#THEY know and then they left me to sob on the living room floor alone because they had to go to work) haha. im going to choke myself on

[writerdownbookworder]

Why do you do it?

The little voice in her head never left her alone.

Why do you torture yourself over and over again?

She squeezed her eyes shut and groaned, trying to drown out the noise.

You don’t have to suffer like this. Just walk away.

“No!” she shouted into her empty house. She curled into a ball on the floor, whimpering.

They wouldn’t care. They barely notice you anymore. It’s been almost two hundred years, Emmeline. Give up already.

She burst into tears, sobbing on her living room floor. 

She didn’t know how long she stayed like that, only that the shadows had moved a great deal when she finally sat up and wiped her tears.

Emmeline stood, hearing a knock on the door. When she went to answer it, she looked down and saw Jules, the youngest child of the current generation. He grinned up at her with the toothlessness of a six year old.

“My mama let’th me come all by mythelf now!” he exclaimed proudly. He flung his little arms around Emmeline and gave her a tight hug. “I mithed you, Aunt Emma!” 

She knelt and hugged him back. “I missed you too, Jules. What are you doing here?”

Jules pulled away and looked at her gravely. “It’th a thecwet,” he said, trying very hard to not spoil the surprise. He only lasted a minute before he blurted, “You have a biwthday pawty tonight!”

Emmeline looked surprised. “A birthday party? For me?”

He nodded eagerly. “That’th why you got to come ovew to my houthe tonight!”

Emeline was stunned as she handed Jules a cookie and then sent him back home. She sat at the table and tried not to cry again, this time with happiness. They weren’t forgetting her after all.

She looked over at the lone picture on her mantle and smiled at the young family in the picture. In the months after taking the photo, she had hidden it away, not liking it. She was blinking, her husband was looking at her instead of the camera, and her son was trying to walk away, held in place by only her arm. She had brought the photo back out the day after her husband died, needing to see his face again. They never had a chance to take another.

Emmeline grew to love the photo over the years, especially as her son grew and had children, and then they had children, and so on.

Jules looked so much like her son.

She wished they could have met.

You don’t have to suffer. Just walk away.

“No,” Emmeline said softly, hugging the picture. “This is my home. This is my family.

“I will protect them.”

Most immortals become the angsty “everyone I have ever loved is gone” kind of immortal. You, on the other hand, instead took it upon yourself to be a loving presence to entire generations of your chosen family, because they are descended from someone you once loved long ago.

[backseatloversz]

its like. my family are good people but the older i get the more family get togethers make me feel sodistressed

[xosannie]

ohhhhhh i cant stop thinking about make up sex with seonghwa, like imagine he did something that upset you and hes trying to make amends with you

sooooo he got on his kness and you somehow got into dom mode and pressed your high heels on his crotch jejsksksksks and seonghwa being whiny

hope you have fun writing 🫣

Know Your Place

☆a/n: AGGHH this is so good, right when I read this I knew I had to write something with this. You match my freak fr >:))

☆Genre: Smut MDNI 18+ Only

☆Pairing: Sub!Seonghwa x Dom!reader (afab)

☆Word count: 3.2k

☆Warnings: hair pulling, begging, stepping on his ween, degrading/humiliation, use of sex toys (f receiving), reader masturbates in front of Seonghwa, foot humping, Seonghwa is very desperate, praise (both for the reader and Seonghwa), slight heel kissing, dacryphilia, cumming in pants, reader gets called “Miss” (let me know if I missed anything)

☆Summary: When Seonghwa accidentally stood you up, leaving you alone in your shared apartment while he went out with his members. Somehow, he completely forgot about the date you both were meant to go on after he came home from work. When he did come home though, he swore he would do anything for you to forgive him. Anything?

—————————————————————————

“Where the fuck is he?” You huff.

Your heels clicking on the wood floor as you paced around the apartment. You tried calling him, but it would take your straight to voice mail. You warned Seonghwa to stop leaving the house without his phone fully charged. 

You groan in annoyance, walking to the living room and plopping down on the couch. You sat there with your head in your hands, your heart pounding with anger. How could he do this? 

Earlier that day, Seonghwa left your apartment for work. He had to spend the day in the recording booth for their upcoming album. That part you weren’t upset about; what upset you is that you both planned to go on a nice dinner when he got back. 

Two hours passed since he was supposed to get out of work, and he still wasn’t home. You were already dressed, wearing your prettiest black dress that you knew Seonghwa loved. It stopped at your midthigh and had some lace detailing. Your hair was curled, falling perfectly on your shoulder, and you had on a pair of black stiletto heels. 

You felt so humiliated, all dolled up just to be stood up by YOUR OWN BOYFRIEND. Suddenly you hear the jingling of keys on the other side of the front door; he’s finally home. A laughing Seonghwa stepped into the apartment, waving at his members before closing the door. When he turned to face you, his smile dropped, and you stood up slowly off the couch, glaring at Seonghwa.

He felt his heart ache after seeing the way you were dressed; he completely forgot about the date. The way you were looking at him sent chills down his spine, and you turned on your heels to storm in your shared bedroom. 

“Y/n wait…please.”

He caught up to you, stopping you before you could enter the bedroom. You shot around, eyes filled with fury. He stepped back, wanting to touch you but afraid you would blow up if he did.

“What the fuck, Seonghwa!? How could you? You stood me up!”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...”

His voice was soft and apologetic; you saw his eyes fill with worry and regret, but you were too upset to even care. 

“You didn’t mean to?! Do you know how dumb I feel, getting all dolled up just to wait for you for two hours? Your phone is dead, so you didn’t answer any of my calls; you just wasted my time!” 

“Listen, I don’t know how I forgot. After we finished recording, the guys wanted to grab some food."

“I don’t want to hear it!”

You interrupted him, walking in the bedroom and slamming the door in his face. Seonghwa let out a small sigh, rubbing his forehead and cursing to himself. You were too upset to even change out of your clothing; you sat on the edge of the bed with your head in your hands again. You felt so hurt; if you hadn’t let yourself be angry, you would have started sobbing right in front of Seonghwa (and you certainly did not want to do that).

Seonghwa didn’t step away from the bedroom door, resting his head on the wood with his hand gripping the doorknob. He messed up, real bad. He felt so guilty he could cry. All he wanted to do was walk in and shower you with all his love and kisses, but he knew you needed space. He knew that in times where you were angry, the best thing to do was let you be alone for a moment to cool down. 

After a few minutes of silence, Seonghwa slowly turned the knob; it wasn’t locked (that was a good sign). He peaked his head in, his heart sinking when he saw the way you sat in the bed, still wearing your pretty outfit. 

“Babe?” he said meekly.

You jaw clenched at the sound of his voice; you sat frozen, hiding your face with the palm of your hands. Your lack of shouting was enough encouragement Seonghwa needed to fully step in, walking closer to you. He could tell you were starting to calm down, which is why he allowed himself to kneel in front of you, trying to meet your gaze. 

“I’m so sorry. I don’t blame you for being upset with me. I don’t know how, but I just forgot. I guess I got so sprung up with working on this album; the guys wanted to go out to celebrate our hard work, and it slipped my mind.”

You took in a deep breath, still not looking at Seonghwa’s face. You could hear the sincerity in his voice, and your body relaxed just a bit at the sound. 

“That’s no excuse though; I shouldn’t have left my girl like that. I feel terrible. I’m so sorry, baby. You look so pretty, I could tell you spent a lot of time to look nice.”

You felt his trembling hand gently grasp your ankle, admiring your pretty shoes and dress. He soothingly ran his hand up and down your leg, scooting closer. Your silence started to worry him; he had to fight back tears and continued to apologize.

“Baby? Please say something. I’m so sorry. What I did was wrong, but please, can you at least look at me?”

His voice took on a pleading, desperate tone, and you felt your stomach churn with desire at the familiar sound. You mentally cursed yourself for feeling that way in a moment like this. You slowly lifted your face out of your hands, staring at a kneeling Seonghwa. 

His brows were furrowed and his eyes filled with desperation. This was a familiar sight, but in other cases he would usually be naked, dripping pre-cum out of his pretty cock. 

“Please? I’ll do anything if it means you will forgive me. Please, I’m begging on my knees for you.” 

He whined; you could tell he was on the brink of tears. Voice cracking at how desperate he was for you to forgive him; you knew his apology was sincere... but the way he looked did something to you.

“Anything?” You spoke, your voice taking a darker tone.

Seonghwa noticed the shift in your tone, although he tried not to think of it much. You watched as he bit his lip and nodded eagerly.

“Yes! Anything, please let me show you how sorry I am. Just name it, and I’ll do it.”

Your hard gaze on Seonghwa caused him to shiver, immediately feeling smaller while he kneeled in front of you. Suddenly, you reached up, tightly gripping the roots of Seonghwa’s hair and pulling his head back. He gasped harshly, feeling a wave of arousal crash through him, and his eyes shone with newfound desire. 

“You’re going to be my little bitch today,” you grunted through your teeth. 

Seonghwa whimpered at your words, eyes glued on you, and nodded to the best of his abilities. 

“Yes, yes, whatever you want. Punish me for being bad.” 

You chuckled darkly at how easily he complies with you. You push your foot forward and press the bottom of your shoe on his crotch, adding slight pressure.

Seonghwa gasped again, feeling your shoe against his clothes. He winced slightly at the pain, embarrassed at how he started to grow hard. You laughed at him, stepping harder onto his crotch and watching his every expression.

“You’re such a bad boy, leaving me all alone.”

You began to rub your foot against his growing length, causing Seonghwa to whine softly. His expression was so pretty, his jaw going slack as he furrowed his brows. He tried so hard to keep his eyes on you, knowing that if he looked away, it would only upset you more.

“I’m sorry, Miss; I won’t do it again.” He whined.

You released your grip on his hair, leaning back and resting your weight on your hands. You lifted your heel off him, just to press down again. Seonghwa whimpered and whined at the feeling, using all his might not to buck up into your foot. He was trying to be a good boy, his hands clenched at his sides as he let you step on him. 

“You’re getting hard from this? You’re so dirty, so pathetic.” 

Seonghwa whimpered at your words, feeling himself twitch against your foot. He nodded his head, looking up at you with pleading eyes.

“Yes… I’m sorry. I’m so pathetic,” he whined out. 

You felt yourself ache at his words; seeing him in this state made you feral. You laughed at his reaction, removing your foot to cross your legs. Seonghwa had to fight back the cry he wanted to let out, already missing the pressure of your shoe on him. His eyes roamed up and down your body, enjoying how dominant you looked. 

“You’re so pretty,” he said softly. 

“I am? I wore your favorite dress; it’s just a shame you won’t be taking it off me tonight.”

Seonghwa whined pathetically at your words, feeling a pang of disappointment. He gripped his own thighs, trying his best to keep his hands to himself. He knew he wasn’t allowed to touch you unless he had your permission.

“Nooo, please?”

You smirk at him, kicking your foot up to press your heel against his chest.

"No, no, you won’t be touching me in that way.”

Seonghwa pouted at your words; he felt his cock ache with need. You barely touched him, and he was already so needy. The pressure of your heel on his chest excited him a lot; he loved the slight pain. He loved that you could do whatever you wanted to him; he was so willing to let himself go and obey your every command. It was all so humiliating it turned him on. 

“Kiss my heel.”

Seonghwa felt a shiver run down his spine. He pressed his lips together and took in a breath. 

"Yes, Miss, I’ll gladly do that for you.”

He gently grasped your ankle, placing a soft kiss at the top of your shoe. He made sure to keep his eyes on you, and he started to trail soft kisses up your foot to your ankle.

“These heels are so pretty; you’re so pretty...so perfect,” he mumbled. 

You pulled your foot away, making Seonghwa whine softly. 

“Let’s not get hasty.” 

"Yes, Miss, I’m sorry.” 

You stared him down, taking in his desperate form. Watching the way his chest rose and fell, his dick hard and aching in his pants. It was so erotic, your core throbbed with desire. 

“I love that look on your face; it drives me crazy.” 

You huffed, spreading your legs in front of Seonghwa. His eyes widened when he saw you were wearing no panties under your dress. He whimpered, nails digging into the fabric of his pants.

“Fuck, you’re not wearing panties?”

“Tonight, I was going to let you touch me all you wanted at the restaurant, but since you stood me up...”

Your hands reached down, dipping your finger in your wet folds, rubbing circles around your clit.

“You won’t be touching me at all tonight.”

Seonghwa took in a sharp breath, his head casting down as a broken whine escaped his lips. 

“Nooo, please, I’m sorry. I won’t be bad, I promise. Please, please, I need to touch you... to taste you. Please!

You laugh at his reaction, rubbing your clit faster. 

"God, you’re so pathetic; you have no shame.”

“I am pathetic; I’m a dirty, pathetic boy. But it’s all because of you. I need you, please!” 

You moan at his words, his begging turning you on greatly. You yourself were starting to grow more desperate; your fingers weren’t enough. It was hard to stay composed; you so badly wanted to pull Seonghwa on the bed and ride him till you both came. Although he didn’t deserve that, not after everything he put you through.

An idea popped in your head, and you smirked mischievously as you reached over to open the bedside drawer. Seonghwa eyes followed your actions, watching you questioningly. He felt his dick pulse when he saw you pull out a pink dildo. He moaned at the sight, knowing what you had planned.

“Oh my god, baby,” he whined. 

You chuckled, spitting on the toy to get it nice and wet. You gently stroked it, lathering the dildo with your saliva. He watched you intently as you aligned the toy with your dripping hole.

“No, please don’t do this. I can’t handle not touching you.” 

“That’s too bad; now sit and watch like a good boy.”

He pressed his lips together, trying to quiet down his pleas. All his efforts went to waste though when he moaned out loud at the sight of you pushing toy inside you. 

You bent your knee up, trying to get a better angle and give Seonghwa a better view as you fucked yourself. You moaned softly, the feeling of Seonghwa’s pleading eyes on your turning you on.

“Oh god, you’re so pretty. I wish I was the one fucking you. Your pussy is so wet; I need you, baby, please.”

You ignored his please, head tilting back in pleasure. The feeling of the toy sliding in and out of you felt too good. The squelching of your pussy filled the room; Seonghwa couldn’t take much more of this. He was so hard it started to hurt in his pants. 

“Please, I can’t take it. I need you. You don’t even have to fuck me just... fuck, please just give me anything.”

“Such a needy boy,” you chuckled breathlessly.

You place your foot back on his crotch, applying pressure like last time. The moan that ripped out of Seonghwa's chest made you ache between your legs. You subconsciously fucked the dildo in you faster.

“Fuck there you go. Hump my foot like the bitch you are.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. He immediately grabbed ahold of you, wrapping his arms around your leg as he humped up into your foot. 

“Thank…you.”

“Fuck look at you,” you groaned. 

The sight of Seonghwa desperately trying to reach his high by grinding on your foot made you shiver in delight. His forehead rested on your knee; the mixture of pain and pleasure of your hard shoe rubbing against his most sensitive spot made his head reel. 

He looked back up, eye fixated on your pussy, taking the dildo deep. He moaned, watching with awe.

“You’re so pretty; you deserve all the pleasure.”

You moan louder, feeling your release coming faster than anticipated. You reached down to grab Seonghwa's hair, making him moan louder. Seonghwa can feel himself getting closer, his hips moving faster against your foot.

"Oh, look at that face you’re making; you’re close, aren’t you Seonghwa?” 

“Yessss,” he groaned; his words were slurring, and you could tell he was getting lost in the pleasure.

“Don’t you dare cum, not until I say you can.”

“Yes Miss… I’m trying... to hold it.”

You panted heavily; your wrist started to ache at how fast you were pounding your own pussy. You were on the brink of release, so close, but you needed more. You needed something else to push you off the edge.

“You want to touch me, baby?”

Seonghwa head perked up, eyes filled with excitement. 

“Yes! Yes please!”

“Take your fingers and rub my clit. That’s all you get to do.”

He whimpered, nodding eagerly and licking the pad of his middle and ring finger. He reached up to rub circles on your sensitive bud. You moaned, your hand gripping tighter in his hair, making him wince at the feeling.

“Like this?” He whimpered.

"Yes, baby, good boy.”

He moaned at your praise, dick twitching in his pants. He wished he was the one inside you, but he was so desperate to touch you that he was happy with the little friction he gave to your clit. 

“I want to make you feel good. Please cum, Miss. I can tell you’re so close.”

Seonghwa's words were all you needed to finally reach your peak. Legs trembling as you came all over the toy. Seonghwa moaned as he watched you come undone. 

“Yes! Yes! Oh, you’re so pretty when you cum, you deserve this.”

Seonghwa felt his own orgasm threaten to explode; he tried to hold it back to the best of his abilities. He whined desperately, his eyes filling up with tears. He gripped at your thigh, biting his lip so hard you were afraid it would start bleeding. 

After pulling the toy out of your wet hole, you set it aside, panting heavily. Your tight grip on Seonghwa's hair shifted to a soothing massage on his scalp.

“You wanna cum Seonghwa?” You asked breathlessly.

He nodded eagerly, pouting with tears rolling down his face. You smiled softly at his expression, cupping his face to make him look at you. You spoke to him in a gentle tone as you wiped a tear with your thumb.

“Cum for me, baby; you deserve it.”

“Thank you,” he said weakly.

A high pitch moan escaped Seonghwa’s lips, and he buried his face in your thigh as his hips stuttered. You continued to stroke his hair as he came all over himself, making a mess in his pants. 

“Shhh, that’s it. Good job, baby. You did so well.”

