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yandere-daydreams · 1 year ago

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Title: Vampiric.

Pairing: Yandere!Miguel O'hara x Reader (Spiderverse).

Word Count: 1.4k.

TW: Vampire AU, Blood and Violence, Unbalanced Power Dynamic, Predator/Prey Dynamics, Implied Past/Future N0n///C0n, and Obsessive Behavior.

He came to you in the midnight hours.

You’d learned, by now, to wait for his nightly visits in privacy, to sit on the corner of your bed farthest from your window and listen for the distant sound of claws digging into wood, of a body dragging against stone, of nails scraping against glass as he beckoned you to let him in willingly. Of course, you didn’t, and of course, he didn’t need you to – your bedroom window crashing only a moment after you would’ve reached it, a pair of talon-doting hands wrapping around your windowsill before Miguel hauled himself inside, scarlet blood already dotting the collar of his white undershirt. Clearly, he’d already fed, tonight. His appetite had already been sated, which meant he’d only come to you to wash the taste out of his mouth.

The alternative would’ve been kinder. When he came to you half-starved, you could blame his violence on his hunger, his cruelness on his desperation. Whatever he did tonight would only serve his own twisted sense of entertainment.

He was grinning, too; crimson painted over his lips and dripping from his chin, coating his pointed fangs and spilling onto the fine silk of his tunic. With your back to him, your shoulder pressed into the plain wood of your headboard, you watched from your peripheral as he stepped into your bedroom, letting out a bark of a laugh and arching his back before stiffening, his smile falling in an instant with a sharp, venomous hiss. He didn’t flee or melt into a pile of ash and bone as you’d hoped, but only turned back to your window, catching the wreath of purple and white flowers posted above it on his claws. “Garlic blooms,” he muttered, crushing your wreath in his fist. The ruined flowers were allowed to drift pathetically to the floor, but you forced yourself to look away before they landed. “Trying your hand at botany?”

“Someone told me that garlic was good for keeping away for keeping away unwanted pests, but they must’ve been mistaken.” You didn’t move, didn’t turn, keeping your back straight and your hands wrung together in your lap. It was all you could do to keep your voice steady, to hide how much you wanted to buckle into yourself and beg him to leave. That’d come soon enough, when you were drained of all things good and vital and had only the strength it took to hold yourself. For now, you could play confident. “Tell me, would it be worth the time it’d take to hang a crucifix?”

You felt his weight on the plush of your mattress, your stomach turning as he grew ever-nearer. “I wouldn’t think so. You know how fond I am of holy ground.”

It was true, you did. You’d never be able to forget the night he first cornered you, the hours you spent pinned against the alter of an empty chapel as a beast you’d mistaken for a man buried his teeth in your neck and he forced his body into yours. For as long as he’d tormented you, you’d thought that night would be your final one, that he’d split you open and eat you alive before the sun ever rose, but here you sat, alive and breathing and still completely in the dark as to why he hadn’t devoured you, why he hadn’t left you in the same decrepit state as the rest of his mortal victims – a dried husk, barely a shell of a corpse left in a gutter or alleyway to be found by some poor soul the next morning. Your only guess was that he took more joy in being the ghost that haunted your every waking thought than the beast who would rip you to shreds the moment you stepped into the moonlight, and even then, it was hard to tell which fate was crueler. It was hard to tell if you were glad that he’d shown you mercy, or distraught that he'd chosen to keep you as a plaything, instead.

A bitter taste spread over your tongue. His cold breath fanned over your exposed back, and reflectively, motivated by the same instinct that propels the rabbit to writhe in the fox’s mouth, you tried to stand, to flee Miguel before he thought to bite down. You made it all of half a step before a strong arm caught you by the waist, dragging you back onto your bed and against Miguel’s broad chest. There was a throaty laugh, a flat tongue ran over the curve of your throat, and then, the fox put the rabbit out of its misery and Miguel sunk his fangs into your neck.

It hurt the same way it always hurt. The pain was sharp, hot – searing your veins as he bit into you, drawing a sharp cry from the base of your throat before you could hope to swallow it down. He held you like that for a moment, then another, your body pressed against his and his teeth burrowed in your flesh, before pulling back with a rolling growl, barely giving you time to draw in a ragged inhale before his lips latched onto his fresh puncture marks, his coarse tongue over the twin streams of blood. A thin trail of scarlet slipped past the corner of his mouth, only growing thicker as he nipped at half-healed ‘love bites’ and throbbing bruises too often abused to fade. His hand fell away from your wrist and rose to your collar, finding its way to the base of your throat and catching you in an inescapable grip, holding you steady as he drank from you. Sometimes, he let you fight it, took joy in pinning you down as you shoved and kicked and screamed, but he usually preferred a submissive meal. Tonight, he was clearly in the mood to pretend you were willing prey.

You expected him to leave after he’d drunk his fill, to pull away and slip back out of your bedroom window, but you were not that fortunate. Rather, he sunk lower, burying his teeth in the curve of your shoulder. The impact was dull, just forceful enough to bruise – meant more to mark than to maim. A love bite, in the place of a puncture wound – the former just as painful as the latter. “It’s like wine,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. You felt his hand on the collar of your nightdress, starting to drag the delicate fabric downward before he lost what little patience he still had. Before you could brace yourself, before you could think to bed him not to, your body was slammed against the wood of your headboard, his fist still wrapped around your neck, his claws still tearing at your clothes. “If I had less control, I would’ve drained you weeks ago.” His voice in your ear, his hands on your skin. He dropped lower, to your chest, and yet, you never seemed to rid yourself of the awful feeling that he was looming over you, consuming you. “You’re lucky that your blood’s not the only part of you that tastes so—”

“Please.” It was barely a whisper. Without his uncannily keen senses, it could’ve easily been lost underneath the sounds of his lips against your skin, underneath his throaty growls and stifled moans. Still, he raised his head, his scarlet eyes flickering up to meet yours as you went on. “Please, Miguel, not tonight.”

For a moment, he did not move, did not speak. You pictured, in a part of your mind you’d lost control of the day you met him, Miguel burying his talons in your chest, carving out your beating heart and making it so you’d never be able to deny him again, but the blow never came.

A small, teasing smile spread across his crimson-stained lips as he raised his head. He kissed you, the gesture gentle and lingering, before straightening his back and releasing your throat. “Not tonight,” he said, watching as you sunk into yourself. “But soon. I can’t let my amor spend their nights alone for much longer.”

You opened your mouth, but he was already gone – vanishing into the moonlight and leaving you covered in your own blood, shaking in the tatters of your nightdress, and already dreading his next visit.

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere imagines #yandere oneshot #yandere spiderverse #spiderverse x reader #across the spider verse spoilers #spiderverse spoilers #across the spiderverse #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel x reader #yandere miguel o'hara #yanderecore #yancore

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dmwrites · 1 year ago

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“Pearllllll, I’m bored.”

Gem all but draped herself over a nearby chair in Pearl’s living room, dislodging Olive the cat as she did so.

Pearl looked up at her from her notebook. “So I see. Tragic.” She looked back down at the pahe in front of her, underlined something.

“Pearrrrllll! I’m so bored!”

“You could go play a few rounds of decked out.” Pearl suggested, flipping a page.

“I already used all my shards for the week. And two of yours.” Gem complained, face-down in the seat, legs flailing out over the arm of the chair.

“You what?” Pearl looked up at her friend again, eyes wide.

“Nothing!” Gem coughed. “I just wanna annoy someone, cause some havoc.”

“Well you’re already succeeding at that.” Pearl muttered, putting her notebook to the side and looking at the mess of limbs that was Gem.

“Ugh. Impulse isn’t even around for me to bother, he’s too busy ‘hunting ghosts’ with Skizz and Scar and Grian. Why didn’t they invite me? I wish I could, like, haunt them or something. Possess one of their bodies and scare them.”

“Possession is easy.” Pearl said offhandedly.

“What?”

“Pearlescentmoon! Do you know how to possess people?” Gem gasped, scrambling to a normal sitting position.

“Maybe…” Pearl giggled. “Who do you wanna possess?”

“Oh my god, Scar would be so funny to possess!” Gem said.

“I think we could manage that…” Pearl grinned, holding up a vial with a few bits of dark brown hair inside.

“How did you- actually, I don’t wanna know, I don’t want to have to go to court as a witness one day.” Gem said. “So, okay, how do we do this, then?”

Pearl pulled out a small, stained book from her bookshelf. “Leave it to me. Come back tonight.”

——

Gem and Pearl were sitting on Pearl’s floor in the dark, surrounded by candles. Gem was spooked already.

Pearl checked the time. “Alright, they should be there by now. You ready, Gem?”

“You still haven’t told me what we’re gonna do to put me inside of Scar.” Gem said.

“Simple. Drink this.” Pearl held out a bottle with a dull-looking potion sloshing around inside.

“What is this?” Gem took it and swirled it, frowning.

“Well, if you asked Scar when he downed the bottle I gave him earlier, it’s an energy drink. But it’s actually an awkward potion with a lock of your hair in it.”

“What? Ew!” Gem exclaimed.

“And you have the other, the one with Scar’s hair in it. If you want to possess Scar, that’s how you do it.” Pearl pointed at the bottle. “I’ll guard your body, as I’m sure Scar will be quite frightened to be so short.”

“Wait, he’s taking over my body? I don’t want him in me!”

Pearl snorted. “Ignoring that, what do you think happens to the other soul? It just hangs out? No, silly, it’s got to have a place to go. Scar’ll be fine, trust me. So, are we doing this or not?”

Gem took a deep breath. “This is insane. I should have just gone and killed Etho again. Whatever. Cheers, you weirdo.” She raised the bottle towards Pearl, and drank the entire potion down. For a moment, she and Pearl stared at each other. Then, darkness.

——

“Scar? You okay buddy?” Gem felt a cool hand on her face, gently slapping her awake.

