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calmcoldevening · 10 months ago

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Hellow! I just comeback to tumblr after a long time away from this magic space and i wish (and request if is possible 👉🏻👈🏻) if you can write a one shot where the reader was adopted after Charlie finished a family, she was a baby then and grow up as a Hewitt basically so Thomas is her “step brother” but when they grow and they start doing the “family business 🔪 “ they protect each other, he protects her physically and she protects him emotionally also she finish some girls who make fun of Thomas, basically they found that both have feelings for each other…hope i didn’t ask a mess 🥺 by the way, i love your content 🖤

Omg, thank you so much, really ♡⁠ And I like your idea, so I hope you will like it))

Thomas Hewitt x reader

Tw: mention on murders, cannibalism, a little hurt/comfort, reader and Thomas are not the real siblings, jealousy

Almost no one remembers how you got into this family anymore. At one point, Hoyt just carried you in his arms, frowning at Luda. The woman carefully picked you up in her arms, your big curious eyes looked around the room and the people present with interest. Surprisingly, you weren't scared, even though you didn't understand where you were. People were talking loudly, but you didn't understand any of it.

But it only took a couple of minutes, and a strange man appeared in your field of vision. Kid. He was a boy of about five with long black hair, and his face was covered in bandages in some places. The woman said something to him, and the boy awkwardly approached you, looking at your little body with curiosity and some fear. You smiled almost reflexively and held out your hands to him. The woman grinned and gently laid you down in the boy's arms. You curled up blissfully on his chest, closing your eyes and relaxing. The boy started rocking you. It was so nice and warm. You fell asleep almost immediately.

Thomas. That was the boy's name. Thomas Hewitt, your older brother Tommy. He has always been kind and gentle towards you. Of course, your whole family was good, even if it was peculiar, but still Tommy seemed the most dear to you. It has always been so.

The boy was constantly protecting you. At home or in the outside, it doesn't matter, Thomas always tried to be with you, like your personal guardian angel.

As the years passed, Thomas was already in school. You were about four years old when you started noticing something was wrong. Tommy came home from school, and his body was covered with a lot of bruises, dried blood was visible on the bandages. It happened a lot. But when you tried to ask Thomas about it, he was silent, turning away from you.

Your childish mind was still unable to make up a whole picture of such situations.

So the only thing that came to your mind was to cheer Tommy up. He was sitting on the bed when you entered the room. Awkwardly walking with your little legs, you came closer to him, smiling. Without thinking twice, you climbed onto the bed next to him. Taking one of his hands, you began to glue small patches on his wounds.

"It hurts, brother?" you ask softly, looking up at Thomas. The guy can't help but smile. He gently runs his free hand through your hair, and shakes his head negatively. You giggle contentedly and put your arms around his neck, climbing into the boy's lap. Thomas hugs you back tenderly, and in those warm hugs you feel like your brother is protecting you from the whole world.

Already in the middle of school, Thomas started working with Charlie at the slaughterhouse, but you just stayed at home after graduation. By nature, you were a child who was much weaker than Thomas, even though you were very smart and cunning. Besides, Luda didn't want you to see all these horrors of murder from such an early age. You didn't resist her views.

After all, after school you worked at one of the grocery stores in the city. Even if they didn't pay that much because of your age and the fact that it was your unofficial job, it was already something. Therefore, every day you brought home either money or food immediately, which Luda was immensely happy about. Unlike Tommy, you grew up to be quite an active and curious child, you were often the first to take the initiative in various matters. Therefore, at the age of ten you were quite good at helping People around the house, and at fifteen you were already fully cooking. You didn't particularly like the fact that Luda spends almost all her time doing household chores, so you tried to give her as much rest as possible. She was very happy to have such a child.

As the years passed, the city emptied as time passed. The closure of the slaughterhouse has greatly affected the peaceful course of life in the city. After a while, only your Hewitt family remained in the city. It's not that you love other people, it's just that you were sorry that the usual way of life was changing. But as long as you're with your family, you don't care about other people.

Due to the fact that there was not much food in the city, and it was not possible to travel outside it often, gradually you did not have enough food. You just accepted it, and you didn't ask any questions.

Until one day Charlie gave some strange speech.

You could feel the tension in the air when you all gathered at the table. It was a little awkward. The room was dark, with only a small chandelier above the table being the only source of pale yellow light. As usual, you folded your hands on your chest in prayer before eating, when Charlie said a prayer to God. No, not Charlie, Hoyt. Your eyes were darting around the room. You saw the tense shoulders of the Woman and the way her forehead wrinkled because of the eyebrows drawn together. Hoyt wasn't as tense, and yet there was some excitement in his voice. Uncle Monty was no different from his usual self, he just kept quiet.

Eating people. It was.. strange. Wrong. How could Hoyt say that in order to survive, you have to eat people? And this strange soup with rather tough meat.

You looked at Tommy. He was sitting next to you, his huge figure only added some kind of horror to the atmosphere of the room. And yet, under the table, he took your little hand in his big palm, squeezing it in comfort. You understood that it was necessary. If Tommy said it was necessary, then you will obey. You nodded curtly and started eating.

Gradually you got used to the new way of life. You spent whole days helping People around the house or at her gas station store, and in the evening you spent time with Tommy. You are used to strange strangers appearing in your house several times a week, and new meat appears on the table that evening. You no longer paid attention to the screams or the blood, you lived as usual. The only thing you didn't like was that Tommy was now more tired and exhausted by the end of the day. After working with meat for a long time, he would come to your room, you would sit on the bed. He would climb onto your bed and put his head on your hips, seeking comfort. You began to gently stroke his tangled black hair. He closed his eyes with a smile. Your hands gently find the clasp of the mask on the back of his head. Thomas reflexively tenses up at first, but immediately lets you take off the mask. He looks up at you and you smile, caressing his cheeks with your hands. Every time such a sight made a pleasant warm feeling appear in your chest, you wanted to see this smile more often. After a long hug, you fell asleep on the same bed, cuddling up to each other.

Such a life has become commonplace. And although you tried to be indifferent to all the victims who come to this house, in the end, they will all end up being your dinner, you couldn't ignore how these pathetic bastards treated Tommy. Especially those screaming and crying girls.

Thomas was sharpening a knife in his basement when you went down there and saw a girl tied to a table. Her makeup was smeared, and her face was red and swollen from crying and screaming. She was obviously pretty tired already. And yet, the girl continued to try to pull out, shouting some obscenities. She probably already realizes that she is doomed. And yet, her body is still filled with animal fear. You walk down the stairs, your arms folded across your chest. Thomas is not paying attention to you, he is completely focused on his work. And from there he stands over the bound girl. His palm slowly slides over her trembling stomach, breasts, and finally stops on her face, caressing her cheeks. Your heart strangely, almost painfully contracts at the sight of this scene. The girl wriggles and cries, calling Thomas a freak and a brainless animal. You can't see his face, but you can feel him frowning. In an instant, he raises his hand with a cleaver over the girl and forcefully drives it into the girl's body, cutting her fragile neck with an unpleasant crunch. She gurgles, choking on her own blood. You slowly approach Thomas, hugging him from behind. Your hands are clutching the fabric of his shirt under his apron.

"She's lying, Tommy. She's just stupid. You are not an animal, you are the most wonderful man in the world," you whisper and feel him relax under your embrace. He throws the cleaver on the floor. The man turns to face you and wraps you in a tight hug, burying his nose in your hair. He's always been soothed by your scent.

You were really annoyed by these rude victims of the girl. That's why you often began to deal with them yourself. Something inside you rejoiced when you silenced their vile mouth.

You were in the kitchen, as usual, making an apple pie. Humming something to yourself, you moved around the kitchen in a relaxed way, enjoying the cooking process. Suddenly, you heard the faint crackle of the stairs leading to the basement. The third step from below was flimsy and always creaked. But under Tommy's weight, it was a more distinct sound. Now the sound was almost inaudible, as if someone was sneaking around, trying not to attract attention. When you turned around, you saw a fragile girl covered in blood. Her right hand looked like a bloody mess, so she held it with her good hand. Was it Tommy's toy? A strange anger has boiled up inside you. You grabbed the knife you were using to cut apples. It was a sharp knife that Hoyt sharpened for you not so long ago. Slowly approaching the girl from behind, you abruptly wrapped your arms around her, exposing the blade with the tip to her stomach. The girl was filled with an almost animal panic and she reflexively rushed forward, trying to escape from your grip. She made it worse for herself. Her flesh was instantly pierced by a sharp blade. You felt her body convulsing, and cherry blood instantly stained your hands. The knife went into her stomach almost to the hilt when she went limp in your hands. Hoyt would probably scold you for spoiling the meat right now. But you don't care. It felt so light and pleasant when you finished off this girl who called Thomas names not so long ago when he dealt with her friends. No one dared to call your boy that, absolutely no one.

But it wasn't any easier for Thomas.

He saw all those sidelong glances from the victims, all those lascivious smiles in your direction. It annoyed him so much. Thomas killed such victims with particular cruelty. You were his gentle and innocent flower, who had been kind to him since childhood. Thomas cherished you. He wouldn't be able to forgive himself if something happened to you. Your soft hair, sweet smell and sweet smile. All of this made his heart flutter. But in those moments when the escaped victims tried to take you with them, his chest was filled with a feeling of anger and hatred. No one will dare to take away his flower, his ray of light in this dark life.

But there was something strange about it, something he couldn't explain. When the victims tried to flirt with you, unaware of the danger, or when they touched you unobtrusively, his blood boiled. There was something else besides the desire to protect. Mine. Mine. MINE. The voice kept repeating in his head when some guy at the gas station tried to hug you. That same night, he cut off his limbs. There was something else besides his brother's affection. It wasn't right, was it? But all your smiles, touches, and tenderness made Thomas want you for himself alone. He wanted to hold you close and show you in every way that he loves you. He loves me very much. Will you understand him? Or do you only see him as a brother? Thomas knows, he clearly remembers the day when Charlie brought your baby to this house. Even then, Thomas swore with his heart that he would protect and take care of you. You're not his blood sister, so maybe...? Will you love such a freak? After all, all the victims talked about him that way. A freak, an animal, a monster. Do you see him differently? He doesn't want to scare you or disgust you, no. He wants to love you. He wants you for himself.

It was a surprisingly rainy day. You were sitting on the porch, hugging your knees. The rain was pounding on the roof of the house, and there was a strong smell of humidity and wet dust in the air. There wasn't a soul around. There haven't been any new victims in the last few days, so you could definitely rest. Luda, along with Hoyt and Monty, went to a nearby town to check on someone from relatives, so you and Thomas were alone. Quiet and peaceful.

A man was watching you through the open front door. Your gentle image warmed his heart in a pleasant way. Maybe...?

You heard heavy footsteps approaching, and your body almost reflexively relaxed. A warm blanket was placed on your shoulders, and Thomas himself sat on the porch next to you. Even sitting down, he was much taller than you. Thomas stared ahead for a long time, watching the chaotic raindrops. His dark hair was even more curly from the humidity. Finally, he turned to face you, looking down at you. His blue eyes bored into your face for a long time. Finally, he took your hands in his, squeezing them gently. His rough thumbs massaged your hand skin in gentle circles, he frowned a little, obviously thinking about something.

Then he dropped one of your hands. The man pointed at himself. Then he put his hand to his lips, kissing her, and brought his hand to his heart. Then he pointed his finger at you.

I. Love. You.

Your cheeks instantly flushed when you looked down. Your heart was pounding wildly in your chest, echoing in your ears. Did he have the same feelings for you? Or did you get it all wrong? But you are a family..

"I love you too, big brother," you say in the most innocent way, looking at the wet wooden boards of the porch.

Thomas frowns and grabs your face with his free hand, forcing you to look at him. You look up, meeting his eyes. The man's blue eyes are filled with longing and a strange warmth. He shooks his head.

You feel overwhelmed by emotions. How have you always been able to communicate so clearly, even without words? Some kind of pleasant tender feeling blossoms in your chest. You wrap your arms around his neck, hugging him tightly and burying your nose in his shoulder. The smell of metal and dust mixed with the sweet natural scent of his body. The smell that always calmed you down. Thomas hugs you back, stroking your back with his big hand.

A little later, you pull away. You have a strange strong desire, his lips look full and beautiful to you. Leaning forward, you gently kiss him through the mask, he responds. Your kiss is wet and clumsy, but filled to the brim with feelings. Thomas squeezes you tightly in his arms, wanting to shut you off from the rest of the world. You are his, his and only his. You may not be his sibling, but you are his family.

#slashers x reader #slashers fandom #slashers x you #slashers #thomas hewitt x you #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt

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magneto-was-fucking-right · 11 months ago

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The Ghost Next Door - Chapter 3

Prompt: After suffering an almost lethal injury in combat, Simon "Ghost" Riley expected a dull, and uneventful leave back at his shitty apartment. His new next-door neighbor ruins his plans. Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader (named Riley Thomas for plot purposes)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Disclaimer: slow burn; neighbor!Simon; will eventually contain very graphic descriptions of smut;

Chapter summary: In which Simon’s neighbor gets to work and he ends up with his pants down. Word Count: 1.9k

12.30 pm

How long do I have to be MIA?

His fingers nervously danced around the keyboard, his stomach a pit of anxiety and resentment.

He let his mind wander, running over the events of the last mission: the adrenaline sharpening his senses, his balaclava soaked in sweat and rain, Soap yelling out in warning, a stray bullet piercing his thigh so quickly he had barely noticed it until the blood loss caused him to collapse in the muddy floor. A shiver went down his spine as he recollected the familiar sensation of having metal cutting down his flesh, tearing it open only to be restitched moments later.

His eyes were back on the tiny screen as soon as it lit up.

12.35 pm

Doc’s orders, Lieutenant. You need time off.

Simon sighed deeply in exasperation, running a hand down his face as he threw his phone on the table. He took a long, bitter look at the bloody bandage around his thigh, his sutures still partially torn, but he hadn’t dared to check how bad it was yet. The absence of a structured routine was already getting to him, and he was terrified of his mental well-being once the weeks turned into months of being alone with his thoughts and traumas he had fought so hard to bury.

The knock on the door hardly surprised him, as he had been expecting his groceries, but dreaded the social interaction that was bound to come with it. As he reached for his facemask, the young woman was once again on his doorstep, looking even more disheveled and fatigued than she had been hours before.

She carried two heavy plastics bags in each hand, the dog’s leash entangled on her wrist as his tail wagged furiously.

“You look terrible.” Simon pointed out. “Did ya have to fist fight for the groceries, kid?”

“Oh ha ha” She replied sarcastically, rolling her eyes as she struggled to hold up the bags. “A little help, please?”

Simon was quick to reach for the groceries, lifting the weight off her hands so easily she seemed embarrassed at having struggled in the first place. He limped back to the kitchen to put them down on the table and froze once he heard her step inside along with him.

“What are ya doing?” He asked coldly as he saw her stare at his leg, stepping closer as if entranced.

“Y-you’re bleeding.” She pointed at his wounded thigh, the blood soaking through his sweatpants.

“Fuckin’ hell” he muttered as he glanced at the dark wet spot growing in the fabric.

“What happened?” His neighbor asked, deep lines of concern in her expression as she tied the dog’s leash to his doorknob.

“Work injury” He grunted as he stumbled to the couch, feeling progressively dizzier as the wound seemed to have reopened completely.

“Christ…Where’d you get deployed to?” He vehemently ignored her curiosity before hissing as she softly pressed the area around the wound with delicate fingers.

Her face reddened under the heavy silence, and as she knelt between his legs to run her uncalled diagnosis, Simon felt the urge to put distance between the two of them. Physical or emotional.

“Confidential” He replied, coldly and she gave a shy nod, an anxious exhale leaving her frame. “And before ya offer, I don’t need ya help.”

“Right…I’m sorry for asking” She purposefully dismissed his last remark. Simon was just about to ask her to leave when she stood up on her own, eyes still focused on his leg as she retreated to the door, grabbing the pup’s leash and taking him away.

Simon stared at the entrance of his residence in confused shock, not expecting her to leave in such a strange manner, leaving his door ajar, nonetheless. But before he could protest, after hearing a wide variety of noise coming from next door, his neighbor was back with a small box in her hands, this time alone, as he heard the dog whine in the distance.

Simon Riley remained quiet, a grumpy glare burning her figure as she put on surgical gloves and placed a small first aid kit on his coffee table.

“My father was in the military too.” She spoke softly as she prepared clean gauze and a topical iodine-based antibiotic. Simon tried to hide his surprise as she gestured to his thigh. “Let’s just say this isn’t my first rodeo with short-tempered men who can’t admit when they need help.”

He observed her in stunned silence, eyes trailing the small scar over her eyebrow, the deep eyebags that settled on top of a slightly freckled complexion. His thoughts were temporarily invaded with images of a small, introverted child who waited anxiously for her father to return home, months on end with no news or the prospect of a stable life. A chipped canine tooth and dimples. Untamed hair and ill-fitting clothes.

When his eyes returned to hers, she was kneeling in front of him once again, awaiting his permission.

“Would you mind pulling your pants down?” She asks, blushing profusely at the request, to which he sighs deeply and sits in silence for a few more seconds before finally giving in. Limbs stiff with discomfort and suspicion, Simon reluctantly pulls the hem of his sweatpants down, lifting his lower back off the couch slightly to pass them over his muscled thighs, exposing a raging-red gash with tore black stitches.

“Look at that” She mumbled disapprovingly. “This could’ve gotten infected.”

She reached for a sterile tweezer to remove the mangled stitches, and the man let her work in peace, not letting out as much as a sigh when the anti-bacterial medicine burned into his open flesh. Her feather-light fingers revealed such care and compassion towards his injury, he was inclined to enjoy her touch on his thigh, not that he’d ever admit that to himself.

Riley Thomas felt her face and neck burning up with embarrassment. Despite her professional laser focus on tending to a wound, just as what was usual at the Vet clinic, her brain wasn’t quite ready to process the size of his muscled flesh, as well as her hands’ proximity to his most sensitive areas. She did her absolute best to avoid letting her gaze linger on anything other than what was strictly necessary, occasionally glancing up at him to make sure he was okay, always finding his gaze focused on the wall, legs stiff, face half covered.

“I might have an anesthetic spray in my flat. You might feel a slight pinch” She grimaced apologetically as she showed him the small needle and sutures, and he shrugged, unbothered.

