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littlexdeaths · 2 months ago

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𝕝𝕖𝕥’𝕤 𝕘𝕠, 𝕕𝕠𝕟’𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥 (𝕗𝕚𝕧𝕖)

eddie munson x shy fem reader

warnings: 18+ ONLY MDNI, insecure eddie makes an appearance, eddie’s pov, tons of kissing, drug use (weed), grinding/dry humping and a whole lot of cheese, what can i say? (it’s a given with these two)

part four | part six

let’s go, don’t wait masterlist

word count: 4.9k

a/n: damn this was a long time coming. thank you guys for being so patient with me during this writing slump. also big shoutout to @strangerstilinski for gifting me that one porno title. but i really need to give the biggest thank you to my bestie @undead-supernova ! august, you have truly helped me improve my writing so much over the past year, and i hope you know how much i love and appreciate you. this chapter is dedicated to you boo xx.

“You cannot be serious, sweetheart,” Eddie deadpans, looking between you and the VHS tape clutched between his fingers.

You feel your face warm, his overly exaggerated tone causing another customer in the horror section to give you both a sideways glance.

“As a heart attack,” you mumble, grabbing a copy of Children of the Corn to read the back cover in order to avoid his piercing gaze.

“Never seen Alien, she says…” he huffs under his breath, “It’s a classic!”

When you finally dare to peek up at him under your lashes, he’s giving you a look of utter disapproval that wavers on the edge of teasing.

“Sci-Fi isn’t really my thing,” you shrug, putting the tape back and reaching for another.

“But Evil Dead is?” he muses, leaning forward over your shoulder to glance at the cover art.

The background is dark, with two grotesque-like hands reaching into the frame and toward a bloodied Bruce Campbell holding a chainsaw above his head. When Eddie leans in closer to get a better look, the tips of his fingers brush against your own in the process. The gentle touch sends your body into overdrive and you swear your heart is about to leap out of your chest from the proximity.

“Well…what about this one?” you ask, stepping out of his embrace to head further down the aisle, ignoring the rising heat in your cheeks as you nearly stumble. Damn heels.

“I would argue that this is a classic.”

But Eddie just slips in behind you again, resting a hand on your hip while you hold a copy of The Texas Chainsaw Massacre in your hands.

“Perhaps,” he shrugs, holding back a snicker as you gasp in mock offense.

“You doubt my judgment?”

“Of course not,” he insists with a small snort. “But…maybe you have a thing for guys who wield chainsaws.”

You catch the sly grin that stretches across his lips out of the corner of your eye, a loud laugh puffing out from his chest when you playfully smack his shoulder. Eddie grabs the tape from you, leaning in a little closer until his lips brush against your ear.

And he doesn’t miss the subtle hitch of your breath.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart…” he cheekily assures, “Your secret is safe with me.”

When you throw a playful glare his way, he merely winks in response. Then he turns on his heel to stride back toward the front counter, snagging a box of Reese’s Pieces on his way. You fumble a step behind him before glancing up.

The employee manning the counter is someone you know all too well.

His hair is a little longer than the last time you saw him, the ends brushing against his forehead and falling into his eyes. But he’s still just as handsome, if not annoyingly so. And when Eddie sets the tapes on the counter, Steve barely spares him a passing glance. His brown eyes quickly settle on you as his lips pull up into a lazy grin.

“Find everything you were looking for?” he asks, the cadence of his voice is low but filled with a sticky sweetness that has your cheeks warming.

And if you didn’t know any better you would think he was flirting with you.

“O-Oh, I, uh— ”

“Yeah,” Eddie cuts in, his voice a little strained. “We found everything just fine, man.”

Steve gives you another soft grin as he snaps open the first case, a small snort leaving his nose.

“I wouldn’t have taken you for the gore fest type.”

But that slight hint of disbelief in his tone has you wanting to shrink in on yourself.

“Then you don’t know her very well,” Eddie mutters under his breath.

Only, his snide comment isn’t as quiet as he initially intended.

But Steve says nothing, just clears his throat and runs a hand through his chestnut locks before sliding the movies across the counter. The clacking of the keyboard fills the uncomfortable silence as you tug at the worn vinyl on the counter.

“That’ll be $12.35.”

You can feel Eddie tense beside you.

“I thought the movies were 2 for $4 tonight?” you chime in softly, confusion scrunching your brows together.

Steve’s lip quirks up in a slight smirk as he glances between you and Eddie.

“Well, Munson here has racked up quite a lot of late fees…” he trails before whistling. The flash of amusement in his eyes has Eddie’s narrowing in warning.

But that look only seems to encourage him.

“Looks like we’ve got Erotic Night of the Living Dead, returned three days late. Munch Masters Vol. I…”, Steve pauses to scroll further down the list. “…and Vol. II, that was a week late.”

He flashes Eddie a condescending grin, “Must’ve really liked that one, huh?”

But before Steve can embarrass him further, Eddie fishes out his wallet and slams a couple bills down onto the counter. He grabs the tapes, tucking them under his arm and slips his hand in yours. The boy all but pulls you out of the store, his chin tucked toward his chest to try and hide the flames licking his cheeks.

Despite his ever growing irritation—fueled by the embarrassment of what just transpired—he still opens the door and helps you into the van.

Ever the gentleman.

“Harrington’s got some nerve,” Eddie mutters under his breath as he slides into the driver's seat. “With his nice smile and his stupid hair…” His voice drips with condescension as he slams the driver's door shut behind him.

“Embarrassing me is one thing. But blatantly flirting with my girl, right in front of me—like I wasn't even there?! That’s low even for him.”

Eddie doesn’t even realize what he just let slip, too busy fumbling to stick the key into the ignition.

A beat passes before you manage to gather the courage to speak, the jingling of keys echoing in your ears.

“Your girl?” you ask carefully, heart lodged in your throat.

Eddie’s whole body tenses, taking his time in setting the tapes down on the dashboard before finally turning to face you.

“Well…I, uh, shit,” he whispers, splotches of red beginning to creep up his neck while he exhales sharply through his nose. “I wanted to ask you in a proper, more romantic way—”

You suddenly turn in your seat, your grip on his collar firm while your lips manage to cut him off with a surprised hmph.

But he’s quick to recover, mouth molding over yours with an intensity that would make your knees buckle if you were still standing. And he keeps kissing you, slowly, deeply…until the windows begin to fog up from the heat of your mingling breaths.

“I don’t need romantic, Eddie,” you manage when he pulls away for some much needed air, your nose nudges against his own before you press another gentle kiss to his swollen lips. “Just you.”

And his answering grin is all the reassurance you need.

“Welcome to my castle,” Eddie says, gesturing toward the pale blue trailer with a tentative smile.

He barely let you push open the passenger door before he was running around the front of the van, almost dropping the VHS tapes tucked under his arm in the process. But the soft giggle you let slip when he bows and offers you his hand had his heart skipping a beat.

He keeps your fingers intertwined as you walk alongside him to the door. The uneven gravel makes the otherwise short distance in your heels a little more treacherous than normal. But Eddie is more than willing to catch you at the slightest hint of a wobble in your step.

The night air is far more frigid than either of you anticipated, and the shiver that ripples through you has him nearly dropping the keys in his rush to open the front door. He curses softly, breathing out a sigh of relief when the door finally swings open.

“Ladies first,” he grins, gesturing you forward.

Once you're both safely inside Eddie drops the keys on the table by the door, kicking off his shoes and switching on lights as he goes. He inwardly cringes when he spots the fast food wrappers scattered across the counter and the pile of dirty dishes in the sink.

What a great first impression, Munson.

But when he remembers the current state of his bedroom, his face pales.

“Uh, I’m just gonna…” he trails off, scratching the back of his neck before motioning behind him with his thumb. “Grab a new shirt, but go ahead and make yourself at home.”

Eddie waits until you’ve taken a seat on the sofa before starting down the hall. He’s frantic when he bursts through his bedroom door, immediately eyeing the pile of clothes strewn across his unmade bed. A disaster he left in the wake of trying to pull together a last minute Halloween costume.

He found the orange shirt that’s currently adorning your frame in the very back of his closet, a lost relic from the one time Wayne had managed to take him hunting. Eddie had fallen asleep up in the deer stand and almost shot a crossbow through his boot, and Wayne had vowed never again.

He had grabbed a discarded sharpie off his nightstand, the cap tucked between his teeth as he scribbled This is my Halloween costume across the front in his signature messy scrawl. While it wasn’t his most creative idea to date, it was either this or the god awful pirate costume he’d been suckered into a few years back. That most definitely did not fit him anymore.

Eddie scoops up an armful of clothes, tossing them onto the already cluttered floor of his closet. His movements are erratic, nearly tripping over one of his amps in the process. While Eddie isn’t the type to wear his emotions on his sleeve, he is unable to disguise the way his hands are trembling.

He’s nervous, so fucking nervous.

And when he dares to peek out of his room and down the hall, he immediately has to remind himself to breathe.

Because there you are, sitting on his couch, wearing his shirt. Looking almost heaven sent, your eyes alight with wonder as you take in the collection of hats and mugs adorning the walls.

“Get a fuckin’ grip, man,” he mumbles to himself, dropping to his knees to shove more of the remaining clutter under his bed.

Once he returns to his feet, he slips his jacket off his shoulders and tosses it over the back of the chair before rifling through the top drawer of his dresser for a new shirt. Despite what a majority of the town believed, Eddie ‘The Freak’ Munson was no stranger to the sins of the flesh. He’d lost his virginity his first senior year in the back of his van to band geek, Polly O’Donnell.

Which was probably why her mom had failed him two years in a row. Not that he was keeping score or anything.

But even in that moment, Eddie hadn’t felt this nervous.

Maybe, it was because he didn’t harbor the same feelings for Polly that he did for you. Or perhaps the real reason was that he just didn’t trust people or their intentions. His tumultuous upbringing and treatment by his peers was testament enough of that. So Eddie kept most people at arm's length, not allowing them to see past his scary façade.

It was safer that way.

But one look from you was enough to have his carefully crafted walls crumbling down, laid to rubble beneath his feet.

And that’s the thing that scared him the most. That he would willingly throw himself (and his heart) into the crossfire if it meant you would continue to look at him like that.

Man, he had it bad.

He huffs out a breath, grabbing the first unwrinkled shirt that he can find and pulling it over his head. The male takes one final glance around his bedroom, deciding it’s good enough before he turns to leave. But something on his nightstand catches his eye, the joint he rolled earlier practically beckoning him with the promise of sweet relaxation.

And with the state of his jangled nerves, he could use all the help he could get.

So he slips the joint behind his ear, spinning the lighter between his thumb and forefinger as he pads down the hall toward you.

And while his nerves were ravaging his insides, you aren’t faring much better.

You had counted every mug and hat that lined the walls of his living room twice over, in a feeble attempt to distract yourself from the fact that you were actually here with him. All alone, with no prying eyes or listening ears to interrupt you. And despite the fact that he just put a shirt back on, it doesn’t stop your thoughts from wandering to not so innocent places.

The sleeves are cut off, showing off his surprisingly toned biceps. An array of dark ink flows over his arms, the black shirt making him appear almost paler in comparison. You tuck your lower lip between your teeth when you see the muscles in his forearms contract when he places his palms flat on the counter.

Your thighs press together as your gaze travels lower, where his jeans cling a little too tightly to his—

“You still up for some pizza?” he asks, picking up the phone and interrupting your thoughts.

“O-Oh, right!” you blink, averting your eyes. “Pizza sounds great.”

