#mild to mid gore

[secret-bug-pain-blog]

Febuwhump, Day 8 - Panic

AO3 mirror here. This one kept getting out of hand. We finally cut it short, but gods, we'd probably end up with a whole short story if we let it keep running. This one's a lot rougher than usual, but might be extended should we have the time. It's also... sixteen days late. Gods. Well, at least it's done.

It had been a few weeks since the Explorer’s Association had welcomed a temporary visitor into their ranks.

Leipephilene was an explorer from a faraway land, or something of the like, if you believed what she said. A goliath beetle, according to Stratos. From somewhere similar to him. She had a matte, dark orange shell that shone in the sunlight, her head and thorax covered in striking black and white markings. She carried a sword that would be tall on anyone else and was just mid-length on her, a bag full of trinkets and tools, constantly clinking with things for purposes no one quite knew.

As far as Mothiva was concerned, she was a liar and a cautionary tale about not believing everything someone said just waiting to happen.

She knew a thing or two about window dressing. She was an expert, after all. Performance was her bread and butter, as an idol – you played your part well, or you got knocked out of the running, and presentation was a good chunk of that. Of course, she knew her act well. She’d had time to learn it, years of experience playing her role, and even more years of experience perfecting it.

Leipephilene – if that was even her name – was far worse of an actor. The beetle fumbled with basic niceties, even with a script, clearly making up details about names and places on the spot. She fiddled with her warhammer like it was a toy, flicked through the settings on things like any weapon wouldn’t take her finger off handled incorrectly, kept her space unorganized and barely tried to disguise that her knife almost never so much as left its sheath.

Even besides that, she couldn’t keep her story straight. She paused before revealing even the most basic of details, left holes and inconsistencies in her tales that even the most dull-minded of bugs could pick up on if they paid the slightest bit of attention. It only made it the more infuriating that the other members of the association seemed to eat it up.

Mothiva disliked her.

It didn’t help that she didn’t even have the common courtesy to answer to a name, after giving one. Even Leif usually picked up after a few calls, and his name wasn’t half as unwieldy to pronounce. It wasn’t as if having one was an obligation one had to fulfil. Mothiva herself only had a name because of the convenience it lent to branding. No, she had to pick a name that was a nightmare to say – and a pain in the ass to wrangle with.

Thankfully, she was leaving soon.

Less thankfully, Mothiva had to attend whatever she had planned on her way out.

Mothiva sat on the chair with a huff, feeling Zasp settle behind her. Stratos and Delilah had been early, surprisingly, though considering the duo, it was probably more likely that they’d just decided not to move from the afternoon’s nap. Team Ant were settled somewhere on the couch, and Team Snakemouth, unsurprisingly, were chattering each other’s ears off about something or another. She was sure she could listen in on them, of she cared to do so. From what little she could hear, it sounded like nothing of value, something about moving the couch, or whatever.

She was half-certain that the furniture had been rearranged, thinking about it now. Sweeping her gaze over the floor, she was sure that chair had been closer to the centre of the room, and wasn’t that table-

Her train of thought was interrupted as the door creaked, and her head shot up only to see Levi and Celia.

Late. Of course.

Well, at least the beetle of the hour didn’t seem to be doing any better. Nearly no sign of her, even after so long waiting. Of course, she had to add more inconvenience to the pile. Mothiva leaned back in her chair and sighed, listening to Zasp’s wings buzz as he shifted his balance. All that fuss over something important, and of course she couldn’t even bother to show up.

Click. Click. Click.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” an all-too-familiar voice said.

Mothiva turned to see Leipiphilene step into the room, hammer strapped firmly to her back. Team Snakemouth quieted down, abruptly. Mothiva saw Vi’s antenna prick as Leif sank back into his chair.

“It’s quite all right, Miss. We’re glad to have you here. It must be quite important, to draw you out so soon after that mission.” Kabbu spoke before anyone else, open and honest and half an inch shy of leaning down to bow at her claws.

Suck-up. Of course he launched into the compliments. Not like there was anything to compliment, with the bug he’d picked up on. He must’ve been one of the suckers to accept her offer of assisting missions, then. Dense bastard.

With how the moth had returned looking bruised to hell and back, her help was less than useful.

“It has been fun to work with you,” the bug agreed. “Especially after these past few days. But I’m afraid I must bring something to light. All of you have been deceived.”

Mothiva could sense the wave of tension travel through the explorers at the declaration. Confusion, worry, disbelief, questioning what she was talking about. She narrowed her eyes at the goliath beetle as Zasp shifted nervously at her side. Just what was she about to tell them?

“One of the beasts I hunt has hidden itself within your ranks.”

Shock flared outwards through the ranks. Mothiva only narrowed her eyes further. Of course. Her “hunt”, which she’d been ever so vague about. This all stunk of a scam, something made up to trick uncautious bugs into throwing away their money. Just making up an enemy that could be anything convenient to her, telling scary stories about it until bugs would pay her anything to chase it away, and reaping the rewards. She caught Delilah shifting uneasily out of the corner of her eye, muttering something to Stratos.

Hopefully, one of them had cottoned on to this being fishy. She wasn’t sure if she could speak up just yet, but if no one else pointed it out, she might have to.

“I know it may be hard to believe,” the beetle said, “but it’s merely a testament to just how well my quarry can hide itself.” She waded into the sea of explorers, uncertain bugs parting in her way and staring up at her as she spoke. “I would bet none of you suspected it, even if you knew the signs. Those I hunt are clever opponents – you have to be certain before you can know it’s them, and they know just how to hide to catch you off-guard.”

Her claw shot out like a bolt from a crossbow. Mothiva watched, all too late to intervene, as she plucked Leif up by the scruff. The moth jerked, fluttering his wings in a panic- probably a bad move, she thought, with the grip she had on him he was all too likely to tear them off. She hefted him over the crowd, delicately holding his scruff in her claws as she held him as far away from her as she could. She curled her lip as if she’d smelled something foul, maintaining as little contact with the moth as she could, like she was holding a lump of garbage that she wanted to be taken out.

“A parasite,” she said. “Hiding in plain sight.”

Mothiva watched the shock ripple outwards. Disbelief, confusion, worry, uncertainty. Leif seized against the beetle’s claws, strength abruptly redoubled as he writhed. He looked… panicked. Fearful. Mothiva’s eyes narrowed as the beetle continued.

“He’s been hiding within you for all too long,” the beetle said, pacing across the room. “Lurking, hiding, waiting. The sort of bug who plans, before it takes its host, who hunts for best place to set down its young, the best bodies to… appropriate. It’s no fault of yours, of course, that you refused to spot it. His sort is canny. Still, you need to nip this sort of problem in the bud, before you end up with a kingdom hollowed out to the husk.”

Leif was outright thrashing, now, ice spreading through his fur and turning it into a mess of icicles. Mothiva caught Delilah frowning, out of the corner of her eye, fiddling with her bazooka. Her species had a reputation for parasitism, didn’t they? Mothiva was all too aware of the static clinging to her fluff, as Zasp pressed closer.

It wouldn’t surprise Mothiva if Leif was a parasite, honestly. The moth was all too cagy about his origins, and if the stories she’d heard were any indication, the bug’d taken close to eight months to even interact with his family after first showing up. She’d assume direct family would be a bit harder to come by, when you had to track down some poor ladybug for your larvae to eat before having eggs, and it’d probably be a bit harder to track a parasite’s place of hatching, since they had the incentive to conceal it.

She hadn’t known there were parasitic moths out there. It wasn’t surprising, but it was new information – she didn’t blame him for keeping it secret, if this was the sort of reception he got. It would probably be pretty damn incriminating for his family, if he was found out.

“Leave him alone!” Vi stepped forward, baring her teeth. Mothiva was startled it’d taken her this long to butt in, really. Did she not think something was off? She fluffed her fur, buzzing her wings to put herself on a higher level. “What do you get outta accusing Leif of being a parasite, huh? He wouldn’t do anything to anyone-“

“Hush, bee.” The beetle tapped her on the nose with her free claw, shutting her muzzle with a snap. Vi looked affronted- pulling away and snarling the moment she realized, but Leipephilene ignored her and kept talking. “Your petty emotion has no place in these matters. The Leif you know wouldn’t- but the parasite would.”

She stalked in a circle, moth still held at arm’s length. Vi regathered herself behind her, puffing up her fluff even more, but whatever angry retort she yowled was lost in Leipephilene’d voice. “He’s the first I’ve seen here, but he won’t be the last. If efforts aren’t taken to root out the source of the sickness, it will only proliferate. Even now, this moth is lost – once the parasite roots in, it takes a bug’s body, eats away at their very soul until they’re nothing more than a vessel for spreading.”

She could see Leif’s wings flare, the tell-tale glimmer of magic spreading over himself as one of his bubble shields started to form. The beetle shook him by the ruff before it could form, hard enough that she could see it shatter and spray translucent shards of ice halfway across the audience.

Zasp was tense against Mothiva’s back – she could practically see the electricity jump between his claws. Delilah was fiddling with her bazooka, glancing back and forth between the beetle and Leif. Kabbu, still in the crowd, looked like he was having a crisis. Levi and Celia looked all too uncertain, and she could see Vi snarling as the bug hefted Leif higher – but no one was doing anything, even when Leif looked more and more like he was going to tear his own wings out.

Was no one going to do anything useful?

“And where’s your proof?” Mothiva asked. “How do you expect us to believe you’re telling the truth when all you’ve done is haul one of our guildmates around and made wild accusations?”

For a moment, she thought that the beetle simply hadn’t registered it. She certainly seemed… caught up, in her presentation. Thankfully, it was only a minor setback. Leipiphelene turned to her, moth still squirming frantically in her claws. Leif’s eyes locked with hers, wide and blank with terror, and she bit back a retort about how it wasn’t for him. Now wasn’t the time.

“If you’re going to tell us our teammates aren’t what they seem, you should have some grounding in reality, yes?” Mothiva’s smile had perhaps a few too many teeth in it, but in her defence, the way Leif was squirming seemed to suggest more that he thought she was going to throw him under the bus than that she was trying to help.

The beetle sighed, drooping. “I know it can be… difficult to believe, especially to their loved ones. Rest assured, their family will be compensated – it’s always sad to see one fallen. This sort of parasite is subtle enough to pass as the real thing, once it’s taken root. It’ll nestle into a bug’s brain, take control of their thoughts, wear their body like an empty shell for days, weeks, maybe even months after passing. It’ll wear their husk like a cloak to protect itself from the elements. Sadly, it’s not obvious on the outside.”

They drew their knife – a wickedly sharp black that shone dull purple in the light, and Leif went completely rigid, only trembling slightly as he looked down at the knife. “…it requires a good look at the insides.”

They drew the blade to Leif’s thorax, to an uneven patch of shell Mothiva faintly remembered being bandaged nearly two years ago. No one moved – why was no one moving? She drew the blade slowly across Leif’s chest, ignoring his shrieks of pain. Mothiva glanced around- Delilah’s rocket launcher was in her claws, Celia’s shield clutched tight. Kabbu looked like he was frozen in place, Maki-

Oh, Mothiva realized in a second of clarity. There’s nothing on hand that wouldn’t hit Leif, is there?

She could fix that.

Mothiva snapped her claws, mind going a mile a minute-

“Zasp!”

A knife imbedded into the Leipiphelene’s shell, making them choke and jerk. The knife drew across Leif’s throat as she dropped both it and him, wound deepened by his panicked flailing, and he gave a long, loud wail of pain that made Mothiva wince. That sound definitely didn’t belong to any moth she knew- but that wasn’t relevant now. Leipiphelene jerked back, turning to face Zasp.

“You-“

Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Another three knives buried in her shell. Good, solid hits. Unfortunately, they didn’t hit deep enough to really count. Mothiva’d gone up against Stratos before, she knew just how well beetles like him could tank a hit, and unfortunately, the bounty hunter was all too well-armored to really suffer from those hits. She gasped in betrayal and affront, reaching for her warhammer.

A concussive blast shattered against her shell. Delilah. Leif was out of the way enough to land some hits, then. Kabbu darted in, quicker than you’d expect from a beetle of his bulk, scooping Leif up in his claws as Vi darted in behind them, delivering two sharp blows to the back of Leiphiphelene’s knee. She teetered- but didn’t fall, pulling her warhammer from behind her back.

She raised it, and-

Mothiva had a split second to calculate just what was about to happen as she heard Zasp’s wings flicker. One moment, her hammer was poised to bear down on Kabbu and Leif, the next-

Mothiva winced as the loud crunch of shell shattering into a billion pieces broke the air. That… was certainly going to sting, later. Zasp went down, hard, and Leiphiphelene froze in place as she stared down at his shattered wings. She raised her warhammer, looking at the sparse spatters of acidic gold as if in disbelief.

That was all the opening that Maki needed to land a sword blow right across her chest.

Oh, thank fuck.

Leiphiphelene staggered back as Kina darted in, adding more blades to the handful already imbedded in her chest. Mothiva could just make out Vi darting around her ankles, stabbing needles into just about every chink she could get her claws in.

Hopefully, they had it handled.

Mothiva didn’t waste a second more before running to check on Zasp. He was still laid against the floor, breathing shallowly, spiracles sounding halfway to collapsed and shell looking in poor shape. She was faintly aware of the sounds of the other explorers speaking, combined with the sounds of battle – she’d have to check on them later. For now, Zasp was the priority.

His chitin was shattered, broken to pieces and visibly bruised where it wasn’t riddled with cracks. His thorax looked like it’d practically collapsed in on itself, crushed flat against the stone. She grimaced, assessing the damage – it wasn’t pretty, and she certainly couldn’t risk bringing him out on bodyguard duty like this. Whatever he’d gotten internally was a different matter entirely, and she’d probably have to spend hours working this out.

“Zasp,” she asked. “Zasp, are you-“

Zasp made a choked, rasping noise, scraping through the holes in his shell, before stopping and swapping to sign. He flicked “You okay,” into her palm. Mothiva huffed.

“Of course I’m okay. I’m not the one fighting. You look like you got hit with a derailed train.”

“I can fight,” he signed.

“You’re not fighting anything until your chest looks less like a pancake.” Mothiva muttered. Zasp chirped at her, the noise gurgling in his throat, and repeated the sign. Idiot. It was like he had absolutely no concept of just how little he could fight like this.

‘Survivable’ didn’t mean he could stand another fight. And another blow like that might run the risk of permanent damage.

The bugs fighting behind them were escalating to full-on yowling now, muddying the air with shrieks of whatever-the-hell they were on about. Mothiva sighed, stroking Zasp’s face.

“…rest. I’ll deal with everything else.”

Zasp made a chirp of confirmation. He sprawled across the floor – she’d have to pick him up later, of course. Taking a critical eye to it, it didn’t look like he was in any immediate danger of dying.

Mothiva raised her head to the combat and the quickly-raising volume just in time to watch Leiphiphelene turn tail and flee, Vi flinging needles after her as she went. Good riddance- Mothiva’d have to track her down later, of course, to retrieve Zasp’s knives if nothing else. Those things were expensive, and Zasp was attached to them besides. She wasn’t about to leave some beetle to drag them out into the mud.

Hopefully, they would be competent enough to make it so she didn’t have to do everything herself.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Between Dreams and Sugar

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

Synopsis: Your screams will haunt his dreams until the day he dies.

Word Count: 5.1k

Warnings: Torture, gore, angst, violence & death, suggestive joke, fluff, happy ending, rescue fic but who rescues who...>:)

A/N: Guys, I have a confession - I don't think I can write Ghost properly lmfao. This is horrifically mid.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

There was so much blood coating your body that you had forgotten where the wounds were and weren’t. It flowed from you like viscus water—a homogeneous mixture of congealed shades of red like rubies except for the simple fact that this was not beautiful; it was not desired or sought after. 

 On the ground, soaking in indistinguishable pools of crimson, ripples are sent out when your limp foot twitches mutely in its clutch. That was all you could do now. Twitch. Writhe. They didn’t even bother tying you to the chair anymore—just let you slouch half out of it like a school kid who had gotten too drunk the night before. 

Hell, you wished you were drunk. 

“Sergeant.” 

You wished you could feel your fingers. You wished you could move your neck up from its bend position as if it was a wilting flower; hair stuck to your skin. Blood dribbles out of your mouth. Drip…drop…drip…drop. 

