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sillysillygoofygoose · 3 months

Note

Hi hi! Can I request a Toji x fem! Reader who’s really quiet in bed, because of an ex (like, maybe he tells her that the sounds she makes aren’t pleasant and things like that??)

OH MY GOD??!?!? HELLOOO!!! I'M FEELING SO SPOILED TODAY 🤭🤭 yes yes yes yes yes THANK YOU ANON 💗 it's a little angsty AGAIN (don't know what's up with me tbh) but very sweet

Don't Be Shy ★

Everything feels fragile. New feelings, new headspace, new man. Thinking about it made your stomach twist and turn in complicated bows... He's so handsome. So strong. So dreamy. God, what if I fuck it all up?

It was all new... the feeling of his hips grinding up into yours as you grip onto his strong, wide shoulders, biting down into your bottom lip to stop your sounds in their tracks.

"Mm fuck baby, you feeling good?" Toji's grunts and light tap on your hip pulls you from your flurry of worries.

"Uh yeah, yeah, it's really good, Toji." You mumble, feeling your breath hitch in your chest, attempting to hold back you gasps as the pressure of Toji's bulge crashes perfectly with your clit.

"Gotta tell me bubs... I don't know this pretty body yet. Gotta help me learn." He huffs out as your hands travel under his fitted black shirt.

You simply nod, feeling your cheeks warm up as you and Toji exchange the same warm air between quick breaths.

You feel yourself loosen up the wetter you get, biting onto the back of your hand and clenching your stomach, subtly compressing your moans.

Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to at least talk.

"Okay, fuck okay, I want you inside please." Missing the way Toji smirks, you quickly get your sentence out as fast as possible before a moan can slip out, concentrating hard on keeping your voice as steady as possible.

"Alright, princess, c'mere." Toji flips you onto your back, gently tugging down your pants along with your soaked panties.

You cover your mouth as you feel Toji's hot breath on your quivering pussy, looking up at the ceiling.

Toji's good. Really good. You can tell simply by the way he operates that he's skilled. Experienced.

He's been with other girls. Seen other girls. Heard other girls. And all of a sudden, it all comes back to you.

"Uhm, you don't... you don't have to prep me or anything. We can just do it, I'll be okay." Pushing away his head when you realize he's about to taste you, you situate yourself, sitting up on your elbows.

Toji is shocked as he hovers above you, glaring in confusion.

"Are you sure? I really don't think that's a good idea bubba." Softly, he glides his middle and pointer finger along your slit, assessing if you were even close to being wet enough.

"No, no I'm sure. I'll be alright." Sitting up slightly, you paw at the waist band of his gray sweatpants, watching in delight as his cock strains against the fabric. Pulling them down, you distract him by grazing his tip with your delicate finger, making him shudder.

"Fuck~ alright babygirl..." He mumbles, laying you back down as your legs automatically spread, humping his veiny cock against your heat, getting it as wet as possible.

His sharp, commanding eyes focus on your face as he slowly pushes himself in, attempting to gage any type of reaction from you.

It burned. Really bad, it burned as he slowly stretched you out, feeling like you were being split in half at your core. You laid there quietly, softly breathing out as the pain subsided and pleasure picked up.

The physical and emotional intensity inside your chest suffocated you as Toji began thrusting into you, shallow and slow. It felt so good. He felt so good.

But you couldn't make a noise. You couldn't be ugly. You'd embarrass yourself, you'd turn him off. You'd ruin it.

"You always this quiet, doll? Makin' me nervous." Toji quirked his head to the side, less than pleased as he slid in and out of you and you just laid there, only sign of life being your blinking eyes.

"Yeah, I guess so." You mumble, praying he'd drop it. It's so humiliating. What's worse than being an ugly moaner? Your signs of pleasure are grating and unattractive... at least, that's what he said.

The last man you laid yourself out for, being totally vulnerable with, someone you thought was utterly attracted to you, no matter what. The sex was good... so good that you were moaning and whimpering under him.

God, he was so harsh. You never thought you would be so politely degraded after sex, all over the way you sound.

Tears well up in your distant eyes, and before you even feel it, Toji sees it.

"Shit! Shit, fuck are you okay? Are you hurt? What's wrong bub?" He pulls out of you, grabbing you by the waist and pulling you into his shoulder.

"No, nothing, nothing it's so stupid." You shake your head, wiping your tears as Toji cradles you.

"I should've known sweets, I'm sorry. You've been off. What's on your mind, pretty girl?" You feel the stress building up around you, a warm all-encompassing feeling breaking you down from the inside out.

"Don't want you to think I'm ugly." You whisper into his shoulder.

"Huh? Baby, I'm lookin' at you right now. You're beautiful, you know that." His dark eyebrows furrow as he looks you over.

"No, no. My voice. My sounds. I don't want you to think I sound bad... My ex... he said- he um said that ummm... God this is so embarrassing. Um he said that I sound bad... that I turned him off. So I don't want to um, I don't want you to be less attracted to me, 's all." You sob out, explaining yourself as shame overtakes you, dignity leaving your body through salted tears.

"Oh. What a dumb prick. Don't think about that ass. I want to hear you, you kidding me? Let me hear you... okay?"

Slowly, you nod, detaching yourself from Toji's shoulder, laying back down.

"Okay, bub?" Toji repeats, drawing sloppy circles on your clit with his bulbous head, coaxing a genuine, surprised gasp from your throat.

"Okay... okayy." You gently speak out, a long, staggered breath freeing itself from your system.

"Therrree we go, sweetheart. Just let it out. Such a pretty little girl." Keeping his thumb pressed to your sensitive clit, he slides himself back in, basking in pride as he hears the smallest moan slip from your pretty parted lips. Gotta start somewhere.

"Give it to me, baby," Was the only warning you got before Toji began hammering into your puffy little cunt, forcing gasps and moans from you. Quickly you move your hand up to your mouth to cover your embarrassment, but Toji grabs your wrist, pining it beside your ear.

"Fuck, fucckkk sounds so good baby. Pretty little moans." He praises as he kisses along your jaw, forcing himself deeper into you. He knows he hit your sweet spot when your most blissed-out noise filled the room, signaling to his brain the beginning of his orgasm, bubbling in the pit of his toned stomach.

"Keep moaning like that and I'm gonna fill you up. Fuck, gonna make me cum... you close, bubba? Come on, talk to me." His encouragement works you up even more, making you feel brave.

"Mhm yeah, 'm really close Toji. Wanna cum with you." You moan out as his thrusts increase, then completely still all at once.

Your voice. God, your voice. Just hearing it had Toji gripping onto your hips and cumming on the spot. His orgasm triggers yours, your confident moans almost making him hard again.

"So good. So beautiful. Pretty moans for a pretty girl." Toji grins, breaking the peaceful ambience of the room.

"Wanna hear you for the rest of my life, pretty."

Hope you enjoyed! Xoxo

Thank you so so much anon!! Kisses! 💕

#jjk x reader #fem reader #size difference #age difference #jjk #jjk toji #toji fushiguro #toji x reader #toji smut #toji zenin #toji headcanons #toji x you #jujustu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #💗asks💗

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yawnderu · 6 months

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K-9 — Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader | Part II

Sick as a dog, and just as vicious.

1 2 3 4 5

Simon scores a date with his favorite medic

Simon has to be under her watch after getting a knife to the gut.

"Oi, doc." Simon calls out and you sigh softly, gaze drifting from your patient report to him, his unmasked figure lays on the medical bed, gauze wrapped tightly over his abdomen, keeping his newest injury guarded from anything that could rub on or mess up the stitches.

"Why'd they call you K-9?" One of his thin, eyeblack stained eyebrows lifts as he looks at you, already feeling bored from having to stay still for so long, movement limited by the patched up stab wound on his stomach.

"Long story." You dismiss him, looking back down at the patient report you were writing for him. His medical file was interesting, indicating no pictures of him should ever be taken, as well as additional personal and professional information.

"You got surgery in 2020, what's that about?" You didn't notice any bigger scars whenever he was injured, having already seen his naked torso and part of his legs.

"Curious 'bout me, doc?" His tone is slightly teasing, the smug bastard thinking he's funny by asking that. A single eye roll is enough to get him to speak, a deep, gravelly chuckle escaping his lips before he answers.

"Took a nasty gunshot to the leg, was fadin' fast." He lays back down, gaze drifting towards the ceiling as he thinks about it. He was so close to death himself, only three years ago.

"Thought it'd be more interesting." Your bluntness never fails to make him double take. It's not passive aggressive or mean, just... way too honest. More than he's used to.

"I'll get a proper grand injury just for you, lass." You roll your eyes again, taking a sip from your coffee to hide the way the corners of your lips are tugging up. It's amusing, really, to find out how much Simon has changed throughout the years. Price told you he used to be much more quiet, though after 4 years of working with the task force, he was able to open up, getting more and more used to interacting with a team rather than being a lone wolf.

"That's not necessary, I can give it to you myself if you'd like." Your gloved hand presses on the scalpel on your white coat before going back to writing his medical report, tone laced with subtle humor.

"She can joke." He taunts, trying to sit up before a sharp hiss of pain escapes his lips. You frown, the report taking way too long to finish because you keep getting interrupted.

"Hold on." You walk up to him, hands holding onto his strong back before you try to help the behemoth of a man sit up. His calloused hands hold onto your forearms, a few low, deep groans escaping his lips at the strain his flexing muscles are causing to the fresh injury.

"Fuckin' hell." He mutters and you look up, eyes focusing on his pained expression for a second too long. Simon isn't ugly, really, but when his face is all scrunched up in pain, sweat gathering in the form of clear specks all over his eyeblack stained skin? He looks almost majestic. You get your head out of the gutter, placing some soft pillows behind his back to help keep him up without much strain.

"You should be healed up soon enough, got lucky the bastard didn't stab that deep." You shrug, looking back at the tiny coffee maker in your office before you look back up at him, his brown eyes already staring back at you, pupils blown, as usual.

"Want some coffee?" He shakes his head politely, eyes closing in pain as he tries to get into a more comfortable position.

"A cuppa would be nice." You flick his forehead softly, tired eyes drifting towards the clock on the wall. 0100, yet you simply nod and grab your phone from the desk.

"Try not to die while I'm gone." The door closes behind you before he can reply, brown eyes closing as he sighs when you're gone. He doesn't even know how it all started. Simon is a man of discipline, a soldier, a Ghost, yet the way his heart quickens and his cock hardens whenever he's with you is something he can't control, as if a parasite made home in his brain and is using his body as a vessel, ridding him completely of any self-control.

You come back 10 minutes later, a tray with a cup of hot tea and food placed on his lap, the almost comforting warmth quickly spreading through his legs and body.

"Thank you." He moves the spoon around the cup of Earl Grey, letting the sugar mix in for a hot minute before he takes a sip from it, nodding his head once in approval. He was starving, really, but he tried his best to eat slowly, ignoring his hungry stomach begging him to wolf it all down. His eyes drift back to the tray, attention caught by the singular orange left there.

His hands fumble for one of the knives in his clothes, finding all of the straps were removed by you and placed too far away for his injured body to reach. He looks back up at you, admiring you in silence and truly taking you in. The way you lift your glasses every once in a while even before they can slip down the bridge of your nose, the way your hand fiddles with the pen and your lips turn into a small pout whenever you're not sure how to describe something in the report, the way you look so angelic under the dim lights of the infirmary—

"What are you lookin' at?" You don't even bother looking back at him, feeling his stare on you for the past two minutes. He has such an intense gaze that makes you feel as if he can see through your soul, yet it never intimidated you.

"Nothin', bird, nothin'. Peeled you an orange."

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starry-bi-sky · 4 months

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more clone^2

snippet 21: Danny is Bruce Wayne's Clone and--

Star, with the rest of the A-List girls: alright ladies! it's time for our quarterly 'cutest boys' list! Now I'll get straight to the point, in our number one spot is--

All girls, in unison: Danny Fenton

Star, writing it down on a whiteboard: and for our number two spot--

---------- Snippet 22: clone meet clone

Ellie, dramatically: Danny!

Danny, equally dramatic: Ellie!

Ellie, pushing past him and looking around: where is he! i wanna see the little guy!

Damian, with a sword, brandishing it dangerously: *in arabic* don't come any closer, stay back!

Danny, wrapping an arm around Ellie's waist and pulling her back: woah, woah - he's still adjusting to everything

Danny, turning towards Damian with his google translate open: [please don't stab her. this is Ellie my clone.]

Damian, lowering his sword in disbelief: 'there's MORE of you?

-------------- Snippet 23: Ellie has the same epiphany as Danny

Ellie:...hey Danny

Danny, pouring over his arabic book: hm

Ellie: since I'm your clone, and you're a clone of Bruce Wayne, and Damian is a clone of Damian Wayne, does that technically mean I'm his mom - uh. dad-mom?

Danny:

Ellie:...its a fair question

Danny: .....*deep sigh* you're his cousin until further notice.

------------ Snippet 24: wait for me ii (hadestown, live vers.)

(i'm not sure of the context, but i've been thinking of Danny saying this to Damian during a serious moment for days. the snippet title is the song that the dialogue below is from)

Danny, fixing up Damian's wraith suit: the meanest dog you'll ever meet

Danny, zipping up damian's jacket: it ain't the hound dog in the street. he bares some teeth and tears some skin, but brother,

Danny, adjusting Damian's gloves, pausing to look him in the eye: that's the worst of him.

Danny, he holds a finger up to Damian's eyes and points it at him: the dog you really got to dread, is the one that howls inside your head

Danny, grabbing damian's mask and smoothing it over his eyes: it's him whose howling drives men mad, and a mind to its undoing

------------ Snippet 25: Danny is Bruce Wayne's clone-- (Battinson Vers*)

Ember, in the middle of a fight with Phantom + Wraith:

Ember, knocks off Phantom's mask for the first time: lets see what ugly mug you're really hiding under there, Phantom--

Phantom: *the wettest, most pathetic looking pretty boy on the planet*

Ember:

Phantom, dryly: what, did your mic die out or something? all that caterwauling finally make you lose your voice

Wraith, unsheathing his sword: *vibrating with baby brother rage bc he knows EXACTLy why Ember is silent*

----------- Snippet 26: Damian is finally starting to play nice :)

Dany: hey... guys.... whatcha doing

Damian, hanging out with Sam: Me and Manson are plotting ways to crush the Mayor's plan to cut budget funding for the city parks and cut down the native trees

Danny: oh, i see.... is this safe?