“Don’ worry about it” he grumbled, despite his paleness, and she swallowed dryly before raising a slightly trembling hand. This was the hard part.

He cocked his head to the right, mocking her.

“What’s the matter doc? Never worked on an animal this big?” He taunted and she huffed, her face as red as a tomato.

“I usually do this under the right circumstances, that’s all…” Riley explained nervously.

“And I usually like to be taken for dinner before anyone gets my pants off.” He deadpanned and she almost choked on her saliva, her dimples popping up as she laughed whole-heartedly, diffusing any previous tensions.

“There ya go, kid.” He nodded in approval as she expertly prodded the first patch of skin with the needle, her hands now firm and breath steady as she confidently moved about.

Once she finished, having wrapped bandages around the protective gauze on his thigh, she sat back on her heels, removing her gloves with a sigh of relief.

“Regiment?” He suddenly asked and her eyes snapped back to his, startled. Her lips pressed into a thin line before she answered.

“Marines.”

“Yank?”

“Yes.” She nodded.

“Hmm” He grunted, lost in thought.

A comfortable silence settled between the two as the soldier pulled his blood-stained sweatpants back up and she cleaned up the mess.

“Dead?” He asked plainly and she stilled, fiddling with her fingers for a few seconds, gaze set low. Her mouth opened and closed twice before she gave a proper answer:

“Yes.”

“KIA?”

“Blue on blue” Riley stood up and turned around quickly, hiding her face from her neighbor’s intense gaze. There was a massive lump in her throat and she forced herself to breathe deeply, etching a smile on her face.

“Where’s your bin?” She changed the subject, interrupting the man’s pensive expression.

“Bottom cupboard, under the sink.” He replied.

She threw away the bloody gauze and plastic wrappers from the equipment, before properly washing her hands on the basin.

“How come your faucet doesn’t leak?” Riley asked in fake outrage and the man blinked slowly.

“Does yours?”

“Everyone’s does in here.”

The man shrugged.

“I can take a look at that later if ya like…” He reluctantly suggested but seemed so uncomfortable by the idea she giggled at his expression and forced politeness.

“It’s alright. My flat is a mess anyway, wouldn’t want you to see it.” She smiled nervously before moving to the grocery bags on top of his table. “Anyway, I got you a rug.” There was a devious expression in Riley’s face as she pulled out the outdoor rug, its pink fibers engrained with the words Live, Laugh, Love. Her neighbor’s abhorred expression and reproachful look made her laugh so hard she had to cover her mouth.

“Thanks. I hate it.” He spoke from the couch with his arms crossed over his chest. “I think I prefer the one covered in shite.”

“It reminded me of you” She still giggled as she set it on the table.

“Because I’m a such a ray of sunshine?”

“Because it’s what you look like you need” She explained “To live, to laugh and to love” She shrugged, two dimples dotting her cheeks.

“People have committed homicide for less.”

“Don’t be ungrateful!” She set her hands on her waist, playfully staring him down. “My housewarming gift was an eviction petition and leaky faucets.”

“Speakin’ of” He bent over to his coffee table, looking around between a few scattered documents until he fished out the petition papers he still hadn’t gotten rid of.

“D’ya have a pen?” He patted his legs as if he was looking for one, and her jaw hung in shock, her hand on her chest in feigned offense.

“You prick!” She grabbed a beer cap from the counter and threw it at his head, which he caught easily and held between his thick fingers.

If Simon wasn’t wearing a facemask, she would’ve noticed the small smile that had plagued his chapped lips. He threw the papers carelessly unto the table and she nodded once, grateful.

“I’ll get out of your hair. Do you need me to put away the groceries before I leave?” She offered, kindly.

“I’m okay.”

“Alright then, you should rest up and eat somethin’ sugary. You’re still a bit too pale.” The young woman advised as she grabbed her purse and her first aid kit, heading for the door.

Just as she was about to close the door behind her, his deep voice spoke from the couch, without turning around to acknowledge her:

“Name’s Simon.”

She froze at the door, trying to contain her happiness.

“I’m Riley.”

She shut the door softly, and he chuckled to himself.

Simon and Riley. Simon Riley.

A/N: Happy Holidays everyone! I hope you guys are enjoying it and it gives you as much comfort to read it as I get from writing it. Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for the upcoming parts, and as always any feedback is welcome! Thank you to the people who have taken some time to comment on it <3

#ghost cod #ghostxreader #cod #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #simon riley smut #simon riley x reader #ghost smut #modernwarfare2 #neighbor!ghost #ghost fluff #simon riley fluff #TGND

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mysticficti0n · 1 year ago

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All my attention Part 4

warnings- swearing, drinking, sexual tension, romance, fighting?

words- 3.8k

If you'd like to read the previous parts → All my attention series

a/n- so if you're new here I am British and cannot speak any German, I speak a little French, Spanish and Italian but German- no. I also do not trust Google translate so this is gonna be like an avatar thing (if you've seen the newest one Jake says that their language just became normal or something along those lines) so in reality this is all in German, you as a reader know German but, its wrote in English... make sense? no... well, sorry this part has taken a while- I'm on holiday atm so I probably wont be posting till I'm home BUT I didn't want you to be without, also fucking thank you all so much for the response to the first and second part and now third! I can't believe the response to it, I could've cried because im a baby , love you all

(P.s- this one is shorter and shittier, I've not had much free time so this was written between 2 days- so I'm sorry I promise once I'm home they will get much better and saucy 😉)

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backstory- you are the 5th member of Tokio Hotel and you always thought the love was equally platonic between you and a certain guitarist... but what if that all changed?

"okay rock, paper, scissors who goes first" I smiled turning to him, we balled our fists up and chanted "rock, paper, scissors" Tom held rock and I was paper "YES!" I cheered

"yeah well done" Tom cooed dramatically, I looked around and Tom put his hands back onto my legs fiddling with my anklet I forgot I had on and finally something caught my eye

"eye spy with my little eye something beginning with C" I spoke seeing his eyes dart around the car and out the window

"case?" I shook my head "cigarets?... car?... cap?.... your erm.. cardigan!?" I laughed seeing him become annoyed so easily "how hard can it be... is it in here?"

"yes it is- all around us in fact" Tom's brown eyes widened at my words and he carried on looking

"crisps?... OH Carpet!" he finally called to which I clapped my hands "thats such a shit one" he moaned

"so why did it take you 6 try to get it Thomas?" I asked eyeing him slightly

"shut up- alright erm.. eye spy with my little eye... ah... something beginning with B" he smiled looking at me

"Books?... bottles?...bags?....Bill?.... bandage?... bracelets?... is it in or out?" Tom blew at my words

"sorry what? in or out?"

"yes in the car or out the car!?" he oh'ed at me with a smirk forming on his face

"in" with a nod I carried on looking, I couldn't see anything beginning with B and I began to give up "wanna another clue?"

"yes because I don't have a fucking idea" I grumbled

"its living" my eye squinted seeing Tom laugh at me

"no I give up what the fuck begins with B and is 'living'?!" I called slamming myself back into my seat

"bassist" he purred looking back at a sleeping Georg

"we're not playing eye spy anymore" I spoke turning away from him and looking out the window

"oh come on!" Tom pinched "I'll make it easier" I turned back and saw his eyes look softer, a pout forming on his lips "please" he whined

"can't we just spend time together?" I asked pouting like him

"go fuck yourself Y/n" the guitarist huffed shoving my legs off his lap "I wanna play a game!" angrily he crossed his arms like an annoyed toddler and sunk deeper into the chair, I sat up straight and leant towards him, close to the shell of his ear

"we can play when were home Tommy" I whispered gently to him, his posture became more stiff and he tucked his lip between his teeth, our eyes met and for a long moment we stayed still just staring

"is that a promise?" he spoke back giving me a shiver down my spine, a serious blush colouring my cheeks, I always try have the upper hand when we 'flirt' but I always melt at his words

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I woke up to the feeling of being unbuckled out my seat, my eyes parted to see a smiling black haired boy who was whispering something "oh you're awake, were home sleeping beauty" he let go and moved to be out the way, I looked out to see the sky a beautiful purple and pink then... my home

the orange brick and small patterns in-beaded in the concrete (this is what I'm basing it off, I know its says luxury but I just like the outside look of it! ) and the white windows, it was a refreshing sight, I saw all our bags outside the front door and I practically ran up, I passed Gustav who was looking at the flowers that bloomed around the drive, I opened the door and saw the hall I remember running down as a child and all the family pictures decorating the place "MOM! WERE HOME!" I called listening to where her voice would come from

"OKAY COME OUTSIDE, BRING THE BOYS!" she shouted back, I went and gathered the other 4 and brought them threw the house we all knew to well, we went right through and saw our families chatting and drinking wines, beer and small snacks were laid out "oh my darlings, how was your drive?"

"Long we got stuck for fucking ages" Bill cursed grabbing a beer "happy to be home" we all agreed and grabbed ourselves a beer, cheering them all together and taking a swig, I looked out to the garden seeing my sister in her little house playing with my dad and Gustav's and then our trampoline

"hold this" I spoke to Georg who grabbed my bottle, I took off down the garden and climbed onto the metal and started jumping seeing everyone watching me "Hi Stella!"

"Hi hi Baba!" she waved giving me a gummy smile as she watched me bounce up and down

"Y/N YOU'RE 17!" Simone called

'AND WHAT!" I shouted seeing her laugh, then Bill tapped his brothers shoulder and came down the steps to me and got on the trampoline, we bounced each other laughing as one went higher than the other, soon Gustav joined, then Tom and then finally Georg and soon we were making everything a competition "I CAN GET HIGHER!" I called as everyone jumped shooting me into the air "AHHH HOLY SHI-" I screamed as I came back down, we played crack the egg and alligator and gazelles but then my dad came and pulled us off

"we have guests, they've come to see you all- so behave and grow up will ya" he warned as we all rolled our eyes "ah- say it"

"yes sir" we all groaned walking back up into the house seeing our parents hugging someone "who is it?" Gustav asked grabbing his beer again

"dunno" Bill spoke trying to see over the group "looks like a women?" I thought to myself but came to no avail

"Y/n, Bill, Tom you remember Scarlett and her family right?" my mom asked bringing a women forward, she had dark brown hair and very fair skin, I looked to the twins who like me had no clue

"erm.. yea of course, Scarlett lovely to see you" Tom spoke first sticking his hand out with a fake smile

"oh Bill! look how grown up you are" she pulled the wrong twin into a hug

"oh no thats Bill, this is Tom" my mom laughed patting the taller twins shoulder

"oh I'm sorry boys- you look so similar!" I watched as the two eyed each other, with their totally opposite style that they've had since the late 90's you'd think people could differentiate the two

"ah yeah" Tom replied as the women hugged his brother

"and Y/n you look so different, what happened to your hair? and you have so many ear pricing! and you have boobs!" she chuckled giving me a hug

"yep- comes with being a girl" I spoke awkwardly "oh and this is Gustav and Georg" the lady waved to them to which the two smiled "how are you anyways" I asked trying to redirect the conversation

"good good, moved house, re-married left that cheating fucker I called my husband- 5th marriage now" Scarlett grinned making us go wide eyed "but you know, me and Benson and Zach, my youngest son who I don't think you've met tried to get tickets to your concerts, I remember how you 4 used to be amazing friends but obviously went different paths.. well actually- Benson doll come here, come say hi!" my eyes went to the two boys who shrugged not remembering a Benson, soon a tall-ish blonde boy with blue eyes stepped forward "no- get your brother- they don't know you" she hurried making me cringe slightly for the boy who frowned

"its alright if he's busy scar, they can say hello later" my mom smiled placing her hand on Toms arm

"no no- ah here you are, remember-"

"holy fuck" I spoke seeing the boy, well now man. Very tall, black haired, freckled faced, green eyed boy who I remembered being a awkward, snotty, weird little kid "ben?"

"Y/n god its been years" he spoke, his voice was deeper and rougher "Bill, Tom" he shook their hands and the two smiled remembering our old friend, he moved to me hugging me

"you've changed dude" Tom laughed staring at him

"I know, I thought I should make something of myself, I mean I look at you three and i'm shit compared" a snicker left my mouth and he joined in "yeah I mean, we all moved on right" he looked back at me and I saw his eyes travel along me and a smirk on his face "we all changed"

"ah-well erm... what are you doing now or?" Tom joined coming closer to me and putting an arm around my shoulder pretending to get comfy but I knew what he was doing "got a girlfriend?" I looked to the dreaded boy who didn't take his eyes of the other boy

"oh no no, can't be arsed with all the girl stuff, to much work I'd rather get my fair share, sorry Y/n- anyways, I'm an electrician.. don't want to bore you all so I'll let you go but erm, we should catch up so I can here all about your guys concerts" he looked back towards me

"yeah we should, maybe we could meet you at a bar?" I asked seeing the twins eyeing the boy again, Bill had a frown watching him

"ah well- they have their own lives I was thinking me and you? like a date maybe at my place?" I laughed slightly but Tom stepped in before I could even get a word out

"yeah she has her own life too but we have to relax for a while, we've been on tour and we have a radio show thing tomorrow night- thats our life so..." I saw Bill laugh

"basically were saying you're not putting your cock in her Ben- you're still as weird as you when we were kids" the other twin spat getting a glare from Ben and his mother who stood looking at Bill with a lopsided smile

"I think Y/n can speak for herself" she quipped making me roll my eyes

"look its nice n all, and you're a very.. nice guy but you kinda ruined it by saying having a date at yours, I've traveled all over and I know I maybe a girl but I'm not stupid- were not gonna fuck" with a huff he went to turn away

"its fine, id rather not be known for sleeping with the chubby slut side singer from a band sad fuckers listen to anyways" my jaw dropped, who the fuck did he think he was talking to?

"watch your fucking mouth" I spoke seeing the families turn to look at me, he smiled looking down at me "don't fucking smile at me because I'll carve you into the floor you dick" I hissed shoving him away as he tried to step forwards attempting to intimidate me

"okay calm down sugar" at that I felt the arm that was around me go and Tom was over the boy pushing him back

"TOM!" his mom called "BILL GET YOUR BROTHER!" he 'tried' pulling his brother off but he was enjoying this, Bill loved drama "Gordon grab him" she spoke shoving her boyfriend at Tom. The boys step dad grabbed him away and Tom shouted a few words back at him

"DON'T FUCKING TRY- YOU WONT DO SHIT" Tom roared trying to push off Gordon who was holding his shoulders talking to him to get him away, my mom was ushering us away, our fathers stood watching cheering on Tom, not helping the situation getting angered stares from the women

We watched as Scarlett went out shouting things to her son and waving my mother bye, with a breath it was time to face the words of our mothers "what was that for!" my mom Angelica spoke with a growl

"mom it wasn't Toms fault" I began seeing her shake her head "he was trying to get me to fuck him, they were sticking up for me"

"Tom, Bill Is this true?" Tom nodded taking a sip of his beer

"then he called her chubby and a slut! like come on Angie in makes sense why" Bill added and my moms eyes shot up

"what!" Simone spoke standing from her seat "that bitch" my mom shot her a look and she sat back down

"well Tom, you two as well, I understand why it happened. carry on" we nodded and walked to Georg and Gustav who were laughing

"had fun?" Gustav shoved his friend

"fuck off" Tom whispered staring out to the garden

"I think I'm going to change" the boys nodded and I lifted my drink and made my way up stairs to my room tabled 'my little sunshine' the sticker had been on there since I was born- It was a nickname only my mom called me and I knew if she didn't say it I was in a lot of shit. I looked in the mirror and saw in the reflection the large poster of Tokio Hotel I had above my make-up desk, It was us doing our 'signature' pose pointing to the camera with our bad bitch faces on as Bill said. I took off my shirt leaving me in my baggy jeans and a bra with lace curling around it, I walked to my window which looked over the back garden and watched as the boys were now playing with Stella, it looked like they were having a tea party of sorts which made me smile, I loved how they treated Stella like their sister too

"Y/n can I come in?" a voice startled me as his face appeared around the door

"fuck, yeah come in, I thought you were outside still" I laughed seeing Tom but his face didn't copy mine- he was still angry, he perched on my bed looking around the room "I think I might redecorate its little, dated" he nodded but his eyes went back to me

"I'm sorry" I furrowed my eyebrows

"for what?, you were sticking up for me I'm not going to be like 'ugh Tom how dare you!' am I?" a small smile cracked on his lips

"I keep being really... over the top I guess, like say you did actually like Ben and I just acted like that?" I rolled my eyes sitting myself next to him placing my hand on his knee

"I would've told you to back off- so don't worry" his eyes drifted to mine and turned softer, I moved my hand to his jaw and let my thumb caress his cheek "and I like you being protective over me, so you're fine"

"you're to good to me" he spoke watching me closely "and I could be a lot more protective of you, if thats what you like" his voice was a sultry whisper, I neatly melted to his words, I think he realised when he chuckled deeply causing me to just shudder, our foreheads knocked onto each others, our lips brushing each others

"okay pretty boy- lemme change" Tom's face lit up slightly with a blush but he sighed laying back on my bed covering his eyes "fine" I accepted he wasn't going to leave which in reality didn't effect me, I got changed infront of him a lot so quickly I pulled out a black tube top, my zip up hoody and sprayed myself with my 'can can' spray

"that smells good" he stood up coming to stand behind me, arms circling my waist "remember what you said earlier?" he spoke in my ear pressing a small kiss to my jaw

"I do, but people will be wondering why you've got a boner so... and you can't really say its from your best friend because she's so sexy and turns you on beyond any other girl in the universe can you?" I smiled turning to him, I knew I was torchering him "and then everyone will know you have a crush on me, because I'm so perfect"

"you play a hard game Y/l/n" I grinned turning myself in his arm so his hand was on my back "literally"

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

the moon rose into the sky, Stella was in bed and we were all sat around a small fire the dad's made, my mom and Gustav's mom were making cocktails in the kitchen while Georg and the twins mom chatted while sipping on some wine from earlier, leave us five talking about our shows

"I think we could be more extravagant" Bill spoke "more lights and make the ground shake uno?"

