#woke up in a cold sweat had to go to my drafts

[artists-ally]

Can you plzz do a fluff fic with xaden x Reader x azriel?🫠

{Lonely Shade of Blue} Azriel X Reader x Xaden Riorson

(giiiiiirl i know this has been in my drafts for forever i am so so sorry) Okay. Hi. Hello my loves. I am back to dip my toes in the water, see how this goes yet again. Thank you, as always, for the support and for 1,000 FOLLOWERS!!!!! 🥳 I have covid at the moment and I'm feeling super awful and neglected and just want to be cuddled by two ginormous, tattooed hotties. So here's that. This is just fun and comforting, a little goofy and silly which is just what I need right now. Enjoy! Title inspired by this song.

Word Count: 2,366

Warnings: Illness, vomiting, yucky stuff that comes with being sick. Our beloved Shadow Daddies being over protective and considerate asf. One singular f-bomb.

Tagging: @bubybubsters @thelov3lybookworm @cyrygher @sarawritestories @berryzxx (my favorite moots to help me get back up on my feetsies)

Summary: You are sick. Very sick. And two Shadow Daddies shower you with care and affection.

~~~~~

I toss and turn. Shift and curl my knees up to my chest. Gods, something is so wrong. What doesn’t feel right? My brain finally catches up with the rest of my body and I groan in pain. My stomach is on fire, cramping and rolling with nausea. No. No no no.

Hunched over, I narrowly escape crashing into the doorway of the bathroom. My eyes can’t focus and my ears are starting to ring. The normally comforting scent of lemon and herb soap turns rotten on my tongue. My mouth fills with saliva as my knees slam into the tile before the toilet. 

Whatever had been left of last night's dinner makes its way up. Acid stings my throat as I heave again. And again. 

I’m shivering as I break into a cold sweat, a few tears running down my cheeks. For a moment, I let the cool water of the sink run over my wrists, and try to calm my racing heart. The tightening of my stomach has loosened, but there was potential for another round. 

My knees are wobbly, but then again so is pretty much everything else. I find some strength to flush the toilet and crawl back into bed. The sun is just peaking through the curtain, and yet again, I groan. 

Training. 

Fuck. That. 

I can feel the feverish haze settling over my entire body. The aches. The pains. The chills. This is not the time to be sick. The weather is just starting to get nice here in the Night Court and Velaris, spring solstice just a few weeks away. Why now? 

I fold my pillow under my head, and tug the blankets up to my chin. I know some time passes because different birds begin to chirp. I try to ignore the taste on my tongue, but I can’t, and my stomach rolls again. In seconds I’m back in front of the toilet, thankful I remembered to flush the first time.

Knock knock knock knock. 

“Yn? Are you ready to go?” Azriels soft but deep voice calls from the other side of the door. 

I looked over my shoulder and rolled my eyes, wiping the corner of my mouth on a towel. On much weaker legs I stand and pad to the door. Through droopy–and surely red–eyes, I stare up at Azriel. Xaden leaning against the wall behind him. “No,” is my very dry response. 

“Oh, honey what’s wrong?”

“You look awful,” Xaden peaks over Az’s shoulder, receiving an elbow to the ribs from the Shadowsinger.

“Next time I vomit I’ll make sure it’s in your nice, pretty Basgiath boots, Riorson.”

“Understood,” he mock-salutes. 

Azriel just rolls his eyes. “Lets get you back into bed, Yn.”

I turn, grateful for the give and support of my mattress. I curl into a ball, and Az tucks the blanket around me. Exhaustion overtakes me and I can’t keep my eyes open. I feel… okay. As long as I don’t think about it, or lick my lips… oh gosh the smell. 

“What else feels off?”

“Threw up, body feels like I fell out of a tree… very very warm.”

“Just woke up feeling this way?” Az tucked some hair behind my ear, the tip of his finger tracing the pointed edge. 

I nodded.

“Could be something viral. Have you been around anyone sick at the studio?” Xaden took a seat at the foot of my bed, gently rubbing up and down my thigh. 

I shook my head.

“You don’t have any nicks or cuts, do you? Could it be an infection?” 

The blanket shifts off of me as they search for any gashes. I know I don’t have any, but I’m not gonna fight them. I don’t think I could hide the scent of blood on me if I tried. They’d know. More than likely because they’d be the one to inflict it on me at a training session. Brutes.

“What did you have for dinner last night? As far as I know, no one else is sick, but I can check,” Azriel moves about, his big feet clunking across the wooden floor. 

“The fish,” I gagged, thankful it was just a belch that came up and nothing else. “And I had some harbor clams too. And that cheesy bread.”

Az hums in confirmation, and I feel the room's temperature drop as he sends out his shadows. The coolness settles over my legs and torso, soothing the raging fever beneath my skin. As well as some of the nausea. “Feyre says Rhys isn’t feeling great. He also had the fish. Has been quote on quote ‘shitting his brains out since early light’.”

“Please don’t talk about shitting please,” I croak, curling tighter towards my stomach. 

“Sorry, sorry.” I can hear the slight grin in his voice. “What do you need?”

“A new body. And a better immune system.”

“I don’t think we can do anything about either of those right this second, sweetheart. You’re probably gonna have to let it clear out of your system if it was something you ate. I’ll see if Madja has any recommendations. Xaden, there’s a bucket under the sink in the cabinet. Rinse it out and then just leave it next to the bed. No need for her to be walking back and forth. I’ll stop by the market and grab a couple things on my way to the healers. Anything specific you want?”

I opened one eyebrow and shot him a look.

“I’ll take that as a no.”

“Tell Madja she better have something or she’ll never taste my blueberry scones again.”

“I’ll make your threat very clear,” Az chuckles, pressing a kiss to my temple. “You are burning up.”

Xaden reaches across, pressing his palm into my cheek. “Okay, into the tub you go. There’s an aloe salve I use when I get burned, draws the heat right out. Should help some.” 

“Xaden?”

“Yes, hon?”

“Bucket. Now.”

“Shit!” 

I sit upright, arms shaking to push myself. I tuck my hair behind my ears, and in the flick of a finger, the strands are pulled back by a ringlet of shadow. The silver bucket is thrust into my lap and I grip the edge. I cough, gag, and am shocked at how much contents is still left in my stomach. I didn’t think I ate that much. 

“I’m so sorry, Yn,” Xaden soothed my back. “Get it all out, baby.”

This round takes its sweet old time. Az held up a cup of water to my lips. “Just rinse your mouth out.” I did as told, spitting it back out. Which, in turn, caused another heaving spell. After that, I rinsed once more, and pushed the bucket away before the scent could make me pass out. 

“I’ll go…” Xaden started, but trailed off. Az waved his hands and the bucket was shiny and polished once more. “...rinse it out. Man, why can’t my shadows do that? Thanks for nothing, Sgaeyl.”

I swore I could hear her roar from here. 

“If you think of anything you want, you know how to get in touch with me,” Azriel smiled softly, kneeling to the ground as he released my hair from its bind because he knows I don’t like it pulled back for long. His thumb trails over the bargain tattoo we share, the swirling details covering the majority of my lower left arm. 

I just nod, letting my chin rest on his shoulder. I let a few tears fall as he wraps his arms around me. Xaden meets my eyes, and I can see the way his throat bobs and his jaw tightens.

“You guys don’t have to–”

“There is no need for you to finish that sentence, sweetheart,” Xaden kneels next to us, thumbing my tears away.

“We don’t all have to be sick because of me.”

“We appreciate your valiance, but that’s ridiculous.”

“Whatever, just get to Madja, please?” I scoot back under the covers as Az stands, being tucked in once more. 

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, his wings brushing a gust of air around the room. 

“I’m gonna run a bath. Rose oil and vanilla?”

“Yes please,” I rasp, throat raw. 

I can hear the water splash into the basin. It’ll take a couple minutes to fill, and I’m already dreading moving. I let the gentle, rhythmic sounds beat against my pounding skull. I want it to be a soothing sound so badly, but it’s just not gonna happen. I must drift in and out for a little while because I’m being scooped up and set on the counter in the bathroom. Thankfully, he didn’t turn any bright lights on. Nor did he pour too much bubble solution into the tub.  

“Arms up, sleepy head,” he smiles down at me, lifting the hem of my shirt. His shirt, actually. I just do it, too weak to fight. But if he tickles my ribs like he normally does, he can kiss his crowned jewels goodbye. He must get my mental image down the bond because he giggles, and presses a plethora of kisses to my face when the shirt comes off. “I would never do that to you while you’re this sick, baby. I’m wicked, but I’m not outright evil.”

“Debateable.”

He just smirks. “Hop down, hold onto my shoulders for balance.” I scoot off and Xaden wraps an arm around my torso, keeping me steady as I step out of my shorts. He makes quick work of getting me into the foamy water, and I hiss at the temperature. 

“It’s way too cold, Xaden.”

“It’s not, I promise. You’re just burning up that bad. Gotta stay in at least ten minutes, Yn. Need to get your fever down so you start feeling a little better.”

My whole body quivers. My teeth chattering together uncontrollably. It certainly doesn’t help me relax. I must’ve asked a few times if it had been ten minutes yet. It takes an eternity, but eventually I’m wrapped in a fluffy towel and escorted back to the bed. Just as Xaden finishes getting me dressed and back under the covers, Az creeps back through the door, a bag looped on the crook of his elbow.

“You at least don’t look grey,” Az said, setting the medicinal bag on the chair next to the door. 

I just grumbled, rubbing my toes together between my socks. “Please tell me there is a cure in that bag.”

“All she was able to give me was some nausea drought. It’ll make you very sleepy, but it will settle your stomach and help you rest. There is also a hydration tonic so you don’t deplete all of your water. Madja said to drink as much water as you can, but she also knows your body will more than likely reject anything you put in it. Small quantities only. If symptoms persist like this for more than three days without any improvement, she’ll come down. Food poisoning, especially from seafood, seems to be the roughest according to her. And she’ll test you for any parasitic infections once you’re feeling a little better. Just to be sure.”

“Big words, lots of them,” I rub my burning eyes, willing them to settle on my boys. 

“You? Very sick. You take meds? Less sick.” Xaden explains. 

“She’s not three,” Azriel mumbles, rifling through the fabric bag. 

“No, but she’s our baby,” Xaden gently pinches the chub of my cheek. I swat his hand away, but he crawls right into bed next to me. Cocooning me in his scent and shadows. “So, in turn, we’ve gotta take care of her. And you know you want to.”

“Yes, I do, imbecile. And if it wasn’t because I love her so deeply, then it would be because I can physically feel how ill she actually is. I’m gonna put a dropper in your mouth, Yn. This is the nausea drought.”

I open my mouth and let him douse my tongue in the honey colored liquid. It tasted prominently like pears. But then it broke to something I didn’t appreciate and neither did my stomach. 

“Try to keep it down, sweetheart,” Xaden cooed. 

“Have some water,” Az sat me up, holding it up for me. “Small sips.”

I washed it down, “good gods what the fuck is in that?”

“Uhh,” Az looks at the small, unlabeled vial. “I honestly have no clue. It smells pretty alright.”

I cough a couple times, forcing it down down down. Thankfully, it stays, and it’s as if my stomach is encased with cotton. I can feel it soaking everything up and firming it up. I can relax my core and ease back down.

“Good?”

“Mhm,” I nod, letting out a big yawn. 

“Scooch,” Az motions with his hand, and Xaden wraps his arms around my middle and tugs. I’m pulled into the middle of the bed, nestled between the two of them. Dream-state is calling me quickly, and I spare a look at both of them. 

“Thanks you two.” 

“Of course, pretty girl,” Xaden kisses the top of my damp head. “Rest, you need it. We’ll be here when you wake.”

“Mmmmk,” I mumble, more than content to let the sounds of their breath and heartbeat send me off completely. One of them plays with my hair, the other gently laces their fingers through mine.

Comfort.

Care.

Home.

Between dreams, I catch bits and blurbs of conversations between them.

“This is the first time she’s ever been this sick. It really freaked me out to see her so… so pale.”

“Yeah,” Az responds. “Yeah my blood chilled. I’m glad Madja was able to give me something or I was gonna winnow you to Tyrrendor to get Brennan to see if he could mend her.”

“Probably not for illnesses. If she shatters a bone, sure. Absolutely. I’m not sure I could survive the sound of her bones snapping. No matter the circumstance.”

“Don’t make me think about that, Riorson.”

“Relax, Shadowsinger. I can feel your teeth cracking from here. She’s safe, safer than anywhere else she could possibly be.”

“Fucking right. You know, we pick on each other, but I’m glad you’re here. It’s hard when you’re gone. And we do a pretty good job keeping her out of trouble.”

“And getting into it.”

"Definitely."

"Definitely."

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Held | Ghost x Price

Day 12: Rotten Touch w/ Simon “Ghost” Riley

Summary: While on leave, Simon can’t seem to get to sleep properly, and Price knows just the thing to help.

Word Count: ~ 1.3k

Warnings: death, murder, guns, blood, stealing, nightmares, ptsd, implied soapgaz smut, non sexual cuddling

A/N: my allergies are killing me, but this is my first time dipping my toes into the waters of priceghost, so I hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

His hands weren’t just an instrument of death.

They were a carrier; a harbinger of it, what made the sirens start blaring, warning people of what came ahead if they didn’t run.

Well, it wasn’t like running would help anyway.

Once he touched someone, it was over. Like a plague, a fungus, it spread from person to person.

From the mother, crying over the body of her dead husband who had a few new bullet holes through his chest, who’d reached for the gun, seconds too late as his finger pushed down on the trigger, silent shots entering her body, choked sobs coming from the now-wailing child in the corner as she ran to her mother’s body, shaking it as the ground rumbled from a nearby explosion.

To the shopkeeper, trying to defend his store, not wanting any men, especially strange foreign men, hiding in it to take cover from the gunfire and activity in the streets. The shotgun had been heavy in the man’s hand. One shot rang out, and Ghost had signaled forward with his hand, Soap’s knife embedding itself in the man’s neck before another shell casing clattered emptily against the floor.

Or the soldier, who’d probably been drafted or forced, or maybe even joined when he had been young and dreamed of glory, forced to fight an old man’s war. He hadn’t known the weight of taking a life yet, not when the bullet from Ghost’s sniper rifle tore through his head, body thudding against the floor, the family photo tucked into his pocket not enough to protect him when it mattered.

It was all the same to him.

Get the job done. Go home. Live another day and wait for your next mission.

That was how it had always been. But it didn’t mean the nightmares weren’t any better, that he didn’t feel any less bit of nagging guilt for the orphaned children, the grieving families, the war-raised countries feeding the newest generations hatred and violence, how to pull a trigger and not how to be a decent human being.

It was worse tonight.

He’d woken, cold sweat clinging to the back of his neck, limbs tensing and relaxing rapidly as he tried to focus on his surroundings. He was in the house. One window on the left wall, a door on the right one.

Price’s home.

The older man had offered him a place to stay while on leave, knowing that Simon usually just lurked at the base even when he could leave. He knew he had nowhere to go.

So he’d invited him out to a little house in the countryside, to stay for the three months they were both off. It hadn’t been terrible. Homemade meals, cooking, and cleaning up the house. He’d learned a thing or two about fixing leaky sink pipes, changing bulbs, fixing creaky doors and floorboards, and cleaning, and the fact that cooking bacon was a lot more terrifying than it looked, the grease popping up onto his arms and burning what skin wasn’t already numb.

It didn’t help that it hurt like hell.

Price was teaching him everything he’d somehow not picked up from his mother, things his father hadn’t even bothered trying to teach him, and no matter how much his older brother had cleaned up his life, he still hadn’t shown him any of this either.

Simon pushed the covers to one side of the bed, slipping out and letting his feet land against the cold floor. He began approaching the door, twisting the knob, stepping out, and walking down the hallway, legs carrying him to the kitchen for whatever reason. Probably muscle memory. He made a trip to the kitchen every time he woke up or couldn’t sleep.

A small thudding sound came from one of the rooms that had him whirling, stance shifting into a defensive one, and he realized that Gaz and Soap had decided to stay here a few nights too, probably feeling lonely on leave.