Seonghwa let out broken whimpers, holding onto you tightly while his hips rolled uncontrollably to ride out his high. His body stilled after his release, breathing heavily against your skin. He stayed there for a moment, brain gone to mush. You smile softly at him, lifting his face up to meet your gaze.

His face was stained with tears, his cheeks blushed red, and his lips plump from gnawing at them so much. 

“Good boy,” you praised.

He let out a small smile; his heart swelled with pride at the sound of your encouragement. He nuzzled his cheek into your thigh, looking up at you with loving eyes.

“Thank you,” he managed to let out. 

You pulled your foot off Seonghwa; a dark patch stained the crotch of his pants. You chuckle softly at the sight, leaning down to kiss his tear-stained cheek.

“I’m sorry, y/n; I shouldn’t have left you hanging like that.”

“It’s okay, Seonghwa; I forgive you.”

He smiled wide at your words, and his body finally relaxed. He let out a content sigh as his arms unwrapped themselves from your leg. 

“You took your punishment so well. You’re my good boy; I could never stay mad at you.”

You cupped his face with both your hands, and he laughed softly at your words. He reached up to rest his hand on top of yours, placing a small kiss on the inside of your wrist. You pull him up on the bed, wrapping your arms around him, and he nuzzles his face in your neck.

“Thank you. I still can’t help but feel bad,” he pulled away to pout at you. 

You chuckled, pushing his hair out of his eyes. You placed a sift kiss on his pouty lips; he immediately melted at your touch. 

“It’s okay; just buy me food tomorrow, and we’re fine.”

He chuckled, nodding in agreement. You both kissed each other again, slowly and passionately. You felt him pour all his love into this one kiss.

“Can I fuck you now?” He asked, eyes wide with hope.

You laughed, stroking his face and kissing his lips one last time.

“Aww, no.”

His body slumped, and he pouted softly.

“It was worth a shot,” he shrugged.

~

a/n: okay I know they don’t actually fuck but I felt this ending fit the concept the best. I hope you like it tho :3 (also side note, how do y’all feel about pegging….asking for scientific reasons 👀)

[gojosatorubrainrot]

The only real thing in here is you and me

•Summary: you are having a nightmare and Satoru is there to reassure you as the good and caring boyfriend he is

•Feat: Satoru Gojo x Reader

•Content: fluff, hurt/comfort, protective Satoru, insecure reader, Satoru being the perfect boyfriend

•Author's note: since I'm person who usually has nightmares and wakes up in the middle of the night scared and needs to be hugged, I decided to write this if some of you feel identified 🥹

•If you want to get added to my taglist, let me know in comments

Alone

That is how you are feeling at this moment. All your beloved relatives left you to rest in peace in the other side. But that wasn't the reason why you feel that way. You assumed that day would come so you were kinda prepare to say goodbye to them.

You feel alone because of him.

Because you had never thought that among all the people, he would let you at your mercy in this hard path called life.

It's worse than being all alone because of his eventual departure; he left you because he was tired of all of your problems: your complicated relationship you had with your parents before they passed away; your anxiety issues, low self streem and the bad conception you had of your own body; you never loved what you looked like in front of the mirror.

He was patient, comprehensive and caring everytime you came up with any of the topics mentioned before.

But he got tired; tired of each quarrel about how stubborn you were, how you didn't believe all those compliments he gave you, how beautiful you were to his eyes: you believed he was lying like everyone else did during your life.

You always thought he was like them; saying those beautiful words only to make you feel good, cared... loved, so you wouldn't complain about your look nor feel alone ever again.

You were standing in your house entrance dressed with one of his oversized shirts, seeing how his tall frame was walking across the street, to the opposite direction to your house: he was leaving you.

"Satoru, please! Don't leave me!"

You were shouting to him, tears falling down from your swollen eyes, having a tiny hope he would turn around and come back home. You hoped this was a joke, a really bad one: after all, he was the king of jokes.

But seeing your desperate shouts were causing no effect on him, you surrendered; you immediately fell on your knees, head in your hands, crying, sobbing, feeling how your heart was breaking in tiny little pieces because after all these years, he abandoned you. The only thing he had promised not to do so. He lied... as everyone did in your life

"Satoru, come back..." you were repeating to yourself, eyes fixed on the floor in astonishment, still believing this was a dream, you even pinched your cheeks but,then, you assumed this was the most real thing you ever lived through.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

It's a quiet and peaceful night, the room being lighten by the moon, the soft summer breeze moving the curtains while the white haired man, who barely gets some sleep, is looking at your sleeping silhouette, spellbound; he is tempted to trace your pinky cheeks with his long fingers, thanking the gods for letting him to have such a wonderful, kind and ethereal woman by his side.

He is also happy that you let him in, to get to know you more, your secrets, insecurities, your anxiety issues and mostly your low self esteem. He was always aware of when you were feeling uncomfortable or uneasy by only looking at how you usually furrow your eyebrows with disgust and that is when he immediately knows that you are not okay anymore.

He would instantly drop everything he was doing, even canceling meetings with the higher ups so he can spend the rest of the day with his girl, spoling her with her favorite snacks, cuddling in bed while watching her favorite movies/TV shows but mostly; being with you when you most needed him.

Suddenly his daydreaming is interrupted when he feels you started to move in the middle of your sleep, droplets of sweat in your forehead, making some strands of hair stucked to it. You were babbling nonsense; at first he decided to ignore it since you usually have dreams like that, but when you screamed his name in a terrified way all of sudden, that really caught his attention.

By the time you are slowly realizing that all was a nightmare, you feel those familiar arms around you, his chest pressed in your back, feeling his increased heartbeats and his head buried in your neck. You can't help but start crying because you thought your worst fear came true.

You felt relieved, it wasn't.

"Shh shh, it's okay, baby. I'm here" he whispers to your ear, your body still trembling, hard breaths leaving your mouth, shock running through your body, like you were paralyzed. "It was a bad dream, sweets. It wasn't real. The only thing that is real in this room is you and me" he says this giving your cheek smooches as you begin to calm down.

"Toru..." your voice trembles, tears showing at the corner of your eyes, all that you want is being wrapped in those arms, the ones that always make you feel safe, loved and most of all, that the strongest sorcerer, the love of your life, Satoru Gojo, your Toru, is by your side another day.

He breaks the embrace and move in the mattress so he can be in front of you, to do what he does best: to be there for you.

"I'm here, sweets" he cups your face so you are looking at his cerulean eyes filled with worry.

It breaks his heart to see you at such vulnerable condition, being aware of he wasn't able to do something to prevent you from having that nightmare.

He put a strand of hair behind your ear in a delicate way as if you were about to break in tiny little pieces, without breaking the eye contact.

Satoru won't ask you about your nightmare, but, he can guess it was related to him. It's not the first time you woke up in such state; the first time you did it, it turned out you dreamt about Satoru dying in your arms after visiting him in Shoko's infirmary due a bad injury during one of his missions.

It was extremely hard to him to calm you down after you told him every detail of it, so he didn't want you to freak out again, you have already dealt with too much pain during your sleep.

"I'm here, love. I'll never leave you by your own. I never break my promises, especially if they involve the love of my life, you" he says giving a sweet and gentle kiss in the tip of your nose, then, in your left cheek, the other and finally, in your lips. He was pampering you with all the love he has for you, his everything.

It was a kiss filled with love, devotion, adoration but mostly, with care. You close your eyes, your chest inflates with a warm feeling that you only feel with Satoru; you will always feel safe if he is by your side.

"Let's go to bed, baby. Try to get some sleep, and remember, I'm always here no matter what, okay?"

You nodded and let Satoru tuck you in, covering your body with the sheets and then he did the same placing himself behind you, hugging you from behind, wrapping his arms around your waist, his hands placed in your low belly. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, feeling his warm breathing.

That is all you needed. To feel alive, to feel safe, to feel this is real

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~

© GOJOSATORUBRAINROT— do not plagiarise, repost, use or translate my works on any platform.

Taglist: @shogunish @msjellyf1sh

[deathbyathousandspiders]

So imagine a fic based off the song "boy in the bubble" by Alec Benjamin where reader gets in a fight on the way home from school the one time she doesn't walk with Peter. Preferably have her father be Tony Stark and he'd take place of the mother in the story.

first, i wanted to say that i loved writing this and i love song prompts :) i hope you enjoy this !!

second, i want to apologize to the anon who told me i better not disappear for months because oops–

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader, mentions of blood, mentions of pain/wounding, swearing.

✨masterlist✨.

3.6k.

Typically, stepping into your downtown apartment on a Friday evening would be more exciting for you. It meant that your week of stuck–up students and nerve–wracking tests could be long forgotten. It meant that you had the weekend to live freely from academic cages. At the beginning of that day, you would’ve thought today would be like any other Friday; with Peter accompanying you and your father for dinner like every week.

But Peter didn’t walk back with you.

Your tired limbs ripped from the floor with every step, hobbling out of the elevator with as much grace as you had room to carry. That room was slim, making space for the array of bruises and blood tainting your clothing. You carried the last bit of dignity you could, and tried to replace the sinister words spat at you from your attacker:

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

See, till now, you’d been grateful to be excused from the attention and popularity that accompanied your title. You didn’t care for followers or anything that catered to your birthright. Your father was your best friend, and you were lucky to be a Stark just to have his light in your life. However, there were some who weren’t like your classmates or peers — people who hated the Stark name, and wouldn’t rest until the family name died at their hand.

Tonight, you’d met the first of who knows how many. The thought alone sent a serpent–like shiver down your body.

And Peter wasn’t with you.

The fumes of Tony Stark’s cooking filled your senses as you limped further into your family room. You consciously knew you were late for dinner, but the pain throbbing throughout your body put that knowledge on the back burner. The sunset was just beyond the apartment windows, and it made you wonder whether Peter had beaten you to your own house or not. It was 6:48 after all, he was bound to be there.

You’d nearly forgotten that the subtle ping of the elevator doors announced your arrival. You heard your dad set down his spatula. “You kids are late.” He greeted, hollering from the kitchen. “I hope you two didn’t stop for Delmar’s on your way back!” You processed the undertones as your knees gave out, left hand pressing into the top of the sofa back.

White knuckles gripped onto your couch as you tried to gain your balance, wincing through gritted teeth. Your right arm remained hugging your abdomen, palm pressed onto a sore–spot on your torso. Every fiber in your body ached for some sense of relief. To sit down. You were a bit too stubborn for your own liking, trying to hike up the steps and get to your room without being spotted—

“Jesus Christ!” Your father cried from the archway of the dining room. You heard his hurried steps across the hard–wood flooring, almost too nervous to meet his eyes. He made his way over quickly, and the first thing you noticed through your periphery was the ‘kiss the cook’ apron he kept tied around his waistline. “Kid, what the hell happened?” Your dad crouched down beside you, finally locking eyes with you.

The cold air hitting your eyes made you realize just how quick the tears were welling. You swallowed the lump in your throat, whether it was sobs or embarrassment or dried blood from thrown punches. “I was jumped.” Your bottom lip trembled a bit before you mustered the words out.

Your dad scanned over your body, eying just how tattered your clothes were, and how much blood painted your outfit. His eyes glistened with a parental look— a look shimmering with something mixed of worry and sadness and anguish and apology. “And Peter wasn’t with you?”

That confirmed that your best friend, in fact, had not beaten you to your apartment.

And for some reason, it made things all the more worse. Your jaw clenched a bit, both of concern and frustration. Disappointment nagged at the corners of your lips as you shook your head. “No, he said he’d meet me here later.” Your imagination got the best of you, replaying your evening but if Peter actually had been with you. The thought alone made you shutter. “But it was probably for the best.”

“Did he say what he was doing?” The look in his eyes said something that he wasn’t communicating. They said something unspoken that made you feel like there were things that you weren’t being told.

You ignored it, feeling a surge of pain in your abdomen. A quiet hiss fought its way up your throat. “He didn’t. But it’s fine.” No, it wasn’t. “Peter can’t throw a punch to save his life.”

A laugh actually left your father’s lips. “You’d be surprised.” He muttered, his tone speaking the same tongue that his eyes were. There was definitely something that you didn’t know, but your intuition couldn’t place its finger on what.

It wasn’t your fault that you were oblivious to your best friend’s vigilante status. You were kept in the dark about what web–slinging activities Peter Parker kept behind closed doors. Tony and Peter kept it secret that you were best friends with Spider–Man. They hadn’t let the news slip yet, and Tony wasn’t about to. They both agreed it was in your best interest to keep you safe.

Apparently, their efforts weren’t enough.

Your eyebrow rose, trying to cut through the bullshit. “Are you kidding, Dad?” You asked, maintaining eye contact as your father rose from his crouched position beside you. “It’s Peter Parker we’re talking about here. He wouldn’t even kill a fly.”

Tony’s hands creased his hips, shoulders shrugging gently with his response. “I don’t know, hon. He told me May had him take Karate years back.” He didn’t leave time for a response as his eyes trailed back down to the developing bruises along your arms. Seeing the crusting crimson on his daughter’s body was a sight that made him lose his appetite. “I’ll go grab my medical kit. You’re lucky that Pepper taught me a thing or two before she got promoted.”

The room fell quiet as Tony put pause on dinner and soon rushed back over with a first–aid kit. You didn’t want to stain any furniture, so you managed to sit on a wooden coffee table until you were given further instruction.

It didn’t take long before your mind wandered off to worry about Peter, and what could be keeping him so long. He did tell you before you’d parted ways that he’d join you guys for dinner? Right? You swore that he told you he’d be there by 6:30, and even you were late. Thinking back to the details made you recall some harsh memories. Your wounds throbbed at the recollection of how they came to be, and the blood that was shed, and the words that were spat…

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark—”

“We should call Bruce.” Your dad’s voice of concern and reason brought you back to the moment. All you could do was stare. You hadn’t noticed that he’d started to examine your wounds, or just how defeated and pained for you he was.

The look made your stomach twist at the insults your own self–critic threw back at you.

Before you knew it, you were standing up, choking back a wince, fighting against yourself. “No! No– it’s just a few scratches. It’s fine.” Was it? Even though the pain was searing, and you wobbled as you stepped to the bathroom. Clearly your father was overreacting. He had to be. You weren’t weak.

Tony followed your footsteps, treading close behind in case you were to trip. “Hon, I’m serious! You look like you went through a paper shredder!”

You looked at him with a grimace, disbelief shone in your eyes. Almost as if he were calling you pathetic. “Don’t make it so intense! I’m sure it’s—” You halted. Everything froze. The air sucked right back into your lungs at the sight of your bloodied figure in the mirror. Flicking on the light, you couldn’t breathe.

The color palette that covered your body could’ve painted an entire canvas worth; the shirt you wore was hanging onto your shoulders with two threads and a miracle, not to mention the slashes at the thighs of your jeans. You’d nearly forgotten that your attacker had such a thick knife until you saw it— saw yourself. A shiver snaked down the length of your spine, leaving a splintering chill behind it.

It wasn’t until Tony turned off the bathroom light that you’d realized you were staring at yourself. He carefully grabbed your hand, leading you back into the living room. “We don’t have to call Bruce, but can I at least clean you up a bit?”

You didn’t have the words to respond to him. A nod was all you could muster before he sat you back down at the coffee table. “Should I– uh.. Should I shower first?”

Tony shook his head beside you. “Until I figure out if you need stitching, no.” He went to investigate the damage, but hesitated, trying to navigate an approach. “Sweetheart? You decent enough to take your shirt off? I could grab you a blanket if that would help–”

But before your dad finished his thought, you went to try and peel off your shirt. It was a lot more difficult than you thought. Painful, too. You were cold and hot and sweaty and sticky and pins and needles dug their way into your limbs each time they moved. You were grateful your dad didn’t even pause before assisting you. He grabbed his medical scissors, snipping off the sleeves of your top.

You and your dad were really comfortable with one another, so this didn’t bother you. You were more blinded by the burns and the harshness to each ache and blemish coating your limbs and torso. Daggers upon daggers of pins and needles sunk into your flesh, yet it hurt you the most to know that you had to present yourself so battered and bruised to your dad. It made you feel so…useless. So…pathetic.

A minute of silence passed, filled with nothing but pity and the sear in your eyes, holding back tears. You wanted to be strong. You needed to be strong. Showing weakness would mean that your attacker was right. Your throat burned, swallowing hard and pushing back your damaged narrative. The feeling of how feeble you felt.

The subtle ping from the elevator made your blood run cold. Your head snapped up to look at who entered the apartment, eyes wide and teary when they met the pair of Peter Parker. And the second he jogged out of the elevator, he stopped dead in his tracks. He gasped quietly, staring back at you with the same gaping eyes.

You didn’t see the way Tony glared at Peter from beside you, but you felt the way he’d stopped inspecting you. Peter walked closer, taking cautious steps as he minimized the distance. “What happened?” His voice was gentle, perhaps because he noticed the tears coating your cheeks.

Wiping your eyes, you realized your hands were trembling. Your whole body shook from the endured trauma, and you shivered like you were in the midst of a blizzard. Had you been shaking that whole time? You didn’t have time to overthink it. You felt like you were being whisked away into a whirlwind of panic.

Tony stood up, his expression crossed with some unspoken irritation. “I need to finish dinner.” His words were short. “Kid, could you help patch her up? She mainly just needs disinfectant.” There was no room for response from Peter before your father started walking. You didn’t see him leave, but you felt the gentle kiss he placed on your head before he left one final comment with Peter:

“And you and I are going to have a talk later.”

You weren’t sure what was going on with the two. Quite frankly, you weren’t sure what was going on in general. Shaking like this, being emotional like this, it was far from anything you were used to.