He quickly punches in a number before you can ask any further questions, holding the receiver up to his ear.

“Hey man, it’s Eddie,” he says after a few moments.

The male tucks the receiver between his ear and shoulder while he speaks, fingers drumming lightly along the countertop. The movement causes his hair to fall over his face, a stray curl eventually finding its way into his mouth.

“Yeah, yeah the usual.” he sputters, spitting the hair out and tucking the wild curls back behind his ear. “But uh, can I get olives on half?”

You can’t help but notice the way his eyes roll into the back of his head fondly. And it has you contemplating what other ways you could make his eyes roll back.

“No no no, I have not become an ‘olive enthusiast.’” He scoffs, fingers curling into air quotes. “I just, I have…” he pauses, dark eyes flicking over to you. “I have a guest over tonight.”

And the way Eddie has to hold the phone away from his ear has you stifling a giggle. You can hear a muffled voice on the other end, their enthusiastic lilt apparent even from where you are perched on the end of the sofa.

“Alright, alright, that’s enough.” He chuckles, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “But that should be it.” Eddie tucks the phone back in between his shoulder, reaching to grab his wallet from his back pocket.

“Oh wait, wait!” He exclaims, slapping his palm down onto the counter. “Add on an order of those cinnamon breadsticks too.”

You wish you could’ve been privy to their entire conversation, because the way Eddie flushes a deep crimson before he playfully tells the person on the other end to ‘kindly fuck off’ and hangs up the phone, has you beyond intrigued.

He takes a couple more bills out, tossing them on the counter and slips the wallet back into his pocket. The chain jingles against his thigh with each step he takes, your eyes unintentionally following the movement. He plops down onto the sofa beside you, the heat in his cheeks fading into a soft, rosy sheen.

“Nina’s is busy tonight,” he murmurs, setting something onto the small table beside him. “So, it might take a little longer than usual.”

“How did you know Nina’s Pizzeria was my favorite?” you ask, eyes narrowing in playful suspicion.

“Well,” he hums, leaning his head back against the cushions and giving you a lazy grin. “I just assumed you had much better taste than Domino’s, sweetheart.”

You playfully whack him with one of the throw pillows beside you, a stunned expression crossing over his features. Half of his hair is ruffled from where the pillow connected with his head, and this time you can’t contain the giggles from bubbling up in your chest.

“Oh you are so going to regret that, baby.” he taunts, eyes narrowing in a predatory manner.

And your whole body stills.

Baby. He just called you baby.

Eddie uses this moment to his advantage, pouncing on you with a wicked cackle. His hands find your sides, quickly pulling giggle after breathless giggle from you. When he finds a particularly sensitive spot, you squeal and begin to thrash beneath him as he continues to torture you with his fingers.

Your attempts to get him back are futile. Eddie is much faster, taking both of your wrists and pinning them above your head. Both of your chests are rising and falling rapidly from the exertion, your faces mere inches apart.

His curls create a dark curtain around you, his eyes flicking down toward your lips. His minty breath washes over you, causing yours to lodge in your throat. You just stare at each other, both of you fighting the urge to close the remaining distance between your mouths.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat, “Movie time?”

“Movie time,” you agree.

And just like that, the moment is gone as quickly as it came. Eddie clumsily climbs off you, almost falling off the sofa in the process. His curls bounce as he springs back up, offering a hand to help you sit back up.

“Now my fair maiden, what film dost thou choose?”

He holds up both cases, the choice of movie concealed by the large Family Video logo. You purse your lips, glancing back and forth between the cases as if looking at them longer would somehow reveal the title beneath.

“That one.”

You point to the one in his left hand, and Eddie tosses the other back onto the coffee table. He pops open the plastic case and chuckles before looking up at you.

“Texas Chainsaw it is.” He grins, removing the tape from its case and heading toward the TV.

Eddie crouches down, balancing on the soles of his feet as he loads the tape into the VCR. our eyes can’t help but wander across the expanse of his broad shoulders and down his back. The hem of his shirt rides up ever so slightly as he reaches to switch the tv on, exposing the band of his boxer shorts and the pale skin of his lower back.

“However,” he continues, glancing over his shoulder at you. His eyes are warm and full of mischief. “You are not leaving this trailer until you get to experience the cinematic masterpiece that is Ridley Scott’s Alien.”

The playful threat has your whole body warming, feeling thankful when he finally switches off the lamp. The darkness of the room is a welcome reprieve with only his silhouette visible, illuminated by the glow from the TV. He bounds back over and takes the seat beside you.

You allow yourself to sink further into the sofa while Eddie grabs something off the side table. The spark of the lighter ignites the handsome features of his face, and the slight stubble along his jaw. His plush lips carefully wrap around the end of the joint, cheeks hollowing slightly as he inhales deeply.

The sight alone sends a delightful shiver up your spine, shifting your gaze back toward the television as the smoke billows out from between his lips.

“Are you cold?” he asks, draping his arm over the back of the sofa in search of the old quilt that was previously thrown over it.

But said quilt had unfortunately fallen behind the sofa in the midst of your scuffle, well beyond his reach now. Eddie leans in closer, cursing softly under his breath as he attempts to locate the missing quilt in the dark. You can feel the warmth radiating from his chest, which causes another shiver to pass through you.

“Maybe a little,” you murmur.

And the male doesn’t complain when you nuzzle yourself further into his side, happily curling his arm around your shoulders. He takes another hit from the joint as the trailers continue to flash across the screen, the upcoming releases now the furthest thing from your mind.

“You want some?” He holds the joint out toward you, blowing some smoke out the corner of his mouth. “No pressure, of course.”

You carefully take it from him, your fingers brushing against his own in the process. Despite your initial reservations, you immediately lift the joint to your lips, feeling his eyes continue to linger on your features. In your nervous haste you inhale a little too quickly, the smoke evading your lungs in sharp fragments that has you immediately coughing it back up.

“Whoa, whoa. Easy there, killer,” he teases, gently rubbing your back, the touch a welcome distraction. “You gotta inhale slower.”

He takes the joint back from you, keeping it between his fingers while you continue to cough your lungs up. You’re very thankful he can’t see the way your eyes are watering as another cough racks through your chest.

“Have you ever smoked before?” he asks, only curiosity lacing his tone.

“Um, once,” cough. “In the ninth grade when I stole a cigarette out of my aunt’s purse.”

The memory is sparked, causing a smile to tug at the corner of your mouth. Your Aunt Bev had been visiting from Reno for Christmas, like she did every year. The eccentric woman was always decked out in colorful rhinestones and bright blue eyeshadow, spinning wild tales of her nights out on the strip much to the chagrin of your mother.

But you had never seen her without a trusty pack of Camel Turkish Golds.

So when one of your older cousins claimed you were too much of a prissy pants to join in on their smoke session (aka the infamous cousin walk), you took it upon yourself to swipe one from her purse and hoped she wouldn’t notice. But you received the lecture of a lifetime from her when you came back looking guilty and smelling like nicotine.

As you recount the tale back to him, you purposely leave out the part where you almost threw up in a snowbank because you were coughing so hard. No need to subject him to that visual. And while that experience had you swearing off cigarettes for the rest of your life, that didn’t mean you should deny yourself this one…right?

“Well your aunt’s absolutely right you know,” he says after a moment, that mischievous sparkle back in his eyes. “Cigarettes are terrible for you.”

You go to reach for that pillow again, ready to whack him in the head for good measure but Eddie chucks it across the room before you even have a chance to grab it. The pillow narrowingly misses the tv set by an inch, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

“Ah, ah ah!” he tuts, wagging a finger in front of your face. “Don’t mess with the mane, sweetheart.”

You giggle, rolling your eyes fondly before turning your attention back to the movie. But Eddie keeps his gaze on you, admiring how the soft glow highlights the features of your face. Your nose, which scrunches up in the cutest way whenever you’re annoyed. Your gentle eyes, that look at him as if he could do no wrong. And your lips—god, your lips. They’re slightly pouted, shiny with spit.

And Eddie's perverted mind can’t help but start to wander. He wonders how your lips would feel wrapped around him, or if those pretty eyes would roll back when he buried his tongue inside you.

Jesus H. Christ, was it getting hotter in here?

Eddie wipes his sweaty palms on his jeans, willing all the blood in his body to stop rushing South.

Popping a boner during a horror flick, that’ll really impress her, idiot.

God, he was too sober for this.

The male quickly tears his gaze away from you, picking up the lighter and relighting the forgotten joint. He doesn’t notice your eyes drifting back toward him, like a moth to a flame.

He inhales deeply, allowing the smoke to curl into his lungs and dull his sexually intrusive thoughts. But he feels you staring, your eyes transfixed on where the smoke billows out from between his lips. He glances at the joint, then back at you. Then Eddie gets an idea, an awful, sinful idea.

He whispers your name as the room is bathed in darkness again, giving him the final push he needs.

“I want to try something…” he mumbles, carefully removing your glasses and placing them on the coffee table. “Do you trust me?”

You nod automatically.

“Then come here,” he says, voice hoarse.

And when you crawl into his lap, your thighs bracketing his hips…

Eddie is a goner.

Miraculously, he manages to keep his composure, despite the way his heart is about to leap out of his chest. You’ve never been this close before, where he can feel the warmth of your thighs seeping into his jeans and smell the faint perfume lingering on your neck.

Even in the dark, he can see that flicker of bashfulness cross over your features, that sudden urge to avoid his heated stare. To tuck in on yourself, to hide away. But to his surprise, you hold his gaze, bold and unwavering when one of his hands falls to rest on your hip. He attempts to soothe you, his thumb circling up and under your shirt.

“Inhale slowly, alright?” he gently reminds you.

His other hand brings that joint back to his full lips, the cherry end igniting brightly as he inhales.

Only this time when he lowers the joint, he leans forward. His lips brush against yours until they part beneath his own, the smoke slithering out and into your awaiting mouth. You inhale slowly—just as he instructed and let the smoke curl in and around your lungs.

And when you breathe out, he’s right there, inhaling the dissipating smoke into his own mouth with a proud smile.

“See? You’re a natural.”

Eddie takes another long drag and leans in again, his thumb grazing the curve of your jaw. And maybe it’s the look in his eye or the weed beginning to lull your nerves, but you fist the collar of his shirt and pull him into you, crashing your lips together for the second time that evening.

The male barely manages to discard the joint before he’s reeling you back in, tongue gliding over your lower lip and into your awaiting mouth. You taste like Juicy Fruit and a hint of purple palm tree delight, a combination that sets every nerve in his body on fire.

Your fingers wind into the hair at the nape of his neck, gently tugging and earning you a throaty moan. Eddie swears he’s lost it when your sweet moans begin to echo his own. The sound travels straight down, where his cock is straining pathetically against the seam of his jeans.

An uphill battle he’s been fighting since you kissed him in the parking lot of Family Video.

And when you feel that hardness pressing against your inner thigh, it only encourages you to keep going. Giving an experimental roll of your hips that has Eddie’s head lolling back onto the cushions, a choked sound resembling a whine escapes his mouth.

This new position provides you with easier access to his throat, giving you a surge of confidence before your lips find a home there and teeth nip wherever they can find purchase.

Eddie pants as your lips only trail lower, a grunt of your name mixes with a slew of curses when you suck a large bruise onto the base of his throat. Your lips make an audible pop when they detach from his skin and you lean back to assess the damage with a satisfied grin. He looks beautifully wrecked, lips swollen and eyes glossy.