Sam: probably

Danny: hm.

------------- Snippet 27: digging up cold case

Danny: ....if Damian is out with Sam tonight with their plot against the mayor....

Danny, turning towards his desk: then that means I can work some more on Mrs. Witherbury's murder case that she asked me to solve without Dames guilt-tripping me into bed :)

Danny, settling down at his desk with a thermos full of coffee: i'm glad sam and damian are finally getting along

--------- Snippet 28: sparring

Damian, frowning: your reflexes are incredible but your combat is downright awful, brother. it's truly a miracle i didn't skewer you upon our first meeting

Danny, got his ass kicked by his 7yo brother: *groaning in pain* not everyone has super secret assassin training, Damian. And I don't really have time to actually practice anything.

Damian: Mrs. Fenton knows martial arts and her form is proficient enough, I'm sure she would be delighted to teach you if you asked. I will join since I need to keep my skills sharp and my training was unfinished when I arrived here.

-------- Snippet 29: daytime surprise

Phantom, fighting Skulker in broad daylight: *under his breath* at least Lancer's english test will get canceled for this...

Phantom, dodging a blast from Skulker: *in ASL, furious* don't you have anything better to do, you fuck!?

Skulker: foolish ghost child, speak! I know you're capable of it - speak before you lose the ability to

Phantom: *flips him off instead*

Wraith, sending back a ecto-blast with his sword: please pay attention, phantom

Phantom, doubletaking: *in a hissed whisper* what are you doing here!? it's a school day, you should be at school!

Wraith: Tt. If the boot fits.

------------ Snippet 30: guilt

Danny with his head on his desk, his elbows propped up as he massages his hands: hn

Damian, lurking to the side with a guilty look on his face:

Damian: can i....

Danny, silently holding his hand out to Damian: hrm

Damian, immediately taking it and doing the massages + finger exercises: ...im sorry

Danny: hm... I forgive you

#dpxdc #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dpxdc crossover #dpdc au #dpxdc au #dp dc #dp dc crossover #danny fenton is not the ghost king #clone^2 #this made me realize that Danny's ghosts PROBABLY don't know what he looks like under the mask for a WHILE #they just know he's a pain in the ass and also human and also insistent to get them back into the ghost zone #danny being the battinson bat clone is THE funniest thing to me like goddamn. you're a drowned kitten #does this imply that none of his rogues have seen his face in the two years before he got damian? yes. but wraith knowing why ember is #silent and being indignant with baby brother rage is so funny to me. protective little siblings ftw >>>>#dany being battinson bat makes so much sense because clone danny has no powers and runs around in a hoodie and jeans and baseball bat #and battinson is the exact amount of lanky and tall wet rat that seeing phantom WOULD be unsettling if you saw him at night.#also sam and damian get along but i dont know or think that damian would ever trust her tucker or jazz like he ever would with danny #he likes them and trusts them to take care of danny and him (to an extent) but he like. TRUSTS trusts danny.#hhhh fuck danny is permanently the battinson bat in my head fUCK. it makes so much sense #danny resorts to Batman Grunts when he’s overtired + in pain + unfocused

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doumadono · 11 months

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Douma & period sex - headcanons

Warnings: smut Requested by: anonymous

MASTERLIST

Being with Douma means there are no limits, it means laying all the cards on the table, exposing every secret, confronting the ugly and harsh truth. In his presence, it feels like the world opens up, revealing new possibilities and unexplored territories. With Douma, there is a sense of daring and adventure, a willingness to dive deep into the unknown and embrace the rawness of life ♡

Due to his demonic nature, Douma possesses an exceptional sense of smell, enabling him to accurately detect when you're on your period

Douma has an insatiable desire to create chaos and revels in making messes. He finds pleasure in the sight of blood, whether it's on his own skin or yours. His ultimate satisfaction lies in leaving behind a trail of destruction, where stained and torn sheets serve as evidence of a job well done

In moments when your breasts feel more sensitive or tender, Douma offers gentle relief by softly kneading them for you

On a few occasions, Douma had the experience of possessing you during your period. The heightened wetness and warmth of your pussy seemed to intensify his pleasure, pushing him to the edge faster than ever before

In anticipation of your period, Douma exercises self-restraint by refraining from engaging in sex or masturbation during the preceding week. By doing so, he deliberately builds up desire and eagerly looks forward to indulging himself once your period begins

Douma finds immense pleasure in various aspects of intimacy, including the sensation of your warm walls enveloping his cock. The additional warmth during your period is particularly arousing to him, causing him to shudder with delight each time he fucks you missionary

He humorously compares himself to a tampon 😅

"You feel so fucking incredible, so damn good!" he exclaims, occasionally sinking his teeth into your shoulder, igniting a mix of pleasure and a hint of pain. You find yourself unable to contain your moans, as the sheets bunch up tightly in your hands, your thighs quivering from the powerful rhythm of his thrusts as he takes you doggy style

"Your warmth and tightness drive me insane," Douma grunts, running a hand through your hair before gripping it firmly, pulling it back as he gently bites along your neck. "You're so wet, just look at this beautiful mess," he exclaims, admiring the evidence of your desire and arousal mixed with your period blood dripping down your thighs on the sheets

"Oh, Douma! I'm going to cum!" you moan passionately, your voice echoing through the room as you bury your head into a pillow. "I can't hold on any longer! I wanna cum, baby! Please… Move, for fuck's sake!" you groan, lifting your head to glance back at the towering figure behind you

His hands grip your sides firmly, squeezing your plush flesh, causing him to suck in a sharp breath as he visibly trembles, his chest rising and falling with each movement. "If I move now, I'll reach my climax, and I don't want to do that just yet," he replies, his heated gaze fixed on you, intensifying the sensation as your walls involuntarily tighten around him. "Oh, fuck! There's an incredible amount of blood flowing from your cunt right now!" he exclaims, a hint of excitement in his voice as he withdraws his throbbing cock from your pussy

With a swift movement, he flips you over so that you once again lie on your back, ready for the next phase of your intimate encounter. Douma's tongue delves into your sensitive core, pressing firmly against your walls, while his thumb skillfully rubs circles over your clit - his sole purpose is to bring you pleasure. Douma has a remarkable knack for discovering all the spots on your body that drive you to the brink of madness

You find yourself gripping onto his silver hair again as your hips begin to buck uncontrollably. A whine escapes your lips when he eventually pulls away, leaving you feeling empty and yearning for more. Douma licks his lips and wipes his mouth, cleansing away the traces of your blood

Understanding the need to not keep you waiting, Douma swiftly substitutes his tongue with his throbbing cock, effortlessly sliding it inside you. "Oh, fuck, Y/N. You're dripping wet. My little, fucking lotus!"

Blushing at the sounds his thrusts produce, you raise your hips to meet his movements, biting your lip in a mix of pleasure and anticipation. As you do, you realize that your uterus is beginning to relax, a thought that brings a contented smile to your face

Douma spreads your legs slightly, creating a more comfortable position for smoother entry after he again withdraws. He hooks your legs around his waist, and with deliberate slowness, he pushes his cock inside you

"Fuck!" Douma's breath hitches as he releases himself inside you, panting heavily before collapsing beside you; your mixed cums dripping out of your abused pussy

Your body trembling with pleasure as you cling onto him, wrapping your legs around his waist. The pain that once lingered has now completely dissipated, leaving you in a state of blissful satisfaction

#douma #douma x reader smut #douma smut #douma x reader #douma x y/n #douma x you #kny douma #demon slayer #kny doma #douma headcanons #kimetsu no yaiba douma #douma imagine #kny headcanons #demon slayer headcanons #demon slayer smut #kny smut #x reader smut

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leigh-kay · 1 year

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time for dom tyler w a vamp gf bc he has a thirst for fear and blood and she cant die and likes pain 🤭

Close Your Eyes // Tyler Galpin

warnings: dark!tyler, biting, mean!dom!tyler, hyde comes out but not ugly bug eyes, just claws lmfao, slapping, blindfold, blood, smut (again obvi), degrading, praising, fingering, oral (woman recieving), manhandling, may make some uncomfy☝️

smut smut smut SMUT bc he deserves the hype truly

Tongue and teeth and hands and skin. Red, and white, and the absence of it all.

She relished in the feeling of the sting across her cheek, squealing at the feel of his hands gripping at her breasts, and jumping each time he let her go to grab at her again.

"Ty," she breathed, chest brushing his as he held her wrists to the wall, "can I see you yet?"

"I wanted to try a blindfold actually."

She ran it through her mind as she breathed him in, pausing before opening her eyed of her own accord.

"Why?'

His grip on her wrists loosened, soothing shapes traced where bruises would remain tomorrow, "If you can't see what I'm doing, you'll be forced to anticipate what I do next."

She read between the lines. Anticipate. Be nervous. Nerves meant fear, excitement. Fear fed the fire the hyde instilled in him, and excitement wasn't hard to come by when he had such a way with her body.

"Okay."

"Okay?"

She nodded, pressing the last soft kiss of the night to his lips, "Show me why I should be scared."

He groaned, hand tracing at her neck, "Close your eyes."

He was gone, and then he wasn't. She felt the fabric as he fastened it around her eyes.

It was light, and he tyed it tight, but not so tight it hurt.

"You," he sucked against the column of her throat, "are so fucking good for me, arent you?"

she nodded, a smile gracing her despite the handling she knew was to come.

she loved her sweet, soft eyed boyfriend when he was quiet and shy, holding her hand; she also loved her dark, careless, merciless boyfriend when he threw her around and fucked her dumb.

"Always so willing," she felt the dull point as he held it between her breasts, cutting through the thin fabric of her top.

As the fabric fell to the floor, the point still trailed her stomach. Dull enough to graze, sharp enough to cut if he so wished.

Her breath caught, head collapsing to the wall as it poked below her waistline.

"Careful. Wouldn't want to cut you, yeah?" his laugh was sadistic.

It drove her fucking crazy.

"Please."

"Please what?"

"Cut me, Ty."

The burn across her face was familiar.

"You're so fucking needy. It's pathetic."

"I want you," she screamed as he dug his claws into the flesh of her thigh, "to hurt me."

She couldn't see it, oh how she fucking wished she could, but she could hear it. Feel it.

He was smiling, "Anything you want."

She was in his arms, legs wrapped at his waist as his cock hardened as her core ground against him with each step.

He dropped her to the bed with no warning, the fall catching her off guard.

As she tried to sit up, he shoved her to her back. Her thighs clenched as he ran his teeth across his collarbone. She was unsure if the substance between her legs was her own arousal or the blood from the wound he'd dug into her skin.

As he trailed across her breasts, he bit down, sending her back arching into him as she whimpered.

"Tyler!" she gasped, her own nails raking through his scalp, gripping at his hair as he worked.

As his touch left her, she whined, a pout crossing her as she felt the bed shift.

Where had he gone?

His fingers clutched around her ankles, ripping her down the mattress as he attached his lips to her center through the fabric covering her.

It sent her reeling as she jolted at the contact.

"Tell me what it is."

She lay confused, turned on probably more than she should be, eyes open under the blindfold, as if she could look for the answer.

The shock of the cold against her clit as he tugged her panties to the side answered her queries.

"Fuck!"

He ran it down her folds, pressing viciously against her clit as he pushed at her thighs to keep her down.

"Either you stay still or this ends."

She nodded, body trembling as she tried to keep herself still.

Her fingers scraped against the bed as he thrust tso of his fingers in with no warning, keeping the ice at her most sensitive spot.

He went slow, dragging through her as she moaned, "Tyler, faster!"

He gripped at her hips, mouth meeting her as he picked up the pace. He groaned as she bucked back against him, urging him to go faster still.

As her head rolled back, his teeth tugged at her, tongue soothing the burn as she writhed, the previous warning forgotten.

"Taste so fucking good," he sighed into her.

As her hormones surged and her back arched, she cried out for him, reaching desperately for him as she yanked him to her level, forcing her lips against his.

She came as his fingers never gave up, her fangs piercing his lower lip.

As she floated down his hand trapped her own two in a cage above her head, his tongue running across her neck as he bit down.

It was sick, and disgusting, the way she ached each and everytime he tore into her.

It invoked a feeling so raw, so confusing, and so fucking enticing.

He hadn't fully released her from the hold of his mouth as he pushed her up, only letting go as he flipped her to the position he wanted her.

"I'm gonna fuck you, and you're not going to cum until I say so."

"Yes, please."

His palm cracked down across her ass as he rubbed himself against her, teasing.

With slow, torturous taps to her clit, rubbing his tip along her as he fought his own sense of control from behind her.

"Goddamnit Ty-"

His hand collided with her pussy, making her shout as her back dipled further inwards.

He eased into her, allowing no recovery time as he pounded into her, his hand sneaking around her neck, pulling her up against him.

"You're so pretty when you let me fucking destroy you."

Her lip was between her teeth, fighting the sounds trying to escape her.

She felt dirty, sick, and she was. God she really was. Because she loved it.

"Letting me ruin your sweet little outfit," his fingers found her clit, "carve into you like the pain slut you are," he rubbed rough figure eights against her, grip at her neck tightening, "and now you're letting me fuck you stupid."

She gripped a hand at his around her neck, pushing further against her windpipe, her eyes drifting to the back of her head.

Her moans were strangled and the she felt so so dizzy.

She could smell the adrenaline, sense her own nerves as he could do anything he pleased with her. She could nearly taste the anger and the rage seeping out of him as he buried himself inside of her.

He dropped the grip at her neck, feeling her clench around his cock, "dont you dare cum without permission."

His thrusts grew deeper, his hands ravaging her body as he took what he wanted.

He was beautiful, she didn't need to see physically to see him in her own mind.

Head thrown bad, the low growls ripping out of his throat revealing he was just as close as she was.

The way he ripped himself from her to throw her to her back again only solidified what she'd known

"Tyler, right there, please!"

He kept his pace, stabbing st her g spot with each and every thrust, "Please- let me-"

"Say my name."

"Tyler," she gasped.

"Whose fuck toy are you?"

"Y-yours," her lip bled with how hard she bit down, "I'm yours!"

"Now!" he demanded.

She broke.

Her lips met his neck as she dug her teeth into the skin of his neck. Her mouth rushed with his blood as she came apart on him. As she savored his taste he lost himself, cumming inside her.

The shocks sent the two of them into a spiral, reaching and gripping and gasping.

