#if I don’t go to sleep I don’t have nightmares

[beloveds-embrace]

(Poly 141 x fem reader)

You had always been their sweetheart.

Soft, tender, and gentle- the heart of their home. The warmth in the spaces between them, the one they curled around after long days of violence, soothed by your touch and your voice, the way you cared for them without hesitation. No matter how much blood stained their hands, no matter what nightmares haunted their sleep, you were there. Unshaken. Unyielding in your love, hands gentle and soft as you cradled them close and warm.

So they had never needed to know about the things you kept buried.

The past you refused to unearth. The things you could do, the person you had been before them- before you had a home to call your own, before you had people who held you just as carefully as you held them.

They didn’t need to know, and you didn’t need to think about it.

Until they went missing.

You first learned something was wrong when John’s daily check-in didn’t come.

It had always been a habit of his, something he did without fail, no matter how far away he was. Just to let you know I’m breathing, love. That was what he had said, years ago, the first time he had explained it to you. You had teased him for it- What, you don’t trust me to not burn the house down?- but he had only smiled, voice steady and sure when he told you, I like knowing you’re safe.

It had never failed. Not once. Even when he himself could not text you, Lasswell herself assured you they were fine and merely had to be careful.

But now came the silence.

No messages. No calls. No updates.

You tried not to panic. They were on a mission, after all. Maybe something had gone wrong with their comms, or maybe they had been forced to go dark, and Lasswell was busy. It had happened before, and they had always come back to you, whole and alive, pressing their faces into your neck, murmuring apologies and reassurances.

But then a full week passed.

Then two.

And no one would tell you a thing and Lasswell wasn’t picking up, either.

You had tried- had called, had knocked on doors, had pushed until you were met with polite deflections and stone-cold refusals.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but that information is classified.”

“There’s nothing we can share at this time.”

“We appreciate your patience.”

Patience.

As if you would sit here, helpless, and just wait. Hopeless, and helpless, and unable to do a single thing to help then.

No. No, you had done that before. You had waited before. And it had cost you everything.

You weren’t that girl anymore. You weren’t a victim of circumstance, hoping for scraps of kindness, praying for someone to do right by you.

If no one would help, you would do it yourself; because they were yours, and they were the best thing that have ever happened to you, and you weren’t going to lose them.

Tracking them down was easier than you expected.

You had spent years curating the image of someone soft and harmless, someone not worth keeping secrets from. And people loved to talk. Especially when they thought you were just a grieving, desperate woman trying to find a lost fiancé and his friends.

All it had taken was a few well-placed words, a few tearful looks, and doors had opened.

It had taken only days to pinpoint their last known location, then. After you’d hunted down Laswell, and had her help you. Though you were glad to see that she was working to find out where they were, as well, and merely lacked the manpower because of some general named Shepherd.

You filed the name away for later thoughts.

A warlord with connections to arms smuggling in Eastern Europe. An old base, abandoned by one regime and taken over by another. And your men had been sent in to dismantle it.

But they hadn’t come back. MIA, the reports said.

You didn’t think. You didn’t hesitate. You didn’t care for those three letters. You moved.

You gathered supplies, mapped out your route, planned your approach with the precision of someone who had done it before. You emptied old caches, dusted off weapons you hadn’t touched in years, and set off.

The infiltration was clean; a single shadow among many, slipping between patrols, cutting down obstacles with silent, brutal efficiency. Years it may have been, you hadn’t gotten as rusty as you’d feared you’d be.

You had never been squeamish. You had learned long ago that softness had no place in survival- but it could thrive and bloom in the aftermath, a stubborn weed that eventually makes way for a full bouquet.

But this was different.

This was fury burning in your blood as you carved a path forward, every movement precise- you couldn’t afford any less.

You didn’t stop, no matter what.

Not until you found them at last, and your heart ached something fierce abd sharp in your chest.

Caged. Beaten. Bound but not broken- and drugged.

I should have been more rough, you mourn for a split second. An easy death was more mercy than what was deserved.

John’s head lifted first, eyes glassy and unfocused. “Love-?”

Then Simon, bloodied but breathing, his body sluggish with whatever chemicals they had pumped into him. Every part of him was covered in blood and cuts.

Johnny’s voice, then, hoarse and raw, full of disbelief and worry. “No. No, you’re not- this insnae real-“

And Kyle, whose breath hitched as you knelt beside him, gentle fingers brushing against his bruised face.

They thought they were dreaming; they thought you weren’t real.

And maybe that was a… mercy.

Because if they had been clear-headed, if they had seen what you had done to get here, if they had watched the way you had cut down anyone in your path with merciless efficiency-

They would have looked at you differently.

And you couldn’t bear that. To have their illusion of your gentleness shattered like that…

So you played along.