You’d bitten your tongue open in a vain attempt to stop yourself from screaming, hadn’t you? You…you can’t quite remember.

“Sergeant!” Groaning long and low, the violent chills that wrack your form only serve to make yourself bleed out faster, tension forcing precious life fluid out from burst veins and slashed ankles. 

Cuts far span your legs and shoulders. Your back is nothing more than a painting of burns coated with sweat and infection; puss sticking you to the backrest of the chair like yellow-colored adhesive. Your clothes are the opposite idea of modesty. Tattered, torn by blades to create harm. Fuck, could you even breathe properly anymore?

Lungs only create a wheeze—you’re not getting enough oxygen to function. 

A dark growl bounces off the walls.

Ghost struggles against his binds, uniform also in a state of disarray with very obviously broken ribs and bruised chest. Splotches of yellow-white mounds signal blunt trauma over the pale skin that’s already laced with old scars. 

They’d all but anchored him to his chair—and even then the red marks that blister are a signal of the brutality of the large man as he peels back his skin to try and struggle himself out. 

You whine, the loftiness stuck in your brain addictive; to pull back that curtain was as much of a struggle as staying awake. That harsh Manchester accent was something to draw closer to, though, professionalism a key to the lock on your failing consciousness. The reminder of companionship.

“G…” Your vocal cords fizzle, “Ghost…” 

“Open your eyes.” Every word was enunciated, deep and guttural.

Parting your lips, more blood drowns your lap in thick globs, and soon your battered throat vibrates with coughs that make you see stars, mild panic the moment you realize that you can’t breathe. 

Jerking forward, you gasp, eyes snapping open as your neck bends ahead in desperation. Mucus and other bodily fluids spray over your lap, tinged scarlet, but the blockage in your throat is dispelled as your broken ribs quiver in agony. 

Whimpering like a kicked dog, you wonder how long it’ll take for Ghost to realize getting you to focus on him was pointless. If this all continued, you’d be dead within the day. 

But you entertain him.

Head slowly balking back as your jaw hangs loose, you rest it on the wooden frame behind you as softly as you’re able with a most likely concussed brain and a fractured skull. Only one eye opens, and even then it’s half-glued to your cheek with dried blood. 

Ghost’s balaclava had been ripped off. It felt wrong to see him in the open like this. Exposed. It was quite obvious he disliked it just as much as you did. 

Blue eyes blazed at you; blonde hair going this way and that as crimson fell down the swell of his Adam’s Apple from a very broken nose. That gaze was unrelenting, and even with your blurry vision, you knew it would be unwise to look away. 

His stubbled jaw sets as a heart can be seen skipping beats in his breast. You were totally out of it, enough so that you missed the way his lungs slightly released when you had pulled yourself back to the present. 

The gulping sigh.

“That’s it, Sergeant.” You cough once more, wet and haggard, and your head falls back to your chest before you have to force it back up on shaking muscles. It was getting harder. “Easy does it, then…Thought I lost you.”

“C–can’t,” the useless feet flicker over the ground, sloshing through fluid in unstable jumps as you slur out, “Hurts, Ghost.”  

A slow and dark inhalation meets your ears before a sudden grunt of a struggling body; jerking arms as the chair squeals with old nails being torn out. 

“I know, Birdie, I know.” His tone is lesser now as he bites back a curse as the blisters on his arms pop, the rope burns turning a vile color as his muscles strain, “But you keep those pretty little eyes on me, yeah?” 

It wasn’t supposed to go like this. 

Black Operations were dangerous, yeah, but never had the Lieutenant been so down in the gutter as he was right now. Mainly because of you, no, entirely because of you. He could withstand months of torture—mental and physical—with no problem. He’d done it countless times before. 

But never had he been forced to watch someone hurt you instead of him.

They would come in every day, these pitiful excuses for German drug runners, and would make him watch as they ripped open your skin with blunt knives and other tools coated in rust. Questions would be asked—questions that Ghost knew he could not answer even if it was you who would get punished. 

Every time you would flinch when the door to this concrete basement opened, it was harder to keep his tongue from wagging. He was watching you die; letting it happen. 

Fuck, it made him sick.

Ghost violently reems a shoulder up and down, not caring about the long stripes of now oozing blood on his forearms or the pain that the action brings bone-deep. There was so much scarlet flowing from you. Too much.

What he knows for certain is that he can’t let you die here. He’d never forgive himself for that.

How is she still conscious? The question was utterly genuine as Ghost’s dead eyes narrowed dangerously, sparking with urgency at the uneven risings and fallings from your chest. 

“Fucking hell,” the Lieutenant growls, each word punctuated by a desperate attempt to free himself. He had to get you out of this. You were his responsibility; his team. 

His…Ghost pants, sweat dripping down his arms.

You didn’t abandon him, how could he do the same to you? When questioned you hadn't given up his true name, hadn’t blabbered to save your own skin so you could avoid a horrible amount of pain. Pain that Ghost knew well. 

Pain that was never supposed to be known to you.

Your screams would haunt his nightmares until the day he died. 

“Ghost,” blue eyes freeze, snapping away from the sight of the bone around his wrists becoming visible through a thin coverage of remaining flesh. He pauses like a guard dog. Your optic was glinting, flicking with failing consciousness. The movement of your chest sputtered as the man clenched his teeth together. “You’re hurtin’ yourself.” 

“‘Bout to do even more damage, yeah?” he gets back to it, working enough blood into the rope to make it slick; dripping. “If it’ll get me out of these bastard things.” 

The weak smirk on your face gives his brows a deep furrow, sweat glistening on his forehead.

A part of him hated you. Hated you for the way you had this effect on him. He shouldn’t care if you lived or died—that wasn’t his cross to carry. 

But you’d made him soft these last few months. Soft, and weak, and disgustingly concerned for your safety. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t Ghost. 

“Gonna b…bleed out, y’know.” Your tongue slips, mind so loose that anything that comes to the front slips out like water from a slip-and-slide. Fingers twitching, your limp body grows so cold that you shiver. 

“Negative.” Ghost barks, slipping one hand partially under the restraint and his flesh, acting as a zipper, starts to go with it. He hisses under his breath, body hot and spilling. Mutilating himself. “Shut your damn gob.” Blood splatters to the floor, “I’m gettin’ us out of ‘ere.”

“Tell me a joke.” Blue eyes flicker, blonde lashes slipping over pale cheeks. 

You feel another wave of pain shutter through you—one that makes you whimper as quietly as a soft breeze on a summer day. 

“Joke?” Ghost hisses, glaring over at you without heat. “The fuck are you on about?” A wobbling eyebrow raise is all he gets. 

He grunts feral-like, evocative of a bear that hadn’t gotten his supper. Your lid droops and panic spikes.

“How long can a fish breakdance for?” Ghost slips a hand free, snarling in the back of his mouth as the entirety of his left hand is left ripped open, the fissures itchy and welling. Wasting no time, the limb goes to assist the other, pulling with ripped-off fingernails at the tight knot. A side-eye is sent your way.

Only you weren't moving. Lips snap in a moment of obvious concern, not only by the tone but by the way the man jerks forward in the chair—no matter if one arm and both of his legs were still restrained.

“Love!” The door handle rattles with screeching chains, but Ghost is occupied with raging at you. Ordering you to stay awake with terrifying eyes. It was as though for the first time in a long time there was true fear in his throat. True hatred. 

Chucking voices heat veins that he had long since thought were cold, and the Lieutenant composes himself with a sharp pause. He leans back slowly into the chair; jaw so tight his molars almost crack in the back of his mouth like candy. Your face is tilted downward, and Ghost memorizes the make of it, trails his gaze slowly over every slash and cut that mars you. Feet slap off the concrete as multiple people enter the room, but it was like a switch had flipped internally, walls going up.

The mask was still there, even if all that physically remained of it was the black paint in his sockets.

He’d return every mark, from a bruise to an open wound, tenfold. But you needed to wake up first. You…you needed to.

You had to be okay.

Three men encircle the two of you, faces hidden and obviously enjoying a bit of their own product.

“Look at this, Lutz, the man got a hand out of the binding.” Blue eyes travel to stare dead-on into a pair of blown pupils; mind gone. 

The second man goes to grip your hair, forcing your head up in inspection. Ghost’s vision immediately travels over, biceps going tense like a dog with its hackles raised and vision going red. 

“Don’t worry about that. It’s one hand, what can the Bastard do?”

“Oh,” another laughs, though his body is wound tight, “careful with the woman, Alric—the beast looks like he’s about to snap at you.”  

The three share sly looks. Alric, the one with your hair in his grip, shakes your head back and forth, blood flying around in the air as your limp body jerks. Ghost lunges, but he only makes it as far as the chair allows him before he’s shoved back by a hand on his chest. 

Moving quicker than an animal, bone snaps, and an agony-laced scream echoes off the walls not a millisecond later. 

Ghost had gripped that hand and twisted, making the wrist joint completely flip on itself. Blank blue eyes watch with glints of sadistic glee as the man wails, grabbing onto himself and falling back onto his ass.

The one holding you instantly releases your hair and rushes to his friend. 

“Holy fuck!” Everyone divulges into frantic German curses, Ghost making out a command to leave and go see a doctor.

“Cheers. Good luck with that, ya’ Bastard.” Grumbling under his breath, the Lieutenant realized he was probably enjoying this more than he should, but always his attention shifts back to you. How you hang limb, battered face covered by your hair, and loss of blood steadily leaving your hands curling into the palms—

Ghost’s eyes widen slightly as the two still try and calm down their companion. Your hand. It wasn’t curled because of onset rigor mortis. You were holding a blade. 

The Brit’s large chest swells with pride; jaw going somewhat slackened as he stares at you. So you were faking it….Fucking hell, Sweetheart. 

Slowly, his vision peels to the empty sheath on Lutz’s belt. It wasn’t a big knife—nothing more than a three-inch blade on the end. But you were still conscious enough to hear these goons show up before he had; had used sleight of hand that anyone else in your situation would have just given up on. 

It was hard to hold back a low chuckle, but he managed. Fuck, you were something else.

The two unmaimed men shove the third out the door, shouting down the hallway as his sobs and sniffling nose reverberate even as he’s out of sight. 

Grunting, the Brit shifts his hips, lips pulling in a snarl at the bouncing electrical wire that goes up his ribs. Many were broken; along with his nose and a dislocated shoulder, but he knows he can deal with it. Getting you out and to the Evac point was his top priority—his wounds weren’t over-the-top life-threatening unless they went too long without treatment. 

You on the other hand. 

Lids narrow on the way the knife-holding hand shakes with exertion when simply applying pressure. If this was going to happen, it had to happen now.

“That was a nice little show,” Alric growls, standing in the middle of the two in the chairs and keeping a considerable distance farther from Ghost than you. Blue eyes blink blankly, emotions swiftly wiped away. “One-handed? I’m impressed.” 

Ghost raises a single blonde eyebrow, “More where that came from.” 

Alric smiles.

“Emil—get the gun.” Legs slowly tense, but other than that there’s no outward display of nervousness. 

Seconds later a barrel is level with Ghost’s forehead, the chilled metal pressing deep into his blood-coated skin. He doesn’t balk back, he doesn’t even flinch, just watches with a dim flicker in his optics that remains even after he blinks. Like a cat’s slitted pupils. 

It would be no use shoving the gun out of this man’s hands—he would fire before the Lieutenant was able to steal the weapon for himself. 

“I’m getting sick of this game, Soldier. We’ve been through this day after day.” Alric swipes at his nose, white powder stuck under his nostrils. Ghost can’t stop the small tick of his mouth. “Tell me who you are,” the gun swivels, and the Brit’s heart seizes up. It points at your abdomen. “Or the girl gets a nice new stomach.” 

Lips thin into a small line as hidden fury swells. 

“Alric…” Emil seems nervous, his feet shifting and hands twitching. The aura Ghost was emitting was like a dark cloud around the room; sheer size and indistinguishable emotions rose to drown out all else when a threat to the beast’s bird was brought into the picture. There had been multiple times throughout the days when the men had been scared to touch you at all for fear of the look that had been leveled their way. Those eyes…fuck it was like a demon was stuck in flesh. In blue so close to gray the color was more like the concrete of a prison cell. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” 

“Tell me.” Alric growls as Emil gets closer to you. Ghost stays silent, unblinking as his fingers curl into fists. His knuckles crack from the force. “Tell me!”

Emil bushes your shoulder and you lunge. Bringing the blade into his chest, your form brings the both of you to the floor in a splash of scarlet and twin screams of pain. 

The Blonde’s heart seizes at the sound in an aggressive bounce.

Alric whips around, eyes widened and gun loose in his grip. Ghost wastes no time, trusting your judgment, and shoves himself forward. A shot goes off as the Lieutenant rams his shoulder into the man, but the bullet bites into the far wall instead of your back as you dig your knife into Emil’s throat; wrestling for life. 

The chair still attached to Ghost was a problem, but his body weight was used to his advantage. Sinew bunched as a growl exits his lips, Alric and him slamming to the floor in a flurry of rabid intentions and the likeness of wolves caught in a trap. Ghost’s eyesight goes red, remembering every cut and beating you went through for him in the reflection of Alric’s eyes. That pathetic drug runner had made you bleed. 

His bird doesn’t bleed.

Teeth and nails are tools kept for animals, and now that the gun was too far from grip and you were limp beside the gargling body of Emil, Ghost decided that being a bit insane might do him well at the moment. 

He had to get you out of here. And in no world was this man going to get away to live one day more.

“Please, don’t,” Alric begs, clawing at his behemoth build, “I’m not—I wasn’t—!” 

Blood-stained teeth snap into the thin flesh of a visible neck as dead blue eyes keep you in sight like a dog does the moon.

—

You don’t recall anything after slashing one man’s neck and even that is a blur of flashing colors; instances of one waxing expression waning into another. Trapped between bouts of failing consciousness and pain that could rival someone getting their bones snapped one by one. 

But you know the feeling of moss on your cheek. The shadow that sits above you and the fingers that prod at your back, pressing cooling salves of Silverweed into the burns and cuts. Your eyes weakly flicker, a low moan stuck in your throat. 

Every limb is a cinder block.

“Stop your moving.” The command was stiff but quiet, and the pressure on your spine increased. Flinching, the sensation of tight bindings all along your body became apparent to you, slowly but surely. 

“That…hell?” You cough, throat bare and dry. Sweat drips down your temple. 

Blinking rapidly, you try to focus on the cold wind whipping past your bare skin, the trees in the distance of what appeared to be a glade. The sound of a running stream makes your ears perk.

A canteen was suddenly shoved to your lips and you grunt in surprise, water slicking your closed lips.

“Drink.” You don’t argue, peeling back your lips and letting the liquid drip into your mouth, most falling to the moss under you and getting re-adsorbed into the earth. “...There’s a girl.” 

The metal container disappears just as quickly as it showed up, and you lick at the corner of your lips, cheeks burning at the comment.

Ghost kneels above you, bar a shirt, and you narrow your lids to focus on the black and blue splotches completely covering him. He still doesn’t have a mask, and you glance over the blonde stubble; the scars, and the aggressive set of his eyebrows. The blood had been washed away, and you wondered if the stream in the background of this place was still stained with crimson and the telltale black of eye paint.

“Simon,” whispering seemed appropriate, though you don’t know why. Your voice was better now but still, your body refused to listen to your instructions. Every plea to move your arms or legs was denied, sharp needles poking into your flesh that made you shake. “What…?” 

Blue eyes blink down at you, something hidden in the depths. A finger curls to flick a stray hair from your face slowly. Skin brushes skin.

“Snagged what I could before I ran off. Wasn’t much.” That harsh voice, the gravel in it. You frown weakly, your lids heavy. “Bandages. Extra shirt. Blanket I used to stop the bleeding.”

He won’t tell you he was begging you to wake up when he’d been stuffing old fabric into your open wounds. 

Coughs wrack your frame, whole body jerks that overtake what little peace there was to be found. A hand tilts your head back to the ground, patient as the other grabs your hair, peeling the strands away as a flood of vomit escapes your mouth. 

Eyes burning and face hot, you sputter as a thumb runs deep circles over your scalp. 

