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nouearth · 9 months

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my favorite scent is you.

bruce wayne x male reader.

summary: bruce needs to be taken care of too (in which reader believes it's through the form of sex).

wc: 3.5k. genre: smut, angst (kinda?). warnings: top!bruce, consensual!somnophilia, blowjobs, slow mouth-fucking, fondling, reader is asleep, bruce and reader are the same age, reader also grew up with bruce, mentions of parental death, trauma-bonding.

notes: it's been a while since i've done a brucey smut (and also fulfilled a request), so here ya go! actually my first time writing about somnophilia, so be easy on me, lmao. it was harder than i thought! also i'm trying a new layout,,, kinda, don't mind me.

“Do you remember that night? When my parents… you know.”

It had been a little less than a decade, but the uneasiness you felt when mentioning your parents’ death was akin to hovering your palm above an open flame. The flicker of the heat frightened you. Though, you couldn’t help but feel magnetic towards it—closer and closer—until you felt a strike to your calloused hand.

Just a little more, and you’ll break free.

It was striking how your wounds maintained their novelty. Years of skin hardening, scabbing and layering over the memory of Bruce breaking the news to you on that night, and the slightest mention of your parents tore it open with little defiance.

“Yeah…” Bruce whispered, and a sudden impulse to hold you prevailed over him. He turned over on his side, slipping his arms over and under your frame, and pulled your back flushed to his chest. You eased with a melting squirm, a physical gratitude, and then another when you pressed a kiss to his forearm. “It was supposed to be Alfred telling you, but I insisted.”

“Really?” Your curiosity was piqued and you felt Bruce nod into the crown of your head, breathing you in deep like his favourite cologne. A scent he’d never wear himself because it matched you perfectly. “How come?”

“Well, I had no one other than Alfred when my parents died. He tried his best, but we barely had time to grieve. A bunch of responsibilities were bestowed upon him overnight; my parents’ estate, numerous paperworks, the press and media, not to mention the funeral service. It was… a lot for him.”

Bruce sighed, squeezing you tighter for support as he continued. “I remember reading—signing off things that I knew nothing about the very next day.” He then laughed, a bitterness surfing for air in the bass of his voice. “I didn’t even have a signature yet.”

“I’m sorry…” A heaviness sank you and Bruce deeper into the mattress. You latched onto Bruce’s arm for support, held him gently, and found levity through the brush of his lips, as if he was saying—consoling you through the black void: I’m here, I’m here.

“Is that why you guys hired my parents?”

“Mm-hm, we needed help around the manor while Alfred had bigger duties to tend to. And I’m glad he suggested the idea as much as I was apprehensive about it. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met such an incredible family. A year became two, then another two, then another, and…” Bruce recalled the sounds, the visions of red and blue flashing—blaring into the sky. “Which was why I thought it would be best if it came from me. So I could be that someone that I desperately needed during my grieving.”

“You shouldn’t have been thinking about that though… I mean, what—we were only fifteen? Coming from your background, you should’ve been… cocky, annoying, emo, selfish, like every other teenager.

“I guess your personality kind of compensated for that—” He amused himself with some levity.

“Hey!” You choked out a laugh, then lightly elbowed his stomach behind you. “Ass.”

“Ow,” Bruce pressed a smile to the back of your head, inhaling your scent again. “I did have that emo phase though.”

“Oh yeah—” Within his hold, you turned your body to meet Bruce face-to-face as a flood of memories came rushing in. You greeted him with a smile that he was able to single out from within the dark. Then, he made sure your presence was acknowledged with a chaste kiss.

“Your hair came down to your nose and stuff—oh! And you kept wearing the same hoodie too.”

“Yeah, okay—we get it. Not my best look.” He groaned, tearing himself away from you as your descriptions of Bruce suddenly developed into powerfully cringe-inducing memories. As embarrassing as the past was, he was glad it brought you some kind of merriment. He’d been scolded multiple times by numerous people, though namely Alfred, to treat you better.

You and Bruce weren’t always close. In all honesty, it took your parents’ death that empowered you two to stick together more than ever. Where darkness used to storm over the roof of the manor, you and Bruce managed to conjure a light that illuminated a path to find sanctuary within each other.

“Thank you for all you’ve done for me.” The moonlight reflecting through the bedroom window casted shadows across Bruce’s profile. Wrinkles you’ve never noticed before were accentuated; eye-bags that you’ve been nagging at him to take care of deepened; glimpses of a boy who was forced to grow up.

He turned when you reached over to trace over the spotlighted features. A single digit caressed the bumpy bridge of his nose; the stubble that tickled you whenever you kissed; the cut over his broad chin that was your favorite spot to kiss,; the scar over his left cheek that had been healing for months, only to restart the process again after Bruce’s late night endeavors.

“Let me take care of you now.”

You weren’t sure how Bruce took your proposal. Recalling the moment had you adding unnecessary details that all-the-more exploded the situation into a narrative you couldn’t exactly trust.

Wait… he made a weird face when I told him. I remember a face! No, idiot—he just had an itch on his cheek. Oh.

I don’t remember his phone ringing… You think he was trying to get out of the conversation? Maybe? He usually has his phone set on the loudest volume possible…

Oh god, he probably thinks I’m some kind of sex-crazed addict. Well, aren’t you— No?! I just—wanted to take care of him… We rarely see each other these days and I doubt the lunches I’d make for him add much to that narrative. I needed something more. Wow, I’ve been talking to myself for this long?

You probably look crazed, especially if someone were to walk in the bedroom at this moment, but you’d be too deep into your thoughts to hardly notice. If you did notice, you’d probably go on a tangent about how Bruce was probably disgusted by how you could even suggest a thing like that.

Your toes and fingers curled at the recollection you were certain happened.

“So… I know you’ve been out late at night—” “(M/N), it’s not what you—” “Shh, I’m too good of a catch for you to cheat on me.” “I mean, keep that cockiness up and maybe—” “Excuse me?!” “I’m joking.” “Uh-huh, well, keep joking and I might have to rescind my offer.” “Your offer?” “Look, I haven’t seen you much lately. It’s not your fault. You’re busy.” “I know—I just need to deal with this…” “Bruce, you look—you are tired. You’re overworked and whenever we do spend time together, you’re asleep!” “I’m trying my b—” “You’re trying your best, I know! And I don’t know what you do at night, not sure if I do want to know, but… two-three hours of sleep is not enough. You’re killing your body.” “Hm…” “And one day, you’re going to crack and I just…” “Just..?” “I’m not sure how to… put it.” “What is it?” “If you want to… and it’s entirely up to you, but…” “Jesus, spit it out—” “I— if I’m still asleep, and you want to somehow… relieve your stress..?” “Oh—” “I’m all yours.”

The second hand on the clock cycled slower, almost as if it was mocking you for being so desperate, impatient, and doubting. Yet, at the same time—if clocks could have a personality—there was a dormant kindness in the rhythm of the minute hand striking every corner of the wheel. Gentle and soothing, the lids of your eyes grew heavier with every passing second as the sound of the clock counted sheeps for you.

Forty, forty-one… fourty-two… Forty… three…

The floor creaked despite Bruce’s best efforts to remain light on his feet. You’ve always been a light sleeper, even at the sound of wind whistling you’d jolt up to, but surprisingly—nothing.

As he approached his side of the bed, his eyes settled on you like always. To Bruce, it was a sweet sigh of relief to come back home to you again. Sometimes, a miracle depending on the crimes of that night. Nightly patrols have taken a toll on him; on his body, on his mentality; but being in your presence always—no matter what—brought him back to the solitude his life was at before being laboured by vengeance.

Coldly, he sat on the edge, careful to not wake you, as he dried off the damp strands of his washed hair with a towel. Then, he chased after the tremors off his bare body with several rubs of the coarse towel, gathering water molecules into the material until he was somewhat dry. It was the typical nightly routine of Bruce Wayne, in which he was guilty of vacating you of.

Bruce witnessed—took part in—how you ended your night. A late night snack, a book, a tv show—and he’d stroke your hair to the sound of his heartbeat until you were out like a light. He’d never forget to kiss your forehead as if it was an enchantment that would guard him for the rest of the night. Naively, Bruce was apprehensive of the subtle chance of reducing his survival rate if he were to miss a night of seeing you—touching you. Even if you had the biggest argument with him, even if you were in the wrong, he’d make sure to see you one last time before escaping into the shadows, saving the city—saving you.

After dressing himself in a fresh set of briefs, the soft cushions of his bed and pillows enticed him back into sanctuary. He crawled back into bed and instinctively found his arms around your body, warm and full against the recovering bruises against his own flesh. Skipping dinner was a norm, but he felt satiated when he could hear you breathe, feel your pulse, and watch you writhe within his doting affection.

“Goodnight.” Bruce muttered as he nestled his nose into your hair, another deep inhale of your scent to ground him that you were still present in his life. And then another as his head turned towards your neck, a familiar smell that taunted him to lean closer until his nose pressed softly into the crook of your skin.

White musk.

The top note of his favourite cologne on you. It lingered delightfully in Bruce’s nostrils, and there was a reason why he always urged you to spray it on date nights. It was intoxicating.

Come to think of it, Bruce’s night routine hadn’t completely checked off all of his tasks for the night. After he would come home, it was a no-brainer to shower off the sweat, dirt, and sometimes blood, from his patrols. He would scrape his hair clean with the shampoo suds, mint and cooling on his scalp. Then he’d move onto his body. The suds would trickle down his torso, gather in his muscles, and he’d add onto the bubbles with his body wash, lathering himself from head to toe. And almost always, the slightest brush of his length would break the restraints the night had locked his sanity behind. It was always you that managed to free him. As he would squeeze himself, fondle his sack while the suds dribbled down his leg and feet, he’d think of you—miss you in ways he wouldn’t dare to ignore, ways in which he was ashamed to desert you of.

“I’m all yours.” Your proclamation echoed, ran marathons in Bruce’s mind as the white musk led him astray. The simple thought of him taking advantage of you guilted him, churned his stomach until it was bundled into thick knots, but it made his heart race.

“(M/N)?” He whispered. The bed creaked when Bruce peered over you, and he was met by silence. A few soft snores joined the ticking of the clock, but for the most part, silence.

I shouldn’t… Bruce convinced himself. It was… shameful to even think of taking advantage of you like that—in your unconscious state, in your vulnerability. You looked peaceful in your slumber and knowing how hard you worked, he wouldn’t dare to ruin it because of his own selfish desires.

He sighed, rolling flat onto his back again, hoping the uncomfortable ache in his briefs would settle down in a minute or so. When it didn’t, Bruce tended to it with a brief re-adjustment of the way his length stood. Then again as he twitched in defiance.

Again, as he throbbed.

And again, when his briefs couldn’t support his throbbing erection anymore.

Bruce turned his head to the side, scanning your unconscious state. His eyes traced the languid form of your body as it sank deep into the mattress, hugging the air to your body while he slowly pulled the blanket off of you.

The bed creaked as inch by inch, Bruce scooted closer to you, turning back to lie on his side and nearly spooning you again. His movements were sluggish, apprehensive to wake you, but at the same time, there was an adrenaline rush surging through him knowing he could be caught any second (despite your permission).

His hand felt it as it caressed your arm in singular, docile strokes. Then his breath, as he leaned closer, pressing himself against you again, and slipped a hand under your shirt. Your bare stomach rested warmly against his calloused palm, and he felt your breath hitch, your stomach tensed, every evidence of your presence, as Bruce ran a palm upwards to touch your chest once, then back down to bravely slither under the waistband of your boxers.

“Fuck…” Bruce’s breath unevened, struggling to keep a steady rhythm, when his palm gently groped a handful of your flaccid cock, a complete opposite of the shameful erection he was prodding near your bottom. You writhed once, and he quickly paused with a shudder as you suddenly turned to lie on your back, smacking the dryness in your throat away as you drove yourself into deeper slumber.

He found it unusual how you haven’t awakened by now, but the cynical part of him pleaded for you to remain asleep—until he had his way with you.

Gently, Bruce lifted your hips to pull down the remainder of your boxers off until you were bare in all of your glory before him. Your balls lay briefly in between your legs before they were back to being fondled in his warm palms. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous like this…”

Droplets of sweat formed over Bruce’s hairline as he sluggishly maneuvered himself to kneel over your unconscious state. His thighs hardened, flexed as he maintained his balance over you. He stroked his cock with his free-hand; to the gentle snores you poured out, to your slightly parted lips that he could easily spread open with his girth, and to his surprise, to the stiffness of your cock as it stirred awake from his constant fondling.

What are you dreaming about? Are you dreaming of me? Are you dreaming of being fucked by me? Bruce groaned as he witnessed the once softened features of your face stiffened into diffident lust. Your breath unknowingly quickened when Bruce began stroking your cock together with his in one grasp. Your body writhed with uncomfortable pleasure as if you wanted whatever was happening to you to stop, yet the throbbing veins of your cock begged Bruce for more—to hold you for longer, to keep doing as he pleased.

Bruce forgot what it was like to have you like this; to have you squirming beautifully beneath him, dripping in heavy pre-cum while simultaneously having your cock lathered in his own fluid. He was enticed by your every movement, squirming and writhing confined by the state of slumber as you couldn’t stop him. You couldn’t stop the uncomfortable pleasure that was happening to you because you were dreaming a dream that refrained you from resisting your boyfriend.

I know you want it. Fuck… I know you want my cum, (M/N). He paused briefly to press his forehead into yours, sweat dripping off his face and onto your body in his maneuver, and breathed languidly against your lips to find the parting in order to breathe his lewd thoughts into you. Bruce was careless, dangerously brave as he slipped a tongue inside of you to spread your mouth open further. You made a sound, but he muted it with a swallow as he ravished you like honey on a spoon. Remnants of mint lingered on his tongue, and as much as he wanted to continue tasting you, he needed to relieve himself.

He was close.

Carefully, he dragged himself over your chest and kneeled over your chest. Bruce’s cock hung heavy above your slumber, dripping in thick strings of pre-cum from the plump tip—a shameful exhibit of how much this had turned him on, how much he had been deprived of this act for so long.

Open wide. It was morbid. Bruce never thought himself of ever once doing this obscene act, but the guilt that had been the cause of his apprehension was only fleeting the moment he pushed his cock into your sleeping mouth.

“Oh, fuck…” He was careful with you. Careful enough to not stir you awake, but courageous enough to fulfill his sense of greed. Bruce pushed deeper, and deeper until he couldn’t anymore. His thick cock steadied your breathing and in favor, your saliva warmed him with complete gratitude.

Come on, I know you can take it… His eyes darkened at your inability to take his girth. As much as it sounded like a threat, it drove him delirious knowing you couldn’t. Even in your waking moments, it fueled a sense of pride when you gagged on his cock, covered him in bubbly thick spittle, and looked like an absolute mess while attempting to swallow him again.

Fuck, (M/N)... You’d pull him out when you had enough of gagging on his cock and jerk him off instead, catching your breath in the midst of it all. He never told you, but it was Bruce’s favourite part whenever you two did this together. The pure lust in your eyes, craving for a fill that you and him both know that he would deliver upon greatly. And somehow, as lewd as the act was, you both knew it was more than sex. You and Bruce were making love, fucking with a craving that you only have for each other because it was only you two that could bring this type of pleasure to one another.

“Fuck—” Bruce paced himself, biting back an adamant moan, thrusting slow yet filling into your mouth as he held onto the headboard. The scrape of your teeth made him hiss, but the pleasure of your warm mouth was so fulfilling that it overwhelmed any painful feeling you’ve prescribed him to.

I’m close, (M/N)... Fuck, let me cum on you… On your body, on your face, I want it everywhere on you.

He released his cock from your mouth and took the heavy girth into his own palm, pumping the muscle with a sudden vigor that had been motivated to see you covered in his fluids. Bruce’s eyes rolled back into his lids, panting heavy and harder because he was so close—so fucking close. He could see you sticking your tongue out for him, on your knees, playing with your cum-covered cock as you would wait patiently for his reward. You would begin begging for it—his cum, his cock, him. You’d worship his body, mouthing at his toned thighs, then his abdominal muscles, licking the sweat off the gutters to briefly satiate your appetite for Bruce.

Until you were gifted with his indulgent desire for you and only you in the form of thick and creamy white ropes. “I’m comin—” Bruce’s stomach sucked in hard, his abs contracting while his thighs vibrated with tremors, then with a guttural push, he released himself with a strong grunt. His grasp directed his thick and heavy loads towards your chest and stomach, stroking his throbbing cock through the glorious sprays. He sucked in his teeth to control the sounds that were threatening to burst out of his throat and whimpered with a shudder when it was unmanageable, continuing to empty his balls until he could smell the heavy sex and musk off your body.