As she pulled from his neck, he rushed his lips to hers, tasting his own blood, running his tongue across hers to capture the taste.

He ripped at the blindfold, revealing her eyes before kissing her once more, his hold on her waist not faltering.

"I love you."

He slowly withdrew from her, gentle hands as he brushed the stray hairs from her cheeks, "I worship you."

author here to let everyone know i do take request :) and id love to hear your ideas

#wednesday smut #wednesday #wednesday addams #tyler galpin #tylergalpinsmut #tyler galpin smut #xavier thorpe #xavier thorpe smut #smut #vampire #nevermore #netflix

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outofconcheol · 2 months

Text

Exit West (LMH x F!Reader)

pairing: Minho x f!reader (afab)

genres/au/rating: angst, smut, some fluff, post-apocalyptic au (based on the Netflix series Sweet Home), 18+

summary: Even when the world is plunged into its darkest hour, you find the faintest light in Minho.

warnings: heavy angst, lots of mentions of blood and injuries (i tried to make it as non-graphic as possible), minor character deaths, weapons, panic attack (again not graphic), it's heavily implied OC struggles with agoraphobia and PTSD, brief infidelity, Minho and reader do get into verbal arguments (they're a little toxic lol), Minho is a true loverboy, ambiguous but hopeful ending, smut warnings: kissing, fingering (f rec), unprotected sex, brief nipple play

word count: 6.3k

a/n: i'm so sorry that this took so long, google docs decided to be a jerk and delete a huge chunk of this while i was working on it (I apologize in advance for the poorly written angst)! It is based on the world of Sweet Home but honestly you don't need to have watched the show or read the webtoon to follow along. the title is from the book by Mohsin Hamid. I hope you enjoy! <;3

The sharp wire of the metal fence cuts into Minho’s palms, digging into his mottled skin, and he braces himself for the jump. Leaping over, Minho lands silently on his feet, skills honed from many years of observing his cats take the same leap from couches or counters. But none of that existed anymore.

His eyes remain sharp, taking in the cover of woods around him, and he remembers that while the trees helped him stay hidden, they hid the monsters from his sight as well. No sooner than he’s managed to calm down the ever-present racing of his heart, he’s swinging the door to the bunker open, closing it quietly behind him.

Wincing, he examines the cuts on his palms, tinged with dirty specks of rust. He wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep doing this, knowing the small supply of rubbing alcohol he’d managed to collect over the past few months was now down to the last bottle. And there was no more to be found.

The small bit of sunlight that streams in through the barely-qualifying window illuminates your sleeping figure nestled amongst a pile of dirty blankets, and Minho almost hesitates to disturb you like this. You look so peaceful like this, a stark contrast to the emptiness that fills your eyes when you wake, the pain of living through two starkly different lifetimes contained in their depths. He knows his eyes hold the same.

“___,” he shakes you awake gently, watching you stir. The gashes that mar your face have begun to scab over, leaving ugly scars in their wake.

“I brought dinner.”

That gets you to jolt up, rubbing sleepily at your eyes.

“Are you okay? Anything hurt?” You shake your head, a small frown on your face when you see the fresh red marks that litter his palms. He has the feeling you’re lying to him again, but he doesn’t push it. A lot went unspoken between you two.

Minho wordlessly hands you over a full sleeve of crackers, your eyes lighting up. You chomp down eagerly on one, before pausing, holding it out to him.

“I already ate,” he lies, knowing he didn’t want you to sacrifice any kind of meal for his sake. He’d eat the less full sleeve when you fell back asleep.

Moments of silence pass between you, the soft sounds of your eating lulling Minho’s tired eyes to fall, becoming heavy with sleep. He rests his head on his knees, fighting back the shiver that night brought with it.

A deafening roar breaks through the stillness, and you freeze, dropping the crackers to the ground. Minho is by your side in an instant, hand tentatively reaching out towards your shoulder. But he never closes the gap.

“Ten seconds,” you croak out, so softly that Minho thinks he might not have heard you. “If the distance that sounds travel is 343 metres per second, then ten seconds means it’s far enough away from us.”

The ghost of a smile twitches at Minho’s lips, and he wants to praise your sharp skills, considering he’d only ever been a pabo, but you’ve turned around and fallen asleep again, your back to him.

Minho settles into the blankets across from you, watching you for a few minutes before his body is weighed down by the exhaustion of the day, knowing the exact same thing waited tomorrow. The end of the world was more boring than he’d expected it to be.

It hadn’t always been this way. The chaos had naturally broken through the quiet, starting one night when a fire broke out in his apartment complex. Amidst the screams and sounds of windows shattering, Minho’s only concern had been the cats, scooping them up, taking special care to cover their ears from the blaring alarms. But all of it hadn’t made a difference anyway.

He thought it was his neighbour at the end of the hallway. Or at least, it looked like him. He’d always had some sort of disdain for the man - in Minho’s eyes he talked too much. Always interrupting him during his morning mail runs to brag about his latest conquests when it came to dating. It was a sore spot for Minho, especially considering his own romantic interests were so singular, something he didn’t want to get into whenever his neighbor cornered him.

But the vain man who talked Minho’s ear off about sleeping with as many women as possible was nowhere to be found, lithe limbs transforming into ropes that broke through the ceiling. Heading straight for Minho.

Somewhere in the chaos, Minho briefly had time to register that whatever was in front of him was no longer human. And so, he did the only thing he could do. Run.

The floor slipped underneath him, hurtling Minho to the ground, the cat carrier thrown open next to him. Soonie, Doongi, and Dori are nowhere to be found. His palms claw against the tile, trying and failing to lift himself up, eyes widening when he sees the red that coats his palms.

“Please,” Minho croaks, attempting to break through to the human underneath the monster. “Don’t do this.”

There’s a brief flash, a spindly arm reaching out for Minho’s face, and he ducks. The sound of shattering glass follows, the grotesque body flinging itself out the window. Minho heaves, hot tears leaking from his face as he remains curled in the fetal position, arms braced over his head. When his breath returns to him, he looks over at the empty carrier and lets out a sob. Slowly, his eyes turn to the shattered window.

Blood lines its jagged edges, dripping to join the mess on the floor. Peering downwards, Minho sees the mangled body of the thing (he refused to acknowledge it had been his neighbor) that had attacked him, unmoving.

He had to get out of there.

…

The knock at the door startles you. It’d been days since you’d locked yourself away from the chaos, days since you’d heard a sound. But the screams would never leave your head.

You’ve been huddled up in the same corner since it all started, exactly ten feet away from the door. Close enough to act quickly in case someone (or something) came knocking, but far enough away to duck into one of the rooms of your apartment for safety.

However, the splitting pain in your ankle prevents you from doing either. The bruises are turning a nasty shade of yellow, mixing with the unsightly violet from before. You’re pretty sure it’s broken, your bookcase toppling over onto it the day this had all started.

The knock startles you again. It’s soft, gentler than the ramming you’d expected if a monster were to come knocking. But still, you could never be too safe.

“Churu,” a soft voice whispers through the darkness, and you freeze. There was only one person in the world who’d know that word, and come knocking at your door.

Your palms burn as you drag yourself against the floor, taking extra care to make as little sound as possible. Fighting the urge to curse when the door creaks, you brace yourself against it, peering through the peephole.

The banged-up face of Lee Minho greets you on the other end, and you nearly sob with relief. Swinging the door open, you take him in at the threshold, peering at you with a strange gaze. You’d often joked to Minho that his eyes resembled his cats’, curiosity mixed with having seen too much contained in their depths. But it seemed especially true today, his lip split open and face haggard while he clutched a baseball bat in his hand.

You know the first thing he’s going to ask before it even leaves his mouth.

“Are you hurt?” he huffs out, watching you collapse against the door frame.

“Junho is gone.” You watch Minho’s entire figure tense up when his best friend’s name comes off your lips, his grip around the bat tightening.

“I-, I tried to talk to him, but there was a weird sound on my phone that kept breaking us up, and then I heard him scream, and then…”

You collapse against Minho in a fit of sobs, forced to recount those awful last moments when you’d heard your boyfriend die over a phone call, the chilling screech of something that wasn’t human cutting off his screams for help. And you were trapped halfway across the city, crumpled on the floor, unable to do anything to help him.

Minho’s arms wrap around you, supporting your weight, and he’s moving you both over the threshold, taking care to shut the door softly behind him. You don’t know how many minutes you spend wailing against his chest, the sight of another human forcing you to confront the horror you’d dealt with in the past few days, but eventually, the pain in your ankle makes itself known again, and you slide to the floor.

Minho rests his head against the door frame, his own eyes red-rimmed, and you watch his face contort, trying to hold back the tears from falling.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, watching Minho’s gaze snap to yours.

“What for?” he croaks. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“I’m so scared, Minho,” your eyes fill with tears. “I thought that no one would come for me, that I’d be alone here, and that I’d…”

You choke, unable to finish the sentence, and you watch Minho straighten next to you. The warmth of his hand wrapping around your waist startles you, watching his lithe body contort as he helps you up off the floor, taking special care not to put weight on your ankle.

“You’re with me now. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

There’s a furrow in Minho’s brow when he hears your request, lips tightening into a thin line while his throat bobs.

“Absolutely not.”

The decision is final, resolute, stubborn — Minho’s arms are crossed over each other, and he stares down at your figure among the blankets, eyeing the makeshift splint currently tied around your ankle.

“Minho, please.” It comes out as a whine, years building in your eyes from the frustration of being trapped in the bunker for months on end.

“I said no.”

Minho had dragged the two of you to safety not long after he’d found you, stealthily dodging the strange creatures that had begun to pop up on the city landscape. There was little in common between them besides their monstrous appearances, but Junho’s screams lingered in the back of your mind, causing you to wake up every night in a cold sweat for the first few weeks.

The tiny bunker became your new home, and Minho your roommate, forced together by circumstances beyond your control. You’d snapped at him when he brought up the idea of leaving, wanting to search for food and supplies outside.

Unfortunately, your ankle made the final decision for you — Minho would have to be the sacrificial lamb, risking his life for you both. It filled you with an immeasurable amount of guilt, knowing he put himself in danger every day to provide for you both. But it also made you angry, the listlessness that had begun to brew inside you only becoming stronger when you felt more and more useless every time he’d come back with food and medicine for you and nothing for himself.

Regret cut through you like a searing knife. Who was Minho to do all these things? He’d been Junho’s best friend, not yours. The relationship between you two had been cordial at best, Minho barely managing to string more than five words together every time he was around you. It always seemed to you like Minho stood at the other end of a vast abyss, impossible for you to reach in any way. Admittedly, you’d been no help in closing the chasm, even since you’d both escaped together, the pain in your ankle lulling you to sleep as soon as you swallowed the meds he brought every day.

Your eyes flit to Minho across the bunker, holed up into the corner. You watch his hands rummage around in his pocket, pulling out a switchblade. The shiny metal gleams in the rays of the sun, Minho’s fingers enclosing around a lock of his messy, overgrown hair—

“STOP!” The switchblade clatters to the floor at the sound of your voice, Minho’s lips parting in surprise. A deep flush creeps across your neck, wondering what had prompted you to interrupt him in the moment. His eyes study you with a curious glint, a thousand questions hidden in them.

“You’ll dull the knife,” you manage to get out, amazed at the calmness in your voice despite your heart racing at a million miles an hour. “What if we need it?”

Minho’s lips twist up into a smirk, and you wonder if he can see through your thinly veiled excuse. If he does, he doesn’t say anything, throwing a baseball cap over the shaggy strands, smiling when they fall into his eyes.

“Fine,” he acquiesces. “You can come along. But any sign of trouble and you have to leave me and get back here, okay?”

“What do you mean, leave you? You’re coming back with me, of course.”

“___.”

“Minho.”

You push yourself off the ground with your palms, hobbling over to Minho’s side.

“Thank you,” you whisper softly to him, and Minho rubs at the back of his neck sheepishly, before the door to the bunker creaks open once more, this time the two of you stepping out into the sun together.

. . .

Sweat pools on Minho’s shirt, the sun beating down on the two of you while you make your way through the woods, eventually finding yourselves in a vast field. You’re slower than he is, trailing behind him while you skip on your partially healed ankle, but Minho finds he doesn’t mind.

In fact, he thinks he must look like a fool, the huge smile that threatens to take over his face creeping up every few minutes. Somehow, it feels different now, having you here with him. The sun’s rays feel less ruthless, and there’s the faint rustling of a breeze through the meadow. It's almost like he’s on an adventure, and not caught in an endless struggle for survival. He’s filled with the hope that maybe the two of you can come out of this alive. Together.

Pushing through the blades of grass, Minho pauses when he hears a small thud behind him, followed by the faint sound of wheezing. Turning on his heels, his heart turns to ice when he sees you, knees curled to your chest, the faint sheen of sweat lingering on your skin.

“Shit!” Minho curses into thin air, crouching onto the dirt next to you. “Stay with me ___!”

His arm swings out to steady you, but recoils at the last second, not wanting to startle you. Guilt eats away at his chest when he realizes this is all his fault. He’d been the one to agree to let you go outside. Realization dawns on him that there’d been a reason you stayed in the bunker the entire time, his mind flashing back to the days you must have spent alone in your apartment, full of pain, wondering if anyone would show up.

Minho panics, looking around the field for something, anything that could help hold you over until this passes, when a thought crosses his mind.

“Do you want to hear about the time I tried to walk my cats?” He babbles out, cheeks hot at the silly interruption. It works though, your face jolts up, the trance finally broken. Your eyes are red-rimmed, hair dampened with sweat, snot running down your nose. Minho thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“It was in a field just like this, I brought them out here with their harnesses,” he continues, the smile growing on his face when he sees the stream of tears that run down your cheeks dry up.

“It was a disaster. I thought Doongie ran away for sure, and Soonie just laid down in the grass on his belly, refusing to get up. Dori was the only one who took to it,” he reminsces fondly, a half-sob, half-chuckle escaping him at the memory, trying to soothe the hollow ache in his heart when he thinks of them.

“I wish I’d met them,” you reply softly, your hand resting on Minho’s shoulder.

“It was my fault,” Minho spits out bitterly. “Junho was over all the time, I could have introduced you. They would have really liked you I think.”

Just like I do.

“I hope we find them,” your voice is quiet, but there’s a resoluteness to it that surprises Minho. “They have to be out there somewhere, waiting for you.”