Gem opened her eyes to find a dark haired man standing entirely too close to her face. His own face split into a grin.

“Scar’s alive, guys!”

“I knew he’d faint out of fear.” Grian’s voice came from a corner, not entirely hiding mild distain.

“Come on, man, let’s get you up.” Another voice, Impulse’s voice, came warmly from her other side, and Gem felt herself being picked up. She was set into a chair, and looked up at Impulse, Grian, and Skizzleman.

“Hi guys!” Gem said in her cheeriest voice.

Skizz screamed. Grian screamed louder and higher, clutching to Impulse’s arm. Impulse jumped backwards, falling on Grian, and they both hit the floor. Gem found the wheels of her chair and began moving around.

“Gem?” Impulse finally managed to stutter out, with Skizz and Grian hiding behind him. “Where’s Scar? And how are you… him?”

“Scar’s safe, don’t worry. Let’s go hunt some ghosts, boys!” Gem chirped, leading the way into the haunted house.

——

“Wha- Grian? Impulse? Rizzleman? Did I die? Hello?” Scar sat up, looking around the candle-strewn room in confusion. There was a movement in front of him, and a shadowy figure moved into the candlelight.

“Hello Scar. This is your own personal hell, where you have to pay for the sins of your shulker monsters.” Pearl said in a creepy voice.

“Nooooo!” Scar screamed. “I always knew it would end like this!”

#team gigs #geminitay #pearlescentmoon #long post #based on the sillies of today kinda not really

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jolapeno · 1 year ago

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see me in a vest

cod ghost x f!reader | ghost masterlist

Summary: “You gonna keep lurking in the corner like a ghoul?” Straightening his spine, he lets his narrowed eyes cut into you. Gliding them up and down your face—from the top of your hairline to your arched brow, to the lips twisted up into a smirk. “Hilarious.”

Warnings: Brief mentions of smut. Mentions of a wound, blood (Ghost's but he's obv fine). Flirting. Feelings. FWB to something - they're a mess, but yeah. And, maybe unedited writing? AN: I don't know if I'm on the Ghost train again, but I'm at the station. Wordcount: 3k (this was meant to be 500 words).

Eye contact is a dangerous, dangerous thing. But lovely. God, so lovely — Hedonist Poet

It’s a sight watching you laugh, how it blooms like wildflowers in a wasteland. Your lips are parting around the sound—neck exposed. He can faintly spot the sight of bruises from when his hand last became your necklace.

He shouldn’t be looking your way. Most definitely not be thinking about how he wishes to press your cheek against the tiles of his shower. Ghost really can’t be considering how to ask you to come to his room tonight.

Even if it’s all he thinks.

His fingers brushing against his thumb, rolling and rolling as he tries not to grind his teeth or glare with any more intention.

All about to move his glare, try to find a spot on the table or the wall, but his eyes latch with yours.

The room silences, pausing. Just the two of you, breathing, living—blinking. Or, it feels like it does. Like some poetic bullshit from some film, a scene he’s sure you’ve tried to explain to him when you’ve attempted to fill the silence.

He thinks you smile. The edges of your lips twist further into your cheeks. But it never quite lands, never sticks.

Ghost shouldn’t be thinking about you. But all he does is think about you.

In another life, where he wasn’t dressed in scars or his belief in happiness and thereafter’s hadn’t been stripped from his remaining soul, Ghost suspects you’d be the one he’d want to keep around.

It’s the only reason he clenches his fist, watching you through the outer rim of his mask’s eye sockets and always watching, never intervening. Not even when soldiers below your rank let their eyes drift to your rear—or worse, from your face to your chest.

He lets them.

Allows them to ogle you because he knows they won’t ever be fortunate to see any more. Not just because he’d have their heads but because you’d turn them inside out before you’d even let them touch you. Plus, you ridicule them enough when you catch them—tongue all poison and razor sharp, a thing not to be messed with, something which barks as bad as it bites.

“You gonna keep lurking in the corner like a ghoul?”

Straightening his spine, he lets his narrowed eyes cut into you. Gliding them up and down your face—from the top of your hairline to your arched brow, to the lips twisted up into a smirk.

“Hilarious.”

Sighing, you roll your lips. “You gonna keep boiling everyone alive with your eyes whenever they talk to me?”

“I’m not.”

“For someone who has likely been required to lie for their work, your pretty awful at it.”

Grinding his teeth, he bites the inside of his cheek. Not wanting to rise, to give in—to fucking begin this tedious game of bickering. Instead, he allows a heavy breath to escape through his nose, long and slow, pushing the fabric out before it clings back to the tip of his nose.

Hoping you hear it, take note of it.

But from how you shift your stance, playing with your water bottle—crunching it in your grip—as you tap your boot against the floor, he doubts you have.

“You think too highly of yourself, princess.”

”Princess, ay?” you grin, far too wickedly to be innocent. “Thought you preferred seeing me in a vest, than a crown.”

Clamping his mouth shut, you take a sip of your water—letting the droplets hang on your lip, only wiping them from your chin at the last moment—a knowing look, all telling and haunted with lust and something else.

“Let’s walk.”

And, somehow, against all better judgement, he follows.

The first time it happened, your eyes had been shimmering. A softness to your features aided by alcohol bought by Price in celebration. It allows him to see his reflection in them—finding he’s all cold eyes. Around that though, he’s confronted with something stitched, carved, into the usually hardened expression he’d come to respect. Then it all shifted. A sound, one that was similar to how droplets of watercolour change a plain piece of paper, fills the air. It spreading shades in front of him that filled the scenery—the one the two of you were admiring as the others continued to be loud inside. Ghost can’t recall what he said, but he remembers what you’d said the moment you’d laughter had died: You’re funny for a skeleton. It was stupid. Foolish. Barely funny—in the grand scheme of things. But then, the building next to them had begun counting down, and you were looking at him—stars shimmering above the tips of the Siberian cypresses. There was just you, and him, and a crack of amber light across crisp, disturbed white snow. “Be rude to not kiss at New Year, wouldn’t it, Ghost?” ”Suppose so.”

You didn’t ask for his jacket immediately.

Even if he’d spotted you fighting off a shiver in your two’s awkward ‘walk’. No, you wait until the two of you are far past your usual building, and even then, you don’t ask. As usual, you pulled—tugged, and practically dragged it down his arms—until he surrendered it.

It was easier to bite back a groan. To look at you. Stick his pupils into your unbothered appearance. Allowing, instead, for his displeasure at your insistent but silent demand to show through his body language.

Not that you fucking care.

Chin all tipped up, meeting his stare boldly. Practically egging him on, pushing him, goading him.

Because you do that well. You like to push—not for a reaction, but to crack him.

Cause a break in him that you can slide through and make yourself at home. Somehow, against his better judgement—and usual practice—he lets you.

Each and every time.

Because even if he’d never admit it, he would—and could—go as far as to say he likes that you’re wrapping his jacket around your arms, head tilting up to look at the sky—observing how the stars are flickering. Because he rather enjoys seeing you coated in something of his.

Not possessively. Not because he needs some unhealthy confirmation that you want to be in something of his over anyone else. But because it's nice. A niceness he won’t ever admit. A confession that’ll never be spilt, not even under the most difficult of tortures. Not even if you sunk down on him, buried him inside you and refused to move until he did.

His resolve was stronger than that, something you’d learnt.

“Love it when the sky is clear,” you mumble.

Blinking, he looks up, realising the night looks so similar to the night in that small Canadian town.

When you’d offered to kiss him over his mask but eventually retrieved his lips—front sitting just under his nose, hands splayed across your lower back, pinning you flush to him. Because if he only had one chance to do it, he was going to milk it. Not that it was ever just that once, hence this—the two of you outside, close to an abandoned barrack under a flurry of stars and a half-gleaming moon.

He’s aware of the parallels.

How you’d been wearing his jacket that night, too. Albeit then because he’d given it to you when you’d come looking for him, rather than yanking it from his arms and burying yourself in it.

Ghost should mind.

Should find the idea unbearable, just like he should find you intolerable.

You sigh, not softly or sweetly, but difficulty and loud. “I don’t belong to you, Ghost.”

Ghost. Not the name you called him a few days ago when his fingers were curled inside you—his breath hot on your throat. Your pulse hammering against his tongue.

In a way, he thinks he should find you annoying, insufferable. Instead, he just finds you’re odd.

Odd in the sense that you stick around—not questioning his mannerisms or demands. That you fight everyone out there when sand tries to find places it shouldn’t, snow makes you shiver and blood stains skin—including him, on occasion.

But, when it’s the two of you, you bend so easily—all submissive, desperate. Mouth wrapping around his fingers, tongue swirling, before he’s so much as touched you.

It is why he snorts—and for a multitude of reasons.

Finger and thumb stroking his bare jaw, letting his eyes cast to the ground before looking in your direction. “Bet if I stick my fingers in your knickers, your cunt will say something different.”

You stare. Blank. Unreadable.

Something which makes his jaw tense, and his spine straighten. Because there aren’t many expressions he finds unbearable about you, except the unreadable one—the one you’re so skilled at pulling out across your face, hiding your thoughts and opinions.

He watches as you unfold your arms, displaying the hardest, squinted stare imaginable as your nose scrunched and your lips thin out. Leaving it there, hanging between the two of you—it not swaying as the seconds tick on, to the point he wonders if you genuinely expect him to be the one that cracks.

Then, you shift. You allow the lightest smirk to spread across your mouth into your perfect, soft, unscarred cheek. “Most likely. But, then again, on a base with a bunch of men, my underwear doesn’t tend to be dry.”

He has no retort, no initial thing to say.

So he says nothing.

Because everything he could say wouldn’t land in jest, would likely have his jacket thrown back in his face. And, the one good thing he has waiting (but not waiting) for him when he comes back—from fuck knows where—would be gone, vanished.

Not that he ever wanted this. Never mind needed it.

“Guessing that wasn’t the answer you wanted, Lieutenant?”