Scanning you from head to toe, Bruce was breathless. Despite his delirious stint, it was impressive to see you drifting off to sleep like nothing had happened. Or rather, it was impressive that he had a certain amount of control to not completely make love to you like a wild mammal, rousing you from sleep.

Nonetheless, he powered through the overwhelming need to sleep to clean you up, even if you hadn’t mind the mess. And like always, he never forgot to end his night with a kiss, pressing a chaste yet breathless pant to your lips.

“Think your way of ‘taking care of me’ needs more time in the workshop , but we’ll talk about it later.”

nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. andif you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

#bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne x male reader #bruce wayne x you #bruce wayne fic #bruce wayne imagine #nou.fics

1K notes · View notes

reiding-writing · 10 months

Text

melatonin and oxytocin [ s.r ]

Summary:

You and Spencer pair up in an inn room that just happens to have one bed. Oh, and did you know that physical contact promotes better sleep? Well, that’s what Spencer says anyway. And he’s always right.

WARNINGS: literally none, crazy i know

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

genre: pure fluff, friends to lovers

wc: 5.1k

masterlist!!

a/n: here’s my official apology for all of the angst i put you through in erotomania 😭 i dont write pure fluff like ever so please bare with me if it’s a little stunted 😭🫶 also this is very very loosely based of off 05X21 - Exit Wounds.

The team was currently in Alaska working on a case, set up in a small inn during their stay. The issue was, they could only provide 4 rooms despite there being 8 members on the team, meaning that everyone had to double up for the night.

Spencer’s first instinct was to turn towards Morgan, but before he even had the chance to open his mouth Morgan was profusely shaking his head. “Absolutely not,”

“Wha-” Morgan held up his hand before Spencer could question his decision. “Never again. You are some kind of vampire I swear,”

Spencer furrowed his eyebrows in Morgan’s direction, met with a shrug. “This man needs his beauty sleep,”

“Dibs!” Garcia leaned over the back of the couch she was sat on so she could grasp at Morgan’s forearm. “I call dibs.”

Morgan chuckles at Garcia’s enthusiasm, leaning over to place a kiss on the crown of her head. “Alright, me and you babygirl,”

Garcia’s soft giggle is joined by a yawn from where you’re sat next to her, and you rub your eye with your knuckle as you lean your head against the back of the couch. “Can we just all choose quickly? I’m exhausted-”

The end of your sentence is cut off with another yawn, only further emphasising your point. Your words were definitely more blunt than usual, your tiredness most definitely making you more irritable.

“I uh- You can share a room with me if you want,” Spencer’s voice is timid as he speaks, and if he wasn’t stood directly behind you you’re not sure you would’ve heard it.

"Sure great, let’s go-" You drag one of the room keys off the small table in front of you as you stand, throwing your travel bag over your shoulder and walking around the couch, placing the palm of your hand flat on Spencer’s back to push him towards the stairs up to the rooms. “Goodnight.”

Your call back to the rest of the team is more of a custom than a genuine wish for them to get a good rest, and if you were more alert you’d probably hit yourself over the back of the head for being so blunt. But politeness wasn’t on your mind right now. You just wanted to sleep.

You fumble with putting the key in the door through your drowsiness, but eventually manage to push the door open to the room.

It’s about what you’d expect from somewhere small like this in the middle of nowhere.

The flooring was dark, with a small rectangular rug in a wine red colour in the centre, the walls an off-white with a slightly suspicious looking water stain in one of the corners. There was a dark-brown leather armchair leaned against the wall next to an ajar door leading to a bathroom, with a decorative pillow of the same shade of red as the rug on the floor. The arm of the chair had a noticeable rip, most probably from a child who’d got bored whilst staying there.

The room was warmly lit from the two lamps on the two side tables, the only other thing on them a basket-weaved mug coaster. The over head light was notably turned off, unable to be used at all seeing as it didn’t even have a bulb in it.

And of course, there was a single queen-sized bed in the centre of the room, it’s frame the same dark wood as the floorboards and definitely just as worn.

Although, the duvet and its pillows seemed brand new, a clean, sparkling white that stood out against the dis-colouring of the wall behind it, a throw blanket over the end and two decorative pillows on top, again matching the other decorative pieces in their dark red colouring.

You didn’t even have to look over at Spencer to know that he was definitely a little perturbed.

With a sigh your drag yourself into the room, dumping your bag on the armchair and unzipping it to pull out a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to change into.

Spencer however, remained stood in the doorway, seemingly considering whether it would be a better option for him to go out and sleep in the SUV.

His rational brain told him to just suck it up and get on with it, but he couldn’t help that subconscious voice in the back of his head that rattled on about how unhygienic hotel rooms are, especially in small rural areas like this.

Not only that, he was also battling the reality that he would inevitably have to share a bed with you, even if it was large enough to house both of you without any unintentional physical contact; He was at least grateful that it actually looked clean.

“Can I- leave the light on?” He breaks his own train of thought as he pushes the door closed with his foot, surrendering to the inevitability of spending the night in this dingy room with you.

You give him a short nod as your answer, joined by your third yawn in the span of five minutes. "God I genuinely think I could fall asleep standing up right now-"

Spencer chuckles at your yawn and nods at your words, leaving his bag on the floor as he takes a seat on the left edge of the bed, pulling out a copy of Les Fluers de Mal and flipping through it until he found the page he’d left on.

“It has been scientifically proven that it is physically impossible to fall asleep while standing, as your cerebellum would be triggered in response to the lack of stimulation which would cause a reflexive response to make you sit down.”

Of course Spencer would know something like that.

You rifle through your bag to find your toothbrush and travel toothpaste. "So what I’m hearing is I could fall asleep standing, but then i’d just end up sitting down," You zip your bag shut again once you’ve retrieved everything you need, pushing open the door to the small en suite bathroom, which thankfully, was much newer than the bedroom. "That sounds like falling asleep standing up if you ask me,"

Your voice muffles ever so slightly as you shut the door behind you.

“Yes, that is a fairly logical conclusion,” He nods slightly as he reads, not taking in the fact that you can’t see him from behind the door.

“Although I still believe it doesn’t quite count as 'falling asleep standing', as when you sit down your brain then activates its natural response to the loss of stimulation in order to put you to sleep. You see, it is impossible to enter the first stage of the sleep cycle within that split second between standing and sitting down, meaning that your body would still be awake.”

You chuckle lightly as you stick your head out of the bathroom once you’ve finished changing, toothbrush in your mouth as you dump your work clothes over the arm of the chair.

“The act of falling asleep occurs when your brain begins to transition from a state of wakefulness to a state of deep sleep. This is signalled by a spike in alpha-waves, which creates a relaxed feeling leading to…” He trails off as he watches you walk past him, figuring you’re not listening to him anymore.

"Why’d you stop?" You straighten your posture as you stop momentarily in your tracks, turning your head towards him.

“Oh, I- thought that you weren’t interested in listening to what I was saying.” His reply betrays his surprise at your engagement.

“I was simply going to add that when you are sitting and the spike in alpha waves occurs and you begin to fall asleep, your brain will automatically trigger a response that causes you to slump forward, hence causing you to sit down.”

Your body subconsciously mirrors your brain’s interpretation of what slumping over means as you walk past him again to spit out your toothpaste.

"Oh- like when you’re in a car and your head falls forwards-"

“Yes, that is a fairly similar example actually. Your brain receives the sign that you are beginning to fall asleep when your head starts to nod forward, and this causes a trigger within the brain’s automatic control system that in turn activates a response that makes you sit up straight so that you don’t fall asleep at the wheel.” As Spencer speaks, he shuts his book, leaving it on the side table as he unpacks his bag so he can also change.

“It’s actually rather surprising how the brain is capable of performing such complex tasks that we sometimes don’t even realise,” He said with an astonished gleam in his eye.

"Huh, the more you know-" You give a satisfied nod at Spencer’s little exposition, taking a seat on the right side of the bed and leaning over to turn the lamp off, allowing Spencer to leave his on as he retreats into the bathroom.

You’d never express it verbally, especially not to Spencer’s face, but you quite liked when he’d ramble about topics he was interested in and knew a lot about, it was both educational and weirdly charming.

You let out another yawn as you pulled back the duvet to lie down, extremely grateful that the mattress of the bed was just as new as the bedding itself. Looked like you might be able to get a good night’s sleep after all.

"Did you know that the human brain has over 100 billion neurons making over 100 trillion connections between them. Each second, a 100 billion electrical messages pass from one neuron to another. It is really quite fascinating." Spencer continued his tangents as he exited the bathroom, now clad in a black t-shirt and a pair of tardis pyjama pants that you found oddly endearing.

"That’s a lot of electrical signals…"

"A lot is an understatement" He chuckled, moving over to the left side of the bed and carefully laying himself down, making sure he wasn’t accidentally making any contact with you.

"It is so complex that it is believed that only a portion of our neurons actually fire each second, meaning that there is potentially trillions of more electrical messages going to unused parts of our brain." He seems to get lost in thought, staring up at the ceiling as he considers the idea further.

You hum softly with a small nod at his assessment, turning to lie on your side so you were half-facing him as he looked up at the ceiling, and you couldn’t help but find yourself tracing his jawline with your eyes as you studied how the dim lighting from the lamp besides him gave it even more definition.

Spencer turns to look at you after a few moments and notices your sleepy expression, feeling a tinge of guilt at keeping you awake since you are clearly exhausted. “I should probably shut up and let you get at least a little sleep. “ He chuckles awkwardly, “Sorry for rambling on, I kind of got carried away.”

"It’s okay… I like listening to you…" You rub one of your eyes with your knuckle as you struggle to keep them fully open, eyelids fluttering as you blink repeatedly to keep them from closing shut. You weren’t done looking at him yet.

Spencer’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink at your confession of enjoying listening to what he had to say.

He then starts to talk again, his voice quieter as he tries to accommodate it to your tiredness. “It’s not the brain’s electrical signals that dictate if you sleep or not, by the way. It is actually a neurotransmitter called melatonin.”

“Melatonin is the hormone responsible for controlling your sleep cycle, and it’s responsible for that sleepy feeling we get when we're tired.”

"Mhm…” You nod softly against the pillow, that was one fact you were definitely familiar with thanks to the joys of university, although hearing it come from Spencer’s mouth just made you want to go along with what he was saying like it was brand new to you.

“Melatonin also helps to regulate your body’s circadian rhythm, which is basically your daily schedule,” Spencer explained.

“Our bodies are naturally conditioned to go through a cycle of sleep and wakefulness. During the day your body will release cortisol and adrenaline for stress management and focus, and during the night your body will release melatonin to help you relax, making you feel sleepy.”

“Well i’m certainly feeling the effects of melatonin right now…” You try to keep up your responses to what Spencer is saying without falling asleep, but you can’t help closing your eyes as you focus on the softness of his voice.

Spencer smiles at your response and nods as he looks at you and notices your eyes are closed. “I should probably stop rambling then, since I don’t want to keep you awake for any longer…” He spoke even softer if that was possible, his eyes trailing over your forehead and down the bridge of your nose.

"I like your voice Spencer, it’s calming…" Your words are half muffled as you mumble them against your pillow. "And your facts are interesting…"

“Huh?” He asked you with a raised eyebrow, having not quite heard what you’d said.

"I like hearing you…" You simplify your words a little bit as you repeat what you’d said, a little louder this time, and you force your eyes back open again to look at him.

Spencer’s cheeks immediately turn pink at the compliment, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. He is then quiet for a moment as he tries to process what you said.

“You… like hearing my voice?” He asks, a tinge of confusion evident in his voice, to which you reply with a soft nod and a small hum of affirmation. "I hate it when people interrupt you…"

Spencer’s cheeks remain a light shade of pink as he tries to process what you said, and he stays quiet for a while, trying to think of how he could respond to your little confession.

“I… Well… thank you-” he replies, trying to stay calm whilst also hiding his flustered smile.

“No problem…”

Spencer smiles at your response, eyes studying your expression in an attempt to better understand your feelings. All that he can make out however is your hair, and your tired and half-closed eyes.

“You know, you should probably go to sleep.” He chuckles softly, “It’s quite late after all,”

“Yeah… that’s a good idea…” Your voice is quiet as you mutter out an agreement, but you can’t help from feeling a mild disappointment that your small conversation with Spencer was coming to an end.

“Did you know it takes an average of 7 minutes to fall asleep?” You murmur out the fact as a last resort, half-hoping that it will encourage Spencer to keep talking to you.

“Well, it depends on the person actually” His reply is soft and non derogatory, and his eyes remain locked on the peaceful tiredness in your expression. “On average it takes about 15 minutes of lying down in a relaxing environment to fall asleep, however for some people it might take 20 minutes or more. On the other hand, some people can fall asleep much quicker, with one study finding that it only took an individual 65 seconds to fall asleep.”

“I wish I was that person,” You shift slightly to make yourself more comfortable, pulling your right leg upwards towards your chest and incidentally brushing it against his in the process.

Spencer is lost in his emotions as he stares at you, and it takes you turning your head against the pillow for him to realise that he wasn’t fully listening to what you’d said. “Oh- Yeah, pretty lucky huh?”

His eyes avert from you after that, suddenly very intrigued by the water stain in the top corner of the wall opposite where you were laying down, trying to remind himself that it is inappropriate to stare at his colleagues like that.

But despite all the rationalisation, his heart continues to beat at an accelerated pace and he begins to feel strangely excited seeing you move around the bed. You might be tired, but he certainly wasn’t. Not anymore.

Spencer turns to look at you again as you cover your face with your arm, seemingly protecting your eyes from the light of the lamp on his side table.

He’s silent for a moment as he finds himself staring at you again, mentally punching himself for finding himself getting so lost in your facial features.

"Do you want the light off?" He asks you, keeping the tone of his voice gentle.

“No it’s okay,” Shake your head underneath your arm, “You can keep it on…”

You knew about Spencer’s phobia of the dark. The whole team did. It was pretty much a given after what he went through a few years ago with Tobias Hankel. And you wouldn’t mind sacrificing your comfort of sleeping in pitch black darkness if it meant that Spencer wouldn’t be uncomfortable or afraid.

Spencer gives a nod at your answer, and you can tell he’s relieved that you didn’t want him to turn it off. After a few seconds he speaks again.

"Can I ask you something?" He says, keeping his voice soft.

“Mhm?” You move your arm from your face to rest against your forehead so that you can look at him as he speaks.

Spencer's cheeks immediately turn a light shade of pink again as he meets your eyes. “It's… uh… Well, it's a strange question,” He replies awkwardly

“Would… you mind if I… uh….” He pauses, struggling to find the right words. “Would you mind if I put my arm around you?” He eventually manages to say, keeping his voice soft.

“Huh-?” You let you arm fall back down to your side as you process his question, eyes blinking more awake and Spencer’s cheeks only turn more red as he sees your surprised expression.

“Well… You see… I- it's a common thing that people do when sleeping… to… uh… to hold one another..” Spencer replies, still keeping his tone soft and gentle. He begins feels incredibly stupid for even bringing up this topic, hastily trying to explain himself before it has the opportunity to become awkward.

“Is it?-” Your eyes flicker around his face, your eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly as your exhaustion seems to momentarily disappear.

“Uhm… well… usually it’s for romantic reasons,” He replies, his face turning a light shade of pink yet again. “But… uh… I’ve … heard… that some people like to cuddle in a… platonic way… to help them fall asleep…” His voice threatens to waver slightly as he speaks, and he hides the lower half of his face in the bedsheets in an attempt to hide his cheeks, not wanting you to see how red he’s gone.

“Oh- Uh- Well, if you think it’ll help…” Your subconscious mind knew that Spencer was pulling those facts out of his ass, but you didn’t have the mind to care, not when he was practically openly inviting you to drape yourself all over him.

Spencer perks up when you give him the go-ahead, gently wrapping his arm around you and lightly pulling you closer to his body as he turns to look at your face. “Is this okay?”

His expression screams nervousness as he stares at you, praying that you don’t find his actions uncomfortable.

“Mhm…” Your response is short and direct as you nod, adjusting yourself to lie with your head resting under his chin, allowing your arm to drape over his torso like he’d done yours and bringing your leg up to rest over his waist.

Spencer can’t help but smile as he feels you make yourself more comfortable, sliding one of his arms underneath you and moving the other to hold the inside crease of your knee.

“Do you know that physical contact has a calming effect on people’s minds?” He keeps his voice gentle, as he always does.

You give a soft hum that gently vibrates against the skin of his neck, sending a small shudder down Spencer’s back.

He carefully adjusts the position of his head so that he can keep looking at your half-closed eyes, figuring that considering the two of you were practically intertwined like a pretzel that it would be okay for him to gaze at you again.