You trace over the blossoming shades of red and purple on his neck with your fingertips, humming softly when you feel a shiver pass through him.

“My turn,” he insists, gently tipping your head back.

When he leans forward, lips brushing against your collarbone, he can almost taste the spiked punch from earlier. A bitter, yet sugary sweet flavor that has him groaning low in his throat. The sound reverberates through your chest and has your hips grinding harder against his own.

The fabric of your panties are completely soaked, making a mess on the front of his jeans with each frantic buck of your hips. His fingers begin to trail lower, sneaking under your skirt and grazing over the elastic of your panties. Feeling emboldened, you take his wrist, pressing the heel of palm against your center.

“Oh shit,” he groans, fingers circling up and over your aching core. “You’re so fuckin’ wet, sweetheart.”

You can only manage a soft whine in response, allowing him to guide your head back down to capture your lips together.

An abrupt knock sounds just as a blood curdling scream erupts from the television. Both noises pull you apart with a sudden start, which has you nearly falling backwards off his lap and onto the floor below. But Eddie keeps a steady grip on your waist, pulling you flush against his chest as he huffs out a breath of frustration.

“Pizza’s here.”

series taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92 @blckbrrybasket @your-nightmaredoll @missmarch-99 @fandom-princess-forevermore @mylovelycrazyworld @princesssunderworld @scarlet-bitch @thecreelhouse @vamp-bunny @notwantingtoadult @keeksandgigz @avobabe87 @kellsck @definitionwanderlust @ainelantv @bring-it-on-back

#the freak writes 🫧#eddie munson x fem!reader fluff #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson series #[ series: let’s go—don’t wait ]#[ the munson files ]

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ynackerman9499 · 1 year ago

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Hello! This is me! 𝕪/𝕟 𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕖𝕣𝕞𝕒𝕟! This is my tumblr in case you don't know me i have a youtube channel which I upload texting stories videos to it! And this is my first post here in tumblr (original)

Some male Hashiras + kagaya reaction to you sacrificing yourself for them

⚠ Warning : spoiler in kyojuro and kagaya, take of death, blood, injuries, crying, some of them are really short

Giyu Tomioka

You and Giyuu were fighting against 2 demons who used a blood demon art

You killed one and Giyuu killed the other one

Or so you both thought...

"You did well giyuu_san!" You said smilling putting your sword in place

While giyuu just nodded humming as a silent 'thank you'

This only made you smile even wider. You've been friends with giyuu with great amount of time now

You both actually gets along very well Despite your different personalities

So you got used to his comforting quiet gesture

"All right! Let's head back n-"

You suddenly stopped sensing that something is wrong While giyuu looked at you wondering why you fell silent so suddenly

"Wh-"

You breathed in sharply, catching a glint in the air watching it whizz towards Giyuu.

"not on my watch!"

You yelled, quickly drawing your sword breaking the unknown object in half.

Giyuu's eyebrow twitched, taking his sword out of its sheath.

"giyuu, there!" You shouted, pointing to the direction of the demon that was currently perched on one of the trees.

The two of you gave each other a knowing nod, rushing towards the trees and jumped landing on one of the branches,

"come back here you coward!" You barked, skillfully jumping from tree to tree, following after the demon.

The demon hissed, sending metal shards towards you and Giyuu, which the two of you dodged with ease

"breath of ice..." you mumbled taking a deep breath

"dance of frozen crystals!"

Streams of sparkling diamond-like figures flowed out your sword as you jumped upwards, holding your katana over your head as you swung it effectively cutting half of it's body;

sadly, not his neck, as he covered it with a steel-like substance.

"Y/n!"

Giyuu called out, causing you to look back at him wondering why did he sound so worried

You saw he was looking horrified looking at your chest rather than your face

'why did he sound so-'

You were caught out of your thoughts by yourself coughing something liquid out of your mouth

You looked down at your chest, a large sharp metal shard piercing through the middle of your chest

"uh.. F-fuck.." you muttered stumbling back and falling against a tree vomiting even more blood feeling it a bit hard to breathe

"y/n! No!" giyuu shrieked running at your slumbering and bloody figure against the tree

"giyuu.. The d.. emon" You mumbled, coughing out a worrisome anmountof blood, the crimson liquid spilling out of your lips in mouthfuls.

"i cant leave you..." he whispered as of scared of starling you

"i cant you are in_" "... Dying"

You corrected him. Mastering the last energy you had to cup his face with your bloody hand while lying in his embrace

"i am.. Dying, Giyuu..."

"no.. No you are not.. You can slow the ble-" "my lungs are... damaged giyuu"

Tears burned his eyes, hugging you close to his chest and placed his hand over your cheek

"i.. Love you... Giyuu... So... Much.. " you confessed as you started to lose consciousness and struggling even more to keep your eyes open

You took a deep breath but sadly... It didn't come out again...

"y/n.. Y/n... Hey.." giyuu said with shaky voice as a couple of tears escaped his eyes

"hey...don't do this to me, love... I–i love you too... Why did you do this... I–i don't deserve this..."he said as he closed your lifeless eyes with his fingers

"i am sorry i am too useless to be able to protect you..." he was now on full mode sobbing

Oh how cruel is it that you didn't even hear the person you love saying thing you wanted to hear from him the most...

Obanai Iguro

No...

No no no no...

That wasn't supposed to happen...

The hit was meant for him...

It was meant for him damn it!

Why did you have to take it for him

He doesn't deserve it

He doesn't deserve to live

Why would he live while you are here dying in his arms gasping and wheezing for air

He is enraged

His fear tends to come out as anger

So while you are literally dying he is shouting at you for how stupid you are, how foolish to waste your precious live over his useless one

His shouting you mutter out an Inaudible : 'sorry... '

Just then the anger turns into tears

"you idiot..." he wailed... Actually wailed.. Something you never thought you'd see, not that you wanted to in the first place

It was supposed to be him...

"don't you dare apologise..." he hugged you even tighter feeling you fading away from him as you tried to breath but it only come out as a horrible choking sound as you choked on your own blood

His cheek rested on top of your head

"o-oba... nai.. " you said chocking in the middle of word as the hole in your chest began seeping even more blood

"g–give them.. H–hell for m–me... Yeah?..."

Oh he would...

He would make them pay for taking you away from him

For making the only person who kept him moving forward...

Is now cold and limb in his arms...

Sanemi shinazugawa

Fuck!

Shit! Shit! Shit! Fuck!

He physically can't handle what he is looking at

As he refused to stop saving you even after you already stopped breathing

"shit! Shit!" he pressed harsher on the wound, the blood was slowing but not because of his relentless attempt...

You were gone... Not even being able to get a word out because of how harshly he was crying

For some reason... Even in your final moments you found it kind of comforting that he was try his best to save you

You felt your heart break looking at him from the other side hugging your cold, lifeless body... Trying to squeeze some warmth into it even though he knows its useless

Kyojuro Rengoku

You coughed out blood as akaza hand went through your stomach

"Y/N! NO!"

You took the hit for kyojuro

I mean... How could you not... You just couldn't let someone like him die

You just couldn't...

Gripping your sword harder, you slashed it against his neck making his eye widen

'she got in my way! And she still has the strength!

Akaza thought as he was amazed at how you still has the strength to even breathe

'Kyojuro, im going to die. I know. We had a life planned in front of us, but..l couldn't let you die. I just can't'

You thought as The demon tried to punch your face, but you stopped it with your other hand

"Y/N!!"

'you won't get away... Akaza!'

Looking behind the demon, but still applying force on the neck, you looked behind to see Rengoku with the boy from before charging at you with their swords.

A smile got onto your face.

'I wont ever let go off the sword ..Until I cut his head off!'

"INOSUKE MOVE! MOVE FOR Y/N-SAN!"

The boar now charged at you with speed His attack cut the demons arms, your sword still attached to his neck.

He was running away, clearly.

The boy threw his sword at the demon,.

stabbing him through the chest. Followed by Screaming of how he was a coward by running away and that both Rengoku and you were stronger than him.

You felt two gentle pair of hands gripping your back, drops of water, or tears, to your cheek as kyojuro took you in his embrace trying to stop the bleeding even though he knows it's a fatal wound

"Y/n.. No. No..please don't leave me! Please! I beg you! I will go down on my knees if it have to!"

"kyo... It's okay..." You say voice barely a whisper as you gathered all the strength you had trying to put your hand on kyojuro's cheek.

He quickly took your bloody hand in his and put it over his cheek

"no no... The hit was meant for me to take... Why did you have to get in the middle... Why.."

"i just couldn't.. Let–" vomiting blood "y-you... Die"

You said panting feeling like you can't breathe anymore...

Kyojuro the brust out sobbing burying his face in your neck as your body laid lifeless in his arms

It was supposed to be him dammit!

He was supposed to be the one protecting you!

Not the other way around!

On the other side tanjiro watching the scene feeling his heart break over and over again

Another love story between two lovers was ruined by those disgusting Creatures

Tengen uzui

after a long and hard battle you had ended up dangling off the side of a cliff barely holding onto an also seriously injured tengen.

He could feel your fingers slipping from his.

you were both tired and injured it was a tough battle and despite the demons head being cut off you had taken some heavy blows and now you were dangling off the side of a cliff, barely conscious as tengen held onto your hand with his

"dont worry y/n! ill pul you up Soon!"

you could see him struggling to hold your hand and knew that if he held on any longer he might go down with you

watching him struggle above you made your heart ache as you couldnt do anything to help

"Ten.."

the both of you made eye contact with each other

"thank you for being with me... I love you so much"

his eyebrows twitched at your words

"why does it sound like youre saying goodbye? y/n. You better hold into my hand!"

his jaw was clenched as he spoke to you

you couldnt leave him

if only he had killed that demon sooner

if only he could have protected you

in this moment he hated the gentle smile that was on your face

because to him it meant he had failed

"we both know we'll both fall if you dont let go, neither of us have enough strength left to do anything."

"its okay ten, im ready. i love you and I'll always be watching over you. live well"

he could feel your fingers one by one letting go of his hand and he tried as hard as possible to not let go

"y/n please! I.. I can't do this without you... "

you just shook your head

"im sorry ten but you have to, i know you can. you're going to do great things, with or without me."

"always remember that i love you... And i'll always be watching you"

With that, the last grip he had on you failed

the serene smile on your face was the last thing he saw as you fell to your probable death,

shattering his heart

he screamed your name on the top of his lungs as your hands disconnected followed by painful sobs

Not again...

First his siblings now you..

He lost so many loved ones

of course he knew that he was too injured to pull you up and the most he could have done was just hold onto you until help came,

If help came...

he hated this,

he hated himself

what was the point of being strong when he couldnt even save the one person he loved most in this entire world

"Live well" it was one of the last things you told him hed try his best to because you asked him of it but to him living well meant being by your side which was something he couldnt do anymore.

Muichiro Tokito

poor baby doesn't really know what to do

he's kneeling beside you with a worried look

he's sweating and his hands are clammy

he remains silent for the most part

"Y/n?"

He is right next to you, hand nervously taking your own

"Don't worry."

you give him a weak smile as scary as it was, just his presence was enough.

"|-what do I do?"

The fear in his face made your heart clench.

"Just stay with me. You dont need to do a thing..."

You squeezed his hand with the last bit of strength

you had, smiling softly

"Be careful okay? There are still a lot of demons left"

You didn't fear death,

but you did fear what would happen to those you

loved once it got to you.

