitor whore!” the new guy snapped in your face. He wasn’t quiet, either. “What’s the matter with you! Those monsters beat and torture us and you turn around and hang all over one? You’re probably no fucking better, some kind of psycho killer! You’re the one who should die! You’re the one who should bleed!”

Not being quiet would be his downfall, though. Picking a secluded corner of the hedge maze to catch you in didn’t matter. The wind carried.

He didn’t get much farther into his rant and threats before Ithaqua came whirling around the corner with his “business” mask on. His axe was back in the manor, but the Hunter’s claws and sheer strength could do harm enough to a survivor. Ithaqua snatched the new guy up by the nape before he had a clue what was happening, and dangled him overhead. The new guy screeched in a way that made you feel sick, but you knew from experience there was no talking Ithaqua down. Shamefully, you turned your eyes away.

“You sure like to run your mouth,” Ithaqua sneered at him, tilting his head in that wicked, owlish way of his. “You know, all the other rats take death in stride around here. You clearly need some more practice with it.” Ithaqua ruffled your hair with his free hand before stalking off around the corner with the squirming offender.

When he came back a few minutes later, he was wiping his bloody claws off on his cape.

“He knows not to trouble you anymore,” he cooed. When he took off his mask, Ithaqua’s blackened eyed are far more serene than they should have been for what he’d just done. “Come, the Geisha brought out those little caked you like.”