“You know that skin-to-skin contact promotes the release of oxytocin…. It… uh… it can help to make you feel calm and comfortable,” He says softly.

“Oxytocin…” You mumble the word under your breath as you try to remember what the hormone is, “…the love hormone..?”

Spencer’s voice turns to a whisper as he responds. “That’s correct. A lot of people refer to it as the ‘love hormone’ because it is released at high levels when people engage in romantic activities or are falling in love.”

“It is also responsible for the feeling of trust and comfort,” His hand on your leg begins to draw small circles against your skin, barely feathering over you to the point where you can hardly feel it.

“Would you believe me if I told you that we were producing this hormone right now?”

You sigh softly against his neck at the ghost of his fingers against your leg, only half listening to what he’s saying as you try to focus on the feeling, and Spencer responds with one of his own as he feels the warmth of your breath against his skin, leaving small goosebumps in it’s wake.

Spencer’s fingers slowly widen their ascent up and down the side of your leg, brushing along your thigh as his fingertips gently skim your skin.

“Comforting, isn’t it?” His voice is low and gentle as he feels just how comforting your presence is, slightly shocked by how excited he feels when being this close to you.

“Yeah…” You muster up as much of nod under his chin as you can, giving his torso a slight squeeze from where your hand is around it.

Spencer smiles at your gentle squeeze of his torso, noting how light it is as you barely manage to add any pressure at all.

“Do you know that physical touch also triggers a person’s serotonin and dopamine production?” He asks you softly.

As if to test his fact himself, he moves his thumb up and down your thigh with a little more pressure, his fingertips leaving behind a trail of almost unnoticeable goosebumps.

“Yeah… Yeah I knew that…”

Spencer smiles softly at your confirmation. “Then you know the feeling they’re giving you right now?”

You give him another small nod as he pulls you a little closer to him, stroking his fingers a little higher up your thigh. His arm underneath your side shifts to your mid back and starts to gently massage at the tense muscles formed over your last few days bent over a desk to work on the case’s profile.

The slow pressure elicits a soft groan from your lips, a pleasant release from all of the tension you’d been carrying over the last few days, slowly dissipating as his fingers worked their magic over your t-shirt.

Spencer can feel you starting to relax into his body as his fingers work against your skin, and his breath threatens to catch in his throat as your hand moves from resting around his torso to up over his shoulder, fingers curling closed against the fabric of his t-shirt.

Spencer leans his nose against the crown of your head, the trace scent of lavender entering his nose as he took a slow breath in, most likely a trace from when you’d last washed your hair.

By this point, the two of you were very aware that the position you were in was anything but platonic, his hand tracing patterns into your thigh, your head pressed into the crook of his neck, and your hand slowly tracing over the curve of his shoulder to take it’s place cupping his cheek, your thumb pressed against the front of his ear with the rest of your fingers splayed in the soft curls gracing the side of his head.

“I’ve run out of facts…” Spencer laughs nervously at his confession, breaking the small silence between you.

“you’ve run out of facts…?” You force your eyes to blink open again as you repeat his statement as a question, pulling your head out of it’s position under his chin to look up at him curiously as you arbitrarily trace your thumb over his jaw. It wasn’t at all like Spencer to just not have anything to say.

Spencer’s face turns a dark shade of red when he hears your question, made much worse at the feeling of your thumb on his jaw, the feeling sends a shiver down his spine. “I- Yeah….” He says quietly.

Suddenly a thought passes through his brain.

“I… actually…. I do have one more fact…” his voice turns to a whisper as he speaks, a tinge of nervousness still lingering in his tone.

“Hmm?” Your expression brightens a little, and he catches the small glisten in your eyes as the dim light from the lamp reflects off of your irises.

There’s a short pause.

Spencer then clears his throat before speaking.

“...Do you know that right now... at this very moment... I want to kiss you…?”

He remains facing away, his hands trembling ever so slightly against your skin as he mutters out his confession, trailing off at the end to the point where if you were any further away from him you wouldn’t have heard it.

“...Is that okay…?” His voice was barely a whisper, scared that if he were to speak too loudly he’d scare you off and you’d never want to speak to him again.

“You want to… kiss me..?” His confession spurred you further awake, no longer struggling to keep your eyes open as you scanned his expression, your hand halting its movement against his jaw.

The sight of you gazing up at him makes his heart skip a beat and causes butterflies to flutter in his stomach. Spencer then looks down at the space between your noses, and speaks nervously.

“…I- Yes, I want… to kiss you…” His eyes quickly dart over to your lips and back again as he waits for any signal of acknowledgement or refusal.

“Will it help us fall asleep?” The question leaves your mouth instinctively as a way to try an alleviate the mild awkwardness between the two of you, and you internally berate yourself for not taking the situation seriously.

Spencer laughs a small, nervous laugh when you ask if it would help you both fall asleep, moving his hands back over to your thigh and gently brushing his fingertips against it.

Spencer then looks down at your lips again as he speaks. “No, I don’t think so…” He says, his tone once again turning to a whisper. “…if anything it might actually wake us both up further…”

“Just say it will so I can kiss you-“ Spencer remains silent for a moment, face frozen in shock. He then lets out a nervous sigh as he looks down at your lips again.

“…It- Yeah- Yeah it’ll help us fall asleep…” he whispers, his voice barely audible, and he gives you a nod that’s a little too eager.

“Then there’s no harm in trying right?” Your hand cups the side of his face, gently encouraging it down towards yours so you can finally place a kiss on those perfect pink lips of his.

“Yeah…” He slowly leans forward towards you, taking in your faint scent, the warmth coming from your breath, the softness and moisture of your lips.

Spencer’s lips slowly press against yours, just barely ghosting them with the tiniest bit of pressure. He then slowly pulls back, his eyes darting all over your face before again settling on the stain in the corner of the wall. It was just so interesting.

You take his chin in your hand gently to turn his face back towards your own, your thumb gently tracing the line under his bottom lip as your eyes scan his cheeks, pouring over the extremely faint spotted freckles over his cheeks. You’d never noticed them before. But then again you’d never been close enough to.

“I’m not quite sure it worked… Maybe we should try again…” You watch as Spencer’s face erupts into a beautiful pink flush, a soft breath resembling a laugh leaving his mouth. “Yeah, we can try again-”

Spencer nods as he speaks cutting his own sentence short as he leans down to kiss you again, adding a little more pressure this time as he seemingly grows in confidence. The kiss remains chaste and short, and as he pulls away for the second time his eyes remain fixed on you, smiling alongside his mouth.

“Is it working now?” He laughs softly as he speaks, eyelashes gently fluttering as he places a kiss on the bridge of your nose, his fingers slowly sliding into your hair at your temples.

“I’m not sure yet…” You respond with a kiss of your own placed against the curve of his chin. “Maybe we should keep going…” You place another kiss right in the corner of his mouth, and Spencer sighs softly as it misses his lips by a hair. “For research purposes…”

He smiles lightly when you mention it being for ‘research’, and his voice grows even quieter as he speaks.

“Yeah… research purposes…”

#criminal minds #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #mgg #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff

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rogueddie · 2 years

Text

"You have glasses!"

Steve looks up, in time to see Eddie skipping out of his room. "Why were you in my room?"

"Being nosey. More importantly!" He holds Steves glasses up, almost victoriously. "You wear glasses!"

"No, I don't. I wear contacts."

"You wear- how did I not know this?" Eddie flops down next to him, waving the glasses in his face. "Put 'em on, will ya?"

"No?"

"Please?"

"I'm not putting them on. I wear contacts, I don't need glasses."

He takes them off Eddie, putting them on the side table and, thankfully, Eddie doesn't bring them up again for the rest of the night. And, optimistically, Steve thinks that maybe that means that he's fully dropped it.

Only the next time Eddie comes over, he finds the glasses again, like a sniffer dog. He's doesn't badger Steve to put them on, just puts them on a nearby table. When Steve tries to scold him, he gives his best wide, sad doe-eyes.

"I'm never going to put them on," Steve says.

"Never?"

"Never."

Eddie sighs, flopping down on so he's laying on the sofa, putting the back of his hand to his forehead. "I can't believe you would betray me like this! You have wounded me! It stings, Stevie, deep in my soul!"

Again, the next time, Eddie puts the glasses on a nearby table. He never says anything and, if Steve doesn't address them, then Eddie seems content to pretend they're not there as well.

Even when Steve does address them, Eddie is- as always- very good at matching the mood. He's usually teasing. Though the one time Steve had been genuinely annoyed, Eddie apologized. He said that, if he really wanted him to, he'd stop putting them out. And the next time he hadn't... so Steve teased him. Which started their little routine up again as though nothing had happened.

It makes Steve curious enough to try them on. He hadn't put them on since he'd tried the frames on, before the lenses with his prescription had been put in them.

They're not horrible. But he still hates how they look.

"Why don't you like your glasses?" Eddie finally asked one day, once their usual teasing had died down.

"I just don't." Steve shrugs. "I don't know. They look a little ugly."

"Hm." Eddie frowns. "What's your prescription?"

"Uh, I wrote it on a note inside the case, I think... yeah, here."

Eddie accepts the little paper, but doesn't hand it back. Steve doesn't notice.

A month later, Eddie knocks on his door.

"Eds," Steve greets, surprised. "I thought we were meeting at the Byers house?"

"We are," Eddie holds out a little present. "I wanted to give you these early."

Steve tuts, but accepts the present, stepping back so Eddie can step inside. He doesn't start opening it until they sit down in the living room.

"Wh- Eddie," Steve whines, holding the glasses case like they're a dead animal he doesn't want to touch. "Dude, no, come on."

"Just... look first. Please?"

He rolls his eyes, but opens the case anyway. He's surprised by the frames Eddie's chosen. They're not the kind Steve would have picked out for himself.

"Try them on? I won't look!" Eddie even throws his hands over his eyes.

"Fine. Stay here."

Steve is surprised by how much he does like them, once he puts them on. He only hesitates for a moment before taking his contacts out, so he can wear the glasses instead.

"Thank you," Steve says as soon as he steps back into the living room.

Eddie stares at him for a long moment. "Oh."

"Oh?"

"You look really pretty."

"Oh, ha, yeah, uh," Steve says, stuttering, flushing bright red. "Thanks. Um."

"Seriously. Fucking... jesus. Sorry, it's... you look good." Eddie shakes his head. "Merry fucking Christmas to me."

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #steddie fic #ficlet #idk man #I had a good idea and then it kinda fell apart and now there's just this #:(#christma22k

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its-your-mind · 9 months

Text

ORV as textposts 37/???

[Photo ID - ten images from the ORV manhwa with Tumblr posts or tweets pasted upon them. The first image has Yoo Joonghyuk and Kim Dokja fighting facing opposite directions with Yoo Joonghyuk facing the viewer. Yoo Joonghyuk has veins drawn on his face as he loudly yells. A post by Tumblr user gay arsonist is pasted on his speech bubble. It reads, "fuck you (confession of love)". Kim Dokja has three rounded lines drawn from his head and his unedited speech bubble reads, "Oh..

The second image is a zoomed-out side portrait of Kim Dokja as he glances up toward dots of light. The text post is by Tumblr user petrichorsuggestions and reads, "so full of love i could explode with it"

The third image are panels of Kim Dokja and Yoo Joongdok side-by-side. Kim Dokja is in the left panel and glancing toward Yoo Joongdok in the right panel. Yoo Joongdok is staring right and away from Kim Dokja. The first text post is an anonymous Tumblr ask at the top of the image that reads, "you are not nearly funny or attractive enough for this" The response by Tumblr user weirdwerewolf is near the bottom of the image and reads, "are we about to kiss?"

The fourth image shows Yoo Joongdok staring at the top right of the image with bags under his eyes. The text post is by Tumblr user ufocorpse and reads, "'are you a boy or a girl?" I am the physical embodiment of suffering"

The fifth image shows Han Sooyoung between Kim Dokja and Yoo Joonghyuk. She is pointing to Yoo Joonghyuk, who is standing to the viewer's right with his hands in his pocket and noticeably angry.

Han Sooyoung is glancing to the viewer's left at Kim Dokja. She has a speech bubble above her that reads, "Have you two decided to wear matching outfits?" Kim Dokja is wearing a white coat and is angrily walking toward Yoo Joonghyuk, who is wearing all-black. The text post is by Twitter user @/ chaiconsumer and reads, "Few understand the importance of having a sick ass jacket that everyone recognizes you by"

The sixth image shows Kim Dokja and and Yoo Joonghyk staring at a shining golden egg with golden leaves. Kim Dokja is closest to the egg with Yoo Joonghyuk behind him and to the viewer's left. The text post is by Tumblr user siflshonen and reads, “'I could fix him"; "I could make him worse!" Why??????? Why all this DIY???? I just wanna stand over his shoulder and see what he can possibly fuck up next"

The seventh image shows Kim Dokja with a black shadow over his eyes and a star symbol next to him while he smirks. He is wearing a wet white shirt that's been torn and damaged. A river and cityscape is behind him. The text post are Tumblr tags that read, "#i bet you thought im dead just because i fell eight stories onto my car #but you forgot: i got demons livin' in me!"

The eighth image shows Yoo Joonghyuk fighting against magic circles with lightning around them. The text post is by Twitter user @/botanise and has been edited to read, "God will see me and say put that beast in a situation"

The ninth image shows Lee Gilyoung happily holding and talking to a praying mantis-like creature around the size of a cat. The text post is by Tumblr user gayarsonist and reads, “I love megafauna because its just like what if an animal was really big wouldn't that rule. and it does."

The final image shows Kim Dokja laying face-first on the ground with a deep wound on his lower back and blood around him. The text post is by Tumblr user Donald Trum (Deseaced) (trem... @/timheidecker and reads, ' have died. Badly." /End ID]

ID by @incorrect-web-novels tysm!!!

#orv #omniscient reader's viewpoint #omniscient reader webtoon #orv shitpost #orv textposts #kim dokja #lee gilyoung #yoo joonghyuk #dokhyuk #yoohankim

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avatarkv · 2 years

Text

I ! Feels like we had matching wounds, but mine's still black and bruised (and yours is perfectly fine now.)

✎ Synopsis ! You've been thrusted to carry the burden of the eldest after his passing.

Content & warning: Jake sully x Daughter!Reader, Sully kids x Sister!Reader Neytiri x Daughter!Reader. Mentions of death and violence! Purely angst, at least for this chapter. Neteyam dies in the forest (the scene were quaritch first holds everyone hostage) I will not be following his storyline, because that's for you to take 🫵🫵🫵 buckle up.

Song: The Exit, Conan Gray.

You stay with the ikrans.

Neteyam stepped forward without hesitation, stomach in knots with anxiety. “Father, I’m a warrior. I’m supposed to fight.”

“I need you here,” he cut through his attempt to follow, nostrils flaring and jaw locked. There was no room for negotiation with the authority that laced his tone. “I need you to listen when I say you stay here.” he jabbed his finger on his chest, sealing him stiffly on the spot. The seconds seemed to hang in the air like lead weights, and any moment lost was an opportunity for danger to strike– he could only thin his lips and sharply nod.

“I mean it, Neteyam.”

Such a simple ask of his father could have spared him from the rage of war, but how could you not expect the eldest to fight when his very siblings were in danger? Jake should have known better than to trust the empty ‘yes sir’ off his son’s lips– a warrior born out of his own teachings. You couldn’t blame him for following suit the second his parents were out of sight and into the wild.

How did it get to this? Jake’s thoughts would drift every painful step he took further. He knew it was in Lo’ak’s nature to be so reckless, hell, he took after his father himself– but before him, Kiri, or Tuk, it was just you and Neteyam.

He remembered feeling ecstasy tremble down his whole body when he first cradled Neteyam. The moment the olo’eyktan had presented him to the clan, carrying him for everyone to see, he couldn’t see his son himself with the unshed tears blurring his vision. A part of him was relieved that he took after his mother, thinking it would have been a handful dealing with another Jake– but perhaps it was just a ploy; a first born’s excellence that they soon yearned for another.

Then you came, another splitting image of Neytiri. The people often mistook you and Neteyam for twins and she’d reveled in the praises you both would get. You were her first daughter— right from the ear-splitting cries you let out the moment you were out of your mother’s womb to the battle cries you had worked on earlier in years, mimicked from Neytiri herself, she always swelled in pride. Unlike the eldest’s reserved composure, you were the opposite; curious and buoyant, yet still as shy and collected.