"yeah I want to be deaf at the end" Gustav added taking a bite of a sandwich

"maybe we should try traveling more with tour? like going to America and England, Mexico" I asked cuddling into the blanket we had

"hot chicks in England" Georg added cheersing Tom with their beer "and guys for you" we all laughed and soon Gustav's mom came out with a tray of drinks, 5 cocktails and 5 shots, followed by my dad holding a camera

"we are calling these 'Tokio Hotel martini'!" she called handing us glasses full of a purple liquid "its 3 ounces gin, ½ ounce maraschino liqueur, ½ ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice, ¼ ounce crème de violette, ice and Cocktail cherry for garnish!" she smiled "and here's some vodka" a laugh left our lips as we all quickly grabbed one "enjoy!" we all tapped the shots twice onto the table and knocked them back and quickly chased it with the 'Tokio hotel martini' which was delicious to say the least

"mom these are amazing" Gustav hummed "thank you" we all spoke together

"you can tell they're our children" Simone began wrapping a arm around my mom "little shits" she smiled

"thanks mom" Bill grinned

┍━━━━━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━━━━┑

The night turned into just everyone relaxing, Georg and Bill went up into the spare room and to sleep, Gustav was playing pool with the dads while me and Tom sat with our moms and drank different alcohol that was set out, I was sat leaning on the arm of the chair and my legs over Tom who was stroking them without a thought

"what times that interview thing?" Alexia Georg's mom asked tapping me on the shoulder

"erm... I'm not sure- Tom what time is the-" he looked over answering before I could finish

"starts at 6" he went back to his conversation and Alexia only giggled

"6 then, how come?"

"well we were thinking of booking a meal, as like a celebration and inviting all the grandparents because they've missed you all, so you think it would be done for 9?" I nodded seeing her walk into he house and pull the phone off the hook, I turned back to the dreadlocked boy and just found myself staring at him, just the way he looked while in a serious conversation but then a smile appearing on his face when a joke was made, the way he held me like I was his but I knew it was just a platonic sort of thing, we'd never done anything besides kiss, I knew I'd never be his- I wasn't going to be mad if he did find girls I mean come on its Tom Kaulitz he could get any girl, I was just lucky we were so close anyways, all I knew is that he liked making out with me and occasionally I looked pretty to him

"thats what I said to Y/n, because we want one...yeah what do you think?- Y/n" I was snapped out my trance by him shaking my leg gently

"sorry what was that?" I asked bring myself to the conversation

"getting a tattoo" my mouth made a 'O' shape and nodded

"yes oh my god I want so many but we want one for the band" Tom nodded looking back to the women "and I want to get some more piercings, like the middle of my lip and nose" my mother shook her head

"why your nose! its so cute" Bella Gustav's mom joined "'the lip will look badass though" I smiled seeing my mom sigh at her friend not being very helpful "what! come on Angelica lighten up"

"you'll love it mom!" she nodded rolling her eyes

"well its getting late- I think you two and Gus should go up to bed, its already.. fuck 12:30, Yes bed" She began pulling me and Tom up and calling Gustav over, we hugged and kissed everyone goodnight and made our way into our rooms, Gustav walked in and just fell onto the air mattress on the floor, I looked to see Georg and Bill sharing the bed, Bill had stolen most the blanket as usual so being the good friend I am I went and grabbed an extra blanket for the bassist and placed it over him

"let me walk you to your room" Tom whispered grabbing my hand and pulling me down the corridor into my bedroom, the room was dim but I could make out where he was and the smirk along his lips "I saw you staring at me" I tried to avoid his eyes "oh so you wont look at me now huh?" he pushed and I stayed silent, embarrassed of how he saw me, his fingers curled under my chin and pulled my face to meet his which looked softer "you're okay Y/n" Tom pulled me closer which I didn't even know was possible, my heart began beating quickly, it felt as if it could leap out of my chest at any moment. Our eyes met for a brief moment again before he leaned in and pressed his lips gently to mine. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as I melted into his embrace. Every inch of my body was on fire as I smiled feeling his breath on me, the kiss felt different, and had more meaning then the ones before "fu-fuck you're so beautiful" he hummed. Together we stumbled to my bed where he fell below me, I crawled to be closer to him, Tom's hands searching my body but quickly finding themselves comfy on my waist, I held his face between my hands, smoothing his skin with my thumbs. we parted with dopey smiles smothering our faces, lips pursed and eyes open only slightly "actually I prefer looking at you from down here"

"oh yeah- bet you do" I laughed feeling him sit me on his hips which a small yelp left my mouth "sorry" the guitarist only grinned moving his hands onto my thighs with a sigh "what?" I asked

"what are we?" a question I had actually wondered a lot about "I know what I'd like to be"

"and whats that?" I spoke leaning closer to him, letting the smell of his cologne and beer fill my nose

"yours"

#bill kaulitz #georg listing #gustav schäfer #kaulitz twins #tom kaulitz #tom kaulitz x reader #00s #tokio hotel #tom kaulitz imagines #germany #tom kaulitz icons #monsoon #Scream 2007 #2007 #y2k nostalgia #2000s

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petvampire · 4 months ago

Text

the cat king gets just a little feral when he smells blood.

NSFW crowcat drabble, a bit of blood and their predator/prey dealie <3 ~

There are moments when he forgets that the Cat King is, at his core, a predator. Moments he forgets that in their basest forms, he'd be more likely to be prey for the feline, rather than a companion, a partner. They have all the trappings of humanity, and most of the time, those are the lines and boundaries they live within.

This isn't most of the time.

Monty has sort of forgotten how to breathe, because Thomas is pressed close, inhaling slowly, taking in the sharp copper scent of blood that lingers on the crow. It was nothing, really, a little scrape with a particularly territorial seagull. He has a few shallow gashes along his forearm, barely enough to warrant a bandage.

The Cat King's eyes are narrowed and focused on those wounds, though, and his lips quirk into a beautifully vicious grin. His fingers twine with Monty's, but it's not a soft, affectionate gesture; his grip is firm, and he jerks the other's arm up, drawing a surprised little noise from the crow. "Really, birdie, you shouldn't be so careless."

And yeah, he definitely can't breathe as the other fucking licks along those shallow wounds, and maybe he should be thinking about how it's weird and probably goddamn unsanitary, but he can't feel anything but the pounding of his heart. It's like he has a wing pinned under the cat's paw, like he's been caught and the other intends to play with his food before he devours him.

They aren't human, and these moments really drive it home.

"Sorry," he breathes, though he doesn't sound genuinely apologetic, and Thomas knows it. Why would he apologize about getting attacked by some asshole seagull?

A low chuckle skates across his skin, and there's a dark light in the cat's eyes as he looks up at him. "You should be. It's dangerous to be a wounded bird around here."

Oh, fuck.

The Cat King backs him against the wall, pins his wrists over his head, every movement sure and graceful. He dips his head to brush his lips teasingly across Monty's, and he can almost still taste his blood on the other's mouth.

And he can't deny that he likes this, likes the way his pulse races when Thomas slips into the animal he is beneath the skin, reminds Monty of what he is, too, of the feathers that lurk beneath the flesh. He likes that tiny shiver of fear that laces through hot desire when the other presses a thigh between his legs, when he ducks his head to nip harshly at the delicate skin of his neck. The crow can't help it if he willingly lays his throat bare, puts himself at the other's mercy.

Dangerous as he can be, Thomas is exceedingly merciful.

#dead boy detectives #dbda #thomas the cat king #the cat king #monty the crow #monty finch #crowcat #pv writes #catcrow #crowking

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zer0brainc3lls · 3 months ago

Text

I bet on losing dogs pt4

masterlist

story summary: what if newtmas was canon in the death cure and there was a plot change?

word count: 8.3k

TW LIST: detailed gore, detailed mentions of blood loss, typical canon violence. let me know if i missed any!!

Newt's bones and eyes are still so so heavy but he has woken up, the muscles in his eyes twitch to open but his brain screams at him before he moves. DON'T OPEN YOUR EYES his survival instincts holler at him, he can't trust anyone anymore except his own heavy body. Where are you? Newt feels that the room is cold, his arms and legs are strapped down by what feels to be.. Warm leather. The leather is warm, he's been there a long time. He hears bombs raging on in the distance, it's muffled. Are you hurt? Newt can still feel his right palm stick against the bandages Minho had applied along with deep discomfort, his hand feels exposed despite being covered. His face still sears with agony from the scratches and his wrists whine in overuse. His bad leg screams at him, the muscles feel tight and raw under his flesh but despite that he has no new injuries except he feels a prick in his lower arm.

He feels blood being drained from his arm, his senses heightened already to pick up the sound of quiet breathing, along with heavy footsteps not too far away pacing rhymically. Keep your breathing steady he continued to breath at the pace he was earlier, his chest rising and falling in time with the steps. Who's in the room? The person who is drawing his blood is steady, clearly trained because the pain in his arm is very miniscule. Ava Paige is dead and the halls of the tower were empty, wait. Teresa had called for him to come back so she must have been waiting, Teresa is drawing his blood. The heavy footsteps boom louder with every step, presumably Janson. “What's taking so long?!” the ratman snaps. “He's dehydrated, the blood is barely coming out.” Teresa replies, her voice wobbling slightly. As if her words summoned it, his throat scratches at every breath he takes in as his head pounds desperate for water.

After a minute or two, Teresa finishes extracting his blood and removes the needle from his arm. Newt knows where he is, who he's with and what state he's in. He's not going to learn anything else with his eyes closed. open your eyes Newt listens and slowly opens his not so heavy eyelids and says, his voice scratching “why don't you just kill me?” his eyes drawn to the gray haired man. Janson turns and speaks in a low voice “no we don't want to do that Newt” he walks ever so slowly, almost taunting him. “We're going to take special care of you. We’ll keep you alive, just. And in return, you give life to the rest of us..” The crank turns on his heels at a snail pace, reaching out for something and making all of two steps back to newt. Holding a cylinder tube with a cap he ever so slowly removes and places to the side, the tip of the needle mocking him. The small see-through part of the mostly black cylinder glows a light blue. Desperation and rage bubble in his blood at the sight, the syringe Newt desperately needs, the serum he would give his own life for just out of reach.

The serum. Thomas’s serum.

“The ones we chose to save anyway.” The putrid crank carefully pulls up his sleeve, extending his arm out as he does so making sure Newt sees his arm. His arm is covered in black veins, almost like a web that's been woven together without care or direction spreading anywhere and everywhere. His arm is coated in a thin layer of dirt unlike the rest of his body, as if the flare itself is dirty. Newt's eyes are drawn away from the spider's web before him, up to the needle tip that Janson is waving right in front of his eyes. He smirks maniacally, his eyes wide and dangerous. He creeps the needle tip towards his arm.

…

“DONT YOU FUCKING DARE JANSON” the rage in his gut spreading to his throat, his arms, his legs, his bones and muscles. he wildly pulls against his restraints as if will stop the cruel crank, Janson taunts him by dragging out the process for as long as possible. Inching closer and closer and every centimetre he gets he somehow gets even slower, all the while Newt is screaming profanities at the top of his lungs. His throat burns as he screams. Somehow, Janson knows Thomas is infected and he's determined to remind Newt of this fact. How dare he taunt him?! Years and years of suffering, watching gladers die gruesome deaths and hearing their god awful screams knowing there was absolutely nothing he could do to save them. He can't let Thomas die, not now! He's the reason they got out of that maze, he saved his best friends' lives and gave him freedom, hope. For ONCE in his life he felt something other than complete hopelessness the day Thomas killed that griever. Newt finally had something to run for, to push for. Thomas made him believe in a future. He fought almost every battle he could, escaping the maze, fleeing from wicked, making it to the right arm, finding minho. He has one final job to do and that is to save thomas. the one thing he has left to fight for is JUST out of his reach, if he could just MOVE HIS GODDAMN HANDS-

SMASH

Janson falls to the floor in a spray of glass, his head thumping against the hospital floor. Teresa stood behind him breathing heavily, she quickly snatches the syringe off the floor before removing Newts restraints. Relief floods through Newt's body and he fights to shake from the nonstop adrenaline that he believes may never stop coursing through him after this night. Teresa mumbles something that doesn't reach Newt's ears while she struggles with a buckle, Newt desperately trying to assist her wriggles his way up and away from the leather. Teresa removes the restraint before the crank whose head is dripping with blood grabs Teresa by the hair and throws her across the room with an inhumane amount of strength, Teresa slides across a table of medical equipment before falling onto the cold ground. “TERESA” Newt screeches before using his bandaged hand to try undo the rest of his body, he fights a whine at the back of his throat at the pain that boils under his palm as he does. He struggles to ignore the fact that his once white bandages are becoming crimson and sticky.

Newt blocks out the screaming and fighting not even a metre away, only focusing on the buckles. Eventually he frees himself and he hears a loud THUNK and a lack of high pitched screams, Teresa's limp body crumples to the floor, her eyes shut tightly. A machete shines under the fluorescent hospital light, his machete. Jansons' eyes notice quicker and he's already snatched it, his teeth bared wildly. Newts runs and pounces at Janson, both bodies flying out the door of the hospital room and into an equally bright hallway. Newt and Janson tumble around on the ground, punches thrown and kicks landing into stomachs and faces. Janson barely uses the blade, only slicing Newt hesitantly across his shoulder blade and arm, clearly having no clue how to wield the blade. Fucking pathetic. If the machete were in Newt's hand however? Janson would've been dead already. If it weren't for Jansons flare enhanced strength Newt would have overpowered his pen pusher body by now, machete or not.

Janson manages to deliver a heavy blow to the side of Newt's head, the world spins and darkens for a moment. He stumbles to the ground, trying to reel his consciousness back to him. The crank straddles him with the machete to his neck, pressing down slightly blood drips from Newt's neck. The cut is nowhere near deep, in fact Newt barely feels the small cut. “He was never supposed to be in the maze!” Janson spat, Newt has a firm grip on Jansons wrist keeping the machete from getting any deeper than a paper cut. “But he just had to go after you and all your little friends didn't he? So brave so.. Caring” the end of his sentence reeks of sarcastic sweetness, Newts grip gets impossibly tighter as he attempts to push Janson away to no avail. “The one thing Ava did right was making you The Glue, so desperate. Putting his life above your own? Their lives above your own?” Newt tries to kick up with his feet and push Jansons body off with his core, he squirms around desperately trying to get out from underneath the vile crank.

BANG

Janson drops the machete, his arm goes limp for a moment. Newt seizes the opportunity and pushes Janson off him and snatches the machete off the floor and scrambles up to his feet, blood pumping in his ears. He looks up to find Teresa holding a small pistol, eyes wide looking down at Janson. More specifically his shoulder which is now seeping with blood. Her body is stiff and unwavering, her hair tangled around the back from Jansons cruel fingers. Her breaths are quick and shallow, her bottom lip quivering.

“We need to go-!” Newt's authoritarian tone is cut short by bombs that make the floor shake and cause both him and Teresa to fall to the ground, Janson who was on his hands and knees attempting to stand falls flat on his stomach. Smoke and ash fill his lungs and burn his eyes, the light above flickering on and off, wires spark with electricity bouncing off the ceiling and walls. The pistol that Teresa held moments ago flies from her hands as she falls, landing right next to Jansons body ready for the taking when he eventually stands his ground.

Newt somehow gains his footing despite being in a much weaker state than Teresa, grabbing the back of her white coat insisting they need to move. Without hesitation she too scrambles to her feet as they run down the hallway, his body mimicking a rusty doll in need of oil as he moves, every step becoming more and more agonising. Bullets spray down the hallway just before they duck into the next, his bum leg getting weaker by the second. “In here!!” Teresa shrieks, pulling Newt through two glass double doors that move apart on their own. They stumble into a large what seems to be a testing room..? The right wall lined with thick glass and well past the gone crank inside, banging on the glass in ripped up dirty hospital gowns. The back wall and centre of the room filled with small tables with medical equipment and the largest object in the room being a large cylinder machine Newt couldn't even fathom the name of. Newts bum leg drips.. Drips?

Newt looks down to find a gunshot wound embedded into his right thigh.

His breath hitches at the sight, he collapses to the floor almost hitting his head against a metal cabinet before Teresa grabs him and lowers him to the ground. Teresa brows furrowed in concentration immediately, she scrambles through cabinets and seconds later she finds what she's looking for. A long white cloth and small scalpel. SCALPEL?? Newt's eyes widen in shock and he considers scrambling away from her even though she's a trained doctor. “I'm not cutting you, I need something for the tourniquet.” right. Newt remembers Jorge showing him how to tie one of those a few times, you need something to put in it to act as a “torsion device” Newt's body settles significantly and she allows Teresa to cut off his pant leg and wrap the cloth around his now scarlet soaked leg. Her fingers and arms work quickly, she's mumbling steps to herself throughout the quick and painful process. Newt hisses in pain as she tightens the cloth, “sorry, if it hurts-” “that means it's working, i know-” - he hisses and scrunches his eyes closed - “Jorge told me.”

Teresa finishes the tourniquet and takes the now cut off pant leg and starts to instruct Newt to press down on the wound, as if he hasn't done that already tonight before the sound of the glass doors opening once more interrupts her. Heavy footsteps walk ever so slowly into the room, Janson calls out for teresa. Teresa quickly leaves Newt's side and scrambles behind the desk, Janson goes on a long winding speech about the girl and her betrayals. Newts mind drifts away from the sounds of teresa shifting around the room and jansons taunting, he barely notices when his own body shifts to get away from the cranks watchful eye. Newt is only thinking about two things, how dry Thomas's blood is on Newt's hands. it coats his palms and fingers, the way it trapped itself underneath his dirty nails. How much time does Thomas have left? Does he have any time left at all? Or has his heart come to a steady stop along with Newt's ability to think about anything other than survival?

The second thing being how Jansons undeserving body receives blood from his icy heart every second that passes, every heavy footstep being assisted by his flare infested brain that is undeserving of the ash tainted air. How is Janson allowed to walk while so many boys lay dead in the deadheads? How is Janson allowed to breathe while Albys lungs receive no such sensation and never will again? How is Janson allowed to point a gun towards someone else while Winston willingly turned on to himself? So many deaths and screams haunt his mind, will his mind ever quiet again? Or will he forever be forced to hear their screams whenever he breathes?