Kagaya ubuyashiki

This took place before the explosion in the final battle era

Your husband's hand is cold in yours. You squeeze his

fingers and watch the moonlight bleed out the color of

his skin into silver.

"Are you well, love?" you ask quietly. A washbowl rests to your side, the cloth draped over the side dripping droplets of water down the floor. You take it and wrangle the water with one hand as best as you can,

laying it atop his forehead after. Kagaya closes his eyes and smiles beatifically. It looks painful.

"I will be fine," he says. A mere whisper; it runs wild in the echoes of the night. "| am certain... After tonight, everything will be fine again." You hum thoughtfully. Your heart turns like a clock,

mechanical, a slave to fate. You dare not tell him anything.

"I wonder. . " Kagaya starts. "How does the sky look tonight, Y/N?"

You looked up at the sky as the clouds moved to reveal the beautiful moon

"it's beautiful..." you said as he leaned into your hand as you caressed his cheeks

"he is here..."

A long shadow blocks the moonlight. You look up.

Plum red eyes stare back.

"It's finally nice to meet you, Kibutsuji Muzan," Kagaya says casually.

A chuckle flits in your ear, honey-thick and suave.

Muzan's jacket rests precariously on his shoulders,

and the wind picks up, as if trying to steal it away. The sleeves whip around him uselessly.

"Well;" he says. "You sure look terrible, Ubuyashiki."

If you do not look too closely, you can still delude

yourself into dreaming that this is a normal family.

Your twins have not stopped playing, and their

laughter mingles with the song.

*after the speech because i cant recall it 💀*

"Kibutsuji" You incline your head, a mockery of respect. "You may have prepared for everything.. But there is one thing you didn't prepared for.."

"and what would that may be?"

"this–" you pulled out teh explosion monitor and jumped on kagaya and just before it explored a room open under kagaya's bed and you both fell into a room underground where your kids were waiting for you to come and there was a secret door which led to outside

But it was quite the fall, but you shielded kagaya's body with yours as you he fell on top of you

"Uhmm... " Kagaya groaned from the pain of the impact but more at the though that you were hurt from the fall and his weight together

"it's okay... It's okay..." you said as you cradled kagaya's fragile body

"i just need you to hold on for me... Can you do that please?"

The explosion was loud on top of you but what was more terrifying was the piece of wood of the selling above you that was about to fall

So you quickly pushed kagaya out of the way just as the piece of wood fell on your lower body completely breaking it

"y/n! " Kagaya yelled as best as he could as he heard your crying of pain

"i am fine! I am fine!" You shouted as you tried to stop the tears from dropping from the pain

"kiriya! Listen! Take your father and run out of here!"

"b–but mo–" "no buts! This piece of seilling completely crushed my lower par! You won't be able to get it out! Even if you did i'd be just a burden! I won't be able to run! No go! Go!"

Kiriya quickly carried his father on his shoulder as best as he could

"no... Y/n... If we die... we die together.. That's a promise..."

"well.. Look like i have a change of plans, sorry love"

You said as you smiled sadly at him even though he can't see it

*time skip*

"CAW! CAW! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! KIBUTSUJI MUZAN IS DEFEATED! THE FINAL BATTLE IS OVER! CAW! CAW!"

Kagaya opened his eyes at the sound of the noisy crow.. And for the first time in years...

He sees the sky clearly as the curse marks started to fade from his body...

He quickly tried to ran into the place where his estate is supposed to be with only one though in mind...

'y/n...'

He opened his eyes clearly for the first time in years and the first face he wanted to look at was yours

"oyakata_sama! Wait! You are not fully recovered yet!"

The kakushi tried to warn him but he just didn't care

He wanted to see you, to touch you, to tell you how much you mean to him even though words cannot describe, to make sure you are alright

But what he saw made him stop and his blood run cold...

The estate.. His home... Your home.. Is now crumbled to pieces with you under all that

he quickly took off and tried to dig into the rubble in hopes maybe.. Just maybe.. You are still alive...

"master..."

The kakushis and the remaining of the hashiras felt thier heart break looking at thier master like this...

Nevertheless, they started to help thier master find his wife.. I mean.. You were like a mother and a big sister to them all...

"I found something!" one of the kakushi shouted as he saw your bloody hand sticking out of the rubble

They quickly ran to where he was and started digging even more, just as they reached your head they all stopped and stepped back for thier master to take a look at you...

"oh my dear..."

Kagaya quietly knelt down where your bloody upper body only was visible

He caressed your bloody

cheek just as you did with him a few hours ago...

Oh how beautiful you looked... Even if you were cold and pale with your lips starting to get blue..

He missed you so much that he almost forgot the way you looked...

You looked even more beautiful than he remembered even with the black circles under your eyes and the few wrinkles that appeared on your face and the grey hairs despite how young you are...

"oh love... How many times did i tell not to worry to much about me..." Kagaya whispered as he caressed your cold skin with a few tears falling from his eyes "like this you will age before time..."

He hugged you one last time before the kakushis free your body completely from the rubble and take you to bury your beautiful body

Today the world won peace.. But he lost his...

#uzui tengen x reader #uzui x reader #tengen x reader #tengen uzui x reader #hashira x reader #kny x reader #kny headcanons #kyojuro rengoku x reader #kagaya ubuyashiki x reader #kagaya x reader #kyojuro x reader #rengoku kyojuro x reader #rengoku x reader #iguro x reader #giyuu x reader #tokito x reader #muichiro x reader #sanemi x reader

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certifiedcodbabygirl · 10 months ago

Text

Simon Riley who realizes how much he fucked up and that maybe therapy isn't such a bad idea

AN: Lil bit longer than usual, but it's been on my mind

Art credit to SubsurfaceChaos on Twitter

Something was off with him all day. It wasn't too noticeable until he began distancing himself, getting irritated at being around anyone. You confronted him, simply trying to see if you could help or maybe provide comfort, and fuck did that backfire.

He was sitting in the living room watching whatever was on the channel, but it's not like he was paying attention to it. Thoughts and feelings of the deployment he just came back from a few days ago build up, irritation filling him like water in a bathtub. He doesn't usually have flashbacks or anything like that, the military would discharge him if he had PTSD, but some days he thinks too much.

He didn't even notice you coming in until you were sitting next to him. He snaps out of his thoughts just to meet your soft eyes. You sat on the other end of the couch, not wanting to crowd him too much while he's like this.

"What." He deadpans, voice devoid of all emotion.

Yeah something's definitely up.

"What's wrong, Si? Somethin' been messing with you today?" You ask gently, not wanting to come off as if you're accusing him.

He gives you and irritated look, suggesting you drop it, "Nothin', 'm fine"

You're not stupid. He tends to need a little push in order to open up.

"I know you're not", tone still soft, "I'm not trying to irritate you or anything, I ju-"

"Well you certainly got an affinity for it" He snaps, "Drop it"

You inhale, trying to not take his words personally, "Si, I'm your girlfriend, it's kinda my job to check in with you"

The bathtub overflows.

"You can't listen, can you? I said drop it, fuckin' 'ell" He stands up from the couch and walks to the kitchen, trying to create distance.

"Simon I'm just trying to help, I'm not here to make things harder for you" You try to reason with him, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You follow him into the kitchen but still give him space. He doesn't say anything back, a small part of him knowing you're right but the larger part won't connect to that. Pouring a class of orange juice, he keeps his back to you.

"Si-"

"Can you shut up for once?! Can you? I said bloody drop it. It's not up for discussion!" He sets the cup on the counter with a thud and snaps at you, "You're always fuckin' naggin' at me, clearly not takin' a bloody hint. Jesus Christ"

That shuts you up. The lump in your throat intensifies, tears beginning to form in your eyes. He's never yelled at you like that before. Sure, he's had bursts of irritation during arguments, but he's worked hard to make sure he never treats you how you don't deserve.

"Why are you yelling at me? All I'm doing is trying to be there for you" You ask quietly, voice not really allowing you to speak louder. a couple tears fall down your face, and your nose begins to get stuffed up. You try to quietly sniffle but he still hears it. He hangs his head down and groans quietly.

"Now you're fuckin' cryin'. Great."

Not wanting to be around him much longer, you turn to leave, "Come find me when you're calmer", Your voice betrays you and cracks a little.

You walk away and go upstairs to your shared bedroom. Once you close the door, the crying begins. His words cut through you like a knife, a deep pressure-like hurt seeping through your chest. Sobs rack your body yet you still try to be quiet, not wanting him to hear. You know he's gonna snap out of it and fuckin hate himself for what he did. You know he loves you, and if he were in his right mind he would have never uttered a single degrading word to you.

You slip into bed and lay there, crying. You guessed he would be up anytime soon and the smell of him on the pillows was both comforting and hurtful.

Downstairs though, Simon was fucking fuming. Seeing you go up the stairs, lip quivering, evaporated every bit of him anger. He groans loudly and throws an arm over his eyes.

'How fuckin' stupid can you be? How the fuck can you speak to her like that?'

He removes his arm and leans against the counter, arms crossed over his chest. You've stuck through with him since the moment you meet. Never once judged his off stand-ish behavior and learned to find ways to work with him. He cherished you so wholly, feeling what he thought he never would. You came into his life and slowly broke down his walls, allowing you to see him apart from his exterior.

He thought he was going to lose you. Sure, you had arguments before, but he had never purposefully tried to hurt you. Knowing that he did made his stomach churn, nausea kicking in. 2 years of the best relationship (not that there were very many before you) all to be broken down, at least what he thought, because he was pissed off.

'Maybe I should fuckin' go to therapy.'

Let's be honest, he could use it. He tried to go through it before but just quit due to how uncomfortable it made him. He figured he was on his own, all before you, and there was no one to deal with his bullshit besides him. Now he has someone who he cares about so much that it doesn't matter if he's uncomfortable. He'd rather be uncomfortable than never be with you again.

He gathers the balls to go upstairs and carefully opens the door. He's met with the sight of you curled up, your sniffles being the only sound in the room.

"Go away" You call out, although not too loudly. Your voice is wobbly and stuffy.

He'd think it was adorable, had he not been the one to cause it. He walks to the opposite side of the bed and gets in, spooning you. He kisses your hair so gently it would give you butterflies if you weren't so upset.

"I'm so sorry, love. I haven't a clue why I did that to you and you didn't deserve a single lick of it." He feels the small burn in his nose as he starts tearing up a little, "I promise it'll never happen again"

You sniffle as more tears fall, the pain sticking to you despite his words.

"I wasn't trying to piss you off" You whisper.

"I know baby, it wasn't you. I promise it wasn't. Could never be that mad at you" He says softly, a tear falling. He grips you a little bit tighter and kisses the back of your neck, trying to bring comfort to both of you.

"Then why did you yell at me? I've never heard you like that before."

He sighs, "Been thinkin' 'bout what happened while I was gone and it came out at you. 'M gonna go back to therapy 'n try to fix what ever the hell is wrong with me" He kisses your neck again, " 'M gonna do better, gonna be better"

He's not stupid, he knows his words aren't gonna go away overnight. He knows how much you love him, even if he doesn't understand it, and knows hearing that from him hurts more than it would anyone else. He knows you're gonna be affected by them for a bit and he's prepared to fix it. Anything for his love.

You turn around so you're both still on your sides but you're cuddled into his chest. Wasting no time, not even hesitating, he wraps his arms around you and holds you tight. He lets out a sigh of relief, knowing this is your way of accepting his apology. He softly kisses your forehead and cheek, whispering how much he loves you and how it's gonna be better.