It was different with Jake; he was new to this— absolutely clueless and terrified. After you came, the jolt wasn’t similar to Neteyam’s; you were also his first babygirl. He wondered if he held you correctly, if the natural strictness he had with his son was fitting for you– oh Eywa, he definitely had to relearn weaving with Neytiri. The profound hesitation when it came to you was nerve-wracking, but the way your little hand would make its way around your father’s finger every time would ease the tight crease between his eyebrows, almost like you knew his very troubles.

You were the kindest, most sweetest child– a daddy’s girl, much to Neytiri’s complaints.

“Neteyam, scooch!” You yelled in a whisper, trying to desperately hide yourself in thick leaves and bushes. He couldn’t stifle his little giggles either, hearts pumping wildly in anticipation of your father. “Once he comes, remember to run left, alright?”

He nodded sharply. His face coated in mud in the guise of war paint that you drew yourself. Yours were drawn lousily, the strokes shaky and a mess.

Fee-fi-fo-fum, he chanted thickly, growing deeper and louder every stomp! The children could see him between the gaps— hands clawed and raised, stance menacing. You can run but you can’t hide!

Both of you shrunk in suspense, eager to best your father in playtime.

Then it was silent. Too silent. Your ears lifted curiously, eyes scanning the area only to be greeted by your father parting the leaves and surprising you both. You squealed a run and bolted to the right. Not even a second later, you heard the own panting of your twin beside you. You stared at him incredulously, legs faltering a bit, “Neteyam, I told you to go left!”

“This is left!”

“No, I’m right—! This is right, you skxawng!”

Amidst your silly bickering, Jake cunningly captured Neteyam, grabbing him from the armpits and hoisting him up high into the air. You could hear your brother’s laughter growing louder as Jake blew raspberries on his stomach, pretend-eating him with loud munches– his toothless bites making the younger’s giddiness double in size. You shrieked and sprinted faster, making a beeline to a different direction. This monster’s more unmerciful than you thought! With a determined look, you stopped behind a tree. I have to save Neteyam!

“One down and another to go!” You heard your father roar again, your brother giggling as he trailed along his heavy steps.

You threw a rock as hard as you can, shifting Jake’s attention to the noise, and before he knew it, you came running towards him, thick long vine in your hands as you lousily tied it around your father’s ankles. Neteyam shouts in victory, trying to tighten the bind. Jake could only stifle a laugh at the scene, trying not to soil the satisfaction that was evident in your smug smile. He dropped to the floor, “Oh no! You got me!”

“Toruk Makto my ass!” You got on top of him, slapping his chest down with your little hands. Jake shouts a ‘hey’ at your language, which you only sheepishly giggled in return. Neteyam parrots from behind, still holding onto his legs.

“We’re Toruk Makto now!”

The memory would have easily put a smile on his face– ease his heart even a little bit, but the severity of the situation pulled him back and immediately, he was back in marine-mode, hands gripping onto the gun tightly. The moment they saw distress among the group with the green gas enveloping where his children were, they made a move.

The dreamwalkers felt a searing burn in their nostrils as the dense gas engulfed the area, the pain shooting up their visions. Your captor had a vice-like grip on you, dragging your body with him as you watched the others scramble in distress. He tugged painfully on your hair, forcing you to hiss and jab your nails into any exposed skin you could claw on. A headache throbbed at the back of your skull like an incessant drumbeat; you needed to think fast. With a sprained ankle, you knew you couldn’t get far.

Before you could even muster enough breath to scream for help, an arrow hit the avatar straight in the nape and dropped to the ground dead. You limped backwards, seeking an escape route, when suddenly someone grabbed your shoulders and pushed you against the rough tree bark. You body trembled, hitting whoever it was on their chest in an attempt to break free. But all efforts were futile as they held onto you tightly, shaking you vigorously.

“Sis, it’s me– you’re safe,” His hands traveled around your body to check for any serious wounds. The sound of his voice brought a sense of relief over you; your brother's caring demeanor enough to make you feel at ease and secure. Your face softens, “Are you hurt anywhere?” Neteyam anxiously asked, trying to get a hold of you.

“Ankle,” You exhaled, feeling the sharp pain shoot up again, “I sprained my ankle.”

He looked around, making out a path to safety. When he manages to form a plan inside his mind, he carries you like a princess, arms securely around your waist and under your legs. Neteyam ran face-first into the battlefield, making sharp turns whenever necessary to evade any incoming bullets. With no bows or means of retaliation, you were both defenseless. You could only grab tighter as your heart hammered tightly on your throat.

“Na’vi!” Neteyam stops dead in his tracks, an expression akin to a deer caught in headlights.

“Please, we just want to go home” Neteyam begged, his voice barely higher than a whisper. The light of the eclipse illuminated his features, and he instinctively pulled you closer to him as he took a few steps back. You could feel his exhaustion both physically and emotionally; a weariness that seemed so out of place on such a young soul. Everywhere around you was utter stillness- you couldn’t breathe, the tension in the air heavy and stifling.

“I’m sorry,” And before your brother could grab the dagger tucked to his loincloth, the avatar fired her gun towards you both as Neteyam thrashed in panic, throwing your beaten body to the side as he rolled off somewhere. The dreamwalker quickly towers over you and you could only close your eyes shut, waiting for cruel death. In a blink of an eye, her body drops dead and Lo’ak immediately rushes to your aid.

Only then did you feel the searing pain in your leg, the sensation of a bullet wound as hot blood slowly oozed out. It was nauseating, the smell of iron and the redness of it. Your eyes widened in realization as you clung to your younger brother, “Neteyam! Did you find Neteyam?”

Lo'ak hurriedly hoisted you up and with sheer adrenaline, you limped to the other side, searching for your brother. Your eyes darted to his body, stiffly lying on the grass and breathing shallowly. You couldn't bear to look at the blood that stained his abdomen; it was a sight you wish to never see, ever.

“Oh, Neteyam,” You shakily put pressure on the bullet wound, only for him to violently grab both of your wrists and desperately claw at it. You could only scream aloud as the blood spilled out more and more as he writhed and struggled. “I know, I know, I know, I know– please, please just stay still.” Your words came out as a disgusting croaking slur, tears unable to keep themselves at bay.

“__, I don’t want to die yet.” He cried out as you tried to keep your hold firm, “Father—father had asked me to stay, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t stay there and wait. I.. I don’t want to see his face when he realizes I didn’t listen-- that I failed him again. __ save me, please.”

He said hurriedly, breathing heavily every word. Save Neteyam, save Neteyam.

His jaw clenched violently, spit bubbling the corners of his mouth as he grabbed onto you tightly. The noises he let out had tugged on your every heart string, snapping it over and over. He struggled in your arms, pupils blown wide and teary. “Please great mother, not my brother, not like this– Lo’ak help me!” Your head sharply turned to his unmoving figure, eyes darted to you and Neteyam. You cradled him close, not minding the crimson cot coating your own body.

You were unable to think and you had your own wounds that needed to be tended to, but you couldn’t be bothered to put him down– to accept his already fleeting breath would soon be none. You kissed his temple, rocking his body. “I’m here, I’m here Neteyam.”

“I don’t want to die,” his eyes averted to the incoming figure behind you and he drew a harsher inhale. your father had pushed you aside to aid Neteyam, immediately checking for an exit wound. He was met with a loud cry, squirming uncontrollably from Jake’s sharp movements. When he saw blood gushing out the same on the back, his shoulders slumped in defeat as he let out a sob.

Jake put pressure on it nonetheless. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

“Sir, I’m sorry,” His words slurred together desperately, reducing to nothing but whimpers. Your lungs deny you of any more air as you watched him struggle— even in the brink of death, he had the need to apologize. Apologize for things that wasn’t even his fault, for things that was beyond his control. You kneeled just behind your father, gaze moving between Neteyam’s body and your bloodied palms. “I’m s-sorry, please don’t be mad.”

How he addressed Jake had only weakened his already beaten heart. “Save your breath, son, please.”

Everything seems to remain still for a minute, then came the shriek of your mother. You stayed there, almost lifeless yourself. You didn’t wanna see; didn’t wanna see how Neteyam’s body is limp under your father’s hold— how his eyes falls crestfallen and void of any emotion. Your siblings watch as Neytiri litters her first born with kisses, how she embraces every skin she can touch closer to her. “Not my son, eywa please.”

Eywa had granted him rest in its worst kind.

–

When he died, the same bullets went through you and it remained situated there, gnawing your insides and pounding it to mush, eating everything it can and rotting your entirety to an ugly void of a shell. It was getting heavier; his body soundly resting above the delicately woven cloth, carried by his mourning family. You could feel your feet sinking down the very soil you stepped on and you visibly faltered every move.

His cold hand gripping tightly around your wrist, his blood drawn between the lines of your palms— your soul was left to relive that night in a loop, scream bellowing until nothing was let out but breathy weeps of what was left of you.

It was bound to happen; death loomed and you dare played with it nonetheless. You should have known better than to let Lo'ak wander, let alone join him.

You stopped walking, changing everyone's solemn looks to a confused one. “Father, I can’t do it.” You whispered.

He remained tight-lipped, staring at you solidly that you could hardly decipher his expression. Jake was never one for emotions; it was as if he was programmed to tuck everything that made him feel under a gun's trigger– it was the soldier in him, finding it easier to be calm with a weapon nearby, but right now he was absolutely defenseless; stripped bare and vulnerable and he hated every moment of it; resented the fact that he failed protecting everyone, not just as clan leader, but as a father too. The latter weighed more than anything else. It dulled him to dysfunction and he could barely breathe– could barely recognize his daughter in front of him.

You took his stare differently, a cold-shoulder. Before Neytiri could approach your figure, you ran; away from the voices and guilt, away from him. Neteyam’s blood burns brightly on your very hands and you’ve swallowed down the blame, forever residing within you.

You buried something so alive and you feared it would never let you rest.

☆ mauve here! i now introduce a new series of mine that i am so excited to work on. (i know i said i'd be inactive, but i couldn't help but finish this one draft) neteyam's dying scene is heavily inspired by the game, the last of us! this feels rushed, but i needed an opening to start the series so rest assured, there would be lengthier pieces after. criticisms are welcome. feel free to point out any mistakes. mauve out >:]

Tags: @aonungsmate ♡

#mauve writes ☆#the exit #jake sully x daughter!reader #neytiri x daughter!reader #neteyam x sister!reader #lo'ak x sister!reader #kiri x sister!reader #tuk x sister!reader #family angst #angst #avatar #avatar the way of water

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christinebloodwrittings · 5 months

Text

To hunt or be hunted #11

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader x Lucifer Summary: Drinks with Alastor turned the heat up! Warnings: Gore, blood, Smut.

Thank you so much to the amazing @hazelfoureyes she's the author of the smut here! She was an amazing help for this, so go to her profile and give her lots of love!! Her masterlist

Hazbin Taglist: @sakuraluna2468 @boogiemansbitch @mysterypotatoink @sibsteria @cherry-cola-100 @readergirlstuff @phoenixica24 @martinys-world @alientee @jellyroom2 @jewelsrules @ladyzaunis @zealousllamawolf @kittycat246 @shamblezzz @looking1016

“Alastor, it’s me” An Alastor with a seemingly white tie ensemble only with red and black colors, opened the door to his studio. Red evening tailcoat, It’s not closed entirely, double breasted black dress shirt, high pants held up by suspenders, winged collar and butterfly bow tie, he looked amazing. That was, at your time, the highest and most formal wear for men.

“Y/n dearest, I thought you had forgotten of me” he offered his hand to you, pretending to be hurt, “Never, sorry for the delay, the comedian that arrived a while ago was a blast, made me laugh to tears” as you walked up the stairs he eyed the dress you wore, feeling disgust as he knew who had tailored for you.

With a click of his fingers, his green magic made a flash on your body, flapper’s dress red and black materialized. It had tons of black beads and shiny flowers. Your hands were covered by laced long gloves. Golden medium high heels that matched the golden headband.

“Hey, this is lovely” he smiled proud of his work, “Figured it was better than the ensemble you were wearing” You didn't ignore his bitter tone, but you didn't want to rub it in, instead you rolled your eyes and smiled as he prompt you to sit on a chair near his radio panel.

“I have a surprise for you” he pulled up an album, in between the pages were pieces of newspapers all about the Axe-man of Louisiana, “How did you brought this down here?” he put in your hands, allowing you to pass on the pages. “I have my ways” he was proud, even more so when you started showing signs of homesickness.

“I don’t regret a single one of this encounters, except the crazy as fuck letter that I wrote” which was in one of the pages, a subtle 'oh' from you made Alastor laugh, "Do you know that I read that letter on the radio? I don't know how I didn't laugh while I was doing so, but as soon as it was off the air I couldn't stop” you hit him on the shoulder playfully.

“That was my last murder, I wasn’t in my right mind, the cut was sloppy and I didn’t even reached the brain, it was a mess” he was invested in the story, you could tell by the way his smile looked more relaxed.

“The wife saw me but didn’t said anything, instead she wanted me to confirm that he was dead, as soon as I did she thanked me” part of you was pissed she didn’t felt fear, the other was at peace with that, “It made me sick to see her wounds, but I guess it didn't make sense to think that a bad man could be a good husband” your eye roll and sarcasm put an amused grin on his face.

“I’m not a good man, but I know I can be a good husband” he took your hand, knowing your point but still making his own on top, “Because you don’t abuse little girls Alastor, that’s the line between a bad man and a monster” and he was proud his mom taught him better, “You eliminated all those vermin, how you’re not in heaven?” in his mind no one so well thought as yourself should be in hell just for taking out a contaminator, “Because a life is a life I guess, not matter how worthless” not enough, he needed to make the puzzle you were less of a mystery.

“How did you died?” to him it didn’t made sense, your appearance, “The Axe-man did it” but he wasn’t satisfied, he needed to take the bodies from the closet, “Is this your real face?” taking a better posture on the chair you sternly made him explain, “What do you mean?”.

“You used a mask when you got here, even in life you were famous because you were never identified” he was truly informed, a fan of your ways , “What was my modus operandi?” you asked, eyeing a photograph of the bayou in between the pages, “Axe through the head” he answered, “Face” you corrected him.

“I did the same with me, what I came to know later was that there was a fire caused by a misplaced candle, took years of deep care to my body to be this soft, but I had no face” that information was new, “I don’t care how much I like you Alastor, but if you try to say this to anyone else my coming back victim will be the radio demon” to be fair, that thought turned him on, just the feeling of your fangs on him again was enough to rile him up.

“Charlie gave me a face, this one-” he placed his hand on your cheek, appreciating the feeling, “For your information, dying by your hand, would be my upmost pleasure” a crack of his chair was heard before he placed a gentle kiss on your temple.

“What made you do a contract with her?” he had thought that question for a while, Charlie didn’t exactly gave him an answer when he approached her, “What will you give me in exchange?” he swayed his hand in the air, the wall turning onto itself.

“The pleasure of seeing me kill him” sat in a chair was your ex-husband, almost unrecognizable in all the bruises and cuts everywhere.

You were speechless, he did that for you? Alastor turned the man that hurt you in his own punching bag, just for you. “I was angry, she wanted to help, I wanted her to die” you admitted, watching closely all the wounds on his body, “The princess will die at the end of this?!” he rose from his chair, green hue surrounding him.

With a smirk you out yourself at his level, “You sound a tad too preoccupied for someone that made her sign a blank contract” his ears pinned down his head, “I have my reasons” he added, bitterly so, “Too bad she can’t help you with that leash” your fingers grabbed the invisible pull around his neck making him growl, “You’re despicable” he spit, his eyes turning colors, black and red dials, “And you a manipulative narcissist, hungry for power, cannibalistic fool” a growl of your own made him shiver in place instinctively.

Pulling on your hair he took your lips on a kiss, your hands flying to his neck, hugging his shoulders yearning for his touch. His tongue pushed his way into your mouth, an audible yelp got swallowed from your mouth my his.

“You two are crazy” your ex cried from his seat, calling yours and his attention. “My darling, this is one of your birthday gifts” he pointed to all the black ties around his body and the chair, “Car cables, how many watts?” his hands circled your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder, wickedly smiling when he uttered “39.9” with a purr, “That’s twice the electric chair, your idea of foreplay is splendid” you kissed his cheek earning a sigh from him.

Your eyes darted towards your ex, “The mobster’s wife drowned our daughter in the river, just so you know” while he started crying his guilt out you walked up to the switch, “Start recording, I want all of hell to hear him later” he pushed a button on his panel “Of course mon cœur”.

As soon as you flipped the switch, the radio electricity that Alastor provided overloaded your ex-husband's body and made it blow into a thousand pieces, staining your dress and some of the walls. “The dress is ruined” you shook some of the blood off, before you were pulled to Alastor’s lap, “You’re a tease” you smiled, “And a manipulative narcissist” he used your own words against you, but with a laugh.