Whispered reassurances, pressed kisses to sweat-damp foreheads, untied their bindings with careful hands. You coaxed them to move, guided them through the corridors you’d emptied, wiped away the blood that dripped from their skinz

And when they sagged against you, too dazed to fight, too lost in the haze of their drugged delirium, you held them-

Kept them safe, and brought them home.

Later, they woke in a hospital, clean and stitched and safe.

You were already there, fussing over them, your voice soft and sweet, your fingers gentle as you pressed cool cloths to fever-warm skin, brushed stray curls from foreheads, adjusted pillows and blankets with quiet determination. Dressed in something white and pink, the colors of innocence, nails cleaned of blood even if your hands will never be truly clean.

You looked the same as ever.

Pretty and delicate, their lovely girl, their tender-hearted sweetheart.

And for all that had happened, all that they had suffered, all that you had done-

They never suspected a single thing, and you didn’t tell them; didn’t tell them that there had been no extraction team. That there had been no grand military rescue- not even from the the same military that had abandoned them.

(His name was General Shepherd. You will not forget it- you’d need to carve his name on the bullet you’ll save just for him, after all.)

That it had been you.

Only you.

Only Laswell knew the truth, and she would keep your secret because she understood what it meant to protect the people you loved.

And if you had to carry this weight alone to keep them from ever looking at you like you were something other-

So be it.

You sat beside John, pressing a kiss to his temple as his fingers curled weakly around yours.

You smiled at Simon when his hand brushed against your knee, seeking reassurance, seeking you, his eyes tired.

You let Johnny hold you, his arms tight around your waist as he mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder, still half-lost in the remnants of the drugs.

And when Kyle murmured: “At leas’ you’re safe, pretty.” His voice thick with sleep-

You just smiled and ran your fingers carefully through his hair, and held them the way you always had.

And pretended that everything was exactly the same.

[aajjks]

morning sex (m)

synopsis. To your surprise, you wake up in bed with your nightmare of a horny roommate and learn the advantages of morning sex.

pairing: horny roommate jungkook x fem!reader

genre: crack, 18+, cringe, smut, explicit, and dark comedy.

warnings. 18+, ëxplicit sèxùàl dïàlögùë, mïrör çhëck, sèxùàl téñsïøns, bïg dïçk ënërgÿ, çhëëky flïrts, sàssÿ çòmëbàcks, jungkook’s funnÿ bïg dïçk jôkës, hümørøüs ánd sèxy.

note. lmao I couldn’t resist he he’s such a fun character. I love writing him and honestly I kind of need him so bad even though he’s cringe as fuck.

You wake up to the most obnoxious thing ever.

Jungkook is spooning you.

Not in a nice, sweet way where he’s just trying to be comfortable.

No. He’s literally drooling on your shoulder, his chest pressing against your back like he’s staked his claim, and his hand is—oh no.

His hand is dangerously close to your chest.

Your eyes snap open. Oh hell no.

You try to wiggle out of his grasp, but it’s like trying to break free from a bear trap.

He’s clutching you like you’re the last life preserver on a sinking ship.

“Jungkook, get off!” you whisper-shout, but all he does is groan and snuggle into you deeper.

“What’s the rush?” His voice is muffled, his head practically buried in your hair. “It’s comfy here.”

“Yn babe look, my bed was really uncomfortable tonight so I had to sneak in your bed even if you mind I don’t really care and I think we should definitely have insanely hot morning sex.”

you want to slap the shit out of him.

You can’t even begin to process how absurd this is. How did this even happen? How did you go from roommates to this weird… spooning situation?

AND NOW MORNING SEX?

"Look, babe, morning sex? It's simple. You wake up, I get you off, and we both start the day feeling fucking amazing. No need to overthink it. It's like an instant mood booster, I swear."

You try again to push him off, but all you manage to do is accidentally press your ass into his—

oh no.

“So.. in conclusion we should definitely fuck baby, see I’m hard as fuck.”

You raise an eyebrow, biting back a smile. “Oh, so you’re really selling me on this morning… routine?” you tease, leaning in a little.

“Let me guess, does it come with a small surprise, or should I be worried it won’t rise to the occasion?”

You watch his face shift, that smug look he always carries flickering for just a second. It’s too much fun.

“Maybe if you prove it to me, I’ll consider it,” you finish with a wink, making sure he knows exactly what you mean.

“Babe, is this really how we’re doing this today?” Jungkook mumbles lazily, lifting his head just enough to stare at you with that mischievous grin of his.

You feel his chest rumbling with the deep chuckle that follows.

“Stop calling me babe!” you snap, now fully trying to pull away.

But the moment you try to move, he tightens his hold around your waist, practically trapping you in his vice-like grip. And he’s not even pretending to sleep anymore.

He’s wide awake, eyes gleaming with that cocky look that makes you want to strangle him—while simultaneously kiss him senseless.

You’re struggling to get out, but then, just as you’re about to give up, you feel something against your back.

Something hard.

Something you definitely didn’t expect to feel.

You freeze.