He knows he can't run from his issues anymore and for once he's ready to face them.

#call of duty modern warfare #cod x reader #ghost cod #simon riley #cod simon riley #cod ghost #ghost mw2 #ghost call of duty #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x reader hurt/ comfort #cod hurt/comfort #ghost x reader hurt/ comfort #cod angst #simon riley x reader angst #ghost cod angst

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sweet-s0rr0w · 1 month ago

Text

in the greek tradition

a little something silly for @peachydreamxx, after our chat about statues in British stately homes! with art by the lovely @faiell!😘

***

“Malfoy! Oi, Malfoy!”

Weasley’s shout is unexpected and yet somehow typically obnoxious, shattering the end-of-summer stillness as effectively as a Bludger through a window. Draco closes his novel carefully around a finger, optimistically keeping the page. “What is it?” he hisses – via Patronus, of course, since he refuses to screech back across the Manor’s gardens like an oik.

Of course, Weasley doesn’t get the hint. “Malfoy!” he bellows again, from somewhere behind the box hedge, sounding ominously full of mirth. “C’mere a moment, would you?”

Playing to an imaginary audience, Draco rolls his eyes heavenwards, testing the weight of his book in his hand and briefly considering the merits of telling Weasley to fuck off. Of course, in the end his curiosity gets the better of him, and so with a beleaguered sigh he gets to his feet and follows the sound of laughter all the way down to the herbaceous garden, where Potter and Weasley are loitering incongruously, their Auror uniforms a garish blood-red amongst the muted pastels of the foxgloves.

“Course your Patronus is a bloody great swan,” says Weasley, stating the obvious as usual, yet grinning away like he’s told the world’s funniest joke.

Beside him, Potter looks a bit sheepish. “Alright, Malfoy?” he asks, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

“What’s going on?” asks Draco, determinedly ignoring their antics.

“Right, yeah,” says Weasley, tugging his hand out of his pocket to gesture roughly past the alliums. “What we were wondering was – who’s this guy?”

Draco follows his gaze – and – ah. Weasley’s talking about the sculpture, then. The very striking, very buff, very naked marble sculpture, which towers over the garden with his wand caught dramatically mid-flourish, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed in some kind of ecstasy. Draco probably should have realised sooner, what with all the time he’d spent alone in the herbaceous garden as a sexually frustrated teen.

“What?” he asks, having now forgotten the question entirely.

“Because, right, I reckon it’s some ancient hero. Like Merlin, or something–”

“Really, Weasley? You think that’s what Merlin looked like?”

“–but Harry says it must be a Malfoy.”

Draco blinks.

“The hair,” Potter says, quickly. “It’s the same as – you know, you’ve all got all that, like, loose, flowy, glossy… you know. Also,” he adds, “no offense, but having a sculpture of yourself in your own garden seems like kind of a Malfoy thing to do.”

“Yeah,” Ron said. “Plus you’re all dramatic as fuck. So who’s right?”

Draco considered the statue for a moment: even moss-stained and weather-worn, it did have excellent hair. Also, pleasingly muscular thighs. “Potter’s right,” he’s forced to admit – at this moment, his second least favourite phrase. “This is a young Xanthus Malfoy the second. An excellent hunter, by all accounts, and one of the last Malfoys to sit in the… what?” he demands, interrupting Weasley, who’s giving Potter what can only be described as a meaningful look. “What’s going on? Why are you both giggling?”

Weasley says nothing. His ears are turning pink: Draco hopes he’s getting sunburnt.

“Well,” begins Potter, nodding vaguely back towards the statue. “We were just saying that he’s… well. That he’s – that it’s a little–”

“You got that right,” Weasley mutters.

“What?”

Potter presses his lips together, avoiding Draco’s gaze. “Well,” he says, delicately. “The thing is. While I’m sure he was an excellent hunter, this particular Malfoy seems to be, well. Lacking something. Deficient, you might say. In one certain – area.”

“His cock, Malfoy,” Weasley adds, helpfully. “His cock’s miniscule, and while we’re at it, his bollocks aren’t much to write home about either. The whole package’s rather… unfortunate, I’d say. What’s going on? Are micropenises a family trait, or did they just run out of stone?”

“Marble,” Draco says, faintly. “It’s marble. And by the way, you two are children.”

“Come on, Malfoy,” says Potter, grinning. “You can’t pretend you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s deliberate, you philistine! It’s sculpted in the fucking Greek tradition!”

“Right.”

“And while we’re at it, it’s symbolic! The… diminutive penis represents mastery over one’s baser instincts. The triumph of intellectualism over… animalistic urges.”

Weasley frowns. “What you on about now?”

“I think, Ron,” Potter says, “that what Malfoy’s suggesting is that the bigger the dick, the stupider the man. Explains a lot, you know.” He smirks, eyeing Weasley in a manner that makes Draco’s brain feel like it may be the wrong size for his skull.

“Oi,” Weasley laughs, reaching out gleefully to whack Potter, who dodges sideways, then turns his ankle on the edge of a flowerbed and falls neatly into a lavender bush.

“It half makes sense,” Weasley says, offering Potter a hand to tug himself up. “The tiny prick thing. I mean, Malfoy certainly thinks he’s clever.”

“He does,” Potter chokes out, clearly on the verge of hysteria. Draco throws up his arms in frustration.

“For Merlin’s sake, Weasley!” he cries, as Potter wobbles dangerously close to the ornamental fountain. “Just because the statue’s got a–”

“It’s alright, Malfoy,” Weasley cuts in, soothingly. “I’ve heard some people are into that kind of thing. Tiny dicks, I mean.” He turns back to Potter, voice strained. “Not that I’ve met any, obviously.”

“I don’t have a tiny dick!” Draco cries, outraged. “I’ll prove it! I’ll show you both! I’ll show you both right fucking now–”

It’s unfair, and unconscionable, and somehow Draco’s hand is down his pants before he can even help himself, and that’s when Weasley finally stops laughing. “Alright, alright!” he exclaims, throwing his hands in the air. “Keep your fancy knickers on, Malfoy. We believe you. Right, Harry?”

Potter’s not laughing either, now, and he doesn’t reply; he’s too busy staring, as, jaw set, and mustering all the dignity he can manage, Draco releases his grip on his (perfectly decent sized) penis, and slides his hand carefully out from beneath his waistband. He glares at them both, tugging his robe tightly shut.

“Right?” Weasley repeats, louder this time. “We don’t need to see proof, eh, Harry?”

Potter’s eyes are still fixed on a point somewhere below Draco’s navel, and his cheeks are now stained a most fetching pink. The sun is rather strong today, Draco thinks, feeling his own face heating.

“Harry?”

***

tons of thanks to @tackytigerfic for looking it over 😘

#drarry #ss writes #fai art #this was so much fun!#must do more micros in 2025

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feefivefoe · 3 months ago

Note

Ok, hear me out!

Damian, entering the library and seeing reader painting: Ah, I didn’t know you painted, brother! I have a love for art, too! What’re you painting?

Reader, not looking away from their canvas: Oh, just a fantasy I’ve been having since you guys kidnapped me.

The painting is Reader holding a bloody axe, going Shining-style on Bruce while surrounded by the corpses of the family.

Damian, not sure if he should be concerned that his brother harbors such violent thoughts or flattered that Reader painted a portrait of him and the family together.

How would the family react to this and what would happen as a result?

Well, if I remember correctly, there are a lot of canons where Jason did actually try to kill Damian. None of this family knows how to express their emotions properly.

Damian probably takes it as a good sign. You're including your family in your art! Art is something so close and personal to the person who creates it, so if you painted them, you must harbor a similar amount of passion for having them in your life!

Bruce, in my opinion, is self aware enough to know clinically that it isn't healthy, but it doesn't concern him too much? He's confident that you wouldn't actually be able to hurt any of them, and any weapons in the house are far out of your reach in case you decide your own skin would be an easier target. There's technically knives in the kitchen, but best of luck sneaking past Alfred to get them-

In the back of his mind, Dick knows it's not the best, but actively chooses to ignore it. Aw! You're painting your brothers! They should hang this in the main hall so everyone can see how much you love them- okay, Bruce said no, but he would love to have it outside his room!!! That way you can see it every time he has (makes) you spend time with him!

Tim sat there while you painted it, actively giving notes on how corpses sit. You kicked him out after half an hour of "well typically Dick slumps like this when unconscious, so after rigor m-" stfu Tim and be disturbed like a normal person.

Jason is the only other one not okay with it. He's kinda hurt bc you two used to be close. Listen, he KNOWS the situation isn't great, but it's fucking better than you being out and about in this shithole city, okay? ...So can you just paint over him and leave the others in-

#one post as a treat #bat tag #bat asks #neglected batfam #yandere batfam

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princessconsuela120 · 1 year ago

Text

✰ ALL MY LOVE ✰

—✰

Summary: after the amortentia lesson, you avoid Sebastian, afraid of what you smelt in your potion.

Warnings: Cursing, nothing it’s so cute and fluffy

Authors Note: I love Sebastian so much. Be ready for Seb content guys!

—✰

SINCE DEFENSE AGAINST THE DARK ART CLASS, almost three classes ago now, Sebastian had been following you around like a lost puppy. To every class you had together, he’d watch as you squeezed yourself into a seat next to someone, so he wouldn’t be able to sit beside you. After DADA class, usually you and Sebastian would be inseparable, seeing as you shared the rest of your schedule, but not today. Or yesterday, or all of this week now that Sebastian thought of it. Every since last Wednesday actually, it seemed you just didn’t speak to him the same as you usually did. So now that you were taking your usual midday stroll into the room of requirements to feed your beasts, Sebastian had decided to catch you off guard.

You weren’t even entirely sure how he had managed to sneak into the room of requirements, seeing as it was an exclusive room Professor Weasley had sectioned it off just for your spell practice and vivariums. And now Sebastian had you cornered in the room, causing you to grow angrily.

“Sebastian please…” you whispered, pushing him away to no avail. He was set in place like a statue, unmoveable.

“Then why have you been ignoring me!” He shouted angrily, making you sigh, shaking your head as you looked to the ground.

“I haven’t been ignoring you!” You replied shortly, finally meeting Sebastian’s eyes to see the hint of fear on his expression.

“Oh, I’m sorry, is there a new word for not speaking to someone and avoiding them for weeks!?” He replied sarcastically, making you roll your eyes.

“You know you’re starting to get really annoying.” You said, pushing him back as you begin walking out the room.

“I’m getting annoying?” He took a step back, shaking his head with shock. “I’m getting annoying?! Why the bloody hell have you been avoiding me y/n!?” He shouted, making you clench your fists as you whip you’re hair around to look at him.

“You wanna know why I’m avoiding you Sebastian, fine.” You shook you head, holding your hands out before letting them fall angrily at your sides. “I smelt you in my amortentia potion. Yeah. I smelt, honey dukes chocolate, peaches, and wet pavement.” You explained, sighing as you continued, now avoiding Sebastians eyes. “And you know what else I smelt? I smelt, old books, and the dust from old rocks, and slight smoke, the kind that wafts off clothes.” You explained.

Now that one took you a second to realize it was Sebastian. Until you realized, the dust was the undercroft, and the books and fire was Sebastian. He was always finding new books in the library, books that usually smelt of old parchment. And the fire, from confringo, the spell Sebastian had taught you last year. The one spell that you see him use on every mission you’ve ever gone on together.