“She can’t help?” he referred to Charlie and his deal with her, “The only one that can has a short sense of humor towards you” you booped his nose, “You’re hilarious” his eye roll made you laugh, “And you…prideful-ah!” he bit you on the neck, “But you like me either way” he knew you liked him at least a little bit, “Guilty as charged” however, he knew he wasn’t the only one.

“But you like him as well” he made your heart beat painfully in your chest, “I went from nothing to have two sources of affection, I became an addict” he pressed his cheek to yours, “I…mmh” he bit his tongue, “I don’t know what I can do, whatever I choose will hurt me, and one of you” he pulled you closer while you spoke, your knees straddling his hips.

“How about both?” he thought out loud, “I didn’t take you for a sharer” ‘If that can overrule the deal, make you stay and arrange it so we won’t lose you, then’ he thought, “I can swallow my pride that far” then his confession seemed so surreal, “Is that my second gift?” he smiled trying to mask his embarrassment.

“I hope it can suffice” he whispered, his hand petting your hair, “I don’t want to seem greedy” could you really date both? “Oh you are, darling, but I bet the king and I adore you either way” head pressed against his chest, felt right, just as much as having Lucifer curl up with you at night.

“Thank you” he hummed in response, “That won’t do” you thought it for a second, “Want me to take the lead?” maybe he wanted a reward for being so good to you, “I already gave you my answer a while ago” ‘Devour me’ you remembered his words, while adjusting yourself on his lap, you could feel his erection, “All this for little old me? How flattering” the clothed friction electrified his senses.

“You know what I found out?” Your breath ghosted along his neck, little bite marks already reddening as your hands found their way to his pants. “You love being in control, but even more so…” you bit gently on his neck, “When I control you” he let a shaky breath escape his throat, making it looked like he had been holding it for a minute now.

“Hands behind your back” you took off his belt, twisting it around his wrists, tightly but not so much, “I want to thank you for the amount of trust you give me” Zipper down, you grabbed either side with your hands and pulled them down with a swift yank.

“I’ll tear you apart if you…-” tell anyone? No, you were going to have him all to yourself, “Tempting, but I would never” you stopped your movements when you caught a magnetic scent, “Is this a new cologne?” he hummed a yes, “You like it?” you nodded excitedly, “Yes, and though the white tie dressing is sexy, is horribly tedious to undo” the red and black suit was too gorgeous to ruin, but he had that in mind.

“Claw your way through it” he furrowed his brow, “I don’t want to ruin it” the fabric was far too exquisite, “You’ll make me beg for it?” his words made your tail slightly wag, “How far can you swallow your pride?” he laughed in response, “Chérie, please claw your way through it” It was the show of strength that took him by surprise, not that it wasn’t adding to the strain of his cock against his underwear. You ripped the pant legs off in tandem, slowing down as you brought your hand to the curved bulge now open for you to enjoy. Finally, a moment to pause.

His hands wouldn’t be stopping you now, but the way his was cutting into his lip as he bit down in anticipation made it clear you were not unwanted.

A slow drag down his clothed erection, small wet spot forming at the head. “Now this, this is all for me. No denying that, no questioning.” His hips bucked up instinctively, chasing your finger for more friction. A little giggle from you, realizing how much fun you were about to have.

Leaning down between his legs, you let your nose slid up his length. Hot breath ghosting over his head, that wet spot growing as he twitched.

“Y/N…,” he growled, “Enough.”

You shook your head and hooked your fingers under his waistband and peeling them off. A hiss as the air hit his precum slicked cockhead. Heavy and hot, you took him in your hands. No stroking, no squeezing. Your eyes looked into his, attempting to look as innocent and confused as you could to counter the small rage overwhelmed by arousal.

“Should I stop then?” A squeeze at his base. Another raise of his hips.

His head drooped down, a nearly imperceivable shake of his head. “Good boy” Your hand rose up slowly, then back down. Each stroke you rose further and further until your hand was rolling over his head with every pass. Clear and sticky, his precum slowly made a lovely wet sound fill the space between you two. As his breath began to hitch, shoulders tightening and drawing in you, you stilled your hand. A whimper was your reward.

Letting a beat come, feeling that pulse slowdown in the heat in your hands, you only then began again. Taking pleasure in biting at his inner thighs when you noticed his body tensing up with the next attempt to cum, the pain breaking him just enough to let you regain the control.

You brought him closer and closer each time, managing a third before you finally gave in and let him meet his climax and paint your knuckles and his station floor. “Sloppy” you mocked, letting your finger rub at his slit. Alastor’s knees drew up, hands tugging at his restraints.

“It’s too sensitive. Up”

“Why are you still so hard then?” Your hand twisted over his head and shaft. His legs were hitting at your ribs, body trying to escape your hand but with nowhere to go.

“You’re pushing your luck, chérie”

You liked pushing your luck. Watching him hiss and convulse was bringing out the sadist in you. With a second to consider it, you nodded to yourself and swiped your tongue up the bottom of his cock. Salty, bitter, hot. Focused, your tongue edged along the neck of his glans.

As he squirmed, he realized you hadn’t been made to squirm yet… nor last time. Motivation found; his smirk finally returned in full.

The sound of the leather ripping as his arms pulled them apart reached your ears too late. You knew he could have gotten free at any time but you hadn’t expected him to actually do it. You knew despite his act; he enjoyed letting you be the one pulling his reins.

A hand in your hair pulled you off his lap, another took hold of your waist. The wind was knocked out of you as he tossed you to the floor between the chair and his table.

Alastor had had enough. You had your fun, you teased, you took control of the dynamic. He warned you, and now he would reclaim the power.

“Allow me to return the favor. I have a debt to you, after all.”

You hissed a warning that he ignored, ripping through your dress with ease. Unfair, you thought. You hadn’t been quite as quick when you undressed him. Had you known it was a competition you’d have made a quicker order of his pants earlier.

A clawed hand slid down your pelvic mound, two fingers spreading open your lips on the way down to your entrance. “You’re already dripping. You acted so tough earlier, but you were melting.”

“Can it.”

He hummed, both fingers bending and slipping into you with a slight resistance. Though you both enjoyed a little sadomasochism, he wasn’t trying to hurt you. So preparation was a necessity. Not that you minded, hips rutting into his palm to bring his digits deeper. Your hands came to your chest, feeling yourself while his own hands were occupied.

You hadn’t minded not finding your own release last time, but the promise of Alastor drawing an orgasm out of you made your pussy clench around his fingers.

“Not enough?” The radio static of his normal voice grew as a direct reflections of his faltering control.

Your hands came between your leg and pull his hand away, “I want you.” Hooking your legs around his waist you dragged his lap to your core and rubbed your slick smeared folds up and down his growing length. “Enough foreplay” you growled, wild and feral expression darkening your eyes.

Happy to oblige though not eager to show it, he took his time drawing back his hips. Already so hard he didn’t need his hands to enter you, Alastor let his claws grip the flesh of your thighs as he pressed into your heat, moving your tail to the side, tempted to grab hold of it, but he ignored it.

A brief moment passed over his face when his smile faltered, the pleasure of getting back into you breaking his focused facade. He took a breath and that smile widened again, eyes opening to lock on your face as he started immediately into a steady rhythm. He knew what you needed to cum, something from within told him exactly how to work your body on his cock to make your vision white out. A consistent and determined thrusting, the sounds of his hips and balls smacking into your body getting louder as the sweat and arousal was shared skin to skin.

The noises of your bodies hitting together punctuating the restrained moans you were biting back made his ears twitch. Debauched, a moment you let yourself be bested. Rarely did you surrender but for his dick you lied on back for him. Or on all fours. Or… his head fell forward. Hanging there he could hide his uneven smile behind his curtain of hair. He could see himself disappearing into your body. Effortlessly you were sucking him in and gripping with every withdrawal.

The buildup of your orgasm was stalled, your hand coming to your clit to push yourself over the climax. As soon as your handed started strumming at your little bud, your walls spasmed and squeezed Alastor.

“Y/N, Are you close?”.

You nodded, eyes clenched shut. Your stomach muscles tightened and threatened to cramp your arching back.

When was the last time you felt good about this? Wanted? Loved even? Was this it, at last you found someone that could match your unique self?

“Me too.” Alastor groaned it out, body straightening. Onto your shoulders were touching the floor of his station now, back bent with the chase of your orgasm and Alastor lifting your ass so he could fuck up into you.

It was a fact your knees would bruise his sides as you finally came, legs wrapping around him and pulling him as deep as you could get him. It wasn’t enough, you whined with the rare display of desperation to have more of him.

As if he felt that draw as well, he let your body back down. His body rested on top of yours, the air slightly pushed out of your lungs. With a weak and broken moan into the side of your head, he pressed your body into the floor as he came buried as deeply as he could physically manage.

“I’ll talk to Mr. vertically challenged” he breathed out, “Are you sure?” you saw spots of colors, regaining as little strength as you could, feeling your body being pulled backwards. Soon enough you were in his lap again, curled up against his chest, “You go out tomorrow, I think I can convince him” he looked down to you, with the softest look he could provide.

“Deal” you kissed his chin, he felt how your tail tangled around his waist, it was soft and warm, “Just don’t get killed” he took your lips in a kiss, “I won’t” you gave him an unamused stare, “I’m serious” he kissed you again, as if he could erase your worries like that.

“Now, let’s get cleaned up, cuddle the king so he doesn’t suspect anything” you made a pout which he found adorable, “I thought we could sleep together” he made you and him appear in his bathroom, where his shadow already made a warm bath for you two.

“I’m going to compensate for the other day, but I feel…weird” he was overstimulated, so you understood and rather enjoyed the bath and his delicate way to spread the soap across your skin, rather than object him.

After a good night kiss, you went back to Lucifer’s room, finding him in the same position you left him in. “Luce, Luci” you slid in between the covers, calling him softly to get him to cuddle, in which as soon as he heard you, regained a bit of senses, enough to fit his head in your chest and his arms around your waist.

---------------------------------------------

Stay tuned ;3

part 12

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lostquinn · 1 year

Text

I've got you, Sunshine

Simon Ghost Riley x gn!reader

Fluff, hurt comfort, minor character loss

Summary - after losing a patient, Sunshine (you) goes to tf141 for comfort, hugging Ghost and shocking everyone.

I love the sunshine character type with the big bad scary guy, please send requests 🙏🙏🙏

Word count - 706

You were a part of Task Force 141, their medic that stuck through hell with them no matter what. You were their little piece of sunshine, always working hard to cheer them up whenever possible.

"You've got this, Sunshine," Soap smiled nervously at you, patting you on the back as you followed Gaz and Ghost rushing a recruit to the infirmary. "You're better than any of us," he added.

Soon, you were left alone in the infirmary, the beeping of the heart rate monitor the only thing keeping you company. The recruit had slipped unconscious, his wounds too severe.

You were working hard to stabilise the recruit, panicking slightly as nothing seemed to be working. You had never lost someone before. You were always enough.

The constant beep of the heart rate machine slowed into a constant drone. A haunting sound. He didn't make it. The recruit had died under your care.

You pressed a button on your pager, silently calling for the pathologist so that they could perform the autopsy. You sat at your desk for a while, writing your report of what happened before saving it and sending it off.

It was hours later when you stumbled over to the common room. Your eyes were red and puffy, cheeks stained with tears that you couldn't stop from falling.

You stood in the door to the common room, and the idle conversation that the men had been having fell quiet. They each looked at you for a moment, taking in your defeated expression and your slumped posture.

"Oh, dear, come here," Soap muttered, opening his arms to take you into a hug.

Soap, Gaz, and Price were all sat together on the couches, mugs, and cups left on the coffee table. Ghost stood, his arms crossed over his chest as he leant against the wall behind them.

You stumbled forward, your head hung in defeat. Soap let out a little sigh, expecting you to collapse into his arms. The two of you were close friends, so it made sense to him.

However, you walked right past him and up to Ghost. You wrapped your arms tight around Ghost's waist and pressed your face into his chest, nuzzling into him.

In an instant, his arms dropped to his sides. He just stood there for a moment as you hugged him, his eyes wide and jaw dropped slightly. He looked between Soap, Gaz, and Price, almost in a panick. They each matched his expression.

After a moment, he hesitantly lifted a gloved hand to the back of your head, holding you close as his other hand raised to your back. He rubbed little soothing circles against your back.

"It's okay, love," he muttered, leaning his head down so he could whisper into your ear as you cried into him. "It happens, don't put the blame on yourself... I've got you little one,"

His arms were strong around you, protective. Your hands balled into little fists, grabbing onto his shirt. You sobbed softly against him, your shoulders shaking ever so slightly.

Behind his mask, Ghost had a smug smile on his face. Of everyone in the room, you had chosen him for comfort. You chose him. It made his heart swell, and butterflies explode in his stomach.

He hooked his arms under yours and lifted you up with ease. Your legs hooked around his waist, and his hands settled on your thighs as he carried you to the corner of the room.

Ghost sat down in an armchair, you on his lap and his arms tight around you. The room was quiet apart from the sound of everyone's breathing.

One of his hands briefly left your back as he whipped his mask off quickly. He pressed his now bare cheek against yours, his mouth by your ear.

"It's okay love, I'm here. It wasn't your fault," he muttered, his breath hot against your skin. "I've got you,"

His efforts helped you to calm down, feeling a little less upset now as you glanced over at him, his dirty blonde hair a surprise to see despite knowing his mask was off.

He let out a little hum and pressed a gentle kiss to your temple.

"I've got you sunshine,"

#writers on tumblr #writing #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley x reader #hurt/comfort #call of duty

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angry-tarot · 6 months

Text

a message from your pain

talking about suffering is hard, but ultimately necessary. welcome to this pac, I am here to shed light on your wounds in ways that are helpful. by the way, sorry if the artwork is triggering, I tried to find the perfect ones that really encapsulate what deep pain and despair feel like, but the messages might be more soothing than the pics lol.

welcome to your reading ! just wanted to say thanks in advance for stopping by 🫡

Pile one 🖤

You're putting your sword down. Confrontation is a no no for you, isn't it? You rather die than pick up a fight again. You swallow your words, your boundaries are non existent, you're constantly on edge and anxious. Hear me out, pile one. When you're putting your sword down, you're not actually putting it down. You're shoving it right in your own stomach. I'm not telling you to become angry and start fighting everyone around you. But if you keep quiet, taking it all in, you're going to become sick. You want to keep the peace, but not your peace. You want to keep yourself small, not bothersome, for these people's comfort. If talking to the people around you is so conflict inducing, why bother having these people around at all? If your boundaries aren't heard or even allowed to be set, why bother having these people around you AT ALL? If you must live with them, consider moving somewhere more peaceful, like a family member. Take action if your words aren't welcomed. Leave. Remove yourself. Stop taking in poison, because the longer you do, the longer the healing will take. You're already feeling awful. Your suffering exist because you feel obligated to be around people who hurt you and demand you to be silent. Set yourself free. And don't try to talk to them about it. You will have to unpack all of this on your own, or with other people who will understand and hear you. Process everything you buried deep within you by journaling, speaking out loud, punching a pillow. Just let it all out. Short them you will have to slowly heal from all this crystalized, internalized abuse. Long term, recognize this pattern: whenever you feel the need to be quiet to not bother someone else, leave, and never go back to the people who did this to you.

Pile two 🖤

Oh, your pile actually resonates with the pic you chosen. I see an artist, a creative or someone who does something out of the norm. You could even be a witch, like me. The thing is, you have internalized a lot of criticism, and no longer feel as passionate as you did before. You want to create and be who you were before, but you lost your drive and motivation. It seems a lot of conflict used to exist or still exists because of your hobby, career or spirituality, and you felt like it lost the point. You could've tried to prove something to these people, you could've tried to argue, and nothing worked. Even your own progress wasn't matching to your expectations. So what if they were right? Your spark died, but now that you have worked so hard, it's hard to let go. It became your personality, it used to be your comfort, but now there's only a shadow of what it used to be. I'm not going to tell you whether you keep going or not, this is your decision. But you can regain the spark if you want to. But try to protect it better this time, whatever it is that you do. Hide it, if it is possible. Avoid taking about it to people who are committed to misunderstanding you. And go backwards. Reconnect with it, by understanding what made you so fascinated and entranced by it in the beginning. Maybe, that vision is no longer appealing, and if so, create another one. Restart from scratch, but have a vision, just like you did in the beginning. Say to yourself you are committed to falling in love again with your craft, if that's what you choose. If not, it's always ok to let it go. You can always find another something to be passionate about.