Sighing, he turned back and continued towards the kitchen, flicking one dimmer light on before grabbing a cup from a cabinet and filling it with water, draining the entire thing in one large gulp.

“What’re you doin’ up?”

It caught him completely off guard, almost embarrassingly so for the occupation he had. Price’s low, scratchy voice settling into the room.

He put the cup down. Turned.

Price looked like he’d just gotten up as well, hair a bit disheveled, only in some boxers, blue eyes bleary and filled with sleep still. He raised a brow, and Simon remembered the question all too suddenly.

“Nightmares.”

He answered abruptly, trying and failing to hide the slight tremble in his voice. The tremble that was also in his hand.

Price grunted in response, grabbing a cup, filling it with water from the sink, and gulping it down, eyes elsewhere, thinking about something. Like a less intense version of his scheming face.

“You wanna talk about it?”

No. He didn’t.

It was the same as any other nightmare. Blood, death, bombs, guns, grenades, war. What was there to even talk about?

But for some reason, his tongue betrayed him.

“I..”

The word slipped out instead of the usual flat no. He saw his Captain’s surprise and slight curiosity. It was hard not to.

He stood there like an idiot, not sure what to say, throat drying up as he grabbed his cup again, the movement to fill it and swallow the water almost mechanical.

“I don’t know.”

He concluded, walls being built back up, hiding him away again. But Price wasn’t having it. He could tell.

A small nod from his Captain. His lips separated, and he expected the usual statements of pity of sorries, or the empty justifications or assurances, but instead got something he never would’ve expected.

“I’m ordering you a tactical cuddle, Ghost. Recon in my bed at 2300 hours.”

He was left there, speechless, as Price gave his order, and then walked back to his room.

He checked the clock that was always a bit fast and sat on the kitchen wall. He had two minutes before the official “Recon” at the bed.

Taking another swig of water, he figured that he had an order; and he would damn well see it through as he began walking to Price’s room down the hall, slowly pushing the door open, walking in, closing it behind him as his eyes adjusted to the complete darkness, and feeling around till his feet hit the corner if what felt like a bed frame.

“There you are,”

Price murmured as Simon finally found the bed, knees meeting the mattress first as he crawled in, laying down awkwardly with his stiff limbs and tense muscles. Price’s warm, broad hand found his bicep before it slid down to his side right near his ribs. He heard the man shift, pulling some blankets over Simon, before another hand wrapped around him on his other side, gently wrapping around him as Price’s warm chest met his scarred back.

The thudding from the other room was steady against the wall and had him on edge before he finally figured out exactly what was going on in the room over.

“Those muppets, going to town on each other like we aren’t right here.”

Price muttered, making a little huff of laughter leave Simon before he realized something.

Simon Riley had hardly been held before, the only time being when he was a baby. It felt safe and warm like he didn’t have to worry about how many magazines or clips he had left, or the scope he was using, or the exfil, or friendlies versus the enemy. He was safe.

And as Price’s hands began gently rubbing into his skin, making him melt into his superior’s touch, he couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, his touch wasn’t so rotten at all.

Tags:

@hawke1917

@angstober

[captmickey]

Going through my old drafts, this was ah... the fic idea regarding Guybrush's whole dead hand thing and I have no idea where to go further with this. It feels like a solid enough one-shot.

So here ya go.

---

As long as he kept moving, he could push away that tingling numbing feeling that coursed up and down his arm. 

That’s what he figured when he stared at his ‘unconscious’ hand in the galley, trying to move his fingers to bend fully. It was funny, up until now, he never really thought of his limbs and the sensation it had. A burn, a cut, a prod, sure, he would be able to feel that with absolute clarity and then go about his day, paying little to no mind over it. But ever since he washed up on Flotsam, something felt… different. 

That is, he hardly felt anything. It was as though all sensation from the tip of his fingers to the base of his wrist was distant. Faint. 

It was only in thanks to the Marquis that Guybrush was able to find out that grog returned control of his hand to him, though at a very painful and punishing price when it ‘woke up��. But that wasn’t what had him worry… rather, it was something about what the supposed doctor had said that lingered in the back of his mind: dead tissues. 

His hand was dead. 

It was dead and being revived by some outside force that he knew was none other than LeChuck. 

He frowned and flexed his fingers once more, feeling that tingling sensation at the tips again. His hand can’t be dead. Possessed, sure, he’d begrudgingly concede to that, but dead? Wouldn’t the appendages begin to fall off? Shouldn’t he not feel his hand at all? He shuddered at the thought and shook his head.

Guybrush looked at his uninfected right hand and flexed those fingers, feeling the warmth and pull of the muscle as he tightened it into a fist. With his left, he tried once more and felt nearly nothing. He could see the fingers curl, see the faint whites of his knuckles as he balled his hand, but he felt nothing. He stood a bit straighter and began opening and closing both his hands, trying to feel but his chest tightened when on one hand he could feel his nails pressing into his skin and the other… a tingling numbness.

A tingling numbness that, as he paid more attention, was creeping up past his wrist. He pushed the sleeve of his coat up and spotted the rotten green tone crawling up his arm. Pushing the sleeve on the other, it remained that tanned pink he was used to, feeling the soft warmth of the coat being moved while the other was, once more, nothing.

“That can’t be good…” he muttered.

The numbing feeling shouldn’t be a concern. He thought. As long as he still had control of his hand, still had movements (as limited as they are) to grab things, then that’s all that mattered. Once he finds the sponge, this will all be a distant memory.

It was just the pox. That’s all. 

And he just needed to keep moving to not feel how his body was slowly growing numb to each tissue that was decaying. 

—

He felt cold. 

Guybrush shook slightly as they sailed away from Spinner Cay to follow the Sea Beasties, trying to smile and claim it was nothing more than the Caribbean’s unpredictable weather for his shivers.

Winslow, however, referred to it as a fever when he placed a hand on his forehead and frowned at the visible beads of sweat. 

But Guybrush let out a sigh of relief from feeling cold. Because feeling cold was better than nothing, he thought. Nothing that was now being well past his elbow and now closer to his bicep after he had stopped moving and was forced to sit still on the ship. A small part of him wondered if he should have asked Elaine about it once he saw her infected as well with the Pox. Was her limbs also failing her?

Probably not, he answered himself. Between the two of them, he always tended to have the worst luck.

Like dying limbs. 

The slight tingle returned and he rubbed his arm, hoping that maybe it was the chill… hoping desperately that it was the chill. Because that would mean he’s legitimately feeling something and nothing else was dying. 

He looked over at Winslow, spotting the first mate humming slightly to himself as he continued to steer after helping inject Guybrush’s hand with some more grog. 

—

His body instinctively tensed as he winced and gripped his arm, feeling that annoying tingle that meant another small part of him had perished. He tried balling his infected hand out of habit, to try and tense the muscles in a truly pathetic attempt to ease the pain but found it impossible. 

Right. Dead hand. Remember, Threepwood? 

Another tense tingle and Guybrush just gritted his teeth and curled himself up. This sucked. This was hell. He hated every single second of this feeling. Maybe he needed water, he thought. Something about dehydration when sick or whatever, he truly couldn’t put a proper pin on why, but water seemed to be the best bet. 

And moving would make that tingling feeling go away. He needed to keep moving, to keep that feeling as far away as possible. He was laying on this bed and that allowed the feeling to be present and he could not allow that.

Taking in a few breaths and waiting for that numb feeling to be predominant once more, Guybrush pushed with his left, only to slip from the lack of a support and slam harshly to the wooden floor of the captain’s quarters, yelling out a cursed cry as he gripped his arm as it radiated up and down with that feeling in full force. He stared at it, ready to practically bite his hand for any semblance of feeling when he noticed the most painful reminder.

There was nothing there.

Just a stump. A grotesquely green, bandaged stump. And placed on the nightstand was the gleaming hook.

Oh. Right. That terrible luck of his that had a Bounty Hunter chop the infected hand and run off like a bloody bandit into the sunset.

And admittedly, he had hoped that with Morgan taking his hand off, he’d feel his arm again. But there was nothing.

Just more aches and a missing hand.

“God… dammit….!” He yelled, hearing faintly the sounds of rushing footsteps.

The door swung open with Van Winslow standing at the door post, panting just slightly from his impromptu spring. He looked around the room, clearly searching for any signs of danger when his eyes landed onto Guybrush and he let out a small startled gasp.

“Captain?”

“What?!”

Guybrush could feel that scorching anger flickering his chest, ready to lash out at the portly crewmate when he caught a glimpse of himself in the make-shift mirror, seeing the telltale signs of the Pox’s burning red eyes on him. He let out a startled gasp and blinked, seeing his familiar blue return. 

And with it, that numb feeling completely took over his left arm.

He pulled his knees to his chest, covering his face with his only hand. He took deep shaky breaths, feeling the onslaught of what might be tears prickling the corner of his eyes as he hoped that maybe, perhaps, Winslow would leave.

Let him retain some dignity. 

There were a few things about this that Guybrush hated. One, was this infernal Pox, that was number one. Two, was the fact that he was beginning to slowly feel himself slip away with each angry outburst. And three, that someone other than Elaine was seeing him at his most vulnerable.

“Sir…?” Winslow called out slowly.

“I’m fine…” Guybrush answered, his hand still covering his face in a poor attempt to hide how much it hurt physically and emotionally, “just slipped. I’m… I’m clumsy. That’s all.”

“Hm.” 

There was a momentary pause before Winslow walked over and sounded to have picked something up before he sat next to him. His arm might be numb, but he did faintly feel the first mate’s weight against him.

“Would you like your hook back on?” Winslow asked.

“No.” A pause. “Yes.”

The first mate lifted his arm and began to gently work at putting back Guybrush’s prosthetic hand. It was convenient in battle and solving puzzles, but an absolute health hazard when taking naps. There was too much of a chance of accidentally stabbing himself as he found out by accidentally scratching himself. 

His eyes still stung, but he lowered his hand to watch Winslow work and forced himself to act relaxed when all he wanted to do was curl up. 

“You ah… you’re good at this.” Guybrush said, not sure where he was going with this.

“I did mention to you that I had a brief stint as a medic out at sea.” Winslow reminded him.

“Oh. Right, you did. Um… right, must’ve slipped my mind.” Guybrush cleared his throat, looking away for a moment.

“Like how you slipped off of the bed.”

He should be livid, but it was a comment he cartwheeled into and Guybrush let out a scoff. 

“Yup. Not wrong there.”

Winslow, however, chuckled and finished placing the hook on. “And that should do it. How does it feel?”

Like nothing. Absolutely numbingly nothing.

“Fine.” He rotated the hook a bit, a small sigh escaped as he felt he had control. He supposed having control was good to still have, irregardless of the lack of sensation. “Thanks.”

“Do… you wish to talk about?” He then asked.

“Huh? Talk about what?”

Guybrush saw Winslow’s eyes looking at the green forearm and frowning. 

“Does it hurt?” He asked. “That is, if I’m not stepping out of line from asking.”

“No… to the uh, the line thing.” Guybrush stared at his arm and poked it, frowning himself at the numb feeling. Though the forearm had been numb for quite some time now. “I don’t know how it feels. Uncomfortable? Like when your foot falls asleep and you get that tingling feeling. It feels like that.”

“That’s all?”

“...no.” Guybrush sighed and lowered his arm, letting one leg slip away from him. “It… I don’t feel the infected parts anymore. It’s like, I know it’s there… well, some of it anyways, I can faintly feel some things, but it’s so faint I might as well not feel anything.” 

“Oh.” Winslow frowned. “That’s… terrifying.”

“Not as terrifying as how the Marquis described it.”

Winslow tilted his head. “How did he describe it?”

“He said it’s… dead. At least, my hand was. And the feeling that was once just exclusively my hand went up.”

“I’m sorry… you said your hand is dead?”

“As is my arm, probably. But I can still use it. See?” Guybrush moved his arm to showcase it, putting that lopsided smile of his on. “Counting blessings and all that.”

Winslow shook his head. “How on Earth is your arm dead?”

The smile slowly slipped away and Guybrush could only give a meek shrug. “Pox of LeChuck. Whole reason we’re after the sea creatures, remember?”

“Oh... Oh!” The first mate’s eyes lit up in realization and he nodded. “That’s why we’re…! Ooh, that makes plenty of sense now.”

“You didn’t know any of this, and yet you insisted on being my crewmate.” Guybrush scoffed.

“Well, clearly I made the right call.” Winslow crossed his arms.

“Come again?” Guybrush blinked.

“If your body is slowly going through entropy, you’ll need someone to, potentially, be your hands. Such as picking up things, helping steer the ship…”

“Point at maps?” Guybrush smiled. 

“Exactly.” Winslow smirked. “Though you do a much better job than I.” 

Guybrush let out a laugh and shook his head. “I don’t understand that.”

“You have a certain presence when you point at a map.”

“Van Winslow, all I do is point, I don’t, like, do a dramatic pose, and it’s with–” he hissed and gripped his arm, curling up as he dug his fingers into the arm when he felt a pair of hands hold him firmly, yet gently. 

“Follow my instructions - breathe through the nose…” Winslow began instructing.

He could hardly focus and he could feel the bubble of anger from the pox brewing… but he did as such.

“Good. Hold it.”

Not an issue with his lung capacity. He held his breath for a few seconds before hearing the instructions to exhale slowly through the mouth.

“Well done, sir.” Winslow said. “Again… inhale…”

He inhaled once more, held, and slowly exhaled. The muscles slowly relaxing with each deep breath he took. After a few breaths, the pain passed and he felt himself leaning against the first mate… embarrassed slightly at dropping his front.

“Sorry…” Guybrush apologized. “Not exactly the best look for a captain…”

“Nonsense.” Winslow rubbed his good arm. “I may have only known you for a little while, but I meant what I said about you as a captain. And I stand by it even now.”

Maybe it was his body slowly dying, maybe it was the relief of not having a mask on and feeling even slightly safe, but he felt slight exhaustion creeping on him and he smiled, taking a breath. “Remind me, when all of this is said and done, that I buy you a drink… it’s the least I can do considering I’m flat broke and I have no idea how to repay you.”

Winslow laughed. “Very well, but I get to pick the bar.”

“Heh. Deal.”

[gh0stsp1d3r]

𝒩𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉𝓂𝒶𝓇ℯ𝓈

A/n- This is a draft from like 2 years ago 😭 so definitely not the best of my works

Warnings- gn!Reader, mentions of nightmares, blood yknow the usual hannibal stuff

It was often Will had these nightmares. It came with his wild imagination.

You were the one person he could stand, the one person he came back to every time, the one person he loved, you were his anchor.

You put on his little nightlight that you got for him, insisting on it. You wrapped your arms around him and he put his face in your chest.

You ran a hand through his hair, and he felt safe for once,

“Goodnight.” You spoke quietly.

“Goodnight.” He mumbled back, beginning to close his eyes, relaxed at the feeling of your body against his.

Hours later, his nightmare had led to him mumbling something to himself and sweating as he usually did. He moved around, and that’s when you woke up.

The blood was everywhere. On him, and on everything else-

You sat up quickly, you gently shook him awake, mumbling his name.

“Will. Will.” You said, and his eyes flew open, he looked confused as he stared into your eyes.

“It’s okay. It was just a bad dream.”

He didn’t say anything, and you looked down at him. He sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and putting his face in his hands.

“You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah I’m fine. Sorry.. for waking you up.”

“It’s okay.” You responded, you helped him take his shirt off and went into the kitchen, grabbing him a glass of water.

“Thank you.” He mumbled, downing the cold glass quickly.

You sat next to him, rubbing his back and trying to get him to relax.

“Maybe… you should take off of work today..?”

“You know I would, but Jack-“ he rubbed his temple.

“Don’t worry about Jack. You need a break, you’ve been working so hard. I think that you deserve it.”

He thought for a moment, looking at you.

“Okay. I’ll call off later.” He gave you a small smile.

You smiled back, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thank you. I think we’re gonna go out then.”

“Oh, yeah? Where?” He asked, you both laid back down now, looking at each other.

“Out on a walk or something.” You shrugged, “Maybe fishing?”