“And I smelt teakwood, and Bergamot.” You said, now meeting his eyes, you heart breaking at the thought that now your friendship was fractured. “Smells I know you smell like, because i only know what those are because Anne had explained to me when she forced you to start wearing cologne.” You said, pointing a finger hard on Sebastian’s chest. It was quiet for a moment, as the two of you looked at each other. Sharing empty soft glances of worry, until you finally had enough

“Well, say something!” You shouted, making Sebastian stutter in response.

“I-I um.”

“You forced me to say it, didn’t you? Isn’t it what you wanted me to say?” You yelled, shaking your head with an eye roll. You met his expression again to see him smirking evilly, making you scoff. “Why are you smirking? Stop that.” You said, pointing at him.

“Stop what?” He asked, his smirk growing wider.

“Stop smirking.”

“So you smelt me huh?”

“You’re such a dog Sebastian.” You said with an eye roll, pushing him.

“Last I checked I was a man. A rather handsome one at that.” He teased, looking down his body as you rolled your eyes again.

“Oh please, I’ve fought prettier trolls.” You teased, as Sebastian stepped closer to you.

“They must have been very good looking trolls then.” He wiggled his eyebrows at you.

“Look, Sebastian, I don’t want this to be awkward between us now. You’re my best friend, there’s no reason why things should be weird…” you explained, pinching your forehead with worry.

“Do you know what I smelt in my amortentia?” He whispered, making you shake your head.

“I don’t know, gasoline probably.”

His nose scrunched up with disgust.

“Ew, gasoline?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I don’t know Sebastian, every man in that class smelt gasoline.”

“Well I didn’t. I smelt quill ink, and butter beer. And the smell of old dusty rocks.” He explained, making you sigh as you stared at the ground.

“Cause of the undercroft I’m sure.”

“And you know what else?” He asked, interrupting you before you could continue.

“You don’t have to do this Sebastian..” you whispered. You felt Sebastian lift your chin gently, causing you to look up at him.

“Fire. I smelt fire. The kind of fire that you smell the second you light a candle opera.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” You asked, your heart beating faster every moment his hand held your chin.

“You really don’t understand?” He asked, raising an eyebrow as he smiled softly.

“You smelt fire, what’s there to understand?”

“Do you not remember, when I had taught you spells in the undercroft? Freshly lit candle operas, and old rocks.” He explained, smiling happily as he remembered.

“That doesn’t mean anything..” you said, but Sebastian shook his head, holding your hands.

“Right, it doesn’t. Until I realized that I also smelt vanilla, and lilacs. And a hint of strawberry mango.”

He smiled wider, chuckling to himself.

“Now, I know that smell couldn’t be anyone else. Because I also know that you are the only girl in all of Hogwarts who buys strawberry mango chapstick.”

“How do you…”

“I know that, because everytime I’m looking at your lips thinking about kissing you, you put that exact chapstick on.”

The room felt heavy, you smiled at him in response. Your cheeks were now a dark red hue, and you couldn’t help but let out a small huff of air as you felt your chest start closing in.

“And the smell drives me mad, y/n.” He said, getting closer. He grabbed your cheeks.

“Sebastian…” you mumbled, holding his wrists with your hands as he looked at you adoringly.

“I’ve loved you, since you walked into defense against the dark arts two years ago, and wiped the floor with my arse in front of everyone. The only reason I even realized you had been avoiding me, is because I spent every second of every day anticipating your presence. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this strongly about anyone before, at all. Never in a million years would I have dreamt that you would smell even a hint of me in your potion.” He explained, causing you to smile as your heart melted.

“Who said I smelt you?” You asked teasingly, raising an eyebrow at him as he laughed.

“Only the most beautiful girl in the world.”

You blushed even deeper, before he pulled you into a kiss, his hands holding both your cheeks to pull you in.

“Hand them over Gaunt.” You heard Anne mumble from behind you both, as Ominis grunted.

“Blasted.” He said, though it came out muffled since you could barely hear them from where they stood. You also had been too enamored in Sebastian’s kiss.

“You may know your friends, but I know my brother. He wouldn’t let love get away from him.”

“He let it get away for two years.” Ominous teased, the sound of clanging money being heard as Sebastian pulled away.

“Would you two please be quiet? I’m trying to make out here.” He teased, pulling you back in with a smirk.

“We have to deal with that now?” Ominis said, scoffing loudly as Anne chuckled.

“It’s better than the two of them mindlessly pining for each other.”

“Is it?” Ominis asked, causing you to pull away, leaning your forehead against Sebastian’s as you both erupted into giggles. All your love, he owned all your love, and your life. You owed this boy your whole years at Hogwarts. You couldn’t be happier that finally you could call him yours.

#sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian sallow imagine #sebastian sallow smut #sebastian sallow fluff #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow

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drchucktingle · 5 months ago

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Good evening Dr. Tingle! Would you ever like to see a film adaption of Bury Your Gays? I think it would be so neat (especially with all of the tv and movie references present in the novel). If there ever was a movie, who would you want hypothetically cast?

HELLO BUCKAROO this is always a fun question to consider actors for a book adaption. when writing i sometimes CAST IN MY HEAD and sometimes it is just kind of a made up buckaroo. there are really only two characters in BURY YOUR GAYS that were cast in my head while writing and i will mention those below.

ultimately WHOEVER was to trot in these rolls i would be happy with, so lets just consider this a fun way through imagination. i will say that i would prefer to cast queer actors, but also i know the business of hollywood means sometimes that does not work out to get the movie on screens. if bury your gays was turned into a movie i would really have no say in any of this anyway, but queer actors would be my preference when possible.

despite all of that, when writing MISHA, the actor in my head was NOT a queer actor as far as i know (although for some reason us queer buckaroos have given him a pass to play queer characters which i think is very funny and interesting, i guess we just love him a lot regardless) anyway lets kick it off there

MISHA BYRNE

when writing BURY YOUR GAYS i was picturing none other than BILL HADER. maybe it is because i was watchin a lot of BARRY at the time, not exactly sure why but thats the truth.

that being said i think i would be great to get a queer lead in there. so if that was the case i would say LEE PACE, and of course we have the ultimate fan cast MISHA COLLINS

TARA ITO

this is the other character that was FULLY IN MY HEAD as i wrote it and mentally cast from day one. it also kind of coincides with the trot of a tv show i was watching at the time which was PEN 15. so tara in my mind was always MAYA ERSKINE

ZEKE ROMERO

not exactly a known actor in my head, but when considering options i think that OSCAR ISSAC would be very good

JACK HAYS

there are a few options for this, but i keep thinking of a very clean shaven MURRAY BARTLETT in a suit. another options would be ZACHARY QUINTO especially if we get chris pine as chris oak because thats just some incredible META KIRK AND SPOCK action for the sledgehammer scene.

now onto the dang villains.

CHRIS OAK

okay so obviously we gotta cast CHRIS PINE in this role (i might have an in). however if that does not work out i would like to suggest COLMAN DOMINGO

THE SMOKER / UNCLE KEITH

would be neat to have the monsters also play their inspiration. in the case of THE SMOKER i think STEVE BUSCEMI would be incredible

MRS. WHY / AGENT Y

last buck not least i propose ELIZABETH DEBICKI as MRS. WHY

if you have not read bury your gays yet but now you are DANG INTERESTED then you can get it here. thanks for reading buckaroos feel free to reply with your own castings. I AM NO EXPERT you know my art just as well as i do so i am curious your thoughts. LOVE IS REAL

#bury your gays #love is real #chuck tingle #tingleverse #buckaroo lifestyle #queer horror

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tinytennisskirt · 5 months ago

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a good old fluffy/intimate friends to lovers

stanford art ringing your doorbell at like 3am in the morning, drunk, with a bloody nose and a beat-up, puffy face after a huge bar fight where he was defending you after some asshole made rude comments about u. ☹️☹️☹️ taking care of him afterwards. him literally being on the verge of passing out from both the alcohol and his throbbing face. fluff and intimacy ENSUES. i’m talking like drunken love confession and everything. art would always get vulnerable, lost and sweet when he got drunk which is exactly why he avoided getting drunk often, but you found it sweet. this time things got a little different😊

Wounds and Words

summary: as above ^^^ (with my little twists of course)

warnings: mentions of a fight, blood, wounds, bruising. drunk art absolutely smitten. soft, fluffy, sweet.

The night after finals, you could finally rest. There was no more studying to do, no more late nights. Just summer. With the intention of playing grandma, you decided that tonight you’d stay in, shower, watch a movie, and sleep early. The day was long, but the shower was nice and the movie was good. Your hair airdried perfectly, watching a movie ignoring the sounds of post-final partying on the floor above you. You didn’t mind it, you were just glad to be drinking iced tea and enjoying the lack of stress. You were just about to turn the TV on when there was a knock at your door. It was so quiet you almost missed it.

You, in your loose pajama pants and tank top, turned the TV off and got up, arms crossed over your chest to excuse the lack of a bra. It was completely casual the way you opened the door expecting maybe a fluke or something strange, but it was just Art.

Art Donaldson, the first person you met at Stanford, who had in the absence of your best friend and the absence of his, became one of your best friends. He was sweet, thoughtful, the best listener, and the kind of boy who wasn’t afraid not to seem much of one. He had been susceptible to eyeliner twice just because you asked. He watched your shows with you, tried repeatedly to teach you how to swing a racket, and was always up for coffee in the evening. He was also always there for you, so maybe along the route, you might have fallen for him just a bit. Who wouldn’t?

For the first time in all of the time you’d known Art, tonight was the only night you excused yourself from plans with him. He wanted to hit the campus bar to celebrate, but understood completely when you told him you planned to do nothing, which is why, when you opened the door, the first words out his mouth were, “I’m sorry.”

He was standing just outside your room, holding the side of his face which had endured some sort of trauma. His cheekbone was bleeding and already bruising and there was a cut above his eyebrow. His nose was also bruising and bleeding and his lip looked just a little swollen. “Oh my god,” you said, moving forward. He was in a red T-shirt, but you could see the droplets that had fallen down his chin, onto his collar and the front of his shirt. “What happened? Are you okay?”

“I’ve been drinking,” he told you, questions aside. You could tell that he had been, it was common sense, celebrating was celebrating. You pulled him into your room, guiding him carefully so that he didn’t topple anywhere. He went with it, and moved exactly the way you directed him, just a little wobbly.

“No, I know,” you replied, concern might as well have been written on your forehead the way you looked at him. “Are you okay? What happened? Come-” You pulled him gently to the bathroom. He was more drunk than usual- when you went out, he was usually the designated driver and when it was just the two of you in either one of your dorms, he was always just a little more sober than you. But right now he was out of it, majorly, beyond what you’d seen from him. It probably also didn’t help that he was bleeding from the face quite a bit.

He was putty in your hands as you sat him on the closed seat of your toilet. “I’m sorry, I know you didn’t want to do anything tonight. I didn’t know I was walking here until I was here.” He said, slurring just a little.

“Art, it’s okay,” you managed a smile as you leaned over and grabbed your basket of facecloths. The whole thing toppled over but one fell into the sink and you turned on the tap. “You’re not answering, though. Are you okay?”

He nodded, a small movement. “Better now.” He smiled back.

You left him just momentarily to grab a cup from the other room and bring it back, filling it with water before shutting the sink off. You looked at Art again, who had his head down, looking at his hands, which you now noticed were beaten up as well. This was the product of a fight, you presumed by the way his knuckles were messed up. Art wasn’t the fighting type, he was one of the softest people you knew. The only thing about him that revolved around impact was hitting a tennis ball. Aside from that, he was always very soft-handed. Noted from every time he moved your hair from your face for you or when he held your hair when you threw up. When he hugged you, he was never too tight with it. He braided your hair once- he watched a video on how. So how he got into a fight was beyond you.