Pile three 🖤

Someone taught you that money was the only thing in life. That it defined your worth and value as a person. That nothing else was as important. That your safety was defined by the amount of money you had, from a young age or a very vulnerable period in your life. So your mind attached to the idea that if you didn't had money, you were in mortal danger, you were worthless and a nobody. Your relationship with money, regardless of how much you have or not, is distorted. You could be stable and still feel like it's not enough, or you could be just starting in adulthood and feeling very scared of the future. Money is important, yes. But it's exactly this fear, this pressure, this feeling like your life depends on it, it's paralyzing you, it's traumatizing and deeply agonizing. What will help you is basically lots of cbt. Ever heard of catastrophizing? Cognitive distortions? These could be playing a large role on your mindset and consequently, the amount of money you're able to make. These tools of cbt can help you relax and see things a bit more rationally. Since it's personal to each of you, I cannot fix your fears, but I can give you some of my tools for you to fix them yourself.

#pick a pile #pick a card #tarotblr #tarot reading #tarot #paganblr #paganism #occult

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rhys-writes-some-shit · 7 months

Note

Could I please request Alastor seeing his QP partner attacking/distracting Adam during the finale so that he could get away, and maybe some angst of Alastor knowing he can't go and help them in his near death condition, and not knowing if they're dead or alive. Spoiler they're fine you don't become close with the Radio Demon without being some sort of badass.

Sorry if this is too specific, I hope you're having a good day.

I sort of combined this one with @meefy's request (this one). It doesn't totally match the asks, so I apologize. I threw this together between classes a bit hastily, so sorry if the pacing or writing seems off.

Yeah, Reader is a little OP. Oh well.

May or may not write a continuation where Al takes care of Reader's injuries...

TW: Canon-typical violence

Let Me Help You

Alastor x Reader (QP)

There were suddenly angels fucking everywhere. Gold ichor mixed with deep red in pools on the ground. Alastor’s shield had shattered. It hadn’t even been ten minutes, and the shield was gone.

You tried to look for Alastor on the roof, anything to show he was alright. A flash of green followed by the distinct sight of Alastor’s tentacles helped soothe your worrying, turning back to the fight at hand. He’d be okay. He was one of the most powerful demons in Hell, he had to be okay.

Regardless, you started to fight your way to the roof, cutting angels down left and right. Your prowess in battle had started to show through, dodging expertly before retaliating effortlessly. But there were so many of them.

The numbers became overwhelming. Angel after angel started flanking you at every angle. You were trying to keep your eye on Alastor, but you kept nearly tripping over corpses instead. An angelic spear grazed your cheek, causing you to lash out, knocking back the growing crowd before tearing them apart one by one.

A terrible sinking feeling developed in your stomach, causing your focus to go straight up. With a flash, you teleported yourself to the roof. Alastor was half-transformed, a sinister grin filling his face while his signature tentacles framed his figure.

Adam, the first man himself, was in the air, brandishing a weapon resembling a guitar.

“--Cuz radio is fucking dead!” Adam shouted, as a bright flash of light caused you to shield your eyes.

The moment the light subsided, your eyes widened in shock.

“What just happened?” Alastor looked around frantically, locking eyes with you before seeing his cane in his hands, snapped in half. “Fuck.”

Neither of you saw Adam fly back down, swinging his weapon down. Alastor fell back into the ground, blood dripping from a huge gaping wound in his chest.

“Alastor!” You cried, running over to stand in front of him. Staring Adam down, your face pulled into a snarl. “You motherfucker!” Adrenaline coursing through your veins, you lunged at the angel.

Using your lightning-fast reflexes to your advantage, you managed to dodge any attack Adam sent your way. You narrowly missed getting obliterated multiple times, but what matters is that Adam’s focus is on you. Stealing a quick glance back at where Alastor was leaning against the wall, the huge gash in his chest slowly soaking his shirt with blood, you saw him melt into the shadows while glaring heavily at Adam with his ever-present smile.

“Oh no,” Adam mocked. “Did I just kill your boyfriend?”

“Fuck you.” You focused all your anger, all your worry, into misdirecting Adam. At this point, you were just trying to keep him busy. Luckily, you’d learned some things during your time in Hell, thanks to Alastor. Keeping Adam running back and forth wasn’t that difficult, or at least you tried to keep telling yourself that. Maybe if you tired him out, or let the others focus on the horde of angels, it would help?

Where did Alastor even go? How were you supposed to find him when he just disappeared in thin air? Was he going to be okay? What would happen if he died? Would you do if he died?

Somehow, even though you were distracted, you kept dodging Adam’s attacks. The fatigue was growing on you, though. Adam was definitely not like the other angels. Any time you tried to attack him, he dodged or countered before you could react properly. His attacks were too strong for you to take head-on, which was why you were stuck dodging everything.

“Now this is just fucking boring,” Adam groaned. With a movement of his fingers, you found yourself on the ground with a flash of light. A burning sensation ripped a pained cry from your chest as you doubled over, coughing up blood.

Adam kicked your side for good measure, sending you careening off the building. “Fucking pussy.”

You mustered a portal before you hit the ground, softening your fall as you rolled into your bedroom. It still hurt, pain causing your body to spasm. Dangerous-looking burns decorated the skin on the upper half of your body. While your vision faded in and out of focus, you tried to use some of your power to heal yourself as best you could.

The pain eased just enough that you could focus on the matter at hand: finding Alastor. At this point, you couldn’t give a shit whether angels killed everyone in Hell or not. You needed to find your partner. You needed to find Alastor.

Hands shaking, you mentally went through a checklist of every place in Hell you’d ever been to, trying to determine where he’d have gone.

Almost like mockery, the old radio that sat on your desk crackled faintly. Of course! Where else would Alastor be but the one place he feels most in control.

Rather than trying to make another portal, you picked yourself up off the floor and started walking. The hotel itself was abandoned, making it easy for you to traverse the halls without interruption. Your body ached as adrenaline started to wear off, but at least you could function. Who’s to say what Alastor was capable of.

You cringed at the memory of his wound. Not only was it long, but it looked deep, with blood steadily leaking out. Alastor’s signature red outfit and his blood was not a good combo, you decided. Yes, it might match, but it was not right.

It didn’t take long for you to get to the recording booth near the top of the hotel, carefully making sure you stayed out of sight. Your wounds healed little by little as you walked, your natural healing factor kicking in. A few well-placed deals, and your healing was nearly ten times as fast as a regular Sinner’s.

There was no need to knock, the door hanging from its hinges. The recording booth was in massive disarray. And in the center, leaning weakly in his chair, sat the man you were looking for.

“Alastor.” You breathed a sigh of relief at seeing him still alive, but further inspection didn’t do much to help your nerves. His breathing was shallow, expression pained but somehow still holding a strained grin.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was sharp.

“Helping you, obviously,” you snapped in reply. There was no first aid kit nearby, so you just ripped sections of your jacket off, forcefully shoving the scraps onto Alastor’s still-bleeding chest.

“I do not need your help,” he snarled back. Despite his words, he didn’t try to discard the fabric you were now pressing into his wound.

When Alastor finched, you hesitated. You didn’t want to cause him any more pain, be it physical or emotional, but you knew he’d insist on trying to deal with everything himself. You were a similar way, but he’d also do the exact same thing you were doing if the situation were reversed.

Gritting your teeth, you forcefully held the fabric to him as it slowly became blood soaked. “Summon a damn first aid kit.”

“I said–”

“I don’t fucking care.” You raised your head, meeting Alastor’s eyes so he knew you were serious. Was your voice shaking? Maybe. Were you scared? Most definitely. Was Alastor more important? Always. “Let me help you.”

Alastor visibly deflated, bringing a hand to his face. “Fine.” His voice was stiff, defiant. With a wave of his hand, a first aid kit appeared beside you.

You were silent as you worked, now with actual medical supplies at your disposal. Any training you’d had while you were alive all came back to you while you attempted not to make the injury any worse than it already was.

“I wasn’t sure if you were still alive,” Alastor admitted quietly after a few minutes. “Adam was much… more than I’d anticipated. I appreciate that you allowed me to retreat.”

Pausing, you looked Alastor up and down, possibly to see if he had a head injury as well. Never, in all your years, had Alastor ever said anything so kind to you.

“What else would I do?” You shrugged. “Leave you to die? In your dreams, maybe. We’ve been friends for so many years, I’ve lost count. So of course I helped you, you stubborn asshole. A psychopathic angel is nothing if it means helping you.”

Alastor was silent for a moment. “If Adam had killed you…” The room filled with static, Alastor’s true demon form coming out ever-so-slightly. “I was prepared to burn all of Heaven to the ground.”

“Thanks for the sentiment, Al.” Your expression softened, unable to deny the smile that grew on your face. “Now, sit up so I can secure this gauze.”

Hours later, after the hotel had been rebuilt and you were prepared to act like Soft Alastor had never happened, an arm looped in yours. Alastor stood beside you, smiling down like always.

“Come now, dearest. It’s time for supper!”

Something about Alastor was different now. His expression was altered. He’d seemed more defensive in the aftermath of the battle, however, he seemed to do the exact opposite around you.

It was subtle enough that only you (and maybe Rosie) would be able to tell. Luckily, for Alastor, you were perfectly content keeping your observations to yourself.

#hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor the radio demon #alastor x reader #rhys-writes #rhys-replies #alastor x reader queerplatonic #hazbin hotel alastor

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shirefantasies · 7 months

Note

firstly happy new year!

i wanted to tell you i love your works and maybe ask if i can request a Thorin's company x reader where the reader is from our world and has many tattoos (like a full sleeve) and the company's reaction, maybe the dwarves show their tattoos too?

thank youuu so much!

Ooh, this is cool! Sorry it took so long this got buried in my inbox 😣 I’m going to try to keep the tattoos as vague/open as possible but I may describe em here & there, sorry 😅 Hope this is enjoyable & accurate hehe, ya girl does not have any tattoos herself~

Warnings: slight suggestive jokes, minor blood in one

Showing Thorin’s Company Your Tattoos

Balin

It started the moment he pulled out the contract. You’d gone traveling with the company but not officially joined until this moment. Soon as the parchment unfurled, you began rolling your sleeves up and out of ink’s way. Glancing upward, you caught Balin’s eyes upon the designs inked into your skin. “Oh,” you cocked your head, pen momentarily forgotten, “have you never seen tattoos like this before?” Such a question earned you a sudden burst of laughter from the white-haired dwarf, who shook his head. “Nay, not in the slightest! Quite the opposite. We dwarves are famous for our designs. I suppose that yes, I’ve never seen ones like yours,” he glances over yours once more, “but many I have seen.” Suddenly you felt compelled to ask: “Well, do you like them?” Balin smiled. “Of course I do! Just because they are different doesn’t mean they are bad. Watch out for my brother, though, he’ll be itching to give you a new one if you get on his good side.” He gave a wink and that sealed it for you- you knew it already, but it rang through your head once more that you had a place in this company.

Dwalin

It had started with a compliment. “I like your tattoos,” you told the shaven-headed dwarf with a smile and a nod his way. He looked surprised, then pride settled into his eyes beneath the fire’s flicker. “Thanks. Bet you’ve never seen anything like ‘em before, eh?” Matching Dwalin’s smug smile, you rolled up your sleeve to reveal the art covering your own body. “By my beard,” he breathed. “Would you believe me if I said there was more where that came from?” You teased. “May not have before,” the dwarf grinned, “but I certainly do now. Bet you don’t know what mine mean, though…” "Well then, tell me." Brows raising, he crosses his arms and looks you over as if anew. "And perhaps if you prove yourself, I can add to your collection." As you can imagine, this turned into quite a long conversation.

Thorin

The king-to-be’s eyebrows raise, a look of pure shock crossing his regal features when you expose the long expanses of tattoos you’ve decorated yourself with. Arching a brow, you assume it is some sort of royal sensibility and roll your eyes, at least until you hear Thorin’s faint words emerge, barely above a whisper. “My sister has something quite like that. May I?” Stunned, you simply nod, holding your arm out as Thorin draws closer, fingers gently brushing over your inked skin as a small smile creeps to his lips. “I remember when she got it. She wanted me to get one, too, but I was too afraid.” A deep chuckle. “You, I see, do not lack the courage. Dis would like you. Very much,” he comments, blue eyes shining into yours.

Oin

“You’ve gotta be more careful next time,” Oin shakes his head as he lowers you onto the blanket, one hand tucked carefully behind your head. “You’re welcome,” you grin, though the expression quickly turns into a wince as pain arcs up your newly acquired wound. Tutting, Oin says nothing, opting instead to strip off your layers to dab at the blood collecting there. He pauses, though, over your bared skin. “You never told me…” Gloved hand waving vaguely over you, and you chuckle weakly. “What, that I have an amazing pain tolerance?” “That’s one way to put it,” he replies, “and let’s hope so. You’ll need it. They did heal quite nicely, you know. Half the ones I’ve done looked a mess after.” “You do tattoos, huh?” You chuckle again, smiling up at him as he worked. “Now that I’d like to see.”

Gloin

Bursting into hearty laughter, Gloin claps a hand to your shoulder. "Thinkin' you can beat Dwalin, are you?” Obviously you are quite confused, tilting your head at him until you trace the line of his eyes to your exposed wrist. The edges of a tattoo showed there, bringing a chuckle to your lips. “Hadn’t thought of it like that,” you shot back, “but I suppose I would have him bested.” Gloin bursts into hearty laughter as you push up your sleeve to reveal skin entirely covered. “Bless me, I was teasing you! You really went for it, though! What did you do for yours? I managed to barter for mine,” he grins, pushing up his own sleeve to reveal a design near his shoulder. “I wish that was how it worked for me,” you sigh, rolling your eyes at the thought of all your lost money, “where I come from, it’s pay or nothing.” Cue Gloin lining you up deeds to get dwarven ink done should you so desire.

Bifur

Catching Bifur gesturing your way, you frown slightly and turn back around, fixing him with a look of concern at his hasty motions. Finally, he traces a hand up his arm, prompting you to peer down at your own. Ah, right. He'd probably never caught a glimpse of your tattoos before. You nod, sign a 'what?' you hope doesn't come across too cheeky, and grin when he gives up and rolls his eyes and grabs your arm. “Well,” you ask, “like ‘em?” In all honesty, you have no expectation for his reply, but the enthusiastic nod and tug up of his tunic still has your eyebrows raising in shock. He has one, too, it seems, at least the one, and wouldn’t you know it, it’s quite similar to one of yours. Smiling, you wondered if that was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

Bofur

“Well you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” You aren’t even certain what the hatted dwarf means until you follow his gaze down the length of the arm you’d bared to spearfish with, tracing the lines of your tattoos. “So you could say,” you reply mystically, waving fingers until the both of you are laughing. “Which one’s your favorite? I wanna see ‘em all. Well, if you’ll let me, of course, and…" Cutting him off with a hand held up and a smile, you answer, "I know what you mean. When we're done here, we'll need some time by the fire. I'll show you then." Eyes shining, Bofur gives you a grin and wades into the river with you. That evening, as you sat and warmed your soaked legs by the toasty fire, you rolled up your sleeve all the way this time, telling him the story of every single tattoo and chortling at his animated commentary.

Bombur

The others saw them, but Bombur’s reaction amused you the most by far. Without thinking, he grabbed your arm and held it up, eyes scanning your art beneath the warmth of his gentle hold. “Well,” you chuckled, “what do you think, do you approve?” “I quite like yours,” he agreed, “yours are pictures. I like them better than Dwalin’s.” A call of protest from the warrior dwarf rang out defending both his own art and of course the traditions of their people. But if you have any of things Bombur enjoys most, things representing family, food, animals, nature, and the like, he keeps fighting for you to the last word! "But I like the pictures! Have you seen them? Come have a look here." There you stand, your hand tightly in Bombur's grip, but you cannot help smiling.

Dori

The two of you had all but insisted the dwarves finally wash some of their layers, so they agreed under the express conditions that the ones who cared so do it. As you knelt at the riverside with a bundle of (frankly filthy) clothing, you rolled up your sleeves to the elbows and saw Dori staring out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t look particularly scandalized and you were used to eyes upon your art, expected it even. “Looking at these?” You asked with a smile. Sheepishly he nodded. “My brother has a couple of those. Always trying to get me to have one done,” he scoffed, “but I don’t exactly fancy a voluntary stabbing myself.” You can’t help laughing at that. “They certainly did hurt,” you agree in your mirth. Dori’s eyes slid down your forearm one more time. “You must be quite tough, then, aren’t you? Strong and sensible,” he beams.