God did you know how to win his heart.

[64yrsold]

ACHES 24. alright

18+ (please see masterlist for cw) aches masterlist previous (23)

The sun seemed closer today. It also seemed to be following me, seeking me out and prying me out of the shade. I sat on the front porch, listening to the hiss of sun on pavement. I rolled one of his cigarettes between my fingers. Although my skin was overheated and reddening, the chair was comfortable as I reclined and stretched out my legs. I fell into a hot, still sleep, just below the surface of unconsciousness. 

His face came to me quickly, not in full color, and with blurred edges around his features. I searched for the downwards flick of his lower lashes, for the flecks of amber in his brown eyes. For a mole, for a gray hair at his temple. But I wasn’t offered these details, and settled for the radiating comfort of his presence. 

“Lay down,” he was saying, over and over. He was whispering, calm and gentle. “Lay down.”

My back was flat against some endless, cold surface. I was naked. No matter how far I stretched out my hands, I felt no edges or familiar textures. It was dark around him. 

“Lay down, sweetheart.” I jumped when his lips brushed my ear, right there, with me. He was right here. His hands were on my neck, soft as mist, just to feel my skin. He was cold, and I turned my head, restless. I couldn’t tell if he was cold or wet.

He shushed me, “Lay down, you’re alright.” I took a deep breath, and let his hands slide over my collarbones. They left behind a slick trail, prickling my skin. I was mumbling, tension between my eyebrows, trying to calm myself. His mouth met mine, and the taste cleared my mind. I took easy breaths, the air cleaner and colder as he took my lip between his teeth. I moaned loudly, echoing into his mouth, making him chuckle. 

“You sound so pretty,” he was gasping into me. “Lay down.”

He took two wet fingers, pressing them to the side of my neck. He traced down between my collarbones, over my dewey sternum, finding a spot just above my bellybutton. His mouth was consuming mine, cutting off my breath, replacing it with his sweetness and sweat. I was overwhelmed as he pressed me into the ground, feeling deliciously restricted. 

“Lay down,” he groaned, panting. “Lay still.” He pulled back, kneeling over my thighs. He took his hands, gently pressing them along the angle of my hips. He held them there for a moment, keeping a steady pressure. When he lifted them, my hips were cold and catching the draft of the room. He swiped his thumb under his lip, leaving a red streak. He frowned, looking down at his hands. They were covered in sticky, blotchy red. 

“You’re bleeding,” he murmured, holding a hand to my neck. I looked down at myself, his handprints covering my torso. I was breathing faster, and he applied more pressure to my neck. Thick warmth pooled down my neck. “Lay down.”

“It’s paint,” I told him, and woke up.

I sat up, grabbing my neck before I had opened my eyes. I was breathing in shallow, panicked half-breaths, watching the sun sinking down, down, down. There was no breeze, just the afternoon heat dissipating into evening humidity. When my heart slowed down, I smoked one of his cigarettes, tears wetting my cheeks. 

I called him, sobbing and choking on smoke. 

“You have to come home,” I told him, as soon as the line stopped ringing. I exhaled, slow, trying to calm down. 

“I’m about to get on a plane, sweetheart, but–” He was worried. Someone shouted at him in the background, crackly and far away.

“I’m sorry,” I cried. “I had a horrible dream, and… I don’t know. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” he soothed, “Are you watching the sunset?”

I paused, caught off guard by his question, “Yeah.”

“We’ll watch the next one together, okay?”

I swiped a tear off my cheek, “Okay.”

“I’ve got my hand on my heart, darling. I promise.” Another yell. “You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah.”

“Love you, sweetheart. Go to sleep, alright?”

“Alright.”

I watched the sunset, motionless and numb.

-> next (25)

[bloodyknucklesforme]

I Know I've Kissed You Before | Carnal XVII

Carnal (adjective) : relating to or given to crude bodily pleasures and appetites

The aftermath of the hunt

Masterpost

CW: cannibalism, rape mention, smut

This is very much a horror fic mostly based around the films Raw (2017) and Bones and All (2022), if you sit through those you should be good here. This is my first horror fic.

Chapter Title Credit: Pink in The Night by Mitski

In his dreams she was a rabbit and he was a dog. His mouth clenched tightly around her neck. She was screaming and fighting, kicking at his chest until she could do nothing but twitch. Blood dribbled from her mouth and onto the stone as he dropped her at Simon’s feet. 

“Good boy.” Simon patted his head before scooping her up with a tea towel. He followed inside to the kitchen where he laid her on the butcher block. He drooled onto the floor as Simon snapped her neck and began to dress her, loud tears as her fur and skin was ripped from her meat. When he cut her open it wasn’t the normal mess of organs, just a constant flow of warm, red blood. It flooded over the edge of the block and onto the floor where he hungrily licked it up. It tasted like vanilla. 

He was alone when he woke up. The rest of the bed empty and made. Simon’s doing. The room still smelled like him and Nina. Sweet and woody. He got up and found a pair of sweats before making his way downstairs. He could smell tea - black and sweet. 

Downstairs had a cold draft, he followed it outside where Simon sat on one of the iron patio chairs with Nina tucked into his lap wrapped in a quilt. Her blonde hair stuck out in messy tangles. She was taking small sips out of a steaming mug while Simon’s sat on the ground beside them. They weren’t talking. Simon stared out towards the garden and field into the woods. . It was barely dusk and the first snow of the season had started over night leaving a dusting of white over the browned landscape. 

“Good morning.” Johnny said to announce himself. Nina perked up and reached out for him. He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. Her face was more scratched up than he noticed last night. There was still a smear of black makeup around her eyes. 

Guilt gnawed at him. He shouldn’t have let her go alone. He should have gone looking for her sooner. The rage he felt when he turned the corner, saw the man from earlier and smelled the blood. He was at the end of the hall faster than he could think, a knife pulled from his pocket. He’d been trained to kill. He was a soldier. His speciality was clearing buildings, fast and cleanly. He shredded that man. His hands were shaking. If he had more time he would have torn him apart slowly, ripping skin off with his teeth . He only stopped stabbing because the blade broke off. 

Simon was the one who rescued her. He had the sense to open the door and find her. Seeing her face down on the ground, made his stomach twist. He thought he was too late. He could still smell the blood on her. On all of them. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked. Simon’s free hand had found itself on the small of Johnny’s back, pulling him in closer till the iron arm of the chair dug into his leg. 

“I’m okay.” She said softly. “Tired still.”

Simon pulled her closer to him as well, letting her head rest against his shoulder. Johnny leaned against the chair, his hand holding the base of Simon’s neck. It felt natural for the three of them to be like this, holding onto each other. 

He couldn’t say he was a good partner. He must have done something wrong for Simon to leave him or to make Nina think he’d leave her. He tried, was attentive, empathetic, dedicated. Maybe loyal to a fault. He’d followed Simon around like a dog for those Spring and Summer months. Got kicked like one too. 

He wouldn’t let her hunt again. He didn’t want to make rules for her after his injury and what happened last night, Simon seemed to be the only one fit to do it. His grip on Simon tightened to steady his shaking hand. He didn’t want to lose either of them. 

“Let’s get you inside.” Simon said not to either of them in particular. “Johnny grab the tea.”

He carried their mugs inside while Simon carried Nina. She was wearing some clothes at least. Looked like his boxers and a sweater. Simon was only wearing boxers. Crazy get. 

They set her up on the couch in the living room. Tea in arms reach. 

“Johnny and I will make breakfast. Call if you need anything.” Simon rubbed her cheek with his knuckles. A couple days ago he would have gaped at this show of affection, now he felt like Simon was the only one worthy to give it. 

Johnny sat at the little table, staring into his tea. Scottish breakfast with cream and honey. Simon was always good at the little details.

Eggs and what looked like bacon were cooking on a pan on the stove. 

Two hands laid on his shoulders, rubbing the muscles. 

“How’s my boy?”

“Not well…” Johnny admitted. His hands were shaking again. Residual rage coursed through him thinking about how that man was in the basement, locked away in the freezer. He couldn’t hurt her yet he still wanted to cut him to pieces. Make sure he could never come back. Burn it all, let the wind take it away. 

“She’s safe now.” Simon cupped Johnny’s face and turned to face him.. “We protected her. We got her home. We killed the cunts that hurt her and we’ll do it again if we need to.”

Johnny pressed his forehead against Simon’s. He didn’t remember the last time they touched like this. That cottage by the sea, blood still on their lips with Simon slotted between his legs. He wanted to crawl back into bed with Nina at his front and Simon at his back. He wanted to taste them both at once. He wanted to keep Nina and take back Simon. Eating his cake over and over again.  

“The food’s burning…” He choked out. He wanted to kiss him, let him fuck his worries away. Johnny’s hand was on Simon’s chest, palm over his heart. 

“Go keep her company.” He nodded. “I’ll bring breakfast in a bit.”

She was still curled up where he left her - knees tucked to her chest. Johnny sat down next to her and helped her into his lap. His hand rubbing her back under the quilt. He kissed along her hair line. “I got’cha. Not letting go.” 

Her quietness stung. She was never chatty like him but she’d whisper and giggle to him. He would mould himself to her, wrap himself around her to keep her safe and warm. Hand feed her, breath from his mouth.

She turned and hugged him, legs around his waist and her face in the crook of his neck. He pulled the quilt over both of them.

“We won’t leave ya, Neen. You’re our girl.” Our girl… not just his. His and Simon’s. Their girl. 

Simon brought breakfast in on a tray. 3 plates with eggs, bacon and toast. Johnny fed Nina, letting her relax against his chest. Simon fed him, sat next to the two of them, resting his free arm along Johnny’s shoulders. 

“I want a bath,” She said untangling herself from him. Her legs were covered in bruises. Johnny wanted to kiss each one, a healing touch. 

“I’ll clean up.” Simon said, gathering the plates. He nodded his head for Johnny to follow her. 

She liked the water hot and he winced as he got into the tub with her. His legs stinging. 

“You’re gonna cook us both.” He chuckled, kissing her shoulder. 

“Simon…he kissed me last night or this morning. I don’t really know what time it was.”

“Oh…err… did you want him to?” He tried to overcome the wave of nausea that hit him. Not out of jealousy, worry maybe. 

“I guess… I wasn’t really thinking about it. I couldn’t sleep so he took me downstairs and I ate and then he kissed me. I was worried you’d be upset… I don’t really know what we all are.”

It was a good question.

“I think if we want, the three of us can be something together.”

“Is that something people do?”

“We’re the only people like us so I don’t think it matters what other people do.”

“I think I’d like that. Being with both of you… up until last night I thought Simon didn’t like me very much.”

“That’s just how he is. Took us almost dying for him to admit he liked me.” 

She giggled at that, leaning back against his chest. He washed her hair for her. Washed her face and body. He piled bubbles up on top of her head just to make her smile. He helped dry her hair and wrapped her in a towel. Got new clothes for her. His shirt and her panties. He tucked her back into bed. Rubbed her back until she fell asleep. 

Simon was watching from the doorway. 

“Thought she’d be worse.” He said, shutting the door behind Johnny. 

“She’s tough.” He said. “Wish I’d done more to protect her.”

“We won’t let it happen again.” Simon took a step forward, backing Johnny against the wall. “You ripped that cunt to pieces, Johnny.”

He closed his eyes and breathed Simon in. Cedar swirling around in his head like a boa constrictor.

“You kissed her?”

“Jealous?”

“Of her.” He admitted. “I miss yo-”

Simon’s mouth was on his. Commanding and all consuming. Memories of this time last year flooded his head. The two of them in dive bars and club corners. In cars and alleyways. Simon inside him. Johnny in his mouth. 

“What did I do wrong?” He broke, holding Simon back. “Last Summer. What did I do?”

He wouldn’t fuck it up again.

“You didn’t do anything, Johnny.” Simon kissed him again. It didn’t settle his soul. Johnny was a weak man though, he knew that much, because he ignored it and kept his mouth on Simon’s. He missed the taste, the feel, the warmth. 

“I want you.” He breathed. “I want you so much.” 

He might cry if he was rejected now. 

“Not here. Don’t want to wake her. We’ll go to the stables.”

Johnny nodded. 

Simon having lube on hand didn’t surprise Johnny. He was moaning shamelessly, bent over the counter of the tack room. Simon had already worked two fingers inside of him. His legs were shaking, Simon was pressed against him, hunched over his body, grunting dirty things in his ear. 

“Tight as ever, Johnny.” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” he prayed. Simon’s fingers scissored inside him, gently stretching him open. Almost four months without. He would have treasured their last time if he knew it was the last. In the sand, at sunset, on the beach down the trail from their rented cottage. Romantic actually. More than this was. 

“Missed this.” Simon breathed, nipping at Johnny’s ear. “Missed splitting you open.”

Precum dripped against the front of the cabinet. He was glad Nina never came in here. Less worry for cleaning up. His mind still floats around her. He’d like to have his head between her thighs right now. It might be the only thing to make this better, trapped between the two of them. 

“Where you drifting off to, Johnny?” Simon tugged on his hair. It was longer than he preferred but Simon always liked something to hold. “You thinking about her?”

“Yeah…” He shuddered. Simon’s hand wrapped around his cock, pumping him teasingly. 

“You wish she was here too?”

“Yes.” 

Simon lined himself up with Johnny’s hole. Drool ran from his mouth onto the counter. He was white knuckling the edge. He needed this more than air, more than meat. 

“Close your eyes, Johnny. Think of Nina.” He licked behind Johnny’s ear, melting him. It burned in a familiar good way like holding your hand too close to a fire. 

“Fuc…k simon. Fuck please.”He keened. 

“I got you, Johnny. Just relax.” He pumped him faster, timing it with his thrusts. “I’ll take care of you.”

Johnny’s eyes rolled back into his head, letting Simon take control of his body and mind.

It was almost lunch time when they got back to the house. Nina was still asleep. 

“Clean up. Then bring her down for lunch.” Simon said, kissing his temple before disappearing downstairs.

“Hey, love. How are you feeling?” Johnny brushed the hair out of her face. She blinked up at him with a frown.

“You smell like Simon.” He turned red. She cupped his cheek. “You’re pretty when you’re embarrassed.”

There was a torso sitting on the butcher block in the kitchen. Simon had his usual array of knives sitting out next to it. Nina leaned closer to him. 

“C’mere. Both of you.” Simon nodded. 

Nina stood between them, a hand in each of their pockets to steady herself. 

“It’s okay.” Johnny cooed, rubbing her shoulder.

“Cut it, Nina.” Simon offered her the knife. 

“No,no, I… I can’t.” She was blocked from moving by Simon’s arm gripping her waist. He leaned over her, their foreheads almost touching.

“You can and you will. This is your kill. You took the first bite. You need to do it. There’s no difference between this and what you did last night.” Johnny wrapped his arm above Simon’s and kissed her shoulder. “He was going to rape you, Nina. He was going to rape you and then gut you.”

She held back a gag and turned away, tears pricking her eyes. Simon grabbed her chin and forced her to look back at him.

“I ate the men who raped me.” Johnny bit his tongue to hold back any look of shock or horror at Simon’s words. “Animals get treated like animals. Cut him and eat.”

Nina took the knife in a shaking hand. Simon held his hand over hers to steady it and motioned for Johnny to do the same. He’d seen couples do this to cut cakes at weddings. Tears were rolling down her cheeks.

“You can do it,” Johnny soothed. 

They followed her hand as she cut down into the muscle.

“There you go,” Simon cooed, kissing her tears away.  “I need to know you’ll be able to take care of yourself when we’re gone. My brave girl.”

Nina’s tears were replaced with an angry frown as she cut. A righteous anger that steadied her hand.

They butchered him together. Till the torso was broken down to pieces, wrapped in paper and twine with Simon’s handwritten labels. 

 When it was done they sat together in the living room. Nina’s head in Johnny’s lap and her legs in Simon’s. He pet her hair while Simon rubbed her legs. 

“I’m sorry, Simon.” She said softly. “I didn’t know.”

“No one does…did. Just you two.” He shrugged. Johnny leaned his head against Simon’s shoulder, nuzzling him. Simon wrapped his arm around Johnny. “You’re a fighter, Nina. You have to be.”