“Easy…” Ghost whispers, tattoos like obsidian in the darkness of the world around the two. Late afternoon and this was the first time you’d woken up since he’d been carrying you. A nail was taken out of his heart. 

Seeing your eyes flicker, even filled with the tears as they were, was a blessing he’d thank whatever God that was out there for. “Easy, Sweetheart. Breathe for me.”

“Fuck,” you gasp, shaking more than a leaf. “Fuck it hurts, Simon.” 

He shifts you slightly away from the bile, the familiar words burning his lungs. 

“Evac point is four miles.” It felt like a death sentence to you, your eyes going buggy at the thought. “I’m carrying you there.” 

“Bullshit,” you pant, wheezing. “Your arms are destroyed.” 

Ghost blinks before scowling, sending a glance to his limbs. They’re both raw and skinned, just like his fingers; red with burst blisters the size of rocks. One hurts far more than the other.

“They’re nothing.” 

“Nothing pretty to look at,” blue eyes narrow on you in annoyance, but the dry-humored Brit doesn't miss a beat.

“Seems you’re in good spirits, Sergeant. Fancy walking on your own?” Your lips flick, delirious and high off of whatever pain meds that Ghost had found when he had been carrying you out of the basement of that house. 

Try as he might, the feeling of your dead weight was worse than he ever could have imagined. So, outwardly, he stayed numb but knew that every little look from you was as beautiful as a sunrise. 

“Want me to try?” Palms begin to shift, a hand pressing deep into the moss that bends and yields to your form. 

Ghost snaps forward.

“Fucking Bastard!” He puts weight on the back of your shoulder as you hiccup dull chuckles, “Quit it! Else I’ll leave you here to annoy the damn plants.”

The threat was empty, and your eyes softened as they spread their fatigued gaze over the span of the Brit’s visible skin, glee leaking out. Ghost sighs, shaking his head sharply at you, agitation stuck in his skull as it always was.

So beastly, this man, but his hold on you was about as gentle as you could imagine. 

Your attraction to him was anything but one-sided. You knew his emotions as well as your own; it was quite obvious to everyone but him. The long looks, the concerned glances. His touch freely given.

He had given you his name and, to you, that was about as close to a proposal as a ring was. You’d kissed; you’d shared beds and shared skin. You knew when he was being horrible to himself deep in the confines of his head.

“Simon,” you whisper, and a blue gaze stays stubbornly away, glaring at your burns with venom. A tired smile peels your lips. “Simon.” 

A huff is all you get, a bush of skin as breath wafts over your bare back. Your hand goes to touch his knee, brushing softly over the torn fabric. The flinch would not be noticeable to anyone but you. Brows pull slightly tighter. 

“I had a dream about you, y’know.” Speaking hurt, but the attention that is finally brought your way was worth it. Birds chirp in the distance.

“What’s that?” 

“Hm,” you lightly nod, cheek ruffling moss as you take down slow inhalations. Staring into each other’s eyes you for a moment forget the agony under your skin. “You were trapped by a giant fish underwater.” 

A Blonde eyebrow raises, slow smirk unable to be hidden. It was impossible not to be entirely taken by you. How you speak, how you breathe. Even like this, you had placed a spell of black magic over him, binding the darkness that made up Simon Riley—Ghost—to your every action and whim.

“That right, Sweetheart? What happened, then?”

Chuckling, Ghost’s hold goes to your neck, massaging the skin so delicately that you lose your train of thought for a moment as shivers erupt, “I had to save you.”  

Lips press to your scalp, a bent nose digging despite the shifting cartilage as lion limbs shake with a want to drag you to him. Such a rabid beast that devotes himself to your life.

“You tend to do a lot of the savin’, Love.” It’s muttered into your hair, softly, lowly. Compliments are rare—Ghost prefers actions above all else—but they’re treasured. 

You know what he means.

“Yeah, I love you, too, you brute.” Deep chuckles dance in your ear, and you both stay there for a while, simply breathing in each other as the sky bleeds into the earth. So content, your heart had slowed, the salve in your wounds and the bandages compressing the areas with the most problems and forcing them to be numb. 

When you had nearly fallen asleep, Ghost had peeled back to look down at you; eyes malleable as they slipped over your battered body. 

“Hm,” he hums, reaching to his side and grabbing for the shirt he had stolen. After a few minutes of quiet curses and apologetic kisses, the large piece of fabric was over your top. The Lieutenant had begrudgingly admitted that the scraps of pants you had on now would have to do until you got proper attention. 

“Giving the squirrels a show, then, Simon?” The man rolls his eyes deeply at the sarcastic comment, rubbing up and down your legs to keep circulation going as he readies to move you.

“They better keep quiet ‘bout it,” Ghost grumbles, running a hand through his hair, “Else I’ll have to rip a few tails.”

“So violent,” You wince when your shoulder is gripped, neck limp as your upper half was rotated. Gnashing your teeth, the Lieutenant shushes you comfortably, raising your body to rest in the crook of his large arm. Muscles tense and loosen, your cheek now resting on your Lover’s pec. You hear him hiss silently at the pressure on his broken ribs as guilt hits you. “Not the squirrels’ fault.” 

“It is if they keep looking at ya. Only I get to see you like that.” Your pain-laced laugh is cut off when you’re lifted, large hands under your knees helping equalize your body. 

A strained whine exits your lips, straining to get air as you pant and clench your eyes shut. Ghost wasn’t doing much better—gritting his teeth and tilting his head back. 

Feet stumble before righting themselves, lids opening as lashes flutter over bloodless cheeks to stare down at you. 

The word seems to stop.

“...Tell me you’re alright.” You heard that for what it was—Tell me to keep going, because if you don’t then I won’t be able to. 

Blinking up at him, your nose slots under his chin as you feel him shake with exertion, lips pressing deep into his raging pulse. You swallow down saliva as his grip on you tightens, pressing you closer; giving you his body heat.

“I’m okay, Simon. Not…not lost yet.” 

“Good.” He lets his eyes close for a moment, taking you in as he lets his nose be coated in your scent, the flesh under his fingertips. Ghost knows some of your wounds reopen, and, thus, his bare feet start off into the woods. His men would still be at the Evac point waiting for them. Price would have given the order. “...I’ll be needing you ‘round. Might lose my head otherwise, eh?”

“You do seem to have a few loose screws when I’m not near.” 

“That was an exaggeration,” Simon grumbles. 

You scoff, trying not to puke at his limping steps. The word swirls, but the man carrying you stays ever clear. “No,” you whisper, “No, it wasn’t.”

Scared lips pull up, but the birds respond for him. 

Less than ten percent out from the Evac point is when you drop a tidbit of a thought to the man.

“Y’know what I want, Ghost?” The large Brit side-steps a downed tree, sweat dripping down his chin to splatter to your skin.

“What is it?” He pants, sparing you a glance as his eyebrows are constantly furrowed in concentration. Your talking made it easier to push on.

“A fucking cake. A big one.” Blue eyes blink and his feet nearly stumble to a stop before he forces on. A gasp of a chuckle makes your heart skip a beat as voices start up from the next tree line.

“Keep talking to me, Love, and I’ll buy you the whole bloody bakery.” Soldiers burst from the bushes, and Ghost calls out identification as everyone gapes. Guns immediately lower.

Medics rush forward, but still on high alert, the Lieutenant snaps at them, bringing you closer into his hold as he pushes onward. 

“Where’s the fucking heli?!” Everyone stops and points. Huffing, Ghost shoves forward. 

“The whole bakery?” You slur, giggling and feeling the kiss on your head. 

“Every bastard pastry’ll be yours. Count on it.” 

—

“Simon, you promised.” Your wheel-chair bound form pouts as the man in question deadpans from behind you, leaning on the handles. His balaclava can only hide so much.

The air is sweet with the scent of desserts and bread. 

“Birdie, you can’t eat all ‘O that, you’ll explode like you took a .308 round to the head.” The woman behind the counter pales, pulling at the collar of her shirt with her smile becoming strained.

“Is that a challenge?” You glance over your shoulder, smirking wide. 

“No,” Simon blanky states, the skin over his nose bridge and under-eye completely black and blue. 

“I think that was a challenge.” 

“It wasn’t.”

The customers grind their palms into their eye sockets, some tuning around in line and leaving entirely.

“Simon,” you intertwine your hands and lean to show him, eyes wide and pleading. “Please.” Drawing out the word, you smile with everything you can. 

The both of you connect in a battle of wills—you with that infectious innocent and sly nature, and Simon with a tight glare and tired eyes. A blatant will to please you in every aspect and a need to see you happy at all times. This goes on for a full minute before a loud sigh echoes off the walls, shoulders deflating. A hidden kiss is pressed firmly to your head.

You giggle loudly at the authoritative order.

“One of everything.”

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[feraltragedy]

Ok, here it is, my very first fic! Sorry if it's absolute dog water. Bad sense of humor and a Foy Vance quote ahead.

Unholy Throne

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader

CW: language, smut, oral m&f receiving, p in v, unprotected sex, adult themes, mild(?) Drug use (weed), mild injury (no blood or gore)

I think that's about it for warnings. 18+ MDNI

You had been friends with the boys for a few years now. Your friendship with Noah being unusually close, but nobody seems to bat an eye at the snuggling and occasional innocent flirting. It was commonplace for you to sit on his lap and even share a bed, but the closeness and flirting was only when it was the two of you or just the other boys around, never in public or around outsiders. You saw Noah as something more, you wanted more. But there's no way he sees you more than his feral little bestfriend. Right?

Bad Omens is on hiatus and you're taking a bit off from work to spend time with them. Today, it’s hanging out at their house with a few friends. You sport a cute black pleated skirt that falls mid thigh with a light baggy sweater that is honestly too loose as it keeps slipping off of one shoulder or the other. Not your usual go-to but youre feeling sassy, and everyone can tell with your spicy attitude. The blunt being passed around earlier only adding fuel to that fire.

Everyone is in the backyard already except for Folio, who needs a sandwich before he wastes away to nothing. You're standing leaned against the counter after making your drink, watching Noah rummage through the fridge for the third time in the last thirty minutes. He seems a bit antsy today. He has asked you twice now if you want to change into one of his hoodies, as if it's tedious to him that you keep pulling it back up on your shoulders.

You pull the sweater again just as Noah is closing the fridge and he sees out of the corner of his eye.

“Go upstairs and change into my hoodie.”

“I'm good, thank you though.”

“I wasn't asking, Y/N, go change.”

His firm tone caught you a little off guard, and he's sporting that scolding look on his face. Your sassy mood has flipped to bratty before you even realize it. Normally,you would never defy him and “no” wasn't even in your vocabulary.

“No.”

The kitchen fell eerily silent. Folio’s sandwich crafting came to a halt and you can see him in the corner of your eye looking like a timid cat. But your eyes never left Noahs and his never left yours. He subtly tilted his head, now narrowing his eyes in disbelief, and slowly steps towards you like a predator hunting prey. It's intimidating, but you maintain your bratty facade despite feeling like a cornered rabbit in front of a wolf.

“What was that? I don't think I heard you correctly.”

He was standing directly in front of you now, so close you can feel his breath fan across your face with each angry exhale.

“No.”

The tension is palpable. Folio has abandoned his perfect sandwich and is slipping out the back door. Noah's focus is trained on you. There's a glint in his eye but you can't quite decipher it. In his silence you speak again.

“I said no. What are you gonna do about it big boy, hmm? You gonna spank me…, daddy?”

Maybe it's just the weed, or maybe it's the way he's looking at you, but youre feeling taller than the trees right now. The way his eyes darkened at the new nickname did not go unnoticed by you. He's fully pressed against you now,your backside pressed to the counter. Fighting the urge to slide your leg up to his hip is almost a losing battle. You realize you are way in over your head and try to look anywhere but at the god before you. A tattooed hand comes up to rest on your neck, thumb and pointer finger gripping your chin to force you to keep your eyes on him.

“Real fucking bold, princess. Sweet thing has been bratty all day, now you wanna act shy.”

You bite your tongue to stifle a whimper. You're about to break right here in this kitchen while all your friends are right outside. Noah is just about to speak again when Matt swings the back door open. He comes in and grabs Folios' forgotten sandwich for him, you guess he had told Matt he was too afraid to retrieve it himself.

“You guys gonna join us outside or what?”

“Y-yeah sure, of course.” You stammer out as you manage to squeeze out of Noah’s grip and hurry to the door without looking back.

You see everyone sitting around the table carrying on a conversation and try to calm yourself as you approach to join them. Another blunt is being passed around and you are instantly relieved, no way you make it another second with your fast fading buzz. You take a hit and think to yourself that's why you were just in the previous situation, but now the dominos have already begun and you won't make it through the evening stone cold sober.

Noah hasn't given you a second look since he came outside just after you did. Maybe he doesn't feel the same and you're just reading it all wrong. Maybe it was a hallucination. Ruffilo taps your foot lightly with his to get your attention.

“You good? You looked a little far away there for a second.”

“I’m good, just trying to put off going to the bathroom. The weed makes my legs feel funny. I’m gonna go now though” you give a little laugh and head inside.

Your underwear is still a little wet from your book-tok moment with Noah so you just slide them off from under your skirt and toss them in the hamper. Your dirty clothes are in there anyways since you spent the last two nights there. The high hits real good just as you leave the bathroom. The memory of earlier fuzzy and at the back of your mind. As you make it back outside, its practically completely forgotten.

Jesse must have got here while you were upstairs, and is now sitting where you were before you got up. No big deal, you can just sit on Noah’s lap and steal someone else's seat whenever they get up. But as you go to lower yourself, a big hand is on your butt, pushing you back up. Confused, you turn to look at Noah as he looks at you with a hint of mischief on his face, so subtle you almost missed it.

“No.” Noah spoke plainly.

“What?”

“No.” A smirk played on his pretty lips this time and the memory is coming back to you. He's getting back at you for saying no.

If you could feel your face you're certain you would feel the blush that had to be creeping up at the memory. Hopefully the dim light from the nightfall will hide it from everyone else. You don't have to dwell on it too much longer as Folio is apparently starving despite that big ass sandwich he ate.

“Let’s go to the pizza buffet!”

The munchies must have its tendrils in everyone because the agreement is unanimous. You didn't even consider the amount of people versus the amount of seats in the van until Matt spoke up as everyone was getting ready to load up.

“We are one more person than there are seats. Y/N, you will have to sit in Noah’s lap.”

You're suddenly very aware of your choice to forgo underwear beneath your skirt. Your sweater slips down your shoulder and Noah audibly huffs as you pull it back up.

“Folio can sit on Jesse or Jolly! Just because I'm the shortest one here doesn't mean I have to be the one with a human for a booster seat every time there's too many people!”

Matt is over it and just got in the driver's seat. Most of the guys laughed in amusement. Folio threw his hand up in bewilderment but Noah cut him off before he could protest being the one with a human for a booster seat.

“Y/N get in the van now, you can have your tantrum after we get back.”

His tone was yet again firm, only this time you didn't dare disobey. You were, however, feeling just bold enough.

“Yes sir.”

He didn't give you a chance to see any reaction to the title, if there was any. He was climbing into the van with you in tow. With everyone in their seats, Matt took off in the direction of the pizza buffet. You would be thrilled to be on your favorite seat if your current wardrobe, or lack thereof, was not a situation of its own.

The trip is only two minutes in and the feeling of Noah’s breath on your neck is making your head swim. His hands rest on the tops of his thighs, on either side of your hips. Their warmth radiates through the thin fabric of your skirt, warming your skin that has been cooled by the chilly night air. You’re suddenly aware of your weight on his lap, the way his body perfectly fits under you, how inviting his torso feels against your back, the steadiness of the breaths fanning your neck and shoulder where your sweater slipped down again. The streetlights are the only glow in the night, you wonder if you can sneak a peek at how they illuminate his face. Before you can attempt to turn your head the tires screech and the van comes to an abrupt stop. The force of the hard braking caused you to slide forwards a few inches on Noah’s lap.

“Who the fuck pulls out in front of someone like that! If i hadn't been paying attention we woulda crashed right into those assholes! Everyone ok?

Immediately giving reassurance, voices rang with “yeah”s and “all good”s. A strong arm wraps around your waist and a warm hand slides under your thigh, pulling you back into place. Noah’s arm holds you tighter against his torso than you were previously. You felt secure.