It felt like you were being violated, forced open, naked— and that wasn’t just because you were without a shirt. You felt exposed, and you couldn’t hide anymore. There was nowhere you could go and nothing you could do to shield from the fact that you were vulnerable right now.

Peter sat in front of you, kneeling so that you could see him. So that he could see you. “Hey..” His voice got soft, gentler, and somehow it broke you. You caught your bottom lip between your teeth to try and stop the way it shuttered. Metal lingered on your tongue and your throat felt hollow and thick with the cries you held back. But Peter was your best friend, and he knew you.

He knew how stubborn you were with your own emotions, and how guarded you kept yourself from showing that part to other people. He knew that you couldn’t hide forever, either. And maybe he’d figured that out when his right hand went to cradle your face, and the tears finally washed away the walls you’d been keeping up.

Somehow seeing him safe was your undoing. The downfall of the avalanche you’d been hobbling in attempt to support, but you couldn’t seal the dam anymore. The relief of knowing that Peter was unharmed, the ease to all your worries, it made you forget why you’d been trying to stop your tears in the first place.

Your body broke out into violent shivers the second you let it, and your shoulders shook with every sob. Peter didn’t say anything. He merely took you into his arms and held you to him, careful not to press against any wound. It terrified you to think about what would’ve happened had Peter walked home with you, unbeknownst to you that he probably would’ve protected you from any of this happening in the first place.

It took you a minute or two to cry it out before Peter set you back on the coffee table. It seemed effortless to pick you up, and that made you realize just how strong he was. Your dad was right, Peter did surprise you.

Peter knew exactly how to mend these kinds of wounds, too. Where did he learn? It might always be a mystery. Still, it came in handy now. He draped his zip–up jacket over your shoulders, before dabbing a cloth of rubbing alcohol against every cut on your torso. He was so focused. Tensed jaw and creased eyebrow, not wavering for a second until you gained the courage to ask him a question. You took a shaky breath.

“Peter?” You murmured, immediately grabbing his attention. Peter glanced at you, the cold glisten in his focused stare began to thaw when he did. He took a breath, perhaps needing to be broken from the train of thought he’d started to entertain. With his attention, you took another breath, nervous.

Your fingers gripped the edge of the coffee table with white knuckles. If you’d been any stronger, maybe you’d broken the table, or even your fingers. “Do you.. think I’m–” You had to suck in another chunk of air just to muster out that taunting, despicable word. “Weak?” Even in your efforts to say it straight, your voice broke in an instant.

Without a beat, his eyes met yours again and he stopped everything he was doing. “Weak?” He repeated back. “No.” The word was so instantly rejected, you’d almost felt stupid bringing it up in the first place. “You’re so far from weak, Y/N. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”

Your hands went to hide your face, too ashamed of how quickly you broke before him. From the solitude behind your fingers, you couldn’t see the way Peter also broke at the words. He wasn’t sobbing as you were, but he couldn’t help the sulking of his shoulders. Peter truly blamed himself for this. Setting down the rag, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “Anyone who thinks you’re weak is blind to who you are. That, or they’re fucking stupid.” He spoke softly, pulling your hands from your face.

“You’re the most courageous person. The amount of bullshit you put up with, and the reporters you call out– Fuck, I can’t even imagine walking away from a fight like you did tonight..” His words of endearment warmed your heart. “You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak?” He shook his head. “Impossible.”

You and Peter stared for a beat or two before he stood up, carefully helping you to your feet. “I think you’re all set to shower. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?”

Taking a breath, you took Peter’s words to heart. You got this. “I think I’ll be okay.” Ignoring the shakiness in your voice, you took paces to the stairwell. “If I’m not back in thirty, you have permission to make sure I didn’t pass out.”

Peter cracked a small smile at you, “Noted. Text me if you need anything!” He added the offer, to which he saw you nod to, and he caught a glimpse of your timid smile. He knew you’d be okay, but it still didn’t shake the weight of how to blame he was. The sound of Tony clearing his throat from the kitchen only seemed to remind him. And with a second clearing of his throat, Peter realized that Tony was trying to communicate.

Walking into the kitchen, Peter saw Tony leaned back against the counter, arms crossed with a cold stare. “Mister Stark, I–”

“Where the hell were you tonight?”

The tone changed the entire atmosphere. No amount of savory fragrances from the cuisine could take away from the fact that Peter was in trouble.

Peter’s shoulders squared at the intensity carried with Tony’s aggravation. He took a breath, pausing in the doorway. “Sir, there was an armed–”

Tony’s fist met the marble counter in a startle. “Damn it, Pete!” Kid couldn’t get a word in if he tried. “Damn it, you had one job!” His index finger went up to emphasize his point.

“What was I supposed to do??” Peter felt like he was fighting a losing battle. “I had no idea what was going to happen!” In the midst of his hushed defense, his voice broke a bit from the weight of his guilt. “Mister Stark.. I think it’s time we tell her.”

A scoff was what Peter was met with. A rush of air caught on Tony’s disbelief, throat, and dismissal. “We’d tell Y/N what? That you’re Spider–Man? That we’ve been lying for this long?”

It was a tough call, and Peter knew that. Peter also knew that Tony couldn’t keep this shit up any longer than he could. “She deserves to know!” He planned to plead his case. “Whoever attacked her tonight planned this. It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–”

“You don’t know that—”

“And you don’t either!” Peter wasn’t about to get cut off again. He let out some of the steam he’d began to bottle. “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened. And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”

As much as the two had raised their voices, or grown to anger, they let the reality of the evening sink into the space between them. The thickened air sat within the walls as they both took a breath and collected themselves. Tony’s expression melted, and he finally reached over to turn off the stove.

Dinner was almost ready.

The back of Tony’s hips met the marble countertop behind him, supporting his weight as he crossed his arms, looking at Peter sympathetically. “Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.”

A weight or two instantly lifted from Peter’s guilty–conscious. “I know.” He lied.

Tony’s lips curled ever so slightly at the hasty quip. “As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.”

There was a subtle sinking to Peter’s mending optimism. “Then when do you plan to tell her?”

A pause. Tony sighed, releasing a breath he’d been holding since Peter’s spider bite. “I don’t know..” Genuinity. Tony’s paternal protocol kicked in, and he wasn’t sure how to navigate it entirely.

On the one hand, his daughter deserved to know the truth. You deserved to know the truth. His wisdom and knowledge was such a curse when it came to fatherhood, because while being honest was what his role as a father called for, logic came right back to remind him of just how many lies were piled on top of each other. What if there was no coming back from this?

Tony shrugged, appearing more open to the idea of being truthful. “I’ll tell you what.” He started, “You tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”

“Peter’s what?”

Ice. The room turned to ice too quickly, both Tony and Peter snapping their heads to look at you in the doorway. They hadn’t noticed you’d been listening. You’d been standing there for who knows how long, considering that you hadn’t even showered yet.

Both of the men in front of you exchanged glances of sheer panic before Tony cleared his throat to get your attention. He held up the frying pan, looking you dead in the eyes with the most false–confidence you’d ever seen your father carry.

“Dinner’s ready.” His voice cracked.

Yeah, there was absolutely no coming back from this.

[selineram3421]

Hiiii you're the first blog I check every morning and I absolutely LOVE everything you write!!

How about Alastor/Angel Dust/Husker finding the reader after attempting suicide? (If you don't want to thats fine, it can be super triggering, I just want comforttt)

I went aw and then went oh..

Lol but yes, I can do this.

Attempts

Warning! ⚠

⚠ mentions of attempted suicide-drowning/overdose/cutting, descriptive injuries, blood, mental illness mentioned ⚠

Human AU for this one:

Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

Alastor🎙

He had noticed you becoming distant.

For what reason?

That's just the thing. He didn't know.

It did concern him though and he would check up on you from time to time.

But you would just smile and say you were fine. That you just had a hard time falling asleep last night.

There was something that still had him on edge. Something was wrong but you didn't tell him.

He was your friend, your best friend in fact! You could tell him anything...

Right?

Alastor had come to visit, bringing along some of his cooking to help cheer you up.

Time's were getting rough with the economy crashing. And you, his dear friend, lived alone with no immediate family around. It was just you and that cat that would occasionally come by for food.

He stood at the door of your apartment and knocked, waiting for you to open it and greet him.

As he waited, he noticed the claw marks at the bottom of your door, wondering if the stray cat had done it.

How odd.. He thought. They would have opened the door before the little creature could dare scratch up their door.

He knocked again.

But the longer he waited was making him slightly nervous. Tapping his foot until he could no longer stand still, he got the spare key you gave him and opened the door.

Calling out your name, he walked into your apartment and placed the place of food down on the kitchen counter. After closing the door behind him, he walked into the living room.

"Are you home?", he asked, looking around the room, spotting your coat and shoes still out.

They haven't left. Maybe they are asleep?

Something had formed at the pit of his stomach, the feeling of fear and worry cloaking his thoughts. He walked into their room after feeling it grow stronger.

Looking around, he saw that your bed was made and that everything was neat and tidy.

Then he noticed the paper on your dresser.

Walking over, he picked it up and started to read. It was odd, as it addressed whoever happened to pick it up, but then he noticed what it meant.

No no no no no-!

His hands shook and he flinched when hearing a loud splash of water.

Dropping the paper, Alastor ran to the bathroom, barging in. There he saw you in the filled bath tub, soaking wet with clothes and shoes on, gasping for air.

He said your name and rushed over, pulling you out of the tub.

"Darling, talk to me!", he said, grabbing a towel to wrap around your shaking form. "What-"

"I couldn't- I couldn't do it! I couldn't..", they sobbed, turning their head away from him as they sunk down onto the tiled floor. "Why can't I just do it!?"

Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on the floor and hugged them.

"Shh sh, its alright.", he whispered, rocking them back and forth.

They clung onto the back of his shirt, still shaking from their cries.

"Its going to be alright."

Angel Dust🕸

You were his buddy, his pal.

Someone he could tell everything to without having to worry about you running to the cops.

You were the friend that was always by his side, no matter how many times he fucked up.

You would encourage him, praise him, and just be like sunshine. It reminded him of his sister Molly.

He didn't notice when your smiles started to become a mask.

He didn't notice when you started taking drugs from his stash.

Angel had left to pick up some drinks for the both of you. The day was alright and you had asked to hang out for a while.

It was a little weird when you had started to point out every detail, but he had just brushed it off as you being observant.

Maybe it was one of those days when you would just stare at the sky.

When he got back, he couldn't find you in the room.

Weird. He thought and shrugged before sitting down on the couch to wait for you.

Opening up his drink, he went to take a sip before something caught his eye.

It was the vent that hid his secret stash.

Why is that open? No one could have known it was there but you-

His eyes widened and he shot up from the couch and ran around the place yelling out your name.

"Com' on! This isn't funny!", he yelled, opening every door that he came across. "You've nevah had drugs! You don't know how much you can handle!"

He found you on the floor, packs ripped open around you.

"No..", Angel said quietly before repeating it as he rushed over to your side. "Snap out of it!", he yelled out in a panic and shook you by the shoulders.

You were blinking really slow, pupils dilated and shaking.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck!", he said, picking you up and placing you on a nearby couch. "Stay awake! I'm gonna call a hospital, ok!?"

"Sorry Angel.", you mumbled and lifted your hand to hold his. "I just wanted the pain to go away. I just wanted to sleep."

"Stay awake. I'll come back in a bit ok? Or let me find a phone with a long enough cord.", he said before running out of the room.

He held back from crying when speaking to the nurse on the phone. Doing his best to explain what was going on.

After the call, he went back to hold your hand until the ambulance came to pick you up.

He had gotten an earful for being late for a job but he didn't care about that. All he could think of was you, hoping you were alright as he worked on autopilot to get the job done.

Damn it. He thought as he paced back and forth. I should have paid more attention to them.

Angel immediately went to visit you after finishing up, rushing down the hallways to get to your hospital room with a bouquet of flowers in his hand.

He slammed the door open and found you awake, looking him up and down.

"What the fuck were ya thinking!?", he said as he made his way over to your side. "Best friends don't try to kill themselves before the other one! Best friends die tagethah!"

"I-"

"These are for you.", he said and placed the flowers on the nightstand nearby before sighing. "Why didn't you talk to me?"

Pulling up a chair next to your bed, he sat on it. Taking off his hat to brush his hair back to try and calm himself down.

"You know you can tell me anything, right?", he said looking at you. "I'm here for you, like you are for me. So talk to me."

Husk🃏

Honestly, he didn't know what to think of you at first.

You were just another person on the other side of the bar. Ordering a drink and sitting there for hours.

He knew a sad face, as it was quite common, but yours seemed permanent.

After a while, you became friends.

You weren't annoying and he appreciated your company. Sometimes when it was a slow night, he would show you card tricks.

He didn't know how depressed you actually were.

It had been a long night.

Husk had to serve some annoying assholes but other than that group it was tolerable.

What was odd was that you didn't show up.

They probably have an actual life to get back to. He thought as he cleaned up the bar.

After he locked up, he went out through the alleyway in the back. But as soon as he walked out he saw you leaning against the brick wall covered in blood.

"Oh shit!", he yelled out in shock before rushing to check you over.

He found your wrists slit, still gushing out some blood. Quickly, he ripped the bottom part of his undershirt and tied them around your wrists to try and slow the blood.

"Fucking hell!", he hissed and ran over to the pay phone across the street.

After putting in the coins, he called the nearest hospital and rushed out what was going on.

"I found them a few minutes ago! They are unconscious, but their wrists are still bleeding! I don't fucking know! Just send someone over!"

He got fed up with the person on the phone and slammed the pay phone back to its place. The change clunk down into the machine and he ran out of the booth to take you to the hospital himself.

"Don't you fucking die on me!"

After you were taken by the doctors, Husk sat on one of the chairs in the waiting room, bouncing his leg.

He hasn't beem that worried about someone since-

It's just been a long time.

It wasn't until a few hours later that you woke up. The doctors let him know that he could see you now, and he made his way over to your room.

As soon as he entered, he pointed at you with the grumpiest frown you've ever seen.

"Don't you ever do that shit again."

All you did was smile.

"Thanks Husk."

Then he did something that surprised you.

He hugged you and cried.

"You fucking dumbass.", he grumbled. "Do you know how shitty my night was? Then I find you passed out, covered in blood in the fucking dark."

"I'm sorry Husk.", you said, leaning your head on his shoulder. "I had a shitty night too. I wasn't thinking right."

Both of you stayed like that for a while.

Something that both of you never talked about was your home life. After this stunt, Husk would make sure to check in on you more.

"You owe me booze."

You laughed and agreed.

This was hard. Sorry for it being so late, but I hope you are doing better now.

~Seline, the person.

ML's for Alastor, Angel Dust, Husk

[appleblueberry-pie]

Hi, the fandom is on fire and well I am a bit low on morale. May I please request for Yandere Nanami comforting his darling after they have a mental breakdown from realizing there is no escape. This leading to both Nanami and his darling sharing a bed and cuddling

This is so undoubtedly late, but absolutely. I will try to make this as comforting as possible.

You tried so hard to shove it down. You hated gaining Kento's attention by obviously needing help. But you couldn't hide it. Not this. Every time you tried to mentally solve the issue, you kept coming to the conclusion that this can't ever be fixed.

You're never leaving this house. You'd be in here, rotting with your captor until the day that he dies. And who knows how long it'll be until then, or if you will even live until that day comes. You continued to draw that conclusion over and over again, the dread pooling in your stomach every single time, and it was harder to bare the feeling the next time it came.

You couldn't eat. You couldn't sleep. You couldn't do shit, and being unable to find peace just made the cycle restart again. You just wanted peace of mind. You just wanted to be left alone without your thoughts, you wanted to leave this fucking house.

But your captor is almost always in the next room, waiting for you to call out his name.

You couldn't hold in the terrible sob that escaped your lips. Your stomach hurts and your head was beginning to pound. Breathing didn't soothe your hot face or your nerves and no matter how many times you wiped your face, more tears would roll down.

You didn't care when you heard quick foot steps approaching your room and you didn't care when Kento barged in, attaching himself to your side and begging you to tell him what's wrong.

Kento's heart was beating so hard in his chest. You didn't want to speak and just continued to sob until you couldn't breathe. Even when he held you so tight to keep the bad thoughts from infiltrating your mind, you still cried. You felt hot to the touch and he didn't want to leave you alone for a single second to get a cool rag to cool you down. So he just rocks you in his arms on the floor, caressing your head and keeping you as close to him as possible, hoping this will all be over sooner than later.

Why was his baby feeling like this? Is this why you weren't eating? Why you were restless all night? He tried all he could. Made you hot chocolate the way you liked, brought you your favorite blanket that he reserved for winter and even let you watch TV in the living room. But none helped you sleep and none got you to eat. All day, you looked like a ticking time bomb waiting to explode, and here you were scattered in his arms. He should've known something was up with you.

When you quieted down, Kento loosened his hold and looked down at your face. Damp from tears and you just looked so tired. Every bone in his body wished to make every single one of your bad feelings go away, but he didn't even know the first thing he had to accomplish to get that to happen.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shake your head.

"Want something to eat?" You groan out a soft no. He frowns.

"Want me to bring you to bed?" Your eyes flutter shut and you nod.

He immediately gathers you in his arms and effortlessly brings you to the warm sheets that you've neglected all day and you relax once he tucks you in. He slips in with you, very slowly to see if you'd tell him to leave. You don't. So, he takes his spot in front of your curled form and wraps his arms around what he could. You don't disagree.

It was his turn to relax, and he sighs in relief. You always come first. And he will find out why you got so worked up soon enough. But you come first.