“Uh… Jungkook?” You swallow hard, trying to pretend you didn’t just notice what was happening.

His lips curve up into that infuriating smirk. “Oh, so you feel it now?”

Your face burns. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why are you—;”

“I mean, it’s not my fault you’re so cute and cuddly in the mornings.” He lets out a dramatic sigh. “I can’t help it, babe. I’m only human.”

You bite back a sarcastic retort. “You’re a man-child,” you mutter, trying to ignore the fact that the man is physically pressing himself against you, and it’s not just a “casual” spoon anymore.

He chuckles again, his fingers digging into your sides as if trying to tickle you into submission. “C’mon, you know you love it.”

Your frustration boils over. You twist around, and you have no idea how it happens, but somehow, you end up straddling him.

You stare down at him, breathing heavily from the combination of shock and—well, you’re not sure what you’re feeling anymore.

Jungkook’s face is completely smug, his hands resting lazily behind his head, like he’s a king and you’re his amused servant.

“You—” you bite your lip. “This isn’t funny, you know.”

“Then why are you on top of me, hm?” His voice is dangerously low now, a playful glint in his eyes. “Guess you wanted to be close.”

“Don’t act like you don’t want this too,” he teases, eyes tracing over your body as if he’s memorizing every detail. His fingers slide down to your waist again, making you flinch.

“Jungkook, seriously—;” You don’t even get the chance to finish your sentence before he interrupts.

“Okay, fine, we’ll call it a draw. But—;” He smirks, his hands slipping down to your hips now, “…—I do have a lot of things I’d like to say, but I’ll wait for you to ask.”

You glare at him, ready to push him off you, but the moment you shift just enough, he’s at it again.

His lips are on yours, and you swear you feel the earthquake beneath you as he pulls you closer, his kiss deepening immediately.

He’s not even trying to be subtle anymore.

Jungkook’s hands are everywhere, and his lips are moving against yours with an intensity you didn’t expect this early in the morning.

“Guess we’re just doing this now, huh?” You whisper against his lips, struggling to keep some semblance of control.

“Oh, we definitely are,” he growls, suddenly flipping you onto your back and trapping you underneath him like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You’re not getting away this time.”

You both know it’s only a matter of time before this chaotic situation completely spirals out of control.

The only question is how much longer you can keep pretending you don’t enjoy every second of it.

[sageivy11]

feral street kitty hybrid!reader who’s been slinking up the fire escape and sneaking into ghoap’s apartment for food.. but they know. 18+

introduction: omg hiii 😻 so i was totally gonna abandon the first post but i already have like 5 other things in the works bc the brain worms haven’t stopped soo.. don’t expect anything tho bc im not very consistent. if i make another part there will probably be smut. 1.1k words, basically just a long drabble i decided to proofread a bit to post

contains/warnings: reader is homeless and eats fish, established ghoap, no mention of size or appearance expect for ‘underfed’, reader only has ears and a tail. no smut

Maybe they’ve known for a while, Ghost once saw you skitter away down the ladder after being woken from a nightmare. He complains about it to Soap, scolding him for forgetting to lock the window, but he’d been doing it on purpose ever since he saw you in the alley behind their apartment, digging through trash and underfed. Hoping.

He convinces his LT to leave it unlocked and says that they can spare a piece of bread now and then. That you look so lost and sad, that’s the least they can do. You haven’t even stolen anything more than a few bites of left out food, he insists.

But you grow more confident, napping on their couch for a few hours during the night to keep warm, washing your face in their sink, licking their leftover plates clean. They pretend not to notice. Ghost, who used to sit on the couch and watch television when he couldn’t sleep, has switched to the chair in his office so as not to spook you.

Until one day you fish through the laundry bin in the bathroom, looking for a pair of socks that no one would notice missing. You’ve never stolen anything more than a bite or two of food from them but it’s getting colder. People lose socks all the time.

Your head snaps towards the door when you hear it creak open, seeing a pale, shirtless man with mussed hair pause in the doorway when he sees you. He grunts. You scramble, only grabbing a single sock in your process of shoving past him and bolting towards the window.

You don’t notice the way his eyes drift down your body to take in the healthy weight gained. He sighs, shaking his head and not bothering to close the door as he makes towards the toilet.

You don’t come back for a week and a half. Soap got worried on the fifth night, realizing you hadn’t stepped through the window in days. Your dirty fingerprints had been cleaned off the window on the second day and they hadn’t come back since.

But eventually, you get hungry. With how cold it is at night, you’ve been forced to spend less and less time searching through trash lest you freeze. You think about it for a few days, and decide there’s no point in not going back if you’re going freeze to death out here anyway.

You slip through the kitchen window on the eleventh day, shivering at the temperature change. You head straight for the fridge where they keep their leftovers, your shaky hand holding it open as your eyes quickly scan for something small to eat.

“There’s fish in the freezer. F’you want some.”