Keeping his mouth clamped, he remains silent. Lets it smother, wrap itself around the two of you and embed itself into the silence. Because no, that wasn’t the fucking answer he wanted.

There hadn’t been a reason as to why he knocked on your door, or why he had stuffed a nicer loo roll under his arm and brought you a bowl of soup. He could ration that you were a good solider, a solid member of his team. A reliable force that would get the job done. Someone who questioned and also obeyed. If needed, he could likely list a bunch more reasons why you were integral to whatever operation he was next sent on. But even he knew that wasn’t why he was outside your door. Why he turned the handle when you coughed and spluttered a weak ‘come in’. Whatever sight he’d expected, wasn’t close to what he saw. Your door closing behind him, your hand trying to cover your chapped lips as you splutter half a lung up, allowing him the chance to take in the rest of you. How your eyes were hollowed out by tiredness, your skin tacky and shining in the low light from a cracked curtain. ”D-did I miss a meeting or ‘sumthing?” Shaking his head, he placed the soup down by your bed—using the bowl to nudge several used tissues from its path, as he manoeuvred the roll from under his arm to hand it to you. Your eyes lighting, ever so slightly, by the softer—more nose-kind tissue. ”Jus’ came to check on you.” Blowing your nose, you offer a half smile. ”Because my aim is better than MacTavish’s?” Smirking, he watches as you shuffle over on your bed—allowing him room, something he takes without thought. In the same way he doesn’t need to think about lifting his mask now, how you’ve seen him—bruised, bloody, broken and so much more. An answer in itself as to why he’s here. One he could say with relative ease if the words would form. Instead, he throws his legs up—feels your eyes take him in as you try to clear your throat. “’cause you’re sick.” ”Oh.” And because I care. The latter not leaving his tongue, never mind his lips. Instead, he slides his arm around you, pulling you to lie in the crook of his arm and chest. Hoping that said enough. Explained it adequately. Incase it didn’t, he offered: ”Brought you soup, too.” ”Tomato?” Snorting, he rolled his eyes. “Chicken.” ”Guess that’ll do.” Your head tilting, staring up at him—and he hoped you couldn’t hear how loud his heart was hammering. Because even if this is what he wanted—to be there for you. To have you curled against him for reasons he couldn’t articulate, he hadn’t expected it. Even less the whispered, simple, ‘thank you, Simon’. Never mind that you barely finish the soup before you’re asleep against him.

Kicking at the ground, it’s a stone which pays the price for your annoyance with him. It rolls off, grating against gravel and grass before it came to a sad stop.

“What I was going to say,” you continue, huffing—in that way you do when you’re interrupted by lesser people and idiotic souls. “I don’t belong to you, but you don’t need to worry about every person who makes me laugh. I’m yours. Have been for a while.

“And before your strategic, get-out-alive brain begins firing on all fucking cylinders, I don’t… don’t need a declaration—didn’t need a menial question being asked to certify it. Don’t need you to tell me shit. I’m just telling you that I don’t—well—fuck around lightly.”

Lifting your arms, gesturing to you in his jacket—his clothing. Face pulling into an expression that makes him feel like he’s got a fucking egg on his face. As though he’s a fool, a fucking imbecile for not seeing what it was in front of him.

Maybe, he is.

Which is why he steps closer. Boots crunching gravel in the quiet, you stare at him—gazing through the cutouts and scorching your glare into him, scratching another line on his soul. Marking him. Like you have been doing since the first time he lost himself in your iris’s as your tongue curled out his name.

“I don’t… I don’t do this with others. What we do—is just what we do, Gh—”

“Simon,” he interrupts.

All sharp, like he’s stabbing you with his name, rather than handing it to you. Even if you’ve called it him before—you never have out here. Outside the confines of four walls, with your skin bare and his mouth latched to some part of your body.

“Jus’ mean, if y’gonna talk to me about it just being you and me, should at least call me my name.”

Slowly, you lower your arms, lips spreading into a line before they slide into a smile. “Simon. I don’t do this with other people.” Your eyes look up as you sigh. “Mainly because I don’t think anyone has a bigger cock than you.”

He brings you flush with him in one tug, watching your lips purse—a smirk attempting to grow behind it.

It’s more a grunt than a murmur how he tells you to ‘behave’, gloved fingers in the loops of your belt—a warped noise from the back of his throat beckoning to come out when your hand presses against his abdomen. Right against the clotted scarring of an old bullet wound—the one you’d pressed your palms into when he’d earned it—vermillion staining, clinging to your fingers and arm. Tears hanging from your lashes that you’d attempted to blink away, staring anywhere but at him.

Don’t die on me, Ghost. We’ve not done the wheelbarrow just yet.

When he’d been stitched and released, he finds your hand always goes there. A place you always seek, always find. You never touch his heart—never the thing that beats. You choose the pain embedded in tissue, the one he wonders if you hope to heal whenever you get the chance to brush your touch against it.

Rising on your toes, you roll your lips, softening your smirk into a smile. “It’s just you.”

“Because of my cock?”

He grips you tightly, not allowing you to descend to flat-footedness or move from being against him.

“Oh, a hundred percent. But you’re also a lot funnier than most people we meet, and I really like a man who makes me laugh.”

He pinches lightly—right on your side as you tip your head. “Y’know, don’t you?”

Ghost watches, waiting. Flicking from one of your eyes to the other.

And then you nod. “I know. Don’t worry, won’t make you tell me that you love my company as much as you do my tits just yet.”

He’s close enough for you to kiss the edge of his chin if he doesn’t move. But he does. Squeezing your hips, dropping his head enough, allowing your mouth to brush over his mask-covered lips.

It's enough for now, as you lower back to the ground. Feeling you turn in his hold—back to his chest and stomach as you wrap his jacket around you tighter.

Because he’ll kiss you better later.

A promise he makes silently, feeling your fingers take his, tugging his arm around you. He doesn’t need to see you to see that you’re smirking.

He can sense it.

AN: huge thank you to G. this wouldn't be possible without you nudging me, and making me accountable. dedicated to @theashfallx because she says she'll devour more of this man if I write it, so i had to finish it for her too.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost riley #cod ghost x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x you #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost smut #cod ghost x you #cod x reader #ghost cod x reader #cod mw x reader #call of duty fic

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currentfandomkick · 5 months ago

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Back-ish.

Took a bit to finish this as Work Hell and exhaustion (and editing for format ReasonsTM)

Enjoy, and let me know if there’s anything in particular you want explored next, and i’ll see if i can add it to the list for the drabbles (the characters hijack everything so no guarantees)

Masterpost Here

Contrary to popular belief, Skulker is good at his job.

He knows how to craft a perfect trap, how to hunt virtually every type of ghost, and has succeeded every time with enough persistence. The halfa was proving an excellent challenge and reminder that hunting took time and planning.

The issue was he also knew his prey was being hunted by another, and this one’s motives were unknown. This ectopus made it clear that it intends to drown the whelp in either form, and that. That annoyed Skulker.

He followed the rules of hunting. Do not go after pregnant entities, or those capable of during their respective spawning season(s). Only hunt what is permitted. Always release your prey if they are endangered, but you may take something to commemorate the event.

Skulker’s choice was the halfa’s first pelt. He’d grow a new one in a year or so, and it would give the halfa time to acclimate to the zone rather than guarding the portal and the whole of Amity so viciously.

But this Ectopus ignored the rules of engaging with the halfa—only treat Phantom and Fenton as the same person when the “ghost hunting”parents were not around. No need to put the child at risk long term.

Halfas were extinct in the realms far longer than most were certain of, a few reigns before Pariah at least. And Skulker was well aware most of the ghosts and Neverborn he interacted with were born well into the Age of Anarchy as Ghost Writer and the record keepers were so fond of calling it.

And it was only after Pariah’s ‘sleep’ began that the liminal population declined on the Living’s side. Apparently species like Sampson’s took quite the hit, most no longer existing. Sampson was one of two Purpler Back Gorillas alive.

Understandably, the liminal gorilla was frustrated. Non-liminals failed to comprehend ghost speak, their culture was almost dead due lack of population and they were treated more like a lab rat than a person.

That was before encountering the first liminal—admittedly halfas pushed the limits of liminality—she’d found existed besides herself. The whelp’s understanding of the language was basic, but he hasn’t had his first shedding yet nor did he seem to interact with other liminals often either.

Skulker was not idiotic enough to ignore the Whelp’s need for his ghost parent’s protection. It was the issue of getting Sampson around Amity to protect the whelp from this “Taco” ectopus that was an issue.

He made sure to bring a fruit basket from the Realms, and included a shedding from a birdlike entity.

Sampson snarled until he left the offering.

“I have news about your son. He is ill,” Skulker began.

Sampson growled ill???Howexplain

“Likely the overhunting from Taco the Ectopus, as the whelp calls them, but there may be other causes. He’s rather old now to not have undergone his first shedding—don’t look at me like that we both know he is—and is experiencing soul form regression. there are those in the Realms who can help.”

Sampson beat her chest. yesHelphow?

“We need to bring him to Realm’s doctors. He may need to reside in his haunt, or require treatment of a number of things. I am not certain, but this Taco may require independent capture and containment. The doctors will know better,” Skulker admitted.

goNOW

“… yes we can go once we have the whelp—does his core have a particular sensation attached to it?”

ColdbigHugemoving

“I’ll let the doctors know when we arrive. Do you want to bring him in his small form, or one of his usual two?”

smallEasycarry

“He should be headed to the aquarium tonight, shall I set up the blob ghost perimeter?” It was the easiest way to monitor one’s prey and lire away competition… and confirm whether or not this “Taco” is targeting the whelp personally or as an ecto source.

He’s hoping the latter, but has a sinking feeling it will be the former. And he will have to hide the stupid finned brat in his prosthetic…

He should see if his girlfriend or her friends don’t mind helping him distract the intruder from the whelp.