[starrybl1ss]

burning desire౨ৎ

⋆｡°🕯️✩.˚₊

stu macher ghostface!abby x billy loomis ghostface!ellie x sidney prescott!reader

໒꒱ ⋆ﾟ⊹

<;> importaint info (please read) Hii! Sooo, the storyline of the fic is abt this part in the scream 1 but i changed it up a bit! ౨ৎ warnings: threesom, mention of blood, murder, smut, fingering, knife play, betrayal??, both psycos eating u outtt, pet names, swearing, trauma, death threats, angst, dead body but not really??? begging

꒰୨୧꒱

The night was a total horror, it just all started from the woodsboro murder of casey becker, the girl from your school and now it has turned into a nightmare to you and everyone else.

All the murder that the anonymus serial killer in the ghostface mask has done. Your friends, dead. It's all a tragedy,

The aftermath of the party at abby's is all fucked up. Now your running around for your life inside abby's house, terrified.

Your currently upstairs. Now your running down the stairs, sweat and blood all over you.

Your heartbeat felt like it stopped when you saw dina on the living room floor with blood all over.

You start sobbing. "O-oh my fucking g-god! Dina?!" You yelled while breathing heavily.

You quickly looked up as you heard a noise so your ran as quickly as possible towards the kitchen trying to hide when you bumped into abby.

"Woah, woah you 'kay?" She asked you. You panicked around and finally replied trying to catch a breathe "F-fuck, t-the killer is... is.. is fucking here, Dina's dead we need to call the cops and get the fuck out of here abby!"

You heard a noise and looked back quickly as you saw... ghostface.... standing there. You shrieked "FUCK, ABBY LETS GO!"

"shhh, calm down" she insured you. "ARE YOU MAD? THERES A KILLER INFRONT OF US" you shouted at her getting ready to run.

Suddenly, the killer took off the mask and... and... ellie?! "Suprise babe" she said grinning. "WHAT THE FUCK ELLIE?"

You were in horror. "ABBY WE SHOULD FUCK OFF AND RUN" as abby hugs you from behind, she grabbed something from her pocket, a soundbox...

She turned on the soundbox and began speaking. "Hello, y/n" with the terrifying voice that you have heard so many time through the phone before getting attacked.

"SHIT, ABBY LET ME GO PLEASE" you cried out. abby doesn't answer. Ellie got closer and lifts up your chin. "You thought i could do this fucked up game alone huh?"

Ellie lets out her hand as abby game the voice box to her. She turned the voice box on "wanna play a game..... y/n?" She laughed madly. She sounds like she has lost her mind.

"please.... Just fucking let me go..." you begged. Abby whispers in your ear "how bout we draw a little blood first?"

"god, please no... let me go please" you helplessly sob. Tears falling down your cheeks as ellie whipes them off. "It's okay babe, we'll be gentle" as her sweet caring smile turns into an evil smirk.

"Fucking hell ellie, i thought i trusted you" you said. "I know, i know im sooooo sorry babe" she whispers while holding you. Her left hand on your shoulder and right hand on your hips.

"i should have let you rot in jail until your execution day" you sobbed. "You'd miss me if i was gone doll" ellie said.

"See y/n? Wont you miss her if she was gone? Counting down days until she gets executed and die? You wouldn't want that right pretty?" Abby said still holding you back.

"I would, but now i wish you two were fucking dead" you replied with anger. "What if your the one whos gonna be dead tonight doll?" Ellie walk around slowly around the kitchen.

"Fuck you." You yelled while still trying to catch a breath. Ellie gets closer to your body. "What was that? You don't need to act so bitter babe"

"dont ever call me 'babe' again you fucking bitch!" You shout at her. "Remember i have a knife right? I could stab you and gut out your insides anytime. But i won't"

Ellie pulls out her knife as you try to flee from abbys arm but it was impossible, she was so strong. "FUCK YOU BITCHES LET ME GO!" you screamed.

Ellie drags the side of the knife around your bare stomache as you were wearing tight croptop. You felt the cold sensation of the knife on your skin without drawing any blood but is enough to make you panic.

"you look so pretty like this doll" said to you grinning. You were breathing heavily but her words somehow made you blush.

"Awh, your so cute" she teased dragging the knife lower down your stomache. "F-fuck..." you said as your skin gets cold due to the knife.

"Dont worry pretty, ellie's knife is clean. She hasnt killed anyone with it" abby insured you.

Ellie circles the side of her blade on your lower stomache with you closing your eyes. "Don't pretend that you dont like that" she said teasingly.

She stop and slides down the end of her blade carefully down your shorts without making you bleed. You whimper softly from her actions.

"S-shit dont fucking stop" you said desperately. Abby grabs your chin and starts kissing you as ellie drops her knife on the floor and unbutton your short jeans.

Now your just gonna let two psycopaths to ruin you rather than gutting your insides, enexpected but you enjoyed the thrill of it.

It was like 5 minutes ago that you were screaming, begging and shouting telling them to stop but this time you'll be doing the same but differently.

Ellie takes off your jeans leaving your panties on as abby lets go and sits down. Ellie pushes you like a fucking ragdoll throwing you down on abby's lap as you groan.

Ellie squats down infront of you still in the mysterious black coat. She pulls down your panties to your lower knee as you let out a small gasp.

"Fuck, you get soaked real quick babe" you were avoiding eyes contact from the tense when suddenly you felt her two fingers right in you.

"Sh-shit..." she whispered. She then curled her fingers that made you arch your back "ah- fuuuckkkk!" You groan out.

She pulls out both her fingers out of you. "N-no, no pleaseeee dont stop!" You cried out. "Don't worry babe, im not planning to anyways"

She quickly opens up your legs. Her face got closer to your soaking cunt. She gave you small licks around as you grabbed on to abby's thighs.

Then ellie totally eats you out like she was almost starved to death. "mmphhhh! Fucking hell! Shitshitshitshit- a-ah!" You yelled out.

"Fucking hell ellie, move out of the way its my turn to fuck the living shit out of her" as abby stood up and pushes ellie out of the way.

Ellie drops down and tumbles to the floor. "WHATS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM ABS? IM GONNA FUCKING STAB YOU IF YOU KEEP DOING THAT YOU SLUT" ellie yells at her.

"Yeah, you can stab me later after i fuck the brains out of this stupid girl" abby replied.

Abby starts kissing and making out with your sloppy cunt aggresively. Her saliva mixed with your juices. "ngghh- shoot im gonna fucking cum!" You shouted.

"Fuck this abby, i want her to cum on my stupid fucking face. IM HER FUCKING GIRLFRIEND! MOVE" ellie pushes abby and quickly eats you out.

A loud groan leaves your mouth as you came all over ellie's face making her satisfied. "Okay, now can you move?" Abby asks ellie in an annoyed tone.

"Fine whatever" ellie rolled her eyes and moved back. Abby sudenlly flips your body bruising you a bit. "The fuck abby? Could you be more careful with her?!"

"Shut up" she replied. Abby pulls down her pants revealing her black strap-on. Oh fuck- i mean its so big... if you could see it you'd probably think i wont fit at all.

Without hesitation, abby shoves her strap in you causing a little shock to you. "Fuck abby!" You yelled out.

She went back and forth. Fast, and i mean fast. You felt like she was about to cut you in half. Not like she hasn't tried doing that to you in more brutal way.

Abby looks at ellie. "Won't you just sit on her fucking face?" She said smirking. "Sure she could breathe?" Ellie asked grinning. You managed to choke up some words "Please just fucking sit on me"

"Your so desperate. Getting all nasty to be fucked by literal serial killers" ellie said holding your chin so you could face her. then she kissed your lips.

Abby got off of you and flipped your small body again from the floor.

Ellie took off her coat, her pants.... and her boxers. She went on top of your face, hovering on top of your lips. Your lips are just a few inches from her cunt.

Then she sat on your lips, bumping her clit on your cute nose, huffing. You twirled around her cunt. "Oh fuck..." ellie groaned.

Suddenly you felt someone breathing on your cunt. Thats when you knew abby was already under you, licking your fucking wet cunt.

You moaned into ellie's cunt from the action. Ellie stopped and when off you.

She kissed you on the lips and whispered into your ear "you know we're not done with you right, doll?"

The night would never end. Maybe it will, if the god damn cops caught you getting your brains fucked out by two serial killers.

౨ৎ

KAY THIS WAS NASTYYYY ANYWHO IM SOOO PROUD OF THIS AND SO HAPPY THAT I COULD POST THIS TODAYYYY!!! Lately been sooo obsessed with scream like i wish i watched it sooner!!!!ALSO PLS DONT ASK WHAT HAPPENDS TO DINA NEXT LIKE GIRL GOT STABBED AND IGNORE THE FACT THEY DID A FUCKING THREESOME NEAR DINAS (dead??? Idfk) BODY. LETS JUST HOPE SHES OK😭

[barleyo]

Prom Queen. (Re-upload)

Real Dad! Leon Kennedy X F! Reader (smut)

A/N: tumblr took this down. I'm re-uploading it because idgaf. No tags because I'm lazy, read at your own risk. Obviously reader is of age, and obviously, if you DON'T LIKE what I write, DON'T READ what I write, thanks :3

DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT AHEAD

You had always dreamed about your senior prom. Even as a young girl, you thought exhaustively about how the night would go. You would wear a gorgeous gown, drink spiked punch, dance and laugh with friends, and most importantly, you would go with a cute boy.

Those dreams fell flat when your strict father outlawed prom for you. He said that prom was just an opportunity for hyped up, hormonal teens to gyrate on each other on school property. Prom was a night where girls opened their legs for their subpar dates who barely made the effort to scrounge up a corsage for them. Prom was the chance for unwanted, "happy accident" babies to be made by teenaged fuck-ups.

In short, prom was for whores. Leon would be damned if he would have a nasty whore of a daughter. It made him sick to even think of you wasting your sweet, nearly virginal body on a shit-for-brains boy whose only sexual experience no doubt came from his own right hand.

So, yeah. Prom was a nonstarter.

Of course, this angered you to no end. You could be heard sobbing each night after Leon's declaration of war on you having any fun was drawn up, but a small part of you thought it was the best.

You knew that prom wasn't like how it was shown in the movies. You wouldn't get an invitation from the hottest boy in school, you wouldn't get there in a decked out limo, and the punch would be lukewarm and watered down at best.

You wouldn't dance: you would have no one to dance with. You would sit alone at one of the tables eating fun sized candy bars aimlessly scattered on the repurposed lunch room tables in your school's gymnasium, while a horde of your peers would dance nasty on each other, being free and young.

The whole time, nobody would look at you, aside from the sly glance paired with a snicker shared between two gossiping teens, indulging in the rumors that floated around about you.

Nobody would want to dance with the girl who had an overprotective daddy that fucked her. Especially when that girl liked it.

The more you thought about it, the more you came to peace with the idea of staying in with Leon. Technically, being demanded to stay at home with him meant that you were sort of, kind of asked on a "date" with a hot guy, even if you shared DNA with said hot guy.

On the day of the dance, Leon had the decency to let you skip school. You sulked in bed the entire day, thinking about what could have been, rather than what was. He did not bother you, having enough sense to let a sleeping dog lay, but at exactly 10:00 PM , you felt your phone ding under your pillow.

'Come downstairs. Wear a dress. Not one of your church ones.'

His texts were always sharp and to the point, just like he was. Commanding. Strict.

You, as always, obliged. You put on one of his favorites, the one that always left his eyes lingering on your body a little too long. As you made your way down the stairs, you heard the faint sound of romantic music playing in the living room, which you naturally followed like a trail of breadcrumbs.

"Dad, what's all this?"

Your living room looked like a scene stripped from a cheesy romance movie. Rose petals scattered on the floor, lights dimmed low, and a tall, hot stud in the midst of it all. Your father's face was stern, but past that you could see the inkling of excitement in him.

"Your prom. I know it meant a lot to you," he said gruffly, adjusting the collar of the nice shirt he wore, "so I did what I could. Hope this'll make you forgive me."

Your feet pattered softly against the cool flooring, bringing your body along with them. You took a final look around the room and let your eyes lock onto your dad.

"I do. S'okay, I'm not mad at you, daddy."

How could you ever be mad at him? Your perfectly stubborn, grouchy, yet sexy father? Your father who—

"You know I just want the best for you, right peach?" Leon grasped you in his arms, snaking both arms around your lower waist while he rested his chin on your head. "Just wanna keep you safe."

"I know."

You both stood like that for a moment, neither speaking. The soft sound of the music slowly playing in the background was the only noise filling your sense. Well, that and the husky sound of your father's breathing. And his manly, leathery scent. His strong hands placed on your body, too.

You heard him clear his throat briefly and snapped to give him your attention, something you found yourself doing often. He liked when you listened to him quickly, made him feel respected.

"May I have this dance?" Leon asked, giving you a rare smirk when you nodded.

One of his hands stayed on your waist, while the other took your hand gently and clasped it in the air, leading you into a sweet waltz. With each step, he guided you with rigid, calculated movements. His movements were neat, as if he had been planning every moment of your shared dance.

The longer you danced with him, the closer your bodies pressed together, creating a faint friction between the two of you. In that moment, any negative emotion you had felt before faded away, leaving only the image of him in your mind.

Leon knew your signs. He'd spent a long time decoding them, and the look on your face was one he read easily. With a tilt of his head, he leaned in, a soft chuckle escaping his lips when he felt your increased heartbeat against his chest.

You made the first real move, pushing your tongue deeper into his mouth. Kisses were the only time he let you take on a dominant role. He thought it was cute, feeling your smaller tongue fuck into his mouth like you were in charge. Not wanting to spoil your fun, he softly guided you backwards to the wall, giving him a surface to work with.

"You're a bold one, I'll give you that," he said, breaking the kiss. "Can't ever actually ask for what you want, but you go wild once you get it, don't you?"

You hummed, letting him pull you up and wrap your legs around his waist. His hand slid under your dress and pushed it up, giving him a view of your panties.

"God, you're soaked. So wet f'me." Leon stuck his fingers in his mouth, slurping on them and covering them with spit before he forced them past the band of your underwear. Tight, quick circles were made around your clit, denying you of any time to think. "Nobody else can play with this, you hear me? This is all mine, you don' let anybody else have you," his voice was a warm whisper that fanned across your ear.

"I promise, 'm all yours. Don't want anyone else, only you, daddy," you swore desperately, meaning every word even if it sounded like you were just babbling on.

"Fuckin' slut." He spit a fat glob onto his fingers and spread it around your cunt, lubing you up. "Thought I raised a sweet girl. Bet you act like this for the boys at school too, huh?" Your panties were slid to the side.

His teeth clenched together jaggedly as he prodded the tip of his cock at you entrance, drawing in a deep breath when he pushed it fully in.

"No, never! I don't want any of them, just want you. They aren't good enough."

"Yeah? Greedy little cunt only wants her daddy, is that right?" The ego boost he was getting from this ran through him immediately. He wound your clit up with his thumb, quickly zigzagging on the little bud to match his thrusts. "Good. They don't deserve to feel you—"

You cunt fluttered around his length at his words, leaving him biting down on his lip.

"Just like that. Gonna make me cum if you keep that up, baby."

Your mouth hung open, pathetic mewls leaking from it. Each sound he drew out of you was nearly pornographic. He bullied your guts and hit deep, far deeper than your fingers ever could, and left you far more needy than your digits did.

"Inside this time?" You had wanted it so bad for the longest time, and instead he would pull out of you and coat your soft tummy or the fat of your ass with his ropes. "I need to feel it, please. I don't wanna be empty again, jus' fill me up," you slurred, drool spilling from the corner of your plush mouth.

"Yeah," he huffed, nodding along with you words, ready to finally jump at the opportunity, "yeah, inside. I need it too, baby, you have no idea. Daddy wants to spoil you real bad, he wants to give you all the babies you want."

Your lower body tensed, squeezing him tightly as the familiar rhythmic pattern of your orgasm set in. It felt so right in that moment, like your body was made for this exact purpose: being a warm hole for your dad to fill with his hot cum.

"Ready?" He said it more like a demand than a question, and within seconds he was creaming into you, still pounding your cunt like he hated you. "Take it, don't spill."

He kept his dick sheathed away inside of you, hoping that if he kept most of his cum in you, it would take. His brow was slick with sweat and his face was flushed. He had never looked so attractive before.

You ran your hand through his hair to get his attention. When he darted his eyes up to you, you mumbled something about wanting to go again.

"Anything for you baby. Night's still young, isn't it? We got time."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Follow You Anywhere 7

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, obsession, controlling behavoiour, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You’re online existence threatens to leak into your real life.

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note: back again.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You enter your apartment. It doesn’t really feel like yours anymore. That man, that gargantuan invader, has tainted your safe space. You keep your head down as you brush by Sy. He reaches to squeeze your wrist and promptly lets you go. 

You cringe as you march stiffly down the entryway. 

“Thank you, officers,” he says, “sorry to trouble ya like this. You have a good one.” 

“You too, sir,” one responds, “hopefully your homecoming gets a bit warmer.” 

The door shuts and you flinch. You stop in the living room, shoulders sloped, head down. You can’t stop the shaking. You hear him coming as Aika sits obediently in the corner. You glance at the dog, you don’t think she can help, you don’t know that she would. She’s loyal to her owner. 

Sy stalks into the front room as you cower, wring your hands in front of your chest. You can’t bring yourself to look at him. Instead, you watch his shadow as he fumes and paces around. He exhales, small mutters you can’t discern. Circling around and around then suddenly stomping towards you. 

You whimper and your eyes flick up as you take a step back, eyes watery with fear. He stops, just an inch away, chest puffing with fury. You bat your lashes as you wait, for what, you don’t know. For him to do something, anything. 