That strange feeling of hope bubbles up in Minho’s chest again, and he helps you up, fighting the burning in his cheeks when your hand remains clasped in his, the two of you hobbling through the field.

Half an hour later, and you’re stopped outside the remains of what looked to be a convenience store, completely ransacked. Minho ignores the emptiness he feels when he lets go of your hand to peer inside, his heart dropping at the bare shelves.

Behind him, a twig snaps, your sharp gasp echoing amidst the silence. The gleam of the switchblade is apparent in seconds, Minho pulling it out of his pocket.

The woman is whimpering, her gauzy white dress in tatters. His eyes trail to her hands, the discoloured nails offset by the glint of a fancy diamond ring, and for a moment, he could almost believe she’d just walked out of the church, beaming from the happiest day of her life.

But her eyes say differently. Hollow pools of black, nothing behind them. She’s one of them.

“___, run.” Minho commands, not even turning to look behind him. He hopes you’re gone already, hopes you won’t have to stick around to see this dark side of him, the one that was used to doing battle with monsters every time he left the safety of your little bunker.

But you’re not gone. Your hand wraps around his, lifting it up to study the switchblade in his hand. He looks into your eyes, full of fear but also sadness at the sight in front of you, and he wonders if you see yourself in her. What things could have been with Junho.

“I don’t think she’s going to hurt us,” you wrestle Minho’s blanched fingers off the blade. “We should just go.”

You pocket the knife, Minho’s jaw tensing at the thought of leaving the woman behind, unsure of the potential harm she could cause. He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes you’ve already begun to walk away, your slumped figure visible against the setting sun. You’re crying again.

The woman wails harder when she sees the two of you go, her cries echoing into the silent night.

It’s cold tonight in the bunker.

You shiver among the pile of blankets, watching your breath turn into mist in the frosty air. Teeth chattering, you look over to Minho. His pile of blankets is even more sparse than your own, and you catch sight of his own trembling figure.

It’s cold, your voice echoes in the back of your mind, your feet dragging across the floor, the blankets dragging behind you.

It’s cold, it echoes again, Minho stirring when you lay by his side, throwing the extra blankets over the two of you. His eyes go wide with shock when he sees your face across his in the darkness, studying the way your hair falls messily in your face, the rapid rising of your chest with every breath.

It’s cold, it repeats a final time, your lips surging forward to meet Minho’s, a strange noise escaping his throat before one of his arms comes up to wrap around you, his other palm steadying him against the floor. It’s cold and Minho is warm, the heat from his body burning through you when his tongue traces your lips, before slipping inside, a low whine escaping your throat.

You break away from him, flushed and shivering, but no longer cold. Minho’s hot breath fans against your cheeks, his thumb resting tentatively at the curve of your jaw.

“Touch me please,” you beg him, and his grip around your waist tightens, hands tracing circles on your side. His lips find yours again, thumbs slipping underneath the hem of your shirt, resting against the curve of your hips. You burrow your face into Minho’s neck, leaving featherlight kisses against his jaw, heat rising in your chest when you hear Minho hold his breath. Breaking away, you meet his gaze, the tips of his ears turning red.

“Anything,” he whispers against your lips. “I’ll do anything for you.”

Sparks crackle in the air between you, the once stagnant air in the bunker becoming filled with frantic energy, you slipping a leg over to straddle Minho, him fumbling with the buttons to your clothes, pushing aside just enough to feel how wet you are. The fingers of his other hand trace under your shirt again, climbing up your stomach, thumbs brushing against the underside of your breasts before he tugs at your nipples.

Sighing, your hips move against Minho’s hardness, pushing aside the worn fabric of Minho’s flannel to press kisses to his collarbones, his thumb working on your clit. Your back arches when he presses another finger inside, and the familiar burn of your orgasm begins to rise, building in your stomach.

“Let go for me,” Minho groans, and the deep growl in his voice has you hurtling over the edge, trembling as you fall apart on top of him. The two of you exchange shallow breaths, Minho’s fingers still buried inside you, and you feel your core begin to clench around them, whining from the oversensitivity.

“Please, please, can I fuck you?” Minho whispers, desperation in his tone. You nod, head spinning with everything that had happened, and you reach back under his sweats, fishing his cock out from underneath them.

He pushes into you slowly, groaning when he feels your walls widening to accommodate him. The two of you stay there for a few moments, catching your breath before you tell him it’s okay to move. His hips snap lazily against yours, fucking you slowly and deeply, soft pants and the sound of your wetness reverberating through the bunker.

You rock against him gently, and you reach for his hands, his warm fingertips slipping through your own easily, limbs tangling together in desperation.

“You’re perfect god, you’re perfect, I love you, I love you so much,” he slurs the words, the confession ringing in your ears, soft groans accompanied by the speeding up of his thrusts before he spills inside you.

Lifting you off of him, his arms reach around your body to press you against him, his lips ghosting your forehead, and you feel the wet trail of tears on his cheeks. Eventually, his breathing slows, soft snores telling you he’s fallen asleep, but you remain restless for the rest of the night.

The headache hits Minho like a freight train in the morning, as he stares up at the rust-covered ceiling. There’s a faint chill in the air, one that became even more pronounced when he woke up and you weren’t by his side, and he wonders for a second if he’d imagined it all, from the softness of your lips to the way the words he’d been wanting to say, waiting years to say spilled out of his throat, every kiss and laugh you shared with Junho burned into his memory. And all he did was look on, hopeless in his desperation. Until everything changed last night.

A loud clang startles him, and he jumps up, watching you throw a heavy sack containing the supplies he’d stockpiled against the walls of the bunker, your back turned to him. He lifts himself off his feet, padding softly behind you, his arm reaching out for you.

“Don’t touch me,” you hiss, words clipped and venomous, and you keep rearranging, completely ignorant to the way Minho stands there, unable to formulate a response, his tongue feeling as though it’s weighed down with lead.

Rage lights up inside him as he watches you move around him, the silence making his heart freeze over, and he decides that he can’t take it anymore. It’s been months with you acting this way, cold and distant, refusing to let Minho in. Before, he’d been able to write off your happiness with Junho as an excuse, as a reason why he couldn’t let himself get close to you. But Junho was long gone.

“We’re not doing this,” he spins you around to face him. “You don’t get to walk away from me like that.”

You push against Minho’s chest with all the might you can muster, and he staggers back. The look in your eyes makes you seem like a wounded animal, ready to pounce.

“Why’d you say it?” Another push, the words leaving you in a broken sob. “Why’d you do that?”

You bat against Minho’s chest until he can no longer take it, grabbing both of your hands with one of his, pinning you against the wall.

“Because it’s true,” he breathes, looking past you through the window outside, unable to meet your eyes. “I love you ____. I’ve loved you this entire time, even when you were with Junho. And I hate myself for it.”

He lets go of your arms, stepping back, his shoulders beginning to shake with the force of his own sobs.

“Why do you think I stayed? Why do you think I put myself in danger every day to make sure that you had medicine for your ankle, food to fill your stomach? Why do you think I go out there and kill every single monster I run into, because I need to make it back here, to be with you again?”

“You shouldn’t!” you scream at him. “What kind of life is this? Love should be the last thing on your mind right now, Minho! You should fucking worry about your own neck, and stop giving a damn about me!”

The words tear through you, because you know that if it weren’t for his love, you wouldn’t even be alive right now. And it hurts, hurts to think of how long he’s spent living like this, merely surviving, a wall of ice around his chest.

“You’re right, I shouldn’t. But I do. Do you know that these past few months, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been? What kind of fucked up logic is that? I have nothing, nothing in this world besides this stupid bunker and the clothes on my back, and it makes me want to sob with joy. Because I get you. I get a chance at life with you, after so many years of wishing for it, and knowing I could never have it.”

He falls onto the ground, tucking his head into his knees.

“The universe gave me another chance,” he whispers softly.

Your blood turns to ice, and you crouch down next to him.

“What do you mean, another chance?”

He looks at you, and you finally see all the pain in his eyes come to the surface, everything that he’s kept bottled up inside.

“It should have been me,” he mutters, lost in his own head. “I told Junho about how I wanted to go up to you that night, how beautiful I thought you were, but before I could do anything, he was there. It ended up being him.”

Your head reels from his confession, and you think back to everything that’s happened through the years. All those memories you had with Junho, Minho lingering in the background, purposely keeping his distance. Memories that you could have had with him instead. Bile rises up in the back of your throat, and you back away.

“I can’t do this, Minho, not right now, I can’t–”

“I know.” He’s at the door before you can stop him, one foot on the other side of the threshold. “Don’t worry about it.”

He leaves before you can even ask him to stay.

Minho knocks back another shot, stomach churning when he sees Junho approach the pretty brunette, chatting her up. She’s batting her eyelashes and giggling at him, and he knows he should be grateful that his best friend is helping him out, on a desperate mission to cure Minho’s singleness.

But all he can focus on is you in the corner, nervously watching your boyfriend flirt with another girl, and Minho wants to vomit when he sees your lip tremble, eyes glassy with tears.

He’d driven himself nearly mad with the fantasies about what he’d do if he was in Junho’s position, how much better he could treat you. But at the end of the day, that’s all they were. Fantasies. You two were happy together, and he had no place in it.

Minho suddenly remembers the shiny ring that Junho had shown him last week, tucked away in the drawer of his dresser, and decides promptly that he needs to step outside, the stale air of the bar burning his nostrils.

There’s a faint breeze outside, and it calms him, rewiring his muddled senses enough for him to plop down on the curb. Minho heaves, the alcohol coming back up his throat, but he tries his best to breathe deeply, like his therapist had told him. The pity in her eyes when he’d explained his feelings for you lingers in the back of his mind. You were a vice he couldn’t quit.

A shadow looms next to him, and Minho looks over to see you standing on the curb next to him, studying him curiously.

“Not a fan of cheap vodka?” you chuckle, taking a seat next to him, and Minho internally curses when he feels your thighs brush. He was too drunk for this.

“Just needed some air,” he tries to laugh it off too. “Gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”

“She was pretty,” the statement startles him. He couldn’t give less of a damn about the girl Junho was talking to, but it seems that wasn’t the case for you.

“Not interested,” he grits out. Not when she’s not you.

“You know, dating isn’t all it’s cut out to be,” you sigh. “I mean, there are good times, don’t get me wrong, but the bad times feel a thousand times worse when you care about someone. Like seeing your boyfriend flirt with another girl right in front of you.”

There’s a bitter edge to your words, and Minho surprises you, reaching over to cup your cheek and tilt your head towards him.

“Junho is a fool,” the words come out in a slow, heavy breath.

“Happy birthday, Minho,” you whisper, a small smile on your face, and Minho leans in, lips searching for yours. The kiss is quick, a brief graze full of shy reluctance, but you’re surprised you don’t back away, dizzy when he retreats, and missing the feeling of his soft lips.

You lean your head on his shoulder, the two of you lingering on the curb for a few moments, before Junho’s loud voice echoes in the background, startling you apart from each other.

“Hey dipshits, the party’s inside,” he drawls, walking over to swoop you off your feet. Junho presses a peck to your cheek, wrapping his jacket around you, and your eyes roam around frantically, looking for any sign of Minho. But he’s already gone, the faint outline of his leather jacket the only thing you see before he disappears around the corner of the bar, vanishing into the night.

Minho stumbles through the forest, the pounding in his head only growing worse, the memory of the kiss you’d shared consuming his thoughts, splintered with snippets from the conversation with you. The one he’d been waiting so long to have.

The spell had been shattered, and Minho thinks he’s foolish to imagine that it could have lasted, the two of you playing house together, and he cursed the false hope he’d harboured for so long. It was a fucking apocalypse, you were desperate for release, and you’d never cared. Not like he did.

But then his mind flashes back to the kiss, and he doesn’t know what possessed him that night, or possessed you to return it. The moment was the single spark that kept the flickering flame of his love for you going, even now, when you’d basically banished him.

A sharp pain surges through him, and Minho staggers to the ground. He clutches the fabric of his shirt, lifting it up to see the ugly wound he’d been letting fester for weeks, a stray swipe from a monster he’d run into. It’s pulsating now, stabbing into his side, and he wants to kick himself. Why had he been so selfless?

Sometimes, he thinks loving you was the worst decision he’d ever made, the way it consumed him completely. He thinks that maybe if time could reverse, and he had a second chance, that he’d never do it, never lock eyes with you from across the party, your smile forever etched into his memory. But that was a lie. Minho knew he’d do it all again for as long as his heart continued to beat.

Minho feels something squelch on the ground below him, a metallic tang hitting the back of his throat. He swipes at it, crimson coating his fingers. Blood. His blood. He presses a tentative hand to his face, swiping at his leaking nose, but the bleeding won’t stop. There’s too much of it.

Minho screams when his spine cracks, the pain splitting through his entire body, and he feels his eyes roll back into his head.

When he opens them again, the world is dark. And he runs.

. . .

Your lungs feel like they’re going to collapse, parched for air as you make your way through the forest, wobbling through the trees, looking for something, anything that could lead you to Minho.

Your heartbeat echoes in your ears, accompanied by a ringing that hasn’t ceased since you left the bunker. The decision still made your stomach turn, afraid to confront the outside world without Minho by your side, but you had to find him. Had to let him know that you wouldn’t let him suffer anymore.

Mind lingering on a specific memory from Minho’s birthday, you realized there’d always been a strange undercurrent between you, even when Junho had been around. Despite how many times he drew away from you, you never let him escape completely. At first, you’d thought it was because he was Junho’s friend, but it all changed after that night outside the bar, your attraction to Minho settling in your chest like a lead weight.

You think back to the months you’d spent together, the world falling apart around you, and how Minho had become your entire world, the reason you’d continued to hope. How you’d fallen in love with every part of him, from the way he’d let you take the first share of food to the messy strands of his grown-out hair.

The wind whips through your hair, the dense cover of trees thinning around you, and you stumble upon the meadow, a lone figure illuminated in the moonlight. You know it’s him.

“Minho!” you scream, watching as he stumbles across the field in response, trying to get away from you. “Minho!”

You scream until your voice runs hoarse, fighting through the pain in your ankle, and eventually, Minho draws closer and closer, collapsing in the middle of the field. His back is turned to you, and he ducks his head, avoiding your gaze.

You think he’ll run away when you approach him, but he remains lifeless, as still as a statue. Crouching down beside him, you lift his chin, turning his face up to you, a gasp caught in your throat at what you find.