Johnny and Kitty are rather fond of their ex. And Ember is insistent on setting up more playdates between her frightmate Youngblood and the whelp. Something about them being ‘same font different hat’ that he didn’t quite get. Oh well, if it didn’t involve animals, weapons, tactics or hunting he rarely gave it much thought in life, let alone his afterlife.

With Sampson’s (terrifying) blessing, Skulker got to work.

Masterpost Here

Tags: @skulld3mort-1fan @theizzyof3malec3 @brattysleepyreader @sebas-nights @elidaweirdotaku0520 @bianca-hooks123 @the-autistic-spider @laurcad123 @just-lurking-here-dont-mind-meh @atinygracie @stars-obsession-pit @wanderwithwings @aibhilin-atibeka

#topo is a menace #dpxdc #long post #danny phantom #skulker #mer!danny #mer!au #reincarnated danny

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benispunk · 6 days ago

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The Best Dead Man Alive

wade wilson x reader

a/n: a little Halloween treat!!! and my first fic with this man I love very much. this is fluff and I made him a bit more quiet than usual, don't know if we could say it's ooc, anyway enjoy!!!🎃🧡

TW: self-depreciation

Masterlist

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Y/N leaned into the mirror, giving a final touch to the dark eyeshadow that completed her “murdered bride” look. Red and black accented her eyes, scars around her face and neck, and the faint shimmer over her cheeks gave her skin an ethereal glow. Her flowered veil framed her face dramatically, making her feel like she’d stepped out of a haunted painting. She was finally ready.

“Mrs. Undead!” Wade’s voice slid into the bathroom, accompanied by his reflection in the mirror, a mischievous grin already plastered across his face. He leaned against the doorframe, looking her over with a smirk. “Or wait, no… Bridezilla. Or, wait, I got it— Corpse Bride.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, grinning as she turned to face him. “Very funny, Wade. I just need a minute to—"

“—to finish up?” he interrupted, taking a few slow, dramatic steps towards her. “Sweetheart, you don’t need another second. You’re so beautiful, it’s a shame we’re going to a party. Or that I let you out of the house, for that matter.”

She bit her lip, stifling a laugh. “Flattery won’t stop me from going out tonight. I just need to get this last detail…”

But Wade stepped even closer, brushing his fingers against her shoulder as his face nuzzled in the crook of her neck. “C’mon, just a minute. I think you might be more interesting than any ghost story I’ve heard.”

“Wade,” she playfully swatted him away, laughing despite herself. “We’ve got people waiting on us!”

He rolled his eyes and shrugged. “Fine, fine. If you insist.” He folded his arms, giving her an exaggerated pout before she caught his expression. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Wait a minute… where’s your costume?”

Wade’s smirk widened. He gestured up and down at himself. “You’re looking at it.”

She raised a brow, unimpressed. “A t-shirt and jeans? Really?”

“Hey, it’s got to be somebody’s worst nightmare,” he joked, winking before gesturing to his face. “Besides, I don’t need a mask or makeup, babe. Already spooky as hell. You want a Halloween costume? Boom.”

Y/N’s smile faded as she looked at him. She stepped closer and reached up, gently placing a hand against his cheek. “Wade, come on. Stop saying that…making those jokes.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, looking at her with an air of feigned innocence. “Who, me? I don’t make jokes. Just stating the obvious here.”

But she gave him a look—a gentle, understanding look that he couldn’t quite brush off, even with all the usual banter. “You don’t have to talk about yourself like that, you know,” she said softly. “I wish you could see how I see you… There’s no one else I’d want to be with, scary or not.” Her fingers lightly traced over his cheek, and he closed his eyes, leaning into her touch with a sigh.

Wade stayed quiet for a beat, his eyes flickering up to meet hers. “You keep saying things like that,” he began, his voice low, “and we may as well call off the party, ‘cause I’d much rather just…” His voice trailed off as he gave her a look.

She smirked, tilting her head as she resisted the urge to indulge him. “And ruin my makeup? Nice try.”

Wade groaned, leaning back with a reluctant chuckle. “Fine, fine. But if I’m stuck going to this party, I’m going as the world’s most terrifying nightmare,” he insisted.

“Well, lucky for you, I have just the costume in mind.” She grabbed her makeup kit with a wink. “Sit down and let me work my magic. You’re going to be the most handsome skeleton this town’s ever seen.”

Wade raised an eyebrow but allowed himself to be guided to the edge of the tub, where he plopped down, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Skeleton Wade?” She smirked, standing in between his legs and leaning down at his face level to start painting around his eyes.

Wade let himself relax under her touch, the brush tracing smooth lines over his skin. He watched her as she worked, catching the way she furrowed her brow slightly, biting her lip in that way he loved. A soft chuckle slipped from him, bringing her gaze up to meet his.

“How many people get this kind of VIP treatment, huh?” he murmured, smirking but feeling an ache of sincerity beneath it. He wasn’t sure why she chose him, of all people—why she’d come into his life, full of scars and scars-to-be, and somehow decided he was worth sticking around for.

She grinned, not missing a beat. “Only one person I know of.” She leaned back to darken the shadows around his eyes, hollowing his cheekbones with slow, steady strokes, her fingertips gentle but sure. As she drew fine details, she began connecting them with swirling lines, painting a story in delicate, skull-like patterns across his face.

Wade let himself sink into the moment, feeling an unexpected calm settle over him. His eyes kept wandering to her face, tracing the familiar curve of her lips, the little spark of concentration that softened her features. It was hard to wrap his head around it sometimes— the fact that someone as good, as warm, as whole as her was here, doing something as simple as painting his face. And he still couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve it.

God, she’s perfect, he thought, his chest tightening. She paused to load her brush with a fresh coat of paint, her eyes glancing up to meet his with a little smile before she went back to work. He’d never felt this way about anyone else; it was as terrifying as it was grounding, and it left him at a loss for words. For once.

After a while, Y/N stepped back, her face breaking into a grin as she admired her work. She’d transformed his face into a skeletal masterpiece.

“Look at you,” she whispered, eyes sparkling as she took him in. “You’re… beautiful.”

He laughed softly, a hint of disbelief coloring his tone. “Me? Come on, now. I’m starting to think you might need glasses, babe.”

She rolled her eyes, setting down the brush and crossing her arms with a playful glare. “You can think whatever you want, but to me, you’re one hot skeleton. And I’m the one with the final say here.”

Wade turned to the mirror, a smirk spreading as he took in his new look. “Alright, not gonna lie, I’d marry this guy. Hell, I’d get on my knees.” He waggled his brows, glancing back at her as she laughed. “You really do work magic, huh?”

She chuckled, brushing a stray bit of makeup off his nose. “Only with willing subjects. Now go grab that big sombrero and anything else that goes with it. You’re about to be the most handsome muerto at the party.”

He shot her a salute, practically beaming. “Yes, ma’am! But, y'know, it might take every ounce of willpower not to skip the party. You know, head back, Netflix, and a little chill— Halloween style.”

She rolled her eyes, giving him a little push toward the closet. Moments later, Wade returned with the wide-brimmed sombrero, a mismatched suit jacket, and a red sash cinched around his waist with enough flair for a dramatic novela.

Y/N gave him a nod of approval, one hand resting on her hip. “Now we’re ready.”

As they left the apartment, Wade reached over, grabbing her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. He softened, his usual mischief settling into something earnest as he looked at her. “Thanks, babe. Not just for the face paint, but for… y’know, everything else. Seriously.”

He leaned in, pressing a quick kiss on her cheek, careful not to smudge both of their makeup. Then he shot her a wink, his usual bravado sliding back into place. “Now, let’s go make them all drool, you gorgeous corpse bride.”

She laughed, linking her arm with his. “Ready when you are, my dashing skeleton.”

With that, they headed to the party, Wade’s heart racing in a way he’d only ever felt with her—ready to scare the world, one Halloween party at a time, as the luckiest dead man alive.

XXX

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auras3ye · 5 months ago

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tags.

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vizjpmdose · 5 days ago

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HE'S MY PURPOSE IN MY AFTERLIFE. JPM x ghost fem!reader. !! : mention of murder, reader is james' little secret admirer, admiration that slowly turns into obsession. a/n: this was supposed to be an appreciation post for him on his birthday but I was busy that day :(( (English is not my first language, I apologize if you spot any grammatical erorrs that I'm not aware of.) preview: "Loving you was a gamble, and losing myself was the cost."

"Dear Diary,

The thrill he radiates in this afterlife made me feel more alive than I ever was. It was like a calling for me."

The Hotel Cortez is a twisted labyrinth that you'll forever be stuck in. You believe that it's your fate for the afterlife. This place was a nightmare for you, you've been brutally murdered in this place, yet you woke up in the same place but in a different form. In that case, you're a ghost now. It's lonely being a ghost.. It's always the same for you; watching people secretly or just disassociating in the corner in your ghostly form. You sit quietly in the room you haunt for years, the room where your disturbed soul learned to feel comfortable in. You also found solace in the pages of your diary. In that diary of yours, based on the words you wrote in those pages, you believe that you found your purpose.

You're meant to meet this man, his presence made you feel like you still had a purpose even in the afterlife. You flip through the pages of your diary, your eyes quickly spotting his name written on every pages. You wrote about those days you see him in person in the hotel along with descriptions of his brutal charisma, his gorgeous appearance, his power, and most importantly..

How you longed to reach out, to let him know about all of your thoughts about him that you wrote in your diary.

Devil's Night was yesterday. You had a plan, you wanted to do the first move by greeting him and interacting with him in that special night for him. You want to write a new thrilling experience in your diary, but unfortunately.. He was really busy, yet you didn't gave up.. The thrill is intoxicating.

Tonight, you decided to walk down the hallways until you saw him.

"Belated Happy Birthday, Mr. March. I hope Devil's Night went well for you." You greeted. It felt like you gave every strength in your body just to say that.

He raised an eyebrow as he heard your voice, his sharp gaze made it's way to you but a smile appeared on his face despite of his gaze staying sharp and dead.