You nearly jolt out of your skin, the fridge door snapping shut as you suddenly whip around to find the location of the voice. You can feel the fur your tail puff up in fear as your back presses the cool doors. It’s the same man you saw that night. This time, he’s wearing a mask. And not a medical one.

The mask is black and embroidered with white skull markings. Or, more like grey skull markings. There’s dark brown stains on the fabric where the white is. Maybe the black, too. You can’t tell. It kind of looks like dried blood. No, it’s definitely just dirt.

Your ears are pricked, chest silently heaving as you stay frozen, staring at him. How did you not see him? Or hear him?

He looks like he just got home despite the fact it’s the middle of the night. It’s early, maybe three, or four in the morning. He’s still got shoes on. He holds a clear glass full of a gold liquid propped on his knee. There’s a duffle bag by his feet.

You just stand there, stuck in time for what feels like a week as you watch him. The only time he moves is to bring the glass up to his lips, pushing his mask up to the bridge of his nose to take a long sip. He would’ve moved by now if he wanted to hurt you. Right?

You swallow thickly, slowly turning to open the freezer. You look over your shoulder every few seconds, but he’s just sitting there, watching. Your eyes land on three saran-wrapped plates in the freezer. Huh. Maybe they had a guest over.

Two plates have various vegetables and sauces, while one looks plain. Just fish and something green that looks like a tiny tree. You grab it, closing the freezer and glancing at him for the millionth time. Still stayed the same. You slowly sink to sit on the kitchen floor, tail curling around the side of your leg protectively.

You watch him as you peel the wrap off, as you eat. He stares back. You pinch a cold piece of meat between your fingers, slowly bringing it up to your lips. And it’s fucking good. You don’t waste much time with your next few bites, try the little tree thing too. It’s not great, but it’s not horrible. You start wrapping the dish up again when you’re interrupted.

“It’s all f’you. Eat it.”

You pause, your eyes flicking back up to him. Your ears twitch. For you? Sounds like a trap. You should have a pretty good radar for danger. I mean, you live on the streets. You can feel your heart beat a little faster, but it tells you to continue. You waste no more time, greedily finishing the rest of the dish almost concerningly fast.

He watches and only adds more whiskey to his cup when it empties. You stand when you’re done, quietly placing the dish in the sink and discarding the wrap in the trash. You flinch when he abruptly stands, stepping closer towards your exit. His hands reach towards the bottom hem of his black hoodie, pulling it over his head.

You stay and watch, for some reason. Then he tosses it towards you, over the kitchen counter separating the two rooms. You startle, twitching back when the fabric falls to your feet. You look between him and the hoodie briefly, before crouching down to grab it.

Your footsteps are light and tentative as you step back towards the window, still watching him. You quickly slip out, practically running down the fire escape stairs until you’re back in the streets. Back in your little box hidden in the trash, with a few blankets to keep warm.

You replace your thin zip-up with his hoodie. You push the fabric of the collar up towards your nose when you slip it on, inhaling deeply. It smells like man. Like sweat and something coppery. Like burning firewood and grill char. Like it would be so easy to just slip into his bed and sleep into the late hours of the morning.

You sleep easier that night, even if it’s on cardboard and tattered blankets. And if you’re already wet when you slip your fingers between your thighs, it’s no one’s business but your own.

notes: i figured out how to do the ‘read more’ thing!! sorry my first post didn’t have that. again, written and edited on my phone. ty for the love btw 🫶 im trying to stay humble bc this is lowkey boosting my ego. tumblr tips appreciated.

tags??: @other-fandoms-reblogs hi 🙈 this is not related to my first post but i thought i would tag u anyway! if i ever post the other part in the works to my first post ill also tag u in that.

[swetblom]

⟡ ◌ .ﾟㅤ‪ ∿ FOREVER DAYDREAMING OF . . 𑁯੭ BRIAN MOSER & ANGEL! READER ˚ . 𔒌 ⊹ ۫

❜ ׄ 𓏲 au work content, female! readers race not specified, dark content ( none done to reader — ice truck killer actives ), some nsfw content.

BRIAN MOSER & ANGEL! READER who are wall-to-wall neighbors in their building. they’ve never spoken to one another longer than 5 minutes and only exchanged a couple sweet smiles when crossing paths going to their apartments. BRIAN MOSER who doesn’t let the sweet woman go unnoticed when she’s near. noting that she always gives him the most genuine farewells he’s heard from a stranger and how soft her features are before seemly forgetting about her after entering his apartment. while . . ANGEL! READER thinks “on my god, he’s a cutie” every time he sees him. adores how his hair and eyes are nearly the same deep brown and never misses an opportunity to send a short wave his way.