It started to snow again. 

Tag list: @gogh-with-the-flow @queen-ilmaree @cathnoneofyourbusiness @pssytrux

[keffirinne]

Please do post the rest of what you wrote for please not him!

I think you wrapped up the story in a really nice way, so you could even post these as a separate thick, like a companion piece or separate one shot. But please do post them! I want to read everything you’ve written for him.

Hi anon!

Sorry it took me so long to reply, wanted to wrap it up in a finished, short oneshot for you!

So happy you're still interested in my Roman's fics :3

It takes some pressure off me when I have the whole piece completed and can just post something whenever I feel like it, like this.

I mean, I can do it all the time, but my project management skills turn on, when I have unfinished stuff, waiting to be ended xD

Maybe not everything I have in my drafts I find suitable for posting, definitely not in the form I have it there right now, but your comment really motivetes me to go back to these ideas, rethink and rewrite them.

So here you have it!

Bad dream

Roman Sionis x Reader

#Reader's traumatic experiences from the past #Roman's shitty attempts to comfort the reader #he has no empathy so it is a golden star for him anyway #based on true story when I had a bad dream and started screaming in the middle of the night, waking up myself and my boyfriend (now fiancée). He reacted way better than Roman did

The musty smell of mold settled on your clothes, eating into the fabric. The walls of the cramped room with torn, faded wallpaper were like a prison, surrounding you on all sides, unabling the escape. 

In your throat you felt a bitter, iron-like taste of terror.

You were suffocating.

Your lungs constricted in burning pain from lack of oxygen and every desperate attempt to take a breath ended in nothing. You were opening your mouth wide open till your jaw hurt but it was as if there was no air at all.

And you needed air to scream. 

You needed to make a sound to cry out for help. This thought like a slithery, cold worm crawled up your back, making you realize that no one knew where you were. And no one would come here to help you.

And there he was, coming right at you. His face blur, yet you knew he had this filthy smirk on his face. His approaching figure, like a walking nightmare that you couldn't withstand.

Again, in a hopeless attempt to save yourself, you opened your mouth with all your strength, but no sound came in.

He was only a few steps away from you. Curled up on the floor, you hid in a corner of the room, dug your nails into the rotten wood leaving red marks on the floor.

If only you could scream, call for someone to stop this. To stop him.

You knew what was going to happen, you saw it too many times before, yet every time you wanted to believe that maybe, now, it would be different. And despite it, you were never prepared for the inevitable culmination. 

Every time it felt like the first time.

Your tormentor was towering over you, doing nothing about your vulnerability. You knew that on one hand he had this disgusting salamander tattoo. A design that will be forever remembered. As he was strangling you, the amphibian stared straight into your eyes without any act of mercy. Cold, rough hands were clamping down on your neck, and all you could feel was that burning pain and fear. The body that still wanted to fight was being forced to give up.

Suddenly you heard someone calling your name. The voice was quiet, like coming from afar. It was so indistinct that at first you weren't sure if it didn't just was in your head. But the longer you began to focus on it and listen into it, the image of your tormentor began to blur. The death grip on your neck eased and the room began to disappear. The voice was getting closer. It was calling you. 

"What the fuck is wrong with you? Stop screaming, woman!"

You woke up still screaming when someone strongly tugged on your shoulder. 

Your whole body was covered with sweat and the heart was pounding like it was about to pop out of your chest.

It was still dark, but you weren’t any longer in that room, your tormentor was gone. You bluntly looked around to recognise that it was Roman's bedroom. The memory from a few years ago was still alive in your subconscious, unlike the man who caused you so much harm. In the shapes in the darkness, you recognized the silhouette of Roman sitting next to you with an expression of angry concern on his face. He was clenching his fingers tightly on your shoulder, staring at your apparently confused face. 

It was just a dream.

The images, as real as the bed you were lying in and the window through which the moonlight was now casting, laying in long, white stripes on the floor. 

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." you hid your face in your hands as the wave of embarrassment started to take over the overpowering feeling of terror from which your heart was still pounding. 

"Fucking finally." Roman grunted and let go of your arm.

He rubbed his face with his hand and leaned against the headboard. He was looking sleepy and tired, which was understandable when he had just woken up in such a violent way in the middle of the night. Crossing arms on his chest, waited for a good explanation why you decided to interrupt his eight hour beauty sleep. 

"You probably think I'm nut." you started, trying to calm down your heartbeat.

"What the hell happened? You just started screaming like a total kook."

"I had a bad dream. A memory actually. Sorry."

Your breathing slowly began to calm down, absorbing the reality that surrounded you. The traumatic experiences from the past began to retreat, hiding in that  corner of your mind where it was probably destined to stay forever.

"I thought someone was murdering you or something." he said reproachfully. 

He wasn't far from the truth. 

"I know, it felt very real. I'm sorry."

"You said sorry already three times."

Not knowing what to answer, you lay down on the pillow. To reclaim the composure you started studying the furniture in front of the bed. It was a trick to focus on a few objects that you learned to calm yourself down. Roman wasn’t saying anything, you thought that he got offended, like he often did for no reason or just went back to sleep and you were embarrassed enough to not speak up first. So when you heard his voice again, not so angry as before, it surprised you. 

"What was the dream about?"

There was something extremely intimate about this question and somehow reassuring. Yet the last thing you wanted now is him to feel pity for you. 

“Old memory. The not-so-good ones.”

He muttered in response as if he understood what you meant by that, but he didn’t insist on more details.

“And FYI, I don't usually act like this.” you added in an attempt to deflect the topic.

“You don't usually scream in the middle of the night as if you were fighting for your life? Good to know.” his sarcasm was back.

Roman settled down on the pillow next to you.

“Next time you want to wake me up with your mouth, there is a better way.”

Not sure if this was his attempt to defuse the situation or was he actually asking for a blowjob, which was also highly likely, you appreciated the humor.

“Very funny.”

Covering yourself tighter with the sheets you lay yourself down to sleep. You closed your eyes, but after a while you opened them again. Staring at the ceiling you started to contemplate the situation. It's not like you expected any sort of compassion from Roman, it actually surprised you that he didn’t kick you off his bed. You turned on your side, so that you were now looking at his face in profile. His eyes were closed and his chest was rising steadily under the thin silk.

“Roman?” you asked quietly.

He grunted without opening his eyes.

“Good night.”

In response, he muttered something that sounded similar to "good night." 

You closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

@thegreatwicked @daenerys-skywalker @supernatural-lover @hereticpriest @creativelyquestioninglife

In case you want/don't want to be tagged, let me know! No pressure ☀️

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #429

Brain Curds are barely-edited fiction, poetry, or just about anything else - drafted in a day or less. Usually, that is. I’m under a lot of pressure, okay?!?

Part 60 of an experiment in progress. Refer to case logs.

There was no getting around it, I remembered something that hasn’t happened. Yet.

Looking up at Serenity from below as she was celebrated for her victory jogged my memory not only of our various bouts as small children, but also of something far more vague. Homecoming. Jealousy. Anger. Fear. I did something. Or, will do it. Or might not. Usually it would be easy to discard something like this as an odd bit of imagination, but I just couldn’t quite brush it off. It felt too real. Too recent. Like it just happened tomorrow.

She reached down a helping hand and I nearly took it, but… the idea of touching her now gave me chills. I helped myself off the ground, which must have come off as a sore loss to the crowd. C.J. cackled and rolled around on his back, so tickled that I, a boy, had been overpowered by a girl.

Serenity looked at me like I was an asshole, and I guess I was destined to always be one. Oh, to be someone else for just one day…

Suddenly I was standing in my bedroom with a soft garment in one hand and a wig in the other. Honestly, this was a bizarre angle for even a genie to take in granting a wish, but I wasn’t looking a gift dress in the collar. Halloween was coming… Maybe, I could show up to school and shock everyone! Nobody would recognize me! And I could finally be…

I sighed and dropped my arms. No, this was a terrible idea. It’d go just as poorly as every past attempt and I’d be humiliated in front of the whole school for even trying. Even I couldn’t play off that as a joke, right?

Still… It felt like this was something I needed to do… Shoot, how long was it until Halloween? I checked my laptop.

TOMORROW?!?

I was in full-on panic, now. If tomorrow was Halloween, then it’d be here before I knew it, and wouldn’t you know it, it was here before I did. And I only noticed because I woke up in a cold sweat.

I almost thought it was a bad dream. But there the dress was, hiding under my bed just as expected. I had a decision to make: Do I dare attend school dressed as a girl? It was kind of a big step, but apparently I’d put in all the trouble to make it possible, though I couldn’t quite remember the details.

Five minutes went by, me just staring at it in my hands. Dammit, Trevor! I said to myself. You’ve chickened out too many times before. You can’t do it again. You can’t wait another whole year for this opportunity!

I took a deep breath and put it over my head. And in a mere ten minutes I was transformed from myself into… myself in a wig. Underwhelming at first, but I straightened everything out and almost felt satisfied with the way I looked. With a weary and wary smile on my face, I walked out of my bedroom only to remember all too late that my father was unemployed.

He burst out laughing the moment he saw me. “Hahahaha! What is this, April Fools’ Day?”

“Uh… Halloween…” I mumbled.

Incredulity was spread all over his face. “You’re not going out like that, are you?”

I gulped. “Yes.”

He shook his head. “No way, dude, no way. Listen…” he grabbed my shoulder. “You may have a history with those kids but they don’t all remember it. You’re still new here. Is this really the impression you want to make?”

“I…”

“You’ll never live this down, Trevor! I mean… look at you. You look ridiculous. You don’t think you’re a woman, do you?”

“No… no, of course not.”

“Listen… hey, look at me…” He grabbed both my shoulders now. “I’m just looking out for you. I don’t give a shit, but those kids will be brutal. There’s nothing more shameful than crossdressing. Now, tell me again, are you really going out like this?”

I couldn’t look at him anymore. I felt naked. “No.”

“Good. Go put on some normal clothes and I’ll give you a hug before you go.”

For the first time ever, I was late to school. Firstly from having to get dressed twice, secondly from throwing up in the bushes on my way there, and thirdly from a limp I realized I was developing. My big toe was acting up again.

I wasn’t alone when it came to not dressing up in a costume. There was at least one other kid who didn’t bother - though I’m pretty sure that guy lived on a boat. But there were four other boys who crossdressed that day. And everyone loved them for it. I hid my face from the world as I sat out from the costume contest, ashamed at what I was and what I in particular couldn’t be.

Penned 2025.06.14 - 2025.06.15

Please reblog, like, and follow if you enjoyed, and leave a reply even if you didn’t! See you again soon!

[yuriinullification]

Current draft of chapter 1. Feedback appreciated, doesn't necessarily have to be constructive (though would obviously be appreciated):

Beatrice I

In a cramped, filthy apartment, surrounded by food scraps of various types, a woman dressed in all gray and with visible bags under her eyes sat hunched over a half-broken ThinkPad. As she observed the green-tinted imageboard that was currently displayed on the screen and mulled over its contents, a cheeto-covered hand shot down onto the keyboard - its left counterpart busy shoveling more cheese puffs down the woman's throat. At the top of the website, a large banner image decorated with various pyramids and eyes read,

“/OC/ - OCCULT & ARCANE”

With a swift move of her free hand she moved the mouse cursor to a small rectangle labelled “REPLY”. She clicked on it, and a large text box appeared on the screen. Moments later, she began writing. 

"Look, personally, this is all very interesting, but I think you're putting too much emphasis on the contents of the dreams, rather than WHEN they're happening. The Age of Aquarius is coming soon, which means what you're hearing is obviously some higher form of Enochian, and at BEST it's probably demons."

Click. Post. 

Another argument saved, she thought to herself as she scrolled up to the top of the thread and started rereading what had started off the whole discussion. 

TITLE: NIGHTMARES?

DESCRIPTION:

“hello /OC/ !! ever since i was a teen ive been having weird dreams almost every night. ive never really thought about them deeply but maybe one of you /oc/cultists could help me figure out whats going on, so here goes nothing. theyre varied and have shifted over the years but theres some common elements i can guess will always come up when i fall asleep. the most notable though is the language. its not really a language, but really a feeling? but ive always thought about it as one. i see visions of random things, and i associate it with a thing, and sometimes hear a sound or feel an emotion, but its all so random i can never make sense of it.

i see a mountain and i hear what sounds like a clock ticking. then im struck with a feeling of euphoria and i see the mountain melting into a valley. i see an apple. then two, then four, then six and eight and twenty, and with each new one im struck with a feeling of absolute dread. i see the planet, and i see a very large worm crawling out of it while a pop song is playing. melancholy. i dont know what it means, but it clearly means something, and ive spent the last couple years trying it out but im not getting anywhere on my own. please help me.”

Nothing she hadn’t seen before, though the thought of there being a pattern in what at first seemed like just random noise intrigued her more than she perhaps at first would have liked to admit. Scrolling down to the bottom again, she passed by several more snippets of dreams that the author had posted in response to people asking for more details.

A house burning in reverse, wind chimes, deep insatiable lust. smell of blood. then the entire thing plays in reverse again.

A woman she didn't recognize that gradually morphed into a lawn chair, combined with a chemical smell.

Screaming for several straight seconds until she woke up in a cold sweat, with no other associated imagery.

Naturally, the thread was filled with hundreds of other people speculating about what it could possibly mean and arguing with each other, the cheeto-covered woman only being one of them - not even being the first to suggest that it might be the language of the angels. One particularly persistent user kept spamming links to their self-published e-book about "Dream Linguistics: The Hidden Language of the Unconscious Mind." Another claimed they'd had the exact same dreams in 1987 and that they predicted the stock market crash that year.

"Classic hypnagogic hallucinations combined with sleep paralysis. Take some magnesium and try sleeping on your right side."

"The worm is obviously Ouroboros imagery, but inverted. Have you been experimenting with any chaos magick recently? IMPORTANT."

"Sounds like standard astral projection gone wrong. I can help but you'll need to wire me 500 crowns first for the proper materials."

"Anyone who says this isn't related to the planetary alignments is a fed or a fool. Look up the Ophiuchus Protocol."

The person at the computer finished scrolling down to the bottom, and hit refresh. The page took a bit to reload, but when it finished, there was a new reply.

“hey everyone, OP here. I really appreciate all the help, and youve all been really wonderful, but im gonna stop replying now. its late, and i need to get to sleep. im still not really sure what all the dreams are but i do feel somewhat closer to an answer. good night !!”

Over so soon after I found it, the woman thought to herself. 

Disappointing.

Upon having read it over a few times, she closed her laptop with a sigh, and laid down on it with her arms folded. Without the light of the laptop screen the room was pitch black - no lights were on, nothing shining in from the open windows subtly guiding the cool night air into the 11th floor apartment. If they were on, perhaps you'd be able to see the absolute mess on the floor. The scattered clothes, the filthy, days-old dishes stacked on the floor after they stopped fitting on the desk, the even older takeout containers and miscellaneous beer bottles. The occasional discarded cigarette pack, some visibly crushed. 

Here and there, evidence of her various obsessions littered the floor - tarot cards scattered like fallen leaves, crystals gathering dust in the corners, half-burned candles dripped onto printouts of ancient symbols. A dream journal lay open on the coffee table, its pages covered in cramped handwriting that grew increasingly erratic towards the margins. Books on symbolism and mythology formed precarious towers against the walls, their spines cracked from repeated consultation.

In the entrance hallway, having been covered by the same jacket for several weeks, there laid an unopened letter.

To Bea, with love ~

Adeline and Missy

A personalized hell, of sorts. 

As if straining against the dark itself, Beatrice raised herself up slowly and stretched for a few seconds, before letting her arms fall down again. She stared dead-eyed into the wall that had previously been blocked by her laptop screen, and then got up. Carefully, as to not step on anything that'd puncture her feet or make her slip, she walked through the apartment and out the open door onto her balcony - if it could even be called that. In truth, it was far too small, and only had barely enough space for someone to stand on. Her bare feet hit the outside exposed concrete, and she rested her arms on the metal of the outcropping, taking in the city outside.