Oh.. the world is escaping him now, everything is focusing and unfocusing as if he was taking glasses on and off again. What is that sound? White noise buzzes almost inside his head, his brain shaking for blood. “Don't you have enough blood on your hands already?!” Janson calls out, oh his talking to him. Who else would he be talking to? Newt realises that his hands are shaking violently, how long have they been doing that for? “Your little friend Thomas might not have been able to shoot her.. But I can!” Newt senses are impossibly heightened so much so he can hear the gun rattle in Jansons palms,

Newt looks towards Janson, black veins pulsing up his neck.. His neck. Newt looks down at his machete which is covered in now half dried blood, his own blood. The machete shimmers under the flickering lights calling to him, the handle almost slips itself into Newt's hand as he wobbles to stand. “JANSON!!” he screams, tumbling towards the crank. Janson turns to point the gun towards the blonde but is much too slow because by the time his pupils almost disappear in shock at Newt's raised arm it's too late for him. Newts arm and shoulder muscles tighten as he slashes his machete across Jansons throat, the blade swipes effortlessly into his flesh, unlike Janson Newts slash is not hesitant or unpracticed. The gun that once shook in the cranks palms drops to the floor as he claws at his throat, blood dripping from his mouth as he falls to the floor choking on crimson.

Once Janson drops to the floor all the strength newt gathered deep within his bones all slips away from him, Teresa grabs his arm and helps him hobble out of the room with her. Any and all tension snaps, Newt in this moment feels no hatred towards her because in this moment they both want the same things, to survive this nightmare along with thomas. Wires all around them blow and light up with electricity, the halls reek of ash and gunpowder as they stumble towards a stairwell. Teresa’s voice orders him to move in certain directions and he does what he's told with no argument, they enter a stairwell, the stairs leading down boom in fire. Teresa leads them up the stairs, Newt desperately trying to take some of his weight off her shoulders.

They climb and climb until Teresa uses her free hand to open a door taking them onto the roof, everything around them burns violently, the sheer brightness burns into newts eyes. Teresa turns back around to go back into the stair well before that too, explodes in bright fire. Newt can almost see the hopelessness radiating off of her, her mind finally coming to a stop and realising it over, their done. Dead. They had failed.

Newt's body finally gives out, crashing to the ground along with Teresa who tries to break his fall. Teresa's chest rises and falls as she gasps for air desperately, the sky starts to slowly swirl together. Teresa reaches into her pocket and hands Newt the syringe he came back for. “I knew you would come back.” she said, her tone impossibly soft as if the world was not on fire. “I knew you would help me.” Newt responds in the same manner, in this moment, in this fire, Newt cannot hate the girl that holds her. He will never forgive her but he cannot hate her. “I- i dont want to die Teresa.” The words escape his chapped lips and his fogged brain before he has the chance to bite his tongue, he struggles to speak with the ash in his lungs. He knew the likelihood of his return ending in his death, but now that he is faced with it burning all around him he's never felt such despair in his life. Even in death he couldn't keep his promise. “Me neither.” her voice tremors now, another understanding. Her tone is ridden with guilt, not the same guilt Newt carries in his chest but guilt all the same.

White noise blares in his ears, the noise gets closer and closer.. Teresa turns to look in front of them, Newt turns also to see that the noise is the berg. The berg!! “C’MON!!” Teresa commands, lifting Newt to his feet, practically dragging him to the edge of the building. Newt holds the syringe impossibly tight in his hands, his eyes fighting to stay open as he searches for Thomas in the berg. His bones heavy and tired attempt to put up one final fight, his body searches for one final push of adrenaline to get him and Teresa onto the berg. The berg is so close yet so far, Newt's hand grazes Vince's before falling once more. “YOU HAVE TO GET CLOSER” Teresa shouts, gally shouts something along those lines to the pilot who Newt can only assume to be Jorge. The berg swings back and forth, building around them crumbling down. Teresa holds onto Newt and pushes him to the berg with one big push, Newt feels hands grip his upper arms pulling him onto the ship.

Newt looks around the ship, his eyes landing on Thomas only a few steps away. Steps his legs cannot take him. Everyone around him is shouting out to Teresa, part of Newt wants to help her but he has a promise to keep. So he crawls, his bad leg weighs him down as his arms fight to pull his body along. His tourniquet slowly becomes looser as he crawls across the floor, leaving a trail of blood as he moves. He's not far now, PUSH GODDAMNIT his brain screams. Newt considers injecting it into Thomas’s palm just to get the serum in him faster but decides against it, refusing to risk the one and only vial they have. His arms shake as he pulls himself one final time before injecting the serum into Thomas's upper arm with a firm click. He did it. It's over. He kept his promise. Minho and Thomas are alive.

His vision swirls once the blue liquid finally empties out of the syringe in what has got to be the longest 5 seconds of his life, his body goes limp as he lets his arm fall. His brain slowly flips into unconsciousness as the berg rumbles with an upward descent, he faintly heard feet rushing towards him and barely feels minho flip him onto his back. “STAY WI-” the rest of Minho’s words are unheard as white noise becomes the only sound in the world, faces and arms crowd his vision and body, fingers and hands touching all his injuries that were well worth it in Newt's mind. Newt turns his head to see Thomas’s face that is now soft and calm in a peaceful sleep as his chest rises and falls, the black veins slowly becoming less visible. He’d truly done it. He saved Thomas.

That's Newt's final thought before his vision finally escapes him.

It's been almost 2 days since Newt woke up in the safe haven, and for the past 2 days he has had doctors speak to him, getting his vitals taken, being forced to eat and drink, being banned from walking without a cane as if he's an old man, has had his bandages changed and he's not seen a single person he knows. Doctors have asked him his pain level, how he's feeling, how he’s coping, and he has barely said a word to them. Newt could speak, if he wanted to. Doctors speak about him as if he's not there, they say he's in shock. The past 2 days have not felt like days, everything blurs together in one big jumble of memories. Everything seems so distant, even the present moment he's in now, which is another one of these doctors attempting conversation.

“You have been in the safe haven for 2 days, did you know that?” the doctor says. Yes I did, I have heard this countless times. Newt shrugs and refuses to look at said doctor, he just wants to see someone, anyone he knows. “Is Tommy ok?” he asks for about the billionth time, one of his few repeated phrases. “When can I see him? Or anyone?” the doctor sighs, as if Newt is forcing him to be there before he says “speaking of that.. One of my colleagues informed your friends about your condition so they should-”

The doctor is interrupted by Minho, Brenda, Frypan and Gally all crashing into the room at once. “NEWT!!” Minho practically screams, running over and pulling him into the world's tightest hug. The doctor stands and leaves the room smiling happily to himself. Newt's body floods with happiness for the first time in 48 hours as he hugs him back weakly, his face buried into his neck. He feels Brenda hugging him from behind, her chin resting on his shoulder. “Hurry up! I wanna get in there!” Frypan ushers Minho away after a minute or two before clapping both his hands on both of Newt's shoulders “how you doing?” he asks warmly “much better now!” Newt exclaims, his lips curve into a wide smile. He feels giddy, giddy like a kid on Christmas finally getting the toy they begged for. “Hey dude.” gally says, his arms crossed with a slight smile. “Hey man!” he says, refusing the impossible urge to squeal in pure excitement, for once in 2 long days he finally feels present in a moment, the past 48 hours a mere sad blur that no longer exists in his mind.

Then he realises, someone is missing. “Minho,” - Newt turns to face him and takes a deep breath - “is Tommy ok?” Minho’s smile turns into a cheeky grin before saying “about that..” he steps towards the door, pulling it open and reaches his arm to the side, tugging on something. “TADA!!” Minho pulls Thomas in the room by his shirt, Thomas’s eyes widen in shock at Newts state, Newts eyes widen as his eyes drift to Thomas's stomach. No knife, no blood. He's really ok. Newt feels Brenda's arms slip away from him and he hears her ushering everyone except Thomas out of the room. Newt and Thomas both pause for a moment, Their eyes locking in pure disbelief before Thomas practically sprints over and pulls Newt into the softest hug possible. Newt's body relaxes significantly, his forehead resting on Thomas's shoulder while one of his hands cups Thomas's face. “It worked, it actually worked” he whispers, his eyes filled with tears that threaten to spill. “That was the longest two days of my life” Thomas whispers back with a twinge of humour, Newt laughs, his gut fluttering at the sound of Thomas's voice and his reciprocated laughter.

Thomas pulls back slightly, his eyes almost droopy as he smiles looking into Newt's eyes. His gaze drifts to Newt's cheeks and his eyes widen significantly, his smile dropping. Thomas goes to speak, his brows furrowed before Newt promptly interrupts him. “I won't hear none of that, ya hear me? It's only a couple stitches tommy.” “Only?!” Newt scooches over allowing Thomas to sit down, after taking his shoes off. He sits with his legs crossed on the surprisingly large hospital cot. “That's nothing! i’ve got a high pain tolerance, barely felt a thing. Don't you worry your pretty head about it.” Newt teases, tapping Thomas's temple Thomas keeps his hands in his lap, fidgeting with his fingers.

“Well go on then.” Newt folds after a few seconds, allowing Thomas to cradle his face and examine his wounds. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows down what Newt can only assume to be the apologies swirling in his brain. “What did I just say?” Newt scolds.

“Is there anymore? I heard you got.. Shot.” Thomas ignores Newt's playful scolding, his doe eyes full of worry. Newt doesn't know how to answer, he doesn't want to lie to Thomas but he knows that if he tells the truth.. oh yeah and I also got a few stitches on my arm, shoulder and hand too! My gunshot wound nearly killed me by the way! Thomas would never forgive himself. He's always so goddamn forgiving but the moment something happens that's not even his fault that he's remotely tied to he makes it his mission to flip the situation and pin the blame on himself, he won't understand that the wounds were well worth it, he won't understand that Newt would have rather died than not at least try to save him-

“Newt? You ok?” Thomas says softly, cupping the side of his face with one hand now, being gentle as to not touch his stitches because of course he does. “You sort of zoned out there” Thomas, who is the loudest, bravest and the biggest “act now think later” person in the whole entire world is somehow changes into the most caring and tender person ever whenever he's around Newt and it always makes Newt crumble into tiny little pieces, he couldn't lie to him right now even if he tried. “Yeah.. i did uhm- get shot.. Don't freak-”

“WHAT??”

“I knew you would do that!!”

“do what?!”

“act like the biggest shuckfaced idiot that's ever stepped foot on the bloody planet that's what!!”

“You got shot because of me!”

“I didn't get shot because of you, I got shot FOR you!!”

“...”

“Love. When you..” - Newt takes a deep breath before continuing - “passed out, i don't know if you heard but i.. ran back to the tower-”

“YOU WHAT??”

“Don't interrupt!”

“...”

“You were dying Tommy. I had to go back! You don't know what you looked like.. What I saw. Long story short me and Janson got in a fight and I got a couple cuts” - Newt pulls his collar down to expose his bandages, afterwards pulling up his sleeve to show the bandaged cut on his upper arm. Thomas’s eyes got wider and glasser the more he spoke - “and yes I got shot. But it was worth it tommy! You lived.. That's all I wanted.” - Newt takes Thomas's hand in his, rubbing the back of his knuckles. - “Ok?” Newt's throat tightens at his last word, making his word wobble despite his tone being steady recounting the tale.

Thomas pauses for a moment, he opens his mouth as if he wants to protest but quickly closes it. He presses his lips into a thin line while squeezing Newt’s hand. “Thank you, for saving me.” He mumbles, barely audible. If Newt wasn't so close and the room wasn't so quiet he wouldn't have been able to hear the low whisper. Newt doesn't think saying your welcome is exactly appropriate so instead, he squeezes Thomas's hand for a moment before smiling warmly his way. Plump lips smile back at Newt, Thomas’s head tilting to the side ever so slightly as he smiles in a way that makes Newt's face glow with warmth. Newt doesn't realise he's staring at Thomas's lips until Thomas reciprocates the action, they both pause for a moment before Thomas leans in and gently kisses him.

He tastes like toothpaste and saltwater. Newt keeps his hand in Thomas’s, Thomas’s hands have always been so soft, so warm. Newt places his other hand on Thomas's shoulder, Newt's gut swirls when Thomas's hums against his lips, the vibration sending shivers down his spine. Newt's hand makes its way from his shoulder to the back of Thomas's head, pushing Thomas closer in an attempt to deepen the kiss before the brunette pulls away. “What was that for?!” Newt asked, displeased, with no real anger behind his words. “First of all, we're in a hospital room.” - Thomas kisses the corner of Newt's mouth before continuing in a whisper - “Second of all, you're recovering. So maybe not now, mkay?” “you Thomas are a bloody tease”

“uh oh ‘Thomas’ should i be worried?” Thomas replied sarcastically, only a few inches from Newt's face. “Yeah, maybe you should be” Newt spoke in the same manner, attempting to kiss Thomas again before Thomas lightly pushed him back before exclaiming

“what did i just say!”

“finee.” Newt pouted in pretend annoyance before they both broke out into a fit of laughter, Newt’s cheeks slowly began to ache from all the smiling.

Its officially been a week since Newt arrived in the safe haven and today is finally the day he is getting discharged from the makeshift hospital they have set up, over the past 5 days Thomas, Minho, Brenda, Frypan and Gally all came by to visit often, Thomas and Minho the most by far. Thomas visited at least once a day, sometimes multiple if he wasn't busy. Constantly asking how he was doing, telling Newt about about the safe haven and how Frypans “still got it”, Thomas tells Newt about the fields and spots he wants to take him, about the hut he's been assigned and how nice it is to sleep in a bed instead of sleeping bags, Newt listens intently as he talks about his slow lazy days since Thomas is still recovering from his knife wound. But those days are finally over because Thomas is on his way to help Newt hobble out of the hospital doors insisting he wants to help, despite the fact Newt has a cane. Newt is beyond ecstatic to get out of the dingy hospital room and move in with Thomas, they both agreed on that since they haven't slept apart for almost 6 months anyway so why change now?

Newt sat impatiently on top of his hospital bed, cane in his lap as he fiddled with the corner of the blanket waiting for Thomas to get there. His heart beat thumping in his ears like a clock, ticking by as the seconds pass. He can't help but wonder if walking is going to be harder now, he's barely stood up for more then a minute or two so how is he going to do walking longer distances? … the sand is a whole different ball game. Newt would rather walk in the sand than stay in the hospital another night though.

As if on cue the door swings open and Thomas stands there grinning from ear to ear boyishly. Thomas walks over and extends his hand out, bowing as if Newt is a king or something. Newt rolls his eyes while Thomas laughs, but accepts Thomas's hand gratefully despite the sarcasm. Newt slowly stands to his feet unable to suppress the hiss that escapes his lips, his eyes scrunching as pain shoots through his whole leg. His fingers that are now interlocked with Thomas's squeeze significantly tighter, leaning slightly against Thomas's arm to keep him upright.

“Are you sure you're ready to-?” “Tommy, I would rather get shot again then stay here for one more bloody night.” Thomas’s eyes flick upwards immediately to make eye contact with Newt, his eyes widening in shock. “I'm joking! but please for the love of god get me out of here.” His eyes soften once more when Newt responds, they both slowly but surely begin to walk towards the doors of the makeshift hospital. Every step Newt limps and occasionally having to fight back a wince, he can't help but be reminded of when he first broke his leg and Minho and Alby had to help him walk around similarly to how Thomas is now. Eventually they make it to the rickety door made out of wood and sticks, Thomas uses his free hand to open the door and Newt gasps at the sight.

Newt has yet to see the safe haven until now, he heard waves occasionally but he didn't expect the water to be so bright, the way the sun bounces off the crystal blue water almost makes it look like a large gem. In the distance there is a large cliff covered in grass and flowers, in fact the whole safe haven besides the beach is covered in bright, healthy green grass. The sun doesn't burn Newt's shoulders or arms either, it's warm and calming. There's a large unlit bonfire in the distance along with a large stone which appears to have carvings on it, surrounding the bonfire there is small wooden structures with beams and steps for people to sit at and hammocks are set up underneath roofs, a large communal kitchen which Frypan is stationed at as well. There's people of all ages sitting, walking, running, laughing, talking or just sitting in silence enjoying the peace. Newt lets out a breath he didn't realise he was holding when Thomas squeezes his hand to bring him back to the present.

“It's so.. Calm?” His words come out as a question instead of a statement, Newt didn't mean to sound curious but the truth is he is curious. How do they keep order? How do they keep things running around here? “The others were shocked too, speaking of them you want to get dinner?” Newt's stomach growled at the suggestion, his eyebrows raised. Thomas doesn't move and simply waits for Newt's response. “Well c'mon then! I'm not getting there on my own!” he says playfully before attempting to speed up his walking despite Thomas's protests, Eventually Newt's leg refuses to get with the program and they are forced to a leisurely pace towards the unlit bonfire hand in hand. The gentle breeze lifting any heaviness left in his chest, the sound of grass under his shoes keeping him in the present instead of the past full of sand and hatred.

The sky above is mixed with oranges, pinks and gentle clouds as the sun slowly begins to set, the air slowly getting colder as the afternoon turns to night. As time passes by people with unknown voices and faces to match dwindle away to hammocks or huts if owned, and all the remains are the few gladers that remain paired with clinking of utensils and fits of laughter. Even Gally joining in on the smiles and giggles, sweet tasting alcohol Newt can't be bothered to ask the name of eventually being passed around. Maybe one day in the future, nearby or distant they will speak of the scorch and wicked but not tonight. Tonight is for stars and laughter that bubbles in his chest and makes Newt’s face hurt, tonight is for joy.

Newt is sitting with his crappy leg elevated by a small log. Thomas insisted on running around for five minutes trying to find it, lifting Newt's leg and placing it on top of the log saying “it helps with swelling!” Newt found the sight of slightly tipsy Thomas running around in the grass to find the log very endearing, repressing a fit of giggles when Thomas threw his hands in the air and whooped in excitement at the find. Newt's other leg is pressed against his chest, his arms hugging around it. Frypan grins to himself as he collects everyone except Gallys cleared plates, Gally still working on his meal scoffing down his food. “Fry you gotta step up your game man!” He exclaims between mouthfuls. “Oh really? So you wouldn’t mind if I-“ - Frypan goes to take Gally half eaten plate of food before Gally swats away his hand with a scowl. - “that’s what I thought!” He beams with a sarcastic grin “Fuck off man!” gally attempts to sound harsh, the slight grin on his face making it clear he’s not mad. Frypan walks away, plates and cups stacked skilfully, he laughs the whole way back to the kitchen before he’s too far away to hear.