BRIAN MOSER & ANGEL! READER who only began to really speak to one another because brian continuously makes a lot of noise in his apartment interpreting her sleep most nights. and every time because she’s too sweet to be upset, she leads with a gentle “sorry to interrupt” and “know m’ bothering you again but . .” when asking him about turning it down a bit.

he fakes his sincerity and doesn’t bother to change his actions the first couple times she asked, keeping in mind she never really asks exactly what he’s doing unlike all the other neighbors who demand answers. until one night she comes to his door with sleepy features and a soft pout. “m’ sorry to bother you again but could you just stop for a little bit? so i can at least get into the first stage then you can continue, i swear.” he enjoys her. how she negotiates instead of out right demanding him. how she assumes the best of him, believes he’ll listen if she asks nicely enough. and for the first time, he actually quiets down.

when she comes to thank him the next morning with full eyes and asking his name he found himself giving her his real one, “brian but call me rudy” while holding out his hand. she squints at him unsure as she take his hand, “where did rudy come from?” unknown to her, he lies with a soft smile on his face, “nickname from when i was a kid.” but she believes it.

BRIAN MOSER & ANGEL! READER who’s relationship dynamic is the perfect twist of epic dreams and nightmares. the epic dreams being full of soft, deep kisses like her making him feel as though he doesn’t have to fake who he is, him giving her sweet presents with small, red, bows tied on each one or her actual gaining the nickname angel by him when he’s teasing her about something. his voice soft and low as he looks at her with dark, dreamy eyes, “come on, angel.”

while the nightmares run deep, they hold their relationship together the most because his urges prompt him to lie, he doesn’t tell her to hide them but to keep her exactly where he wants her: in his arms. when the moon is full, he brings women to his apartment and looks at them as though they’re his world until the door is shut and they have their guard down. if they get too loud when he’s strangling them he covers their mouths and whispers, “sh sh. don’t want to wake her”. keeping her in mind even in the midst of his ugres. if she comes over and hears or sees something he’s quick to make up an excuse that she’s quick to believe because he hasn’t made her believe other wise. “you promise?” he gives both her eyes the perfect amount of affection, shifting from one to the other as he swears, “promise, angel.”

jealous! brian

© 2025 swetblom — don’t try to imitate or use my work to your benefit.

asks are open for these two! read guidelines before submitting or i’ll just delete you’re ask lol.

— to see visuals, asks or answered questions about them, click the first tag!

[meo-eiru]

Hi hiiiiii!!! I just wanna say i love ur oc’s so much, they live rent free inside my head like a growing necrosis!! Ever since u dropped the character trivias for Lavi and Elias I cant stop thinking about an AU with the game Catherine for Elias and Lavi but like with a lil twist to itt (the twist being i cant properly remember the entire plot to Catherine, its been like a decade since i played it so i tweaked so much of the actual storyline to better fit the narrativeT-T) feel free to delete it if its too weird;;

TW: cheating, pregnancy, reader/mc is pregnant, ooc Lavi im sorry, Elias having a reasonable crashout, yandere behaviour, continuous affair, reader/Mc cheats, character death(?), misuse of commas and my terrible grammar really

—

Okay so Imagine this, whilst drinking out one day, trying to drown out the midlife crisis and potential worries about the future, you end up having a drunken one night stand with Lavi, this one night stand however snowballs into an affair as you end up sleeping with Lavi AGAIN.

You’re pregnant, and you’ve been in a relationship with Elias for 5 years, Elias is absolutely ECSTATIC to find out that you’re pregnant, and is even considering marrying you if you agree to it (you have no choice in the matter btw lol), so in order to plan for the baby (and wedding), Elias has been taking more and more modeling jobs to hopefully save enough for your future together.

This would’ve been a happy ending for both parties if you actually KNEW who the father was. Youve been rethinking your entire relationship with Elias for a while and whilst its good to feel loved and appreciated just for existing, Elias’ is just… he’s too much sometimes— well most times tbh.

Elias would kill you both, but he hasn’t suspected anything yet, and you plan to keep it that way because you’re thinking of ending things with Elias by the end of the month anyway,

until you can’t.

And you find yourself puking every morning, a worried Elias by your side at every step of the way, loving, understanding (?), pulling your hair back and dabbing away sweat from your face as you stay hunched over the toilet seat, and the guilt smashes into you like a truck, its debilitating—Elias loves you so much, cares for you (too) so much. The guilt should have set in sooner, you should be groveling at his feet begging for forgiveness, but you dont, instead you stay, and the affair continues, even when you don’t remember spending the night with Lavi (where they even at the bar last night?). Even when the test shows two lines. Even when Elias starts doing more work to provide for the two of you.

Maybe it’s guilt, maybe its your consciousness telling you you need to leave, to not subject Elias to a life chained up to someone who doesnt love them enough to stay faithful.

You end up having these weird nightmares where you have to fight for your life trying to escape a hellish landscape. You survive each night but always seem to end up waking up to Lavi on your bedside (you haven’t been outside, Elias hasn’t allowed you to go to work since the pregnancy test, you don’t remember telling Lavi your address either)

But one night, when you wake up from another nightmare, crying, shivering, Elias and Lavi nowhere in sight.