He adjusted the hand under your thigh and you now realize there is nothing between your skin and his. The new placement puts his fingers just inches from your core, where the skin of your thigh is the softest. You try to ignore the thoughts you've had about those very fingers during lonely late nights chasing your orgasm. You're trembling ever so slightly, hoping he doesn't notice, or at least will blame it on the near accident. Your hopes are snuffed out as Noah chuckles lowly in your ear, which makes you clench around nothing. The way you are positioned so perfectly on his lap, you just know he had to pick up on it.

He leans his head in so the tip of his nose is just touching the shell of your ear. Somehow his breathing is still steady. You try to match your breaths with his to steady yours. He gives your thigh a squeeze and all hope of not letting him know the effect he has on you is completely gone. You're gone. You grind down on him, despite your own mental protest. He gasps so quietly that only you can hear it, the hand under your thigh maintains a tight grip. Your hands find the tops of his thighs, you grip tightly in an attempt to keep a hold onto reality. What you didn't expect was for his hips to roll up into yours which has you seeing stars.

Thankful now for the loud debate happening amongst all the boys about who knows what, as a small groan rumbled out of your chest. Your head lulls back and Noah’s lips ghost up your neck and settle on your ear. His breaths are now short and uneven. Maybe you weren't hallucinating, did you really have this effect on him?

“Need to feel how wet you are.” His whisper barely audible in the midst of all the other voices. It sounded needy, despirate.

You turned your head more towards him unsure if you could even speak coherently. “Please, Noah, please.”

“We're here!”

All euphoria Is ripped from your body like a bandaid and Matt's abrupt announcement has you stone cold sober. You look out the window of the van and see you have in fact arrived at the pizza buffet. Right, how could you forget the place is only about ten minutes from the house.

Everyone has piled out of the van and into the restaurant. You and Noah both wear flushed faces, praying to any deity that will take pity on you for nobody to ask about it. The adrenaline coursing through your veins masks your appetite but you know it's been a while since you've eaten, besides the pizza options actually look decent.

After you've all ate your fill, Folio enough for him and a horse, it's time to load back up into the cramped van. You take your place on your unholy throne, no argument and definitely no funny business this time. Mind racing a mile a minute, what were you thinking letting those events unfold in such close quarters with people you both spend so much time with. You can't wait to get out of there but the ride back now seems three times as long.

Back at the house bodies are scrambling to get clear of Folio's noxious gas bomb that could level a small city. Any lingering lust you may have had is definitely extinguished after that near death experience. You make a mental note to look on ebay for a gas mask. You're certain he should have to register his ass as a biological weapon.

You make your way to the kitchen, the greasy pizza wreaking havoc on your reflux. The tums aren't on the counter where you last put them. Of course someone put them with the other medicines on the top shelf in the cabinet. You're the only one that can't reach the shelf so none of the others would have given it a second thought.

The others are nowhere in sight. It's late, they are probably heading to bed after a night of beer, weed and pizza. You secretly hoped Noah would appear behind you to assist your reaching the tums, but alas, you're alone. Hoisting yourself up into the counter you finally reach what you need. Sliding one leg back off the counter you slip a bit on the material of your skirt causing your other leg to come down without an ounce of grace. A stinging on your shin brings your attention to the bright red scrape left in the wake of the counters edge.

“What happened, you ok?”

Noahs voice breaks your attention away from examining the stinging scrape.

“Yeah, just a little scrape. I couldn't reach the tums.”

“Why didn't you wait for me to help you? Let me take care of that.”

“I didn't know where you were, I assumed everyone had gone off to bed. And ‘that’ is fine I promise, just a scrape.”

You must have not heard him say he was going to the bathroom when you got back over the jokes about Folio playing the gluteal tuba. He tells you to let him just take a look anyways and you oblige him, following him upstairs to his room. You lean against the gaming desk as he lowers Himself to his knees to get a better look. Holding your calf in his hand to pull your leg closer, you can't help but be amused by the goofy look on his face.

“Oh yeah, I'll have to amputate this immediately!”

You laugh at his exaggerated demeanor.

“Nah you were right, you will be ok princess. No surgery tonight, just a kiss for it, doctor's orders!”

He plants a gentle barely-there kiss near the scrape on your shin. But his hands and lips are migrating up your legs

“I think that should cover it, doctor.” You giggle out.

“The doctor has left the building princess.” The playful look in his eyes has been replaced by something you can only describe as hunger.

That familiar sensation ignites your bones, making your head swim as you feel his lips on your mid thigh. His breath fans under your skirt along with his hands that have now reached your bare hips. It's easy to get lost in the clouds, Noah kneeling before you, igniting your skin like petrol soaked paper and fireworks.

His hand hooks under your thigh, lifting your leg and resting the bend of your knee on his shoulder. He looks up to you as if to see any hesitation. Finding none in your hooded eyes he dives in. A deliberate stripe of his tongue knocks the wind out of your lungs. Your hands weave into his hair as his movements become more that of a starving animal.

Your supporting leg starts to feel weak, orgasm already approaching due to the all day teasing. Noah must have taken notice, he effortlessly lifts you just enough to seat your ass on the edge of the desk. He wastes no time continuing his feast, only this time he inserts two fingers, almost immediately perfecting his position and rhythm. Both legs thrown haphazardly over his shoulders, palms on the desk defying your wavering muscles to hold your torso up.

Your skirt has bunched and rolled up, revealing the Roman artwork in front of you. Noah's big hands wrapped so perfectly around your thighs, fingertips indenting the soft skin like a Bernini sculpture. He groans when your thighs clamp around his head and it sounds like heaven. His pace is steady, the sensation of his mouth and fingers almost too much. An orgasm crashes over you like a tsunami and your arms can no longer hold you up, leaving you on your back.

He hasn't slowed down his movements despite how sensitive you are. Now it is overwhelming. The sensation is painfully delicious and your hips have a mind of their own as you ride his face into your next orgasm. His movements have come to a halt, but he stays in place to await you to still.

It seems irrational to think you could drown someone this way, but that thought crosses your mind anyways. You didn't even know it was possible to squirt outside of the few times you managed to make yourself. His hands move to the insides of your thighs just above your knees and you can hear his ragged breathing.

Those signs of life being all the confirmation you needed, you gather your strength and raise yourself up to get him in your line of sight. He hasn't let go of you but he is now sitting back onto the heels of his feet. He looks at you in awe and any insecurities you felt have vanished.

Raising up to stand he puts one hand on the back of your neck and the other on your thigh. His lust blown eyes never leaving yours. Both panting breathlessly.

“That. Was. Beautiful. So good princess.”

His lips are on yours for the first time and the taste of you on them is sinful. Tongues dancing, your legs wrap around his waist pulling him closer. You can feel the effect you have on him and grind against his erection. The heightened sensitivity causing you to moan which Is entombed by his lips. Your fingers tug at the hem of his shirt, urging him to take it off. You don't get to revel in the beauty of the tattoos littering his perfect skin as he moves in to pull your sweater over your head. Swiftly, he removes your lace bralette.

“You're a pro at that Noah, I didn't know taking off a bra was such a skill.”

“Surely you didn't think the only skill my fingers have is playing guitar?”

“If I did I definitely don't now.”

With that he wraps your legs around his waist and lifts you up. He sits on the bed and you are once again on your unholy throne. His skin is hot against your bare chest. One of your hands holds onto his bicep, the other ghosting fingertips over his neck. You've always admired the tattoos there. You seize the opportunity and plant kisses from his lips, along his jaw, and down the side of his neck.

There isn't an ounce of shyness in you now. Your hand leaves his bicep to tug on his hair, tilting his chin up and better exposing his neck. You kiss, lick, and nip at the skin to your heart's content. Making your way down his chest and stomach, you mentally map every inch of skin and ink. Upon reaching the waistband of his pants you return the look in search of permission. His face still painted with desire and hunger, he licks his pretty lips and nods his head. You undo the button and tug Down his pants and underwear just enough.

Nice cock.

You mimic his move with a deliberate tongue stripe up his length before taking him between your lips. Hollowing out your cheeks on the way up elicits the sweetest moan from him. Wanting to hear more You pick up your pace, your tongue and lips perfectly harmonized, now drawing out the prettiest moans you've ever heard. This 6’3 heavily tattooed metal head is coming undone beneath you. His hands are in your hair and he's a moaning mess.

A hand moves to the side of your face signaling you to stop. Before you can question him he speaks and it sounds like begging, almost whimpering.

“Gonna make me cum. Need to feel you.”

“Yes sir.”

He all but growls, standing as you do. He captures your lips in a needy kiss, one hand still gripping your hair. Your hands all over him before tugging at his pants. He breaks the kiss to remove what's left of his clothing. You reach for the waistband of your skirt but he is quick to stop you.

“Nu uh, keep this pretty thing on. It's been driving me insane since you put it on, I couldn't stop thinking about fucking you in it and now I'm going to.” He puts his hands on your hips to turn your back towards him. “Turn around, want you to ride me like I'm your throne. I know how much you love sittin’ on me princess.”

His statement would have made you blush if you weren't so empowered by your own lust. You follow his lead, waiting for him to be seated before claiming your throne. Sinking down on him slowly you try to find the balance between adjusting to him and fucking yourself dumb on his dick.

Once fully seated you pause to breathe for a moment. You refrain from quoting Olaf about being impaled. His arms wrap around you and he leans his chest into your back. His lips against your ear, breath hot against your skin, just like the van.

“Whenever you're ready princess, I got you.”

Not a moment longer you start moving. Being wrapped securely in his arms while he moans so slutty in your ear Is intoxicatingly erotic. Any attempt to keep the noise at a minimum has left and the room is filled with a mixture of both your moans and inaudible ramblings like the writing of a symphony. His arms move with you, holding you steady to help you keep your rhythm despite your shaky legs. His name falls off your lips over and over like a prayer that's sure to awaken the angels.

“Feel so good, taking me so good. That's it princess, doing so good for me.”

“Noahhh… god.”

“Can feel you're close baby, let go. Cum for me, claim me.”

His praises sending you over the edge, a mix of moans and curses flow from your mouth, his name coming out like a chant. Another orgasm wracks through your body, his following shortly after. He doesn't let go, neither of you move to separate. Your breathing is matched by his, short and heavy. His voice is low and husky In your ear.

“Always been yours princess. You claimed your throne the first time you had to sit on my lap when we all went out after that show in Vegas. Remember the van was so full even Folio had to have a human for a booster seat.”

You chuckle at the memory of Folio sitting in Jesse's lap, neither of them were thrilled. But you felt like you were right where you belong, like you were a queen sitting on her throne. An unholy throne.

Noah leads you to the shower so you can both get cleaned up after the day's events. Once you take your skirt off he jokes about finally seeing you naked for the first time. This man will never cease to amaze you.

After you're both clean and dry, Noah pulls out clothes. He would usually hand you one of his shirts to wear to bed, but this time he puts it on you himself. Such a small act felt so intimate. You felt claimed.

Sharing a bed and snuggling was nothing new, but this time was different. All the times you wished you could kiss his perfect nose and pretty lips while laying so close, now you are. You swear if he were a cat he would be purring, clearly loving your extra affections. Sleep greets you both soon, but not before a thought creeps in your head, hoping everyone else had been long passed out and deaf to the symphony that occurred in Noah's room.

The next morning, you walk downstairs together to see everyone else has woken up before you. It seems like you're in the clear, until overlapping mimicking of yours and Noah's perfect symphony is being screeched by all the boys at once. You almost feel embarrassed but Noah plops down on his spot on the couch, pulling you down with him. Sitting on his lap you feel at ease, finding yourself laughing at the boys’ antics. A tattooed hand finds it's way to your neck, thumb and finger gripping your chin to make you look at him. The smile on his face mirrors yours as he pulls you in for a kiss. Of course everyone had to be dramatic about that, one telling you to get a room, a couple others still making their exaggerated moans. These people are lunatics, and you feel at home.

[deathnotetober]

Deathnotetober is backkkkkk

Hello, lovelies. Ready for another spooktacular Deathnotetober? Modded by @pyreneese and @queen--of--maggots ! Feel free to ask us any questions not covered by the rules. Hope to see some great stuff ^w^.

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[intheshadowsbehindyou]

Mercs proposing hc?? So basic but Im literally one corny mf

The TF2 Mercs proposing to their partners

WARNING: Mild gore gifts because this is the Mercs we’re talking about here.

—————————————————————————

Scout:

- Biggest panic attack of his fucking life. Has no idea how to function like a normal human being anymore. It was that feeling of being in love with somebody all over again and needing to tell them. What’s worse about this though is that marriage is a huge commitment. One that many aren’t ready for yet. What if you reject him and he messes this relationship up?

- Goes to Spy for comfort. In all honesty he’s just a very damaged little boy on the inside and scared that he is incapable of receiving unconditional love. The other Mercs catch him behind the base crying into Spy’s shoulder on the curb while Spy holds him. He’s telling Spy how much he loves you; and how terrified he is that you cannot return that same vow. Spy knows the feeling. “Shh, mon lapin.” Boy howdy Spy’s certainly grateful that Scout’s mom didn’t teach him a word of french.

- Spy has to shove Scout into your room to actually finally get him to do it. “Your idiot boyfriend has a few words for you, and apparently I have to be present or i’m certain he’ll break down crying again.” He says to you. While poor Scout curls up into a ball on the floor.

————————————————————————-

Soldier:

- First of all, why him? Second of all, this is the type of guy to go all out and spend half the money he earned in mercenary work to get one of those “will you marry me Y/N?” banners hooked up to a plane. Complete with the pilot being ejected and the plane crashing nose first into a rock formation. Apparently that was 100% intentional because a bunch of confetti came out of the explosion. You don’t know if you should be horrified at the audacity, or head over heels.

- Brings you an entire necklace of ears. But that’s not all! For limited time only you can get one of soldiers’ severed heads that was purposely boiled and skull cut into the shape of a helmet! Great, right? “Wow, what type of animal is this?” You ask. “A DOG. PACKAGED WITH PURE, NO ARTIFICIAL FLAVOR, PASTEURIZED AMERICAN GLORY!” well that’s not reassuring. “OOOHH SAAAAY CAAAAN YOU SEEE—“ Soldier immediately gets hit over the head by Heavy and knocked unconscious.

- After the initial silliness dies down you see adoration as you tend to his awful head wound. Maybe Heavy knocked the stupidity out of him? No. He’s still insane. Soldier grabs your wrist as you apply alcohol to his wound and squeezes your hand. “Somebody like me doesn’t deserve somebody like you.” He says. “Bullshit, Soldier.” You say, leaning in for a kiss.

—————————————————————————

Demoman:

- He can only achieve this when drunk off his mind. Not to mention it arrives in the most unromantic way possible. But it doesn’t make you love him any less. He holds you close to him after a New Years party at the base and pats your back. “Jus’ so you know, you’d look mighty fine with a ring on your finger.” He flirts, getting incredibly physically affectionate. He makes sure never to cross your boundaries.

- “Me mum would kill me but fuck all. y’know? Old wench’s days are numbered anywae. We could live ina nice cottage by the sea.. If ya want wee lil’ bastards I’ll actually take care of em. I’d have to stop me drinkin tho.” He says, pecking your neck. His remaining eye is pleading with you to say yes. “Pleaaase?”

- Has no recollection of these events in the morning so imagine his dumbfounded expression when one of the Mercs asks about his new fiancé. Cue the embarrassment mixed with pride and excitement.

—————————————————————————

Engineer:

- Will 100% go to your window in the dead of night and sing a song for you on his guitar. Particularly I imagine this would be the contender. You have no idea this is even a marriage proposal. You just think he’s being incredibly sappy. Imagine the surprise while mid song he pulls out a small box and throws it up and down recklessly like a baseball. You’re slowly beginning to catch on as he opens it with his free fingers after finishing the song.

- Complete overconfident show off. He pep-talked himself before all this and rehearsed his performance repeatedly. By using the wrangler and effortlessly throwing the box up in the air and propelling it forward with a single bullet, the sentry successfully aided in getting the box up to you. You don’t even know how you managed to catch it, to be honest.

- Tips his hardhat to you. “Whadda say? Marry me?” He can barely contain his smile. Both excited and somewhat relieved he pulled that off.