It was beautiful, and so, so very large. Saint Vincent was one of the largest cities on the Magellanic east coast, and the cultural and economic capital of the Federation of Victoria, only surpassed by true giants such as Goldbridge and Sun City. Beatrice's apartment building, situated at the top of the large hill the city was built on, had a perfect view of its enormous, sprawling mass - The May Bridge on the far side, going into Greater Toone, and before that, all the various city districts;

There was Bayside right near the bridge, with its tall, imposing financial skyscrapers and the mayoral tower somehow towering above all of them, in turn bordered by The Lows and Little Vincent - the “rich kid’s club” - districts characterized by their large hotels, casinos and multi million-crown expensive mega-mansions that faced the bay. Go back in the direction you came from and you'd eventually reach Huttons, the former cultural and artistic center of the city, but whose prices were now rising to the point that it was becoming almost impossible for any actual artists to live there, although it still had some of the best bars in the city. In recent years there'd been sporadic attempts to de-gentrify it, but naturally all of those had failed at the hands of the very wealthy investors in the district who didn't want “criminals” to move in. 

Bordering Huttons was Bayside again, Central, characterized mostly by being home to the city's train hub and university - named, predictably enough, Vincent university - and the Lower Hills, where Beatrice currently resided. Beyond even here there was the Upper Hills, Teodora and the industrial district - colloquially called the smogs - and eventually Outer Vincent with its large, sprawling suburbia.

But really, who cares about a bunch of faceless smoke stacks and single family homes, Beatrice thought to herself. 

A cigarette was lit, the flame of her cheap lighter briefly illuminating her sunken face in the darkness. For a couple minutes, she stayed like that, silent, observing. It was a beautiful star-lit night, occasionally interrupted by something new from below - a cough, a shout, a police siren. More distant bangs than was perhaps usual. The kids playing down on the street below, their giggles and laughter softly echoing up to her.

A car whizzed by, its bright lights cutting through the night like knives through butter. 

The city breathed around her, alive with all its secret rhythms and hidden patterns, indifferent to her presence on the edge of it all. 

Eventually, with a sigh, Beatrice threw the cigarette over the edge and walked back into her pitch-black apartment, the door closing behind her with a soft thud. She stood there for a long moment, the door hard against her back, when suddenly, something echoed out and disturbed the dark stillness of the apartment. A pling, just once. Then again - pling.  It took her a moment to figure out what it was, and then, it hit.

My phone? Is someone trying to contact me? Fuck off… when was the last time I heard that sound? I should set it on do not disturb when I can…

Lumbering slowly, she made her way through the apartment, into the bedroom where her phone was sitting on a bedside table. Picking it up and holding it in her hand her first thought went to spam, and a soft irritation started growing inside her - then, however, she properly read the messages, and that irritation rapidly shifted into something resembling curiosity. 

“BEATRICE SCHWARZ: YOU have been graciously selected for an invitation to a ONCE IN AN AEON OPPORTUNITY. At VICTORIA MEMORIAL PARK, on the TWENTY-SECOND of NOVEMBER in the year 235, at 23:00, the GREAT SERENISSIMA will give YOU AN EXPERIENCE YOU CAN NEVER FORGET. (entrance fee: 50 crowns.)”

What is this, a circus or something?, Beatrice thought incredulously. She looked at the time. 

22:27.

Shit. 

Panicking, she rushed out into the hallway and put on the dirty, crumpled jacket that laid near the door. Five minutes later, she was down on the street. 

✿

As she walked, the city's geography unfolded around her like a well-worn map. She passed by the 24-hour laundromat with its eternal fluorescent glow, through the small park where the local cats held their midnight conferences, across the bridge over the commuter rail tracks that carried thousands of suburban workers into Central each morning. Each landmark, though familiar to her, simultaneously felt oddly strange - like seeing old friends again, an uncomfortable kind of nostalgia. It made her yearn for the comfort of her apartment again, though curiosity overpowered her every step of the way. 

The neon sign of Lucky's Corner Store buzzed and flickered as she walked by, its proprietor visible through the grimy windows, engaged in his nightly ritual of reorganizing the same shelf of canned goods he'd been fussing with for the past decade. She'd bought her first tarot deck there, hidden behind the counter with the cigarettes and lottery tickets. Mr. Lucky – not his real name, she assumed – had given her a knowing look as he rang it up, but never commented on her increasingly esoteric purchases she'd made over the years.

Victoria Memorial Park sat at the intersection of old money and new decay, a remnant of the city's more genteel past now caught in the undertow of urban change. During the day, it maintained a careful veneer of respectability with its manicured lawns and historical plaques. But at night, the old iron gates and overgrown corners revealed its true nature – a place where the city's carefully maintained boundaries began to blur.

As she approached the park's entrance, movement caught her eye – others were converging on the park from different directions. A woman in an expensive business suit, her heels clicking purposefully on the pavement. A teenager with a backpack covered in hand-drawn symbols. An elderly man leaning on a carved wooden cane that looked more ceremonial than practical. None of them acknowledged each other, but all moved with the same deliberate purpose.

The park's central lawn opened up before her, and there, in the soft glow of the antique lampposts, she saw them. Arranged in a perfect circle were perhaps two dozen people, seated on the ground. They were as diverse a group as Saint Vincent could produce – she spotted suits that probably cost more than her monthly rent sitting next to tattered thrift store jackets, gray-haired professors next to teenagers with dyed hair and facial piercings. Some sat straight-backed and alert, while others seemed to slouch with exhaustion or disinterest. All of them, however, faced inward, their attention focused on something in the center of the circle that Bea couldn't quite make out from her current position.

The air felt different here – thicker somehow, charged with an expectation that made the hair on the back of Bea's neck stand up. This wasn't like the amateur séances and half-hearted rituals she'd participated in before. This felt real. She took a step forward, and the circle parted to make room for one more. As she moved to take her place, she caught a glimpse of what lay in the center of the circle, and immediately felt an emotion she felt like hadn’t felt in years - not since she got that letter from her uncle, all those years ago.

Confusion.

[battlingangels]

The Heir of Slytherin - S.S. fanfic Chapter 2

to read on ao3

I woke up late that morning, having caught up on much-needed sleep. Realizing what time it was, I decided to skip breakfast as I didn't want to risk being late for Snape's class. It's not necessarily that I was afraid of him, but the thought of spending my evening in detention with the incredibly cold man was not something I wished upon myself. I hurriedly made my way to the potions classroom, but when I stepped inside, no one was there except for the one and only.

Snape was quietly brewing a potion on one of the workstations. I rubbed my arms at the sudden draft that came upon me in the damp dungeon.

"Are we not having class this morning?" I asked loudly enough for him to hear me.

His head spun. He looked me up and down with a sneer on his face. "Ms. Al-Kahina, I thought you said you had gotten your schedule for the morning."

"I did." I glared at him. "Was there a change?"

"You will have Defense Against the Dark Arts first this morning." He spoke slowly, emptying something out of a mortar into the bubbling cauldron beneath him. It smelled putrid. "I will be your last class of the day. I suggest you scatter, seeing as you are already late... You're quite lucky, Al-Kahina. You would have received detention if your schedule had remained unchanged."

"Whatever." I scoffed, turning to leave.

"Excuse me?" He bellowed.

I balled my hands into fists, my fingernails digging into my palms.

"I said, excuse me." Suddenly, his stern voice seemed much closer than it had before.

At this, I once again turned around, looking up at him. He was much taller than I realized, at least a foot and a half taller than I was. "Yes, professor?"

"I want to see you after class. Do you understand me?" His face was neutral, but he meant business. I could see his own hands were now in fists. He was seemingly as frustrated as I.

I wanted desperately to see into his mind, to know what he was thinking.

"Yes, professor." My voice was quiet now. Not knowing his intentions made me nervous. 

He spun on his heels and went back to what he was doing. I took this as an opportunity to escape.

From the moment I saw the man, I had been convinced there was no way I could dislike him any more than I did. However, Lockhart proved to be far more noxious than I had expected.

I wound up at his class twenty minutes late, but I quickly realized this didn't seem to matter considering the absolute chaos that was ensuing inside of the classroom. I shoved open the door to find Cornish pixies picking on my classmates as Lockhart stared on in shock.

"What is going on?" I shouted.

"They've taken our wands." Colin cried to me. "Help!"

I lifted my hand to the sky and dramatically flicked my wrist. "Evanseco."

The little blue pests disappeared instantly, causing a classmate of mine to fall from the ceiling and drop to the ground. She groaned loudly at this. Lockhart stared at me as if in awe. "I was about to cast that same spell. I just wanted the students to problem solve is all, Ms. Al-Kahina. Wouldn't want you to think of me an imbecile." He laughed nervously.

My lips fell into a straight line. "No, we wouldn't want that at all, Professor."

"That was mad." Emmanuel grinned. "Incredible control of wandless magic."

With a sigh, I shrugged my shoulders and responded with a hint of sarcasm, "Wandless magic is an important skill to hone, lest a hoard of Cornish pixies disarm you and leave you vulnerable."

"That is exactly right!" Lockhart echoed, coming up behind me. He was uncomfortably close. "Ms. Al-Kahina has the right idea. O for you." The man's terrible grin was looking down at me as I grimaced in response.

"Thanks," I spoke tightly.

"Anyhow." He wiped sweat off his brow. "You may all be dismissed early. Enjoy your break."

I turned to leave at this announcement. Emmanuel was close behind me, wrapping a hand around my arm to catch up with me.

"That guy is a total freak." He lifted his lips to my ear in a whisper.

"You could say that again." I shook my head in disbelief.

Then, suddenly, there was a gentle whisper that did not come from my friend. I paused, trying to concentrate on the direction of the mysterious voice.

"Everything okay?" Emmanuel questioned.

I lifted a finger. I closed my eyes, eyelashes fluttering shut.

"I'm looking for you." It hissed. "Samira..."

"Samira." Emmanuel shook my shoulder. "Are you alright?"

I looked at him intently. My heart was in my throat. I swallowed it down. "Yes... I'm alright."

"Are you sure?" He looked into my eyes as if he was trying to read my mind.

"Yes." I gave him a gentle smile. "Quite sure."

It had only been a few hours, but it felt like the day was dragging on and on. I couldn't get that voice out of my head. I didn't know where it came from, but I was certain that it said my name. I'm certain that it was trying to speak directly to me.

"Ms. Al-Kahina, since you seem so desperate to disassociate from my class." Snape barked.

I had almost forgotten that I was sitting in Advanced Potions. I hadn't truly heard what my professor said. "What?"

"What ingredients are in Veritaserum?" He towered over me now with an expectant expression.

My eyes narrowed. "Standard Potioning Water, Ptolemy, Powdered Moonstone, Adder's Fork, Jobberknoll Feathers, and Sopophorous Beans. It takes approximately 28 days to mature."

I knew he was seething, secretly hoping that I would fail miserably and he would have a reason to embarrass me in front of my classmates. No such luck.

"Yes." He rolled his eyes before he turned from me. "I mention this to you because we will be working on this potion for the next several classes, starting next week. The ministry demands a written essay from each of you, stating that you understand the severity of using this potion without the ministry's knowledge. If you do not turn this essay in, you will not be permitted to come to class. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor." The class echoed.

"Now get out. I'm tired of looking at the lot of you." He lifted his hands and waved us out.

My classmates packed up their belongings and rushed out as quickly as possible. Emmanuel elbowed me as he gathered his books. "Would you like to head to dinner with me, Samira?"

"I have to stay behind." I winked at him. "I'll catch up with you later, though?"

"Sure thing." He frowned. "See you, friend."

Emmanuel closed the door behind him when he left, leaving myself and Snape in the room alone. His back was facing me, and he remained silent.

"Professor?" I voiced.

He looked at me now, his fingers resting on his chin, clearly in deep thought. "You are... surprisingly not bad at this class, Al-Kahina."

"Back home I tested out of potions." I crossed my arms.

"Do not gloat. It is unbecoming." He spat. "Would you like to tell me why you were elsewhere during my lesson today? I do not appreciate having to repeat myself."

There was simply no way I was going to tell him what I had experienced earlier with the bizarre voice in the hallway. "Sorry," I responded in an unserious tone. "I'm just suffering from menstrual cramps, is all. Hard to focus on your incredibly grating voice when I'm bleeding profusely from my-"

Snape quickly walked up to me, grabbing the collar of my cloak in his fist. "Don't you dare." He spoke through barred teeth. "What a mouth you have."

"You don't scare me," I growled. "And you will not intimidate me." I then grabbed his wrist and pried it off of my body.

Before he could respond, there was a loud commotion brewing outside. We both looked toward the door and then at each other before we, silently, went to investigate. What we stumbled upon was shocking. Filch's cat was strung up, apparently lifeless. There was a message on the wall written in what looked like blood which read, "The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware."

I backed up a bit, running into my potions professor as I did so. He stared down at me with a warning on his face, so I walked away from him and closer to the scene of the crime.

"I'll kill ya!" Filch had Potter by the collar, screaming down at his face.

"Argus." A familiar voice from behind me bellowed. "Argus I... Everyone. Everyone will proceed to their dormitories immediately." It was Albus, I knew.

"Except." He spoke once more, "For you three," He motioned to Potter, Weasley, and Granger. "and you." He pointed at me.

Prefects lead their respective houses away from the scene.

"Argus, she's not dead." Albus comforted. "She's petrified."

"Ah!" Lockhart pushed past me, staring at the cat. "Thought so. So unlucky I wasn't there. I know exactly the counter curse that could have spared her."

"Mmm, the same way you knew to deal with the Cornish pixies this morning, professor?" I eyed him suspiciously.

A furious blush showed up on his cheeks. I could tell Minerva was holding in a chuckle, and Snape, surprisingly, had a slight smirk on his face. Albus gave me a warning look. I lifted my palms and backed away in surrender.

"How she's been petrified, I cannot say." Albus shook his head.

"Ask him." Filch pointed at Potter. "It's him that's done it. You saw what he wrote on the wall."

"It's not true sir, I swear." Potter pleaded. "I never touched Mrs. Norris."

"Rubbish!" Filch spat.

"He's just a boy," I said gently. "A second year. He couldn't possibly have a grasp on such a powerful curse. I mean... look at him."

All eyes landed on Potter at my behest.

"Hey." He quietly stuttered.

"Innocent until proven guilty," Albus stated. "Although I am inclined to agree with Samira."

"My cat has been petrified!" Filch grumbled. "I want to see some punishment."

"We will be able to cure her, Argus." Albus soothed. "Madam Sprout has a very healthy growth of Mandrake. When matured, a potion will be made which will revive Mrs. Norris. In the meantime, I strongly recommend caution... to all." This time, Albus's gaze rested on me.

I swallowed hard.

"Now. Let us return to our respective quarters." He encouraged.

Snape's focus returned to me. I could tell he was considering asking me back to the classroom with him to continue digging into me before Albus called out, "Severus, may I have a word?"

The dark-haired man huffed but obliged. I walked as fast as I could back to the Slytherin common room.

"What do you think could have done that to Mrs. Norris?" Emmanuel asked, adjusting the charcoaled wood in the fireplace, warming his hands on the flame.

We had both gotten changed into pajamas. I was wearing a thin white sleeping gown, and he was in long checkered pants with a black flannel shirt.

I shrugged from my place on the couch. "I don't know. Which is upsetting."

Emmanuel inhaled sharply, sitting next to me. "I hope someone figures it out soon. Mrs. Norris is one thing, but that note on the wall makes me think something more serious is brewing."

"Yeah," I mumbled. "I agree."

"I have an early morning. Quidditch match." Emmanuel rolled his eyes. "You should sleep soon, Samira."

"I will." I fibbed. "Go rest."

He saluted to me silently and slipped off to his bedroom. It was late now, and everyone would be sleeping. I, however, could not sleep under these conditions. I needed to walk around and clear my head, so I put on a pair of slippers and quietly made my way out of the common room.

Could it possibly be a coincidence that I heard that voice earlier today, and now something or someone was going around the school petrifying cats? I don't believe so. It was at this moment that I felt the tickling of that voice again. Goosebumps eroded over my skin, the hair on the back of my neck standing straight.

"Samira..." It croaked. "Please. Come to me."

My heart was pounding now as I realized it was speaking in parseltongue. Was there a snake loose in this castle?