Impulsively, you end up calling Elias and tell him about the affair, how you don’t know who the father of the child is, how you’re sorry and how terrible you are and how it would be better if you just break up.

and as expected, he breaks down. asking you, demanding answers, crying, screaming, shouting, asking if you actually loved him, asking if the child is actually his, asking you why he wasn’t enough, how he knew you were acting weird, asking which fucker he has to kill to make everything work out. its guttural, the way he screams, shouts for answers.

You end up dropping the call. And Elias immediately spams your phone with missed calls until you end up blocking his number.

He’s coming for you, you know he will. And he does, not even an hour later, banging on the door. You worry about your neighbours hearing about all of this commotion, its 11pm, he should’ve been at home but he was still at work, should’ve spent this time relaxing and watching tv shows with you at saturday night, but instead he was still at work, working to support the both of you (even if a big part of you knew it wouldn’t have stopped him from coming anyway)

He’s banging on the door, and you have half a mind to grab the knife at the sink. He stops after what felt like an eternity, only to forcefully barge his way in by using his body to slam the door open.

Elias makes his way inside, immediately grabbing you by the shoulders, eyes red with tears as he looks at you with the most painstakingly hurt expression you’ve ever seen (you’ve seen it countless times before, but only this time its different, it’s it scarier, it feels like he might actually hurt you)

His eyes grows into slits, as you feel another arm snake behind you.

It’s Lavi.

You are so fucked.

Elias ends up lunging at Lavi, screaming, intent to kill, to get rid of the vermin homewrecker that ruined (whatever was left of) your relationship.

Lavi fights back, albeit without mentally damaging Elias in the process as he talks about how much time he spends with you, how he planned on taking you with him secretly behind his back, how the child is actually his and how he intends to take full accountability for it.

You watch as Elias screams reaching for something in the sink only for Lavi to laugh at him, taunting him, waving the knife in his hand hautily, simpering with a glint of malice in his eyes “Looking for this?”

You’re about as useful in this situation as a screen door to a submarine. And you know its in vain, but you scream at both of them to stop anyway. Crying as you fall to your feet, you feel like puking.

Elias freezes, breath hitching as he turns to you before the expression on his face falters, angered as Lavi continues, telling him that “he’s the reason you’re having such a hard time right now”, “how he has no business being a father when all he does is hurt you”.

Everything falls into a blur as the fighting continues,

it feels like forever but it does stop, and you hear someone slump on the floor.

and you find Elias on the floor, with the knife plunged into Lavi’s stomach.

——

I had to write it out the brainrot was killing me, had to write it out until the brain rot unrotted itself.

I do know i couldve done this darker and better but i cant write anymore i feel so rustyT-T if you see “them” instead “you” its because i originally wrote this with “Mc” and using “they/them” before changing it to explicit xreader

Rereading my writing realising it is so tellenovella coded oof

Holy shit anon I don't know how you did it but this might just be the most hellish possible scenario known to mankind. I'd honestly just end it right then and there, there's no getting out of this bermuda triangle ass dynamic we got going on here.

Like Lavi and Elias being in the same universe is already horrible, them liking the same person is even worse but darling CHEATING on one of them with the other??? I would just

[the-universal-sun]

little lee waking up from night terrors and ford and fidds comforting him?

Hey guys, sorry it’s been a while, I’ve had my first and therefore worst ever case of writer’s block, but I really wanted to get something out for you guys! I figured making them head canons rather than a cohesive story would help get me past some of the writer’s block. I don’t think this is the best work, but you guys have been waiting long enough! Again, thank you for sticking around with me! Please enjoy reading these head canons as much as I have enjoyed writing them! Please stay safe and warm and healthy!

As always, I am open to helpful comments and critiques on my writing! Sending all my Love!

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-Stan never likes Ford and F to know he gets nightmares. He's not embarrassed, but the old fashioned sentiments and being manly their father drilled into him are still present. Talking about his emotions makes him feel weird. He'll hide that he had a nightmare if they ask him about it, about what he was mumbling in his sleep for, and avoid them for the rest of the day

-When feeling smaller, it's both the same and different. It really depends on what the nightmare was about. If Lee had a nightmare about a scary movie someone (Ford) let him watch or about some of the specimens around the house that someone (Ford) showed him while little, those are the nightmares he'll wake up crying from, getting up and searching for comfort from his caregivers

-He'll go and stumble into Ford's room, clutching Poindexter in a death grip, his crying waking up Fidds who blearily makes his way out of his room and into Ford's, too. Stan will climb into Ford's bed and shake him until he wakes up, crying and sobbing, babbling about "Scawy Monsters" with 12 eyes.