“How could you hurt me like that, sweetie?” He hisses. 

“I... don’t know--” 

“You hide from me. Scare me, like that?” His voice rises, quaking as you hear him struggling to control it, “call the f—the cops?” 

He can’t keep his voice from booming. He’s so loud. Like thunder crashing down around you. 

“After all I did for you, you treat me like a monster. Actin’ all scared like I’d ever hurt you!” He snarls, “I wouldn’t, sweetie, and you know it. What did I ever do to make you think that, huh?” He starts to pace again, throwing his hands out as he rants, “I told you—I'm not a bad man! I’m not! I wouldn’t hurt you!” He barks as Aika puts her head down, eyes on her own, “but you hurt me. You. Hurt. Me.” 

He growls and his nostrils flare as he comes back around it front of you. You peek at him from beneath tear-webbed lashes. Your heart thrums in your ears and your chest thumps. He raises his hand and you wince as he smacks himself in the head. You cry out in horror as he does it again, each time harder than the last as he continues his angry prowl. 

“Sy!” You squawk. 

He snarls again and beats himself with both hands, “maybe I deserve it, huh? This is what you want. For me to hurt.” 

“No, I--” you heave as a sob bubbles up your throat. You don’t like violence. You never wanted this. You just want him gone. To be left alone. 

He roars and throws his fist around, hitting the flower lamp off the end table. It flies off and the cord snags, sending it shattering to the floor. You whine and put your knuckles to your lips, horrified as he continues his fit. He grabs the table next, hurling it with one hand as if it weighs nothing. The draw slips out and the continues scatter. 

He spins again, puffing and panting, his face red and furious. He storms towards the opposite wall and before you can understand what’s happening, he bashes his face against it. He staggers back, grips his head and blindly stumbles around. 

You stand, dumbfounded, as he falls onto the couch. He sits and hangs his head, gripping it between his large hands. He breathes loudly as he leans his elbows on his knees. Your tears spill out as you hug yourself and sniffle. 

You babble as you feel something against your leg. You look down as Aika nuzzles against you. You reach down to touch her snout. She licks your palm and you turn your attention back to Sy. You’ve never witnessed anything like that. You never ever wanted to hurt him. You pity him more than anything, he seems so lost. 

You suck in a breath and swipe the wetness from your cheeks. You drag your foot forward as Aika stays close. You back up and go through to the kitchen. You take a clean dishcloth from the drawer and wet it under the faucet. You’re buzzing with adrenaline. You don’t know what you’re doing. 

You cross the room to Sy as his breaths huff in and out. You can see the blood on his forehead as he nears. You hesitate, furling and unfurling your fingers before you touch his muscled shoulder. 

“Sy,” you say softly. 

He ignores you, fingertips curling into his skull, “so stupid...” you make out the words under his breath. 

You squeeze him as Aika pokes her head under his arms and noses him from below. He sits up and scratches her head. He wobbles as his foggy eyes come into focus. He looks at you, a gash on his forehead and another across the bridge of his nose. You try not to react as you offer the wet cloth. 

He considers it and takes it with a sigh. He dabs at the blood on his face as he watches you. You bring your palms together, rubbing them nervously, as you bounce on your feet. 

“Thanks,” he mutters as Aika nudges his hand for more pets. He looks between you and the dog, “I-- I’m sorry. I let you down. Both of you.” 

He stands up and you back away, folding your hands over your chest as you make yourself small. He holds the cloth against his nose and grunts. He scowls and turns away. You don’t move as he marches to the bathroom. The door snaps shut just as Aika reaches it. You hear the lock click. 

You bite your lip and slowly glance towards the entry way. You stare. You could try again but to what end. Blair wouldn’t let you back in after you brought that chaos into her world and the police won’t do anything more than blame you again. 

Maybe it is your fault. Sy means well... 

No, no! He doesn’t belong there. This is your life.  

Aika’s paws pad down the hall and she sits by the door. She knows what you’re thinking it seems. Doesn’t matter, you have nowhere to go and no one to go to. 

You pivot carefully, searching for a distraction. What can you do now? You’re too addled to sit down and work or even hide away in the bedroom under the covers. You walk a circle around the room and stop yourself. You look at the wall, a smear of blood and a dent left by his collision. 

You return to the kitchen and grab a paper towel. You come back to wipe away blood. When you get most of it out, you start to clean up the rest of the mess. The lamp is broken. You put the shards in a box and leave it by the door. Then you gather up the random pens and notebook and right the table before tucking it all back in the drawer. 

As you stand up, you hear another click. You peer over as Sy appears. His shirt is gone. The cuts on his face are no longer bleeding but his eyes are still blazing. You gulp as his jaw tenses. 

“I’m sorry I broke your lamp,” he utters dully. 

You wet your lips with your tongue, “Do you want some tylenol?” 

His eyebrows arch and his cheek ticks. He nods slowly, “yes, sweetie.” 

You try to smile and your mouth quivers. You retreat and go to fetch the bottle of pills and some water. When you come back, he’s on the couch again.  

“Head sure does hurt,” he says as he accepts the glass and the tablets. 

You hum and nod. He throws back the pills and drains half the glass. He set the cup down and leans back, once more holding his head. 

“Do you think... maybe you should see a doctor?” You suggest. 

“I’m fine,” he growls, “got worse over in the sh—in the war.” 

You scrunch up your lips and twiddle your fingers. He drops his hands and brings his head straight. You fidget as he takes you in, his eyes narrow and his expression pained. He waves you closer, “come here.” 

You stop moving. You’re completely still as you stare him. His brow lowers dangerously. You near him reluctantly, wary of riling him again. 

“I’m sorry I yelled, sweetie,” he takes your hand and leans forward to kiss your knuckles, “I was worked up. I thought—I was crazy. I thought I lost you, you know? But I get it. You wanted to see your friend and she... she put her nose in our business and called in the cops, huh? Jealous, I bet.” 

You blanch. That’s not the truth. That isn’t what happened at all. You won’t argue. 

“Yeah,” you let him cling to your hand, “I think she was just worried because she didn’t recognise you. I’m... I’m sorry.” 

He looks up at you and his lips curve, “I know you’re sorry, sweetie,” he tugs on you, “but we’re all good now, aren’t we? I got you, you got me, everything’s as it should be.” 

He moves you and you let him. You know better than to break the illusion again. He angles you onto his lap and your body locks up. He hugs you to him, a hand on your leg, his other arm across your back. He purrs as he holds you close, leaning back as the tension seeps from him. 

“Just like this, sug, me and you,” he grits. 

🧸

You escape Sy’s embrace for the excuse of making breakfast. The task helps you keep your fears at bay though his presence looms just on the other side of the wall. Your helplessness is starting to feel like acceptance as the last of your denial dissipates. This is real. You are trapped. 

You plate up a heaping plate of bacon and eggs. You scrape butter onto toast and bring it out to the table. You teethe your lip as you stand in the archway of the front room. 

“Food’s ready, Sy,” you squeak. 

He sits up and groans as he stretches. He stands, towering over you as he looks even broader without his shirt. Somehow you keep forgetting how big he really is. 

He crosses the room and you scurry back to the kitchen. You hear him pull the chair out as you grab your leftover french toast and bring it out. You’re not very hungry, in fact you feel sick to your stomach. Still, you know you have to play along. 

That sound, the one of his head hitting the plaster, keeps replaying in your head. You hate it. As much as he scares you, as much as he’s a stranger, you don’t want to be the reason he’s hurt. You stare at your plate glumly as you cut into the cold eggy bread. 

“Thank you, sweetie,” he undercuts your gloom with his bright tone, “sure smells good.” 

You glance up, poking at the toast with your fork, “sorry, all I had was turkey bacon.” 

“S’all good,” he tears a strip in half and takes a bite. 

You muster a smile and drop your gaze back to your food. You take a bite of the stale, syrupy bread. You chew mechanically, bite by bite, and choke it all down. You think of how he might react if you let the food go to waste. He paid for it after all. At least the berries add a bit of flavour. 

“You should make a video today,” he says abruptly. 

Your eyes flick up and you blink, “oh, uh, maybe not today--” 

“Your followers will be wanting to check in, won’t they? You can’t leave them hanging.” 

“Um, well, I’ll think about it later---” 

“You know, sweetie, like I said, you got me through some tough days. You’re all I had out there. Who knows, maybe there’s others who feel the same, you know?” He scoops up eggs on his fork and hovers them over the plate, “and you’re special. The world needs more of you.” 

“Thanks, er, I’m just... tired is all.” 

“Well, you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t snuck out to the couch, huh?” He challenges. 

You’re surprised by the admonishment. You wince and give a shrug, “yeah, I guess--” 

“I could help ya with the video. We could do something fun. Maybe... we could go for a walk with Aika. She loves the wilderness. Specially when there aren’t bombs hidin’.” 

You look down guiltily. You don’t blame him for wanting out of his old life. For being so excited to be away from the chaos. And you feel worse because you’ve taken all you have for granted. Each time he talks, he reminds you of your ignorance. 

“I guess... that sounds nice,” you sniff. 

“Sounds perfect to me,” he swallows his mouthful, “walking around with my girls, showing ‘em off.” He grins, “couldn’t ask for anything more.” 

[ts1m1kas]

Original Ask: Can you write something about Jamal Musiala. Sad. Maybe the reader is sad and he’s there for her. Plz (anonymous)

Word Count: 742 words

(author's note: hope the jamal fans enjoy xoxo)

Y/N was having the most disastrous day at work ever. All the notes she had typed up the day prior hadn’t saved, she had forgotten to bring food and she was too late to grab lunch from the lunch hall so she had to go hungry and to top it all off her boss made her work overtime to finish a project she wasn’t even supposed to be working on.

By the time she left work and got in her car to drive home, it was well past 7pm. She knew her boyfriend Jamal would be wondering where she was, but she could barely muster up enough energy to drive home, let alone call him.

When she finally pulled into the driveway of her boyfriend’s house, Y/N got out of her car, collected her bags from the backseat, and walked over to the front door. She pulled out her keys, unlocked the door, and walked in, dumping her bags onto the floor.

“Y/N? Is that you, baby?” Jamal called out from the living room.

“Yeah, I’m gonna go get changed, I won’t be long.”

Y/N went upstairs into the bedroom she shared with Jamal. Opening her dresser drawer, she pulled out a fresh pair of pyjamas and slipped out of her work clothes. She put the pyjamas on, already feeling much better than she did 20 minutes ago.

As she headed into the bathroom to wash her face and brush her teeth, she heard Jamal’s quiet footsteps walking up the stairs.Y/N heard him enter the bedroom and open a drawer, assuming he was getting changed.

Once she had removed her makeup and washed her face, Y/N grabbed her toothbrush to squeeze some toothpaste onto it. By this time, being awake was becoming harder and harder for Y/N to do. Painful reminders of her day continued to flood her mind, and she was just desperate to go to sleep.

Jamal came into the bathroom and wrapped his arms around his girlfriend’s waist. He nestled his head into her neck and pressed a gentle kiss to her skin.

“How was work?” Jamal mumbled softly.

The soft tone of Jamal’s voice and the sincerity of his question made Y/N stop dead in her movements. Before she even realised what she was doing, she began sobbing. Jamal removed his arms from her waist and moved so he was standing facing her.

“Don’t cry, baby, it’s okay. Talk to me, what happened?” Jamal urged, desperate to stop his girlfriend’s tears.

But Y/N couldn’t stop. She felt silly for crying because of a bad day at work, but everything had just built up, and the floodgates had opened. Jamal gently took her toothbrush out of her hands and led Y/N out of the bathroom. 

As he sat her down on the bed, Jamal grabbed some tissues from the bedside table and used them to dry his girlfriend’s tears. He then passed her a clean one so she could blow her nose when she needed to. They sat in silence, Y/N’s cries being the only sound in the room as Jamal’s hand rubbed her back comfortingly, hoping to soothe her.

Eventually, Y/N stopped crying and took a deep breath. She used the tissue in her hand to wipe her nose and then turned to look at Jamal, who was staring back at her with worry in his eyes.

“You gonna tell me what’s going on, my love? Did you have a bad day?” Jamal asked.

Y/N nodded, “Everything just seemed to go wrong today and I guess when you asked if I was okay, everything just hit me at once. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologise for your feelings. It’s okay to have bad days, and I’m sorry it got you so upset.”

Y/N hugged her boyfriend, “Thank you,” she whispered so quietly that Jamal nearly missed it.

“What do you say we brush our teeth and go to bed? It’s getting late.”

“Okay.”

The pair finished getting ready for bed, and Y/N let out a sigh of relief when her body was finally burrowed beneath the plush sheets of her and Jamal’s bed.

“Good night, baby, tomorrow will be better, I know it.”

Y/N smiled at Jamal’s words and cuddled into his side. They lay nestled together until sleep overtook them, all stresses and worries of the day finally forgotten.

[chronically-ghosted]

fade into you

rating: Explicit (18+)

pairing: dieter bravo x f!reader

word count: 4K

summary: counting down the days until the new baby arrives, you’re already wound to a breaking point. Fortunately, Dieter is as good a husband as he is a father. 

warnings: pregnancy, hormonal behavior due to pregnancy, fluffy cute behavior with kids, oral (m!receiving), Dieter is a sensitive king and loves your tummy, brief body insecurity, pregnancy sex, smut, thigh fucking, daddy/mommy dynamic – mostly tongue in cheek, and finally the return of the greatest tag gone far too long from our lives - daddy!dieter

a/n: congrats @burntheedges you are the first prompt for my 1k follower celebration! This was your prompt for Dieter: "Your shirt is inside out." "Can you help me fix that?" This takes place in the same universe as Little Monsters, but you don’t have to have read that one to understand this one. Thank you SO much for sending this in!

🤍Dieter Bravo Masterlist 🤍Masterlist

I wanna melt in I wanna soak through I only wanna move when you move I wanna breathe out when you breathe in then I wanna fade into you

“C’mon – c’mon, just –,” your outstretched toe barely scrapes the end of the pen. You’re sweating – of course, you’re sweating, you’re always sweating these days. You try inching further down on the bed, as far as your aching back will allow, your leg fully extended, stretched so long you know you’re just flirting with a massive cramp – 

You manage to snag the pen between your toes but as you bring it forward, the weight of the top slips back – “fuck, no!” and with a clatter, the pen tips backwards out of your grasp and onto the floor. After spending ten minutes trying to a fucking pen that you accidentally put there only after you managed to roll your way off the bed to go to the bathroom for the third time in forty-five minutes, the weight of it all hits you. The massive weight of you sinks back against the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, begging yourself not to cry.

You had all but demanded some time alone to work on the bills the producer wanted you to sort through. It was the last thing on your to-do list before you mentally allowed yourself to start your maternity leave and at this rate, it would be done by the time the nearly-grown baby in your stomach was a walking, talking ten year old. In that weird sixth sense mothers and their unborn children share, you feel your son turn and gently one foot presses against your forearm draped over your massive belly. In any other context, your heart would have been made ten times stronger, fortified by the love of your son.

Right now, it just makes you burst into tears. 

You’re crying so hard you don’t hear the back door open, or the rousing chorus of Baby Shark that echoes through the house. If you were listening, you’d hear the squelch of wet flip flops traipsing through the kitchen floor, the song only occasionally broken by giggles and jokes about towel monsters coming to get little girls who drip water all over the living room, and a loud raspberry on soft skin. 

He opens the door before you even have time to try to pull in the loud, wailing sob. 

“Baby, look at –,” 

“Dieter, don’t –,” you snatch up a pillow and shove your face into it, ashamed, embarrassed, and angry all at once. “Don’t look at me like this.” 

When he had left you an hour ago, you had your hot tea by the side of the bed and your game face on – one of your sexier faces, if anyone asked him. You swore up and down this was the last thing and then it was smooth-sailing. You loved overworking yourself even while eight months pregnant, so Dieter and your doctor managed to make an agreement with you: all work must be done in bed. 

You had your tea, a snack, even a towel wrapped around the headboard so you could pull yourself upright out of the bed to go to the bathroom unassisted while Dieter and Zelle went down to the pool . You, like you so often do, had a fool-proof plan. And to be quite honest, those were Dieter’s favorite kind of plans. 

Listening to his ‘you think I can’t do it? watch me, fuck you’ wife and mother of his child (soon to be another) wail like the house was on fire made something inside of him break on a microscopic level. Like his organs were suddenly perforated with a million tiny cuts. 

His bottoms still wet from the pool and Zelle’s wet suit quickly soaking the front of his t-shirt, Dieter approaches, his hand squeezing the arch of your foot to let him know he’s there. That did nothing to deter the anguish sobbing or inch the pillow away from your face. 

With Zelle on his hip, he slides closer, touching you the whole time until he’s seated right beside you, his hand on your thigh. Your sobbing might only be second to Zelle’s own yelling cry in successfully destroying him from the inside out.

“Baby . . .”

You don’t flinch but he sees your knuckles go white – you’re nearly at the end, but you can’t seem to stop. As Dieter waffles between drawing you into his chest with his free arm or just being there for you while you let it all out, the weight on his hip shifts and a little pudgy hand brushes the back of your knuckles.

“Mama?” 

Your sobbing stutters to a halt with a deep hiccup and all at once you go still. Very slowly, the pillow is lowered and your pink, snotty, dribbly face peers up at him. It’s not funny for you, and he knows this and he knows he won’t laugh but he wants nothing more than to pull you in close and kiss off those tears that have been nearly a constant presence in the last two weeks. Instead, his little girl beats him to it.

Zelle wiggles off his hip towards you and you take her in your arms, letting out one more whine as she wraps her tiny arms around your neck. She rubs her little face in your neck and you huff.