"Why, thank you my dear." He replied with that smooth silk voice that you always wished to speak to you.

"What a gentleman." You thought.

He didn't walk away yet.

"It's a surprise that a ghost here seems to still respect their superior. This is what I've been telling these ghosts, to remember who's in charge and to remember who provided a home for their fate."

He added.. Those words made you feel alive that all you could do is just stand there and look up at him with a wide smile of adoration.

"I'll remember you, my dear."

With that, his smile shifted to a smirk.. and for a moment, you felt that maybe he knew. You almost hoped he did. But then, he finally walked away. You watched him walk away elegantly, loving how he carries his dignity.

You immediately rushed back to your room, excited to add a new chapter to your diary. You wrote feverishly, recording the encounter. It was the kind only your soul could understand.

"Tonight, he was close enough to touch.. He's indeed my purpose in this afterlife."

#james patrick march #james march #evan peters #american horror story #ahs hotel #ahs #james patrick march fanfic #james patrick march x reader #james patrick march x you #james march imagine #james march x reader #james march x you #ahs fandom #evan peters fandom #jpm

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crownmemes · 2 months ago

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Angels & Demons Sentences

(Sentences from Angels & Demons (2009). Adjust phrasing where needed)

"You've spent your life searching for symbols like the one you now hold in your hand. How long are we going to pretend that you've not already decided to come with me?"

"If they have returned, we will hunt them down and kill them."

"I'm not surprised that this ghost has returned to haunt us."

"I'm an academic. My mind tells me I will never understand God. My heart tells me I'm not meant to."

"Faith is a gift I have yet to receive."

"We are all bound for heaven eventually, are we not?"

"If God has issues, they won't be with what I've done. They'll be with what I'm about to do."

"Do you need help with Latin?"

"You removed a document from the Vatican archives?"

"If he's going to kill him, he'll do it here."

"What are you looking for now?"

"This wouldn't show up until at least a week after his death."

"You better sit down before you keel over!"

"We can trust no one."

"There are simply some things that science is just too young to understand."

"I've had several chances to eliminate you tonight."

"You're still alive because you have no weapon and they didn't ask me to kill you, but if you pursue me, it is another matter."

"Have you forgotten who you're working for?"

"Have you come to make me a martyr?"

"He's got a gun!"

"The symbol - could it have another meaning?"

"It's cold down here, isn't it?"

"The entire world will be united by this attack!"

"We're weak when we should be strong."

"If science is allowed to claim the power of creation, then what is left for God?"

"Religion is flawed, but only because man is flawed."

#rp meme #rp memes #roleplay meme #roleplay memes #rp prompts #roleplay prompts #sentence starters #specific;#crime drama;#filmtv;#angels and demons;#robert langdon;

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stanleypinesgf · 13 days ago

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Falling for Mystery - Chapter Twelve

Falling for Mystery Masterlist Warnings: panic attack/nightmare/night terror depictions, abusive ex, think that’s all pls enjoy! Please note: this is a slow burn fic with eventual smut and mature themes, 18+ only and please check warnings at the start of chapters! TYSM for all the support so far!! w/c: 3,031 The room was dark and quiet, the night wrapping around us like a heavy blanket. The thick shadows filled every corner, making it feel like the walls were pressing in, closing the space down to just me and the steady, rhythmic sound of Stan’s breathing. His arm was wrapped securely around my waist, his solid, familiar presence grounding me. His snores rumbled in the quiet room, a sound I’d come to find comforting. Even though we’d only shared a bed twice, there were nights when his snores echoed through the shack, and somehow, I’d slept better because of it.

But tonight, sleep was elusive. My mind felt like a race car stuck in high gear, thoughts whirling too fast for me to catch hold of any one thing. I’d been tossing and turning for what felt like hours, my body restless while Stan slept beside me. It wasn’t the first time I’d had trouble sleeping. In fact, it had become a near-constant companion, this quiet anxiety that crept up when the lights were off and the world outside was silent.

Every time I started to drift off, sinking into the haze of half-formed dreams, something would jolt me awake again. That knot of dread tightened in my stomach, even though there was nothing to fear in this room. Stan’s arm around me was proof enough of that. Still, the darkness had a way of stirring up old memories, old fears, like a shadow that crept closer the longer I tried to ignore it.

And then it hit.

The nightmare surged in, hard and fast, dragging me under like a wave. In the dream, the shadows weren’t just shadows anymore—they had weight, a form. They were alive, suffocating me, wrapping around my chest and squeezing the breath from my lungs. The familiar feeling of being trapped—by him—made my chest tighten, a weight pressing down on me like an invisible cage. His presence was everywhere in the darkness, like it always was. I tried to scream, but no sound came out, my throat constricting as if his hands were there again, silencing me. The harder I struggled, the tighter the grip became, until the fear was overwhelming, crushing, leaving me powerless all over again.

It was always the same.

Just as the panic reached its peak, I jolted awake, gasping for air, my body jerking upright in bed. Cold sweat soaked through my skin, and I was trembling so badly it felt like I might come apart at the seams. My breath came in rapid, shallow bursts, each one feeling like a desperate attempt to claw my way out of the nightmare’s grip. Even though I was awake now, the terror clung to me, thick and suffocating, just like his hold on me used to be. It was as if I’d brought the darkness of the dream into the real world, and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shake it off. He was still there, in my head, in my body, haunting me.

Stan jolted awake beside me, his body shifting suddenly at the movement. His hand instinctively reached out for me, his voice rough with sleep but sharp with concern. “Hey, what the—” He blinked against the darkness, his voice cutting through the fog of my panic like a lifeline. In an instant, he was sitting up, his hand on my back, rubbing slow, soothing circles between my shoulder blades. He said my name so softly, like he was afraid it might break me. “Hey, baby,” his voice barely above a whisper. “Breathe. Just breathe. You’re alright.”

I wanted to believe him, but the fear still had its claws in me, deep and jagged. My chest felt tight, like I couldn’t get enough air, and I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold the trembling at bay. My heart was racing so fast it felt like it might burst through my ribcage at any moment. I could still feel the ghost of the nightmare’s grip around my throat, suffocating me from the inside.

“Breathe,” Stan repeated, his voice steady but gentle, the gruffness of his usual tone softened by concern. His hand moved to my shoulder, squeezing gently, grounding me with his touch. “You’re safe. You’re with me. Nothin’s gonna happen to you here.”

I tried to focus on him, on his presence beside me. He felt like the only real thing in the room, the only thing that wasn’t consumed by the shadows of my mind. I focused on the warmth of his hand on my shoulder, the slow, rhythmic pressure of his fingers, and I forced myself to take a deep breath. Slowly, painfully, the panic began to ebb. My breaths came easier, my chest loosening little by little until the suffocating grip of the nightmare started to fade.

I let out a shaky sigh, running a hand through my sweat-dampened hair, my body still trembling with the aftershocks of the fear. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice hoarse and unsteady. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Stan grunted, but his hand didn’t leave my shoulder. He never liked to make a big deal out of things, especially when it came to emotional stuff. “Forget about it,” he muttered, his voice softer than usual. “You alright? You were really thrashin’ around there.”

I nodded, though the truth was, I still didn’t feel completely grounded. My heart was still racing, the adrenaline from the nightmare coursing through me like an electric current that wouldn’t shut off. “Yeah,” I managed, though my voice was barely more than a whisper. “It was just a bad one, that’s all.” I swallowed hard, trying to push the lingering fear back down where it belonged. “I don’t usually get them this bad anymore.”

Stan was quiet for a moment, his gaze shifting to me in the dim light filtering through the window. His rough exterior was still there, but his eyes softened in the way they only did when he was really worried. “It’s ‘cause of that jerk ex of yours, isn’t it?”

The mention of him sent a cold shiver down my spine, and I bit my lip, nodding slowly. “Yeah. It’s always him in the nightmares. He never really goes away.” My voice was thick with emotion, and I hated how much power those words still held over me, even now. It had been over a year since I’d left him, since I’d gotten out, but he still haunted me like a shadow I couldn’t outrun.

Stan’s expression darkened, his hand curling into a fist on the bed beside him. I could see the anger flash in his eyes, the protective streak that always kicked in when it came to the ghosts of my past. “If that guy ever shows his face again...”

“He won’t,” I said quickly, cutting him off before he could finish that thought. I didn’t want to go down that road, didn’t want to let the fear of him showing up again take root. “I got away. I just... sometimes it feels like I’ll never be free of him. He still gets in my head, even though he’s not here anymore.”

Stan didn’t say anything for a long moment, but his hand stayed on my arm, his fingers brushing against my skin in a way that was more comforting than any words could be. He wasn’t the kind of guy who knew how to fix things with long conversations or deep emotional insights. But he stayed close, and that was enough. “You don’t gotta be scared anymore,” he said quietly, his voice rough with determination. “He ain’t gonna touch you. Not while I’m around.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to feel the same certainty that he seemed to carry with him all the time, like he could face anything without flinching. I gave him a weak smile, though the tension still clung to me like a second skin. “I know. It’s just... hard to shake.”

We sat there in the quiet for a while, the weight of my words hanging between us. The room felt smaller in the darkness, like the air was thicker, more oppressive. I leaned back against the headboard, trying to calm the remnants of my shaking, and Stan shifted beside me. He was quiet, but I could feel him thinking, his posture stiffening just slightly in that way it always did when something was on his mind that he didn’t quite know how to say.

“Listen,” he started, his voice gruffer than usual, “I know you’ve been through a lot. And, well, I ain’t exactly great at this kinda stuff.” He paused, rubbing the back of his neck, like the words were hard to get out. “But... maybe it’d be better if you weren’t sleepin’ alone. I mean, these nightmares and all... maybe you could move into my room. Full-time.”

For a second, I wasn’t sure if I’d heard him right. My heart skipped a beat, and I turned to look at him, his face half-shadowed in the dim light. “Move in?”