Minutes later Gally licks his plate clean before walking off to the kitchen, “I forgot what actual food tastes like, that shit we had in the scorch was driving me nuts!” Minho’s voice slicing through the silence, the bright fire warming Newt’s sore body. “If that ain't the buggin’ truth.” Newt replied with much less enthusiasm, his voice dipping into soft silence. a comfortable wave of exhaustion crashing down onto him. Soon Gally and Frypan made their way back and everyone drifted back into comfortable conversation and laughter, the warmth of the fire and eventually Thomas's arm wrapped around him made Newt's eyes feel heavy and body like jelly, sinking into feeling his eyes threatening to pull him away from the magical night. The voices of the people he cared about most dearly all mixed together into one beautiful unintelligible chorus as consciousness escaped him, except tonight he knew that no matter what, when he woke, he would be safe. No more cranks or running from wicked, only Thomas's arms and friends' laughter made him wish not to sleep.

Newt drifted from half consciousness to being asleep and back again over the course of 30 minutes, an hour? He couldn't tell anymore. Newt feels Thomas's breath on his ear, his lips less than a inch away as he whispers “hey hun, we gotta get up c'mon.” Newt groans in response, not wanting to wake up yet, he pulls his eyes open to find the sky has turned to darkness covered in bright stars. The fire dwindled, barely illuminating any light. In the distance Newt can see Minho’s slightly wider build compared to when they found him at wicked walking off, his legs more steady and sure. Newt's body felt heavy, his brain fogged with exhaustion. “I don't think i could stand even if I wanted to Tommy” his lips tugging upwards into a tired smile, trying to avoid the inevitable.

“Then I'll carry you!”

“What?!”

“Cmon! Up you get!” Thomas is crouched now, one arm hooked under Newt's legs, the other hooked around his upper body attempting to lift him. Newt shrieked and tried to wriggle out of Thomas's grip to no avail, “I was joking!! Put. me. DOWN-!” Thomas quickly stands and spins around in circles quickly, Newt's cries of fear paired with Thomas's laughter. Eventually Newts screams twist into laughter and shrieks of joy, the world whirling in repeating blurred twists. “Ok ok i'm awake now!” Newt insists between happy cries, Thomas slowly stops spinning and puts Newt down. Newt attempts to walk back to where he was sitting moments earlier to retrieve his now discarded cane, forgetting momentarily about his.. Predicament. The world still wobbly combined with his already crappy leg with assistance, his walking mirroring a drunk he almost tumbles over until Thomas hooks his arm with Newts. They attempt to walk together, giggling as they still stumble despite the assistance of eachothers arms.

Newt attempts to crouch down to grab his cane, sucking in a sharp breath between his teeth in pain. Thomas waves him off and picks it up for him, placing it in Newt's free hand. “What would you ever do without me?” he teases, his eyes crease as he grins. “Oh bugger off!” Newt exclaims, whacking Thomas in the shins with the stick. Thomas pretends to wince in agony despite the fact the tap was nothing but light before exclaiming back “how you have wounded me Newton! How dare you strike me-! OW-” this time his cries of pain are real, Newt whacks him in the leg again except harder this time. “Just because I have an old man cane doesn't mean I bloody hit like one!” Now it's Newts turn to tease, Thomas rolls his eyes as dramatically as humanly possible before interlocking his fingers with Newts, allowing their hands to fall by their sides as they walk to their hut.

Newt woke up to the sounds of quick and loud breathing that was not his own, unlike Newt who was laying on his side facing the brunette Thomas was laying on his back with his hands clenched tightly into fists breathing rapidly. Thomas always has had nightmares, he doesn't toss and turn or scream he just wakes up in a cold sweat unable to fall back asleep. As weeks pass his nightmares have become more and more frequent and intense, Newt rolls onto his stomach towards Thomas careful not to suddenly touch him so as to not scare him out of sleep, he slowly raises his hands to Thomas’s face cupping it softly, his touch feather light.

His thumbs graze across his cheekbones in an attempt to coax him back to sleep, he reassures quietly that he's okay even though Thomas can't hear him. Sometimes, this works and Thomas falls back into a deep sleep but clearly tonight is not his night because Thomas's eyes flick open, his pupils jumping from side to side. His breathing and the rising and falling of his chest slowly return to normal before his dark eyes land on Newt's hazel ones, his lips part as he begins to speak before Newt's voice cuts him off promptly.

“Dont.”

“Why not?”

“There's nothing to be sorry for!”

“I woke you up-!”

“I. Don't. Care. You. Dumb. Shank. how many times do I have to say it!” Newt whisper scolds him, holding his face tighter to somehow emphasise his point. They lay in this position for a moment, looking into eachothers eyes seeing who will crack first. Thomas knows Newt will win this argument because he always does, despite this he still continues to stare for a moment before pressing his lips into a tight line.

“I'll get you one day.” Thomas teases with a cheeky grin, Newt hums sarcastically back before Thomas rolls his eyes. Thomas wraps his arms around Newt's waist and pulls him closer, Newt obliged happily, shuffling closer so his face was in the crook of Thomas's neck, his fingers intertwined in brunette hair. The world is yet to wake, a lack of birds chirping and people speaking signifying its nowhere near close to breakfast. The sky is yet to rise as the sky is a pale blue, almost grey. A soft light blankets them through the window next to their cot which is pushed against the right wall, Newt scratches Thomas's scalp, willing him to drift back into dreams. Soft waves crashing nearby accompany the sound of their out of time breathes, Newt smiles to himself at the thought of the water against his legs and the sand between his toes. He's never swam at the beach before, he's cleared to do so if the water is calm since he doesn't have too much trouble walking on his own for short periods of time.

“I reckon there will be a beach or lake, wouldn't that be nice? I'll teach you to swim Tommy, I'll teach ya’ to swim. That's a promise love-”

The memory bounces in his brain, he still remembers the stickiness of blood in between his fingers and the smell of gunpowder that night. His once heavy bones and sleepy eyes come back to life at the realisation that he hasn't followed through on the promise he made. He pauses and listens to Thomas's breathing, his breathing is steady but not deep. Newt kisses the underside of Thomas’s jaw before questioning quietly

“Tommy, you ‘sleep yet?” Newt can almost feel the smile radiating off the brunette once Newt kisses him.

“Not yet, why?” Newt props himself up onto his elbows, moving away slightly. Thomas frowns at the loss of body heat and looks up at Newt with a raised brow.

“I told you I was gonna teach ya to swim. C’mon, Up you get!” Newt announces, his voice picking up from a whisper to its normal volume.

“Huh??” Thomas questions, making no effort to fight when Newt grabs him by the hands to pull him to his feet. Newt begins to rummage around in their large chest drawer, pulls out two pairs of trunks and throws one to Thomas.

“You might not remember..” Newt started, turning around to face the shorter boy. When the promise was made Thomas was.. Not in a good state but there's a high chance he doesn't even remember, but Newt is a man of his word goddamnit! This boy will learn how to swim! It's not like he's going to fall back asleep anyway. Plus, they live on an island knowing how to swim would most probably be useful! Plus Newt gets to see Thomas in board shorts so that's a plus.

“Right before you passed out.. I said I was going to teach you to swim.” he finished, his voice going sombre for a moment at the memory. Thomas looks away for a moment, searching for the memory before his eyes snap back to Newt once he remembers. Newt bites his tongue at the memory, he pauses for a moment before beginning to say “we don't have to-”

“No! No. it's a nice idea babe.” Thomas interrupts, and smiles genuinely. Newt can't help but smile back, any embarrassment or guilt pouring out of him at the sight.

Twenty minutes later Newt and Thomas were hand in hand walking across the sand of the beach, their free arms draped with one towel each. Despite the fact Newt could have walked the distance between their hut and the beach just fine on his own, Thomas insisted on holding his hand “just in case” just as he does every other time he gets the chance. “Are you sure you’ll be ok?” Thomas asks for about the third time in the 5 minutes it took to make it to the sandy part of the island.

“Yes! Now hurry up before I push ya in!” Newt drops his towel to the ground and drags Thomas into the water, Thomas steps in hesitantly. Newt takes both of Thomas’s hands and walks backwards into the water, eventually they make it to a small part where it's deep enough so Newt can stand but Thomas, since he's a bit shorter, can practise swimming on his own. Newt gently explains the basics, how to keep yourself up right, how to swim around and take breaths as you do and holds up Thomas during his first few attempts and cheers when Thomas starts to get it.

Newt feels relief flood his entire body, he did it. They did it. They survived. And now? They get to live. In this moment, the water up to his chest and sand in his hair he realises how grateful he is to be able to live. Not just survive. Hes felt grateful after surviving grievers, cranks, wicked, bombs, fire, gunshots and wounds but this? This is another type of gratitude. He's not just grateful for his heart that pumps blood through his veins and the bones in his body remaining unbroken, hes grateful to wake up to sunrises and watch sunsets, hes grateful to watch gally start to smile a bit more and scowl a little less, hes grateful to watch Minho's scars fade and notice how his collar bones no longer stick out. He's grateful for being able to hum to himself as he washes his mostly clean hair, he's grateful for books and flowers and good food, this feeling is strange and new but oh so welcomed.

There are hard days, very very hard days filled with tears and shouting everything being a reminder of everything horrible but that's just it. It's all just a reminder. And those hard days are so worth it to experience all the good ones. All the good days filled with warmth and laughing and slow kisses because now he, no. Everyone has all the time in the world. Newt watches as Thomas becomes entranced with something, Newt feels the warmth of the sunrise on his back and he realises Thomas is looking at him. Newt stares back at him, he too becomes entranced with the other.

Newts eyes trail across Thomas’s body and face, the way the sun bounces off his skin and how as the weeks have passed Thomas's has gained more and more freckles, how water has pulled strands of rich chocolate hair in front of his eyes, the way Thomas’s eyes swirl with a pure devotion Newt only understands because he feels the same unwavering, permanent devotion in his chest too. Newt holds his hand up to cup Thomas’s now wet face, he leans into the touch and Newt feels like he could dissolve into the ocean at the sight. Both boys close the distance at the same time, Thomas’s lips coated in saltwater and freedom.

They have all the time in the world.

Authors note: ITS DONE. IT IS FINALLY DONE. I BET ON LOSING DOGS IS OFFICALLY DONE. I'm actually so proud of this fic and i just want to say thank you to everyone who stuck around since the very first chapter and have supported me throughout this. this story is literally my baby. this is the longest fic i have written and have actually FINISHED and its an honor to be able to share it with all of you. i could not have done it without all of your support and encouragement. :)

also THREE FICS IN LESS THEN 2 DAYS??? damn yall are spoilt ROTTEN!! (happy to spoil yall hehehehehehehehe 😚)

FIRST CHAPTER - NEXT - PREVIOUS

#the maze runner #tmr #maze runner #newtmas #tmr newt #tmr thomas #tmr fandom #newt tmr #tmr newt x thomas #newt x thomas #thomas x newt #the death cure #newt is alive

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theygotlost · 1 year ago

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um so. here it is 👉👈 I've never written a fanfic before let alone posted one so I'm shy please be nice to me 😭

Son of Sam

After little Sammy has a disciplinary incident at school, Vimes finds a more enriching environment for his son.

G rated, 2,011 words, just vimes bein a dad :)

A rather nervous-looking young messenger was waiting at the door when Vimes got home.

“Er… Can I help you?”

The messenger startled into a stiff salute. “Your grace!” he said smartly. “I bring a message from the Primary Academy of Ankh! It has been requested that… erm…” he fumbled open the roll of parchment he had been holding. “The parents-slash-guardians of the student, er, Samuel Ramkin Vimes II, come to the office of the headmistress at once. We have a coach ready outside for you already, your grace,” he added as he rolled the parchment back up.

Vimes scoffed. ‘The Second’… Please. A title like that nearly made you forget the boy’s only eight years old. “Alright, what’s happened this time?”

“I don’t know, your grace. I’m only here to deliver the message.”

“Fine. And you really want both of us?” said Vimes, already making his way around the side of the house. “Sybillllll?” he called, in that sing-song voice used by all husbands everywhere looking for their wives.

He heard the explosion before he had even turned the corner. The backyard filled with a sharp, acrid, chemical smell that nearly would have made him retch if he wasn’t so accustomed to it already. He sighed at the charred black rosette that now decorated the lawn. Beyond it, in a wider blast radius, were… other bits of things.

A bulky figure nearly six and a half feet tall emerged from the dragon pen, decked head to toe in leather armor. “Oh dear, and he had nearly recovered from his case of slab throat…” she mumbled from behind her welding mask. She ducked back into the dragon pen for the shovel, too distracted to notice her husband on the periphery of the yard.

Vimes strode directly toward the carriage out front. “She’s busy. I’ll go by myself,” he said decisively to the messenger as he brushed past. The messenger considered protesting, but thought the better of it.

—

Vimes was ushered into a room half the size but almost as austere as the Oblong Office. Little Sam pouted in an adult-sized chair, grumpily swinging his legs back and forth. Vimes knew that look: the boy was in trouble for something. Sulking in the other chair with a bandaged nose was a boy who appeared the same age, though bigger-boned. Both of his parents were doting over him like a pair of storks brooding a rather large, and rather spoiled, egg. Vimes had been forced to socialize with these people at many a banquet or some such event, or at least this type of people, if not this particular couple. They all blended together in his mind anyway. He had yet to have a conversation with one of them that ended satisfactorily for both parties.

The headmistress greeted him primly from behind her desk and motioned for him to sit in the chair beside his son. “Thank you for coming, your grace. Her ladyship…”

“Couldn’t make it,” Vimes responded curtly. He swore he heard the other boy’s mother exhale derisively through her nose.

“I have called you here,” the headmistress continued, “because your Samuel has gotten into an… altercation with his classmate.” She spoke as though she were handling her words like a very fragile, very expensive heirloom vase.

Vimes turned to little Sam. “You got into a fight?” he asked, more conversationally than disapprovingly.

“I should hardly call that a fair fight!” the other boy’s father interjected. “It took two teachers to pull your little devil off our Thomas! He nearly bit his nose off!” Thomas began to whimper, and his mother cradled him in her arms while staring daggers at Vimes.

Vimes raised his eyebrows as he sized up the victim. He was taller and stockier than his attacker, but apparently that hadn’t helped him much. He turned back to his son, still without any trace of anger. “Why’d you do that, Sammy?”

“It doesn’t matter why he—” Thomas’s father began, but the headmistress held up a hand. “Let him answer,” she commanded.

“He took my spelling sheets from my homework daddy, ‘n he said that my daddy’s nuthin’ but a dirty scoundrel, said I’m ruinin’ the school ‘cause I’m dirty ‘n dumb like him, ‘n then he ripped all my papers up,” little Sam explained sullenly. Thomas whimpered again.

Vimes looked up to meet the father’s eyes with hawklike focus. “He really said that, did he? I wonder where he could have possibly gotten that idea from.”

The father’s features bubbled with the kind of indignation reserved for those who have just been accused of something they actually did. “Slander!” he blurted. “Not only is your son an aggressor, but a liar as well!”

The duke of Ankh stood up. “You’re calling my son a liar, is that it?” he nearly snarled the words.

“You grace—” the headmistress began.

“No, go on,” Vimes continued. “You think Sammy made up that little story, just to make you look bad? Your precious little Thomas would never have done something like that, oh no, because you’ve raised him properly, haven’t you?” He was practically toe to toe with the boy’s father now. He squared his shoulders and drew himself up to his full height, which unfortunately was still shorter than his opponent. He cracked a few menacing knuckles.

“Daddy, mama said you’re not s’posed to fight the other grownups at school anymore,” Sammy whined from his seat.

“I won’t be threatened by the likes of you,” the man spat. He leveled a self-important finger at VImes’s nose. “I won’t tolerate it. You and your son both owe us an apology for the injuries you have caused.”

“Oh, I’ll give you some injuries to apologize for, all right.”

The bureaucratic voice of the headmistress pierced through his haze of bloodlust like a letter opener. “Your grace, that is enough. To prevent another incident like this, you need to set a good example for your son. Children learn by imitating their parents.”

“Yes, I’m sure they do,” Vimes said pointedly without breaking eye contact with the nobleman. He took his son’s hand and led him out the door. “Come on, Sammy. We’re going home.”

“This isn’t over, Sir Samuel!” he heard the father call after him. “Her ladyship will be hearing of this, and she will not be pleased!”

Don’t I know it, Vimes thought.

—

Lady Sybil was, as predicted, not very pleased. “First I have to lay poor Lord Sharptalon Brightspark Blazeworthy VI to rest this afternoon, and now I hear both of you have gotten into a scuffle,” she sighed, and idly stirred her tea.

“News travels fast,” Vimes grumbled, not looking up from his own teacup.

“The headmistress was right, you know. He takes after you. He sees his father throw a punch or kick a shin, and figures that violence will solve all his problems.”

“It usually does.”

“Sam.”

“Sorry.”

“I spoke to the boy’s mother. She swears up and down that she has no idea why young Thomas would say those things about you.”

“‘Course she did. It’s all about appearances with these people. They’ll say whatever they want behind their expensive closed doors, but none of ‘em have got the spine to say it to your face.”

“As much as I agree with you, Sam, ‘these people’ are our people, even if you hate to think of them that way.”

“Still, good to know Sammy can hold his own in a fight.”

“Dear, I don’t think you’re taking the right lesson from this.”

Vimes grunted noncommittally.

“He just needs a different outlet for his aggression,” Sybil continued. “Something more…productive. Like an organized sport. The academy offers some rather robust athletic programs he could get into.”

Yes, organized sports… Sammy could wipe the floor with all those spoiled little brats, that was for sure. He needed a sport, but perhaps one that was less, well, organized.

—

“Daddy, you still won’t say where we’re going,” young Sam lamented.

“We’re almost there. Just a few more streets.”

After a few moments, Vimes heard the little voice from about twenty or thirty feet behind him. “Daddy, wait up! You’re going too fast!”

Vimes stopped. Damn. Without thinking, he had fallen into his normal Proceeding step.

“I’m tired of walking,” Sammy panted as he caught up.

Vimes almost laughed. Tired of walking? Then he realized. “You know, I ought to teach you how to walk properly. You swing your foot forward, like this. Get it right and you can keep going all day.”

Together they Proceeded, hand in hand this time to prevent another separation, to their destination. There it was…

Cockbill Street.

Gods, when was the last time I was here? thought Vimes. An investigation had led him back here some nine or ten years ago, but before that it must have been decades. The same peeling paint, the same worn cobbles, even the hopscotch game was still there…

“Where are we?” little Sam asked impatiently. “Looks like justa buncha ol’ houses.”

…And this was the first time the boy had ever seen it.