“Art?” You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bathtub next to him.

He lifted his head, to him, you were spinning. “Mhm?” He was so out of it. “Hi.”

The grin that spread up his face was sweet almost, along with his little greeting. It almost made you want to grin back. “Hi.” You smiled. “Drink this for me?”

“Water?”

“Water,” you nodded, handing him the cup. He took it, drank it, all of it. “I’m going to clean you up, is that okay? It might hurt.”

He nodded back, “Mhm.” He scrunched his nose just a little as you stood to get the wet cloth. You opened your little first aid kid and rested it on your knees. He was putty again, almost limp, eyes closed. You clicked your tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m tired.” He replied. “One too many.”

“Seems like it,” you answered. “This is going to hurt a little-” You pressed the cloth gently against the cut above his brow. He winced, scrunching his nose again. It was cute- you wished it didn’t come from pain. “I’m wondering if you’re going to tell me what happened?”

“You’re so nice,” he cut in, opening his eyes again. They were soft, settled on you with some sort of meaning. “And you smell good.”

You giggled just a little, moving the cloth to clean his cheekbone, keeping the pressure light. “You’re sweet. Thank you. Hold still, please.”

He grinned again, shutting his eyes and letting you clean him up. He was still so pretty even with all the bruising and slight swelling to his face. You carefully wiped away all the excess blood and his nose stopped bleeding. You poured him another cup of water, which he drank gratefully, but it didn’t sober him up much. You tilted your head to the side and dabbed up more of the blood from the wound on his cheekbone. It hurt to see him so pained, but he took it like a champ. “You always take care of me, I feel bad.” He sighed a little as you wiped down over his chin gently.

“You don’t need to feel bad and it’s not like it’s unequal. You take care of me too.”

He hummed just a little, “No. Not like this. Feels unfair.”

“We’re friends, Art, it’s fair. I don’t mind at all, I just want you to be okay.” You told him patiently. His eyes gazed over your face, gently letting the cloth move over his lower lip. His eyes were set on your eyes, your eyelashes, your lips, back to your eyes. “But what would you do without me, hm?” You smiled.

He smiled back, his head falling just a little. If he wasn’t bruising you would have seen the pink flush that took over his cheeks and nose. “I don’t know.”

“I don’t want you to know,” you told him. His grin was boyish and endearing, sincere and oddly happy for someone who had been beaten up in such a way. “Hold still, I have to go over your forehead again. I’m going to hold pressure.”

He held still and you leaned forward just a bit to press the cloth to his forehead. The bleeding hadn’t stopped, so you put your junior lifeguarding skills to work with the pressure to stop it. His face was just a little closer to yours. You could see his eyes up close and he was almost shameless with the way he was looking at you. Drunk, at the borderline of sleep, and major intoxication. Half-lidded, watching the way you bit your lip as you focused on him. “You’re so pretty,” he mumbled. You looked down to meet his eyes. He kept them trained on yours with laser focus and you felt your heart pick up.

“Art, you’re drunk,” you reasoned, trying to keep in your nervous laugh.

“I’m right.” He said, keeping eye contact. “You’re pretty. You’re really pretty, like model pretty.”

You felt your cheeks turn pink, “Thank you. That’s really, really sweet. Nobody has ever said that to me.” You began to dig into the first aid kid for the small yellow tube of polysporin and the small vial of hydrogen peroxide to disinfect.

“Why?” He questioned, an almost puzzled look finding its way to his face. His eyes were so soft, so innocent in asking. His eyelashes fluttered. It was a shame how bruised up he was getting.

“I don’t know, I just… Nobody has said it before.”

“They should.” He said, voice just a little lower. He hung his head, looking away. “Fuck, I’m so drunk. My face hurts.”

“I know,” you smiled just a little. “Hold still again for me?” He winced as you placed a little cotton pad with hydrogen peroxide over his cuts, gently dabbing. He scrunched up his nose in pain, you inhaled sharply, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I’m sorry-”

“Mmm- It’s okay,” his pained voice replied. His eyes opened once the pain passed, and met yours again. Every time he looked at you, you swore he was seeing something else the way his eyes looked so full of wonder. Like he had stars in his eyes. He was pretty too, but you’d rather tell him that when he was sober. Your heart was still beating hard and on top of that, you were still just a little hung up on how this all happened. “Y/N.”

“Mhm?” You returned, dabbing again. He winced, and you cringed. He went back to looking at you the way he was. Slightly puffy lower lip hanging just the smallest bit open. You watched him swallow, looking down before he answered.

“I should wait to tell you what happened until I’m sober, I’m afraid I’m going to slip up or… something.” He told you, the way he spoke was gentle in a way where it seemed he was trying not to hurt your feelings. “I want to tell you, I don’t want to lie, but I don’t want to tell you while drunk.” He was candid.

“That’s okay.” You nodded. “A secret.”

“You’re going to make me tell you.” His smile crept back up. “It’s so stupid. It’s so fucking stupid.” You grinned back, giggling just a little at his tone and smile- something light in a room with lots of tissues and cloths and cotton pads covered in blood. He looked at you with that wide grin of his and your heart skipped another beat. The smile fell to a straight line, “Don’t look at me like that.” His eyes fell off yours and moved onto the floor, pulling his shirt collar up to hide in, almost. He was so drunk, you giggled again.

“Like what?” You inquired, taking a break from drying his now-cleaned wounds, and moving his shirt collar down again. His eyes set on yours again. Like they were magnetic to yours like they couldn’t stray for long, evident by small glances at your lips. You caught it, “Art, you’re drunk. I should get you bandaged and to bed, get you more water, I-” You scrambled, but he stayed so still. So focused on you.

You turned your focus to unwrapping the first bandaid. “I think you know what. But it’s… fine.” He said. “I’m saying too much, I think, I’m sorry-” He rubbed over his good eye, his hand then trailing down his opposite cheek. “I just think- I-” Once more, his eyes met yours, then looked away again. “Fuck.”

“You don’t have to tell me,” you smiled. “It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

“I’ll stay curious for a bit, it’s okay, I promise.” You gently smoothed a bandaid over the cut on his forehead. His eyes were trained on yours, unable to move, it seemed. Followed yours through every movement it took to place the bandage on. “I’m not upset or anything, I can’t be, you know that. I’m just glad you came here instead of bleeding out in your dorm.”

He smiled just a bit more, “Thank you. Hey, your eyes are really beautiful.”

“You need more water.” You said, moving closer to put a bigger bandage on his cheekbone. “You are drunk drunk.”

“Drunk thoughts sober words. Other way around. I am drunk.”

“Yeah, just a little.”

“My face hurts,” he sighed.

“I know, I’m sorry.”

He shook his head, “Why are you sorry?”

“Just am,” you answered, standing up in front of him to get him more water. “I don’t like to see you this way. So much blood, I… I’m just sorry that whatever happened, happened.”

“It’s okay. Was worth it.” He turned his head shaking into a nod. “I’m so tired. Fuck. I’m going to say something stupid.”

You gave him the water, he drank it. You made sure he got every drop of water, stepping closer to collect his cup. He looked up at you as you reached for another tiny bandage. His hand gently rested itself on your leg. A cool hand on the back of your knee, softly. Your heart picked up for the tenth time. You spoke, the heart in your throat an obstacle overcome, “As if I haven’t ranted to you about the dumbest things drunk. There’s nothing you could say that could throw me.” You told him. “No judgment, I swear.”

“It’s different,” he was dancing around something. “You’re so beautiful. I really can’t-” he was lost, his train of thoughts cut off. “Fuck.” He tried to hide his face again.

“How many shots?” you bat it off. He was out of it, he was gone. He was so drunk. His hand slipped just a little up the back of your leg, then back down. You hoped he couldn’t feel the entirety of your body rise in temperature.

“Too many.”

You were blushing a little too hard, you looked away. “Hey- um- can you stand?” He nodded, hand moving from your leg as he stood. He stood close to you, so close to you. His cheekbone looked worse, but his eyes were still so open and pretty. “Okay, this way.” He let you guide him again but instead of making it to your bed, he sat on the couch. There was no moving him now. “Couch it is.”

“It’s a good couch,” he sighed, eyes shut. “Your pillows smell like you.”

You smiled just a little at that, but sat next to him. “You need to move onto your side, okay? Just so you don’t die in my dorm.”

He nodded, moving onto his side without hesitation, doing just what you asked of him. He was mumbling something you couldn’t quite hear. You gently moved his blonde curls from his face. You knew that spinning bliss and tiredness that came with laying down after drinking too much, Art had been at your side for a lot of those moments, pulling you up off the grass of someone’s lawn and making sure you got home safely. You’d woken up tucked in countless times after falling asleep in that state. You smiled at him, finally getting your turn. Aside from his beaten-up face, he looked peaceful.

Your eyes fell on his knuckles and you quickly went back to the bathroom to get your supplies and as he lay there, softly breathing in and out, mumbling now and then, you treated his knuckles the same way you did his face. “You’re going to be so pissed when you hear about it from someone else,” his voice was only audible for a moment. It made you pause.

“Hm?”

“I shouldn’t tell you, it comes off bad. But I don’t want you to what it from someone else…” He said, his face slightly smushed where he was laying. He trailed off again. You slunk out of your chair and sat on the floor in front of him. He opened his eyes just a little bit. “Hi.”

“Hi.” You replied. His hand was in your own, you dropped the cloth. The wondering what happened was eating you alive. “Art, what happened?”

He groaned just a little, “Just assholes. Talking about the length of your tennis… skirt.” He stretched and yawned. “At the bar.” You could deduct one thing: the fight had something to do with you. You were a little taken aback, but there was nothing you could find in you to say. “Said something about doing things… with you… to you. Made a mistake and told them to shut the fuck up. But it doesn’t feel like a mistake. My face hurts.”

“Art…”

“Don’t tell you I told you,” he sighed, rubbing his good eye again. “I don’t fight, I don’t fight.”

“I know,” you moved his hair again gently.

“He swung first. I don’t fight, but the way he was talking about you-.” He mumbled. “I just didn’t…” He trailed off again, then came back slightly. “Want you to think… I fight.”

You smiled a little more, “I know you don’t fight, Art. I know.”

“I had to,” he replied with another yawn. “Could’ve walked away. I would’ve… if it was anything else, but it was you.” He turned back onto his back, your hand accidentally slipping down his jaw following the movement, your hand previously in his hair. “Always you.” His slightly slurred tone just sounded tired at this point. Your heart was beating a mile a minute.

“Art… You should… You need to get some sleep.” You were too flustered to act properly. Should you leave him to rest, say something and hope he didn’t remember sober, or not say anything at all and just wallow in this new fact that his injuries are because he stood up against someone saying something against you? You started to rise from your knees, “I’ll get you some more water.”

“Can you just stay?” He asked, his eyes opening again to meet yours. His hand reached out for the back of your leg again, softly touching. Like he wanted to touch more but everywhere else wasn’t safe. He had those morals, at least. “Please.”

You couldn’t move. You were sure your cheeks were a shade of pink close to full-on red. He was touchy in a friends way, but somehow, his hand on the back of your knee felt more intimate than anything. His face was fucked up because he had to tell someone off for sexualizing you, that was crazy, that was… His hand was soft and a little bit cold and as you sat back down it slipped back to resting with him, but you swore the feeling of it echoed in your body. “I’m not going anywhere.” You reassured him. “I’m sorry about everything.”