—————————————————————————

Heavy:

- “Heavy made you dead person crown..” He walks into your room one day and puts it on your head. It’s a bunch of severed ears meant to resemble a flower crown. “Hey, thanks big guy.” You’re grateful for the gift, being a crazed Merc yourself is it really any surprise? You give him a huge kiss on the cheek. Heavy looks thrilled that you accepted his gift. Which is very much unlike him. Usually he’s reserved. Maybe he’s just having a good day?

- Well.. you eventually find out why. That was apparently his way of proposing to you. Soldier nudges you the next morning and teases you for being engaged to Heavy. You’re horrified to say the least. You had no idea this meant marriage. Not that you wouldn’t marry him. But what about his gun Sasha? Wouldn’t she feel jealous? You’ve been with Heavy so long you keep referring to that damn thing as a person.

- Immediately upon seeing you; goes up to you and gives you a list of stuff he wants at this wedding. There’s even a blank page for you to write your own needs. He seems oddly motivated to plan this out months before it actually happens. There is countless mentions of Russian authors he wants to attend the wedding. As if they’d ever consider going to a stranger’s wedding. “If they won’t come then Heavy will crush them..” He says. Same goes for your guests.

—————————————————————————

Pyro:

- Wow.. Kind of the most normal out of all of them. For the most part. If TF2 took place in modern day they’d propose with a ringpop but all they have is a bag of candy and an actual ring (That they may or may not have stolen from someone in Tuefort.)

- They get on their knees and offer the ring to you in an extremely professional manner. It’s quite surreal to see Pyro pull off something so domestic and normal when he’s always destroying stuff with fire. In fact this is a little too normal.. This is Team Fortress we’re talking about here. Shouldn’t something be wacky happening right about now? It’s like the perfect opening for slapstick. Through your cries of love and laughter you begin to feel anxious at the back of your head.

- Yup.. There it is. Pyro tells you that Scout offered to be the ‘Ring bear’ for the wedding. There’s Scout dressed up in a cutesy teddy bear costume. You’re certain that’s not how it works. “Just for the record, if you tell anybody about this, I’ll fuckin’ saw off both your knees boston sandwich style. Capeesh?” He says. You have no idea what that means so you quickly agree.

————————————————————————-

Sniper:

- Afraid he’s going to mess it up, much like Scout. Gets incredibly physically ill as a result from stress and isolates himself in his camper van. You’re convinced he wants to tell you something but you have no idea what it is. One day on the frontlines an arrow narrowly misses your face and embeds itself into the wall next to you. You were about to turn around and bombard Sniper until you saw the note attached to it. “Pardon, Will you marry me? -Sniper.” With a very worried sad face drawn next to the note. He even bothered to draw his hat on it.

- Disbelief clouds your face at first. Sniper? Marry another Merc? You’re in shock. This isn’t something you’d ever suspect from a guy like him. But your initial thought makes way for an uncontrollable smile.

- He literally will not approach you first after this. You have to knock on his camper van because god knows he won’t be even able to face his team for months. As you jump into his arms and kiss him he immediately pulls you inside to love on you in private.

———————————————————————-

Medic:

- WOULD RATHER SHOOT HIMSELF

- Just kidding. But he wishes he were dead right now. How could he do something so… Un-mad-sciencey? Marriage is just a concept brought upon by money hungry people. It only exists within the mind… Yet, that’s how he feels. An eternal vow to you is something he wishes to do. He’s already planned to make you a god alongside him once the time came so you could be his beloved consort forever. It reminded him of the greek story of soulmates.

- Gets a little fruitier than usual. The most feminine moan you ever heard left this man’s body as you brushed against him while trying to help him grab a syringe he dropped. This man gets unusually hornier and that’s how you know something’s up.. “Looking up my skirt, I see!” He says, as you glance up his long lab coat. There isn’t anything there but his pants so you roll your eyes. “Ah yes.. “ You respond. You decide he’s just clingy and horny as usual and carry about your assistance. You’re not in the mood for that. He never even bottoms so he’s feigning it anyway.

- “Err—Uh— Ho! Wouldn’t it be just shameful if I knew what was going on inside your head?” He asks. “Alright, i’ll bite. What are you saying, Doc?” You sigh. He fixes his glasses back up on his face thoughtfully. “One body, one mind. That would be quite intriguing don’t you think? If we were to.. Become one.” He placed an odd amount of emphasis on that, as if the thought was simply music to his ears. Lord he’s creepy. Medic grabs you and holds you close to him. “Think of the possibilities. We’d never be lonely again. I could stitch our bodies together and we could feel each other’s essence. Forever.”

- “Medic, you good?” You ask. Although his words were strangely flattering nonetheless in their own way. You smile at him. He seems to be lost in the idea. Fantasies of being with you for eternity flood his head. Particularly ones where you’re both a weird hybrid god. Weirdest marriage proposal world record goes to Medic.

—————————————————————————-

Spy:

- No, no no no no no. He can’t do this again. Marriage never worked out for him. After losing Scout’s mom and many partners that followed, he couldn’t bare hurting somebody like that again. His job always got in the way of what he truly desired but he had to live with it. This life chose him after all. His hand was forced into this position. Seeing your bright smile for the rest of his days was all he ever wanted. His urges to get up and say something to you were too strong.

- Has to metaphorically slap himself in the face and remind himself to act like a fucking adult. He wasn’t a little rambunctious teenager in Paris anymore. Yet he felt like one whenever he saw you. Such boyish feelings for an old put together gentleman like him. Spy decided to trust you and himself. But if something went wrong he wouldn’t hesitate to jump off a fucking cliff. Spy would stare at his reflection in the bathroom mirror for hours and contemplate his decision before making it.

- He proposes to you under a starry moonlit night. Not even bothering to kneel down, he slides the box across the balcony to you. “Well?” he asks, taking a long drag of his cigarette. His eyes fixated on the horizon. “Do I have to say it?” He asks. “Yes..” You tell him. Your eyes gleaming with joy. You never felt happier in your entire life. “Fine.. Will you marry m—“ He couldn’t even finish before you jump on him, ultimately knocking you both down.

[wobblesthecowgirl]

I'm No O’Driscoll!

Chapter Three: Arthur's Doubts

Tags: Arthur Morgan x Femreader, enemies to lovers, O'Driscoll reader, game plot, Arthur doesn't have tuberculosis, eventual smut, age difference, 18+, mild gore

Word Count: 975

A/N: Sorry for a short chapter! Next chapter is going to be a long one...Lenny, Arthur, and Reader get drunk in Valantine! Comment how you want that to go! I've also changed the layout to see which is preferred.

Chapter One

Chapter Four

Arthur was starting to have doubts about letting both O’Driscoll’s join the gang. On the ride back to camp, he couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility of them gunning down those there. Especially her. Where did she learn to shoot like that? She’s too quick.

Luckily, when he arrived, the place was calm and peaceful…or as peaceful as it could be. He scanned for the new members: Kieran was getting some soup from a not so happy Pearson, and then he finally saw her. It was clear the first thing she did as a free woman was have a wash and brush her hair.

Arthur couldn’t deny that she was definitely pretty, but her sour attitude, O’Driscoll past, and constant scowl made him hate her so much that he could look past how beautiful she was. However, when he watched from afar, he saw how she interacted with Mary-Beth: Her eyes were soft, her mouth curled up slightly at the corners, and she was even laughing lightly at times.

For some reason, this only annoyed him further. He strode over towards the two women who were sat on a blanket, looking up at him.

“You behavin’ yourself?” He asked, and there it was. Her famous scowl.

“You’re not going to give me a minute’s peace, are you?”

Now that he was closer, he could see had to look through her long lashes, and she had a small scar along her neck like Javier. Mary-Beth coughed.

“Is there something you need, Arthur?”

He shook his head, “Oh no, I was just making sure our new friend wasn’t giving you any trouble. God knows she gives it out a lot.” The woman shook her head to disagree, putting her book down.

“Not at all! She’s actually pleasant company.”

It was Y/n’s turn to talk, “I’m right here. Which, for your information, I’m a delight when I actually like the person. But, for a strange reason, I don’t like big dumb grunts who shoot me!”

Arthur rolled his eyes, “Give it a rest woman. You’re gonna have to get over that one day.”

The wind picked up slightly, making Y/n’s hair flow a little, and he was looking a bit too intently by accident. Mary-Beth stood up suddenly, causing the other two to turn to her. She excused herself, explaining she had chores to attend to, and scampered off. Arthur and Y/n stayed in awkward silence for a few seconds before she finally spoke up.

“Are you going to stand there or say something?”

He narrowed his eyes, staying stood because sitting next to her seemed too friendly, but the awkward pose of her sat looking up at him while he stood above her was just as bad.

“I’m just here to warn you that if you try anything- “

“Oh, give it a rest old man,” She spat as his eyes widened.

“Old man? You gotta be kidding, old man?”

Y/n laughed, tilting her head back slightly at his response. She stood up, dusting off her jeans. Despite being stood up now, she still had to look up. Tiny thing, she is. He asked, “And how old are you exactly?”

“Why? You interested?” She teased… flirted? He couldn’t tell, but he didn’t like either option.

He scowled at her, “Don’t be so cocky, girl. I’m askin’ ‘cos you’re acting like I’m as old as Hosea.”

“I’m in my early twenties, that’s all you’re getting.” She informed him, and for some reason, his stomach dropped. Arthur should’ve guessed she was young, she didn’t look older than thirty, but it still shocked him. Then she asked the same question. He chuckled lightly, looking away from her.

“I’m in my mid-thirties, old enough to be your Daddy.”

“Well, you don’t look a day over fifty.” She smiled sickly, enjoying tormenting the older man.

“Real mature of you.” He scoffed, before turning around without a goodbye. He couldn’t stand talking to her much longer; every single sentence she threw his way only jabbed him more and more, which would cause him to snap eventually. He found himself at Dutch’s tent, who was sat smoking a cigar and lost in thought. When he saw Arthur, his face lit up.

“Arthur! And to what do I owe the pleasure?” He took another puff.

“I just came to talk to you about that O’Driscoll girl.”

Dutch sat up straight, concern on his face, “Is she causing trouble?”

“Not exactly,” He rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s about her aim. When we were at Six Point, I was about to get shot, but she saved me. Put a bullet right between the man’s eyebrows. In seconds. That ain’t normal.”

The music was blaring from inside the tent like it usually did at this time, and Arthur could hear the rest of the members shouting and laughing. It almost drowned Dutch out.

“Where are you going with this, son?” The leader asked. Arthur paused, rubbing his chin.

“My point is, I don’t think she’ll cause trouble, but keep an eye on the guns around here.”

Dutch leaned back into his chair, a smug smile tugging at his lips.

“Or, we could use her to our advantage.” He was already planning something, a new chess piece for his board. Arthur rose an eyebrow and asked, “What you plannin’?”

He nodded his head, thoughts and ideas running through his head, “We are going to get Sean back, having her behind the scenes could be very helpful. Especially in a place like Blackwater.”

“Dutch…” Arthur groaned, “I can’t trust her. She may’ve saved my life, but she probably did it to save her own hide.”

“Well then, sounds like you two need to do a little bonding.” Dutch smirked, taking the final huff of his cigar, as he continued to scheme; much to Arthur’s dismay.

[dont-touch-the-phlebotinum]

Dream a Little Dream of Me

@steddie-week Day 1: Pining | 1.2K words | Rated M for mild smut and canon-typical gore

In Hawkins, things slowly return to normal. Evacuees filter back into town, back into their patched-up homes, and Main Street turns from a crater to a construction site. Even the high school is open again, though Steve doesn't know how the others manage to focus on school while they're all still waiting with bated breath for Vecna to make his next move.

Still, life goes on.

But not for everybody.

Wayne doesn't look up at the sound of the door opening. He knows it's Steve. His eyes are fixed on Eddie lying too still, too quiet, amidst the beeping machinery that surrounds his bed. Most of the bandages have been removed now, revealing a mess of stitches and angry scars that stand out too vivid against his pale skin. Despite it all, he looks peaceful.

"Any change?" Steve says as he hands Wayne a coffee: black, no sugars. The stench of burnt beans tickles the inside of Steve's nostrils. They've both stopped commenting on the taste.

"Fluttered his eyelids a few times." Wayne sighs and looks over at Steve. "No change."

Steve nods, taking a sip of his own coffee. The walkman on Eddie's chest clicks off, the tinny sounds of Master of Puppets escaping his headphones fallen silent, and automatically Wayne reaches over to press rewind. Like Max's Kate Bush, the album plays on a constant loop. Steve's sat listening to it so many times he probably knows it as well as Eddie by this point.

Honestly, it's kind of growing on him. He hopes one day soon he'll be able to tell Eddie that.

"I can stick around longer if you want to grab some sleep after work."

"No, I'll be here," says Wayne. He's still in his uniform from this morning. Steve wonders how long it's been since he actually went home. With a parting kiss to Eddie's forehead he says goodnight, tells Eddie he'll see him again first thing tomorrow. There are deep, dark bags beneath his eyes when he turns to Steve.

"Drive safe," Steve says.

Wayne gives his shoulder a gentle squeeze on his way out of the room.

And in the quiet that follows, Steve settles into Wayne's vacated seat, picks up the battered copy of The Hobbit from the bedside table, and takes Eddie's hand. "Hey, Ed," he says. "It's Steve. Shall we pick up where we left off?"

It's well past dawn by the time Steve heads home. He crawls into bed and closes his eyes.

"Finally," Eddie says with a smile. "I've been waiting for you, dude."

He's lying beneath Steve, hair fanned out across the pillow and tangling around Steve's fingers as he slides a hand through it, and Steve kisses him. His mouth is on Eddie's jaw, his neck, his chest, the scars melting away beneath Steve's touch, and he knows that if he can just kiss Eddie everywhere he can fix things.

Eddie doesn't give him the chance, though.

"Steve," he gasps. He slings an arm around Steve's shoulders to pull him close, his other hand sliding down to Steve's ass as Steve rocks into him, steering his movements, licking into his mouth to taste Steve's moans. Steve clings to him, feels Eddie push up against him in turn, and it's still not enough. He's still too far from Steve.

Beneath him, Eddie drops his head back against the pillow and closes his eyes.

"Eddie," Steve says, breathes the words into his skin as they move together, "you need to wake up."

But Eddie doesn't. He's just gone. The bed's empty around Steve, Eddie's soft moans choked away into silence, and Steve's eyes snap open. Bright sunlight streams through a gap in the curtains; the distant sounds of repair work taking place filter into the room. Steve sits up in bed, still panting, hard, and alone.

It isn't the first time. It isn't the last. Every time Steve manages to catch a couple of hours of uninterrupted sleep, he dreams of Eddie.

He watches Eddie on a stage, staring up at him in awe with the rest of the crowd as red lightning arcs through the sky behind the band. Mid-solo, Eddie catches sight of Steve in the front row. The crowd screams when Eddie winks back at him.

He stands alone, somewhere black and cold and quiet. "Steve?" Eddie's voice calls, but no matter how hard Steve tries he can't find Eddie in the darkness. "Steve, I don't know where I am." Steve wakes from that dream with tears streaking down his face, and though Wayne and Dustin are keeping vigil at Eddie's bedside he races straight back to the hospital, just to make sure Eddie hasn't slipped away while Steve slept.

They lie together in a room Steve doesn't recognise but can tell is home, Metallica drowning out the sounds of the world beyond their bedroom. Steve rolls over in bed and cups a hand to Eddie's cheek. "Wake up, Eddie," he says, and Eddie's nose scrunches as he buries his face back in the pillow with a grumbled, "five more minutes."

Most dreams they're back in the Upside Down. Steve fights side by side with Eddie, staring on in horror as the swarm brings him down, or he arrives back at the trailer park to find Eddie in Dustin's arms, blood on his lips when Steve kisses him goodbye.

Sometimes, he reaches Eddie in time to save him.

Time passes. The routine stays the same. Steve reaches the final page of The Hobbit in the 2am stillness of the hospital and sets the book down with a sigh. "Well, you've really gotta wake up now, dude," he says, brushing a stray curl away from Eddie's face. "'Cause no way am I reading you the whole series."

He stifles a yawn and rests his head in his free hand, the other still curled tight around Eddie's, waiting for a twitch of movement, some tiny hint of a response. His breathing falls into time with the rhythmic beeps and hissing of the equipment, and slowly Steve's eyes close.