Nori

One of your tattoos is especially meaningful, so the moment its subject comes up in conversation you are peeling back layers to reveal it. Many dwarven eyebrows raise as the sun strikes your skin, but you can’t help noticing Nori specifically, the look of intrigue and perhaps something else in his eyes. Challenging him with a look, you cock your head a bit at him. “Didn’t realize you had any,” he says simply. With a faint snort, you nod. “Well, here you go,” you roll up your sleeve further. Nori’s eyes trail up and down the expanse of skin one more time. “I’ve got a few myself.” Naturally, you ask him where, and that is when he breaks into a rakish smile and winks. “You’ll have to guess.”

Ori

Smiling at Ori as you accepted his sketchbook, you pushed back your sleeve to save it from smudging his work or the addition he'd welcomed you to make on a new page. An entry into his little world you were honored at the invitation to create. But when you glanced back up at the dwarf, your joy faded sharply away at the widening of his eyes. Shock, no doubt, at the revelation of the ink covering your forearm, designs you'd hidden for fear of distaste or harsh questioning. Quickly you slid the fabric back down, but Ori just gaped, looking more than a bit awed. "You have so many. Did they hurt?" A common enough question, posed innocently as you'd expect from the company's youngest. "Some more than others, that is for sure," you answered simply, "but I took it in silence." Humming in further awe, Ori leaned closer to you. "Nori screamed like a baby bird the whole time he got his." Bursting suddenly from your chest, your laughter cascaded over your whole body in relief, comfort returning to your little world. "I quite like yours better than his, too, especially that one," Ori added, pointing where he'd seen a particularly nice piece. Perhaps you should have known the artist would understand.

Fili

“Whatcha got there?” Glancing down at the utensil in your hand, you shrug. “Ladle. I was helping Bombur do the rinsing.” At that, the elder Durin heir smirks. “Not that,” he says, gesturing up from your hand, “those.” Right. “Oh, my tattoos? If you’ve never seen anything like them, I can tell you-” “Never seen anything like it?” Fili snorts in amusement, crossing his arms. “I take it you’ve not looked upon the dwarven kings of old.” Removing his coat and outer tunic, he bares his own arms. “I’d like to get mine here.” He touches his bicep. “One ringing each side.” “How convenient,” you tease as he flexes the toned muscle of his arms. “What?” “Nothing,” you snort, shaking your head.

Kili

The pair of you had been sparring, Kili parrying your every move before you finally sat down in defeat, accepting a newly-filled waterskin gratefully. The dwarf kept teasing you, saying all that he could about how well he knew you and the like. "Why, I practically know everything about you," he said with a proud look, "you'll not be surprising me any time soon." "Well, then, if you know me so well," you countered, "which tattoo is my favorite?" "Very funny, you haven't any..." Kili's eyes widened as you rolled up your sleeve, scanning every inch of ink. "...Tattoos." "What was that you were saying?" You asked, smirking into his speechless gape. Curse him, he regained his composure quickly, though, expression falling back into the smile you had to admit you loved. "Well, I certainly know which one is my favorite."

Bilbo

You start tugging at your top at the collarbones and Bilbo’s eyes practically pop out of his head when your tattoos peep at him. “You too?” He asks, tone incredulous. Chuckling in amusement, you fix him with an inquisitive look. “And what does that mean?” “Well,” he begins, voice faltering, “I suppose I just thought of that as, well, as a dwarf thing. What with Dwalin and all.” “Surprise,” you tease him with a grin, exposing more skin he flushes at the sight of, “but look, I think you’ll quite like this one…” Any tattoo you have from nature, after all, surely catches the hobbit's gentle eye in a heartbeat. “Oh, that is… quite beautiful,” Bilbo breathes with a faraway smile, “can I touch it? Wait, what am I saying, I’m sorry…”

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Message me/reply to join!

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wackapedia · 8 months

Text

Remnant

Vincent Renzi x reader Vincent finds a woman living in Miss Voyter's former chalet and finds a new outlet for his feelings. Wordcount: 1,670 Warnings: Attempt at comedy, one swear word, Anatomy Of A Fall spoilers, ghosts for comedic effect

Vincent sighs and lights a cigarette just as the sun sets behind the mountain. He is sitting in the driver seat of his car, which is parked outside the chalet. It's been empty for months, since Sandra-

Miss Voyter, he corrects himself.

Since Miss Voyter sold the cabin and is turned into some sort of B&B thing just as Samuel intended, she would say.

Miss Voyter and her son moved back to Germany after the case, Vincent remembers. He then wonders why he's parked outside their former chalet.

As of late, he finds himself driving up the uphill road to the cabin, maybe to think or to reminisce. Maybe he's trying to heal from a wound he would never acknowledge.

The lawyer, who is now gaining popularity since that widely-broadcast case, stubs out his cigarette and starts the car. What am I doing here? He mumbles to himself. He tosses the cigarette out the window and moves to start the engine. Someone suddenly shows up by the side of his car.

"Hey, did you just come here to throw your shit? Pick it up!" A woman yells, standing a few paces from his car. Vincent feels embarrassed. He decides to suck it up and apologize.

"Je suis desole, madamoiselle... " He steps out of the car and picks up his rubbish. He then looks up at the woman, who seemed a bit stunned.

He stuffs the stubbed-out cigarette in his pocket and smiles apologetically at the woman. He feels his face heat up.

"I've seen you come here a few times; are you following me?" The woman stumbles through her broken French.

"Oh, no... I'm just..." Vincent doesn't know what to say. "I'm a lawyer." He attempts, as if it explains anything.

"Am I in trouble?" She replies. Vincent tries to take advantage.

"Depends. How long have you lived here?"

"Three weeks. Why?"

"Nothing, Make sure to lock your doors at night."

Vincent tries to escape from the situation he's found himself in. He begins to open his car door and longs to just drive back to the city.

"What? Wait! What do you mean? Is that some sort of threat?" She takes two steps closer to him.

"Threat? No! What do you mean?" Vincent stops. He looks at her, surprised to see her face clearer now that he's up close.

"They say this house is haunted... Someone died here. Is that true?" She whispers, almost afraid to mention it out loud. At this, Vincent chuckles.

"That's just silly." He answers her as he settles himself in the driver's seat.

"Wow, and you think standing outside someone else's house isn't as dumb? You could be a pervert for all I know!" She stands next to his car door, addressing him through the window.

Vincent decides he's tired of defending himself like he's in court. Instead of answering, he hands her his business card.

"You're a lawyer?!" She asks after taking the card in her hands. Vincent offers her a kind smile before starting the car and driving off.

------------

That night, she sits alone in the bedroom of the rented cabin, playing with the lawyer's business card. She still wonders why she felt odd around Mr. Vincent Renzi.

"That guy's probably some sort of stalker..." She jokes to herself, tossing the business card next to her phone as she opens her laptop and types his name on the search bar. Good news! The name matches the face. Bad news: He is featured in a couple of news articles.

She browses through them and reads about the success of his recent case, which happens to be quite popular. It's not bad news after all. Mr. Renzi was defending a woman who was suspected of murdering her husband. She was ruled out because the death was proven to be a suicide.

She goes deep into the research rabbit hole after staring at a couple of photos of the said lawyer taken from press release interviews. She then discovers that the scene of the crime was the house she was staying in at the present. She then organizes her thoughts after reading through several articles.

1. Mr. Renzi is indeed a lawyer. 2. He is quite handsome. 3. He had reason to come by the house. 4. Someone had died here, and therefore; 5. The house is haunted.

She gasps, and her skin erupts in goosebumps. She looks around the dark room and feels the darkness staring back. Was it just her imagination? No, there's a cold wind enveloping the room. The windows are closed. There's some sort of noise in the attic. Footfalls? Walking down the stairs? Outside her room? She panics and picks up her phone and the card next to it before running down the stairs.

Who to call? The cops? What if they think you're insane? The owner of the house? What's he going to do—ward off the vengeful spirit who's about to kill you?

She looks at her phone and pulls up the phone app to call the only person who can help her.

"Hello? Vincent?" Her voice trembles. She was outside the house, trembling, both because of the cold and the fear of what could possibly be inside the house.

"Oui, c'est moi; comment puis-je vous aider?" He answers in his charming French accent. She briefly wonders what he just said.

She quickly told him her name, although she doubted he would recognize her.

"Its me, the one from the cabin? I think there's someone in the house!"

-----

Vincent stays with her on the phone throughout the whole fifteen-minute drive. She seems to have calmed down a little, shivering mostly from the cold and less from fear. The moment he arrives, he immediately spots her outside the chalet. As the car stops, she runs toward him.

"What happened?" He catches her like its the most natural thing.

"Someone died here, right?" She looks up to him and positions him between her and the house.

Vincent sighs. "Is this about the haunted thing again?"

"You never answered me! I fact-checked your business card, and everything made sense!"

Vincent rests his forehead on his palm. He is still wearing his green home slippers, their bright color catching his eyes.

He tries to catch his breath after his mini-heart attack, expecting her to be in danger.

So this place is actually haunted, and she begins to feel a little sorry for him. She looks up at the house, noticing she failed to turn on the lights. Is there a figure in the attic window? Her mind might be playing tricks on her, but she is genuinely scared. She moves closer to the lawyer who is standing there, watching her.

"What?" Vincent pretends to be annoyed with her.

"Can you help me inspect the house?"

"I'm a lawyer, not a cop."

"You were observing the house this morning..." She mumbles.

Vincent sighs. He can't seem to say no to this woman.

-----------

"There. Happy now?" Vincent faces her with his hands on his hips. All the lights in the house are on, and Vincent checks the attic, making sure there are no "vengeful spirits" there to hurt her. She seems to be satisfied.

"Okay.... Thank you..." She mumbles sleepily in the living room. Vincent can't help but smile at how she looks right now.

The lawyer hesitates to leave her there, sleeping in the living room with all the lights on.

"Go on now; get to bed." He tells him, sounding like he's scolding a toddler.

"Okay. Goodnight." She walks up the stairs slowly. She now feels very comfortable around him, which is a wonder since she scolded him just this morning.

Vincent smiles to himself as he drives home.

--------

The minute Vincent wakes up the next day, he checks his phone for any texts from the woman in the chalet. He got her name when she called him last night and has been repeating it in his head since. Unfortunately for him, there were no calls or texts from her. He watches his phone closely in case she reaches out, but the only messages on his phone are text ads and messages concerning work.

As that Sunday progresses without her reaching out, the grumpier Vincent becomes.

So he heads out there.

----------

She had just come back from town, carrying a basket full of fresh fruit and produce. As she steps up and comes into view of the house,. He is surprised to see another car parked and a certain lawyer standing by the stairs.

"Where were you?" He tries to sound nonchalant.

She raises her basket, showing the obvious.

Vincent seems out of words. She is about to ask, 'Why are you even here?' and he would have no answer. Vincent looks down hard, trying to find the answer on the gravel. Ah, there it is.

"You deserve to know the truth." The lawyer blurts out suddenly, just as she was about to ask something.

"About what?"

"The man who died? He died right here," Vincent bluntly says, pointing to the spot next to them. "So, yes. This place is very haunted."

She gasps in surprise. She wasn't expecting him to believe her bullshit excuse to see him again that night, right? You guess he's one of those superstitious small-town folks.

Vincent waits for her reaction. She hasn't reacted the way he hoped. He expected her to be shocked and cling to him, but no, she just stands there and stares at the gravel.

"Hey, did you hear what I just said? This place is hau-"

"Do you want to grab coffee sometime?" She decides to just go straight to the deal, a slight smirk playing on one side of her face. Now it's Vincent who takes a breath of surprise.

"Um... Sure?" Vincent finds himself replying. He can't believe this turned out well for him when he literally had no roadmap for what he was trying to do.

"Okay. Let me just put these inside the house, and we can head to town together?"

The lawyer nods. She smiles and comes out of the house a while later and walks with him to town.

part 2?

#vincent renzi #vincent renzi x reader #anatomy of a fall #anatomie d'une chute #swann arlaud #i just need to get this out of my system lmao #anatomy of a fall vincent

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tradgedyinwaves · 7 days

Text

Touch - Ch. 10

READ THE TRIGGER WARNINGS!

-This chapter is very heavy, but we’ll get you home, yeah? -I’ve never written an action scene and action isn’t really my strong suit, so be kind please. -So many military inconsistencies and just overall incorrect military vocabulary. I’m sorry.

tw: hostage situation, torture, sensory deprivation, sexual harassment/abuse, battlefield type elements (ie: explosions, gunfire, little bit of murder)

Food was deposited in your cell again and while you were concerned with being poisoned, you were also starving and would be unable to fight back if you didn’t get some calories into your stomach. You ate the packaged items as you stared at the hot pasta, the granola bar turning to dust in your mouth as you grabbed the water and chugged down half of it.

You didn’t stop counting though. When you reached 190,000, two days had passed since you’d been taken. You restarted at one, using your finger to drag through the grime on the wall and create another tally just above the top of the cot. Your eyes adjusted to the darkness, able to see large shapes.

Until they opened the door again and blinded you.

Despite never being able to find him before, Moses’ compound was easy to locate. Well, the one in the UK anyways. Of course, it was a trap and the 141 knew this. It was too obvious. But the issue was in finding where they were keeping you and what the actual trap was.

Another video dinged on the laptop, immediately garnering everyone’s attention as they huddled around the small screen.

The lens was dirty, being wiped clean by Moses’ sleeve. As he backed away with a wicked smile and a small knife dangling from his fingers, he revealed you behind him and your current situation. Tied to a chair, cloth in your mouth and tied around your head. That wasn’t what had the team concerned. It was the rivulets of blood that trailed from the clean, shallow cut across the front of your throat.

“You boys better hurry up. I might decide that I prefer her dead. She does look so pretty covered in her own blood.” Moses came to stand behind you, lifting your head and pulling your hair back from the wound on your neck. “Do you think they’ll come to save you, precious? I think they will. Too bad they won’t make it.” Your eyes opened wide as you found the camera, shaking your head in a panic. In your mind, if you died, they would move on. But you couldn’t bear the thought of a world without them in it. Then the screen cut to black.

“Fuck, he’s going to kill her just to get under our skin,” Johnny anquishly moaned out, his fingers pulling at the cropped mohawk on his head. Simon’s fingers slid over the other man’s, gripping them tight in his fist and pulling them away from the delicate hair. “We’ll find her and we’ll end this,” Simon grunted, looking down at the sergeant.

“Alright boys, let’s get our girl back.”

The slice to your throat stung, burning as your blood now dribbled from the wound as it dried up. You’d expected to be sent back to your cell, but was instead taken to another room. Two women stood in the back, holding garments of clothing and medical supplies as you were shoved into the room and the door locked behind you.

They were silent as they cleaned you up, getting a bandage on your throat and unzipping your pretty dress just to shove you into a scratchy beige shirt and black cargo pants. Ones that matched every other person you’d seen in this camp. They wanted you to blend in, harder to find that way, you supposed.

When the door opened again, it was Moses. Leering at you as he came to circle your weak body, hand on his chin with the other on his elbow as he inspected you. “You clean up so nicely, my dear. Though I will miss that pretty dress of yours, made these look oh so delectable,” his words only cut through the static in your head when his hands groped your breasts from behind. Your elbow then met his ribs only for his fist to come down on the back of your neck and force you to your knees.

“Little bitch thinks she can fight,” your captor growled, lifting your chin just to let his fist collide with your temple. Two more hits to the side of the face and you finally crumpled on the ground as he dusted off his pants and made for the door. “Leave her here. She can die with her beloved boys,” he commanded the other women, who scurried behind him as he sneered down at you before slamming and locking the door.

At least, you could see where you were now as you started counting again.

The sky was dark, not a star in sight as the clouds covered them with their looming grayness. Coming up from the back of the compound, they split into three groups; Price with Johnny, Simon with Kyle, and the third team of specialists to extract Moses. It was quiet and they were silent as they took down the scattered guards.

With the path cleared, Ghost and Kyle slipped into the darkness where intel told them the cells were. Price and Johnny disappeared into another building that could possibly be holding you, while the third team slipped out into the darkness in search of Moses.

That’s when the first boom rocked the earth. “Bravo-6, do you copy?” Simon’s hushed whispers filled the silence of the cell they were standing in. “Soap, the hell was that?” Price’s voice cut through the static of their radios. “Detonation. He’s going to blow the compound with us in it.”

Another boom rocked the ceiling and then the entrance to the cells collapsed with Simon and Kyle inside. Coms were suddenly cut as the building Price and Johnny were in shuddered with another boom.

You felt it too and were suddenly very much aware that you needed to get up and try to get out. You tried the door, tugging on it but of course, it was locked. You started banging on it when the next boom came and you wondered how many buildings had been taken out already as the one you were in shuddered and a wall blew out next to you. Taking a few deep breaths to calm yourself, you scurried out the hole the explosion created and headed for the stairs, taking two at a time.