-It takes Ford a while to wake up and comprehend what's happening, Fidds giving his a small slap upside the head, for "showin' Lee those devil creatures" while he was in his headspace. Ford will jump to action, pulling Stan up in his arms and into his lap, frantically trying to console the loud sobs

-It does not work, Lee will hide his head in Ford's neck and sob and rock, his brother just shushing and petting his hair, rocking with him in efforts to calm him down, but failing in his efforts. Ford's still not quite used to understanding the reasonings behind peoples emotions and action, so he kept trying to explain away what Stan had a nightmare about

-It's not until Fidds brushes Lee's hair back and kisses his forehead, softly murmuring "you must have been pretty scared, huh, Pumpkin Pie. Don't worry, we've got ya', we'll protect ya'." and Stan calms down that Ford realizes oh, he just wanted some comfort

-Once Stan has mostly calmed down, hiccupping and clutching Poindexter and Ford's arms, being gently rocked and soothed by both of them, he'll gently clamber out of Ford's lap and sit in between him and Fidds, sniffling and rubbing the tears away from his eyes

-If Lee wasn't sacred and sad, it would've been the cutest sight either of them have ever seen

-They just there for in silence, Lee hiccupping and sniffling, feeling so embarrassed for crying over a stupid nightmare like a stupid baby. Sometimes, he'll get too into his own head, mean and nasty thoughts getting the best of him. Ford and Fidds are quick to notice, crushing him their arms, whispering sweet words in his ears, telling Lee how sweet he is, and how he's so good and smart.

-It doesn't clear up his thoughts all the way, but it does make Lee feel better, a small smile growing behind the pacifier Fidds slipped in his mouth

-When Lee’s all calmed down, he's exhausted, poor little thing is just tuckered out from all the crying, but he's too antsy to go to sleep again; what if he has another nightmare?

-No need to fear, though, Fidds snagged some books before he left his room to console Little Lee. He presents 3 books: Goodnight Moon, Babe, or Mister Magnolia. Lee, of course, chose Goodnight Moon. It's his favorite bed time book and he needed the comfort after such scary nightmares!

-Lee gets settled in Ford's bed, pulling his twins arm over him, clutching Poindexter, and snuggling into Fidds' side, ready to be read to

-Let's be real, he doesn't make it past the second page, he was already exhausted from his nightmare and the crying, all he needed was the comfort of his Sixer and his Fidds to feel comfortable enough to go to sleep

-If the nightmare while Little is about his Pa' or about his decade of homelessness, those are the kind of nightmares that he wakes up from silently, still crying, but in the way someone who's had to learn to be quiet cries, silent hiccups and heavy breathing.

-He muffles his sobs into Poindexter’s fuzzy stomach, holding his breath as long as he can to get his crying under control

-It’s nightmares like these that leave him his most vulnerable, teetering on the edge of being Big or Little; he’s either almost ripped out of his headspace or plunged right into it, depending on his headspace when he went to bed

-Lee won’t go to Ford or Fidds, too scared and upset to leave his bed, he cries and cries, it’s only if either of them check in him that they see their Little Lee crying himself sick

-If that happens, he’s being immediately scooped up and carried to Ford’s bed (it’s the biggest) to be tucked into to his brother’s side and coddles and cuddled until his Big Tears have settle down some

-Ford and Fidds pet and pat him, talking about their latest project over his head, he doesn’t comprehend what they’re saying, but Lee likes hearing their voices and feeling their chests move under him

-When these nightmares happen, Lee doesn’t need a story to lull him to sleep, he’s already exhausted, the warmth and sound of his caregivers easing him enough to slip off, cuddling his Teddy Bear

[phoenixeclipse-lmkau]

Ask or QTC-

What if one day reader ended up having a nightmare, and when she woke up from it, she decided she wanted to seek comfort in the form of cuddles rather than talking about it whether it be that she verbally announces that she wants cuddles because she had a nightmare or she just reaches out her arms towards one of them with crabby, hands in a way to show that she wants cuddles without saying anything more. How would the warlords react?

This is for the cursed warlords AU by the way.

You ask for a spoiler, that is what you are asking for! Eh let’s do it!

You let out the softest sob as your eyes shot open, you were covered in sweat and you were shaking. All you could see in your vision was the worst nightmare you had ever hand. You pulled your blanket closer to you as you looked around the dark room, only a few candles on the table in the corner of the room.

You pull yourself up until you’re sitting and look over the hammock you laid in and to the large nest in the middle of the room. Both Wukong and Macaque were laying slightly away form each other, you thought about it for just a moment. The room was silent and almost creepy with how quiet it was. You were holding back your tears as you slow crawled out of the bed. A shiver ran up your spine from the cold air.

Quietly you tip toed over to them, the room feeling colder and creepier than usual. You could hear the soft breathing of the two as you slowly stepped down into their nest. They surly wouldn’t notice if you just joined them right, they were both asleep and you knew it was a headache to get Wukong to wake up with him being such a deep sleeper.