Stan’s eyes darted away, like he wasn’t sure if he’d said the right thing. He was usually so confident, but now he looked almost... unsure. “I dunno. Just figured... y’know, it’d be better if you didn’t have to wake up alone. Not with that stuff still messin’ with your head.” He glanced at me, his usual tough-guy exterior cracking just a little. “But if it’s too soon or whatever, forget I said anything.”

I blinked, my mind racing. The offer had caught me off guard, but in a good way. It wasn’t just about the nightmares—it was about Stan wanting me close, wanting to take care of me in his own way. Despite his gruffness, his walls, and his tendency to keep people at arm’s length, he was letting me in. I could see it in the hesitation in his eyes, the way his voice had softened when he’d made the offer. For him, this was more than just a practical solution to my nightmares. It was a step, a big one.

And the truth was, I wanted to be there. With him. Not just because he made me feel safe, but because, somewhere along the way, Stan had become my safe place. The idea of having someone to wake up to, someone who could chase the nightmares away with just their presence, their touch—it was more than I’d let myself hope for. I hadn’t realized how much I craved that kind of closeness until now. The life I’d had before, living in constant fear, always on edge, had left me wary of trusting anyone. But Stan... he was different. He wasn’t perfect, but with him, I didn’t feel broken.

I could see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes, a vulnerability that was rare for him. He was waiting, maybe even bracing himself for rejection, like he thought I might turn him down. But how could I, when all I wanted was to be closer to him?

“No,” I said quickly, a smile spreading across my face. “It’s not too soon. I... I’d really like that.” I felt lighter, as if something inside me had shifted, like a burden I hadn’t realised I’d been carrying was starting to lift.

Stan’s eyes widened, just for a second, a flash of surprise crossing his face. It was like he hadn’t expected me to agree so easily, like he wasn’t used to people saying yes when he offered them a part of himself. “Yeah?” he asked, his voice rough but tinged with disbelief.

“Yeah,” I repeated, my heart swelling with something warm and unfamiliar. “I think... I think it’d be good for both of us.” The more I thought about it, the more it felt right, like this was the next step we were supposed to take, even if we hadn’t planned it.

Stan’s signature smirk returned, but there was a softness in his eyes now, a warmth that I didn’t often see. “Well, guess that settles it, then. You’re movin’ in.” He leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head, and for a moment, he looked like he’d just won a prize, like this was his way of celebrating. “Hope you don’t snore as bad as me,” he added, that playful edge creeping back into his tone.

I laughed softly, the tension between us finally breaking, and the weight of the night’s fears fading into something lighter, something almost... normal. “I think that’s impossible,” I teased, shaking my head.

But the truth was, it felt like more than just handling it. It felt like, for the first time in a long time, I could actually imagine a future that wasn’t filled with fear or nightmares. A future where I wasn’t constantly looking over my shoulder, waiting for my past to catch up with me. Stan had this way of making the future feel possible, like it didn’t have to be a constant battle just to survive.

We lay back down, and Stan pulled me against him again, his arm wrapping securely around my waist like he was protecting me, even in sleep. The warmth of his body pressed against mine made the lingering shadows of the nightmare fade away, replaced by something far more comforting. His presence, his strength, surrounded me, and I felt the knot of tension that had been sitting in my chest for hours finally start to unravel. For the first time in a long time, I felt safe. Really safe.

Stan’s hand rested on my hip, his thumb brushing against my skin in slow, absent circles. It was a small gesture, but it spoke volumes. He wasn’t a man of many words, but the way he touched me, the way he stayed close even when I was at my most vulnerable, it told me everything I needed to know. He was here. He wasn’t going anywhere.

“You’re tough, y’know that?” he muttered, his voice softer now, more thoughtful than usual. His words were quiet, like he wasn’t quite sure how to say what he wanted to, but he was trying. “That guy... what he did... it didn’t break you.”

I swallowed hard, a lump forming in my throat at the weight of his words. The truth was, I didn’t feel tough. Not after everything I’d been through. There were days when I felt like I was barely holding myself together, like I was just going through the motions of living because that was all I knew how to do. “I’m not as tough as you think,” I said quietly, my voice trembling slightly. I wasn’t used to hearing someone talk about me like that, like I was strong. Most of the time, I felt like I was still that scared, broken person, struggling to find a way out of the darkness.

Stan grunted, his grip tightening just a bit, the weight of his arm grounding me. “Yeah, you are. You’re tougher than me, that’s for sure.” His voice was rough, but there was something in it that made my chest ache, a vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

I turned my head to look at him, surprised by the rawness in his voice. Stan wasn’t one to talk about himself much, and when he did, it was usually in passing, like it didn’t really matter. But there was something different now, something open and exposed. “Why would you say that?” I asked softly, my gaze searching his face.

He shifted uncomfortably, his eyes fixed on the ceiling like he was trying to avoid looking at me. “I dunno,” he muttered. “I’m just... not used to this kinda thing. Havin’ someone who actually gives a shit. People don’t usually stick around.”

The words hit me harder than I expected, a wave of sadness washing over me as I realized how much Stan had been carrying around with him. He’d always been the strong one, the one who seemed unbreakable. But now I could see the cracks beneath the surface, the scars he’d hidden away. He wasn’t used to people caring about him, not really. And that made me want to stay even more. I wanted him to know that he wasn’t alone, that he didn’t have to carry everything by himself.

“I’m not going anywhere,” I said softly, my voice steady despite the emotion that was threatening to choke me. I leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his shoulder, a silent promise that I meant every word. “I care about you, Stan. A lot.”

Stan was quiet for a moment, his body tense beside mine, like he didn’t know how to respond. I could feel the weight of his emotions, the things he wasn’t saying, hanging in the air between us. But then, slowly, he relaxed, his arm tightening around me, pulling me closer. “Yeah... I care about you too, doll,” he muttered, his voice thick with emotion, though he tried to hide it.

We lay there in the quiet for a long time, the weight of the night finally easing as we found comfort in each other. I knew there were still secrets between us, things he wasn’t ready to share yet, and I didn’t want to push him. I understood what it was like to keep parts of yourself hidden, even from the people you cared about most. But for now, this was enough. Being here, with him, was enough.

As the quiet deepened and the soft rhythm of his breathing filled the room once more, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. The nightmares, the fear, the weight of my past—they were still there, lurking in the shadows. But with Stan beside me, they didn’t feel as overwhelming. The darkness didn’t seem so suffocating anymore. I closed my eyes, letting the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart lull me into a much-needed sleep.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I wasn’t afraid of what the night might bring. I wasn’t afraid of waking up alone.

And that, I realised as I drifted off, was more than I could have ever asked for. Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

#stanley pines #stan pines #stan pines fluff #gravity falls #stan pines x reader #reader insert #eventual romance #eventual smut #slow burn #first fic pls be nice #stan pines angst

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bunni-bun · 8 months ago

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feeling completely insane and having Too Many Thoughts earlier so i'm dropping this here and running, don't look at me lmao.

enjoy cuz i never finish anything and this is a literal miracle cuz i had to get it out of my system.

“There's darkness in the distance

I'm beggin’ for forgiveness

But I know I might resist it”

-Daylight by David Kushner

There are times when he feels smaller than he wants to.

He thinks that he can be brave about it this time, he can fight and bite and kick and stab and claw his way out. He thinks that this bloodshed will atone for the heartbreak, for the sin of leaving.

It doesn't. It never does.

The walls here are cold, dull, and listless. There are ghosts between the bars of the cell, in the shape of dark eyes and a small, loving smile. Sometimes, the hands of the ghost run down his arms, softly, barely there, in a caress meant to sooth him from the nightmares. Sometimes, the ghost whispers that he loves him and he pretends that it's real, just for a moment.

When he wakes up again, the ghost is gone and the ache in his chest is more pronounced but he fights it down, swallows it whole and buries it under the ratty mattress of the cell, with the book that he borrowed from Zong Yi.

At night, he welcomes the darkness again, welcomes the ghost again. He wonders if the man the ghost belongs to is still alive, or if this ghost is real, haunting him in the only way that they can have each other. He doesn't think about it too much tonight, he's too tired. He lets his eyes fall shut and tries not to cuddle the ghost at his side.

* * *

There's an emptiness in this space now.

He didn't realize how big a space could be without someone to fill it with life, with spirit, with love.

There's no one who really stops him from drinking himself into a stupor again so he takes another shot, whiskey burning as it goes down, a little easier now. He's used to it now, that burn. It's the only warmth he gets now, in this empty room. It's the only thing he has left.

He lets himself fall back into the bed (their bed?) and he lets sleep take a hold of him once more. At least in dreams, he can hold onto hair the color of daylight and eyes sharper than a blade to his throat. He doesn't have to worry about the emptiness beyond this dream, this room. He can stay here for a little longer, feeling a soft but firm touch to his cheek.

Dreams are all he has in the dark, they're all that's left here. He doesn't have the courage to go and see the real thing and maybe that's for the best (it's not). He doesn't know if either of them can take it. He doesn't know anything anymore.

So he dreams, of tangled sheets, of biting kisses, of soft gasps. Of tears on his cheek that are not his own. Of the desperate need to show love but not knowing how. Of the only person he's ever loved leaving. Maybe this is a nightmare again. He wonders if the other feels the same.

And he lets the ghost of that touch win as he falls asleep without another thought this time.

* * *

“This lust is a burden that we both share

Two sinners can't atone from a lone prayer

Souls tied, intertwined by our pride and guilt.”

When they're together, they try to ignore the four years spent apart.

They don't think about the darkness, the ghosts, the dreams. The nightmares.

They hold each other in the quiet of the early morning, lights all out in the garage but the door open to see the stars or the clouds as a storm approaches. They spend a lot of nights like this, in the quiet, not saying anything as they stay beside each other and think. They wish they could be mind readers sometimes, just so they don't break the moment by speaking.