“Now, I feel silly,” you blubber. With a small chuckle, Dieter reaches over and gets a few tissues from the bedside table. He hands them over and you try to juggle Zelle and reaching over your swollen tummy to take them.

“C’mere, baby, let Mama have a second.” Zelle folds into his shoulder, her bright, inquisitive eyes never leaving your face as you wipe yourself dry and blow your nose. He rubs your thigh in circles. “You’re not silly. Whatever ever made you break out into deep sobs on a Thursday afternoon in our secluded bedroom is totally normal.” 

You give a watery laugh, sniffing as you try to adjust your pillows, Baby Brave Number Two rolling back into your kidneys. He doesn’t kick, he's as unassuming as possible, but he can’t help how he floats. 

“I dropped a pen,” you murmur with a sigh. “I just got comfortable after waddling back in from the bathroom and I dropped my pen.” 

“Mama mad?” Zelle hides her little face beneath a curtain of hair. Dieter Bravo’s offspring in every conceivable way, Zelle is rarely this timid – only when there’s even but a hint of an implication that she’s in trouble. You’d see those same puppy dog eyes come out of the man with his hand up against her small back more than a dozen times. 

“No, baby, I’m not mad.” You shake your head and those wide eyes get even bigger. “I’m just having a lot of feelings and I’m not doing a good job at managing them.”

“Yeah, like remember how you felt on your first day of preschool?” Dieter slides Zelle across his waist so she sits between you two. She glances back between your faces, anxiety and confusion twisting up her little features. “You were mad and sad and scared all at once so you started crying when we dropped you off?” She nods and he tucks a strand of delicate hair over her ear. “But then we had that talk in the car and you felt better. Mama just needs to do that.”

“Talk? Mama talk?” 

He smiles at her and pulls her into his chest, smelling her strawberry L’Oreal shampoo, and a peace he’d never known before sinks into his bones. He feels whole with his little girl in his arms.

“Yes, she just needs to talk. Right, Mama?”

He pulls back and watches you visibly swallow. Not a knot of sadness but something else. It’s gone from your eyes by the time Zelle turns back around. 

“I’m just really excited for your little brother to get here,” you say with a soft smile, your hand absentmindedly stroking the swell of your stomach where a little foot had been pressed just a few minutes ago. “Aren’t you?”

Zelle nods, smiling, and puts her ear to your stomach. A minute later, Dieter’s wide palm covers yours. He interlaces his fingers with yours and he smiles. The smile that’s been cultivated and cured over half a dozen years together, and recent late nights as new parents. A smile that has never graced a single magazine cover or Instagram reel. A smile that is forever and always will be yours. 

“Come on, love bug, it’s bath time.” Dieter swings Zelle up into his arms and nibbles on her neck making her giggle. 

“Then dinner time,” you grunt as you inch towards the edge of the bed. You try and swing your legs off the edge but end up nearly toppling over your lowered center of gravity.

“Baby –,” his firm grip steadies you, stops you from rolling into the bedside table. Those lines at the corners of his eyes sharpen for a second as he looks you over, worry all at once endearing and annoying. You hated being coddled but Dieter loved to coddle. 

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” you can hear how out of breath you sound and you grimace. Dieter doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re firmly planted on the ground next to him and you squeeze his bicep as reassuringly as you possibly can. He loosens his grip, concern wrinkling his forehead, his hand sliding from your arm, to your elbow then over your belly once again. Baby Bravo jostles you where his father’s hand sits.

“See, we’re all okay.” 

Your gazes meet at the same time and something softens in his eyes, soothes him and you down to the very beat of your heart. As if in a daze, Dieter’s eyelids flutter half-shut and his eyes slip to your mouth, he puts his hand on your swollen waist as he kisses you – deeply, with an intensity that makes your knees quiver. 

“Ew.”

A puff of breath fans your cheeks as Dieter breaks the kiss with a laugh. On his hip, Zelle chews on her little fist, an all-too-familiar glint in her eye. 

“You can’t say ‘ew’. You only exist because of kisses like that –,”

“Dieter!” 

He shakes his head before kissing Zelle on her little nose. “Tough crowd tonight. But even little sharks need to get a bath before dinner.”

Zelle scrunches up her nose, baring her crooked little teeth, and raises her fingers like claws. “Rawr.”

You hear Dieter chuckle as he walks her down to the bathroom. “Yes, baby, that’s definitely the sound sharks make.”

The bills aggressively shoved to the floor, you are folding the last bit of laundry over the bed after dinner when Dieter saunters in. Still in his trunks and shirt from earlier in the day, a faint pink blush warms his nose and cheeks – which would be gone in a few days, only to be replaced by a gorgeous dark almond color. Dieter Bravo could naturally tan so perfectly it was honestly heart-breaking. 

“She’s out?” 

“She’s out.” He nods with a sigh. He scratches the back of his head and snags his phone off the bedside table. When he sits down on the edge of the bed, you see the tag of his shirt over the lip of his collar. You muffle your grin and quietly finish with the towels. “The guy who came up with the lyrics ‘Baby Shark, doo-doo, doo-doo, doo-doo’ is either a genius or a madman. Two rounds of that and she’s basically comatose.”

“How do you know it was a man?” You arch your eyebrow at him. 

Dieter lifts his head from his phone and smirks at you. He reaches for you and you let him tug you between his legs. He kisses your wrist, your hands curled around his broad shoulders. “That was incredibly sexist of me, darling, can you ever forgive me?”

Dropping his head, he presses a soft kiss to the swell of your stomach, his eyes flicking up to you at the last second, the bottom half of his face hidden. The sight, one you haven’t seen in recent months but one you craved like a drizzle of honey over a bowl of fruit, loosens the tension in your back and liquifies your underwear. 

“Dieter?”

“Yes, O Love of My Life?”

“Your shirt is inside out.”

The sultry look in his eyes immediately flickers out and he huffs a laugh, shaking his head and pressing his face into your neck.

“What would I do without you? Can you help me fix that?” 

“Mhm hm.”

His back arched, you roll the faintly damp shirt up his spine, careful to take in the notches visible through his skin. You watch in delight as more of that broad back is revealed, more golden skin and freckles. The rim of the collar catches the back of his head so when you finally tug it off him, his hair is scattered in a dozen different directions. It takes nearly all of your willpower not to moan at the site. 

“Or . . .” you make a deliberate show of dropping the shirt and Dieter goes honey-eyed again. 

“Yeah?” He tilts his head up, wraps his massive hands around the back of your thighs, squeezing you above the backs of your knees, then higher up, his fingers pressing into your inner thigh muscles, and finally resting on your ass. 

You nod and gently push him back. He goes without being told twice. “I want to thank you for taking Zelle to let me work today.”

His eyes go wide, his elbows locked with his arms set apart behind him, when you go onto your knees in front of him.

“B-baby, your back –,”

“Then give me a pillow, Dieter.” 

He nearly launches himself back to snag a pillow by the headboard. 

“My back is one thing, but I’m more worried about the knot of your trunks.”

Dieter busies himself with the drawstring of his shorts, his movements frantic, giving you a chance to muffle a grunt as you ease the pillow underneath your knees. He’s right, of course, but fuck if you couldn’t get those goddamn bills done, the least you could blow your husband until he popped off in your mouth. 

“Love, you really don’t have to do this.” You glance up at him and despite the evident tent in his swim trunks, his wide eager eyes, he will do everything in his power to make these last few weeks even somewhat bearable. 

With a smile, you lean forward and squeeze his knees. “I know. And honestly, I don’t know how long I’ll last, but I wanna try. Is that okay?”

An awe-struck grin splits his lips apart and he laughs, a high-pitched sound and breathless. “How long you’re gonna last? Been half-hard all day since you put on those leggings this morning.”

“Well, you were so good with Zelle today, talking to her about feelings, it made me kinda hot and bothered so I feel especially grateful.”

You lean forward, fingers plucking at the damp strings and out of the corner of your eye you see his knuckles go white against the sheets. You tug and he helps you by lifting his hips.

“S-so that’s what that look w-was.” He swallows roughly as you take him in your hand, stroking him gently at first. He squeezes his eyes shut – god, could you really make him come with just a few touches? “I’m j-just – fuck – doing my part.” 

You kiss along his length and his shoulders lock up as his breathing quickens. You suck the spit in your mouth before dropping a string of drool right on the head and Dieter’s groan elongates, the muscles of his neck tense. 

“Well, Mommy likes it when Daddy does a good job.”

Tongue out and jaw loose, you swallow him down nearly to the base. Maybe you’re biased because you married the himbo attached to it, but Dieter’s cock is one of the – if not the – very best cocks you’ve ever seen in your life. Thick without being overwhelmingly long and always oozing precum the instant you breathe on it. A slick vein that has him whimpering with a single lick. 

“Fuck, Mama, you’re so fucking good at this.” Dieter’s hand floats to the crown of your head, his nails scratching your scalp, the weight of his palm soothing as it follows the motions of your head. With every little sigh he makes, your pussy squeezes with every bob of your head. Dieter’s sensitivity has always been a near drug for you, a chemical reaction that floods your brain, branding those noises on the lining of your skull as he drips down the back of your throat. You meet his hot gaze just as you drag your mouth up and nearly off him, only to kitten-lick the lip of his head and he clamps his eyes shut, shuddering.

When you hear his heel kick the ground beside you, his chest heaving and chin tilted up, you drop your mouth down to his base – years of taking him training you to smother your gag-reflex – and with hollowed cheeks, suck him all the way up to the tip. His wiry curls smell like chlorine and musk. 

Dieter jerks, his hand flying to your shoulder as if to pry you off him. 

“Mhmm – baby, p-please – shit,” he swallows and you pop off him, his cock red and shiny from your spit. Dieter is panting, soft center fluttering, flush high in his throat. Your underwear sticks to you as you realize he very nearly came in your mouth without warning. Call it being a masochist but you loved making him come before either of you realized what was happening. 

“Get off your fucking knees and come here –,” he yanks you into his naked lap and you go, giggling as he palms your ass and kissing you so hard you tilt back. He bites your bottom lip and you keen. “Can’t believe I let my pregnant wife fucking suck me off like that when she knows I worship that little pussy.” 

He cups you through your leggings and the dampness soaking through the fabric sends a moan through both of you. Dieter’s jaw goes lax as he rubs his thick fingers across your folds, the material catching and dragging, and you whimper – and not in a way he knows means a good thing. His gaze floods with worry and you shake your head – the instant the doctor gives the go-ahead you’re gonna have him rail you through a bedpost – “It’s okay. I’m just sore, baby. Last night –,”

He tsks, frowning. “I told you I was being too rough.”

“I asked for it. Also, so not the time for an ‘I told you so’. Help me stand up.” 

With his hands on your hips, he eases you off of his lap and onto your feet. You lift up your exasperatedly large shirt, the hemline of which has been steadily shrinking as you grow, and clip off your bra. Dieter stares, mouth open, as you slip your leggings and your sticky underwear off your round hips and to the floor. With your second baby, you’d managed to quell the looming anxiety about your body changing but with a boy, you just feel ten times your normal size, bigger than you did with Zelle. Your heart hitches in your chest as Dieter’s eyes roam from your shoulders to your swollen tits, your belly, your thighs, and you’d be happy if he just thought you were – 

“Gorgeous, baby, just fucking gorgeous.” He stands and kisses you without another word, his thumbs on your jaw tilting your mouth into his. He palms your breast, hard and weighed with milk. He approaches you with a level of sensuality that makes your eyes roll back in your head and your knees shake. How can he touch you like that when you’re already filled to the brim?

“How do you need it, baby?”

The tension that had been locking down the muscles in your back, your hips, since you woke up this morning, only heightened over those stupid fucking bills and feeling incredibly sorry for yourself, cracks at his words. Without your hands on his chest and his big hands cradling your jaw, you’re sure you would have melted to the floor. You lick your bottom lip, eyes scrunched tightly to clear the sudden tightness behind them. 

“On my side, but between my thighs?” 

His eyes are all heat, all dark wanting, but he hits you in the knees with one of his crooked grins. “Yeah, you’re gonna let Daddy fuck your thighs?” Total reverence, filth that has your toes curling coming as easy to him as it is to breathe. 

“Please.” 

He stands back at a distance, watching with half-set eyes as you climb into bed and peel back the covers. As you settle, Dieter flicks off the overhead light, and then the lamp by your bedside. His body lined in dark shadows and the cool touch of the moonlight, you track him as he rounds the bed, sliding in behind you in bed, the covers up to his shoulders. There’s a breath of silence, of anticipation, of a yearning so deep your skin flushes with goosebumps at his proximity. You know he’s there, you watched him dip on the other side of the bed, but a spark of panic tightens your lungs, you want to reach back for him, your baby unmoored as you are, trembling and desperate for the calming touch of the father –

He kisses you over your shoulder, broad, warm hand starting at your hip, then scooping down around your naked bottom to settle on your belly and from where his hand sits, you radiate with heat. Melting and growing sticky like tree sap, you drip for him, slick smearing across your thighs with no material to soak you up. His mouth is warm, the short hairs of his mustache numbing your upper lip, the taste of the red wine from dinner light against the back of his tongue. 

When he cups you again, finds the sticky sap gathered in your curls and leaking onto your thighs, he breaks the kiss with a grunt and presses his teeth into your shoulder, his cock fully present against your back. You nip his bottom lip with your thumbnail, pleased beyond words at his reaction.

“I love you.” 

That’s not what you thought he was going to say. He lifts his furrowed brow, eyes dark but struck with such earnestness, you feel your heartbeat in your ears. He sucks the mark his teeth made on your shoulder, his hips hitching closer, turning his weight over you, before dropping closer to kiss you again.

“How did I get so fucking lucky with you, hm?” He asks of no one. Delicately, he guides your knee back over his hip, his breath warm across the curve of your shoulder, his other hand pressing gently on the back of your neck. He would never, ever choke you in this state, but fuck you missed it. You missed it when Dieter loses himself entirely in you. 

The head of his cock taps the wet triangle of your thighs and you fist the pillow beneath your head. He shuffles closer and you can feel his chest trembling with restraint. 

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says in one breath. You know if you look over your shoulder, he’s fixated on watching you take his cock. Oddly enough, his ADHD always seemed to clear out during sex. “Do– do you need my fingers – a-a toy to prep you, ‘cause I can–,”

“Dieter, please.”

He exhales and, with a slow thrust that smears your arousal all over his spit-licked cock, you finally feel relief. The noise that leaves your throat is unrecognizable. That ruddy tip kisses your clit and the moan that tears out of you is nearly a scream. 

A wide palm claps over your mouth, a breathy giggle falling down your back. 

“Baby,” low, strained, barely audible over the sounds of your slickness sucking your thighs together around Dieter’s cock. “If you wake up that child before I’m balls deep in you, I will never forgive you.”

Using his hand as leverage, he pulls you back against him, pressing himself even further between your soaked lips, prodding your clit so gently it sends sparks up your spine and you come, a small wave, that somehow has you leaking more onto his cock. 

“Ah – oh my god – did you just –?” 

You whine and wrap your hand up into his hair, and finally he’s skin to skin up your back. His hips jolt you forward, the hard smack loud and sloppy in the mess between your thighs. Dieter leans over you and nips at your earlobe, his thrusts faster now, each one catching your clit with just enough time apart to send you ratcheting higher. 

“That’s so good, Dieter, you’re doing so good –,”

A sharp intake of breath, high through a vocal shudder, and he drops down onto his shoulder against the pillow, looping his arm around your chest, a wide palm cupping your sensitive breast. Skin to skin, he is a wall of heat behind you, his hands both steadying you and begging you for more against your hip. It’s moments like these, when he’s swallowing up every sense you’re still in control of, that you really believe your soul lives in two bodies. 

He tucks his lips near your ear and your skin tingles. “Can I touch your clit, or does that hurt?”

“Just put your hand –,”

You take him by the wrist from the curve of your waist, where he grips you tight, fingers pocketing your flesh, and slide him down between your legs. 

“That’s it, baby, take what you need.” 

Between the consistent bouncing of his cock between your pussy lips and the heat of his four fingers, stocky and thick, you have nowhere to go but up, your own hips thrust back aimlessly, bliss hurling towards you, until it breaks – and you whine, squeeze Dieter’s hand so hard, you think you hear a bone pop.

Wetness floods your thighs and, half a dozen strokes later, Dieter spills with a groan, white cream splattering against the low curve of your belly and onto the sheets. Covered in literal spend, exhaustion soaks your bones, gasping for air and never finding enough. You lie together, your bodies buzzing, blood roaring loud beneath your skin, until Dieter tilts his weight off you – you didn’t even realize he had nearly smothered you – and his cock slides out from between your numb legs, his grip loosening from your breast and his hand flopping down into the sheets. His skin is pink from exertion.

You grin and roll over as gracefully as you can, out of breath and the size of a house. 

“An unexpected bonus,” you sigh, ringing your belly button with your finger, “I think we rocked him to sleep.” 

Dieter huffs a laugh as he pushes a handful of damp curls off his sweaty forehead and his other arm curls around your shoulders. He rests his other palm over your fingers on your belly.

“Glad I could tire all three of us out.” You giggle into his shoulder. Both of you are sticky hot, sweltering in a fog of your own mess, and you can feel sleep tugging at the corners of your eyes. Humming, you curl up closer to him, your knee over his hip, tucking your nose into his neck as his fingers absently play with strands of your hair. 

“I meant what I said, you know that right?”

Your body as supple as warm wax, eyes melting shut, you nod vaguely. “Mhmm hmm.” 

“I love you, baby. Thank you, for everything.”