"Steve?" It's Eddie's voice. He's stood in the doorway when Steve spins round, still wearing his bloody, tattered Hellfire t-shirt, eyes wide as he stares back at his own body.

He looks like he's seen a ghost, looks like he did that day back in the boathouse: small and terrified and in no way equipped to deal with the madness he was being dragged into. Steve had ached for him then. He aches for Eddie again now.

Eddie only drags his gaze away from the bed when Steve touches a hand to his blood-stained cheek.

"It's okay, Eddie," Steve says gently, like any sudden move might scare him away. "You're okay. All you need to do is wake up."

Before Eddie can respond Steve's blinking awake, the dream slipping away through his fingers. His heart thuds against his ribs as he looks around the room, just in case. But Eddie's still asleep beside Steve, still lost somewhere inside himself.

Steve buries his face in his hands and lets a single, quiet sob escape his chest.

The next time Steve sleeps, he doesn't dream of Eddie.

He wakes with an aching kind of emptiness in his chest and dread curling in his gut. It's a long time before he finds the strength to drag himself out of bed and shuffle downstairs.

There's a flashing light on the answering machine when he does. Bracing himself, Steve hits play.

"Steve, it's Wayne Munson," the voice crackles on the tape. "He's awake."

[cyber-night]

BRANDING IL DOTTORE

This took so long because Fuck. But enjoy!

Anyways content warnings: Sub Il Dottore x Dom Reader, no beta we die like Niwa, Gore (I think its mild but tbh I'm not sure), Body writing, blood kink, knife play, unhealthy relationship, degradation, masochist Il dottore, Ooc Il Dottore, let me know if I missed something.

It was something he said off-handedly while you fucked him over his desk last week. It had gone something like "Please I need it. Want to be yours want you to claim me, mark me, brand me." And the idea hadn't left your mind since he sobbed it out in the heat of the moment. Presently the reason it was at the forefront of your mind was because he was carving open some poor bastard to make as he had said "Improvements." Your eyes were watching over the edge of your book looking at your lover's gloved hands expertly wielding his scalpel to cut the man apart.

You couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to have Dottore beneath you as you marked him permanently with one of his own knives. How pretty your name would look etched into his skin. If you could make him cum just from that. "Your staring," He said without looking up from his work. You hummed in response as you looked up at his face. It was hidden behind a mask but you still loved to look at him despite it. "Something on your mind my Nightshade?" He asked as he looked up at you. Setting your book down and standing up to get closer to him you say "Just thinking about something you said a few nights ago that's all." You were now close enough to see inside the man's chest cavity. Dottore had removed several of his organs though, you noticed he was still awake and alive, though unable to move anything but his eyes. Dottore seemed to be replacing bits of him with mechanical parts. "Oh? Care to refresh my memory? I've said a lot of things."

His smile was, to some, unnerving to you however it was teasing. "You asked me to mark you as mine. Carve my name into your skin I believe." You say as you look up from the mess of a body that lay between you two. He tilts his head "and? Did that particular request peak your interest?" You look back down at the scalpel in his hand "What can I say it stuck with me." You walk around the autopsy table and wrapped your arms around him "Where would you put it?" He said as he got back to cutting parts of the man in front of you away. "Where would you let me put it?" He paused again before answering "below the neck" he said as he held the scalpel below the man's neck "and above the mid-thigh." He trailed the scalpel down to indicate his range. "So what your saying is I could give you a tramp stamp?" He looks at you and though he's wearing a mask you can tell he's glaring at you "that's disgraceful." With a smile, you respond, "I know and that fact is why it's a contender for where I'd put it." He sighs and turns back to the body before him "Let me finish my work Nightshade."

You pull away with a laugh not missing the way he followed your touch and headed back to where you had been to let him finish his work while you read. It was almost an hour later that he had finished whatever he was doing and handed the body off to one of his segments. The both of you walked in comfortable silence to your shared room though you couldn't see his eyes you could tell he was watching you. As soon as you both got there he took off to the bathroom to quickly wash the blood off of himself and change into clean clothes. You made tea for the both of you and sat on the sofa to read some more of your book while you waited.

He came out of the bathroom not fifteen minutes later his hair damp and free of blood. You'd never understand how he always managed to get blood in his hair. His gorgeous red eyes scanned the room till they settled on you. He sat down across from you on the sofa and took a sip of his tea. "So you've had some time to think it over. Any ideas?" He asks as he sets his cup down and looks at you expectantly "oh? Eager are we?" His eyes narrowed at you "and if I am?" You turn to face him fully and he follows suit. "Well, I have a few, for instance, your ass would be pretty. I'd get to see it every time I fuck you but then you wouldn't see it and I want you to see it I want you to wake up and see my name permanently branded into your skin." You paused to take a sip of your tea thinking. "And that's the problem I kept running into. Your thigh and above your hip have similar issues in my mind" you say conversationally as if you weren't talking about scaring your name into the doctor's flesh. "So how about" you reached out to rest your hand over his heart "Here." You could feel his heart start to beat faster and his breath hitch. "You like that idea don't you?"

His eyes were clouded with lust and excitement. He looked over towards the bedroom before getting up saying "I think I have a scalpel in the bedside drawer." Laughing at his eagerness you follow making a stop in the bathroom to grab some rubbing alcohol. You get to the bedroom just in time to see him victoriously pull a scalpel out of the bedside table drawer. "Are you sure you want to do this My horror?" He looked at you for a moment "I'm sure. If you leave I can always just erase it. Though your not allowed to anyways." He handed you the scalpel and kissed you. You threw the alcohol onto the bed so you had your hand free to start unbuttoning his shirt "And neither are you. Your mine." You said as you pulled away trailing the knife down his cheek. He groaned and tossed his shirt to the side and kissed you again before climbing into the bed and laying on his back.

He looked beautiful, your darling, all laid out for you. After taking in the view for a moment you climbed up onto the bed and straddled his lower torso and fumbled behind around for the alcohol. You had asked him one final time if he was sure he wanted this "if you don't get on with it I might change my mind." He growled out. Clicking your tongue you slipped the scalpel under his chin and used it to force him to look at you "Beg for it" You loved the look in his eyes knowing he wanted this just as much as you did. Being able to take his bratty attitude and force him into nothing but your obedient fucktoy. "Please carve your name into my skin so no one else can fuck me, so everyone knows I'm your whore." You smiled and opened the bottle of rubbing alcohol and poured a generous amount over his entire chest and the scalpel watching him writhe at the cold of it before shutting the bottle and letting it fall to the floor. "Do I have to tie you down for this like one of your patients, Nightmare?" He shook his head not trusting his voice to work. "Good, I'm going to start now. Try not to move." He nodded. "Oh and Dottore? Don't cum." His eyes clouded even more as he nodded.

You started by lightly tracing your name out a few times causing his skin to raise slightly so you could get it perfect. Once you were satisfied you started to actually put pressure onto the scalpel. At the first true cut, Dottore let out a content sigh. You smiled and continued. You went slow savouring the way the blood dripped from your work staining the sheets beneath. Giving in to temptation and licking up a streak of blood earned you a sharp breath from your work in progress. You could feel him tense up at every line and curve. Once you had a superficial etching you started over again. Deepening your lines to make them last for as long as he lived and even if they didn't? If they ever started to fade? You'd go over them again and again. However many times you needed to make it stick.

Eventually, he seemed to be basking in the pain freely moaning when you cut a little deeper. A small part of you wanted to go until you hit bone just to know what kind of sounds he'd make as you scraped the scalpel over his bones but you didn't truly have the energy for that and it would require something more akin to a lab setting. . . An idea for another day. You did however keep going till you knew you were deep in the dermis stopping when you finally grazed muscle. You had been so focused on your work you had almost stopped paying attention to Dottore he was drooling his eyes rolled back in bliss. Your perfect slutty masochist. You tapped his cheek with the bloody scalpel to bring him back to the present. As much as you didn't mind the idea of him being your brain-dead fuck doll you wanted him to be somewhat there mentally. When you saw his eyes focus. "It's done pet. Now, how about I help you with this?" You said as you pushed your ass back which as predicted grinded over his rock-hard cock. He moaned at the friction on his neglected dick forcing out a "please."

You pushed yourself back so you were now sat in between his legs the scalpel discarded to the side of the bed. You pulled his pants and underwear off in one movement. You tossed the last of his clothes off the bed. His cock already pouring pre-cum. You once more reached into the bedside table looking for lube. You noticed as you sat back lube in hand that Dottore seemed if you didn't know any better you'd say embarrassed. "Are you alright Darling? Do you want to stop?" He looked away "No. I-" It took you a moment to process what you were looking at and then another to mentally get your shit together. Dottore was still saying words but they didn't matter. A plug. More specifically a black plug with a red gem at the base that matched his eyes perfectly. "How long has it been in?" He was looking anywhere but at you.

You grabbed it and started twisting it and pulling on it. He let out something more akin to the sound his subjects make when he slits their throat "Dottore how long?" You asked getting impatient. Upon realizing that he had yet to answer you he came back to his senses and you finally got an answer from your whore of a boyfriend. "Put it in when I found out you'd be sitting in on the surgery." In a slightly quieter voice, "I like the way you fuck me after I've worked on a subject." You continued to fidget with the plug "oh? And what do I do differently?" You knew what he mean you always fucked him harder more animalistic than loving. There was just something about taking the mad scientist who had just murdered someone and fucking him senseless. It was a power trip you'd never get used to. "Your brutal Nightshade, you fuck me like I'm nothing" He whispered. "So you decide to fill your desperate hole with something so I could just pound you when you were done? Were you even planning for us to make it out of the lab? Or did you want me to fuck you on the table you'd just carved someone open on?" You pulled the plug out before ramming it back in. "Maybe next time your working we should put a vibrator in your cum dump of a hole and see how long you last."

You pulled the plug out and tossed it to the side with the scalpel. You lined your dick up with his empty hole as you trail your clean hand up his chest settling over your name which looked beautiful in his skin. "Ask nicely for my cock and I might indulge you." His dignity had long since been abandoned "Please fill your pathetic whore up with cock and cum please-" He trailed off as you started to slowly push yourself in. You paused waiting for him to continue. He looked up at you confused "don't stop! why did you stop?"

"Well, you stopped and I don't recall telling you that you could."

"Oh fuck" He moaned out. You watched his cock twitch and leak as he begged "Please breed me want you to fuck your cum into me. I want to be nothing but a hole for you to fill when you come home please." As he was blabbering you shoved your cock into his ass as the hand that was still settled over your name pushed down on it ripping a scream from him. You let him catch his breath before digging your fingers into the mark again "Tell me slut what's stopping me from writing whatever I want on you hmm?" His brain took a moment to process the threat but once it had he was back to begging "Oh fuck yes, my body is your canvas." He let out a guttural moan as you pulled almost all the way out to set a slow brutal pace. "That's right good boy. My pretty little fuck toy." You weren't going to you hadn't discussed it prior but you did file it away for later.

As you fucked him you once again pushed against your name engraved in his chest and wrapped your hand around his throat squeezing as his eyes widened and then rolled back as he came though you didn't stop fucking him instead opting to fuck him faster. "Pathetic. Should I treat you like one of your subjects? As nothing more than an experiment?" He shuddered trying to breathe while you choked him "Wh-what experiment are you conducting on me?" He managed to force out "My experiment? It's trying to find the limits of your masochism. Letting, no begging me to carve my name into you and then have the audacity to cum without asking after and from me choking you no less. You must be a slut for pain Doctor" he moaned at hearing his title said with such sarcasm. "Yes, fuck yes I'm your pain slut punish m- oh fuck punish me however you want Please!" You kissed him "with pleasure." With that, you made it your mission to fuck him until he either passed out or you decided he'd had enough. Either way, your pet doctor was in for a long night.

[bisexual-horror-fan]

Um. Um. For Multi-May, I've been thinking about reader and Tiffany Ray-Valentine absolutely blowing Ethan Landry's mind one night, leaving him dazed and obsessed and a little bit in love? and he starts following them around like a puppy dog because he's definitely got those puppy dog eyes. He would definitely try to impress them as Ghostface, like, so hard. I can just hear Killer Queen by Queen playing in Ethan's mind whenever he sees them.

SO! I know this is late, but hey shit got nuts, and I am saying Multi-May is lasting as long as I want this summer. I had started this a bit ago, but the past couple days had me thinking it was time to brush the dust off and finish it up, slap a big bow on it and remind you all what I can do. Such an interesting polyam ship! I love the idea of this and I hope it was worth the wait and you enjoy it too!

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Rating. Explicit. Length. 1.8K. Poly! Tiffany Ray Valentine X Ethan Landry X FEM! AFAB! Reader. She/Her Pronouns. Warnings: Age-Gap Relationship. Alcohol Consumption. Threesome. Blow Job. Cunnilingus. Face Riding. Reverse Eiffel Tower. Vaginal Sex. Riding. Hair Pulling. Praise. Mild Dirty Talk. Murder. Gore. Violence.

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Notice Me.

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Tiffany definitely leads your relationship, she plans everything from your dates, to the meals she cooks on nights in, to the restaurants and bars you frequent and even comes up with ideas to spice up your relationship. You love the absolute Hell out of Tiffany, and she loves you just as much in return, but love and sex don’t need to be exclusive, you can fuck other people together, and it doesn’t affect your relationship negatively. 

In fact? It has more than proven to do quite the opposite, it improves your relationship, makes it stronger and better. The ultimate bonding exercise.

So when out one night, at a college bar that is not the usual kind of place you’d go but was near the place you’d just had dinner and seemed suitable enough for a nightcap, Tiffany catches sight of just such a person to help you and her “bond.” 

She nudges your elbow, your eyes turn to her as you are mid-sip of your drink, she points a well manicured finger in the stranger of interest’s direction, and you look where she indicates, asking in that sweet totally Tiffany tone, “What about him?”

He is with a couple of people who you assume are his friends, looks like he fits right in at this bar, college-aged and honestly? Pretty fucking cute. Chocolate curls and nice cheek bones, he has a good smile and is casually dressed. You watch as he laughs at some joke, head tipping back and eyes closing, and yeah you can definitely see what Tiffany means, and it had been a while since you’ve done this.

“He’s very fucking cute.” You tell her with a small smile, and she says, “Right? What do you think? Should we go see if he’s interested?”

The dance of it is well practised by this point, manufacturing a meet-cute is not that hard. You wait until he goes to the bathroom, you place yourself just right and when he comes out and starts back towards the main area of the bar you make it so he bumps into you “accidentally”, the timing of it is perfect, the remainder of your drink spilling onto the floor. He curses and apologized and rambles about being clumsy, and you reassure him it’s all fine, so long as he has a drink with you. He takes you up on the offer. 

That is how you get him away from his group of friends, standing at the small table, you introduce him to Tiffany, and it all goes about as well as it always does. Talking leads to banter and banter to joking and from joking to flirting, which then leads to him coming back to your shared place. 

The first thing that drew you to Tiffany was how with just a few well-placed words could make just about anyone do anything she wanted, you fell victim to it constantly, part of what you adored about these nights was seeing how other people were affected and swept up in it too. The look on his face when she fully broke down your shared proposition was one of the best things you have ever seen. It’s nice not always being the one so awe-struck, on nights like these she directed you and so you assist in ruining whatever the flavour of the evening was. Speaking of flavour, Ethan you learned his name was, pretty fucking delicious. 

Ethan was seated up on the couch, Tiffany was perched next to him, manicure nails running over his scalp and through his hair, toying and playing with the collar of his shirt with her other hand, her chest pressed up against his arm as she teased him, “She’s got a great mouth, huh?”

You were sitting on the floor on your knees and between his spread thighs, his pants and underwear pulled down enough for you to get at what you wanted. You had one hand around the base of him and your lips locked right on that sensitive ridge where head meets shaft, you suck indulgently, noisily, messily. You pull off with a very wet sounding pop before you lean back in, your tongue swirling around his tip, he groans and Tiffany’s fingers twist in his hair, she pulls, forcing him to turn his head away from looking down at you and instead towards her, and asks, “Well?”

He finally responds to her earlier question, “Ye-yeah, so good.”

You preen a bit at the praise, bite back a smile and instead envelop him once more in the warm wet heat of your mouth, which earns you an even louder moan. 