Price and Johnny were working through the levels, clearing the building as smatterings of people ran past them. Innocents. Civilians that Moses had kidnapped to fill the compound. All dressed in scratchy beige and black cargo. In your hurry to get out of the building, you ran smack into Price who grunted, staring down at the apparent civilian that had tried to plow through him.

“Please don’t hurt me!” You cried, covering your face and cowering on the landing. But the pain never came. Just arms wrapping around you and lifting you to your feet. Fingers and a thumb pinched your chin, lifting your face to meet the man’s eyes you ran into. “They really did a number on you, little bird. Let’s get you home, yeah?” Price’s eyes burned into yours and you couldn’t help the sob that tore from you as you nodded in response. If you’d not literally run into him, you’d have been lost in the sea of civilians trying to find safety.

Getting back to the extraction point had been difficult. An explosion blasted apart a building the three of you were next to and unfortunately for you, you’d been in the path of a rather large piece of wall that knocked you out. When Price, Johnny, and your unconscious body met only Kyle at the extraction point, you were left in the care of Laswell who waited in the helicopter.

Meanwhile, Simon and Kyle were digging themselves out of the cells. The explosions that had followed the one that caved in the entrance had created a small hole big enough for Kyle to get through, but Simon, the massive man he was, wouldn’t fit without making it bigger. So Kyle dug from the outside and Simon from the inside. Finally, when it was big enough, Simon started to haul himself through the hole, only for another explosion to collapse it around him.

God, this is so not the story I'd intended to write, but this is where the muse led me.

Thank you to everyone who keeps supporting this series!

#captain john price #call of duty x reader #johnny soap mactavish #kyle gaz garrick #poly!141 #simon ghost riley #cod fanfic smut #johnny soap mctavish x reader #kyle gaz x reader #simon riley x reader #simon riley #kyle gaz x you #kyle garrick #john price x reader #john price #john price x plus size reader #john price x you #johnny soap mctavish x you #touchau

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blueberrypancakesworld · 6 months

Text

The nurse and the nerd

Charlie Walker x fem!reader

warning : +18, handjob, kissing, implied drug use (medications), mentioning of wounds, no use of Y/n, minor degradation

Summary : After Ghostface had struck Jill dead in the hospital again by the heroine Sidney. But Charlie Walker, the second killer, has survived and is now in an asylum where he has a special relationship with a certain nurse…with even more special treatments

Info : Yeah back with Charlie I missed writting for the film nerd and thought hey what if...so yeah have fun reading and hope you like it ;)

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

It was another massacre that struck the small town. Another night of murders that made everyone afraid, another night when the nightmare vans had to drive to a certain house. A night in which Ghostface was caught because he wasn't stabbed too hard. A fact that his accomplice would not live to see because she died at the legendary hands of Sidney, or so the news said.

Either way, it was the talk of the nightmares that were also running in the nurses' room of the prison…for weeks nothing else seemed to have taken hold of the boring little town, not that she was complaining but it was becoming such a hustle and bustle that it was almost too much.

,,It's a murder I mean murders and it's almost like the presidential election who's where and what" she said and heard the smirk of her superior who had been here for a while and had already noticed the Ghostface's first act. ,,Well, nothing else happens in Woodsboro and so we have a little celebrity here," she said, pointing to the room at the end of the corridor with the special patient.

He alone had already cost the Asylum a few break-out attempts and, above all, appointments with the press. She herself could hardly cope with the reporters' floodlights when she had to stand next to him.

That smile on his lips, confident and above all on her face…yes, she had read the interviews and he had almost gone a little too far. But she knew that the further she stood around, the longer it would take them to get home.

With a sigh, she took the silver tray on which the medication and bandages were lying before she said goodbye to her colleague with a ,,You can do it, ask for an autograph!", which was returned with a shake of the head before she left the nurses' room and went to her little darling. Knocking on the door and looking round one last time, she heard the almost cheerful ,,Come in" before she went into the room with the sign with Charlie Walker's name on it.

As always, she found him lying on the bed even though she was sure he was walking around, she had seen him walking around often enough, seen him doing other activities…special activities.

Yet he looked so innocent, not like a murderer, like a simple nerd. The long brown curly hair gently combed by him under her watch, the blue eyes that were still on her had never left her. The loose clothes, the white shirt that looked too big and the sweatpants that matched the grey socks.

,,You're back, my angel," he said, leaning forward slightly and making a pained face as if he was going to be stabbed again. But she shrugged it off with a roll of her eyes and put the tray on the white bedside table as she sat her down by his bed. ,,Oh, our little star is in need of help," she murmured, taking the newspaper from his lap and seeing that he had opened the interview.

His face, contorted with pain, showed a slight shame as she began to read through the interview. ,,Especially my personal nurse who takes such good care of me and looks after me, I really appreciate her," she read his last sentence and couldn't help but laugh reproachfully at his flattery and lies.

Rising from the bed, she set the paper down on the bedside table before grabbing the bandages and pulling his shirt off his torso without waiting. ,,Don't be so hasty, darling," Charlie began, but was interrupted when she pressed on the not yet fully healed cut and made him open up.

,,You appreciate me Charlie? I know you do but if this is how it's going to be I'm going to be transferred…it has to stay a secret understand?" she asked ignoring his pleading look to touch him more gently as she pressed a little harder on the wound and the gasp turned into a pained moan.

,,Yes-yes, of course, I'm just grateful," he said hastily and relaxed when she took the pressure off him and continued with her work. Her hands ran gently over his skin, cool, slightly rough hands from working with people. Rough hands like his hands that had once held a knife. Hands that now walked slowly to her, holding onto her like a helpless victim.

Yet they both knew that he was not a victim, he was the perpetrator who was now helplessly injured in the asylum and under her mercy. She ignored his hands and began to tend to his wound actually carefully and somehow lovingly at the end of the day she was not only paid for it maybe she liked it, maybe it was a mutual attraction.

His need for her and her care that was almost taken up by the younger one. Fortunately, the stitches were not fatal, he was given pills for the pain, to sleep and when he was exercising, but otherwise he was fine.

So well that she knew where this meeting would go again when she saw his gaze avoid hers once more, her gentle touch something he did not deserve. Kirby had only ever played with him, the stupid bitch had to die for it, it was that simple, but she was his pretty nurse, she was good to him.

Didn't see him as a loose cannon and looked after him almost like a mother, while she was just the right amount of strict. ,,What are you daydreaming about Charlie?" she mumbled to him, seeing him flinch as if she had caught him doing something when he tried to sit up slightly, but her hand came to rest on his middle. She wasn't stupid, of course, she had seen him look at her in shock, almost holding his breath, a wince going through his hips and legs several times.

He was a little sucker for pain, even if he didn't want to admit it. ,,Nothing…I really don't…only your care is so good," he stammered, his blue eyes darting around and repeatedly lingering on the bust of her body pressed against the white fabric of her uniform.

The white trousers that framed her behind and his gaze always rested on them when she turned round, her hips framed by the white shirt on which he would so like to lay his hands.

He had fallen for the angel in the white dress, his sweet nurse who treated him so well. He barely noticed how his cock began to show through his jogging bottoms as her fingers slowly closed around his hardness and she leaned towards him.

Her smell surrounded him as he moved his hips with a whimper, trying to get more friction as she held him out. ,,I'm good so good for you, aren't I?" she asked, whispering the words to him as he nodded his head into the pillow, begging her to kiss him.

Briefly sloppy and rewarding as she began to stroke his cock. Sensing how needy he was even though they had done this several times, he never seemed to get enough of her.

She knew that anyone could come into the room but where would the fun be if they didn't? ,,You know you deserve it all, don't you? The pain, the stalling…a naive virgin," she chided as she ran her other hand over his body, squeezing the wound lightly again, his groan louder than before as he thrust against her, trying to get more of that feeling.

,,Y-yes I deserve…it all ma'm all" he mumbled chuckling his head moving back and forth into the pillow praying her words and amusement made his cheeks redden.

He continued to cling to her with his hands, his pleading and begging more interrupted only now and then by her kisses that stifled his whimpering pathetic noises.

His moans and whimpers filled the room with shameless noises, the almost wet squeaking coming from his cock, the precum running out of the tip in single drops every time she ran her thumb over the sensitive tip, squeezing it slightly and making it twitch again.

The space when they were together seemed to get smaller just the two of them. An unfortunate murderer rubbing against her like a writhing worm not a picture of a poor murderer being deceived.

He was the scum of society, a thought that had often crossed his mind as often as he served, his pretty blue eyes releasing those tears.

Kissing away his tears, taking away his pain from her before she got tired of his pleading. ,,I'll let you come if you don't open your sweet little mouth like that in public," she demanded, watching his foggy mind try to make sense of her words. His puffy lips red from the kisses and his biting on them to stifle the embarrassed noises.

,,Yes-yes-yes please…I'll be quiet…I promise," he mumbled, barely able to contain himself as his partner watched this for a few more moments before she let him come, picking up the pace one last time and pressing her other hand to his mouth. Stifling a loud moan, he felt the last twitching movements go through his body as his body stilled and she took her hands off him.

Watching him close his eyes, his chest rose and fell and he relaxed as she cleared her throat, ,,Aren't you forgetting something?" she asked, holding out the cum-stained liquid on her hand. He might be cute, amorous and sweetly pathetic but in the end he was a murderer, a patient under her over whom she had power.

Like a good eared boy, he wouldn't get out of here without her and as he looked at her with a pleasurable, perversely flashing look before licking her hand.

Her praise for him was pleasure she knew that if she continued this game he would not only be hard again but he would also beg to kneel in front of her, leaning between her thighs. ,,If only the press knew what kind of murderer you are," she said as she gathered her things and saw how the words must have struck the right chords in his head.

He probably swallowed hard as he imagined her giving interviews on camera while he knelt before her. He was getting love and part of a film epic.

She fixed the things on the silver tray before giving him one last kiss on the forehead, knowing that when the door closed behind her, those ominous noises would come from his cell again until she started her next shift…her next shift to take care of her good boy and not a murderer.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

@icarus-star , @roryculkinsgf , @angelsanarchy , @ria-coolgirl , @sl4sh3rfuck3r , @eddie-munsons-mommy

#scream 4 #charlie walker #rory culkin #charlie walker x reader #scream movie #charlie walker x you #male x female

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sirenologyyy · 6 months

Text

DATING MODERN!SEJANUS PLINTH!

modern!sejanus plinth x fem!reader

✮ summary: in which I live out my truth as a Sejanus Plinth truther and write modern headcanons abt him if he was your bf!

✮ author's note: why can't God make men like him anymore istfg!!! (Guys di na nakakatuwa.)

✮ warnings: cussing cuz yeah

modern!sej who's basically just a POC Peter Parker variant, they're so alike it is sickening.

modern!sej who's had a crush on you since the start of high-school when you and him wound up in the clinic because he had a bad case of influenza and you had a stomach bug.

modern!sej who'd drag Coryo around the campus just so they'd bump into you. (you'd smile and he'd greet hello with three consecutive O's and Coryo was not pleased, often rolling his eyes at Sejanus' giddy grin when you'd be a few steps past them.)

modern!sej who listens to you ramble and talk his ear off with conspiracy theories, realizations, gossip, chiming in every now and then. (He usually tells you off for talking people behind their back but he loves it gossip as much as you do if not more.)

modern!sej who I personally feel like is into a ball sport nobody would expect him to be in to (like volleyball) and he's one of the most kick-ass players out of the entire team and whenever there'd be matches against other schools you'd be cheering the loudest yk and you'd be wearing his Jersey and all that HEDGSHSH.

modern!sej who'd sometimes switch seats with Coryo when the teacher in the class he's in does a count off for groupmates just so he'd be grouped with you.

modern!sej who loves spoiling you with his dad's money just because he can and he absolutely will.

"Sej, just because I tried all these clothes on does not mean I have the intention of buying them."

"Well you aren't buying them, I am. Plus if I'm not getting them for you now, sooner or later you'll have them all in your closet somehow."

modern!sej who loves taking you to aquarium dates to go see the jellyfish and the sharks.

modern!sej who plans out everything he'll say to you in his mind before he says them out loud so he doesn't end up embarrassing himself in front of you.

modern!sej who always gives you the bigger half when he breaks food into two parts.

modern!sej who is DEATHLY afraid of heights. (When you first started dating you joked about how everyday was practically a living hellscape for him because he was so tall.)

modern!sej who's saved the most dazzling contact photo of you while you just have a horrendously lighted 0.5 pic of him you took at 5 in the morning.

modern!sej who'd purposefully drop sordid drawings he managed to doodle in the middle of class into your backpack so during the next period you'd find them and you'd start giggling to yourself and your classmates would give you stares.

modern!sej who is definitely the big spoon (but wouldn't be opposed to being the little spoon either.)

modern!sej and you who would pass notes in the middle of class as well, even if you two were at the very back of the classroom and sitting next to eachother.

Arachne's voice is making me want to kill myself

Don't say that, that's mean

Oh come on Sejanus, even you aren't too saintly to admit her voice sound terrible

Fine, I guess it's sorta irritating

Her voice sounds like if a dog's squeaky toy crawled off to have sex with a bagpipe

(then you two would burst out into silent laughter.)

modern!sej who is SUCH a fucking nerd (he's one of the top 5 highest grading students in your year, in decathlon, the debate team, men's volleyball varsity, the school paper) sometimes when he recites in class he'll subtly glance your way to see your reaction to his answer.

modern!sej who let's you pick out as many books you want from the library he has conjoined to his room. (When he gets them back there are ALWAYS annotations scrawled out on translucent sticky notes.)

modern!sej who is anxious af and he always fidgets in his seat whenever he's stressed or worried or scared and you'd let him doodle on your hands to make him feel better (plus I think he's really good at drawing too.)

modern!sej who will absolutely drive you to McDonald's if you're hungry at 3am (chances are he's hungry too.)

modern!sej who is obsessed with old film cameras and digital cameras, most often than not you're his subject and every other photo in his camera roll is a candid picture of you.

modern!sej who can recite every riff off word by word of the Pitch Perfect trilogy without missing a beat.

modern!sej who'd bring you baked goods whenever you were upset saying they were made by ma plinth, but in truth, were made by him.

modern!sej who wonders every second of every day how you ended up with him.

modern!sej who gets jealous when you hang out with festus or felix a little too long after class. But never makes it obvious.

modern!sej who's funny unconventionally. His sense of humour dosen't make everyone laugh but it sure as hell will get a snort and a giggle out of you.

modern!sej who'd eat the things you'd pick off of your food. (olive theory HDHSHSH)

modern!sej who remembers the littlest things about you too, how you take your coffee, the certain type of pens you prefer, your favorite author, your favorite type of flower, favorite swear word.

modern!sej who'd never hesitate to help you with schoolwork if you were having a hard time understanding the topic. (He won't stop until he makes sure you have a firm grasp on the topic and you're convinced he could make an amazing teacher.)

modern!sej who looks at you like you hung the stars in the sky.

modern!sej who'd blush whenever ma plinth would bust out his old baby photos whenever you'd come over to their house.

modern!sej who'd participate in cringy couple tiktok trends if it would make you happy.

modern!sej who'd get incredibly competitive just to win you a prize at the carnival.

modern!sej who collects little trinkets that match the color of your eyes and randomly give them to you.

modern!sej who'd listen to you yap and find it adorable

modern!sej who loves photobooths and would always convince you to take photos with him. (Your go to pose is to flip the camera off.) Then you'd get the top half and Sej gets the bottom half.

modern!sej who hates coffee and loves to drink tea (he dosen't do well with caffeine.)

modern!sej who is a sore loser when it comes to card games.

modern!sej who'd write prose and poetry about you (but he wouldn't dare show it, he wouldn't want to make you cry.)

modern!sej who is a GOD at karaoke (he also may or may not be a Broadway kid)

modern!sej who'd instantly agree and laugh when you'd send him things and say "this is so us."

modern!sej who would come over to your house whenever he'd get into a fight with his dad, he'd get so angry while trying to let go of all the pent up emotions he'd start crying and you're always there to comfort him.

modern!sej whose love language is acts of service, would always without a doubt be up for anything, he'd always be there when you need help, whatever the job calls for Sej seems to be always overqualified. When you feel like the world is against you he'd remind you that it's him and you against the world, neither of you were going to be alone in this fight anymore as long as you had eachother. (Then you'd laugh and tell him how incredibly cheesy it was.)

modern!sej who loves watching films, so more often than not you two would be found at the movie theater munching on some free popcorn because the guy that works the concessionaire stand knows you guys well enough to just give you guys free food.

modern!sej who is a munch. Enough SAID.

#tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth #sejanus plinth x you #the hunger games #josh andres rivera #sejanus x reader

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