There’s something wrong with his eyes. They shift from the dark brown irises you’d come to know to hollow pools of black. His face is smeared with blood, and his breathing is shallow.

“____, you have to go, I’m turning, it’s not safe, I’m not safe–,” Minho grabs your arm, looking at you with desperation in his eyes. His speech is garbled, but you can hear the gentle tone of his voice still trapped inside. He’s still Minho.

“How dare you tell me to run,” you hiss at him. “How dare you tell me to leave?”

“You don’t understand,” he growls, hands shaking in rage. “I’m a monster!”

Fear strikes you at the realization that something was very wrong with him, something neither you or him had ever been able to anticipate. But it’s overcome by a stronger, more profound emotion.

“I don’t care,” you take his face in your hands again. “I love you, Minho. I loved you through the world ending, and I’ll love you through this. Because your life is mine now, just like mine is yours. It’s our second chance. And we will do whatever it takes to survive.”

Minho clasps your hands in his, fingertips rubbing against your knuckles, and you smile when you notice that his eyes are normal again, no longer filled with darkness. Maybe there was a chance.

“We’ll head west,” Minho rests his forehead against yours, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I saw a hospital nearby. Maybe there are other survivors, people just like us.”

You nod, throwing your arms around him and burying your head into the crook of his neck. The two of you would exit west as soon as the sun rose, ready to start a new journey together.

Perhaps the life you shared was far from perfect but you realized that you’d clutched onto it as desperately as him, because he was the only thing you had. You were each other’s home.

a/n pt. 2: As always, any feedback or comments are much appreciated, but I appreciate you all anyway. Lots of love, Isi 💜

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inkskinned · 1 year

Text

it is all love.

sometimes you will see something saying what if it is all worth it or it gets better, doesn't it and in the little heart of you - you feel a darkness.

was it love, the way i was hurt? some things don't have a lesson in them. no silver lining. they were bad things, and they shouldn't have happened. i'm sorry they did. i am sorry they warp the space they hold in you. we tightrope walk around an ever-present grave. we carry that ache for so long it becomes smooth, overworn. i worry that i'll bore my therapist - despite all of my attempts, the pain persists the same, as sharp as it always was.

but it was all love.

every ugly moment after. every bad night. every time you drank too much and cried on the bathroom floor. every time you threw up from anxiety, every time you panicked in the grocery store. everything you ruined, and everything you walked away from.

some small part of you loved you enough. made you get up. made you wash your face and clean your teeth and call home. made you try again, even from the bottom. even when you were so tired of it; of restarting, of having to do-it-all-again. some part of you reached out. some part of you reached up. even there, in the bad spot - you somehow got up.

love will so rarely be big. it will so rarely be a moment like a dawn. love is shy, i think. she keeps her hands in front of her cheeks. she waits to peek out. and if you're not looking, she will look - normal.

but it will all be love. the way you pour yourself a glass of water. the little rabbit outside your window. your friend pushing your hair behind your ear. the way your dog greets you at the door. "put on a seatbelt". "text me when you get home safe". "oh, i started watching that show you love." "have you been okay?" "let's go for a walk" "whatcha doin?" "what should i make for dinner?"

oh, my life is so different these days. i don't have a partner. i call my friends a lot. i keep falling in love with the little tender moments; the glittering ones. you know, the bird in a puddle and the shush of a newly-lit candle. the movie-moments.

i am also learning to love the ugly. every moment i spent belly-flat to the floor, anxious and panting. every hour i stared at nothing, losing time to my adhd. every missed opportunity and bad memory. i am not doing well. i am spiralling.

but somewhere in there, while i am reduced to ashes. some part of me is an ever-burning ember. her little thankless job, her shy and croaking voice. she holds me to my body. she doesn't let me go. stay, she whispers. out of love. my love. wherever it goes.

some of the bad things that happened to me will always be bad. they did not make me a better person. they made me worse. i only learned what i can endure. and i did endure it. and love wasn't just the perfumed moments. love was just ... staying. while it's ugly and hard and horrible. love was just saying:

okay. i will keep trying. keep going. i owe it to the version of myself who brought me here. i owe it to my future. i owe it to the small loves i have found since - the music and the new recipes and the new books and the new hobbies. i owe it to myself to wait for the next best thing. this wall we have hit - love says keep walking. maybe one day we will find a door.

always, always: just one try more.

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tojisbbg · 1 year

Text

𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙧𝙨 𝙧𝙤𝙘𝙠

❝i'm trying to tell you something, something that i already said.❞

♡ nagi seishiro ♡

a/n: if you couldn’t tell, i’m hyperfixating on blue lock rn.

content: nagi seishiro x reader, roommates au, shorter than my other fics, fluffy, little bit of kissing, not edited.

---

you shoved your hand in your purse, digging around urgently to fish out your keys. after finally getting a hold of the keys, you tried to unlock the door, only to have the keys slip from your grasp. you cursed at yourself, a scowl painted on your face as every single thing in your life was slowly pushing you over the edge.

you just wanted to enter the comforts of your home as fast as possible, feeling like you could collapse on the ground in a matter of minutes. you didn’t know why you felt like this, an overwhelming amount of sadness and agony washing over you. the only thing you wanted to do was curl up into a ball and die on your bed.

finally, you were able to unlock the door as you kicked off your shoes to the side before locking the door behind. you threw your purse on the floor before plopping on the sofa. it was seven in the evening and the house was quiet, nothing out of the ordinary.

your roommate, nagi, always came home much later on the day due to his soccer practices. this left the majority of the quiet time in your house as yours. regardless, nagi wasn’t really a loud person, only sometimes when he’d play his games really loudly in the living room on his days off. the both of you rarely spoke to each other as nagi was a pretty reserved person and he didn’t like doing anything that’d require him to do more than breathing, playing games and playing soccer.

you didn’t mind though, it was actually a relief that you didn’t get screwed up with a pain in the ass type of roommate. nagi wasn’t much of a hassle as he paid his share of the rent on time, did grocery shopping on the days that was his turn, and he was a pretty clean person.

though you rarely saw him, he had a strange effect on you. at first you thought maybe it was because of his mysterious behavior or perhaps it was the little things that he did. some of which included walking around the house shirtless, working out in the living room with his home equipment, or how he’d look so focused on his games.

it made you feel funny and you hated it.

you were in a relationship with your boyfriend of two years, happily in love until things took a twisted turn. the doubt and lack of trust that your lover had in you because of your opposite gender roommate led to a rise in ridiculous hypothetical conclusions.

today was the last straw.

even after explaining to your boyfriend, now ex, that your male roommate was barely home and even if he was that a single human couldn’t have known about his existence; the man was still not convinced. you were a very fluid and transparent person, telling nagi about your boyfriend since he’d come over frequently. the snowy haired male simply shrugged before minding his own business.

yet your ex’s words were sharp to the tongue and painful to the heart, telling you how all men are the same and women are nothing but bimbos when it came to an attractive man. his words made your blood boil, making you angry that just because he’s insecure about himself he’s projecting his negativity on you.

and so, you broke up with him.

now here you are, moping on your couch as you cried an ugly sob. you could’ve sworn that you’ve cried two gallons of your salty tears by now. the noises leaving your mouth were loud and full of agony, as you could barely breathe.

you were hurting inside and you couldn’t find relief.

“y/n? you good?” you heard a groggy voice call out for you, making your ears alert as you quickly wiped away your teary face dry. you picked up your head to see nagi by his room’s doorway, shirtless and wearing a pair of sweats as he rubbed his sleep-filled eyes.

“yeah, i’m fine.” you quickly turned around and blurted out a lie, now feeling embarrassed that he caught you crying like a little bitch when you thought he wasn’t home. you now stupidly realize that it was saturday today, meaning that it was nagi’s day off. you were waiting to hear the sound of his door closing, but instead you heard footsteps inching closer to you.

suddenly, you felt his fingers grab your chin before lifting your head, forcing you to meet his eyes. you saw him looking down at you with sharp eyes, your eyes widening in shock as your heat began to rise to your cheeks and your heart thumped in your chest ferociously.

“huh, you don’t look so fine to me. what’s wrong? why are you crying?” nagi asked, his hand now moving to caress your cheeks as you felt the pads of his fingers wipe away your tears. these little actions and gestures stimulated you to cry even harder as you shook your head.

“i-” you tried to begin your sentence, only to miserably fail as you choked on your tears midway. nagi let out a heavy sigh before taking a seat next to you before pulling you close to his chest. you didn’t even try to fight back with yourself, accepting the comfort that he’s willing to provide you with.

the skin of his chest was so soft in comparison to how hard and well-sculpted his athletic body was. he smelled really good too, a very fresh and manly scent radiated off of him.

“it’s okay, you don’t gotta tell me right now.” he murmured, rubbing your back as you tried to relax.

“i broke up with my boyfriend.” you sniffled, making nagi’s hand movement stop.

“you’re crying over some silly guy? come on, y/n, i know that you’re better than this.” nagi scoffed, making you look up at him with glassy eyes as he gave you a slightly disappointed look.

“but i loved him.” you quietly whispered, tears still falling on his bare chest and you felt bad, but nagi didn’t seem to care too much.

“did he love you?” he asked, his question making your brain stop working as you paused, needing some time to think about the answer.

your boyfriend always treated you like you were some kind of certification for him that declared him as a man who could pull bitches. he never once thought about what you liked to eat, what you enjoyed doing, nor was he thoughtful on planning for dates.

so, did he really love you?

“he did.” you thinned your lips, wanting to save your last bits of dignity to not die from shame in front of your roommate. nagi let out a hum in response from your answer.

“okay, then you were in the wrong. go get back together with him.” the snowy haired male shrugged, his face holding an expression of boredom.

“how is it my fault?” your eyebrows furrowed in slight irritation from how his words rubbed you in the wrong way.

“a girl doesn’t break up with a dude she’s been in a relationship with for two years unless he fucks up real bad. but, since you both are in love, you obviously misread the situation then. go kiss and make up.” nagi patted your back for encouragement.

you scoffed in utter shock, opening your mouth to say something until someone knocked on your door. both you and nagi turned your focus on the door, before nagi offered to open the door as he slipped away from your previously crying form.

“can i help you?” nagi asked after opening the door, an unfamiliar male that he’s never seen in his life before was at the doorsteps of his home. the guy laughed in disbelief before his face was replaced with an angry look.

“that fucking slut didn’t even bother to show you who’s the guy she’s been with for two years? what else has she been doing behind my back, huh? actually, how many other guys has she been fucking around with?” the guy spewed out crazy shit in the middle of the hallway, making nagi annoyed. you peaked from the sofa and realized it was your ex, making you jump out of your place as you rushed to the door.

suddenly, nagi grabbed him by the collar, easily towering over your ex who was inches shorter than the 6′3 striker.

“you wanna say that shit again, assface? your mama never taught you how to respect women, hm? i hate fighting, but i don’t like the way you’re talking about y/n. so, we could take this outside, if you want.” nagi said in a low voice, his tone was daring and his eyes darkened with anger as you watched in horror.

“let me go, you fucking freak! this is between me and my girlfriend.” your ex tried to peel himself away from nagi’s tight hold but failed. the tall male snorted at the lousy attempt of breaking away from his hold, roughly grabbing the dude’s jaw as your ex winced in pain.

“yeah? well, i’m the guy who she dumped your ass for. so, it’s actually between the three of us. but, the conversation is gonna end here ‘cause if you’re not out of my sight in the next five seconds, i’m gonna break your legs.” nagi threatened before harshly letting the guy go, making him stumble back before losing his balance, collapsing on the floor.

“y/n! i know you’re behind him, you fucking user. give me back all the money that i dumped on your cheating ass!” your ex angrily bellowed, some of the neighbors now opening their doors to watch what the commotion was.

“for god’s sake, please, go home and i’ll sort things out with you later. you’re causing a scene!” you whisper-yelled at him, eyes begging him to shut up but he was persistent.

“why the hell would i do that? everyone in this world deserves to know your true colors, you gold digging bitch.” he spat out, making your eyes well with tears as you looked down, not being able to pick your head up while the people stared down at you and gossiped.

“here, take this and leave.” nagi said in a monotone, reaching inside his pocket to pull out his wallet before throwing hundred dollar bills on the ground where your ex was sitting. the man looked shocked, but still shamelessly picked up all the bills before shoving it in his jacket pocket.

nagi took a hold of your hand as he pulled you back inside the house, closing the door before locking it.

“fucking prick.” you heard him murmur to himself before walking towards the sofa, taking a seat.

“come here.” he demanded from you, patting the spot next to him. his sudden request flustered you as you and nagi never really sat down and do things together. nonetheless, you accepted his little invite and sat down.

“so, i’m assuming i’m the culprit of this whole situation?” nagi cocked an eyebrow, watching you fiddle with your fingers nervously. you looked up at him with softened eyes before shaking your head.

“i would never never blame you, sei. anyways, i saw this breakup coming sooner or later. he was too controlling and possessive over me. i guess you were fuel that ignited it.” you joked a little at the end, making him chuckle.

“good, pretty little things like you deserve better than assholes like him.” nagi said, looking at you with a strange glint in his eyes. you gulped harshly, feeling a little shy.

he thought you were pretty?

for some odd reason, your heart felt fuzzy and your pulse began to race. you dared not to look at him, afraid that he could read right through you.

“well, that hope is all gone now.” you let out a heavy sigh, reaching over to the glass table where your lipgloss was. you applied it on your lips since they felt a little chapped from your little crying sessions.

“why?” nagi asked, confused.

“he’s most likely gonna go around to every single human on earth and tell them that i’m a cheater and gold digger. nobody wants to date someone like that.” you bitterly laughed, placing the gloss back on the table before looking at him with sad eyes.

“but that’s not true, you’re none of those things.” he frowned, a cute little pout on his lips. your heart swelled, he looked adorable and it made you wish that you could kiss that little pout of his.

“yeah, but only you and i know that.” you shrugged, accepting your defeat and miserable fate.

“then be my girlfriend.” nagi suddenly blurted out, making you choke on your own spit. you looked at him with eyes the size of two full moons, waiting for him to break out into a laugh to tell you that he was just messing around with you.

but no such thing happened.

his eyes were trained on yours, waiting for an answer.

“sei, we ca-”

“why can’t we? i’ve liked you for a really long time and i know that you like me back too, y/n. i see how you look at me and my eyes never lie. so, stop fighting against it and let me take care of you like how you deserve to be.” nagi’s voice was gentle, a hand coming up to your face to sway the loose hairs covering your face to expose more of you to his eyes.