“Son, your old dad grew up in one of these old houses.”

“You used to live here?” Sammy looked doubtful. “They’re not as nice as our house.”

His father sighed. “Right you are. You’re awful lucky that your mother’s got a big fancy house and money to send you to a big fancy school. But you and I both know a big fancy school ain’t all it’s cracked up to be, is it?”

The boy’s face looked blank. A chorus of shouts and hollers turned his attention to a particularly rough-and-tumble football match taking place down the street, mostly boys a few years older than him.

Vimes nodded toward the game. “They don’t let you play like that at the Academy of Ankh,” he explained.

Sammy considered this as more shrieks and curses echoed off the decaying edifices. “But I dunno any of ‘em,” he pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter. Cockbill Street boys’ll toss a ball around with any little bugger who can force his way into a match. Just get in there and start running around, you’ll pick it up.”

He still looked unsure, but he ambled up to the pack as they were taking a time-out, as there looked to be some sort of hot dispute between the teams. He addressed a boy who was currently wrestling another into a headlock. “Lemme play,” he said simply. The boy in the headlock used the momentary distraction to wrench free and scamper off, sending a few other players to break off in pursuit.

“Who’re you?”

“My name’s Sammy, ‘n I wanna join. I can kick a ball real far.”

The older boy looked incredulous. He turned around to give a consulting glance to the others, who shrugged. “I s’pose we could use another player, since STUPID JOEY’S A THIEVIN’ BASTARD!” He addressed this last comment to the direction that Joey had run. “Jus’ try to keep up, since you look pretty small,” he added. And that was that.

Vimes leaned back against a crumbling wall and, more out of habit than anything else, lit a cigar. He watched the game intently. Indeed, young Sam had ingratiated himself seamlessly, dashing and darting and hollering to keep up with the fierce competition. Once he took a nasty spill, tumbling face first onto the cobblestones, and Vimes sucked his teeth sharply. But before he could move in to help his son, the boy jumped up with an alarming fierceness, completely unbothered by his bleeding nose and scraped knees, and made a mad dash to get back into the action.

Tonight he would be brought home covered in scrapes and bruises and a tear or two in his clothes, Vimes knew. Sybil wouldn’t exactly be overjoyed, but he figured he could convince her it’s no more dangerous than herding spontaneously explosive dragons as a hobby.

Vimes couldn’t help but smile. Whenever little Sammy got knocked down, a vengeful little gleam sparkled in his eyes, and just like a certain someone, he got right back up.

#discworld #sam vimes #samuel vimes #discworld fanfic #mine #sorry to my buddy sam from real life for the elliot smith song title i know its your song #DONT BE MAD AT ME PLEASE IT JUST SOUNDS GOOD AS A TITLE FOR THE STORY #also im sorry women. sybil kind of ended up as a Nagging Wife in this one :( shes just concerned for the wellbeing of her sams :(

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slasherfckr · 2 years ago

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hey!! :)) just stopping by to drop a head-canon request! what if thomas hewitt had no choice but to skip town? like if the movie ended differently and he had to leave his rural home. maybe reader finds him injured along the side of the road and decides to help him out or reader assumes he’s trying to hitchhike and gives him a ride? this ride ends up with him staying at readers home because he has nowhere else to go? basically what if thomas had to live in a more modern setting with the reader. thank you sm for your time hun! ~🤩

Ohhh I like this idea 😍😍😍 Okay so I'm gonna go off the TCM: The Beginning's ending (The prequel sequel for the 2003 remake) just cause it'll be easier for me to write this out. It'll be more of a "what if..." Scenario as well

Also I apologize for splitting it into multiple parts. Can't express all my ideas on this topic in just one post

********************************

Thomas Hewitt x afab!Reader - Modern Living (pt 1)

⚠️Warnings⚠️ Mentions of death (obviously)

*Okay so....Only way I can see Thomas ever leaving his home is if his family died during the events of TCM: The Beginning.

*Like, instead of just shooting Monty's leg, the Biker goes straight for the kill and get him right in the chest or something. He doesn't hesitate to do the same with Luda Mae when she comes into the room

*Hoyt sneaks up on him and holds him while calling for Tommy to come do his thing. Biker's death is still relatively the same. He gets cut in two with the saw

*Now when Dean escapes with the Final Girl (sorry forgot her name), but stops to beat the hell out of Hoyt, he doesn't stop when his knocks his teeth out. No he keeps going until you couldn't even recognize Hoyt anymore.

*Dean's death is also the same. Gets gutted by Tommy with the saw from behind. Rest of the ending plays out the same honestly, until when Tommy pops out of the back of the car to kill the final girl and the car crash happens

*He gets out of the car but instead of walking away back to the house, he drops to his knees and let's out a painstaking wail as reality hits him. His whole family was dead. He had nothing. He had nobody.

*He kinda just stays there on his knees until a car comes driving up.

*Its you, on your way home to Dallas

*You ran a bakery in Dallas and had to make an emergency delivery pretty far out. Only reason you did this was because it was a close family friend who needed a wedding cake on short notice

*You immediately stopped your car as you came up to the scene of the crash, where Tommy was still in the middle of the road

*"Holy Shit, are you okay?!" You call out to him. You kept a spare medkit in your vehicle because your nephews always managed to somehow get papercuts when you watched them for your sibling

*You go and kneel down beside him and try to reach out and apply disinfectant to the cut on his forehead but he grabs your hand roughly. Felt like he was about to snap it like a twig

*"Ah! Stop it! I'm just trying to help you..." You winced in pain but managed to look at him right in the eyes. You just noticed he wore a leather mask that covered half his face. You wondered why he wore that but quickly shook off the thought so you could focus on helping the man.

*You two looked at each other for what felt like an eternity before he slightly released his grip on you. Just barely though, as he wanted you to know that if you tried anything, he could and would snap you

*So you went ahead and gently applied the disinfectant while trying to make small talk

*"So...why are you out here? What are you doing here?" You got no answer in response. The mysterious man just kept on watching you carefully

*"If...you don't have anywhere to go, I can let you come with me. I live over in Dallas so it might be a while before we get back. Doesn't seem right to me if I just left you out here on the road alone..."

*After you finished, you applied a small bandage and got up

*"So...if you wanna come, you can. If not, well...I hope you stay safe."

*You smiled at the man and got back to your car. You sighed and put up the medkit before starting the vehicle up. The man was still in the road, just watching you. Guess he wasn't coming after all

*You looked back to see if it was safe to reverse your car but then a door slam scared the hell out of you

*"OH MY GOD!" You quite literally felt your heart skip a few beats as you turned your head to the mysterious man, who was now in your passenger seat

*"At least say something first...You scared the living hell out of me."

. . .

*You got him back to your home in Dallas. As soon as you got back, you let him take a shower while you tried looking for clothes he could wear.

*You eventually found some clothes that belonged to your ex that he never came back for. You closed your eyes as you opened the door a little and slid the clothes in, quickly closing the door after.

*While he took what seemed a like a much needed shower, as he was in there for a good couple of hours, you started on dinner despite arriving at home around 2 in the morning

*You decided to make spaghetti. It was quick and easy to make. You had finished dinner and had plates for the both of you made when the man finally emerged from the bathroom. The clothes barely fit him. You reminded yourself to take him clothes shopping after you both rest

*You led him to the table and had him sit down. You brought over the plates of spaghetti and put his plate down in front of him before going to your seat with your plate

*"Sorry if it's not to your liking. I can't cook very well. I'm more of a baker than a chef." You laughed before digging into your food

*The man just looked at you before slowly picking up his fork. He poked the pasta a couple times. Was this his first time having spaghetti?

*The man seemed extremely hesitant but eventually he took off his mask. His face was covered in sores and scars. Despite that, he was really attractive.

*Soon he took a fork full of pasta to his mouth and almost immediately his eyes lit up. He started eating as though he hasn't had a decent meal in forver

*"Do you really like my cooking that much? Guess my family was wrong. I can cook something decent." You laughed and took another bite of your food.

*The man had cleaned his plate before you could even finish half of yours

*"You're really hungry. Just how long were you out there? Would you like some more?" He gave you a nod in response

*As you got up to get him more, you eyed the parmesan cheese you forgot about on the counter

*"Oh my god if you love plain spaghetti, you should try some with some parmesan on it. Absolutely delicious."

*You brought him his plate along with the cheese. He looked at the cheese then at you before grabbing it and adding some to his pasta.

*You didn't think the man could look anymore happy than he did when he ate the spaghetti with parmesan on it

*Seeing him so happy made you happy as well. Suddenly you realized you didn't even know the man's name. How could you invite someone to you place to stay without asking their name????

*"I forgot to ask earlier. What's your name?"

*He paused before signing something to you

"Thomas Brown Hewitt"

***************************

Ahhh sorry it was so long! I'll try to get to the next part ASAP as soon as I catch up on my other asks 😖 Thank you for reading!!!!!

#slasher fucker #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt x reader #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw massacre #tw death #slasher fandom

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m1d-45 · 2 years ago

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And you, teddy anon (and midas ofc), never fail to come up with scenarios that my mind is all too happy to jump on. ❤️

Imagine then, after the Creator has finally been rescued and tended to, they finally wake up after sleeping for a very long time, they see that they’re in a painfully familiar, urban place. Upon realising that they’re not in, say, a hilichurl camp or are otherwise in the wilds, they panic and scramble to try and leave (they think that they’re still being hunted). Then in comes one of their characters (or they bump into them in a corridor or sth).

Off the top of my head, I see a few directions that this could go:

1. Creator tries to plead with the character to let them leave, or are otherwise trying to find an opportunity to escape. Due to their panicked state, they interpret their character’s gestures as hostile or are otherwise trying to trick them into lowering their guard. Maybe they were betrayed by someone (or that one in particular) during the hunt (I can see characters like Kaeya and Ayato doing this) and they’ve been very guarded against similar tactics since. Bonus points if they have the ability to teleport like the Traveler does.

2. Creator tries to defend themselves with their budding elemental power that they are just starting to learn to control.

3. Creator outright gives up. They shake their head, thinking themself foolish for ever believing that they could escape forever, that this was their just desserts for even trying to defy fate. They smile at their character and tell them that they win, and to go ahead and end them. More likely if said character had been extremely persistent in hunting them (e.g. Kaeya). Imagine then that they’re bracing themselves for the final blow, but then they feel warmth. They open their eyes in shock and realise that the character is hugging them close, whispering, “I’m sorry”, or “Forgive me” over and over again. Maybe the character even cries a little.

- cryo anon, whose brain can actually come up with fluff occasionally

oh my god cryo anon my dearly beloved

they’re kinda just merged together because i kinda went off so

you maybe waking up in the estate, sitting up on shaking arms. you don’t remember much, mostly just a blur; thoma shouting at you, a white kimono and a sharp, commanding voice. the details are a haze, and the room you’re in is unidentifiable. there’s a potted plant in a white and purple vase, a dark wood closet, the sheets soft- or maybe they’re not, and you’re simply used to dirt and scratchy sacks?

you don’t know. you have a headache. the door opens, and you delay so long in turning that the person has a chance to shout something down the hallway—does wonders for your migraine—before coming in. when you do look, you wish you hadn’t.

ayato is the last person you want to see on inazuma. you’d met him once before, banged up and hiding near inazuma city. he’d seen you, you thought, seen your blood, your dirty bandages and knotted hair, and you thought he’d known that you couldn’t be a threat.

you didn’t hear what he said, but you pull away from his hand when he reaches for you anyway. where are you? why are you here? your hands were wrapped, your aches had ceased, the room is cool and his eyes are warm-

“i mean no harm,” he says quietly, but all you can think of is the past, of the bustling streets behind him when he found you tucked in an alley, bruised and bleeding.

you don’t want to believe him. you don’t anyway.

if it weren’t for the fact that your legs were broken, you would have run away.

#m1d : [chats]#m1d : [secrets]#cryo anon #i’m writing this while listening to a poetry critique #so now i keep wanting to write more. floral? almost?#i want to write like a citrus #…yeah that makes sense #i should write poetry more often #it’s kinda fun to be a bit sharp #words can be bitter if you do it right and damn does bitter taste sweet #…..yeah that makes sense—#god. ugh.#i want to write and feel my hands turn to ash as i burn myself into charcoal yk #i want to twist myself into cartoonish shapes like a balloon animal and submit the photos to the soil beneath my house #i want to squeeze into a small can i want to be pressed with a juicer i want to be compacted and stretched and cut to bits and melted #until every single word i will say and every image i will think and every feeling i will have bleed out like the tears of stars #…i think that explained my point well—

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cryoculus · 2 years ago

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— reparations 04 ⟢

revealing someone else’s tragic backstory is NOT cool, okay?

★ FEATURING; arataki itto x gn!reader

★ WORD COUNT; 4.4k words

★ TAGS; modern au, flower shop au, slow burn, idiots to lovers, tooth-rotting fluff, mutual pining, no smut, sfw

★ NOTABLE CHARACTERS; arataki itto, thoma, kamisato ayaka, kamisato ayato

★ WARNINGS; blood and injury

★ HEADER ART CR; akaneyal

★ MASTERLIST . AO3 ★

About half a bottle of antiseptic and a futile search for first aid tutorials later, you afford yourself a breather.

The floor is cold against your legs when you finish securing the gauze around Arataki—uh, Itto’s—chest. Your heart races as you wipe the sweat off your face, half-wondering if you did any more bad than good. Because even if you’ve taken a couple of bandaging lessons for fun in college, you never would’ve thought you had to use the information in real life; more so to patch up an unsuspecting gang leader, of all people.

Thankfully, the man in question is out cold, snoring softly on top of your sofa which is a bit too small to accommodate someone of his stature. Itto promptly passed out after his strange chain of requests and you aren’t sure if it’s fear for his safety or an adrenaline rush that helped you drag this six-foot-something idiot up to your apartment. Whatever it was, it wore off the moment you stepped onto the second floor, and your poor couch was the only comfortable surface in the vicinity.

But, hey, it’s a better alternative than dumping him in your bedroom, right? Now that would be weird—mysteriously injured or not. Speaking of injuries, though…

Once you managed to pry the stuffy coat off him, you practically gasped at the sight of Itto’s beaten bloody back. You assumed he got stabbed when he walked into the shop, but the sight that beheld you confirmed that this was more than just a small-time squabble. With careful yet trembling hands, you swiftly cleaned up the blood that threatened to stain your sofa—heart aching every time Itto seemingly winced in his sleep.

Some cuts ran deeper than the rest, but not to the point where he’d need stitches, thank Archons. But while you disinfected the wounds, you noticed not all of them were new. Between those angry red gashes were occasional patches of scarred flesh—the raised, discolored skin a stark contrast against the rippling muscles of Itto’s bare back.

You could only wonder what sort of mess he got himself entangled in.

In the present, a long, long sigh flees your lips, getting up on shaky feet as you move to clean up the mess of gauze and bandages you left on the coffee table. Mikan has been your quiet audience all this time—green eyes never leaving the unconscious gang leader in your living room. You wonder if she’s gotten attached enough to Itto for her not to prance around like usual. But you can almost ask yourself the same thing with how diligently you’ve tended to his injuries. However, before you can even dispose of the bloodied cotton swabs in the bin, a rather intrusive thought occurs to you.

Why did Itto choose to go to you?

Alright, maybe he didn’t want any of his boys to worry. But surely he could trust at least one of them about…whatever the hell he was dealing with? Like…like Haru! He seems like a reliable guy—more put-together than most gangsters. Hell, you’re even ninety percent sure that Shinobu will forgive him for all of this after a thorough scolding, before proceeding to take care of him like usual.

From the (relatively) short time you spent living in Hanamizaka, you can tell that the Arataki Gang is fiercely loyal to their boss. But despite that, Itto still decided that this was the place to be as he trudged around sporting all those wounds…

A sharp cry startles you out of your reverie, and it’s a good thing the garbage bin is there to catch the disposables in your hands. You belatedly realize that the sound came from the door to your small balcony—shortly followed by the sound of something shattering into a dozen pieces. Your heart drops to your stomach. Was that a burglar?

You cast a glance towards Mikan, whose ears are perked up in rapt attention, but she isn’t hissing at the intruder at all. Usually, she’s the one who can sense when things are amiss around the house, even back when you still lived with your parents. And yet…?

Your mind presents you with a couple of possibilities. One: it was a burglar. Or two: it was the person who hurt Itto trying to track him down.

Huh. You never thought you’d see the day where you nearly prayed for an ordinary house robbery instead.

You half-considered just ignoring it. But your gut is screaming for you to make sure everything is in the clear. After all, you had a recovering patient in your damn living room. Damn it! Is this what they call motherly instinct or something?

“You owe me so goddamn much, Arataki Itto,” you grumble, grabbing an umbrella from the rack by your front door. It’s better than meeting whatever it is out there unarmed, right? Breathing in deep, you stride over to the balcony with clammy hands, not letting the dread get to you as you swing the door open with a loud cry—

—only to be greeted with another loud cry in return.

“AAAAHH! Boss lady, don’t kill me!”

A scowl roots itself on your face as you lower your weapon. “...Tora?”

You aren’t even sure if you remember his name right, but this was definitely the same kid that tried to intimidate you out of your own property a few weeks earlier. He’s lying on his ass on the metal railing—the soil from one of your (formerly) potted sweet flowers making a mess out of his varsity jacket. He glances up at you with equal parts fear and surprise, and you wonder why you even worried in the first place.

“What are you doing here?” you whisper. “How did you even get up here?”

Tora swallows hard, awkwardly patting off the dirt off his clothes. “Uh. That’s a secret.”

“You do know I can call the authorities and report you for trespassing, right?”

“Wha—? Noooo! Boss lady, I’m too freakin’ young to go to jail!” he flounders.

You sigh, setting the umbrella against the door panel as you cross your arms. “And why are you calling me that?

“‘Cause you're the boss’ boss?”

Silence envelops the two of you for a moment—nothing but the distant traffic and the whisper of the evening breeze filling your ears. You consider Tora’s words as your brain slowly pieces together the facts at hand.

“Don’t tell me you’ve been following him…” you mumble, shooting a look over your shoulder to make sure Itto is still inside. Fortunately, your patient is yet to move a muscle. When your gaze flits back to Tora, your first instinct is to look for any similar injuries, but it seems that he was more or less fine.