He came quickly the first time, gasping out stuttered and broken praise, adorable and very hot, he tasted good too, but hey he is a young and fit guy, multiple rounds wasn’t an issue. It’s almost impossible to keep your eyes off of him once all those clothes were off, he wasn’t cut per se, but clearly had some muscle, some serious strength he could throw around. He insisted on hitting you back, so you let him, sitting on his face while Tiffany observed, hand between her legs, giving critique and praise, telling him what did it best for you, what was capable of making you shudder and gasp. Tiffany didn’t sit static still for long, she climbed aboard, and you watched as she slid him into her dripping hole, you felt the moan he let out against you vibrate through your bones. You came to the sight of your girlfriend riding him for all he’s worth, nails biting into his sides as her tits bounced, and she moaned out, “-what a good fuckin’ boy you are-” to Ethan.

He was eager to please and didn’t stop till both you and Tiffany were satisfied, not like you and her didn’t do your own heavy lifting, the best threesomes are always the ones where everyone is into everyone, with no boundaries, everyone wanting and willing to touch, play with all people in the equation. 

So the next morning, when the sun rose and everyone was dressed again, you send the man with curly hair and an undeniably dopey smile on his face and a dazed look in his eyes, back out into the wilds of the city. You expected to never see him again, but you and Tiffany apparently had a much bigger effect on him than either you or her could have ever anticipated. 

You aren’t even sure how he ended up finding you both again but he does, all excitable and sweet as pie, running into you both on the street while you were hand in hand. “Tiffany! Uhm hi, how are you both?”

And after a little basic and polite conversation, he looks nervous as fuck when he says, “I know it’s been a bit, and sorry if this is forward or whatever, but I cannot stop thinking about us all maybe doing that uh again sometime?” 

You both share a look and Tiff’s red lips curve up into a smile, brow creased in this expression you know all too well that communicates, “Isn’t he adorable?” without having to outright say it. She turns back to him, her hand that isn’t holding yours reaches out, fingers pass over his jaw, he grins and leans into her touch, and she says, “You’re so fucking sweet, but usually the people we invite in are one and done.” 

The look on his face resembles that of a kicked puppy, it almost makes you feel bad, until he says one quiet, “Oh.” And THAT is what makes it feel like a bucket of ice water has been dumped on you. 

“Hey, hey, don’t look like that-” Tiffany pauses, and he supplies in a wounded tone, “Ethan.” She smiles warmly, “Yes, of course, Ethan, I remember.” She totally didn’t, but you don’t call her on it. “-I don’t look so sad. Trust me, there will be plenty of other people, don’t get all hung up on us, okay, sweetface?”

You and her depart, and you think that will be it. 

It is not. 

Apparently Ethan still wants to be near and close to you both, not willing to go down without a fight, convinced that he can get you both on board with giving him another shot. Tiffany laughs about it, you think it’s sweet and harmless, he keeps on popping up in unexpected places. Tiffany would tell him when pressed about why this couldn’t work, “We’re just too different, honey.”

He finds out about your and Tiffany’s shared “couple hobby”. Tiffany’s older partner and her used to murder together, another bonding exercise, one she got you into too, and you took to it like a duck to water. He wasn’t scared off of course, he kept what he witnessed in an alleyway that night a secret, he could work with this, could show you just how similar he was, and then you’d both stop thinking this couldn’t work, you would take him seriously. 

It was late, Tiffany and you were walking home from the bar one night, post date, when you hear a whistle, looking across the street you see Ethan. Leaning against the brick wall outside the mouth of an alleyway. He is grinning almost ear to ear, he beckons you over and like a moth to flame you are drawn in, tugging Tiffany alone as she rolls her eyes but smiles all the same. 

“Hiya Eth.” You greet, and he greets you in kind, saying your name with a raise of his eyebrows. 

“What’s up sweetheart?” Tiffany asks, and he says, “I got something to show you.” 

He pushes off the wall and heads down into the alleyway, and you both follow. You wonder what the fuck he could possibly want to show you here, but soon it becomes clear. You see the body on the wet ground, some guy’s stomach ripped open like he had been split groin to sternum, but there is like literally no organs in the open cavity of his body. Before you could wonder where they were, Tiffany smacked you on the shoulder and pointed up. Strung up on the fire escape built on the side of the building is all the intestines and everything else that once helped make up a person hanging like fucked up macabre streamers, dripping blood and honestly the amount of work that went into the artful presentation, the soft pink tissue wrapped around rusty iron, it was stunning, impressive. 

“Ethan how-” You turned to look, and he was holding up a mask you had seen on the news many times over the years, ghostly white but flecked with blood, his smile was infectious, spreading to both you and Tiffany. He says, “So what you were saying before about us not being enough alike…Would you say this proves you wrong?”

Your answer is given by way of two kisses, yours, passionate and firm, trying to communicate how you missed him, followed by Tiffany’s messy and with a hint of tongue, leaving lipstick smudged on Ethan’s mouth. You both take one of his hands and lead him out of the alleyway, inviting him back to your place for the second time ever, intent on getting to a private venue to ride him into the mattress again, punctuated with discussing knife techniques as pillow talk. 

[grimace-writes]

New Kid New Love

{NKIT No 4.0}

GN!Reader x Task Force 141 { Ending Epilogue }

DNI IF YOU AREN'T A FAN OF MILD GORE!!

{TW: THIS STORY CONTAINS DESCRIPTIONS OF INJURIES, BLOOD, MILD GORE! PURLEY FICTION!!}

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

Summary: {Y/N} has been in the hospital since their mission mishaps, due to the severity of their injuries they couldn't have visitors until now. Who from the team was the first to visit them?

Word count: {560}

Art by Me { @ghostswow }

(3rd Person POV | They/Them so anyone can read :) | Mid Twenties to Early Thirties)

[Enjoy! (๑ º ᗜ º๑) ノ♡ ]

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“Do you remember what happened?” An older man in a white lab coat asked, standing at the foot of their bed.

“Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…” 

“In pieces..(liar)” Their voice cracked as a sharp pain flashed through their head to the memories.

“It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..”

“That’s normal for patients to experience when going through a traumatic event, best to focus on rest for now,” The doctor explained, causing them to wince more.

“They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.” 

“I know that..I just…I just wanna be left alone please..” They said looking out the window avoiding the look of pity from their medical colleague, who left them without further comment. 

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..”

{Y/N} took a shaky breath trying to gaze at the clouds, their vision blurred as tears began to fall down their cheeks, the image of their previous mission replaying vividly in their mind. 

—————————————————————————

“No..It’s not supposed to be like this..” 

“{C/N}!”

Ghost ran towards them first with Price and Gaz giving him cover, he hoisted them into his arms. The team had no time to panic as they needed to just escape, luckily they made it to an incline to provide them the needed cover.

{Y/N} coughed weakly, blood coating the palm of their hand as they tried to stay conscious, shocking rapidly to setting in. “Don’t do this..Keep your eyes open, luv…” Ghost’s voice sounded so distant even though he was practically shouting, the ungodly ringing in their ears overshadowed him. 

It felt like they were watching a movie, their life on a big screen as they were carried to the helicopter to them being placed onto the bench seat. Only being forced back into their body by the fiery pain of disinfectant being poured into their wound. “It’s okay, beautiful, you are going to be more than fantastic..I-I promise..” Gaz spoke with fear in his tone as he tried to fish out the bullet with a pair of forceps, “I almost got it..” {Y/N} threw their head back groaning, one hand gripping the fabric of the backrest and the other on Gaz’s shoulder. 

The pain began softened to the sound of metal hitting metal, the loud humming of the helicopter mixing with the ringing that has come back with a vengeance. {Y/N}’s only solace was clenching their eyes shut, it was way past too much for them. ‘I just wanna sleep..A nap isn’t gonna hurt..’

Their intense grip quickly loosened as they lost consciousness, their breathing was starting to slow down. “They aren’t moving, why aren’t they moving..Please Duckie, Wake up.”  Soap dropped to his knees next to them, taking their hand in his.

“You don’t get to leave us just yet, Hen. Not now..” Price’s voice caught in his throat as he weakly ordered his subordinate to stay alive, the whole team praying for them to get back to base quickly. 

—————————————————————————

Mild knocking broke them for their memories, they wiped their face with the back of their hand before they faced their visitor. {Y/N}’s shallow expression softened as a tender smile formed on their face to the sight of their favorite flowers and a..

↳..Plush Plague Doctor. {Ghost}

↳..Plush Duckling. {Soap}

↳..Plush Cat. {Gaz}

↳..Plush Otter. {Price}

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Author's Note: The long awaited romance, note each story have similar elements with a twist to match each of the boys. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed the story. Let me know what you thought of it, Love Love~

(o´ ω `o)💕💕

| No.1 | No.2 | No.3 | No.4 | Masterlist |

[hearthouses]

you could call me babe for the weekend ↳ supernatural, m/m, nc-17, dean winchester/sam winchester, ~13,800 words

warnings/enticements: sibling incest, implied/referenced underage sex, switching, first aid/canon typical gore, hurt/comfort, spit as lube, angst, bittersweet ending

There’s a downpour outside.

It’s been months since Sam has seen one, the mild Californian weather producing only the lightest of light drizzles while the sun still shone bright in the sky, just enough mist to keep everything verdant and alive. Today the sun had been washed away, covered by clouds, the mid-February storm painting everything outside gray and dark, producing heavy shadows, like the storms Sam remembered further east, with the rumble of thunder and sudden strikes of lightning, streaking through the sky.

It was all in all a miserable fucking day that carried Dean to his doorstep, drenched and bloody, like he’d been battered by the storm outside, rattled around in the sky and spat back out, but Sam knew better than that.

Stanford Era: It’s Valentine’s Day at Stanford and Sam is spending it alone, until his brother shows up injured.

BONUS: official playlist.

[venus-haze]

Eat Your Heart Out (Severen x Reader)

Summary: Feral vampires are few and far between, and Severen isn’t sure what to think when you begin trailing the clan. 

Note: Woman reader, but no descriptors are used. This is based on a request by @bowdowntolouis! I love that the Near Dark universe is so vague with its vampire rules and whatnot, because it gives me room to make things up. Do not interact if you’re under 18 or post thinspo/ED content.

Word count: 2k

Warnings: Blood, gore, descriptions of mild disemboweling, I guess some elements of cannibalism because the reader’s a messy eater. Do not interact if you’re under 18.

The first time he saw you, he didn’t think much of it. Another pretty face in a backward-ass town they’d leave for the dust as soon as night fell the following day, anyway. He caught it, though, the faintest scent of dead blood that he couldn’t dwell on, because Homer was corralling everyone into a convenience store to see if they had a decent comic book selection. 

Of course, they’d happened upon a dry town. Not a deal-breaker, but messing with drunks was always more fun. In lieu of a bar, the convenience store was the gathering place for the town’s residents after dark with its worn, old-timey soda counter and handful of tables and chairs with stuffing coming out of the cushions. He scoffed. Burning the place down would practically be doing them a favor.

“Y’all better be careful out there,” an older man said from behind the checkout.

“Why’s that?” Jesse asked, humoring the clerk.

“People are sayin’ there’s some kinda animal attacks, bodies just mauled like you’d never seen. Wildcat or coyotes…somethin’ like that,” he rambled before nodding in the direction of some of the people sitting at the tables. “Few loonies think a woman did it, claim they saw her runnin’ with blood all over her face, eyes like the devil. Just watch out if you know what’s good for ya.”

“Don’t you worry, mister. We ain’t got nothin’ to worry about,” Severn said with a grin, reaching over to pat the clerk’s shoulder. He gripped it with a strong hand, pulling him over the counter and throwing him onto the floor.

“You believe that, about the woman?” Mae asked quietly when they’d finished burning the place down.

He shook his head. “C’mon Mae, y’know these assholes huff paint for fun. They got nothing better to do than make up bullshit like that.”

The second time he saw you, he didn’t even know it was you. Shock had overtaken him when he came across your hunched over figure in a dark alleyway, the scent of blood sharp and fresh as you fed. You looked up, eyes wide with the slightest hint of fear as he stood in the darkness. You could see him just as clearly as he could see you. Silent save for your labored breathing, you began sprinting toward him, only to push him aside as you passed him by, further into the night.

He approached the body you’d left behind. A woman, probably in her mid-thirties. He couldn’t tell exactly from the number you’d done on her face. Leaning in closer, his lip curled upon realizing the woman’s arm was nearly detached from her shoulder, chest caved in as if you’d cracked it open.

Glancing behind his shoulder, he shook his head. And he thought he was fucked up.

Kicking the body with the tip of his steel-toed boot, it flopped back to its lifeless place on the ground. He wasn’t sure what else he was expecting. Leaning closer, he inhaled. The body was fresh. It’d be a shame to let good blood go to waste just because he scared you off. So he fed, shuddering a bit when he rested his hand in the open cavity in her chest and felt something squishy and still warm beneath him. 

Upon further inspection, it was her kidney or liver, though not entirely intact. Severen wasn’t squeamish, but poking around, he found her entrails appeared almost shredded. Desperate, as if you hadn’t fed in weeks. Lack of decorum, maybe. Never learned how to hunt properly and went by base instincts alone. He’d heard rumors of their kind who’d been turned and promptly left to fend for themselves. Most ended up perishing in the daylight without someone to mentor them, show them how to look out for themselves. He supposed some turned out like you. Feral, Jesse had said once. Succumbing to bloodlust like madness.

Less than a week later, he caught your scent, as if he could forget it after that night. If it weren’t for that tell-tale smell of dead blood, he wouldn’t have caught on to you tailing the group. His guard up, unsure of your intentions, he split from everyone else to confront you. Well hidden behind a pharmacy, already in a defensive position when he approached.

Your clothing had seen better days, some of it torn, a result of your victims hopelessly fighting back. Your nails were sharp, as if you’d purposely filed them to do the most damage possible on impact. Smudged eyeliner circled your piercing eyes, though it’d clearly been a long time since you’d reapplied it. Similarly, he couldn’t tell whether your lips were red from lipstick or just bloodstained. No wonder you’d been mistaken for some kind of wild cat woman.

“You followin’ us?” he asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean ‘you don’t know’?”

“I just go where I smell blood.”

“Why do you feed like that? Makes things a lot harder on us.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, hands balled into fists at your side. “I don’t have to explain nothing to no one.”

“Look, you do what you want, but leave me and mine out of it.”

“Are you done?” you asked, a deep crease in your forehead as you stared him down.

“Yeah, so get outta here.”

He decided against telling Jesse that he’d confronted you, hoping that his discussion with you would be the end of your paths crossing. You had to have been following them, ending up in the same towns so often couldn’t have been a coincidence. Still, his morbid curiosity wandered with thoughts of what it’d be like to feed as you did. He prided himself on his brutality, his savagery. You gave him motivation to step up his game.

It wasn’t much longer after that, somewhere deep in the heart of Texas, he caught a glimpse of you out of the corner of his eye while he was feeding on a member of a bachelorette party he’d convinced to leave the cowboy bar with him, promising a good time. He growled upon lifting his head from her body, not at all pleased to see you again.

You approached him, and he growled, pushing the body aside as he stood up. 

“Girl, what’d I tell you about following us around? Like you’re some dumb fuckin’ puppy.”

“You feed after me. Vulture,” you spat.

He grabbed you by the scruff of your neck, painfully pulling your face close to his as he hissed, low and dangerous, “I know you didn’t just call me that.”

“You take what’s mine and don’t even feed from the best part.”

“Oh? And what exactly am I missing?”

You became quiet, and he was confused at your lack of a retort until you covered his bloodstained mouth with your hand. “Shh…someone’s coming, don’t you smell it?”

Clean and fresh, the faintest scent of men’s cologne and laundry detergent. A set of heavy footsteps, quick and purposeful. In a rush to get somewhere he’d never arrive, no doubt. Severen grinned from behind your hand.

“Now’s our chance,” you whispered.

Thrill rolled down his spine at how quickly your demeanor changed, past grievances set aside at the chance to hunt. He released his grip on you, and you lifted your hand from his face. The excited, ragged breath you let out was all he could hear over the cacophony of noises in the night. You were fucked up. 