You return the sentiment, the words dribbling out of your mouth as sleep overwhelms you.

Later, when you wake up in the early blue hours of the morning, rain pattering against the glass, and you feel something cool and soft against your belly, you stir, reaching for him.

“Hush, baby, stay still for me.” He hums somewhere above you. You nod, on the precipice of sleep again. “You gave me the world, I’m just returning the favor.”

Later still, when you awake to a soggy light, Dieter and Zelle down the hall excitedly picking out which movies to watch on this designated Stay on the Couch day, you roll onto your back and realize he’s painted a globe onto your stomach. 

A foot inside you presses up against Chile and you grin into space, content beyond your wildest dreams. 

+

[maxsimagination]

The world needs more Claudia Pina content so I’m requesting literally anything for her. Maybe like she gets hurt in a game or something and ends up super pissy about not being able to go out and do stuff and see everyone at trainings and stuff so reader realizes that and has to comfort her.

𝙢𝙞 𝙗𝙚𝙗𝙚 - 𝙘.𝙥𝙞𝙣𝙖

summary: when claudia gets injured, yn is there for her. but claudia doesn’t want to rest, she wants to go out.

𖦹 masterlist

𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗠𝗢𝗠𝗘𝗡𝗧 claudia went down i was the first one there.

it just happened to be the el clásico, the biggest women’s game in the spanish league. barcelona were winning 4-1 in the 80th minute, but not even five minutes later, everything went crashing down.

it was a corner conceded by real madrid, which mapi stepped up to take. we were all huddled around the net, some pushing and shoving to fight for the ball. when mapi kicked it, it curved perfectly, almost going straight into the net. it just needed the tiniest touch to send it in.

claudia was the one who made that header and scored the goal, but just as her head had made contact with the ball, someone else had crashed into her, causing her to fall sideways. her left knee was the one that copped the brunt of the fall, being whacked against the goal post and the hard ground at the same time.

her scream was enough to stop everything, and i whipped around to see her on the floor clutching her leg.

she was sobbing, tears flowing freely down her face, which was not a normal thing for claudia. the medics instantly rushing onto the field, barley waiting for the referee to call them. they rolled her over gently, careful not to jostle her leg too much. i was kneeling by her head, refusing to leave until i knew what was wrong.

the medics did a quick assessment to see whether she needed to come off, but it was a no-brainer at that point. she could barley move her left leg, let alone walk off the field, so the medics brought on a stretcher and placed her on it gently. she was escorted off the field and disappeared down the tunnel.

it hurt to see her go like that but i had to see out the game, for her.

the second that final whistle was blown, i was gone. running off the field and through the tunnel to find where they’d taken claudia. it didn’t take me long, there was only one medics room.

i opened the door and poked my head inside to see claudia on the bed, a brace on her knee.

“oh, mi bebe.” (my baby.) i walked into the room to stand beside claudia. she was clearly very upset at being injured yet again, after having just come back into the starting squad.

claudia didn’t say anything but i knew what she was thinking, what was going on inside her head. it was a terrible way to go down, and in el clásico of all matches.

—

three weeks after that match, and claudia was already up and walking around. it was more of a hobbling really, but if claudia heard you say that you wouldn’t live to see another day.

the first week or two was spent with claudia on bed rest, and by the third week i had given up on trying to get her to stay there.

“claudia!

please come and sit down!”

there was a grumble and some sounds of movement from the apartment before claudia hobbled into the living room and plopped down on the couch.

“you have to rest, claud. otherwise you won’t heal.”

“i don’t want to rest!

i’m stuck here, just waiting for you to come back from wherever you go. training, team bondings, hanging out. i’m stuck here, on bed rest, until you come home to help me with everything.

i’m getting lonely.”

there was a silence that hung in the room after claudia’s admission, it was almost a guilty silence. i felt bad for not noticing sooner, for doing something sooner.

“i’m so sorry claudia, i didn’t know. i promise i didn’t try to exclude you on purpose, i just had no idea that this was what you were feeling.”

i gave the girl a hug, claudia melting into my embrace almost immediately.

we sat there for a while, just enjoying each other’s company. i rubbed my hand up and down claudia’s back, attempting to soothe her.

“i promise i won’t leave you out again, mi bebe.” (my baby.)

[whumpsday]

Kane & Jim AU: Mermay Special

Chronological masterlist / Writing order masterlist

content: mer/vampire whumper, mer/vampire whumpee, whumper-turned-whumpee, dehydration, claustrophobia, starvation, torture, brief death wish, recovery, caretaking

have something special for mermay :) inspired by this fanart my friend lostie drew 2 years ago!!

-

It hadn’t rained in a week, Jim’s freshwater had run out the day before, and he was going to die.

He knew he was going to die. Kane would come back to feed, and his body wouldn’t be able to hold up anymore, and he would die. Either with Kane’s jaws clamped around him, or later, alone in the damp cold sand.

He wasn’t thirsty enough to be desperate yet, not desperate enough to drink the abundant saltwater taunting him from his prison’s little beach. He knew it would only make him die faster. It was poison.

It hardly mattered at this point. Months with no rescue likely meant no rescue at all, and this was hardly a life. Still, something cried out in him, wanting to live.

Jim scrambled against the rock as he saw that telltale fin start to poke out of the water, more and more until the vampire revealed himself in full, the head and torso of a man and the tail-end of a shark. Not that there was anywhere for Jim to use his worthless legs to run to.

“Food.” Kane slung half a seal onto the surface, raw yet unbloodied.

Jim cautiously crept forward. “I need water.”

Kane raised an eyebrow at him, then splashed him, leaving him soaked.

“Fresh water,” he pressed, pointing up to the clear sky. “Rainwater. I need it or I’ll die. Please, just take me back to the beach, any beach where there’s humans. I won’t be any use to you dead. You’re not some animal, you know this isn’t right, please!”

“Human mine,” Kane dismissed firmly.

Jim sobbed drily. “I can’t. I can’t. You’re going to kill me.”

“Eat.” Kane shoved the meat toward him, making him flinch back. “Then I eat.”

Jim looked to the sky, Kane’s hungry eyes never leaving him as he devoured the vampire’s leftovers. If it didn’t rain tomorrow, he wouldn’t make it another day.

“Human.” Kane gestured him forward as soon as he finished.

“No, no, I don’t want to!” Jim backed up to the rock again, even knowing it was useless.

Kane huffed, climbing up onto the sand. “Food,” he called him now, a warning tone to his voice, piercing red eyes growing angry.

“Stop,” Jim insisted, squeezing his eyes shut. “No!”

A clawed hand grabbed his leg, any attempt to kick him away futile. He couldn’t match a vampire’s strength on his best day, and this was not his best day.

He cried out as sharp teeth dug into flesh once again, feeling much like the seal in his stomach.

-

Kane whined softly, squirming against the glass.

The fishers had put him in a smaller tank again. He couldn’t be sure–though he learned more of their language every awful day, there were still gaps–but he was near-certain it was a game to them, at this point, how small of a space they could force him to live in. He didn’t need to know their language to see their smirks.

He hadn’t even meant to break the last one. He had been trying so hard this time, and he’d been asleep when it happened. Even so, the fishers left him gasping on the floor in a pile of broken glass for hours. Even the tiny tank was better than none at all. How far he’d fallen, that he could consider this lucky.

Kane wished he could go back to complaining about not having room to swim. He would do anything to go back to the first tank. This one hardly afforded him room to move, to breathe. No matter how he tried to position himself, he always ended up touching the walls, his tail bunched up uncomfortably.

The water was too salty, burning his gills with every breath. He didn’t dare complain about that again. Last time, they left him in that horrible freshwater humans love so much until he screamed and bled to the point where any other fish would die.

But he was a vampire, and there was no driftwood here.

Every time a fisher walked past, Kane tensed. Some carried cruel metal tools, meant for fish already dead, though he’d already known their sting far more than he’d like. Some carried cruel metal tools and looked at him, making him wish he had anywhere to hide.

“Comfy?” a fisher mocked, tapping the glass with the end of his fishing stick, the unavoidable vibrations reverberating wherever he touched it.

Kane shook his head, hoping the answer was acceptable.

“Good. �̴̢̛̙̃̎̀̏͌�̶͙̪̉̃̐͋̈̈́̉͝�̵̛̹̪̳̾́̏̂̏̊͊�̴̤̬͖͖̬̹̣̏�̴̧̹͓͒̋͝�̸͎̝̂̅͋�̴̧͚͍̼̠͌�̵̤̜̻̦̬̄͒̏̃ little display case, leech. �̸͖̞̩̳̒̿͐̚͝ͅ�̴̢̫̺̟̺̬̯͔̋̄�̶̧̺̯͚̳͎͉̆͆̀̉̍�̵͚͈͛̌̑̚�̷̰͝͝�̴̢̡̯̗̖̥̈́̑̄̅̃̀̎̕ feed you this week.”

He perked up at the mention of food, whining louder this time.

The fisher laughed, flicking one of those foul little ash-and-paper cylinders into his tank. “Eat it.”

It would make him sick, but far worse would come of disobeying orders. Maybe the fisher would allow him some food if he obeyed. Kane wriggled until he could position himself enough to reach the bottom of the tank, scooped it up, and swallowed it down.

Another fisher joined him, saying something he couldn’t understand and nodding at his tank before approaching.

Nothing good ever happened when he was taken from his tank.

“No, no, no!” he wailed as his head breached the surface, his salt-lined gills burning all the more against unforgiving air.

-

Jim didn’t go to the beach anymore.

After months stranded and years after living in fear, he never thought he’d get even ten miles near a coastline. Not even twenty. Yet here he was, getting within two, just to see the damn vampire. Just to confirm it’s him.

The scars on his arms and legs floated the vague line between hurt and not, leaving him unsure if it was in his head.

The smell of distant saltwater made him want to vomit.

Jim greeted the fishers in a daze, letting them lead him to the vampire that might be his.

And there he was.

Kane looked worse for wear. He was littered with more scars than Jim was, trapped in a tank barely wider than his body, and even his body looked near-emaciated. His wide eyes locked onto Jim with sudden, harsh terror, and he squirmed as if to try to get away.

“Why’s he… in there?” he asked dumbly.

“Gotta keep a vampire reeeal secure, you of all people know you can’t trust the fuckers. Give ‘em an inch and they’ll take a mile. Can’t move around, don’t have the energy to fight, knows it’s got hurt coming if it tries, that’s the safe way to keep ‘em,” the fisher explained.

Jim couldn’t look him in the eyes after that, so he looked at the tank instead.

“Kane?”

Kane whimpered, pressed against the back of the tank, though that only left him what looked like a couple inches away from the front of it. Jim felt claustrophobic just looking at it.

“So?” the fisher prompted.

“This is him.” Jim took a step forward, hesitantly pressing a hand to the glass. He was really here, powerless to hurt him again.

But Kane was hurt, and terrified, and trapped somewhere small and uncomfortable. There was no way he could leave him here.

“Do you think… I could take him?”

-

Every day, humans came to the aquarium in droves. As an unending mercy, Kane’s tank here was large, with ample places to hide. He never came out while the humans were visiting.

No one hurt him at the aquarium. He always had enough to eat at the aquarium. The workers always smiled at him when he surfaced for his meals. Not the malicious smiles of the fishers, but real ones, like they were friends. They talked to him like he was a person, and he was getting better at talking back, and they didn’t even get mad at him when he wouldn’t come out for the guests. Bellamy slipped him an extra fish and told him he deserved it for being a trooper. He didn’t know what a trooper was, but it sounded good when he said it.

Maybe he would start showing himself, one day, just to make them happy. Maybe if it ever stopped being scary.

As it stood, there was only one guest Kane would leave his hidey-hole for. Thankfully, they allowed him to come just after closing, away from the crowds.

“Hey,” Jim greeted. “Just came to, uh, check up on you. Make sure you’re still doing alright.”

Kane couldn’t speak underwater, and Jim was nowhere close to the top of the roomy tank, so he nodded. He looked at his hand, trying to remember the sign for a second, before making a ‘thumbs-up’.

“You’re okay? You’re happy? No one’s hurting you? They’re feeding you good? Helping you with medical stuff?” Jim asked.

Kane nodded again, smiling this time. He tried not to show his teeth.

Jim sat by the tank. “That’s good. I’m happy for you, man. You know how long ‘til the doc clears you to go home?”

It wouldn’t be long, now. He was gaining the weight back, his injuries had healed, and the exercises he’d been given were helping him learn to swim normally again. Soon, he would be able to survive in the ocean, just like before any of this nightmare had ever happened.

Bellamy said they could do a program together, if he wanted, where guests would come to learn about vampires and ask him questions. He said Kane didn’t have to if he didn’t want to, but winked and promised him some of his blood if he gave it a try.

No fisher could catch him again if he stayed at the aquarium. People would protect him at the aquarium.

Kane shrugged, not sure he would ever leave.

-

sorry all i can write are AUs lol <3 they're warming me up for the main series i prommy

taglist in reblogs!

[lucyandalexiafan]

It’s Lucy | Lucy Bronze x reader

Summary: reader has a panic attack and Lucy tries to comfort her.

Warnings: angst; allusion to past violent/abusive relationship with family/partner.

Words: 1.9k

I sit against the radiator of the bathroom.

Same place where I sat as a child, when I cried hiding myself in the same type of room and behind that door.

That door that I was forced to close in silence so that no one would know I was inside, leaving only the small light on the cabinet.

I always ended up in the same position.

Back against the radiator.

Head on knees.

Arms holding the legs to the chest, the calves against the thighs.

It's the same position I have now.

And, like then, the chest twists on itself due to the sobs.

Tears running down my cheeks.

I bite my lip until it bleeds in an attempt to hold back the laments, the noises.

Like when I was a kid and didn't want to disturb anyone.

But now I'm alone, at home.

In another city.

In another country.

But that anxiety never goes away.

That fear of being heard.

That fear of being discovered.

That fear of making the situation worse.

Lucy isn't there.

She is at the Barcelona camp, somewhere around Portugal.

Jona had allowed me not to go.

He had seen how bad I was, how badly I was playing, and he had asserted that my mental health was more important.

He had insisted that I was supposed to stay in Barcelona, at home.

So why do I feel so guilty?

I had put my phone on not disturb mode and the only thing I have done during these days as an attempt to communicate was reply to his text every night.

I'm okay.

No more words, no less.

It didn't matter what he wrote to me.

It didn't matter what he was talking about.

It didn't matter what photo he sent me of the team.

I didn't answer anything other than I'm okay.

It didn't matter if it was a lie.

I hadn't checked the messages and calls from Lucy, from Alexia, from the team.

I was, and am, too scared to read them.

To confront the disappointment they feel about me not being with them.

For my having stayed at home.

For my not being enough.

The fear of finding out that Lucy is mad at me makes me nauseous every time.

So I can't look at them.

Read them.

Answer to the calls.

And also because I hadn't heard my voice since she left and it wouldn't surprise me to know that it's gone.

Since Lucy had left I had spent the days at home, alternating between the living room and the bedroom.

A sense of nausea, fear, discomfort pervaded my body since the first second that I was alone.

Preventing me from eating.

Preventing me from going out.

Preventing me from doing anything other than lying still.

Lucy had left, she was forced to leave, having no justification not to.

Mapi was injured, so she was in Barcelona.

She had tried to convince me to open the door of the house: she had camped out on the landing of the floor all the first night, until the next morning the old woman from the flat next to mine had threatened to call the police if she didn't leave.

Three days had passed.

I didn't expect her to come back.

I love her, we are friends, but I never thought I deserved that treatment, that attention, that try one more time.

And, in the end, she had only confirmed my idea, my feeling of not being enough.

My nails penetrate the flesh of my calves.

My hands crush the skin.

I feel dirty.

Useless.

How is it possible that I can't even do my job anymore?

The house lock clicks.

I gasp in fright.

I hold my body even tighter as if this could protect me.

I will not move.

I don't know who they are, but it's not important.

I'm not important.

I hear footsteps.

The sound of an object being thrown to the ground.

The sounds of some doors being opened.

Are they thieves?

It does not make sense, it's still evening.

Maybe it's Lucy.

But why didn't she call me?

I bite my lip.

Then I hear the bathroom door open.

“Amor”

I huddle in on myself.

I try to disappear, to merge with the radiator.

Is she angry?

Does she want to hurt me?

I close my eyes.

“Amor”

I whine.

The pain in the chest increases more and more.

I hear her sit on the floor.

“Don't hurt me, please”

I hear her holding her breath.

“Amor, look at me”

I shake my head.

“I'm sorry Lucy… I'm sorry, I really am - I moan, blood dripping down my calves - I swear… it wasn't enough, but I tried”

There is silence.

Why doesn't she scream?

Why doesn't she hit me?

I feel arms hugging me.

I squirm.

I try to move her away, to push her away.

I don't deserve this affection.

I can't even do my job.

Study.

Leave the house.

Why doesn't she hit me?

Her hair touches my nose.

My forehead against the crook of her neck.

She says something to me but I can't hear it.

The noise in my head is too loud.

The noise of the beats, of the tachycardia, invades the ears.

A dull, constant, fast sound.

I tell her that I can't hear, that I can't understand.

I hold her tight.

My nails dug into the sleeve of her arm.

My tears wet her shirt.

She asks me if she can medicate me.

The worried, sweet voice.

I don't answer, scared at the idea that it's an excuse to leave.

To hurt me.

She asks it again, telling me that she would like to treat my calves.

I swallow saliva.

I grip her forearm tightly.

Two of her fingers rest against my chin.

They force it upwards.

Her eyes fixed on mine.

“Everything will be fine, you just have to cooperate with me, okay?”

I look at her scared.