Before I could quietly respond, I heard a set of footsteps come up behind me.

"Ms. Al-Kahina."

I inwardly groaned at this. It was Lockhart because, of course, it was Lockhart. I turned around and gave him a forced smile. "Hello, Professor."

"I see you're out after curfew." He grinned, a darkness invading his eyes. "No worries, I won't tell on you."

I nodded. "Thanks. I appreciate that."

"I was incredibly taken by your performance in class earlier." He winked at me, closing the gap between us, running his tongue along his top lip.

He was boxing me into a corner now. My heart began to speed up.

"You're a very, very powerful witch. I knew it from the moment I saw you." His eyes traced over my body, which was suddenly forced against the cold wall behind me.

I gulped. "You're a bit close, Professor."

He lifted a hand, leaning against the wall now, his body nearly touching mine. "You're also quite beautiful. Exotic, if I may." He laughed. "I'm very familiar with the Middle East, you know. I've been many a'time."

I practically snarled at that. "I'm from North Africa, you dolt."

"Oh, now, now." He tutted, tracing a hand across my cheek. "No need for name-calling, is there?"

Now I was afraid. We were in a quiet corridor. I had not expected him to cross such a boundary. I trembled under his touch, trying desperately to figure out how I was going to get out of this one.

One of his hands lowered itself to my waist. "You really shouldn't walk around wearing this little number. People might get the wrong idea about you." He slurred.

It was at this moment that I realized he must be drunk. His mouth was dangerously close to my face. Fire Whiskey was prevalent on his breath.

"Please... Please go away." I croaked.

"Lockhart!" A familiar voice roared.

Gilderoy jumped up. As soon as he turned around, I wrapped my arms around myself tightly, my back sliding down the wall. I crouched on the floor, trying to catch my breath.

Snape was marching up to him, fast. "What do you think you're doing with a student at this hour?"

"Oh, come on, Severus. We were just chatting, weren't we?" He looked back at my shaking form.

Snape searched for me, finding me pitiful and slumped over on the floor. For a moment, I saw true emotion wash over his face. Concern. "Ms. Al-Kahina?"

"He... grabbed me." I weeped.

Lockhart sent me a glare something awful. "You're legal, are you not? Can't exactly blame me for flirting with a pretty girl."

Snape grabbed Lockhart by the jaw, his fingers digging into the man's ruddy skin. "Get the fuck out of here. If I see you around any of my students again, I will not hesitate to take more drastic measures." He shoved Lockhart away roughly. The man nearly fell to the floor and hurried away.

"What were you doing out of your dorm?" Snape snapped at me. "After what happened earlier. How stupid do you have to be?"

I sniffled, tears spilling over and down my cheeks. "I'm sorry, Professor. I just needed to clear my head. I didn't think-"

"No. Of course not. You don't think." He was exasperated, running a hand through his thick, black hair. "Let's go. Come on, get up. We're going back to your dorm."

I shakily sat up. I half expected the man to grab me by the shoulder and shove me forward, but instead, he rested a gentle hand on my arm.

"That was... highly inappropriate of your professor." He spoke gently as we continued to walk. "I've never liked that man."

"Neither have I," I whispered in response, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. "I was ... I was scared."

There were several beats of silence after that.

"I expect that if you have any further difficulties with Lockhart, you will tell me immediately." He spoke, 

I nodded. "Yes, Professor."

We stopped in front of the common room.

"Goodnight." He said curtly, walking off into the darkness of the dungeon.

[edhock64]

Oregon Outback

Oregon Outback Day 1

Tore outta Klamath Falls only be stopped by a sheered valve on Sarah’s new steed 12 miles in. Ole city slicker Joe sent an Uber to Zach’s bike shop for a replacement or 2. Shoutout Carolyn in her Kia optima absolutely following the speed limit all the way out to us. Slow but reliable. Pony express (more to come on this Billy van der Wal).

Peddled on through some lovely double track spotting red winged black birds and yellow headed black birds in abundance.

Steve took a big tumble heading down into metro sprague river. Stopped for a well earned lunch at [redacted] Flat Store. Hammered 1/5 of bill’s hot pickle and chugged a Gatorade (go gata) along with some honey bbq twists.

Hit a steep climb on some pavement heading east on the north side of sprague River River. Got buzzed by a guy in a flat bed with a “try that in a small town” sticker.

Slogged up some slow chunky ass red dirty double track to camp.

All in all a good first day. Camp was beautiful. Enjoyed Beef Stroganoff with Noodles (8.0) yep. Stars were real nice. I have a cold. Kara has a cold.

Oregon Outback Day 2

Behind schedule out of the gate. Big dinner reservation to make by 6:30 at the Cowboy Dinner Tree.

Billy woke up full of desire and enlisted his ragtime band to write a few tunes about the apple of his eye. You actually might find the apple of his eye with an apple it in its mouth. Followed up his first hit with a lesser one about getting dusty (which we managed to do all day.)

The tail end of Kara’s cold had her sounding like a 70 year smoker. I think I kinda liked it. Breakfast was Mtn House biscuits and gravy (9.0). Fight me. Verve instant got us back online.

Was about 30 degrees at the rooster crow but warm enough for some sweating when we started rolling. Got up a climb without too much of an issue (Sarah slow rolled into a barbed wire fence without too much damage). Got treated with some surprise pavement at the top of the climb.

Rolled down through some burn areas on some washboards (bikes stayed dirty). NY Nicky and I got caught up in a dirt devil for a bit. Stopped for a lunch midway under a big tree. Chicken noodle casserole (4.5) Lots of generous folks in their ATVs slowing down to keep us dust free.

Hit a nice valley south of the Thompson Creek reservoir and stopped for some nice group pics. Pushed on to silver creek marsh area. Welcomed by a friendly face attending the sign.

Potable water at the campground just wasn’t pumpin. Sooners at the campground had a very sweet attack dog. Stopped at one last creek but felt a bit murky.

One last climb up before the dinner tree and it was a test. Stationary bike activated. Red dirt spinning under the 27.5x2.1” teravail rutlands.

Rolled into the CDT about 4:30. Shower was excellent although the hot water didn’t last long. Sat on the boys porch with some ice cold modelo. Shoutout to the strava stat padders for riding the 5 miles in and 5 miles back from silver lake with 20 beers in tow.

Dinner was massive. If I’m being honest the rolls were the highlight. My advice is chicken over the steak. Absolute can’t miss experience.

Sat out with the gang to watch the sunset then headed back to Cabin #1.

Oregon Outback Day 3

Woke up in a warm bed at the cowboy dinner tree. Cruised down hill to Silver Lake a little past 9. Crew was mostly rested other than Joe having a run in with a night terror demon that woke up the boys cabin.

Gas station in silver lake was our breakfast stop and last snack fill up for 100 miles. Went Willy wonka mode for the trek ahead and for breakfast had a fried cheesy potato cake (make it a double ma’am).

Started hot out of the gate. Had the whole crew drafting like jumbo visma north toward the deschutes national forest. Caught a few glimpses of the sisters over near bend. Bangin club sandwich at the waterin hole in Fort Rock. The nice folks there let us use the hose to fill up our water for the 70 mile no fill track.

Everyone was feeling great around mile 30. Talks of slowing it up just so we wouldn’t get to camp too early.

That was not a damn problem. The next 20 or so miles to camp were a perfectly melded nightmare between red sauce and washboards. Slow and miserable. Suffer induced delirium a couple miles from camp made for some good laughs and Led Zeppelin squealing.

Kara, Kenton, and Sarah had a surprise PBR waiting for us when we rolled into camp. Shoutout to the neighbors at sand springs. Sat around the fire and pondered the psychotic nature of setting the FKT on this route.

Major thanks to Thomas L and the crew from last week for the 2 gallon water treasure at camp. Absolutely lovely to roll up to.

Oregon Outback Day 4

Last morning of waking up to Billy singing about horses. Everyone was pretty quick to sip, eat, and pack. Billy’s saddle bag contents went flying right when he hit the trail. Kenton put 3 punctures in his sidewalk in mile 1. Gooooooood morning ahahah.

Lovely descent out of the deschutes down towards highway 20 where we were to depart with our 3 4 day riders. Spirits were high. PBRs were shared.

We waved goodbye to Billy, Kenton, and Sarah and headed east for a mile on the highway, only getting nearly sucked into all 18 wheels of 3 big rigs.

The descent down the crooked river highway was certainly a trip highlight. Felt like a good spot for a couple of cowboys and cowgirls to hide out for a bit. Nick gave it his best go by shearing his rear shift cable right before the biggest climb of the day.

The team rigged him up with a couple of knots to hold him in mid range to try to make the bike shop before close in prineville. Joe took off with him.

The 4 remaining took the climb with grace and did a hoot and a holler coming down into the prineville reservoir. The next 20 miles were unbelievable canyon of rock walls along the river. It was absolutely gorgeous as we all gritted our teeth and stared down at the road to power through brutal headwinds. The wind was face on at every angle. Black magic.

Met Nick and Joe at wild wood brew for the best Pilsner of all time. Stevie’s knees were giving him a time. Got some assurance from a PT friend to power on a manage the pain. Mad respect for the push.

Nick and Joe had shown up to a closed good bike co but the saint of an owner put the bike on the stand and got him shifting again. Burgers and shakes for dinner. I think you should leave for tv at ripp’s Airbnb. Goodnight.

Oregon Outback Day 5

Hit the paved road north and up out of prineville for what was to be an incredible day on the bike. Had some all time bad coffee from the kurieg at rip’s Airbnb. Otherwise it was a lovely stay.

Steve sprayed sealant all over the driveway a couple of times and everyone lathered on the icy hot before pedaling out.

The day started with a 2k foot paved climb in the ochoco national forest. Had a rest stop and snack at the top looking out over a beautiful meadow. Nick had 2 dogs run alongside him for a couple of miles. Descended gravel down the north side of mountains through Nye Ranch. Crossed 4 creeks. Everyone used their own special method. All methods ended with soaked feet (this would be quite discomforting the next morning for our 5am departure).

Cruised down into Ashwood and sampled all the delight from Frankie’s honor fridge (what a good kind man). Ice cream sandwich. Dr Pepper. Gatorade. Chips. Water.

Hit the big mf climb out of ashwood. Hot steep and tough. Headphones in (Grateful dead veneta) The top was like pedaling into heaven. Tear inducing beauty. The next 15 or so miles was all up high. Felt like riding through the sky. The wind was severe but the sights and terrain were nearly enough to not feel it.

Hit the Young Life/Rajneesh road down to antelope and pulled into the in construction antelope market. Honor fridge with drinks and potable water. $5/person to camp. Flirted with sheltering in the A frame cabins but the rat droppings had us setting up our tents once again. Kara’s achilles tendon and I everyone’s @$$ were in shambles.

Decided to set our alarms for 4:30 to ward off the gorge winds as long as possible. Coyotes cried through the night.

Oregon Outback Day 6

The final push. Climbed out of camp at 5:20am. 1000’ up. Toes completely without feeling. Racing upward toward the first morning patches of sun.

The mountain views once up on the plateau and into Shaniko were hard to believe. Thielsen to the northern cascades. No one on the trip had ever seen it so clear.

Quick bathroom stop in shaniko and then 10 miles of head down highway time until gravel. We had been leaping frogging (they stayed ahead of us pretty much the whole ride) with a group of riders all week. They had camped in shaniko for the night and said hello to them. Good meeting you Stephen Hartzel.

Breakfast and coffee came on the side of the first gravel road of the day. Gravel rollers for the next 35 miles. Slowly climbing and descending our way toward the mouth of the deschutes. BM and a ginger ale around mile 37 had us feeling fresh.

One final big climb with about 20 miles to go. Radio station up top with sweeping views of the gorge and deschutes canyon. From there it was riding the brakes 2000’ down to river level. The air becoming warmer and warmer as we descended. Down jacket feeling more and more insane.

Ceremonial rotations at the front of the pack on the last 1.5 of flat to the deschutes river park. Kara beat us there and Alisa was waiting with a 6 pack of pfriem pils.

[yoursacredqueenmother]

Echoes of Hope

Media Credit: I had to create this stupid thing to fit the plot (I am no editor) Caution: straight hurt fr, fluff, reminisce, hospital setting TW- mentions of suicide ideations [if you need help, please reach out ♥] | this is NOT finished, I just need it out my drafts. This has been here since LAST YEAR |

It started with a phone call you received one breezy afternoon. 

It was sudden, something completely unexpected. As you had listened to the person on the other line speak, your heart had shattered and the pieces were being scattered throughout your body. Your entire body gave out as you dropped to the ground, your coworkers around you squealed in surprise as they attempted to help you. Of course, you hung up on the person from the other line and you slowly slipped out of consciousness, watching reality fade from your sight. 

The next thing you knew, you woke up in the first aid room in your workplace, lying on the bed. The bed was just a folding cot with a mattress covered with a comforter. It felt as if time was slowing down the more you moved, your body forced itself to move, otherwise everything was going to feel as if you were in a dream. 

“Woah, I don’t think you should get up just yet Ms. Shelly,” you hear from behind the curtains that block both parties' views. They pull back the curtains to hand you a cup of water, which you take and chug down. You felt the cold liquid pass down your body, reassuring yourself that this indeed was reality. And you had no time to be taking your time to do any of this. 

Ripping the curtains open, you grab your belongings from the side table and bolt out the room, ignoring the shouts from the people in the room. Scanning your ID as you throw yourself out the door, you rush to the parking lot, running through the concrete space in your heels. Dashing into your car, you pull out of the space and rush home, going slightly over the speed limit but praying not to get pulled over. 

“First thing’s first, a damn plane ticket,” you tell yourself when you turn into a familiar neighborhood, preparing yourself step by step of what you need to do. Pulling into your driveway, you put the car in park, removed your seatbelt, and turned the engine off. Sitting in the car to let yourself calm down, you felt your eyes begin to prickle with tears, threatening to spill. Unable to keep yourself collected, you sat in the seat for an hour and let the water push past the gates and flood. 

↠

“Oh, uh- Good morning…” a raspy voice behind you says in an unsure tone, closing the sliding door behind them as they hold onto the backpack they had. You could have guessed who it was by the voice, someone whom you’ve gotten to know the past few weeks while you were there. Without raising your head up, you shoot out a ‘Good morning’, flipping through pages as you jot down more notes. 

With an inaudible sigh, you place your notebook down with the pen in between pages to properly look up. Seeing his typically rough edge look, jeans and a hoodie with his unkempt hair, you were very much correct. It was Mike Schmidt, the old security of that wretched place. 

Dashing through the corridors without a care in the world about the surroundings, sweat soaking through your shirt, evidence of how much you were running from the parking lot. You see the number you need in the corner of your eyes and your entire body comes to a complete halt. Problem is, the door was left ajar, which meant someone was still in there or they just left and had no courtesy of closing it. 

The closer you got to the door, the more twisted your insides felt. Reaching the push the door open, you were startled hearing a scratchy voice come from the room. You glance at the door, to make sure this was the correct room but seeing the familiar name catches you in a whirl of confusion. Just who is inside?

Forcefully pushing your nerves through the ends of your fingertips, you push the door open. As it creeks, the voice in the room ceased, and in your view was a stranger. A rough around the edge looking man, and a small little girl next to him. Under the state of mixed emotions, your tone rips out of you before you could think. 

“Who are you? How do you know vanny?”  Directed towards the older man, your eyes lock with his. His brows furrowed in confusion before he spoke up, keeping his hands on the shoulders of the little girl, a backpack slung on his shoulder. 

“Uh- we mean no harm? We just came to visit, we're friends of sorts to Vanessa,” he replies, using a calming tone to not trigger anything out of you. You, finally letting the situation sink in, slowly nodded and began walking in the room. And that's when you spotted her, pale, lying on her back with various tubes sticking in who knows what. 

~ Minx

[p0orbaby]

Ass Play

summary: just what is says on the tin really…

a/n: this has been in my drafts for so long. It’s also unedited so pls ignore how bad it is

warnings: SMUT 18+ ass stuff (who’d have thunk it), fingering, oral, pregnant wanda being soft and horny, slight dom vibes

word count: 2k

-

She was insatiable.