No pretense, no tactics, you simply grabbed the man from where he stood and shoved him to the ground. Severen observed with an almost academic interest as you tore into the man’s throat with your teeth, straddling him to keep him down. 

Bone cracked beneath your feverish grip on the man’s body. You dug your hands deep into the man’s chest and pushed, the overwhelming scent of blood overtaking all else and making his head spin. Standing over you, practically salivating, he found the sight of you mauling this stranger morbidly beautiful.

His eyebrows raised in surprise when you reached into the open cavity and ripped the man’s heart out. The two of you were already covered in blood, but he supposed he never expected to see firsthand how messy humans’ bodies could be if you really took the time to open them up.

“This is what you’re missing,” you said, offering the baseball-sized organ to him.

His hesitation didn’t last long. He grabbed the heart out of your hand, considering how it felt in his. Warm, like when he’d poked around the woman you’d left behind a few weeks earlier, but more firm with the presence of muscle. Unsure of how to approach feeding from it, he bit into the heart as if it were an apple and let the blood flow into his mouth from the puncture he’d made.

He drained the organ of blood, the taste notably better than just sinking his teeth into flesh. Bare skin, he discovered in that moment, left a strange aftertaste in blood, undoubtedly from the perfumes and lotions and bodily fluids that were on it. Maybe you were onto something, feeding straight from the source rather than through a barrier. Admittedly, it was messier, but he wouldn’t have his razor-blade spurs if he were afraid of being messy.

“You’re gonna get me in a lot of trouble,” he said, releasing the heart from his hands, landing haphazardly back in the victim’s exposed ribcage.

“With who?”

An unfamiliar voice startled both of you. “I swear I heard something back there, man.”

“C’mon,” Severen whispered, grabbing your hand.

“Yeah, probably someone getting his dick sucked. Just forget it.”

You shook your head. “We can take them.”

“It’s almost daylight. Just come with me,” he hissed, tugging on your arm.

“You go. If I see you in another town, I’ll come with you, okay?”

Reluctantly, he nodded, releasing your arm and watching as you ran off yet again. After a few weeks, he stopped looking for you, though you drifted in and out of his thoughts often. Months blurred together for him, but at least a year had passed since he’d seen you. Mae had turned Caleb, anyway, and getting him acclimated to their way of life was troublesome enough. You being there would’ve made things all the more difficult.

At least, that’s what he told himself. Channeled his disappointment into being even crueler when he killed, though he could never quite work up the nerve to dig for the heart when he was around the others. Not necessarily too taboo, but rather it reminded him too much of you. Someone he’d spent less than half an hour with. Homer would never let him hear the end of it. Like he was going soft or something.

Before he knew it, they were back in Texas. The state felt endless, but he loved the freedom of the deserts, the small, unsuspecting towns that dotted the highway. They set up camp for a few nights in a motel right off an exit for the only town with more than 5,000 residents for miles. 

Setting out on his own, Severen walked past a grocery store when he smelled it. Dead blood. Following the scent, he ended up in a department store. In the vast cosmetics section, he found you applying the tester eyeliner in a mirror. You’d switched out your old clothes, wearing something newer and more fashionable. He wouldn’t have been surprised if you had just swapped outfits in the dressing room.

Engrossed in your makeup application, you didn’t notice him sneaking up on you until you smelled him. Your back tensed and you threw the eyeliner aside. Turning around, you relaxed upon seeing the grinning creature of the night a few feet away from you.

You smiled a bit when you walked over to him. “Hey, it’s you.”

“I was startin’ to think you stood me up, darlin’,” he said, throwing his arm around your shoulders.

“Sorry about that; it’s a long story.” 

“How does dinner sound? Give us a chance to catch up.”

“It’s like you read my mind. I’m starving.”

[king-paimon]

I came back from watching Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles: Mutant Mayhem... And I had a great time! I love how different and yet so familiar this new iteration was. There was so much I loved about it.

The visuals were amazing; thank you, Spiderverse animators, for initiating a fresh animation golden age! The story was fun! I honestly forgot this movie was PG at certain points because they got away with a lot of stuff here, from mild gore, body horror, and DEATH.

And the characters... AAHH so good! I love these turtles so much. They're just goofy, charming, scrunkly, precious little rascals; I wanted to hug them and protect them so badly! I also liked this version of Splinter and April. And I just loved the found family they all created at the end.

Just look at them. Precious babies. All of them. They deserve love.

So yeah, other than one or two minor scenes (keyword: puke, if you know you know) I had a great time! I'm curious to see where this iteration goes in other projects, especially with that mid-credits scene. Though I hope to see Rise come back somehow since that show was unfairly prematurely cut and deserves better, I'm also excited to where this version goes.

If you are a fan of TMNT, animation, or just want a fun and crazy time, please give this movie a chance.

[ghostboybrainrot]

Out of Touch Part 4

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, AO3

TW: Mild gore, mentions of blood, mentions of gun violence

_________________________

Danny was vaguely aware that someone was trying to tuck him in. He'd been fading in and out of consciousness since he'd stopped to rest. At first, he figured he must be dreaming. Nobody tucked him into bed anymore. He was a 16 year old not a toddler. But it was nice that someone cared. He didn't want to encourage this behavior though so he pretended not notice.

It wasn't until he heard the crinkling of plastic and the shuffling of cardboard that his sleep-deprived brain registered something was off.

His bed did usually have plastic in it. He wasn't in his bed. He tried to remember. He was in Gotham. He had been flying toward his apartment. But he was having a hard time holding his ghost form and then-

Oh shit.

His eyes shot open.

Hovering over him, was the pale image of a woman. 

He yelped and tried to jump back, realizing too late that he was backed against the wall.

“It’s okay!” She backed up as soon as she saw the boy start to stir. She put her hands out in front of her in a calming gesture.

“I’m trying to help. I’m sorry I startled you.”

Danny was only vaguely aware the woman was speaking. His attention had been captured by the very realistic bullet hole in the woman’s forehead. A trickle of blood was frozen mid-decent on the woman’s face. He shuddered, imagining what the back of her head must look like.

His mind was still fuzzy from exhaustion. It took a moment to realize what he was looking at. It was a shade. A shade of a woman who had been shot to death.

Well, that was a relief. Shades didn’t pose much of a threat. Unless of course they scared you to death.

He looked down at himself. He had a blanket draped over him. Had that been there before? No. No, he definitely didn’t have that when he had curled up. He looked back at the woman, her words finally registering in his sleep-addled brain.

“Uh…thanks?” He pulled himself into a more upright position, scooting his back against the wall. He brought his hands up and rubbed his eyes. When he felt a little more awake he looked around the alley. It didn’t look like anyone else was around. He noticed the bottle of water and the plastic package lying next to him on the ground. Then he looked at her, eyebrows furrowed. As if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with them.

“Go ahead.” She encouraged. “You looked like you needed them.”

Danny was hungry and thirsty. It was true. He wasn’t sure when the last time he ate was but he knew it had been much longer than was healthy for his living body. He grabbed at the bottle. His hands were shaking slightly. He opened it carefully, not wanting to waste any of it by spilling. As soon as the neck of the bottle was safely against his lips he drained it quickly. He let out a satisfied gasp when he finished. Needing to catch his breath.

He dropped the bottle then reached for the pastry. The clenching in his stomach had eased up slightly after drinking the cool water but he still was feeling slightly nauseous from hunger. He knew he’d feel better if he ate but forcing himself to chew and swallow was a chore. His body had been without food for too long and he feared it would reject it. Fortunately, he was able to keep a couple small bites down. He folded the plastic over the rest of the pastry and put it in his hoodie pocket.

“Thanks.” He croaked but his throat was less raspy now.

“Happy to help.” She smiled nervously, and glanced around.

“I don’t mean to alarm you but you didn’t pick the best spot to hole up in. This is a dangerous part of town.”

Danny laughed harshly.

“No kidding.” He snapped sarcastically. “I’ll take that into consideration next time I’m falling out of the sky.”

The woman winced. Hurt and embarrassed. Danny felt a twinge of guilt for snapping.

“I’m sorry.” He said softly. “Just a little on edge. I know what you meant. But, unfortunately-”

He gestured to his injured leg.

“-I’m not really equipped to find a better spot.”

“I could find something!” She added hopefully. “I have a friend near here that I think could help.”

Danny glanced at her with a pitying look. He didn’t want to ask, but he had to.

“Is your friend… you know. Still around?”

The woman looked insulted.

“If you mean ALIVE. Yes. She is alive.”

“Sorry.” Danny at least had the good graces to look embarrassed.

“Not everyone in your situation is as aware as you. I promise I’m not trying to offend.”

He sighed.

“I really appreciate the help. But I’m very close to my apartment. I think I’d have a better chance getting there safely than trying to get to wherever your friend is.”

“You live near here?” She asked skeptically.

“Well, yeah. Not exactly legally. But it's safe.”

“Okay.” She started to reach for the boy. Extending her hand for him to grab.

“Okay?” He sounded confused.

“Yes, O.K. Let’s get you home.”

Danny wasn’t sure whether to accept her help or not. She seemed determined, that was for sure. And she had brought him supplies. No easy feet for a shade. Most wouldn’t have been able to hold on long enough to complete a task that took that long. Whatever had driven her to help him must have been pretty strong. She was present. Focused. Every other shade he’d encountered in this city, forgot about him the moment he was out of their line of sight. They weren’t unkind. Just distracted. Their minds, or what was left of them, lingered in the past. The moments of lucidity were few and far between. And just as fleeting.

This woman was solid. She took up space. She knew where she was and what she was doing. It was honestly impressive. Gotham had more ambient ectoplasm than most cities but not nearly enough to sustain a shade to this extent. This was one strong-willed ghost.

“What’s your name?”

“Martha.”

He nodded and smiled.

“Danny.”

He reached out and took hold of her hand.

_________________

Notes:

Here’s the second part of that chapter! Sorry for the wait. I haven’t abandoned it yet I promise! Just been a busy couple of weeks. If you like the fic so far please leave a comment! I love Martha she’s just trying her best. Being dead is hard lol

Thanks for reading!

Tags:

@alinmenttreasure @quirky-gardener @mnemovoid @amercurio @may-rbi @allmune @i-havenothingelsetopost @kittenline @alienzil @depuffstuff @thegatorsgoose @flamey-comet @paper-enigma @that-awkward-fae-nerd @keimiwolf @ectoplasm024 @oddlydrawnpuppets @coffeeandcrown @analusikzz @quirky-gardener @seraphinedemort @v-inari @catmaraudersfan @icedbluesoul @spookytragedyshark @freakofyournature @rhyme-is-sublime @introvert-even-on-the-internet @cutelittlebeanie @chubbypotato @jackalspine @magicaldaydreams @riverdancingwerewolves @tabetharasa @imagineshazamlokimight @avelnfear @mouzerequis @idfk-man10 @nervousperfectionandroid @thefearfullone @mentalcarebear @strawberryfire17 @valiantsuitcaseskellington @theywontletmeusetheoneiwant @ineeesleep @dracotheghostdragon @allmune @liandrin

[bebo-schmebo]

Say hello to the 2nd in Command of Hisui's Suiren Security Corp., beloved Llygaid lleuad, and Warden of the Highlands, Warden Ingo! His younger kin have convinced him to join them in a Q&A! Quite a lovely family portrait, wouldn't you agree?

(Just a quick note- this au is of the darker sort, as it involves Vampires and Pokémon-esque werewolves. That means things such as blood, mid level gore, character death, etc, so if you are not comfortable with such things, please do not delve further! None of the answered questions will have such things unless full detail is requested, and will always have warnings.

Edit- secondary note, the style all response will be in will constantly change. Our style shifts every day, apologies in advance)

If you would be so kind, please use this code with your question to help us gadge a response!

⭐️ - Full Ramble - give me all the details, spoilers be damned! My curiosity is burning! (Receive a long winded response not from the characters, with as many details as we can remember on the spot pertaining to your question. Depending on the question, may also have diagrams and images)

💎 - Character Response - I only want a response from the character, even if their knowledge is limited!

❌️ - Make It Mild - If possible, please respond with low details if the response has anything dark (like the things warned about above)

🔪 - Chef It Up - I want to see the blood when I close my eyes, give me the full picture! The more angst the better! (No sensoring, we dish out the facts as they are as bluntly as possible and with a decent description.)

You can combine any and all of these if you'd like, no worries! Example-

"Heyo! How did you become a Vampire, Warden?

💎🔪"

[astralbulldragon13]

A Cheeky Little Dance

(TW: mentions of some mild gore at the end as well as a little angst)

Cheeky blinked, realizing where she was. She was in Kayley’s room, she had just finished reading the little one her bedtime story out of a handmade story book. Cheeky heaved a sigh as she closed the book, and set it on her bedside counter, pressing a kiss to the little girl’s forehead as a shadow fell over them from the open doorway. Cheeky looked over her shoulder to see V.

He was leaning against the door jamb with a smirk. She stood and carefully exited to room, leaving the door cracked open so a bit of light can enter the room. Kayley may have had powers that would have terrified most Corporation agents, but she was still only five years old and was afraid of the dark.

Cheeky met V in the hall and looked up at him. “What is it?”

He took hold of her hand and began to tug her along to the living room. “There was something I wanted to show ya.”

She nodded and followed him, seeing an old LP player on the coffee table. Cheeky couldn’t help but laugh when she noticed the stack of vinyl next to it. “What are you doing V? We just put the kids to bed.”

He looked at her with a smile as he placed a disk on the turn-table. “Well, I just thought, since we finally have a minute, we might as well enjoy ourselves.”

V took her by the hands and they began to dance. It was honestly the most fun that they’ve had in a while. Most of the songs had a fast pace, with lots of spins and twists, she thinks the moves were from the Jitterbug. She didn’t know either of them knew how to dance like that. With the slower songs, they did some sort of waltz. For some reason, she couldn’t tell what the songs were, but it didn’t feel like it mattered.

V couldn’t help but make jokes about Yanks and high school proms, and Cheeky would laugh, poking his sides as punishment for his teasing.

“I just don’t get the obsession for it? Just seems like some stupid pomp and circumstance for girls to get all dressed up and show off.”

The blonde rolled her eyes. “That’s cause you’re a dude.”

Cheeky didn’t exactly have a good tell of the time, but it felt like hours. As the dancing seemed to wind down they were doing a cheesy slow-dance. His arms were wrapped around her waist and held her close, her arms were wrapped over his shoulders, with her head resting on his chest with her eyes closed.

“This feels nice,” Cheeky whispered as they swayed back and forth to some sort of acoustic song. After a few seconds she sighed and opened her eyes. “Is this a dream or are we dead?”

V took a deep breath and rested his chin on top of her head. “I dunno, love. I admit, this does feel too good… what do you think?”

Cheeky felt tears sting her eyes as she gripped his shirt. “If this is a dream, then it’s the happiest dream I’ve ever had in my life. And if this is death… it’s a better afterlife than I deserve.”

She leaned back and looked at him. His appearance had chanced. There were darker shadows under his eyes, and his hair was longer, brushing the collar of his shirt. She reached up and brushed a thumb under one eye to reveal the scar under his right eye, as thought it was hidden by makeup.

Then everything began to crash down around her as it became harder to breathe, like her chest was tightening around her.

V lifted a hand to touch her face, a sad smile on his face as he wiped something from her lips, only for her to see that it was blood.

There was the horrific sound of a scream behind her, and Cheeky whirled around to see…V, flying towards a giant creature, with long red hair and teeth so sharp it would make Atrocity look for a nail file for his teeth.

Cheeky turned to run towards the fight as the monster stuck V in mid-air with his claws like a poor mouse being pierced on a thorn by a butcher bird. She could see the others, Wilder was bisected, his blood and entrails staining the grass and concrete, L was propped up against a rock, her body as limp as a puppet with its string cut. The mousy girl was trying to pull L away as she screamed

Cheeky reached out, trying to use her light magic to do something, anything! Only to trip, fall, and land face to face with… herself. Cheeky saw her own body, laying on her back, her ribcage was exposed, as well as her lungs, but… her heart was gone. Her legs were folded under her body, she was kneeling on the ground when that monster… tore her heart out.

Cheeky could barely make out the sound of V trying to make a joke with his final breath, before she screamed to the heavens, tears falling down her face as the light seemed to fade away from everything. Leaving her alone in the dark.