“okay, then let’s go on a date tomorrow.” you smiled at him and nagi gave you a boyish grin. he placed a hand behind your head before leaning closer to you.

“sei! my glo-” your words were cut off by the feeling of his lips on yours. you closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck. nagi liked your response to his bold move, trailing his hands down to your waist before he pulled you on his lap.

you relaxed your muscles, allowing yourself to melt into his embrace as you continued to follow the movement of his lips. nagi liked the feeling of your sticky gloss coating his lips, occasionally getting a taste of the sweet cherry lip product on his tongue.

you felt his hands go under your shirt as his calloused fingers danced on your spine, sending goosebumps all over your body. your lungs burned from the lack of oxygen, so you were forced to pull away. you looked down at nagi, who’s face was flushed and lips shiny with a coating of your cherry flavored gloss as you both panted.

“why’d you pull away?” he whined, making you giggle before you pinched his cheeks.

“i had to breathe, sei.” you gave him peck to console him. nagi hummed in content, enjoying how your soft and plump lips felt against his.

“what should we do now?” you asked him, carding your fingers through his smooth snowy locks.

“sleep.” nagi shortly answered, eyes half-lidded before he pulled you down with him on the sofa. he placed his head on the cushion while you moved your head on his chest, wrapping your leg around his waist. nagi’s arms protectively wrapped around your waist to make sure that you don’t fall off the sofa while sleeping.

you could hear the gentle hammering of his heartbeat and it made yours follow the same rhythm. you smiled before placing a quick peck on his chest.

“sleep well, sei.” you mumbled against his soft flesh, closing your eyes.

“you too, baby.” nagi responded, midway in the process of yawning.

then a comforting silence fell upon you both as the room was now filled with soft snores.

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imtrashraccoon · 3 months

Text

Killer is a piece of crap once again. He's totally the type to say "it's just a prank bro!" Or am I wrong?

@owl-bones

First Day, Previous Day, & Next Day.

Bad Sansuary: Killer - Fragile

Word Count: 1,679

What time is it?

You cracked your eyes open and fumbled for your phone on your bedside table. It was kind of dark outside but you could see that the sun seemed to be rising if the gray world outside was any indication.

7:24

You eyes widened in shock as you threw the blankets off and jumped out of bed, mentally cursing that your alarm didn't go off. You distinctly remembered setting one like you did every night too

You had enough time to get ready if you hurried but breakfast was something you'd have to either forget about or eat on the way to work. Quickly rushing through your morning routine, you brushed your teeth, ran a brush through your hair, splashed water on your face to help wake up, and managed to pull your work clothes on.

You had enough time to make a slice of toast at least and so you hurried into the kitchen. You bustled about, grabbing a slice of bread from the fridge and a jar of some random fruit jam you'd had forever.

As you turned to put the bread in the toaster, you slipped.

Your hands were full and you couldn't grab onto to anything to catch yourself.

You fell.

You landed badly on your right ankle.

Your heart was pounding and your backside felt pretty sore.

When you'd recovered from the shock, you attempted to stand up but noticed the floor was incredibly slippery here.

Like someone had purposely put something on it.

"that was hilarious..."

You glanced up sharply to find Killer leaning against the archway to the kitchen with your can of cooking spray in one of his hands. His eye sockets were crinkled in amusement and he was covering his teeth with his free hand.

"What the hell?!" you shouted. "Why would you do that?! I'm going to be late for work because of you!"

He chuckled and shrugged. "eh, i thought it would be funny and i was bored."

You huffed and shot him a withering glare. "You're so lucky I didn't smack my head on the counter or break my neck! If I died, it would be your fault! Not that you'd care anyways..."

You grabbed onto the counter and tried to haul yourself to your feet. The moment you put weight on your ankle though, sharp pain shot through your body, and you instantly knew that there was no way you could force yourself to walk on it.

Killer noticed your pain instantly and he had the audacity to laugh. You shot him a look that you wished could kill him on the spot and simultaneously grit your teeth against the pain that was now setting in.

This couldn't be happening! You couldn't afford to take time off of work to heal. You didn't even know how badly you were hurt and how long it would take to heal in the first place.

Why did he have to be such a jerk?!

You couldn't do this.

You no longer had the capacity to care what he thought of you.

This was all his fault...

Hot tears pooled at the corners of your eyes. You couldn't bring yourself to wipe them away as they began to pour down your cheeks.

You couldn't stop. All the stress you'd been under had become too much to bear and the dam had burst. There was no going back now.

You didn't know how long you just sat there ugly crying but at some point you became aware of how quiet your apartment had become. When your tears began to dry up, you chanced to look around and found Killer still standing where he had been earlier.

He was no longer leaning against the wall although he was still holding the cooking spray. His posture was stiff and his fists were tightly clenched by his sides. His face had an indescribable expression that you couldn't decide if it was scary or not.

He glanced down at the can of cooking spray in his hand before his gaze slowly turned to you once again. You hated that you couldn't tell what he was thinking without the aid of eyelights. It was such a small thing and yet so important for basic emotions.

"you're actually mad at me."

"Of course I am..." you muttered in a bitter tone.

He clicked his non-existent tongue and shook his skull. "i don't get it..." he muttered under his breath.

You frowned slightly but didn't have the emotional capacity to even try to unpack the baggage that statement came with. You knew it didn't sit well with you though.

Killer walked over and knelt down on the floor next to you. He scanned your ankle and gave it a tentative poke, which caused you to recoil slightly from the pain.

You sighed and leaned your head against the counter in despair. "I can't go to work like this..." you muttered.

"i would hope you're not crazy enough to even try."

You rolled your eyes. "Can you at least make yourself useful and bring me my phone from my bag? I guess I should call and tell them I won't be coming in today because I've potentially broken my ankle."

Killer quickly retrieved it but made no further comments. He had a contemplative look on his skull, or at least you thought that's what it was. He just sat and stared at you until you'd gotten off the call with your manager.

You sighed and pulled yourself up, although you were especially careful not to put any weight on your injured ankle this time. You had to hold onto the counter while you moved and it took a great deal of effort to do so.

"what are you doing?" Killer asked.

You shot him an exasperated look and huffed. "I can't just sit here all day... If my ankle actually is broken, I need to get to the hospital as soon as possible."

"you can't even walk, so how are you even going to get there?"

"I don't know yet, okay?!" You felt bad for snapping at him but at the same time, you were still very upset. Taking a deep breath, you added in a calmer voice, "I'll probably call a cab or something as I can't drive like this either."

He narrowed his eye sockets and glanced down at your ankle before his skull tilted back up to your face again. He went to reach out to touch you but stopped himself.

"i'll take you then."

You did a double take and stared at him in shock. "What? Why would you do that...?" you asked in a quiet tone.

He rubbed the back of his skull and glanced away from you. "i can see i went too far...and i don't like that you're upset with me either." He muttered the last part so quietly that you almost didn't hear him.

You sighed and shook your head, deciding to let this go for now. "Okay, but I'll need my wallet though before we go anywhere."

It was in your hands before you'd even finished speaking and Killer held out a hand to you. He smiled and tilted his skull in a questioning manner.

"shall we?" he asked.

Against your better judgement, you took his hand. He'd gotten you into this mess afterall and if he was trying to make up for it somehow, who were you to deny him? Well, you certainly hoped that's what he was trying to do as you really didn't trust him at all.

The next thing you knew, you were standing in the middle of the waiting room in the ER. You felt bad for startling the nurses and patients but Killer seemed completely unaffected.

Unfortunately, you still had to wait to be seen because of the triage system. That part sucked but to your surprise, Killer was actually helpful. He helped elevate your ankle and retrieved an ice pack to help keep the swelling down.

As the hours passed, you noticed that the nurses were giving you both quite a few side eyes. Not only that, but people were apparently unwilling to sit anywhere near you, and some who only had minor issues straight up left almost immediately. You knew Killer looked creepy and he while he was acting casual, you could tell he was getting some enjoyment out of freaking people out.

He disappeared as soon as you were seen by a doctor for x-rays and you were almost relieved. You were still mad at him for his stupid "prank" and you were also a bit embarrassed to be in public together because of his behaviour. However, he had tried to fix things which you could get behind, even if he hadn't actually apologized.

You were exhausted by the time you got home. The good thing was you'd only suffered a bad sprain and you'd remembered to request a note explaining you would need to be off work for a while until it healed. The bad thing was that your ankle was wrapped up and you were forced to use crutches in order to get around.

There was an envelope on the kitchen table though and it was addressed to you. Curious, you tore it open to discover a sizable wad of cash inside that was easily twice what you normally made in a month. There was a note as well though.

"sorry about your ankle. hope you get better soon and that this helps make up for it. killer <3"

To say you were shocked was a bit of an understatement. He'd gone out of his way to help you for no reason other than he'd been responsible for you getting hurt. This was only the second time you'd interacted with him too.

What had changed?

Could he still be messing with you and just bidding his time until you let your guard down?

At least you could afford to take time off to properly get better now.

You were still a bit annoyed with him though.

#badsansuary #raccoons drabbles #undertale #killertale #something new #killer sans #killer sans x reader #reader #female reader #have some empathy dear #oneshot

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chronicowboy · 1 year

Text

all that we intend is scrawled in sand (and slips right through our hands) | 7k

"Buck," he tries, his voice nothing more than a breathy groan. Several of his ribs are definitely broken, something might be pinning his left hand too, but he doesn't care about the agony on every inhale when Buck is laying still and motionless and just out of reach. "Buck," he tries again, this time a wheezed out sound. "Buck."

Eddie reaches out blindly with his right hand, fingers scrabbling over sharp debris and choking dust. Eddie reaches out desperately, gritting his teeth through the pain because the only thing worse than dying alone is living long enough to watch Buck die again. Eddie reaches out with all his strength, fingertips just barely brushing Buck's turnout coat.

"Buck," he chokes out again. "Buck!" A little louder this time, broken off at the end when the concrete shifts on top of him. "Buck!"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

A shift. A pained moan. A huffed breath.

"Eddie?" Buck slurs. Eddie drops his head back against the stone and laughs in relief despite the pain it causes him, tears springing to his eyes.

"Yeah, Buck. I'm here," he grits out. Buck rolls onto his back, and Eddie grimaces at the movement. "Careful. Slow, Buck. We fell."

"Shit." Buck scrambles upright, heavy breathing blending with the ticking clock, a click and the space is illuminated with a sharp shaft of light. Buck swings the flashlight around until it lands on Eddie who turns away from it with a wince. "Shit, Eddie," Buck breathes out. Eddie squints up at him just in time to see the blinding fear seep into Buck's expression.

"Buck, look at me," he pleads, already seeing the way Buck's mind begins to tick over in time with the clock trapped inside Eddie's chest. His frantic eyes land back on Eddie's face, mouth twisted into something ugly that Eddie would still kiss if given the chance. "I can't reach my radio. So, you need to see if Bobby can hear us before you try anything, okay?"

"Radios," Buck murmurs to himself. "Yeah, yeah, okay." He fumbles around his turnouts until his hand lands on the radio strapped to his chest and he holds the button down. "Bobby, do you copy?"

Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock, tick—

"Buck?" Bobby's voice has them both breathing deeply. Buck smiles down at him, and Eddie smiles right back, wondering if its too late for him to ever taste the sunshine of that grin. "I saw you and Eddie fall. You guys okay?"

"I..." Buck's eyes drift down from Eddie's face to his chest hidden under the concrete. "I'm okay, but Eddie's pinned by a chunk of the bridge. Its settled on his chest. He's responsive, but his breathing doesn't sound good."

"Okay." Bobby is silent for a moment, and Eddie listens to the steady tick tock of time. "Can you put him on the radio?"

"Yeah." Buck unclips it from his lapel and holds it to Eddie's cheek.

"Hey, Cap," Eddie manages to get out before a cough rips through him.

"Good to hear your voice, Eddie," Bobby replies. "How you feeling?"

"Oh, swell," Eddie sighs. "Frank suggested I try pressure therapy a while ago." For a solitary moment, Buck's quiet chuckle is all he can hear. "This is way better than a weighted blanket."

(OR: buck and eddie get trapped together, time is running out, and eddie doesn't want to die alone)

#sami rambles #trapped dads truthing even tho my heart is only half in it #now deathbed love confession truthing. that shit im down for #911 show #911 fox #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buck x eddie #buddie #911 spec #911 fic #911 fanfic #buddie fic #buddie fanfic #buck x eddie fic #911 spec fic

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takami-takami · 1 year

Text

Alley Cat.

includes— hawks x reader. minors dni. hurt/comfort.

warnings— ptsd. trauma. panic. abuse. breathing exercises. genuinely be careful.

Cats are never offered the benefit of the fucking doubt.

Selfish, standoffish, distrustful; all labels from those who's hand the cat rejects. But strays wander the gutters of society, and they see man for all it tries to hide amongst itself. You show your true colors around an animal, they say.

When you claw at the cotton of his shirt, desperate for the touch of a human you miraculously deemed safe, Keigo cannot help but be reminded of a stray cat left clawing for safety.

"I can't fucking take this anymore," you sob and wrack your breaths, clutching the fabric of his shirt. He lets you for a moment, lets you wet his clothes with tears, evidence of the pain he aches to take away. "I can't do this– everyone, Kei'. It hurts– you have to believe me, please believe me–"

He hushes you, walking you backwards with his thumbs rubbing soothing circles at the crest of your cheeks, until the back of your knees hits the soft of the mattress below. He crouches down, sharp yet gentle eyes demanding your current attention. Your eyes are wide, sitting stiff and pupils blown. He holds up a single finger for you to focus on, speaking with calm authority.

"Baby. Baby, look at me. Just like that," he visibly softens when you eye his movement, the hand in front of you swaying like the simplest foliage in a breeze. Careful and attentive, you place your trust in him; in its entirety, its sacred entirety. He'll never take that for granted.

All the riches in the world at his disposal never mattered to him. It can't, never could compete when held to the light of what you offer.

Your trust. You trust him with the crumbling heart you shield from the world. Everyone but him gets bared jaws and wild, gnashed teeth.

To you, your defensive snarls are an ugly sound; but to him, it can't be. Not when the mere sight of him, and only him, could get the stray cat of your heart to calm its raised hairs and cease to hiss.

"Thank you, baby. Still with me?" You shudder. You can't nod right now, but that's fine. "You're safe with me. We're going to breathe, okay?"