“Please… Please don't hurt me”

Her gaze softens even more.

She tells me that the only thing she will do to me is medicate me, that she won't hurt me.

She then walks away towards the medicine cabinet.

She opens it and takes out a first aid kit.

The one where there are gauzes, disinfectant, plasters and everything else.

She approaches again.

“Now, every time I do something I'll tell you, so you know what's going on and you can stop me if you need to, okay?”

Will she stop or is she lying?

I nod slightly, too weak to protest, to oppose her.

She opens the kit and I flinch at the sound of the zipper opening.

She soaks a piece of cotton with some disinfectant.

“Amor, can you stretch your legs a little? This will make it easier to disinfect the cuts"

I don't respond, I just execute.

She asks me to leave them slightly bent, so that they don't touch the ground.

I feel the sting of disinfectant on a cut.

I groan in pain, sucking air between my teeth.

Her other hand touches my knee, the thumb caressing the skin.

“I'm sorry, I swear - I whisper, scared, hesitating when her eyes look into mine - I didn't think... I'm so sorry”

“Amor, don't worry” she whispers before chastely kissing my knee.

Then she continues, wound by wound, to disinfect me.

Why does she disinfect them?

Why is she so caring?

I don't deserve it.

I know it, and I bet she knows it too.

If she wants to hurt me why does she medicate me?

“I think it's better to not cover them, so they'll dry quickly, okay?”

I nod.

I no longer look into her eyes.

I look at her hands.

They are stained with my blood.

They smell of disinfectant.

The air smells of disinfectant.

Is she angry?

Why is she so sweet?

So loving?

I bite my lip.

Her shirt is stained with disinfectant.

Or maybe it's blood?

The spot is dark, small.

“Can you get up? So we can go to bed."

I plant a hand against the floor, but as soon as I try to get up I feel my strength fail.

I shake my head moaning softly.

I curl up in fear that she will hit me.

That she will start screaming.

Will she hurt me for this?

I close my eyes in terror as she approaches me, her arms raised towards me.

“Can I pick you up so I can take you to bed?”

I watch her.

Eyes widening.

She-

That's why she is so caring.

Of course.

Why did I believe there was no ulterior motive?

How could I be so stupid?

How long was she at the camp?

A week?

Is that why she medicated me?

Because then we can go to bed and-

I push myself towards the radiator

The fear that it will happen again, that she will hurt me too, invades my body.

The memories that come back to mind.

My hands hold my legs, my back pressed against the radiator.

“Please… don't hurt me - she looks at me confused, her lips parted - We-we will do it, I swear - I gasp in terror - but not now, I beg you. I-I don't feel I can do it."

She looks at me.

The confusion in her eyes.

She hesitates, pulling her arms back against her body.

“I just want to make you lie down, you can't stay on the floor all evening” her voice worried.

Maybe scared of my reaction.

“We won't do anything, I promise - I look at her - I just wish you were in a more comfortable place”

I look at her trying to figure out if she's lying about herself.

Maybe she really just meant-

“You won't hurt me?” I ask hesitantly.

She shakes her head.

Her lips parted.

“I would never hurt you, amor”

A hint of urgency in her voice.

Can I trust her?

It's Lucy.

I can trust Lucy.

Right?

It's Lucy.

The sweet girl who gave me Lego flowers because she had seen them in a store and she had thought of me.

The loving girl who always hugs me because she knows that physical contact is the only thing that calms my anxiety.

The caring girl who always orders my favorite pizza when she understands that I'm having a bad day.

It's Lucy.

With her transparent glasses, nose piercing and freckles.

I bite my lip.

The tears welling up in my eyes.

Why do I always ruin everything?

She'll dump me after this.

She won't want to deal with me anymore.

I look at her again.

I know that if she tries to hurt me I won't stop her.

I will cry, but I won't fight her.

I don't have the force to do it.

Ever since I ran away from that house I promised myself I wouldn't let anyone hurt me or hit me, but the reality is that now it is so difficult to fight, to oppose, her.

I nod.

She's right, I can't spend all night on the floor.

In one way or another, we will end up in that bed together.

In one way or another, if she wants, she will find the opportunity to hurt me.

Her arms lift me up.

One under the crook of the knees, one under the middle of the back.

I instinctively push myself against her chest.

My hands clutching the fabric of her t-shirt.

The tears that wet it.

“I-I'm sorry Lucy”

She places me on the bed.

She kisses my forehead, then my nose.

“Don't think about it now, - she kisses my nose again - Whatever happened, it doesn't matter. I love you” she whispers, before lying down next to me, covering us with the blankets and hugging me.

It's Lucy.

I'm not sure that the way I wrote the allusions to Reader's past life is correct: in my native language they work, but I'm not familiar enough with English to know 100/100 if the way I wrote them is correct. If they are wrong please point it out to me, explain me what is the correct way and I will change them (so I can learn for the next time too). Thank you so much:)

[froggiewrites]

Baby You're a Haunted House

Pairing: Ghost!Bartolomeo x Reader

NSFW

Summary: Your house doesn’t want you to leave. You feel insane for thinking it, but you know it’s true. And after your keys go missing, trapping you here for the foreseeable future, you can’t help but finally crack and let the house know this has to stop. You don’t expect a handsome man to appear to dry your tears and beg you not to leave, with hands as cold as ice and pleading eyes. Warnings: AFAB!Reader (no pronouns or gendered language used), Smut, Ghost Sex, Temperature Play, Cockwarming, Fingering, Vaginal Sex, Possessive Talk/Behavior Word Count: 2.7k Halloween Special 2024

There is something wrong with your new house.

You had tried to convince yourself that you were simply on edge from living alone in such a large old house, that the creaking and bumps in the night were simply the house settling. But from the moment you moved in, you could feel eyes on you, and some part of you knew that you were being watched. If it were only that feeling, you could dismiss it, tell yourself you were being paranoid.

But then your things started moving.

At first it was only small things. Your hairbrush moved a few inches to the right. A drawer left a little open when you could have sworn you had closed it. The clothes swore you laid out the night before tucked amongst your dirty laundry, wrinkled as though someone had held them. Your keys becoming frequently misplaced, never where you last left them. It was always something tiny to delay you from leaving, as though the house was begging you to stay in whatever ways it knew how. You were late to work more than a few times, and you could tell your boss was starting to get pissed about it. And really, you know your explanations sound like bullshit excuses, but you can’t really say, “Sorry I’m late, I think my house is haunted and the ghost doesn’t want me to leave.”

But today, finally, a line has been crossed, and you can’t ignore it anymore. Your car keys aren’t moved. They haven’t fallen to the floor, they aren’t on a different table than you left them on. They’re gone. You have searched every place you could possibly have left them, and they are simply nowhere to be seen. You’re forced to call your boss and tell them you aren’t coming in to work today, and they’re, of course, horribly displeased. But you have no choice. You’re stuck here until someone can come rekey it, and that will take at least a few hours and a hundred bucks, if not more. You don’t exactly have a lot of time or money to spare right now.

There are tears pricking at the corner of your eyes, though you can’t tell if they’re from rage, stress, or simply from being overwhelmed. No matter where they’re from, the hiccuping sobs force their way through you, demanding more air than you have to give as you slide to the floor, pressing your palms into your eyes with so much force you start to see stars. You can’t keep dealing with this. You can feel the eyes on you even now.

“I’m not insane,” you mutter to yourself through your tears, as any sane person would.

The house doesn’t answer.

“Why are you doing this? What did I do to you?” Your voice cracks, small and pathetic. You were so tired. So tired of never feeling alone. Of constantly worrying that tomorrow would be the day your boss finally got tired of this and fired you, and you’d be stuck all alone in this big house waiting for the moment it decided to finish doing whatever it wanted to you. “I can’t afford to lose my job.”

A floorboard creaks.

“I can’t spend an hour looking for my clothes every morning.”

A cold overtakes the room.

“I can’t keep putting off showers because I can’t shake the feeling I’m being watched.”

The light above you flickers.

“I can’t keep doing this. I really, really can’t. I can’t afford to move.”

“Please don’t leave.” The voice is deep, panicked, and desperate. You flinch, finally opening your eyes, and you’re not quite surprised to see that you aren’t alone in the room. There is a man towering over you, shirt hanging open and tattoos on display. His teeth are sharp, and he looks like he could bite you in two, but his eyes are pleading as he leaves toward you. A chill creeps over you as he gets closer. “I didn’t want to make you leave. I’m sorry.”

“Who are you?”

“Uh, my name’s Bartolomeo. Nice to meet you?”

You look up at him, tears still spilling down your cheeks. “Why do you keep taking my things?”

He clears his throat, looking away in embarrassment. “I–uh–I didn’t want you to leave.”

“Why?”

“You’re so–I–” His cheeks are red. “I wanted you to stay. Gets lonely without you. I was used to bein’ alone, but when you showed up I realized how nice it can be, havin’ someone around.”

“Someone lived here before me.”

“They weren’t you.” He says it like it’s obvious.

“Why didn’t you show yourself until now?”

His shoulders tense a little, eyes shifting away again. He mumbles quietly, “I was nervous.”

“Nervous?” You stare at him in silence for a moment as he quietly crumples under your gaze. “About?”

“What if you got freaked out and left, and I never saw you again? What if you didn’t wanna live in a haunted house?” His next question is quiet, voice soft and vulnerable. “What if you just didn’t like the way I looked and you ran?”

“That wouldn’t happen. The last one, I mean. The first two are pretty reasonable concerns, actually.”

“Yeah, I know. So I figured I’d just…try to keep you for a little longer. I didn’t think I was hurting anything. I really am sorry about that. I–I didn’t wanna make you cry.” His voice wobbles, and you can’t help but soften.

“But why hide my things if you knew I’d always come back? I know it must get a little boring while I’m at work, but I spend more time at home anyway.”

“What if you didn’t this time? What if this time you left and that was it?” His hand reaches for yours, and you expect him to pass through you like in the movies, but his fingers intertwine with yours. They’re freezing, but they’re solid. “I’d go crazy wonderin’ what happened to you.”

You stare where you make contact with amazement. “You can touch me.”

“Hm?”

“I–I didn’t think you’d be able to.” 

He stares at your hands for a moment, his mouth slightly agape, before he looks up at your face. His other hand brushes briefly over your hair before settling on your cheek, cupping it with affection. “I didn’t think I could either. I–I never tried.” He can’t hide his awe. “You’re so warm.”

“You’re freezing.” You place a hand on his chest, trying to feel if his heart still beats, if his body still goes through the motions of life. He seems to still be breathing, but that could just be instinct. You find no pulse between your fingers, just cold skin that slowly warms to your touch. “Is it uncomfortable?”

“It was at first. You get numb to it after a few years.”

You try to imagine years of this, of an icy creeping chill that never seems to leave, all alone in this big old house as life happens around you. You can’t feel a trace of your earlier anger, just sympathy that rises from somewhere deep within your chest. “Do you…want to be warm?”

“I mean, yeah. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Do you want me to help with that?”

He looks at you with the same kind of reverence most would reserve for a god. Almost instantly tears threaten to pour over his lashes as he stares at you, slack jawed. “Are–Are you bein’ serious? You really mean it?”

You pull him forward by the shirt, wrapping your free hand around him. You had intended to simply hug him, but he tumbles forward, pinning you beneath him. He groans quietly at the sensation of your warmth flowing into him, the closest thing he’s had to life since he lost his. He lets go of your hand to wrap his arms fully around you, burying his nose in your neck. He drinks in everything you’re willing to give him, a softness he has never known and a kindness he hasn’t received in a very, very long time.

You lay together for a while, just feeling his skin heat up from your touch. He slides his hands under the back of your shirt to warm them up faster, causing you to shiver from the chill on your spine. They don’t wander, simply running up and down your back, enjoying the feeling of your goosebumps beneath his fingertips.

Then his lips brush against your neck.

“Bartolomeo?”

“Sorry, I just–they were cold too,” he says, unconvincingly. “A lot of me still is.” He shifts his legs, and you feel something pressing into your thigh.

“Oh! I, um–”

“Please, sweetheart. We don’t have to–uh. I don’t have to move. Just let me feel how hot you are, please.” His words come out as a desperate whine, one that makes your heart squeeze. It’s a bad idea, surely. But he sounds so horribly sad, so lonely, and he needs you.

“Okay.” Your hands reach for his belt.

He beats you to it, ripping off your pants and panties before your hands are even halfway to your destination, and his belt and pants come off before you make contact. You expect him to slam into you, but instead he inserts one finger slowly, still a little cold but much warmer after being tucked against you. You let out a soft gasp at the sensation, and he whispers in your ear. “Just makin’ sure you’re ready. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

“I’m ready,” you squeak out as you clench around his finger. Instead of stopping, he pumps once, twice, then inserts a second when he’s sure you can take it.

“Wanna be sure.” His fingers move slow and steady, working you up just enough to take three. When he finally deems you properly prepped, he pulls out his fingers, inserting them into his mouth and sucking your juices off of them with a moan. He aligns your hips up with his before plunging into you, immediately groaning at the heat and tightness surrounding him. You gasp at the sudden cold of his cock, legs kicking out instinctively, but he holds you tight so you can’t move an inch. “It’s alright, sweetheart. It’ll just take a second to adjust. No need to run.”

“C–Cold!” You hiss, and he holds you impossibly tighter, every inch of you pressed against him.

“I know. You can fix that. You don’t have to try to run away.” He buries his face against you again. “You don’t have to leave.”

You can feel your nipples hardening from the cold, brushing against his chest in a way that sends little jolts of pleasure down your spine as you clench around him. He moans quietly into your hair, but he keeps his hips still. You sit, entirely still, slowly feeling your warmth leave you and leech into him. He makes quiet noises of pleasure as he savors the feeling, the facsimile of life you’ve gifted him.

“Thank you for this,” he murmurs. His icy lips brush against your hair, your cheek, your lips, your neck. His hands rub over your back and sides, every movement dripping with gratitude. “I thought I’d never get to feel this again. Thank you.”

As his attention continues, you find it harder and harder to sit still. He’s slowly growing warm inside of you, and his hands are rough as they brush against your tender spots. Your nipples rub against his chest, as he still refuses to allow you to part for even a second. Once his hands reach your thighs, you can’t take it anymore, and you allow your hips to twitch, giving you the slightest amount of relief. His fingers dig into your thighs as he grunts quietly, trying to ground himself.

“You’re testing me, sweetheart, please.”

“Please, please, move.” You sound absolutely pathetic, wanton and begging, but you can’t bring yourself to care. You just can’t stand all of the sensations, so much but not enough.

He sucks in a breath, steadying himself for a moment, before he responds with a sharp grin. “Of course. Anything for you.”

He pulls out slowly, savoring the feeling of you rubbing against him, before he plunges back in furiously fast, making you cry out. His hands reach for your hips, bouncing you furiously against him as his mouth reaches for your neck. His sharp teeth nip lightly against you, never enough to hurt but certainly enough to mark. The delicate scrape of his canines, still icy cold, combined with his thrusting overwhelms you, making you reach desperately for anything to ground you. You settle for his hair, intertwining your fingers and tugging with every new bite mark he leaves on your skin. He groans as you do, clearly savoring the sensation. Pain is usually saved for the living. What a gift for him to feel it now at your hands.

His pace is unrelenting, the room filled with the sound of skin slapping and your moans, slowly growing louder as he works you up. One hand remains on your hip as the other reaches for your clit, pressing it with shaking fingers. You don’t know if his hesitation is from nervousness or inexperience, but either way he seems to find his footing quickly, allowing your sounds to guide him. As your moans grow, his pace becomes unsteady as he struggles to maintain his rhythm.

“Oh, god,” he whispers. “Those noises, I–You’re killin’ me.” You open your mouth to try to make a joke about it, something about being the first man to die twice, but he hits a particularly sweet spot and you can say nothing other than his name, which only makes him pound into you harder. You’re so overwhelmed you can hardly think at this point, your world and mind filled with nothing but him.

Your pleasure builds quickly, all of the sensations working in harmony to bring you to your climax. You clench around him, feeling as though you’re falling and his hand on your hip is the only thing keeping you grounded. He continues to thrust through your orgasm, ensuring he has wrung every bit of pleasure for you that he can before he releases, groaning into your hair as his cum paints your walls. The sensation is strange, not as chilly as the air around you but colder than anything that would come out of a human. You cannot help but be incredibly aware of every drop as it slowly warms inside of you.

He doesn’t pull out, or pull away from you. He pulls you closer once again, pressing your chests together and tenderly kissing you on the lips. “Thank you.”

You laugh quietly. “No one’s ever thanked me for sex before.”

“Not just–well. For that too.” He stumbles over his words a bit, struggling to articulate his feelings. “I didn’t think I’d ever feel alive again.”

“And do you?”

“Hm?”

“Feel alive?”

He gives you a toothy grin. “More than I have in years. If I didn’t know any better I’d think my heart was pounding right now.”

Your hand rests on his chest. It’s moving from his heavy breathing, but there’s still no beat underneath your fingers. You take one of his hands and place it right over your heart, fluttering rapidly. “That’s alright. Mine’s working hard enough for both of us.”

He grins. “Does that mean you’re willin’ to share?”

There’s a heavy implication beneath his words, one you aren’t sure of. But his eyes are so pleading, and he looked so horribly lonely when you first saw him, and something inside of you is whispering that he needs you, only you. So you smile softly, affectionately, “I could be convinced.”

He grins, all teeth. “I can be very convincing.” He kisses you again, a little more demanding this time. “And we can have all of the time in the world for me to do it, if you just stay.”

As his teeth graze your neck again, you get the feeling you won’t be leaving for quite some time.

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