Tora scratches the back of his head, laughing uneasily. “Um, I’ve been tellin’ Haru-nii and the rest that something was real fishy about the boss these days. Even Shinobu-san noticed! But she’s too busy to look into it right now, so…”

Shinobu? So she was aware of Itto’s shifty behavior, too. It makes sense why she might not have been able to look into her boss’ inner turmoils at the moment, but—

“That doesn’t mean you can just expose yourself to danger like that,” you scold. “Itto’s injuries aren’t deadly, but he could only take it because he’s— he’s Itto. What if you’d been on the receiving end, what then?”

You have absolutely no idea why you were lecturing a kid you barely know but… You’re fucking tired of the people around you risking their necks for no good reason. It’s bad enough that Itto does as he pleases without thinking of the repercussions, but to think that Tora has been tailing him all this time! Way to set an example for the younger generation, you stupid gang lea—

“...But I finally found out who’s been messin’ with him, boss lady.”

That makes you pause again. Gods, just how long has Tora been following him? Does this mean he knows who did that to Itto? You aren’t sure if witness reports from high schoolers are taken seriously, but Tora’s accounts should have some weight to them, right?

“If you’re thinkin’ what I think you’re thinkin’, you should give it up,” he says, getting back to his feet with a placid look. “These guys have been harassing us for a good while, but the Tenryou Commission ain’t doin’ crap about it. Even if we’re considered Hanamizaka’s watch dogs now, they still think little of the Arataki Gang. I bet those guys even think we deserve it…”

“Wait, wait,” you interrupt. “Who are we talking about again? And if they’ve been breathing down your necks all this time, why’d you only realize they were going after Itto now?”

Tora hesitates but in the end, breathes out a sigh in surender. “It’s…the Inazuman yakuza.”

The words settle over you with a moment’s delay—disbelief overshadowing everything else. You’ve only heard about the yakuza in passing, but you didn’t think they were this hostile.

“They don't take very well to people who might try to upset the balance of power or whatever,” he continues. “I think that those guys see the boss as a major threat, but he’s never once given in to their blackmailing! That’s the leader of the Arataki Gang for you—never losing face! But…”

Tora doesn’t even have to speak further for you to understand.

Itto is as proud as any foolhardy idiot can get. It’s definitely going to take more than a few bouts of blackmail to make a stubborn man like him budge. Something must have happened for him to surrender to their whims like this. Did they get their hands on the right leverage? One important enough to make him run around behind the Arataki gang’s backs?

You wonder if he was subjected to the same, harsh treatment the night you first met him—already suffering from a concussion as he quite literally crashed into your life. For a while, you chalked up your previous encounters to something that occured on the regular within the Arataki Gang, and that you’re just someone unlucky enough to be caught up in the mess. But now that Tora brought the matter of the yakuza into the light, you realize that none of this is normal at all.

Kazuha’s warning comes to mind yet again—about how the Arataki Gang has some sort of conflict with another group. You want to know if your delivery boy was just downplaying the yakuza or he genuinely had no idea.

It’s been roughly three weeks since Itto started working for you, yet you never noticed anything that could’ve been bothering him. Has he been shouldering the burden alone all this time?

“Look,” you start, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Do you have any clue why he’s letting them, I don’t know, haze him like this? He’s definitely not the type to stand by and take a beating like that.”

There it is again—the look on Tora’s face that tells you he knows the answer, but doesn’t want to say it. But from the short time you’ve spoken to the kid, you realize he’s quite easy to pressure.

“Come on, not even a hint?” You pout. “I’m your boss’ boss, right? Technically, that makes me your boss, too~”

“Aghh! Darn it!” Tora cries out, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him. “H-How about I start with a fairy tale?”

“A fairy tale?”

He nods. Do you know the story about the red and blue oni?”

You process his words for a moment, recalling the times your dad read you bedtime stories growing up. There’s a vague recollection of a children’s tale about oni in there, and you ask aloud just to make sure.

“Um, is it one where the red oni wants to be friends with humans?”

“Yeah, bingo.”

You frown. “But what does that have to do with Itto…?”

“Absolutely nothing.”

Both you and Tora nearly jolted over the railing at the sound of a groggy yet familiar voice. You shouldn’t even be surprised that Itto is up and about now, with how quickly he regained consciousness back at the hospital. He even has a cigarette wedged between his lips, clumsy hands fumbling with his lighter as he tries to ignite the tobacco.

“Boss!” Tora practically shrieks, scrambling for something in the pocket of his jacket. “Y-You know what Shinobu-san said about smoking! Cut it out!”

You can only scowl as Tora, a lanky teenager, knocks the cancer stick out of Itto’s mouth—thrusting an unwrapped lollipop between his blood-red eyes. It seems that you and him share the same degree of surprise because Itto doesn’t even balk at him for doing something so bold. To your further disbelief, the damn boss just plucks it out of Tora’s hands with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, I keep forgetting about that,” Itto groans, taking off the plastic before popping the candy into his mouth. “Anyway, you better get going. Your pops might be looking for you.”

“But—”

“Tora, I’m not gonna repeat myself.”

You’re slightly baffled by the authoritative tone in Itto’s voice—one you’d never really heard him speak. But at the end of the day, he’s still the boss of the Arataki Gang. No matter how much of a ditz he acts around you and your shop, it would make sense for him to show a bit more tact in front of his boys. But then, Tora’s shoulders slump sulkily as he moves to climb over the railing of your balcony— Wait a minute.

“Thanks for taking care of him, boss lady.” He smiles over his shoulder. “The Arataki Gang owes you one.”

“Oi, Tora,” Itto calls out gruffly once again, taking out the lollipop from his lips before pointing it at the younger boy. “Not a single word about this to the others, got that? This… This is my story to tell.”

Tora sighs, bending his knees together before you can even ask him to get down from there, idiot! You might fall—

You couldn’t even get a single word out before Tora leapt from the second floor and into the alley below.

A scream lodges itself into your throat—one you’re too shocked to articulate. Scrambling closer to the edge, you nearly fling your upper body forward just to make sure Tora was alright, but in the dim street lamps that line the back street, you realize that the kid more or less landed gracefully on his feet, patting down his jacket before walking away like nothing happened.

The metal floor beneath your feet groans at the weight of another person, and you realize that Itto crouched down to gather the soil scattered across the surface. The stick of candy dangles on the side of his mouth as he salvages the poor sweet flower Tora accidentally unpotted, but of course your mind decides to focus on something else entirely.

Now that the prior adrenaline rush is long gone, you’re able to take a better look at Itto even in the scarce light. You notice how he’s keeping his movements uncharacteristically limited, like he cares not to rupture any of the wounds you treated. And as your eyes rake across the rest of his muscular torso, you can’t help but admire the bright red tattoos across his chest and arms. You always found the design a little odd, but you wonder if the patterns hold any real meaning behind them.

“Hey,” you start, awkwardly stepping over the pot fragments Itto is gathering in one place. “Is it true that—”

“Master, I got this,” Itto laughs softly, clapping the dirt off his hands before flashing you a bright smile. “Whatever that kid said to you, you don’t have to worry. I’m a tough nut to crack, remember?”

You hesitate. “You don’t have to deal with that alone, you know? I know a couple of people who have close ties with the Tenryou Commission. I’m sure they can help you sort out whatever that is better than the way you’re dealing with it now.” Yeah, that’s right. If you recall correctly, Ayato and Kujou Sara—the superintendent’s daughter—worked close together when they attended college a couple years ahead of you. Calling in a few favors won’t hurt. Probably.

“Heh. Don’t sweat it.” He rises back to his feet, nearly towering over you with that ridiculous stature. “I’m dead sure Shinobu can solve this entire thing on her own if I just told her, but… I hope you understand this is something I gotta do myself. Call it the, uh, pride of my ancestors or something.”

…Pride of his ancestors?

“No.” You cross your arms together. “I refuse to sit idly by, knowing you’re getting your ass beat by the yakuza on purpose. Or are you really just that terrible in a fight, huh, Arataki Itto?”

Now that garners the reaction you wanted and didn’t both at the same time. “What did you say? Hey, you may be my master, but I’m not just gonna stand around and take that slander lying down!” Itto scowls, bracing his palms across his hips. “I’ll have you know that I go by many names! Arataki “The One and Oni” Itto, Arataki “The Ultimate TCG Champion” Itto, Arataki “Beetle Gladiator” Itto, Arataki—”

“Are you done?” you groan.

“I’m not,” he says, clearing his throat obnoxiously loud. “Arataki “The Pride of Oni” Itto, Arataki “The Oni King of Hanamizaka” Itto, Arataki—”

“Look, if you shut up right now, I’m going to order us take out. My treat.”

He gasps, even clasping a hand over his mouth in faux-disbelief. “You really mean that, master? Man, I just remembered I haven’t eaten since yesterday!”

You scowl at him. What the fuck has this man been doing all this time? “Only if you cut it out with your endless list of names and promise not to get involved with the yakuza anymore.”

“Ah…” Itto’s million-watt grin suddenly flickers out. “Umm, can we go with a less demanding trade? Like walking your cat for a month or something?”

As if on cue, Mikan mewls from the doorway—blinking up the both of you before licking her paw. Why does it seem like she liked Itto’s proposition…? Wait, you are not going to let him talk you out of this!

“No can do,” you reply indifferently, investing yourself in the state of your nails. “If word gets around that my helper is in cahoots with the yakuza, it’ll make business bad for me.”

“Well, you can always just fire me, you know?”

The moment the words come out of his mouth, you feel like he just sucker punched you in the gut. You freeze on the spot, gaze going frigid at the nonchalant manner Itto uttered the suggestion.

In retrospect, he was totally right. You managed to hold things down around the shop before he even came into your life, so what difference would it make when he left? You’ll even be liberated from the unwitting role of gang leader caretaker once he’s completely out of your hair! Taking in a ruffian like Itto, even if it’s just to pay back a moral debt his gang owes you, would stir up more trouble than you’d ever willingly bargain for.

…But why is the idea of never seeing him again making your stomach turn?

“Y-You still haven’t done sufficient service for the stunt you pulled in the shop,” you stammer, ignoring the way your cheeks grew hot. “Besides, I’m not an idiot who’ll willingly let a good asset go just like that.”

For a moment, the air shifts between the two of you, and when you meet Itto’s gaze you notice that his usual cheer is blanketed by something else—something just a touch melancholic… Why is he looking at you like that? He’s the one who spoke like he was all-too willing to give up his job here for his scuffle with the goddamn yakuza. Suddenly, you recall how he spoke about your line of work when he was still confined at the hospital; how he seemed so against ‘taking care of a bunch of plants’.

Like hell this guy is going to miss working for you…

“Asset, huh?” Itto repeats with a chuckle before twirling his lollipop around. “I guess that’s one way of putting it. But we’ll never see eye-to-eye like this, so I’m going to ask: is there any other way I can stay in your good graces without sacrificing my pride as an oni?”

“...Oni?” you ask.

Now that he mentioned it, Itto did sneak that word into his many names a couple of times. Although, you assumed he was just saying all that ironically. Sure, the man was built leagues different compared to a handful of the guys you’ve met thus far, but oni are mythical creatures. They don’t exist in modern day Inazuma!

Right?

From the way Itto is looking at you with a dead-serious look in his usually carefree eyes, you can’t help but swallow the lump in your throat. But he’s being really obtuse about all of this. You can’t even stop yourself from uttering your next few words if you tried.

“Itto, don’t tell me you’re a kinnie…”

A few seconds pass in incredibly awkward silence before Itto asks, “A what?”

“A kinnie,” you reiterate, coughing into your fist when you realize you’re about to have a very unpleasant conversation. “People who identify as a certain…character they have similarities with. It’s all the rage on social media these days.”

“Character?” he continues in disbelief. “Like kanji or hiragana? That stuff?”

“Fictional characters, Itto!” you groan for the millionth time tonight, and—GODDAMMIT! Why are you even explaining kin culture to someone with the online presence of a caveman?

(Context: during the time Itto spent off the clock, you looked him up on your socials to see if he put up any profiles as a means of checking on him. Of course you weren’t able to find him anywhere—not on Instagram, not on Facebook. Archons, even your grandparents use Facebook!)

“Oh well, whatever that is, I ain’t letting you leave if you don’t gimme an answer,” Itto huffs. “I repeat: what else can I do so you don’t have to worry so much?”

You feel uneasy under the weight of his expectant stare because… What could you possibly ask? Moreover, who are you to ask anything of Itto in the first place? He’s already repaying his dues by working here, so you should really just stick your nose out of his private business. But…

“If you can’t let Shinobu and the gang know what you’re up to,” you begin, afraid he might hear how your voice shook with each word. “Can you at least let me know that you’re alive? That those yakuza bastards haven’t dumped your cold body down a river or something?”

Itto blinks, once, twice, before speaking. “That’s it? You just want me to keep you posted?”

“Of course I do!” you exclaim, but when you realize how the words echoed loudly around the area, you tame your voice into a softer tone. “It’s normal for an employer to look after their trainees, right?”

Mikan meows in agreement, stepping into the balcony as she curls around Itto’s leg. He glances at her, lips upturned into a fond smile that makes your chest feel weird. Then again, Arataki Itto has always incited the strangest sensations since you met him. If he’s going to stick around longer, you’re going to have to get used to it.

“Alright, it’s a deal,” he sighs, leaning down to cradle Mikan in his arms. “I think I’m gonna miss this little troublemaker over here if I end up kicking the bucket.”

“Only Mikan?” you joke.

“Hm? Of course, I’ll miss you the most, master.”

You expect him to follow that up with his contagious laughter—one that’ll assure you that he doesn’t really mean it; that it’s not that deep. But the sound never comes, and Itto simply gazes at you in quiet observation. His twilight red irises seem to glint in the darkness, and you wonder if you’ve ever been looked at the same way before…

“You really are just like Ranpo-dono,” he chuckles so softly, you barely hear it. “Pretendin’ you don’t care all that much when you really do.”

...What? Are the two of you thinking of the same person? Because you don’t remember a time in your life when you weren’t doted on by your father. Takahashi Ranpo is a grossly affectionate dad, so what could Itto be on about?

But then again, the nostalgic ring to his voice sounds all too real. It surprises you more than it should. You knew that Itto probably met your father at least once before, but when your dad told you that he wasn’t familiar with the gang leader on a personal level, you decided to brush it off until now. Your father with a ridiculous you-complex couldn’t have possibly lied about that, right?

“Ah, I’m starving,” Itto sulks, rubbing his stomach as if to prove his point. “Aren’t you raring for some good takeout, too, master? Seems like I interrupted a dinner date.”

He says the words while gesturing at your attire, and—ah, fuck. You’d been so busy treating his wounds, you forgot to change out of your clothes. Now, the neatly pressed blouse you were supposed to wear to your dinner with the Kamisatos was rumpled and just a little bit sweaty on the inside. Itto did not have to know that, though.

“Anyways,” you interject, fearing he might ask who you were supposed to go out with. “You want food from Uyuu Restaurant or Shimura’s?”

He shrugs, tickling Mikan’s stomach as he turns around and heads back inside. “Anything’s fine, as long as it isn’t prison food. Now that stuff’s even worse than hospital food.”

The damn guy… He’s already baby-talking to Mikan before you can even interrogate his supposed experience with eating food in prison! Amane told you the Arataki Gang were a bunch of good guys at heart, but did you unknowingly hire a notorious criminal after all?!

At this point, you don’t even want to ask him anymore.

While you and Itto bicker about your food choices on the landline down at the shop—Shimura’s only accepts deliveries from their direct hotline—your smartphone remains unattended on the coffee table upstairs. Mikan hops onto the surface, tail swishing curiously as the screen lights up with a few text notifications.

Ayato [23:17]: hi~ it’s been a while, hasn’t it?

Ayato [23:17]: the three of us are headed over to your place, hope you don’t mind :)

Ayato [23:18]: i was worried when thoma said you couldn’t make it, you know :T

Ayato [23:20]: we’ll be there in twenty minutes, hope you have some midnight snacks!

← previous | next →

★ UPDATE SCHED; every thurs & sat (12 nn gmt+8)

#genshin impact #genshin smut #genshin fluff #arataki itto smut #arataki itto fluff #genshin x reader #arataki itto x reader #reparations #cryoculus

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ailendolin · 2 years ago

Note

What do you think about

🛁 Bathing together/platonic bathing (specifiy)

for Gabrian. I just see so much potential for angst and comfort at the same time 💙

Hello, dear 💙 Fingers crossed this ficlet comes close to what you had in mind when you sent me this prompt. I hope you'll like it!

Next up:

⚡ Scared of thunderstorms - Robin

🎶 Dancing - Robin, Humphrey’s body, Mary & alive Kitty

🥶 Cold - Fanny

✊🏽 Protecting - Thomas & Francis

💪🏽 Bridal carry - Pat & the Captain

🐾 Pet-names - Humphrey’s head and Annie

🎁 Presents - Julian

💀 Near-death experience - Milton, Mike & Death

Ask Game is here. Filled prompts are here, here & here on AO3.

Prompts for this ask game are closed.

————

Bath

🛁 Platonic bathing

“How are you feeling this morning?”

“Like someone ran me over with a cart,” Ian whispered hoarsely from the bed and gave her a pitiful look.

Gabriel smiled.

“Well, that’s better than half-dead,” she joked and placed her hand on his brow. “Your fever seems to have broken and your wound–“ She lifted the blanket and pulled the bandage on his thigh aside. “–no longer has that angry red colour to it. I think we can safely say you’re on the mend now.”

She didn’t make a big deal out of it but they both knew how close Ian had come to death after the infection set in.

“Anne and Susanna are heating up the tub if you think you’re up for a bath.”

The look of longing on Ian’s face was answer enough so Gabriel helped him out of the bed and wrapped a warm blanket around his shoulders before carefully assisting him down the stairs. When they entered the kitchen, Anne and Susanna both looked up from their work. Matching smiles lit up their faces the moment they spotted Ian.

“Someone’s feeling better, I see,” Anne said, the relief clear in her voice. Noticing the way Gabriel was holding him upright, her face softened. “It’s good to see you back on your feet, Ian.”

“Thank you,” Ian mumbled. “I’m sure I can make myself useful and repay you for your kindness in no time.”

Anne and Gabriel exchanged a glance before Anne wiped her hands on her apron and rounded the table.

“Don’t you worry about any of that, all right?” she said, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You getting better is payment enough.” With another smile, she gave his shoulder a squeeze and let go. “We’ll leave you to it.”