He asks it like a guiding question, but with the undercurrent of an order.

Stable. Perfect.

Breathing... Breathing is easy, right? You muse to yourself through gulping breaths. Keigo knows how to breathe. Keigo is good at breathing. He'll teach you.

"With me, okay?" He smells like oak. Warm, sunny oak. "In through your nose, fill your belly first. Deep. Then your chest. Count to five with me," he instructs, breathing along like the gentlest visual guide. "Hold for five. Perfect. Now exhale, get the air out your chest first. Then the belly, push out firm, get all the air out. Do that with me for five seconds."

He smiles approvingly, eyes twinkling at the firm furrow of your brow. His perfect sweetheart, trying so good for him. "There we are. Hold for five again before you inhale. And repeat."

You follow his footsteps, like the clumsiest dance. As the clock ticks by, your lightheadedness calls your attention.

You clutch at the fuzzy sleeves of his hero costume's coat. "Feels a bit dizzy."

"Good," he beams. "That means it's working."

"K-Kei'," you stutter still. Calmer, but stuttering still. "S-Sor– I'm s-sorry."

You feel a gentle kiss at the corner of each eye. The saltiness of your tears doesn't deter him one bit. "Nothin' to be sorry for, dove. I've got you."

What feels like eons of comfortable silence drapes the room, covers your shoulders like the thickest shield of feathers. You don't even notice the tangible, real ones, the ones from his wings, surrounding you for the longest time; like they're meant to be there. Meant to shield you away from the ghastly realities and pinpricks that crawl up your spine.

Distantly, it occurs to him that perhaps he was always meant to protect you. Nothing else in his life has ever felt so natural. He was never asked to do this, never made to. His soul beckons him to you, to be the shade of your resting tree.

Sturdy and firm and earthy, you think. You can nestle by the roots, press against the grounding bark for stability. The leaves of his feathers will shade you here, the branches of his wings swaying with a gentleness that masks the power of a great oak.

Even stray cats don't belong in gutters. Even if they can survive, scrape out alive, that isn't where they're meant to be. Before man built cities from scaffolds, the cat was free to roam nature as its own. It was free to rest.

"I don't understand," you start with an enraged quiver lacing your throat. "Why it has to be this way. Why people hurt people. Why everyone around me is dangerous."

Keigo knows. He's seen too much with his own eyes to doubt what you say. Wordlessly, he lifts you into his lap, scooting toward the corner of the bed that faces the wall. You'll feel safer by something sturdy.

In the barely there light dripping from the open window, you feel the breeze drifting inside. You want to close it. You know Keigo wouldn't let you. Fresh air is good for you.

"Why? Why do we accept it? I don't understand what is wrong with people."

He hums, interlacing your fingers with his. He watches the downturn of your eyes, marvels at how they sit in the shade of your lashes; those same lashes that are beaded with far too old tears.

"I can't promise answers, dove." He swallows thick; it's a contemplative action before he steels his voice, firmer and more resolved than you've ever heard. "But I can promise I'll protect you."

The furrow of his brow, the righteous rage on your behalf lacing his tone, is all you need to know how serious he is. He speaks with the finality you could only expect from a man as dedicated to his mission as Keigo himself.

"As long as you'll let me protect you, no one will touch a hair on your head. That's a promise."

#youre supposed to breath in for 6 or 7 but im asthmatic #Wrote this in the middle of a moment. Ignore errors and lack of proofreading.#keigo is probably trained in this stuff #might delete this idk #🖋 writing #🍧 sugar #hawks x reader #keigo takami x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader

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slashhinginghasher · 3 months

Text

No Such Thing As A Free Ride

Ghost x Soap Hitcher AU

Part 1 Part 2

tw: light blood/gore

Oh, he needs this fucker out of his car. He needed him out at least 20 miles ago. Johnny's hands are clammy on the wheel, cold sweat pricking along his hairline. Ghost's eyes are boring into him, measuring his reaction. It doesn't feel like the anticipation of a person who's just told a really shitty joke and is waiting for you to groan or laugh or get angry. It feels like a cat waiting for the mouse to twitch so it can pounce.

Ghost never did put his seatbelt on after getting in the car.

Johnny's got a knife in his pocket, a stupid little thing with a star-spangled handle and a decal of an eagle wearing a cowboy hat, which he picked up at a roadside shop because it was so hilariously ugly. He's not even sure it'll make it past airport security when he goes home. But right now, it feels like providence.

The road is dark, no headlights or taillights when he glances at the mirrors. No oncoming traffic to run into if the car spins out. He nudges the accelerator, urging the car just a little faster. He'll have to be fast and, more importantly, lucky, because he'll only get one shot.

"What do you call a guy missing a part of his skull?" Ghost asks, flicking the butt of his cigarette out the window.

"I dunno," Johnny says, surreptitiously bracing himself. He's proud of how steady his voice is. "What?"

"Open minded."

Speaking of shitty jokes.

Jesus fuckin' Christ.

Johnny slams on the brakes.

The wheels shudder and Ghost bounces off the dashboard, head and hands. The seatbelt cuts into Johnny's chest and shoulder harder than he expected, but he can't cater to the shock of pain just yet. He whips the knife out and grabs a fistful of damp jacket with the other hand, holds the blade to Ghost's throat.

God, he hopes this cheap piece of shit is actually sharp enough to cut.

"What the fuck-" Ghost groans, voice muffled by the hand over his face, but Johnny cuts him off by the pressing the metal edge a little harder against the exposed skin of the other man's neck.

"Ride's over, pal," he snarls. "Get the fuck out." He grits his teeth and scowls, trying to look intimidating instead of pants-shittingly terrified. Ghost looks at him from the corner of his eyes.

"What're you doing?" He sounds a little nasal now. Johnny hopes he's busted the fucker's nose. His pulse, though, is infuriatingly slow and steady under Johnny's hand.

"The fuck does it look like I'm doin'? I'm sendin' you on your merry fuckin' way."

Should he shake him a little? It seems like it might be the correct thing to do, but Johnny is terrified of losing his grip.

It's so quiet. Drip of the rain and the tick-tick-tick of the cooling engine. The sound of Johnny trying to wrangle his breaths into silence. He swears he can hear Ghost blink.

"You ever stab anyone before, Johnny?"

No, no he fucking hasn't. He's never used a knife in self defense before, just for dumb tricks to impress people at parties. Ghost's skin is burning hot against Johnny's knuckles. He has no idea if he's close to drawing blood.

"It's awfully messy," Ghost continues. "Be such a shame to have clean all that up, 'specially since it's not your car."

There's a purr in Ghost's voice that's almost sexual, and it kind of makes Johnny want to die. Something warm trickles over his fingers, and he realizes in a sick rush that he's broken the skin.

"I'll say this one more time," he grits out, drawing on every cold-blooded action hero he's ever seen to keep his composure. "Open the door. And get. Out."

For an awful moment, he thinks Ghost isn't going to listen, and he's not sure if he's actually prepared to use real violence against the bigger man. It's a relief when he slowly pops open the door and, with an unwavering gaze, slides even more slowly out of the passenger seat.

Johnny thinks he's in the clear, but then Ghost's hand lashes out. He grabs Johnny by the wrist (his fingers almost touch, they almost fucking touch) and he licks his goddamn blood off of Johnny's fingers.

Johnny recoils so hard he hits the driver side door, and floors it. His arm bends painfully before Ghost stumbles and relinquishes his grip and he's able to pull it inside, dragging the door shut with it. Miraculously, he doesn't drop the knife, but he does almost cut himself with it several times as he wipes his hand off on the seat so fervently he gives himself rugburn. The other hand is gripping the wheel so tightly it hurts, barely keeping the car from careening off the road.

Ghost's silhouette fades, swallowed by distance and rain.

***

He almost cries with relief when he sees the sign for the rest stop. He's been driving for hours, checking the rearview mirror every five minutes just in case Ghost somehow materializes in the backseat, and figures he's put enough distance between them that the hitcher won't catch up to him on foot, even if he sprints. There's no one else in the lot, which is unsurprising but does make him feel conspicuous. He parks under a tree, the thick trunk providing an extra barrier between him and the road.

He swears he can still feel Ghost's spit on his skin, even though he's rubbed his hand almost raw.

The thought of falling asleep and leaving himself vulnerable makes him sick with fear, but the adrenaline crash is hitting him hard. He triple-checks the locks on all the doors and reclines the driver's seat as far back as it will go.

Eventually, he dozes off, clutching the glorious, idiotic cowboy knife to his chest.

***

The terror of the previous night is starting to feel like a fever dream in the bright morning sunlight. Johnny wakes with a crick in his neck, a bruise on his collarbone, and a sore elbow, but the parking lot is still empty and so is the road, which he can see for miles in either direction under a clear blue sky.

The bathrooms are locked, so he takes a piss in the bushes before inspecting the big map posted on the wall behind a sheet of scratched plexiglass. There's a truck stop about 45 miles away with a gas station and a diner. Johnny's stomach growls at the thought of a big, greasy American breakfast, and the knot in his chest loosens further at the thought of seeing some regular, sane people.

Stretching his back with a loud groan, he saunters back to the car. Honestly, he's starting to second guess himself a little. Nobody would straight up admit to murder to a stranger, right? That would astronomically stupid. Ghost (clearly a fake name) was probably one of those weird cunts who read autopsy reports for fun and got off on making people scared. Johnny doesn't regret kicking him out of the car though, even if the knife was overkill. Play stupid games, win stupid prizes, or whatever; don't act like a demented freak around the bloke giving you a ride if you don't want to be dumped on the side of the road.

The passenger seat is barely damp when he touches it. By the time he reaches the truck stop, it'll be like last night never even happened. He spots the cigarette lighter still rolling about in the cup holder and tosses it back into the center console. Out of sight, out of mind.

His fingers brush something sticky.

Johnny's heart leaps into his throat and his stomach plummets down somewhere below his arse. Shaking, trepidatious, he plucks the object out from the console and immediately throws it as far as possible with a startled cry of disgust. It bounces a couple times before rolling to a stop some 15 meters away on the pavement.

His stomach clenches and his throat convulses as he dry heaves, trying to choke back another scream. He rubs his hand frantically through the condensation gathered on the hood of the car to get the tackiness off his fingers because if he wipes it on his leg then it'll be on his pants-

A crow flies down from the tree, eying Johnny suspiciously before pecking at the object. It gives a few exploratory nips to the pink, stringy bit before moving on to the fleshy white sphere. With a triumphant caw, it picks the whole thing up and tosses its head back.

Johnny doubles over and vomits as the bird gulps down the bloody human eye Ghost left in his car.

#my writing #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #cod #ghost x soap #ghoap #keeping these chapters short and sweet in an effort to update more than twice a year like i do with all my other fics

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princessfbi · 7 months

Note

Mayhaps #21 for the one bed prompt, if it sparks something

21. "It's alright, I'm here."

The first couple of days weren’t so bad. Or maybe they weren’t so bad because everyone was already so on edge that when Eddie needed them, it was a relief to have something to do about the static kinetic energy sparking in their blood. Eddie mostly drifted, stringing together a few sentences for Christopher before someone ushered him away to preoccupy him from worrying about the way Eddie’s words would slur before he fell back asleep.

It was the fourth day that everything started to crash down into the hard reality. Eddie patience for the constant fussing eventually waned with his need for independence making him a little testier than usual. The others gave him space, hovering on his peripheral in case he wobbled.

Buck had a feeling Eddie locked his knees so he wouldn’t.

But Buck didn’t. Eddie could gripe and growl and bark all he wanted but Buck wasn’t going anywhere.

It hadn’t been the independence that had worried him. He got it. He’d been practically clawing at the walls when he’d been left alone in an empty brand new apartment with his leg wrapped in plaster and his arms too tired to hoist himself up onto his crutches. Honestly, Buck was more surprised that Eddie lasted as long as he did.

No, what had Buck worried about was that Eddie had wanted to start weening himself off the harder painkillers.

Buck got it. Sooner was better than later with that stuff and he’d found they only really helped you sleep more than anything else. But the fog of the drug never quite lifted when you were awake and all you could do was sit around and wait for the next dose.

But Buck also knew how much those drugs fought back when you started to cut them off and Buck understood how someone could so easily get addicted to them because all you wanted was for them to stop. The shakes, the anxiety, the way your blood would feel like it was going to vibrate out right beneath your skin. The way it felt like your body was a hostage. The nightmares.

He’d been waiting for those.

It wasn’t loud when it happened. Just some rustling fabric and a sharp inhalation that aborted the scream that would’ve been on the exhale if Eddie hadn’t gotten a hold of himself. Then quiet bitten off cursing as Buck quietly padded down the dark hallway to Eddie’s room.

“Eddie?” Buck called, purposefully making his footsteps louder so he didn’t startle him.

Buck didn’t think he succeeded because another noise fell that sounded like an ugly warped thing of a frustrated sigh and a pained sob stopped by Eddie’s teeth. Buck hurried into the room.

He couldn’t see him in the dark, just the silhouetted shape of his slumped shoulders and the wild tousle of bed head that always made Buck want to reach out and run his fingers through it.

“I’m okay,” Eddie said, half tangled in the sheet while he desperately squirmed to sit up. The two words sounded like they had gone through a shredder in his throat. “Go back to—”

Buck jumped forward as Eddie jolted with a hiss, his hand flying up to his shoulder where the stitches were still holding his skin together. Buck turned on the bed side light and knelt beside the bed, mindful of Eddie’s legs still twisted up in his blanket. Eddie’s teeth were digging into his lip to muffle his cry of pain with sweat seeping through his shirt and trailing down his temple. Pain, deep agonizing pain, was etched into Eddie’s face as he held his breath.

“It's alright. I'm here. Breathe through it, Eddie,” Buck said, grabbing one of the medicine bottles still sitting untouched where Buck had left them earlier. A whimper fell from Eddie’s lips and Buck somehow managed to keep his trembling fingers under control to open the medicine.

“No,” Eddie said when Buck held out a pill to him.

“It’s just the Tylenol. It’ll help,” Buck said. Buck half expected him to fight it. Eddie had been anything but cooperative the last couple of days.

But then Eddie shuddered and his eyes swam as he gave in. He popped the pill in his mouth, leaning into Buck as Buck helped him upright before uncapping the water and handing it to him.