Instead, Ai Di lays his head on his shoulder and Chen Yi rests his head on top of his boy. They don't say anything, even when they both reach out to hold each other’s hand. They should talk about it but they won't. They can't.

Later in the night, when he's gasping in his shoulder and biting marks into flesh, Chen Yi tries not to think of the time when this was a ghost’s call and not the real person in his lap. He lets Ai Di bite, claw, fight for the love that they both need, even in this moment of lust. He fights back, pushing and grabbing and kissing away the air between them so they'll suffocate here. It's the only way they can forgive each other.

When they lie in bed, sweating and spent, hands intertwined, they still don't talk about it. But they both know that the other wants to beg for the ache to stop, for the pain to end, for that forgiveness that they've already given each other but refuse to accept. So they stay wrapped in this darkness, this quiet.

Sinners like them don't belong in the daylight, but that's alright. The night will hide them, will hide their faults, will hide their feelings. Maybe one day, they can talk about it. But not now.

#cyndy writes #kiseki: dear to me #chenai #chen yi x ai di #the Thoughts were haunting me on the way home today #maybe i'll put this on AO3 as my first anything #jesus how did this happen lmao

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comicarc · 6 months ago

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𝐑𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

Part 1

wc: 1833

365 Days After That Night

Jason Todd was the Red Hood. Jason Todd was a criminal. Most of all, Jason Todd was a murderer, for he murdered the only remnant of love I had left in my soul. He was my breaking point.

It’s been a year since the night he left and though I tried my hardest to bury his memory in my mind, his recent headlines made for incessantly annoying reminders. Though the ghost of Jason’s lacking presence haunted me every day, I was able to suppress those thoughts. Luckily, my job at the Gotham Gazette came with a considerably generous salary, often encouraging me to forget all the undesirable aspects of the job, including him.

Tonight, I was staying late at the police station, waiting for my interviewee, Dick Grayson, to arrive from Bludhaven. He had been working a case on a notorious serial killer who had recently broadened his horizons and began to kill in Gotham. He was the only one overseeing it, thus, taking note of his busy schedule, I had set up an appointment weeks prior. Though he was already an hour late, I decided to wait, for an opportunity like this may not come as easily again.

I sat at his desk, resting my head in the palm of my hand and darting my eyes across the room to cure myself of my boredom. One particular photo caught my eye as my gaze trailed to the framed pictures on the desk. Dick was with a younger, lively boy, posing for their photo in front of Wayne Manor. Curious, I inspected the photo closer to notice that the other boy had azure eyes and curly black hair, just like–

“–Ah, I see you’ve taken an interest in my brother, eh? It’s my favorite photo from when I was still living in Gotham.” Dick had finally made his entrance.

“Detective Grayson,” I said, surprised by his voice.

Sitting down he asked, “You must be y/n? I’m sorry for arriving so late, the route from Bludhaven to Gotham is always littered with traffic.”

“Yes, I’ve heard.” With that, I began my questioning. It eased into a conversation the deeper we dove into the topic until eventually a few hours had passed and Dick had to head off to another crime scene.

“Before you leave, may I ask…which of your brothers is that? I’ve only heard of two others and they seem to be too young to have been in that photo when it was taken.”

“Jason Todd. He kinda of fell off the face of the Earth on his enlightening retreat, so almost everyone forgot about him. Now that he’s back, he's done well to stay out of the spotlight.”

To ask more questions would be to intrude on his personal life, and so, tempering my desires, I quickly left.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer. And a liar.

4 Days Later

Days passed, giving me barely enough time to digest the information that Dick had given me. After some of my own research, I found that Jason was alive and well. The night he left me was the night he reunited with his family. The very family he claimed to hate…he left me for them.

Now sitting in my cubicle at the Gazette, my thoughts were a whirlwind of confusion, for my feelings for Jason had begun to resurface. I longed to see him, to hear him to be with him. But I couldn’t blame him anymore, for my fantasies led me to break my own heart. I wanted something that was never there, and I had to accept that. I shook my stupid ideas away as I looked at the whiteboard across the room to see my next assignment. My stoic expression turned into one of horror as I read: “Y/n → Wayne Gala”.

I rushed to the chief editor’s office and begged to be reassigned, but all my pleas were in vain because no one else was available to cover for me. Begrudgingly, I went back to my desk and looked down at the invitation that was put on it. The bold letters embedded at the top of the card were as searing as a blade, for they sliced my heart into a million pieces. I went home immediately, for I had very little time and a lot to do to prepare.

Jason would be there as well and I wanted to catch his eye to make him feel jealous and regretful for leaving me, but for that, I needed a statement dress. Thus, I decided to head to a nearby shopping plaza, to spend as much money as I could on a dress that I would never wear again, all for a man that may not even remember me.

After a successful trip, I roamed around the plaza in search of a light snack before getting ready for the night's festivities. Wandering my eyes, I caught sight of a familiar man on the other side of the nearly empty area. Walking closer to clear my suspicions, I recognized him to be the one and only Jason Todd.

He was with another woman who seemed to be a thousand times prettier than her. Her gorgeous red hair was tied in a high ponytail and fell down to her hips, her lean figure resembled that of a model, and her face seemed too proportional to be true. She was perfect. And she was kissing him on the cheek. The sight made me want to cry out right then and there. He had moved on.

Later that Day, in the Evening

As I made my way through the entrance doors entranced by the beauty of the domain, I was welcomed by a breathtaking display of opulence and extravagance, transforming the Manor into a realm of sheer elegance. Crystal chandeliers dangled from the high ceilings, casting a cascade of shimmering light across the grand ballroom. The walls were adorned with rich tapestries depicting scenes of Gotham's history, each thread telling a story of wealth and power. Exquisite floral arrangements of velvety red roses and ivory lilies graced every corner, their intoxicating fragrance mingling with the soft strains of a string quartet that filled the air.

Guests, dressed in their finest attire, moved gracefully through the lavishly decorated rooms, their laughter and whispered conversations creating an enchanting symphony that resonated through the space. A grand staircase, adorned with a crimson carpet, beckoned guests to ascend toward the upper levels, adding an air of regal grandeur to the soirée.

In the heart of the ballroom, stood Jason Todd. He was a magnetic presence, a striking figure that effortlessly drew the eye. Dressed in a tailored black suit that accentuated his lean and muscular frame, he appeared both rugged and refined. The dimmed lighting highlighted the chiseled lines of his jaw, the shadow of stubble giving him an air of mysterious allure. His dark, tousled hair framed his face, adding to his rugged charm. His piercing blue eyes were like sapphires in the night. He moved with a confident grace, his every step commanding attention and admiration from those around him.

He was so captivating that I continued to stare until his gaze locked onto mine. For an instant, the world around us seemed to fade into obscurity. It was as if time itself had stopped. There was a flicker of surprise in his eyes, a hint of regret, and a trace of something deeper, something that mirrored the tumultuous history we shared. It was a gaze that carried the weight of our past, and in that moment, I knew that the night held more secrets and emotions than I had ever imagined.

Stop. I’m imagining things.

I focused my mind on the task at hand, to distract myself from him. My every move was meticulous, like a well-rehearsed dance. My professional demeanor was unwavering as I discreetly took notes on the evening's proceedings, capturing every detail and nuance of the event. I engaged in discussions about Gotham's elite, current events, and the philanthropic endeavors the gala aimed to support. All the while, my smile remained fixed and my words carefully chosen, masking the emotional turmoil that raged beneath the surface.

Suddenly, in the midst of conversation, Jason's warm and inviting hand gently wrapped around my wrist, guiding me away from the bustling gala and into a secluded garden nestled within the sprawling grounds of Wayne Manor.

The garden seemed to come alive under the moon's tender caress. The moon was like a radiant pearl in the inky sky, spilling its ethereal light through the dense canopy of trees, creating an enchanting interplay of shadows and soft, silvery beams. As we stood, the night's gentle breeze carried the fragrance of blooming flowers, adding a layer of sensuousness to the charged atmosphere.

Before Jason could utter a single word, my pent-up emotions, like a dam bursting, spilled forth with a hiss of anger and hurt. “What the hell? Who the hell do you think you are?” The words tumbled from my lips, carrying the weight of a year's worth of unanswered questions and unresolved feelings.

Jason stood before me, his expression a complex interplay of emotions. His eyes, once piercing and intense, now held a hint of regret and remorse. In the stillness of that moonlit garden, the unspoken words hung heavy in the air, waiting for the right moment to find their voice and bridge the chasm that had grown between us.

“It’s Jason…remember.”

“No.” All I do is remember.

“You’re my best friend.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ve got the wrong girl. I don’t know anyone named Jason.”

“What the hell is going on with you? Why can’t you remember me?”

“You’re the one that needs to remember.”

“What?”

“Remember that night? It’s been a year and you’ve clearly moved on. I’m glad you got your happy ending with a girl even prettier than me. That begs the question…why even talk to me with the intention of leaving again?”

“Y/n, I–”

“–Save it. I can’t do this anymore.”

My rapid footsteps echoed on the cobblestone path, and the sound of my heels clicking with every step rang in my ears. I paid no heed to the gasps and whispers that trailed behind me like a ghostly chorus of judgment.

In my haste, I collided with a solid figure, and the impact sent a shiver through my frame. I looked up, and it was none other than Dick Grayson, his eyes a curious blend of mockery and amusement. In my agitated state, I only heard his attempt at humor as a blade deepening the wound that had been freshly reopened.

This gala was a set-up, a trap and I fell face-first into it. But, it did allow me to realize something.

Jason Todd was Red Hood, a criminal, a murderer, a liar. And a fool for thinking that I may ever love him again.

#batfam #dc comics #jason todd x y/n #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd #dick grayson #angst #song fic

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lost-letters-from-atlantis · 9 days ago

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I saw you yesterday.

You looked exactly like the person I left an eternity ago. The same air of confidence, the same face, the same haircut. You looked like everything that I've been missing for so long.

Everything that I couldn't have back.