Susanna followed her mother out of the room and once they had closed the door behind them, Gabriel said quietly, “I know you don’t think they mean it but they do. They’re good people who stand by their word.”

Colour rose to Ian’s cheeks and he ducked his head, embarrassed that his thoughts had been so plain for her to read. “I think I can manage from here.”

Gabriel frowned. The way his legs trembled, especially the injured one, begged to differ. She knew why he wanted privacy, though. He might not remember them dressing him in clean nightshirts after the fever took hold of him, but Gabriel did. The sight of bruises and scars, too many to count, littering his body was not something she would not forget anytime soon. They told the story of a harsh, unforgiving life – a lonely one, too – and as much as she understood his need to hide that from her, Gabriel knew she could not leave him alone, not yet; not when the fever had left him with so little of his former strength. “Please let me help you into the tub, at least. I promise I won’t look.”

Ian sighed but did not protest – another sign of the life he’d lived – one that had taught him not to disagree or argue with others. Keeping his shame-filled eyes firmly on the floor, he let go of her arm and reached for the table to steady himself. Gabriel silently looked away as he shrugged the blanket from his shoulders and struggled out of his nightshirt. She only stepped in when he tapped her arm to help him into the tub.

“Oh, this is heavenly,” Ian sighed once he was submerged up to his neck in the pleasantly warm water – a rare luxury he probably had not often been able to afford before. Gabriel sneaked a glance at his face: his eyes were closed in bliss and his lips were slowly relaxing into a small smile that tugged at her heart.

“Would you like me to wash your hair for you?” she asked him softly.

Ian blinked his eyes open, and when he looked at her, his face was full of wonder. “You’d do that?”

His voice broke on the last word and Gabriel felt her throat close up.

“Of course,” she reassured him. “It’s no trouble at all.”

With the utmost care, she poured water over his head and began to untangle the dull, wet strands of his hair with her fingers. She took her time with it and eventually allowed her touch to gentle into one of comfort until even the last bit of tension had drained out of Ian’s body. Only then did she reach for the soap.

“There,” she whispered after rinsing his hair again. “How does that feel?”

When Ian didn’t reply, Gabriel leaned around the tub to see if he might have fallen asleep. He hadn’t. His eyes were wide open and silent tears were running down his cheeks. “Oh, Ian.”

“I’m sorry,” Ian sniffed and turned his head away from her in shame. “It’s just–“

“I know,” Gabriel interrupted him softly to spare him the mortification of having to explain how overwhelming it was to feel a kind touch for the first time in years. She reached for his hand. “It’s all right. I understand.”

He nodded, more to himself than to her, before he bowed his head and stopped fighting against his emotions. His shoulders shook as sobs wrecked his emaciated body, and Gabriel held him through it all.

#ian #gabriel montoya #bill 2015 #my fic #gabrian #ask game prompt ficlet

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number1spongebobfan · 1 year ago

Text

Headcanons for the Skarloey Railway part 1

Skarloey

He's a gallant old engine!

He doesn't use electricity.

He makes quilts and furniture.

He speaks in a low, loud Welsh accent.

His brother, Tallylyn (i hope i spelled that right) is a Shiba Inu with narrow gauge wheels on his legs.

He is wise and friendly.

Doves are his favorite animal. One time he tried to rescue a dove by bandaging his broken wing.

He reads the bible.

His patron saint is Saint David of Wales.

Rheneas

He is Skarloey's brother.

He dresses and acts more casually than Skarloey. Skarloey's the face of the railway so he's prim and proper.

He loves bananas and everything banana flavored. Skarloey calls him "Rhenana Banana"!

He likes to go to the amusement park. His favorite ride is the rollercoaster!

He is close friends with Edward. Mainly because they have the same number and are both older engines.

His sister, Dolgoch, is a spitz with train wheels on her legs.

He plays the tambourine.

His patron saint is St. Moses the Black.

Peter Sam

Him and Sir Handel have a very close relationship with Duke, the lost engine. They call him Grandpuff.

He wears a charm around his neck that's shaped like a key. He calls it his special necklace.

He is very sweet and kind. He has good manners.

He likes to drink lemonade and other refreshments.

His brother, Edward Thomas, is a collie with wheels on his legs.

He is a devout Catholic.

He can be very stubborn. He has a hard time believing in things he can't see. So he was definitely shocked the first time he saw Proteus.

His patron saint is the apostle and first pope St. Peter.

#thomas and friends #ttte humanized #ttte #skarloey railway #narrow gauge #ttte headcanon #ttte skarloey #ttte peter sam #ttte rheneas #sfw interaction only

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knowltonsrangers · 2 years ago

Text

what if…

…Ensign Baker escapes after being shot and makes it to your house.

Ensign Thomas Baker x reader

[TW: mentions of blood/injury/guns/wounds ahead. please read at your own discretion.]

If he wasn’t already on the brink of death when he knocked on your door, you surely would have punched him silly for not going to someone more qualified for such a thing.

“You…your house was the closest.”

He heaves, and in exchange you gasp, watching as he leans against the doorframe, middle saturated with the crimson stain you pray wasn’t as bad as it looks.

Sliding under his uninjured side, you instruct him to stop moving his torso so much, and lean some of his weight on to you, so you can get him inside. Your hand comes to his back, the other to his chest, trying your best to help him regain his balance.

“I should kill you Baker, if this doesn’t.”

It’s sarcasm, one that you don’t quite care at the moment it it doesn’t come across as such. He laughs, breathlessly, swiping a hand under his mouth as it trails a line of blood along with it.

“Yes, y/n. I definitely…deserve that.”

He collapses on your couch, mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ as he’s noticed how much of a mess he’s brought into your foyer.

“That’s alright.”

A bit of fear settles in your stomach, rushing to the next room to find some bandages and medical supplies.

“Just how long ago did this happen? And what is it?”

You exasperate, rolling your sleeves up and helping him into a sitting position. Still, he laughs, and you can tell some sort of shock is occurring by his behavior.

“None more than half hour. You have a long walk to your house, y/n.”

You begin to unbutton his white shirt, careful to peel away his saturated red wool coat. Tossing it on the unoccupied portion of the couch, you gasp as you open his shirt fully.

“Oh dear lord, you’ve come to me to excavate a bullet?!”

With the way he was acting, you knew he was going to pass out soon. You needed to get that musket ball out, and get some pressure on that gouge of a wound.

“Okay, take this off.”

His vest and white shirt follow the coat, and you’re able to see the hole much better, albeit in candlelight. The bullet didn’t make it very far, thankfully, so in a way, it quelled your worries for a moment.

“I know you are lying, Ensign.”

In an attempt to keep him chatting, as to not let him succumb to unconsciousness, his head perks up considerably.

“Why’s…that?”

“Any way you look at it, my house is farthest from town. You should have gone to a doctor—“

“And have whomever did this to me, follow? To end it for good?”

His soft voice is firm, and you can tell as much as he’s tried to hide his true emotions, he is scared to his very core.

“You are lucky you are alive, Baker.”

“Thomas.”

He grunts as you pull the bullet out.

“Bet that feels a lot better, yeah?”

The blood pours, but you’re able to breathe a bit in relief. It’s an injury that can be sealed properly with stitches, but by a proper medical professional, who will have to do that in the morning.

There was no way you would make it to town with him like this, he’s exhausted, and has been through enough.

From your experience, he’ll live. You bandage his side, tightly, to seal the wound for the time being. Thomas hisses in pain, but ultimately relaxes when you pull away.

“There,”

From your perspective, the spot between his legs as you worked from the floor, the tall army officer seemed more sheepish, then as if he was in pain.

“Whomever did this to you…you should see to it that they are arrested.”

You stand, stiffly, hands and arms streaked in his blood. It’s unsightly, but you aren’t expecting any more visitors tonight.

“I…I was scared.”

Thomas says meekly, head turning from yours as you can see just how much this was destroying him.

“That is why I came to you. Yes, I risked it…but…I was willing to.”

It makes your heart flutter, tucking some escaped hair back behind your ear.

“I would be afraid, as well. You went through enough trouble to get here, best I take care of you, yeah?”

He laughs once more, and you can’t help but feel the warmth in your chest spread. He’s looked death dead in the face tonight and lived. He’s lucky for it.

“I will be fine here, tonight. If that is alright with you.”

“Oh yes, let me yank a bullet from your torso and toss you out. Please.”

You quickly wash your hands, water gone cold but well enough to get the job done.

“Thank you.”

He says, sincerely, when you re-enter the foyer.

“No need. I am just going to be in the next room, come get me if the wound worsens at any point in the night.”

You pause.

“Or for any other reason. I will be here, please don’t worry,”

He nods, as you blow out the candle, retreating back to bed with a mind full of rampant thoughts.

You’d be lucky if you got a wink of sleep tonight.

#sul writes #turn amc #turn washington's spies #ensign baker #ensign Thomas baker #ensign baker headcanons #ensign baker imagine #ensign baker x reader

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spookychick78 · 1 year ago

Text

End Of The Line

Chapter 7: Let The Rain Come Down

Thomas Hewitt X AFAB!OC

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2,175

She was told to sit again, this time in a chair in front of an old vanity mirror in what she assumed was Luda's room. She stared silently out the small window to see the sun was high in the sky. It was hard to believe just twenty four hours ago it had been a beacon of hope. Now, as the minutes ticked by and it continued it's ascent it felt as though the wooden walls were closing in around her. They were going to get their way whether she liked it or not. She could feel it in the ache of her bones that Thomas was right. She was too weak to run, she was trapped and left to hope for whatever mercy these people would allow her. She felt betrayed by her own body, sickened by her weakness and how naïve she'd been. Maybe if she hadn't stopped she'd be in Santa Fe right now. Then again, maybe that was why she was alive. Whatever he had seen in her seemed to be the only reason she was still breathing. Though, as she stared out the window she wondered if maybe her best bet was to run and let them shoot her down. He had been kind thus far, but the thought of being forced to wed him, to be his wife? She closed her eyes and tried to settle the growing sickness in her stomach as Luda hobbled into the room. Ronnie turned to face herself in the mirror and saw in the reflection she was holding another gown. A white one.

"I hope Tommy got that leg of yours cleaned up good," Luda started as she set the dress down and looked over Ronnie in the mirror, "you already ruined one of my dresses and I don't want you bloody'n your weddin' gown. Turn and face me girl."

Ronnie did as she was asked and let the woman check her knee, "Bless him, he tried. Boy just forgot to wrap it."

She shook her head as she contemplated what she would bandage the wound with. It didn't take her long to decide to rip some of the dress Ronnie had on and fashion it out of the old cloth.

She smiled to herself as she tied it, "Guess we won't have to worry about findin' you a garter after all."

Ronnie looked down her nose at the elderly woman. She wanted nothing more than to wring her neck each time she so casually reminded her of what they intended to do with her. It had to be survival instinct holding her back, because it wasn't like Ronnie to freeze. She took a deep breath and looked back at herself in the mirror. Luda glanced up and saw right through the girl's hardened expression. She could tell she was scared stiff and she did feel some sympathy for her. She stood up and gently rested one hand on her shoulder while the other played with a few strands of Ronnie's hair.

"You got them unruly curls just like Tommy does," she said, "your poor babies won't catch any luck with those genes."

Luda felt the girl tense and let out a chuckle as she started to gather Ronnie's curls into a bun, "Now, I know you're nervous and I wanna give you the benefit of the doubt that maybe you ain't done this before."

She took note as Ronnie's eyes cut sharply up to her through the reflection, "Then again, I don't know what exactly it is you girls get up to these days. But I can tell you this, Tommy has not. I'm not sure he's ever so much as thought about a girl until you showed up. So you'll have to be patient with him."

She patted Ronnie once she'd finished with her hair and waited for her to stand up. She looked over her with a pleased smile before she grabbed the white dress.

"But don't you worry, Tommy's a quick learner. It won't take him too long to figure everythin' out," she added, making Ronnie's stomach churn, "now go on and take that dirty thing off. This oughta fit you better anyway," Luda said.

The poor girl hesitantly began to lift up her dress as she gave Luda an unsure look.

"Don't pay me no mind, it's nothin' I ain't seen before," Luda reassured her, "I may not look it anymore, but I'm just as much a woman as you are where it counts."

She pulled the dress over her head and tossed it on the ground at Luda's feet. She refused to meet the woman's eyes as she held the gown out for Ronnie to step into. She slipped her arms into the sleeves and Luda began to lace up the back. Ronnie looked back to the mirror to watch. Under any other circumstance, she would have admitted the thing was lovely. Luda finished lacing the back of the dress and met Ronnie's gaze in the mirror. She smiled as she admired how well it fit her before she reached her hand up to take a few strands of her hair out of the bun. She placed them so that they'd frame her delicate features just right.

"There," she said quietly, "if Tommy thought you were pretty before, he's gonna be beside himself when he sees you now."

If a look could break glass, Ronnie's would have. Her rage was silent, but there nonetheless. Everything the woman had said to her sank deep in her heart like a blade to flesh. Being powerless to stop any of this only made the words she'd heard cut deeper. She could feel Luda's disturbingly pleased gaze on her reflection.

"What's your name, girl?" She asked softly.

"Ronnie," she whispered as she kept her eyes glued to her own appearance, hoping the sound of her own name would remind her of who she was and not to let these people take that from her.

"Ronnie," Luda repeated as she glided over to the door to hold it open for her soon to be daughter in-law, "Ronnie Hewitt. Does have a nice ring to it, don't it?"

"No," Ronnie whispered before she turned to face Luda straight on, "I may not be able to stop you from doin' whatever it is you think you're doin', so go on, have your phony wedding. But let me make this clear. I will not be bred like cattle, I will not allow you to break me for whatever purpose you think I'm going to serve. You won't, none of you will. I'm not your daughter, you ain't my mama, I will not be his wife and I will never be a Hewitt."

His butcher's knife hit the wood underneath it with a loud thud. He had no meat to cut, but he needed the release only a blade in his hand could give him. He knew any minute now Hoyt was going to come down those stairs to call him up. He watched them over the top of his mask as he let the blade fall, hit, lift and repeat. The table became more unstable with each dent he left in it. Let it break he thought to himself before his mind wandered back to what was about to unfold. It was no secret that Mama had wanted this for quite sometime, though it had been mutually agreed upon that Thomas would never actually be able to marry. At least that's what the more realistic members of the family assumed. He had been reminded by Hoyt since he could remember that his face wasn't one women would fawn over. In fact, Hoyt had been the first to suggest he cover his facial shortcomings, much to Mama's dismay. Luda Mae had been the only one deluded enough to think her youngest son had been beautiful from the start, but Hoyt made sure Tommy knew what he was. He had never been kind about it either. He was no stranger to Hoyt's cruelty, but this was a new kind of torture. Tommy knew the man was fully aware he was condemning him to a life filled with reminders that he was simply unwanted. That girl didn't want him and Hoyt knew that each time Thomas looked into his soon to be wife's eyes he would be reminded of that. That was the price Thomas would pay for disobeying the 'sheriff's' order.

Tommy heard the sound of the door at the top of the stairs swing open. He reverted his gaze back to the table to see he'd all but destroyed the thing. It was riddled with marks from the butcher's knife, though he thought it could use a few more. He continued to chop away at nothing as Hoyt made his way down.

"Come on up Tommy, don't wanna keep your bride waitin' or she might run off on you again," Hoyt said.

Thomas didn't look up. He kept his focus on the rise and fall of the knife in his hand. Hoyt spit some of his dip out as he grew agitated by Thomas' refusal to acknowledge him.

"You know, that girl pouts less than you do," Hoyt muttered.

Tommy slammed the knife down harder in response. Hoyt knew he couldn't force him up the stairs, but he might be able to poke him just enough to make him listen.

"If you ain't up to the task boy, I'd be happy to take your place," Hoyt said as he stepped closer to Tommy.

Tommy began to tense, but tried his best to ignore the man. He didn't want to gratify him with a response. Hoyt narrowed his eyes at him as he thought of the next vile thing he could say.

"A woman like that would probably appreciate a little more experience than you got below the belt," he said quieter now.

Thomas gritted his teeth and tightened his grip on the butcher's knife. Hoyt knew him well enough to know he had hit a nerve. He could tell by the way his eyes fixated on the table in front of him and the way his shoulders began to lift up and down as he breathed.

"Come to think of it, probably best I do. We both know she'll come lookin' anyway once she figures out you ain't man enough to do the things I'd do to her," he said with a sneer.

Thomas slammed the knife down through the table this time. He let go of the handle and turned to face Hoyt with the same stubborn glare he'd given him the first time he'd suggested such a thing. Hoyt wasn't one to back down easy and he was growing tired of the newfound defiance Thomas had towards him.

"You don't want that now, do you?" He said with a wicked look in his eyes, "Then be the man you think you are and get your ass up those stairs. 'Cause if you don't, I got half a mind to walk up there, put a bullet right between those pretty blue eyes and make you watch while I skin her for dinner."

If blood wasn't thicker than water, those would have been Hoyt's last words. Thomas let out a deep breath and admitted defeat.

"You made your bed, boy," Hoyt said before he nodded up the stairs, "now go lie in it. Or I'll do what shoulda been done the minute you laid eyes on that bitch."

For her sake, he did as Hoyt asked. As he walked it seemed like there were fewer stairs than he remembered. He had made it up them in no time all the while aware of Hoyt's vengeful gaze weighing heavy on his back. He could feel he was quite pleased to get his way as he watched Thomas push the door open. The room was silent as she stood there in the living room. She kept her head down, but he knew she'd heard him come in. She looked different from when he'd first seen her and he had to admit it did make it hard to keep his eyes off of her. The dress Mama had given her to wear was modest, but it hung on her body in such a way that made Thomas feel what he could only describe as weak. That wild and dirty blonde hair she had was tamed, tied up into a bun, but some of her curls had been left out to frame her face. She looked beautiful. For a moment he felt maybe what most men would have at the sight of her, he felt lucky. She looked up to catch him gazing at her and that's when the reality of the situation made its way back into the pit in his stomach. Within all that beauty he saw it clear as day, it didn't matter how white that dress they made her wear was, it didn't blind him to it. She was sad. Beautiful and sad. Thomas figured that's just what Hoyt had hoped for.

#horror fiction #slasher #slasher fandom #horror #slasher fanfiction #horror fanfiction #horror fan #slasher x reader #thomas hewitt fanfic #thomas hewitt #texas chainsaw the beginning #texas chainsaw massacre

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