There wasn’t any grounds for you to complain. If anything you were thanking the gods, but you had to admit, Wanda was less like a woman than she was a bitch in heat.

Morning, noon and night came with, well, Wanda cumming. There wasn’t a mealtime that wasn’t finished with an orgasm for dessert. Sweating in the kitchen was normal when you were over the stove. But sweating in the kitchen from the vigorous movements your body was making in order to get your wife off was not something you’d find in your typical recipe book.

Your couplings, if you will, have resolutely migrated from the bedroom accordingly. Kitchen counter sex? Great. Bathroom sex? Standard. Sex on a garden chair? Unexpected, but better than anticipated with the breeze cooling down your tacky skin.

There was no off switch. If she wanted to fuck you, she would. Bending down to load the dishwasher. Brushing your teeth ready for bed. Pulling weeds from the garden path. Any possible scenario was a trigger for your wife to get her hands all over you.

And this latest escapade was no different.

It was mid afternoon on a Tuesday, and with nothing else to do you decided to sit down and watch a movie. Wanda was nowhere to be found. Concluding she had gone for a nap it was the perfect time to give your tongue and fingers a rest, and recoup before your wife inevitably wanted you again later on.

The afternoon sun beamed through the windows when the opening credits started. Causing you to settle lazily against the fabric cushions of the couch and bring the snacks you have acquired up to your chest ready for eating.

The film lasted five minutes before you heard faint footsteps from upstairs. You couldn’t say you were annoyed, because you enjoyed the company of your wife dearly. But this was a film that’s been on your watch list for a while and with her now having been roused somehow, it may have to remain unwatched.

As soon as her steps changed from soft pads muted by the carpet upstairs to light slaps of her bare feet against the hardwood, you paused the movie and craned your neck to take a look at her.

Hair once in a perfected messy bun, now askew from sleep. Some strands were even stuck to her face from the apparent heat radiating upstairs. Even though her large stomach stretched the material, she looked swamped in her bedclothes. If you could call one of your extremely oversized university T-shirts and old decorating sweats bedclothes.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?” You asked, voice soft and calm as she made her way around the couch and into your lap.

She smelt like her citrus shampoo and the warm scent of freshly clean sheets as you nuzzled your face into the crook of her neck.

“Better now I’m with you”

“I thought it best to leave you alone so you could get some sleep”

“Hm”

“What? Oh c'mon don’t give me that look, what’s the matter?”

The pout covering her face would be comical if you weren’t a fraction worried that you’d done something wrong.

“I had a dream. You were in it”

“Alright. And what was I doing in this dream? I’m hoping it was something forgivable”

“Well, we were in bed. It was the early morning on a cold winter's day”

She shifted in your lap so she was straddling you now. Legs bent and planted either side of your waist as her arms circled around your neck.

“And what were we doing in bed on this frigid winter morning?”

“Oh you know, keeping eachother warm the way any madly in love couple would”. Your hands grabbed at her ass as she started to grind into you. You knew where this was going but you wanted to see how she got there before you took fully over. “You woke me up with your tongue in my cunt you see”

“Did I? Doesn’t sound like something I would do”

“No? Well it made me so sad that I wasn’t woken up with you between my legs, but by your sons sitting on my bladder”

“My sons, hm? We’ll see about that when they’re crying for food and you’re the only one with milk in their tits to do something about it”. Wanda moaned as you brought a hand up to grab at her chest through her shirt. “Even though I’m not looking forward to having to share you with them”

“You don’t have to share me now”

“I don’t”

“And I’m still horny from my dream”

“Why am I not surprised?” Her hips canted against yours without rhythm. Grinding against your leg, praying to find any form of friction through her sweats. “Bend over then. Over the arm of the couch, ass in the air for me like a good girl”

You did have to help her move slightly just because her stomach caused her issues with balance these days. But she was in position in no time, forearms used to keep her upright and knees spread slightly apart.

Settling yourself on your knees behind her you grasped the waist of her sweatpants and pulled them half way down her thighs. Giving you ample room you bury whatever body part you wanted into her dripping hole.

“Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be”

You started with your fingers. Tracing delicate lines against her lips as you coated her with her own want. It was slow and teasing and you knew full well what you were doing, but you didn’t care.

When you’d deemed your teasing enough, you shuffled back so you could finally get to what she wanted. Your mouth on her. So you spread her cheeks slightly and slotted your face in between her legs, your mouth finding her slick and swollen.

“Oh fuck”

You lapped her up. Tongue flicking over her clit, tasting it like you’d never had a decent meal your whole life. But it wasn’t enough. You needed more. So you buried your face in further, almost suffocating yourself as you stuck your tongue in her pussy as far as you could reach. So far forward that your nose was practically buried in your wife’s asshole.

“Oh fuck, do that again”

You did, you probed her entrance deeply once more.

“No, not that. When you touched my asshole. That. Do that again”

Hang on a second. Did she say what you just thought she said? You stopped your movements and blinked the shock from your features as you rose to your knees again.

“I- did you just, you want me to play with your ass? Like your actual asshole?”

“Mhm. Please baby”. When you didn’t reply, she turned on her elbows to look at you over her shoulder. Her face was flushed and her eyes were dark. She was serious about this. “Stop looking at me like I have two heads”

“I’m not. I just didn’t expect you to want that. Like, ever”

“Well I do. Like, now”, she mocked. Please can you just get on with it? You’re killing me here baby”

You were tentative at first. Not wanting to overstep. But she did ask you after all, so surely doing this would be okay? Right?

It was your index finger that brushed over her first. Even with your hesitant hand it puckered under your touch. Wanda moaned at the sensation and pushed her behind towards you for further stimulation. You obliged by pressing harder. A combination of circular and up and down movements to gauge what she preferred. Both it seemed.

“Oh fuck that feels good”

“That good? Tell me how you want it”

“Want your tongue, your fingers”

“Hmm, not enough” you mulled. Removing some of the pressure your finger was giving. “Gotta be more specific, baby. Can’t just guess what my girl wants, can I?”

Wanda’s hips stuttered again as she searched for your fingers blindly behind her.

“If you keep moving, I’ll stop,” you warned gently. “Tell me where you want me, Wanda. Tell me what I know you need”

“Fuck, lick my wet pussy. Lick it and use your fingers to play with my ass”

Her words were strained. Tight in her chest. She almost sounded as if she was in pain. Almost. You’d stop if you ever got the incling she was hurt.

“Hmm, that’s more like it”. Satisfied enough with her answer, you gave in somewhat. Yes, you were doing this for Wanda’s pleasure, but you were having just as much fun. There were very few times you’d be reluctant to try new things in the bedroom. Or living room, in this case. But you’d happily give your left kidney to keep this going for as long as she was willing.

“Fuck you’re so tight”. Her hole swallowed your thumb. Slowly sinking in knuckle by knuckle until it was gone. Sheathed in the warmth of her ass. The rest of your fingers splayed flat at the bottom of her spine to keep her steady.

You gave her time to adjust to the feeling before you moved to taste her again. Too much at once might end this sooner than you would hope for. So once she relaxed and her shoulders weren’t so tense, you proceeded.

Ducking your head, you started with a lick. A slow stripe up the center of her. Tasting her on your tongue. listening to her body react to you. Along with a soft moan, you heard her nails dig into the material of the couch. Gripping to keep upright.

Then you sucked. Hard. Pulling her clit roughly into your mouth as curling it with your tongue. All the while probing her ass. Feeling her clench around you.

A sob left her mouth. Strangled and desperate as you went at her with fervour. Sucking and swirling and loving every second of the way she wriggled and squirmed at your actions.

Her orgasm came unexpectedly. Only moments after you’d really gotten into it. But when warm liquid ran down your mouth and over your chin, the speed in which she came didn’t matter. It made this whole thing a game. Now you were determined to make her come as many times as you could.

Abruptly removing your thumb from her now relaxed hole, you replace it with your tongue. Face now slick, the lack of friction was torturous. Lips and tongue gliding over her as she shook from pleasure. Back arched. Right leg now firmly planted on the floor with her toes curling into the shag rug.

It was messy. It was uncoordinated. The wet sounds bouncing off the walls were dirty and you were grateful your house was far enough away from your neighbours that loud noises weren’t a concern.

“I’m close, fuck, please”

At her admission, you stuck your fingers into her pussy. Now puffy and red with arousal. So with a few expertly angled thrusts, she was over the edge again. Shuddering beneath you. Gasping for air as she twitched.

An anticipated arm stopped her from slumping face down onto the couch. Helping her be pulled back so she was sitting against your chest. No doubt creating damp patches on the sofa as she sat naked from the waist down in front of you. No matter. That’s what cleaning products are for.

“I enjoyed that”, Wanda said after a while. After her chest had stopped heaving and she was like putty in your hands. Warm and pliable. “Probably a little too much in all honesty”

“I enjoyed it too. Maybe not enough”

Wanda twisted to look at you, a flash of concern in her eyes as she took in what you just said. You noticed her flushed face. The pink addition to her cheeks, and it was hard to deceive her when she looked like that. Even if it was just in jest.

“If you didn’t like it, we don’t have-“ slight panic had notably set in. Her mind working a mile a minute for ways to apologise for pushing you into something you might not have wanted.

“I think I might need a few more rounds to draw a final conclusion. You know, for research purposes”

“Yeah?”

“Oh, definitely”

[jake-g-lockley]

Would you mind doing prompt 18 with either Jake Lockley or Santiago Garcia? I couldn’t decide which one I wanted more, so I’ll let you decide ❤️

Erase it (Santiago Garcia x reader)

Masterlist | Spotify Playlist | Want to be tagged?

Prompt: they’re teasing each other when one character goes “then kiss me” and is surprised that the other character actually does it

Word Count: 2.6k A/N: Fun fact! This period fic was just sitting in my drafts for a while but this prompt inspired me to add a lil something hehe. Enjoy <3

Warnings: MDNI, Smut, fingering, unprotected p in v sex (doesn’t matter if you’re on your period, WRAP IT UP), i'm back at it with the idiots in love trope <3

 .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You couldn't decide whether mother nature had decided to play a nasty trick on you or had blessed you with a chance when your period had made its uninvited appearance. It was an unusually cold night in Bogotá but you woke up sweating, pure pain radiating from your lower abdomen, edging itself towards your lower back. You panicked slightly when you turned, feeling a wet patch under you. 

“Shit …” you mutter as you scramble to get out of bed to turn on the lights.

You were right, you had bled through your pants onto the bed below you as you slept. The past few weeks have been absolute hell, you and the boys have been out and about. Today had been the day where they checked into a hotel and you guess that your body decided to let go of all its stress that it was holding and push it out of your uterine lining. Your period had been late and your flow was heavy despite it being literally the first day. The cramps were biting into you, making you curl your body forward each time another wave hit you.

You ransacked your bag and the hotel room, but found no pads or even tampons. Part of you was ready to just free bleed but the other part of you just wanted to cry. All you wanted was a hot cup of chocolate and a large pad but you couldn't go and get it yourself, not in the streets of Bogotá at 2 am in the morning. You bit your lip and decided to admit defeat, walking out of your room and padding sadly towards Santi and Frankie’s room. You hesitated slightly before knocking their door.

Santi flung the door open and squinted down at you warily, sleep heavy in his eyes. His curls were astray and he was pulling down his sleep shirt, exposing some skin that made you blush a little. His eyes crinkled slightly as he smiled, a warm feeling coursing through you at how genuine he looked. 

There's no way that this man could look this good even when he slept.

You were pretty sure you looked like a gremlin in your oversized t-shirt and blood covered shorts. 

“Everything okay?” he mumbled, sleep coating his usual gruff voice, softening out its edges.

To put it plainly, his voice sounded like it had been touched by a siren. 

“Uhm, yea kinda, but also no.” you look downward, shifting from one foot to another. 

Santi raised an eyebrow but let you continue.

“Sorry for waking you Pope, but I need a little help.”

“That’s alright, querida. Name it, I’m at your service.” he said bowing a little, making you giggle.

You hugged yourself, feeling very vulnerable as you bit your lip

“I started my period.” you whispered

Santi gave you no reaction to what you had said and you wondered whether he had fallen asleep with his eyes open and standing up.

“Okay, need me to get you anything?” he said, instead giving you a small smile.

That took you aback slightly, no one had said something like this to you so casually. Normally men would lean on the extremes, either making it a big deal, as if you were on the verge of death or downplaying it and making you feel small

“Yes, please. I just need pads, the biggest ones you can find please and something for the pain.” you meddled with the edge of your shirt, twisting it in a comforting pattern. 

“Alright, lemme just get my wallet. Wait for me in your room, okay?” he said cupping your face with his hand, an unusual act of affection from him.

“Okay. Thanks, Santi.” you smile, forcing down your tears as you look away from him

You went back to your room and took a nice shower, letting the hot water soothe your body. You heard a knock and you shut off the shower, pulling a fluffy towel around you before letting Santi in.

“I- oh.” Santi said before turning around when he realised you were only in your towel.

“Oh, it's fine. I’m decent. I mean the towel is long enough.” you laughed a little awkwardly.

Santi set the big bag of things he got for you onto the bed. He pulled out a packet of big pads, several of your favourite chocolate bars, pain ointment, painkillers, a hot water bottle and lastly a pack of cotton underwear. You didn’t realise you had a hand on your mouth as you watched Santi pull out the stuff from the bag

You were absolutely flabbergasted

“Fucking hell, Santiago Garcia.” you breathed. 

You stepped closer to him and grabbed the pack of pads, examining it with a smile before turning to face him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. When you pulled away, you noted how red his face had gone, and the dopey expression that lined it. You thanked him profusely and rushed into the bathroom to get changed. 

You finally felt nice and fresh. You came out to find Santiago laying a towel on the soiled part of your sheets and you started to tear up. You sniffling made him look up and he just opened his arms out understandingly. You almost run to him, letting him envelope you in his warm, comforting embrace. 

“How do you feel?” he murmurs into your hair. 

“Much better, thanks Santi.” you say into his chest, breathing in his soft scent as your tears get caught in his sleep shirt. 

“Alright, I’ll let you get some rest, okay?” he said before slowly pulling away. 

You were rendered confused, and he didn’t even get to put his hand onto the doorknob before you grabbed onto his wrist. His confused stricken face made you blush and drop his hand.

“Could you maybe stay?” you ask, slightly bashful.

Santiago just smiled at you, studying your face. 

“Sure, I’d love to get away from Frankie’s snores for a while.” he said after a few seconds, making you snort. 

He grabs a few of the chocolate bars before he leads you to the couch. You open one of the bars and break it into half, giving the other half to Santiago. The both of you nibbled on the chocolate and laughed about old memories. 

You watched as Santiago animatedly tells you about the boys and their shenanigans. Oh, to be Santi’s girl. You would be treated like a queen, forget it, you would be treated like a goddess, mainly because this man had the heart to be absolutely head over heels over someone. 

“There was once where Benny tried to pet a dog, it was a calm dog, for your information, and the dog lunged at Benny so fast that all we saw was Benny’s rifle flying 30 feet away in one direction and Benny running as fast as he could in the other direction.” You laughed a little too hard and felt a sharp pain in your abdomen, making you double up in pain. 

Santiago held you and pressed his hand over yours on your tummy. For the first time panic flashed through his eyes, not knowing whether this was a normal thing. 

“Ugh I hate taking pain killers, it's not like they work anymore.” you straighten your back as the pain ebbed away. 

Years of chronic pain have made painkillers essentially useless for you. Santi nods understandingly, rubbing the back of his neck. Suddenly a sheepish look settled upon his face.

“What?” you say squinting at him

“It's nothing.” he said and you swore you could see a tinge of pink upon his cheeks. 

“I demand you to tell me, I'm the one in horrendous pain,” you winced.

Santi settled back onto the couch and pulled you down with him with a sigh. 

“Remember when we were small and our mom’s would take care of us?” he said softly.

“Of course.” you said, snuggling a little closer to him.

“You know when you would fall down and your mother will always have that one special remedy?” his voice edged into a whisper.

“Hmm? A bandage and some tylenol?” you say back, totally oblivious. 

“No, I mean what comes after the bandage and the tylenol?” he says a little exasperatedly now. 