You'd probably hate me if you knew I dared to take a glance at you. Maybe you already know I did.

Did you expect me to look your way one more time, I wonder?

The moment was so short, yet excruciatingly long to me. I couldn't detach my eyes from your figure. Maybe I stared a little longer than I should have. It doesn't really matter. I was gone in the blink of an eye, before you even got the time to notice I was here to begin with.

Like a ghost haunting you.

I'm sorry. I know I should have stayed away. I should have been stronger. I should have left you to your peaceful existence.

But the truth is - and you know it already - I am weak. I have always been.

I don't know how to punch, and I can't take criticism really well, and I collapse when the pressure gets too heavy.

I failed you again.

Nothing new in the end: it's always the same story.

It's always about you and me. It always ends the same. I always cry when I reach the last sentence.

But what can I say?

I miss you, and I've once been told grief never goes away, we just learn to live with it.

I grieve someone still alive. So far away, yet so unbearably close I would only have to extend a hand to touch you.

The idea of returning to you like an abandoned dog finding its way back to the only home it knows seems so alluring at times, because my heart is one of a dog and I don't know how to stop loving the hand that used to feed me.

But I know I can never go back in your arms again, so instead, I leave my door cracked open in hope that you'll step inside and tell me you missed me too.

It never happens.

Yesterday though, I heard the hinges creak almost imperceptibly.

I ran through the house, hoping to see you there, but when I arrived in the hallway, it was dark and silent. The streets outside were empty, and I was alone.

Still, I hoped it was you, because even when it's vain and stupid, I still have faith in you.

I hoped you had seen the door slightly open and had considered entering. I hoped you had hesitated and had decided to make your presence known at last, before running away.

I hoped you hadn't forgotten us.

Of course, yes, it could have been the wind. But it could have been you. The possibility was enough.

I want to keep believing in you. To keep believing that you cared about me too.

Oh, what I wouldn't do for the ghost of you.

I could write hundreds of letters that you'd never read and cry thousands of tears that you'd never wipe away.

I could believe in your return for all eternity and wander aimlessly among the memories of us.

So tonight again, my door will be left unlocked and I will be sleeping with one eye open.

If you ever see it, I hope that you'll step inside and stay.

Please come back to me.

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diavolo-is-babygirl · 11 days ago

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Halloween Fic with Diavolo & Mammon: Comfort and Flame (can be either Diavolo x Mammon or Dia & Mams friendship)

The grand hall was alive with the spirit of Halloween, filled with warm candlelight, cobwebs spun with precision, and a gentle fog that clung to the floor like ghostly mist. Pumpkins carved with all manner of devilish grins lined the tables, and laughter echoed against the high, vaulted ceilings. But amid the flickering lights and endless stream of guests in elaborate costumes, Diavolo felt a familiar hollowness pressing against his chest, a quiet, unsettling ache.

He leaned against one of the towering marble pillars, his gaze distant as he watched his subjects revel in the festivities. Tonight, he was dressed as a grand, dark knight, the kind of ruler he imagined he should be: commanding, fearless, unshakeable. Yet, inside, he felt none of that. The weight of the past year—the mistakes, the losses, the doubt—clung to him like the cloak he wore.

“Oi, what’s with the brooding? You look like a ghost who forgot to haunt anyone,” came a familiar, brash voice. Diavolo blinked, glancing over to see Mammon grinning up at him, his fangs catching the candlelight in that mischievous way they always did. Tonight, Mammon wore a half-mask and a vampire’s cape, but even in costume, he was unmistakable.

“Mammon,” Diavolo managed, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I didn’t think you’d notice.”

Mammon raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms with a huff. “Course I noticed. You look like ya’d rather be anywhere but here.” He jabbed a thumb toward the crowd. “Come on, this party’s supposed to be for you. MC ‘n Asmo even got ya some o’ those candied apples you kept yammerin’ about. Don’t ya think ya should enjoy it a little?”

Diavolo let out a sigh, his gaze falling back to the crowd. “I just… it’s been a hard year, Mammon. Some days, I wonder if I’m truly fit to be king. What if I’m not strong enough for this? What if…” His voice trailed off, the words heavy in his chest.

Mammon’s usual cocky grin softened, and for a moment, he was quiet. Then he took a step closer, glancing around as if to make sure no one was listening. “Ya know somethin’, big guy? Bein’ king doesn’t mean ya have to be perfect all the time. And ya sure as hell don’t have to do it alone.” He jabbed Diavolo’s arm lightly, a spark of encouragement in his eyes. “Ya got people who got yer back, even when ya think yer screwin’ things up. That’s what makes ya a good leader, Diavolo. ‘Cause ya actually care.”

Diavolo felt a warmth spread through him, loosening some of the tightness that had been gripping his chest. “But what if caring isn’t enough?” he asked, his voice soft.

Mammon’s grin widened, and he threw an arm over Diavolo’s shoulder with surprising gentleness. “Trust me, ya big sap, it’s more than enough. Heck, look at us—me and my brothers. We’re a mess half the time, but ya still care about us, don’t ya? And we still wanna be around ya.”

Diavolo let out a small chuckle, the sound surprising even himself. He looked down at Mammon, his eyes grateful. “Thank you, Mammon. I don’t know what I’d do without friends like you.”

“Yeah, yeah, enough with the mushy stuff,” Mammon replied, but his cheeks were tinged with a faint blush. “Now, let’s get ya outta this gloomy corner. MC said Halloween’s only once a year, ya know. Besides, I heard there’s a haunted maze out back, and I need someone to help me scare the pants off of with Lucifer,” His grin turned sly. “Or are ya too chicken?”

Diavolo laughed, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders. “A challenge, Mammon? You really think I’d back down?”

With that, Mammon gave him a cheeky grin and led him toward the festivities, his arm still draped over Diavolo’s shoulder, an anchor of warmth and encouragement. And for the first time that night, Diavolo felt a spark of joy flicker in his chest, a reminder that he wasn’t alone in his doubts—that maybe, just maybe, he was exactly where he was meant to be.

#obey me nightbringer #obey me shall we date #obey me diavolo #obey me fanfiction #obey me mammon

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casanovawrites · 1 year ago

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random sentence prompts ━ from various tv shows, part 4

surviving is a choice. make yours.

you can’t be afraid to kill. you understand?

i’m not afraid to kill. i’m just… afraid.

i was trying to save lives. i had to try. somebody had to.

if they slaughtered everyone once, what the hell makes this any different?

this sounds like a suicide mission.

we did terrible things in its name.

my honest advice would be that if you’re that miserable, you should break up with them and be with me instead.

you are remarkably resistant. it must be exhausting.

how is it possible that this is the most scared i’ve been all day?

you don’t have to like what i did. i don’t. but just accept it.

we’ve all done the worst kinds of things just to stay alive. but we can still come back, we’re not too far gone.

this is why i like you. you just want to hold my hand.

when are you two going to make out already?

have you ever had to work for anything?

bad things happened because i was scared. they didn’t need to. i didn’t need to be afraid.

i don’t have to be tough. i can run. i’m good at that.

my mom used to say, “everything works out the way it’s supposed to.”

have you been in love with me this whole time?

you start breathing, i’ll start you a shower, and we’ll go from there.

maybe we could catch our breath here for a while.

life isn’t a race. you taught me that.

the whole world’s haunted now. there’s no getting out of that - not until we’re dead.

we’re supposed to be working together.

this year would have been painful without you.

you were so self-obsessed, you never noticed your best friend needed you.

i don’t feel challenged.

if this is where you want to be, then stay.

i need to know if you mean what i think you mean. do you still love me?

i’m with you. ’til the world explodes.

if we’re going to do this, you need to be all in.

it’s funny how you don’t even notice the time go by. horrible shit just stacks up day after day.

you are not safe, no matter how many people are around.

we’re strong enough that we can still help people.

this is the nightmare, but nightmares end.

we ain’t dead. whatever happened, happened. let’s start over.

there’s nothing left in the world that isn’t hidden.

we’re friends. we have each other’s backs, that’s it. that’s how it works.

growing up is getting used to the world.

we do what we need to do, and then we get to live.

we don’t have to be friends. it just doesn’t have to be quiet.

people always die. you know that.

you don’t know yourself. that’s the big ah-ha for me here. i get you more than you get you.

i know that i love you, and i need you, and maybe you could love me too. and that’s okay.

all you do is hurt me.

oh, please, like you haven’t been waiting for me to screw up.

you’re no sheep. you’re a wolf.

i actually thought you wanted to be my friend.

asshole, i don’t go to the gym every day.

so, you’re leaving to fight ghosts? that’s the plan?

i don’t think any one place can be someone’s everything.

all i have is pain.

there are very few people in this world that make me feel the way you do.

can we just forget this ever happened, please?

you’re doing great. i promise.

it’s you and me against the world, okay?

friendship doesn’t matter. love doesn’t matter.

i’m superhuman, right? made of steel.

people will say almost anything to save their own life.

what if i hadn’t come home in time?

they think we’re guilty, so we are.

i’m grieving the loss of what we could have made this place.

tonight, even though we are in hell, i feel like i have another chance with you.

you and me are the way out.

i won’t let anything pull us apart again. you hear me?

i should've just skipped class, partied, had sex, have fun.

you smell like shit.

we need to get the fuck out of here now.

you are not defined by what happened to you. you are what you do.

fuck it. i’m dying tonight one way or another.

maybe you’re right. maybe shit is doomed.

the reality is, i’m dying. i am dying. you have to face that.

what happened to “me and you against the world, you’re all i need”?

stop crying where everyone can see you. it’s embarrassing.

all my days are bad.

tonight’s been the first time i’ve felt like myself in months. it’s been so long. i forgot what that felt like.

you make me feel like… me.

you drive me crazy sometimes but we're in this together. you're not alone.

#ask meme #sentence prompts #prompts #rp sentence prompts #rp ask meme #ask memes #*#meme

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