You didn’t notice how Macaque’s ears fluttered just a little bit, nor did you notice how he watched you through sleepy and tired eyes. Confusion covered his face as you dragged your blanket into the nest like a child hanging onto their parent. He didn’t even get a chance to ask you anything as you stepped over Wukong so carefully.

He heard the slightly hiccup from you as you gulped down your nerves, nervous of Wukong or Macaque waking up and being angry. Surely they wouldn’t get mad, they often ask you to cuddle in the nest. You were just… accepting that right.

Wukong shifted in his sleep and you froze for just a moment before shaking your head and sinking into lay between him and Macaque. You pulled your blanket closer to yourself as you laid down your back towards Macaque unaware he was awake.

“It’s okay, it was just a nightmare,” you whispered to yourself and he understood.

You gasped as an arm wrapped around your waist and pulled you into Macaque’s chest. Your heart pounded in your chest before slowly calming down when he muttered. “Relax love, you’re safe and okay. There is nothing to worry about, no one is going to hurt you.”

A warmth bloomed in your chest when Wukong in his sleeping state pulled you and Macaque both into his arms. He sniffed a few times before snuggling his face into your chest, his arms mostly around you and he snored up a storm. You felt their tails wrap around either of your legs as they settled into a gentle sleep.

You couldn’t help but also drift into a much calmer sleep this time, it was peaceful and calm.

…

Until the next morning when Spirit decked Macaque for “Forcing”you to sleep in the nest.

“Quiet down, you’ll wake her up,” He snapped irritably.

“You perverted prick!”

“Calm down, she had a nightmare and came over to the nest. She did it willingly,” Macaque growled lowly unaware you’d already woken up.

“I don’t believe you,” Spirit growled back angrily.

You felt Wukong snuggle into you a bit more, “Don’t worry my love, you’re always welcome in the nest. You are safe with us~ sleep well my dear.” Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead, Wukong didn’t move until you tried to get up, preferring to cuddle than get up.

[onlythebravest]

.

[valewritessss]

I felt so seen when I first read pjo and it mentioned Annabeth’s arachnophobia. I used to have so many nightmares when I was younger (probably started when I was around five or six), I would wake up in the middle of the night and be so terrified of moving because I thought there were spiders all over my bed. The shadows on my popcorn ceiling looked like spider figures and I remember just laying there sweating and not making a sound because I thought it would attract the spiders I guess? It was routine for me to shout for my mom—poor her, she would be woken at 2 in the morning like thrice a week— and she’d always shake my sheets and lay with me until I feel asleep. She would also take me to sleep with her and my dad in their massive bed (who was I to say no to the invitation?) and it got to the point where I was embarrassed that I couldn’t sleep a whole night without someone. Occasionally, I still have these nightmares about spiders and I just turn on a light, go to the bathroom, come back, and pretend it never happened.

Idk, just thinking about that. I kind of had forgotten about those nightmares but I don’t play when I see spiders because I know it means I’m going to dream about them.

[vintage-bentley]

About the fandom’s tendency to neglect Aziraphale’s trauma and focus on Crowley’s…I was thinking about how this manifests in the way their sleeping habits are treated.

Much of the fandom likes the idea that Crowley loves sleep, and that Aziraphale doesn’t bother with it. But then at the same time, they love the idea that Crowley has frequent nightmares, and barely depict Aziraphale going through something similar.

And while I completely understand the want for angst and hurt/comfort, and am guilty of enjoying it too…my question is this: why would somebody who has frequent nightmares love sleep? Wouldn’t they avoid sleep at all costs, especially if it’s not actually necessary for their health?

The “Crowley sleeps and Aziraphale doesn’t” headcanon is such a missed opportunity to explore Aziraphale’s trauma. Maybe he tried sleeping a few times, but each time he was shaken by some horrible nightmare. Possibly about his fear of Falling, or his guilt over loving Crowley. Maybe he frequently has nightmares about the impending apocalypse, and about not being able to protect humanity and Crowley from it. Maybe every time he tries to close his eyes and rest, he’s met with visions telling him how terrible of an angel he is, and the only way to escape is to keep himself awake and busy and immersed in the fantasy land of a book.

There is so much potential here.

[gayeddie-saved-me]

i’m not even a fan of merlin fics where arthur is dead but i want to write a fic so bad about merlin and leon becoming platonic life partners post-canon

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

something about that whole incident must have changed something in my brain chemistry cause my insomnia’s gotten bad again

the past few days i’ve getting to sleep at two or three. kinda sucks i guess, but i don’t really want to resort to taking melatonin again

[ghosts-and-blue-sweaters]

I’m not gonna take melatonin tonight :(

[great-tusk]

Ugh. I had a really bad day.

[edwinisms]

has it been established in show canon (not comics) if ghosts CAN sleep but just don’t particularly HAVE to or if they just straight up can’t sleep?

[dirt-grub]

Yea I didn’t rly acknowledge it continuing off that post you need to be normal about people who do drugs recreationally as well as addicts especially if you’re a self proclaimed leftist