You look up at Santi with a pout and shrug. He sighs again, this time with a small smile on his face as he brushes away a wet strand of hair from your face. 

“When they kiss it all better?” 

It took you a while to process what Santiago was trying to tell you. Suddenly it clicked but you didn’t let it show, masking your shock at what Santiago was implying with confusion to divert him.

“You wanna be my mom, Santi?” you feign confusion and he rolled his eyes.

You sit up slightly and press your lips together, trying to keep your laugh in. 

“I’m just playin’, I’d love to kiss me all better, not that you’d know where to kiss-.” 

His lips caught yours before you could finish your sentence. He sighed sleepily into your kiss and caressed your cheek with his knuckles. You smiled against his lips and anchored yourself against his chest, fingers feeling up whatever was under his sleep shirt. 

He pulled away and smiled at you, a boyish smile that made him look several years younger. His fingers were at your chin and he turned our face so that he could plant another kiss onto your cheek before pulling you down onto his chest. You groaned again and clutched at your stomach as another wave of pain crashed through you.

“Guess your remedy didn’t work.” you mumbled sadly into his chest as his hand kneaded your lower back with soft pressure. 

Santiago stayed silent for a while and you slowly felt yourself getting sleepier with his presence but a few biting cramps kept pulling you out of your relaxed state. 

“I… umm… heard somewhere that there is a way to take the pain away.” Santiago stuttered a little, a little unusual for someone who was usually so calm and collected.

“I’ll do anything.” you muttered again.

“Anything?” 

“Well not do hard drugs but you know, yes anything.” you sigh. 

“It involves coming.” Santi says after a few seconds of silence

“Going where?” you said without missing a beat, the pain clearly making you stupid

Santiago’s nervous expression shifts to a blank one as he stares at you incredulously

“Pope, what?” this time you were genuinely confused as you stared at his face. 

“I mean, like, ORGASM!” he whisper-shouted.

oH-

 Now it was your turn to be nervous. You eyed Santiago and picked at a hangnail on your finger. 

“Let me take care of you.” his voice dropped to something more sultry and you felt your insides swim with desire. 

“How?” you whispered. 

Santiago wanted to buy his time by whispering all of the sweet and sacrilegious things he had been meaning to do to you but in your current state, he would rather just blatantly tell you before he made a fool of himself.

“Let me touch you and help you relax.” his eyes were so soft when they met you and you found yourself trusting him entirely.

“Okay.”

With your confirmation, Santiago scooped you up and walked you to the bed, laying you down on the towel he placed there earlier, before pulling his shirt off and crawling beside you. Your heart thudded in your chest as you pressed your legs together and stared up at Santiago. You’ve never seen this look on his face before and he was studying you, his eyes scanning your body as your breath quickened. 

“Relax, querida, I’ll take care of you.” he said, pulling your oversized t-shirt up slightly before hooking his fingers at your shorts, tugging them down gently, easing your legs apart. 

The cold air on your bare pussy made you shiver and he eyed your core in a way he’s never looked at you before. You let yourself sink down at his soft touches, his fingers kneading gently at the skin of your thigh as he kissed your knee. He kept his eyes on you as his fingers found your clit and you squeezed your eyes shut at the soft pressure. Silently, he began to softly rub at your clit, easing out soft moans and whimpers from you. You felt the tension in your abdomen pull away as it is replaced by another sensation, one that was egged on by the attractive man who was hovering over you. 

“How do you want me?” he asked softly over your whines. 

“Anything you can give me.” you breathed back, and instantly, he slipped two of his fingers inside you, making your head drop back with a delicious moan. 

He started pumping his fingers in and out of you, and you started whispering his name like a prayer almost like you were pleading for him to not stop. His thumb swiped at your clit when your walls started to get tighter around his fingers and the band that he was building instantly snapped and your back arched off the bed as you came with a gut wrenching moan. 

You dropped back down onto the bed and caught your breath, your vision swimming as you vaguely heard yourself thank Santiago. You felt the bed dip around you and your eyes dropped down to where Santi’s hand was. He had rid himself of his pants and was gently pumping himself up and down, smearing your blood on himself, eliciting a string of curses from your own mouth. You dropped your knees open and he pushed himself in, filling you up to the brim as you gasped at his size. He dropped himself onto his forearms, caging you as his lips whispered soft nothings into your ear.

“So wet and warm… Still so fuckin’ tight…” he started pistoning his hips pulling out moan after moan from you again. “Fuck, you feel so good, I need to make you feel good.” 

He was making you feel good. All of the pain had vanished and was replaced with quaint pleasure coursing through your veins. The intimacy of it all made you feel so vulnerable yet safe. You wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him softly, letting him drop his head against your shoulder as your pussy started to grip him with absurd strength. 

“So close…” you managed to breathe and Santi nodded, unable to form any words.

His fingers dropped to your clit once more and it didn’t take much for you to snap again, Santi spilling into you with a sharp moan to the column of your throat. He slumped against you and your hands lazily scraped at his scalp.  All of your muscles were relaxed and it was replaced with soft clouds of pleasure that turned your mind hazy. You kissed Santiago’s temple and thanked him over and over as he soothingly kissed your neck.

“Better?” he mumbled into your neck.

“So much better.” you breathed, sleep pulling your eyelids over your eyes.

“Shh, rest, I got you baby. I always got you.” was the last thing you heard before you succumbed to the powerful callings of sleep. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You woke up curled up against him, his hand pressing a now lukewarm hot pack to your abdomen as he cuddled you close. While you were asleep, he changed you, and made sure you were comfortable before settling to sleep. His nose now was buried in your hair and your back was flush to his chest, impossibly close. 

You held on to his arms and you pulled him closer, praying that he would never slip away, knowing that he’d be able to erase everything that could harm you. 

Reblogs are appreciated ~~~~

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[bookshelf-dust]

lovely boy.

gareth emerson x gn!reader

word count: 1,565

warnings: swearing, smoking (don’t even think about it), mentions of anxiety and insecurities, comfort and fluff

a/n: hi! this has been in my drafts for months. but alas, i have finished it. read it, don’t read it, that’s up to you. i’ll love you either way <333

————

Gareth had you sat on the couch, leather cool against the bare skin of your thighs.

He was across from you, settled on the ottoman. His leg was bouncing, his hands rubbing against one another.

You weren’t sure what was going on, but you didn’t like it. For the first time in your entire relationship with Gareth, you felt unwelcome. Like you weren’t meant to be here. Like you’d done something terribly wrong.

He almost looked mean.

Eventually, he broke the silence in the room.

“I think we should break up.”

Your stomach dropped out of your ass.

What? Break up? Why?

You felt your palms go clammy, and a chill ran down your back. You were starting to panic.

You locked eyes with him. “Um—” you were struggling to get your thoughts in order, “Can you tell me why you think that? Maybe keep me in the loop here?”

Gareth coughed, ran a hand down his surprisingly stubbly face.

“It’s you, really.”

His words were laced with venom. He’d never spoken to you in this way before, in that tone. Like you were something nasty.

“You’re so…so whiny. You’ve been so fragile, lately? And you’re so anxious, all the time, always worried about every little thing. Frankly, I’m just sick of hearing about it, of having to comfort you and pretend I give a shit.”

Your eyes filled with tears, your nose started to sting. Why was he being so mean to you? Your Gare, was treating you like a nuisance.

“I have to order for you.” He held his hands up, starting to count off reasons he was done with you, apparently. “You’re always hanging on to me, like I’m a fucking lifeline or something. You overthink everything. Not everything has to be a fucking ordeal, you know.”

“Don’t get me started on when we have to go to sleep. I just—you’re a burden, Y/N.”

Gareth stood up, walking up to you and bending at the waist in order to be level with your face. He wiped a tear off your cheek with his thumb, his brow furrowing as he did so.

“The thing is, sweetheart, I don’t love you anymore.”

Your breath hitched and you pushed Gareth’s hand away from your face, but that only made him smile.

He was fucking grinning, and it was full of malice. It was like he was getting off on hurting you.

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. Gareth was your world, your everything, the only person who’d ever provided you with such support, and now he was telling you that it’d been an act?

Shit, you were gonna be sick.

And then you woke up.

It had been a dream. A nightmare.

But the feeling of almost being sick was real, and it was what had woke you up. That dream had really put you through it.

You were sweating, legs stuck to the sheets, everything sticky. Your heart was pounding, your head throbbing. You looked over, realizing you were still alone in bed.

Gareth hadn’t even come to bed yet.

You realized that it was one in the morning, and you’d only been asleep for about an hour. Tonight Gare had the boys over for band practice, and they usually stayed over super late catching up and smoking. It was their certified “guys night,” not that they ever called it that, and it certainly didn’t have any rules.

You’d eaten with them, listened to most of practice, but you’d had a long day, and couldn’t stay up anymore, so you went to bed. None of them minded, Gareth evening venturing down the hall to talk to you as you got ready for bed and give you a sweet kiss before he went back to his friends.

But none of that mattered now. You were hurt and upset, even if it had just been a fucking dream.

Your hands were shaking as you threw the covers off of yourself, the wood floors cold on your feet. You stood, wrenching open the bedroom door and walking down the hall.

Your eyes scanned the counter for the cigarettes you knew Gareth had left there, and you swiped them, along with his Zippo, before making your way outside, accidentally slamming the door shut a bit harder than you’d meant to.

The little apartment that the both of you were living in wasn’t very big, and the only reason you had two bedrooms was so there’d be a place for Gareth’s drums. It did have a little patio, though, which is where the boys were currently sitting.

They heard the slam of the front door as you plopped down on the stoop, and all four of them silenced—listening. Eddie raised his eyebrows, looking at Gareth who shrugged.

The patio was on the side of the apartment, not far from the front door, which didn’t make eavesdropping hard. They were quiet enough that they could hear you flick the lighter open and shut.

Gareth’s brow furrowed, and he handed the remainder of the cigarette he was holding back to Jeff, who he’d been sharing it with, so that he could finish it.

“Something’s wrong. They haven’t smoked in months.”

Eddie nodded, clearly worried about you, since you’d been fine enough to argue with him about Metallica songs earlier in the night.

He stood, and the rest followed, heading out. Gareth rounded the corner of the apartment, making his way to you on the steps. You were halfway through a second cigarette.

He stopped in front of you, looking over your body for any sign that you were hurt. It was when his eyes made it to your face, where tears glinted in the outdoor light that he got scared.

He squatted, leveling himself with you. Just like he had in your dream. It made you jump, and he caught the movement.

“Hey, sugar what’s the matter, huh?” His hands found your bare legs, rubbing up and down to try and warm you up. Now wasn’t the time to scold you for sitting outside in the cold with shorts on. If he could feel the tackiness of sweat on your thighs, he didn’t say anything.

You finished your cigarette, snuffing it out against the concrete of the stairs.

You shook your head, and as you blinked, more tears slipped down your cheeks.

“You can tell me, Y/N, it’s okay, I promise.”

You tried to breathe.

“I had a nightmare.”

He nodded, thinking it must have been pretty damn shitty for you to be in this state. His hands were rough on your legs, still rubbing away. “You wanna go inside and talk about it? It’s cold out here.”

He leaned in like was going to tell you a secret, “And I don’t know if you noticed, but you haven’t got shoes on.”

That got the smallest of grins out of you, enough for you to allow him to pull you up and take you in, finding refuge in your warm living room.

Gareth sat cross legged on the floor in front of you, waiting patiently for you to relay what was upsetting you.

“I dreamt that you wanted to break up with me.”

His breath hitched and his cheeks flush in worry, but he didn’t say anything, allowing you to continue.

“Everything that I’m insecure about, you told me made me a burden. All those things you help me with? Ordering and anxiety and overthinking? You said I was too clingy, too fragile. Too everything, really.”

“You said you didn’t love me anymore. And you didn’t care that I was upset. You were being so mean. It was like you were enjoying treating me that way. And then I woke up.”

Gareth took a deep breath and moved to sit next to you on the couch.

“What an asshole.”

That made you laugh. “You’re talking about yourself, you know.”

“I know. Nightmare me is a total dickhead. He’s fucking horrendous.”

Gareth planted a kiss on your forehead, but as he pulled away, he looked a little stressed. “You okay?”

“I’m okay. Just upset. You, my lovely boy, turned into my big insecurity monster was not enjoyable.”

He ran his hands up and down your arms soothingly. “Bad dreams suck, baby. I’m sorry about this one, especially since it was me. But I want you to know that I’m right here. I want you. I always want you. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

“And I love all the things about you that dream me didn’t.” He tapped the tip of your nose, making you scrunch it in response.

His big Gareth smile was always enough to almost bring you to your knees.

Your teary smile almost did the same to him. “Thank you for putting up with me. For taking care of me and making me feel safe.”

You sniffled and he kept smiling at you. He looked absolutely lovesick. Over the moon for you. “I love you too, Gareth.”

“Right back at you sweet thing. Now, would you like a piggyback ride to bed?”

You grinned excitedly, standing up on the couch so you could hop on his back. He positioned himself in front of you, hoisting you up by your thighs to get you settled.

Halfway down the hall, he said, “You called me your lovely boy. I quite liked that. You should do it more often.”

————

please let me know if you liked this! feedback is always appreciated!! comments and reblogs mean more than you know. <33

[kira-broflovski]

Realistic || Kenny McCormick x Reader

note: there is mention of death during a nightmare + characters are in college

"I'm gonna go up to bed, Kenny. I love you." You stated before pressing a kiss to your boyfriend's cheek, who sat at the kitchen counter typing up some sort of essay.

"Goodnight, Y/N." He smiled up at you. "I'll be up soon."

"Good." You partially joked.

Making your way to the shared bedroom, you didn't realise how tired you were as you yawned and stretched. As soon as your head hit your silk pillow you fell asleep.

Kenny continued to silently write the rest of his essay, but he eventually realised he couldn't concentrate with the thought of you sleeping alone. He skimmed back over his work to notice that his most recent paragraph didn't make any sense, so he decided to just save the draft and call it a night. He didn't recognise how tired he was before.

Sluggish, he dragged his feet towards your shared bedroom like you had approximately an hour ago. He heard you tossing and turning, so maybe you were still awake.

"Can't sleep?" He whispered, but he got no response. Maybe you didn't hear him so he repeated himself, but a little louder this time.

When he still didn't hear a response, he sat on his side of the bed next to you before turning on his lamp on the lowest brightness.

He noticed that your eyes were shut, but were moving rapidly, and your eyebrows were furrowed.

"Y/N?" Kenny didn't like what was happening but he would rather wake you up and make sure you were okay, than see you like this.

Once again there was no response.

"Y/N." He called out.

Suddenly, you had started hyperventilating so he said your name again. A soft whimper left your lips, making his protective urges spring into action.

"Y/N!" He cried, putting his hand carefully on your shoulder.

You finally woke up and you jolted up in your cold sweat, trying to catch your breath. Gulping, you looked over at your boyfriend.

"Kenny, oh my god." You whimpered again and dived into his arms, needing to feel he was still alive; needing to feel his heartbeat. "Kenny." You cried into his chest.

"I'm here, Y/N. I'm here." He mumbled. Effortlessly, he pulled you on top of him. Your head still buried into his neck as his calloused hand supported your head, his other hand slowly rubbing your back for comfort. "We're okay."

He figured you had a nightmare, and you did.

"I saw you die right in front of me, it was horrible!" You started. "Then it kept happening: you kept dying in front of me, in so many different ways. It felt way too realistic."

Kenny felt his t-shirt getting soaked with your tears, but he didn't care. He only cared about your wellbeing as this sight was heart-breaking to him, especially because it could happen one day.

You have never seen him die before, that fact he was thankful for, but what if you do? Will you remember it happening? Ever since the two of you started dating, he made sure to not die. Or at least not die in front of you.

He couldn't bring himself to tell you at the moment, so he continued to cuddle you and reassure you it's never going to happen.

"I'm always going to be here for you, Y/N." Kenny mumbled as he gently raised your head up.

Your tear-filled eyes only made him all the more protective of you. He cupped your cheek and sweetly kissed you.

"Everything's alright. I love you."

"I love you too, Kenny."