“It’s not your fault,” he hummed, propping himself up dizzily on his elbows. His soft eyes would not leave yours, his smile was endearing, lovely, even with the puffy lip. His gaze shifted to different points on your face, and your smile never wavered in return. Once again, he rubbed his good eye, hand sliding down his cheek, teeth showing in his crooked grin. “Did I tell you that you’re pretty?”

“You did.”

“You’re so pretty.” He almost whispered.

“So are you,” you let slip. His grin widened, he looked like he was struggling to stay awake, to stay above the alcohol and the sleep that called to him, was pulling him under. You looked at the bandages on his face. The unhidden bruises. He was beautiful. Always was. You wished he was sober.

He wished the same thing, “You are- I like you so much.” He spilled, slurring slightly, leaning just a little toward you like it was a secret. Your stomach did a small flip, you were sure you were reaching a shade of light red. “For so long, too, it’s been killing me, you’re so… perfect.” He blabbed. “Patrick said I don’t have a chance, says you’re too-”

“You have a chance,” you cut in.

“I have a chance?”

“You have a chance.”

“Tell me that in the morning too?” His grin was now from ear to ear. You pushed your hair behind your ears. “Fuck- I told you, didn’t I? I was planning to tell you at…” He trailed off again, looking at the ceiling.

“Afraid so,” you giggled. He was forgetful, drunk, tired. You could see him fading as he lowered himself back onto his side. “I’ll pretend it didn’t happen. Tell me again soon, you get a re do.” As if his sweet drunk self was any less worth the confession. Your heart was beating against your ribs and you were doing your best to stay mature and hide it.

“Re do sounds good. Mmm- Thank you for patching me…” He yawned. “Up. I’ll see you in the…” He yawned again. “Morning.”

You couldn’t help but smile at all of this. His confession almost dismissed the rest of the situation, but compiled it was a lot and it was all for you. All for you. He was all for… you. He was so sweet, mostly asleep at this point. And he liked you. And maybe he meant it. You clicked your tongue, tilting your head slightly. He liked you, he had liked you, he got into a fight… and he thought you were pretty. “Goodnight, Art.”

“Goodnight,” Art sighed, smiling. You watched him fade, long eyelashes closed to rest. You stood up, hand gently brushing over his hair before getting him one of your fluffiest soft blankets. You draped him in it, then turned off the light, setting a glass of water on the coffee table. You then went to bed thinking about everything… laying awake on your back. For twenty minutes you just tossed, thinking about the confession, the fight, everything. He did something he would never do just for you, to defend you. You weren’t even around and he still wanted your name out of their mouths. It was so out of character but at the same time so undeniably Art. He was so sweet, he was… everything.

So you got up out of bed. Turned the light on and grabbed a marker from off your desk. You slunk into where the couch was, where he was sleeping and on his arm, you wrote a little messily,

‘You have a chance.’

You smiled at that, got yourself a drink of water, and sat on the end of the couch thinking some more. Before you knew it, you were getting more and more tired, and as much as you wanted to move, the end of the couch was pulling you in. So slowly, you sank onto the opposite end of the couch. You faced away from Art’s feet, but you didn’t mind it all that much as you drifted off to sleep. Your bed remained empty for the rest of the night.

You woke with the sun, still well-rested. You were facing the back of the couch, but the light still got in your eyes. Slowly, you moved upward, to a sitting position on the arm of the couch, gathering your surroundings. Art, still peacefully asleep, his bruises set in. You sighed quietly before quietly starting a pot of coffee and setting out some painkillers. His arm was still extended, reading those four words. It was all real. Everything from the night before was real. And you’d just have to sit with that until he read his arm and decided on when to take that re do. You’d wait.

In the meantime, he was still one of your closest friends. He was up not too long after you and you poured him some coffee and gave him the painkillers while he looked at his bandaged wounds in the mirror. “Thank you.” He said a little sheepishly like he was shy about this. Like he was embarrassed by it.

“Always,” you replied with a smile, “What do you remember?”

He sipped the coffee, looking to the ceiling. “Last thing I remember is… Leaving the bar.”

“Mmm, so not much,” you teased. He grinned back at you, trying to hide it with his mug. “You feel okay, though?”

“Hurts to smile, but other than that just a headache.” He replied. “I really- You didn’t have to do all of this.”

“There’s no reality that I wouldn’t.” You shrugged, walking over to your minifridge to see what there could be for breakfast. Nothing. You had nothing. Art leaned against the doorframe of your bathroom. With your hands on your hips, you turned to him. “Do you want to go somewhere for breakfast?” You asked. You knew he’d seen his arm. You knew you’d wait for it, but it couldn’t hurt to have a little fun with it.

He grinned and his eyes fell bashfully on the ground. “Yeah, sure. Somewhere off campus though?”

“And we’ll stop by your dorm so you can change out of your stuff.” You agreed, passing him as you slipped into the closed door of your bedroom from the open area. As you got dressed, Art was looking at the black marker on his arm. You have a chance. Messy as it was, he knew your writing. There wasn’t much he could put together, but he did remember in bits and pieces, the way you touched his face and hair so gently the night before. It came and went in blurry memories so in his head, there was only one form of context for the writing on his arm.

He grinned and stayed grinning as you hopped out of your bedroom, putting on your socks as you went. He washed the mug he used and took one last glance at his face before the two of you headed out. He could not get that grin off of his face. You agreed with yourself to wait, but with the writing on his arm, you had no idea how short of a wait it was about to be.

#challengers #art donaldson #challengers x reader #art donaldson x reader #tinytennisskirt #mike faist #challengers fic #art donaldson fluff #art donaldson fic #art donaldson imagine #art donaldson blurb #challengers fluff

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pamwritessometimes · 6 days ago

Text

Loving Soldier Boy…

Soldier Boy x reader (drabble)

Summary: Just a short n’ (bitter)sweet drabble about what it’s like to love Ben.

Warnings: language, innuendos (c’mon, it’s Ben), mention of violence

Song inspo: I Can Fix Him (No Really I Can) by Taylor Swift.

Loving Soldier Boy isn’t easy.

You knew Soldier Boy was a handful. Hell, he knows he’s a handful. And you know Ben has never been handled before. Not properly. Not by someone who knows when to push and when to pull, when to hold steady and when to let go.

But you?

You thought you had him figured out.

He’s bad news — at least that’s what everyone keeps telling you.

“That man is not safe” MM says, arms crossed.

“He’s straightdown psychotic” Annie agrees, looking at you like she’s waiting for the spell Ben must have put on you to break.

Hughie just grimaces, rubbing the back of his neck. “Are you sure about this? Like, really sure?”

Frenchie sighs. “I have seen many dangerous men, mon coeur, but that one?” He shakes his head. “That one is the iceberg that sinks the ship.”

Even Kimiko seems to eye you with pity.

And Butcher — he just tsked.

“That’s a bloody dangerous game you’re about to play, luv.”

But all that didn’t matter.

Not when Ben flashes you that cocky, wolfish grin. Not when he pulls you in with that fiery gaze that makes your pulse stutter. Not when he touches you like you’re the only thing keeping him from unraveling completely.

He’s a walking contradiction.

He can be crude and crass and violent, but his hands that are scarred and calloused from years of supposed war and bloodshed, are so uncharacteristically gentle when they touch you like he’s terrified of breaking something he doesn’t know how to stitch back together.

And you love it.

You love that you make him hesitate.

That you make him stay.

"Fuck, you’ve ruined me" he murmurs one night, pressing his forehead to yours, breath warm against your lips. “You made me a goddamn pussy.”

Loving Soldier Boy is mastering the skill of interpreting nonverbal communication.

You see, Ben isn’t good with words. Not the important ones, anyway.

But he’s fluent in actions.

Like how he always, always keeps a hand on you — your waist, your back, the nape of your neck — like he needs the physical contact to remind himself you’re real and still with him.

Or how, when you’re pissed at him, he won’t apologize outright, but he will fix your coffee just the way you like it, set it down in front of you with a grunt and a pointed look, like There. Happy now?

Or the way he watches you when he thinks you’re not looking. Like he’s trying to memorize every inch of you because no matter how much of a dick he is sometimes, the thought of him possibly outliving you haunts him.

He’s an asshole. A menace. A walking disaster.

And yet, when he pulls you into his lap, his fingers threading through your hair, his lips ghosting over yours—

You think maybe he’s worth the trouble.

Loving Soldier Boy is a delicate art.

It’s catching the flicker of rage in his eyes before he explodes, steering him away from the fire instead of into it.

It’s letting him run his mouth, knowing that half the shit he says is just to get a rise out of people, and the other half—

Well.

“Because it was fucking beeping” he answers when you find bullet holes in your microwave.

Ben’s not stupid.

But when he came back from the dead, or, you know, from 40 years of being locked up, you’re starting to realize… he might not be as up to date as he thinks.

You blink. “Because it was beeping?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, leaning back against the counter like he didn’t just pull some absolute batshit nonsense. “Wouldn’t shut the hell up.”

“That’s… literally its job, Ben.”

“Well, now it’s unemployed.” He smirks. “Like half the people I’ve worked with.

Loving Soldier Boy is like wrestling with a live grenade.

Violence isn’t just second nature to Ben — it’s first.

He doesn’t do restraint.

Like the time some guy got a little too close to you at a club and ended up with a broken jaw — because Ben doesn’t do warnings either.

Or the time he punched a cop without even thinking about the consequences.

“To be fair, he was being a dick.”

“He was giving you a parking ticket.”

Ben scoffs. “Exactly.”

“Oh my God.”

“What?” He throws his hands up, all mock innocence. “I told him not to touch my car.”

Loving Soldier Boy is fighting for feminism while actively losing the war.

There’s something infuriating about Ben’s shameless, unapologetic brand of horniness.

His jokes are always just a little too loud, just a little too offensive, making you cringe even as he smirks, because he knows damn well what he’s doing.

And yet, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy it.

And he knows it.

No matter how many times you glare at him, no matter how often you mutter “Ben, we are in public”, he sees the way your breath hitches, the way your thighs press together when he leans in too close, and he can practically smell the forming pool in your panties.

“C’mon, sweetheart.” His voice is low, dripping with amusement. “Don’t act like you don’t love it when I talk dirty to you.”

You glare at him. “You literally just told the bartender that I needed something ‘to keep my mouth occupied.’”

Ben grins. “And I stand by that.”

You fight the urge to groan. “You are insufferable.”

He leans in, his lips just barely brushing against your ear. “But you like me insufferable.”

And fuck.

Maybe you do.

Loving Soldier Boy is realizing you’re the one really losing the fight.

When the team calls you out on his bullshit, you just sit there and listen.

You have no defense.

Because what are you even supposed to say?

He’s trying? (He’s not.)

He didn’t mean to? (He absolutely did.)

He’s a work in progress? (Is he?)

And despite what everyone says — despite the fact that he probably won’t ever change — you can’t seem to stop yourself from diving headfirst into the madness.

Maybe you can’t fix him.

But damn if he doesn’t make it worth trying.

The chokehold this man has on me is insane — help

Also… This sat in my drafts for months, but I gave it a reread and didn’t completely hate it — so here you go. Hope you enjoyed!🤍

xx Pam

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy fic #soldier boy drabble #the boys x you #the boys #the boys fanfic

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