Eddie drank once, twice, three times before he came up gasping and sagged into Buck’s shoulder like all his strings had been cut. Instinct was Buck’s only form of operation then, too tired and too worn thin to even be slightly freaked out at the way he could feel Eddie’s eyelashes fluttering against his throat. He curled his arm up and around him, smoothing his palm against his spine as he rubbed what he hoped were soothing circles.

“Nightmares?” He guessed from the trembling settling into Eddie’s shoulders.

A dark humorless laugh fell from Eddie like a broken gasp. “Yeah. The warning label wasn’t kidding.”

Buck didn’t say that he wouldn’t have been surprised if it wasn’t just the meds to blame. He certainly didn’t have any narcotics to blame for his own nightmares.

Eddie let out a broken breath that sounded like it’d been knocked against all his ribs.

“Sorry,” Eddie said. “I didn’t—”

“I’ve been there, remember? I’ve got your back.” Buck dug the heel of his palm into his back until he felt the tension in Eddie’s muscles fade away.

He would’ve stayed there all night if Eddie would’ve let him.

“I was… I was trying to go to the bathroom,” Eddie said and it sounded as quiet as a confessional.

“Let me help.” Another grumble and a spark of Eddie’s earlier annoyance made an appearance but Buck would take that over pain and fear any day. “Come on. Hold onto me.”

Eddie’s free arm curled around Buck’s neck with his other arm still strapped to his chest and Buck helped lift him more upright before turning so he could swing his legs to the side. It was slow and painful but Eddie was getting better and better at being able to stand upright without the threat of buckling on the first step. Buck busied himself with straightening Eddie's blankets and sheets while Eddie went to the restroom. The sounds of the faucet running longer than normal painted a picture of what Eddie was doing. Buck knew enough about nightmares to know the splashing of water against your too hot face only helped so much.

Buck turned around when Eddie shuffled back in and helped him into bed in reverse that time. The same arm curled around Buck's neck with Buck holding onto Eddie's hips to help guide him back down.

A huff of air escaped Eddie's lips the moment he was down and Buck could've sworn he felt Eddie's arm tighten like he didn't want to let go. But he did and Buck gave him space to rearrange his limbs under the covers until he found a comfortable spot.

"Need anything else?" Buck asked and he stared down at Eddie as he watched him war with himself again.

Again, nothing new. It wasn't in Eddie's nature to ask for help. Buck knew what he'd been getting himself into when he'd all but made camp on the Diazs' couch. He knew Eddie and he knew that Eddie was feeling vulnerable and stubborn which meant Buck had to anticipate and—

The hand that curled around Buck's wrist was so soft and warm.

"Will you... Please..." Eddie tore his eyes away and he almost looked angry with himself over something Buck didn't understand. He took a long measured breath that hissed through his nose. "I don't want to be alone."

Oh.

Buck's heart skipped a beat in his chest. "Ar-re you sure?"

Eddie's fingers dug into Buck's skin like he wanted to claw his way into Buck's very soul. He still wouldn't look at him.

"Please don't make me ask it again. I just... I..."

Instincts took over again and Buck didn't even think. He turned off the light and somehow managed to get Eddie to let him go long enough so he could climb onto the other side of the mattress. He was careful of jostling Eddie too much and tried to find a position that wouldn't crowd him. Eddie tolerated it for only a few seconds before he sagged against Buck's side and breathed for what sounded like the first time in ages.

Oh.

Send Me There's Only One Bed Prompts

#911fic #evan buckley #eddie diaz #buddie #buddie fic #my fic writing #prompt game #royal decree #theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming

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sunflwryu · 1 year

Text

warning: fluff, self-deprecation, comfort | not requested

choose

"...what's wrong, darling?"

you shake felix's hand on your shoulder off as you storm off straight to the bathroom, shutting the door and locking it behind you before he can follow in after you. you don't want him to see your ugliness, you don't want him to see the dark feelings twisted up inside your heart, you don't want him to see you at all. you're crying, it's obvious by the small hiccups that leave your mouth, from the onslaught of tears that rain from your eyes, but each drop is filled with total fiery anger, with hollow sadness, with bitter hatred.

there are several knocks on the door as soon as you lock it behind you. "darling, please...what's wrong? you can tell me...i won't judge, i'll listen to you, okay?" his voice is panicked, frantic, but you can tell he's trying his best to be gentle, to be the steady stone that holds the two of you up.

"leave me alone!" you shout, sinking to the floor as you lean your back on the drawers at the sink, burying your face in your hands to muffle the sobs that leave your mouth.

your boyfriend tries the doorknob, and it only wiggles in response. he knocks again before you hear him speak. "no, please, darling...you don't have to let me in, we can just talk..." you can hear that he knows, he knows that you need him right now.

guilt spreads throughout your body from the way you yelled at him . you can hear the pain in his voice, the sadness in it. you know he doesn't deserve it, but you can't...you can't let him stay near you, you can't. you don't want to infect someone as sweet as him, you don't want him to turn out as bad as you. how else could you do that other than pushing him away? even if it hurts you to be so cruel to him, to shut him out, if it protects him from the monster you are, then that's fine with you.

you bite your quivering bottom lip, preventing yourself from speaking, from spilling all the thoughts that rush through your throbbing head.

"...darling, did i do something wrong? i'm sorry..."

you shake your head quickly even though he can't even see you. "no," you say in a softer but still choked up voice, and you're sure he can hear the tremor in it. you want him so badly, you want to be in his arms again and let him comfort you with all that he is, but this is for the best. the best for him, for you. "it's not you...it's me."

"then...please let me hear what you have to say...you know i-i'm always here for you, okay?"

it's quiet as you try not to give in from hearing his voice crack mid-sentence, to hear him actually cry for you through the little hiccups you can tell he's trying to keep quiet but you can still hear them anyway. it breaks your heart, it makes you clench your fists so hard that your nails are digging into your palms and you're gritting your teeth. he's too good for you, he's too good. you can't...you won't drag him down with you, you don't want him to feel like this over you. "please, lixie...i don't...i can't..." the words come out more broken than you intended, and then everything's silent again.

all you can hear is the sound of your breathing, the small sharp inhales you do to breathe amidst your tears, the deafening silence. it feels like it lasts forever, and you think that he's gone, but then there's a gentle tap near the bottom of the door.

"darling...i love you so much..." the three words you always love to hear, you don't want to. your heart hurts even more at the familiar warmth of his voice, like stabs with a needle because you want him so badly, you want to give in and fall into his arms. "...if you cry, i cry too, and i'll hold you in my arms like this...hold your hands like this..." towards the end of that sentence, you can hear the shifting of his clothes as he moves, and you have no doubt he's doing it with the air right now, the smile in his voice. it's a smile for you, you know, but...you can't. you don't want to give in, but you feel yourself already melting from his words alone, from the pure sincerity and love in them alone, from all the beautiful memories you have with him that he's been there for you.

you know you can trust felix, you just won't let yourself go because you're scared. scared of hurting him, that you're not good enough with this ugliness he somehow can't see himself, because what if he does see it? what if he leaves you when he does? it's a pain you can't take, a pain you're willing to spare you both from. you'd rather remain beautiful in his memories and ugly from the one moment you break his heart rather than him discovering this pathetic ugliness inside you.

you don't respond for however long, maybe it's an hour or just a few minutes, but he taps again on the door gently, once, twice again, as if to tell you, "i'm still here for you". your tears haven't dried completely, but hearing those taps makes them come out all over again, this time from greed. greed for wanting him, for wanting to love him.

"...no matter what happens, no matter what you have to say, to hide, darling...i'll be here for you...to understand you, to trust you, to accept you, to love you...that's what i chose. so please...choose me too."

you take a deep breath, getting up off the floor slowly. his smile, his voice, his warmth, everything, all of it...you choose to trust in it, to trust in all that he is, just like he said he's chosen you, to trust in you. he's said indirectly that he'll choose you despite this ugliness you have, because he loves you, you know he does. and you want to take a chance, take a chance with him like how he's always taken a chance with you, to have chosen you in the first place, because this isn't the first time you've broken down over this.

maybe it's finally time to tell him all about it, and then maybe you can move on from these terrible feelings inside you, from the ugliness that tries to consume you and your self-esteem and self-worth sometimes, from the hopelessness that tries to take over completely to put an end to the happiness you so desperately want with felix.

the door swings open and you're face-to-face with the man you love with all that you are, tear streaks almost identical to yours upon his beautiful freckled cheeks, and you give him the best smile you can right now. it's filled with love, filled with gratitude, filled with hope, filled with affection as he takes your hands in his just as he said he would, rubbing them slowly, gently with his fingers, squeezing them as he gives you a smile of his own, a smile that matches yours, that completes yours.

"...i choose you too, lixie."

note: i've been feeling like a shitty person because of my circumstances and environment lately, so i wrote this. it has not been great for me these past few days and it's just been a continuous crash of my mental health lately thanks to a lot of different factors (agh, i'm sorry to my moots for barely reading any of your works lately). dw, i'm okay...i'll be okay.

but this was inspired off of this video of felix being an absolute sweetheart that i saved on my youtube playlist when i want to cry and need to feel better. i found it again after looking through it again today. i suggest you guys save this video too because he's really just too good for this world. hyunjin will always be my ult bias but felix will always have a special place in my heart for clips like this and the other ones i found of him. i didn't really specify what the ugliness was exactly (kind of? not really?) but i know i was more specific about the pain. this was self indulgent, okay? anyway...yeah, enough of my rambling.

for those of you who feel like you're an ugly person whether it's on the inside or outside or you feel bad for feeling a certain way...i hope this comforts you, gives you hope that there's someone out there who will love you and comfort you like felix does in this fic. i was really happy seeing how many people were comforted by the one i wrote for hyunjin, so i hope this one has a similar effect on all of you. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoyed as always. ♥

skz masterlist | main masterlist | by @sunflwryu

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madnessandentropy · 6 months

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Summary: A fic set in hell in which my original character (she is NOT an HB/HH oc and neither is the other one) has a horrible experience while at therapy. Basically expanding on the concept of hospitals, therapists, and rehabs in hell being designed specifically to not help you (also a critique of irl therapists)

CWs: Bad therapists, victim blaming , sexual harassment, cannibalism, fatphobia

(Pls reblog and leave a comment, constructive criticism is also welcome ❤)

Therapist From Hell

The therapist would not stop smiling.

Sharp white teeth lined that mouth in neat rows, a set of razors for each jaw.

Morgan shifted and looked at her lap. Her blood rushed in her ears and the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

She inhaled slowly, and focused on her clothes for a distraction. Her long purple and black dress was one of the few splashes of colour in the room, a beacon in a sea of grey and black.

That was one of the problems with this awful place. Nearly every single thing in this room was either black or various shades of grey.

The carpet was dark grey and mottled with little black spots that made Morgan feel nauseous.

The walls were light grey as was the desk and the stiff, uncomfortable chair jutting into Morgan's legs and scratching at her skin.

Tick tick tick

The clock. The stupid clock. It was so loud. It was ugly, hexagonal and black and silver, mounted on a wall next to a black bookcase.

Tick tick tick

The ticks were so loud. Morgan's ears screamed in pain with every little movement of the bulging, twisted third hand.

"Miss Vettä."

A low voice forced forest green eyes to lock with sickly yellow.

Tick tick tick

The therapist would not stop smiling.

His eyes crinkled from the stretch of his grin and they flickered with an indecipherable emotion.

He was a perfect match to the rest of the room.

His skin was ash grey, stretched thin over an impossibly gaunt face decorated with black scales and black lipstick. He was skeletal, cheekbones protruding and the rest of his form rail thin.

His hair was long and black with a single grey stripe runnig down the right. It was wavy and thick, the style almost reminding her of a king cobra's hood.

His suit and shoes were black too, paired with a dark grey tie and socks.

His eyes, those nauseatingly yellow eyes, were the only splash of colour on him. They were accentuated by black and grey eyeshadow, making them look brighter. Scarier.

He was handsome, that couldn't be denied, but his very presence filled Morgan with a fear so primal she was tempted to flee.

Tick tick tick

"Miss Vettä, you've barely said a word. This may turn into a wasted session, I fear."

His voice was so painfully professional. It was smooth and deep, laced with an accent Morgan couldn't place, sickly sweet.

"I... I can't think of anything to talk about." Morgan mumbled, feeling slightly delirious. The overpowering scent of lavender pouring from the various incense dispensers in the room made her head hurt.

Tick tick tick

That horrible, toothy smile widened just a fraction.

"Well then, dear, let me help you." The therapist said sweetly.

He reached next to him and took hold of a clipboard. He gripped it with bony ash grey hands, bespeckled with scales, that faded to black at his fingers which extended to claws.

Something in his left pocket squirmed.

Tick tick tick

"In our last session you mentioned that in your previous life you were harassed by a classmate at your university. Why don't you tell me about that?"

Tick tick tick

Morgan's tongue stuck to the roof her throat and her heart sank.

"N-No... I'm not... I'm not comfortable with sharing that."

Tick tick tick

The therapist's smile faded slightly. He leaned forward.

Tick tick tick

"I don't think you underssstand the effort I put into ssspending my time here with you when I could be treating more talkative patientsss."He hissed. The lights flickered. His eyes glowed brighter. "Tell me or choossse ssssomething elssssse."

Tick tick tick

Morgan swallowed. "I-"

God, why was that clock so fucking loud?

As if a higher being heard her thoughts, the ticks were drowned out by a single gunshot.

Morgan jolted in her seat and swivelled towards the nearest window. The blinds were drawn, obscuring the chaos outside. However, she could still hear muffled cuss words and screams of pain.

"Ignore that." The therapist said breezily, as if somebody wasn't screaming in agony right outside the window.

Morgan swallowed.

"Go on." The therapist coaxed. "Tell me absolutely everything."

"W-Well..." Morgan's mouth started moving before she could stop it. "There was this new guy in my uni class that arrived in the second term. He was older than the rest of us, said he was changing careers, and he was awful. And creepy. He always made me feel unnerved."

"My, how judgemental." The therapist purred.

There was a pen in his hand now- black and silver- and the ink was a very specefic shade of red that made Morgan's skin crawl.

"It was valid I swear!" She shrieked. "He was a creep! He made comments about all the girls and stared at the ones who wore skirts and told them to 'pull it higher'. It's... it's why I just switched to wearing jeans."

Embarrassment washed over her when she finished her tangent when she saw the therapist's smile twist into a bemused smirk.

"A-Anyways, he equally caught an interest in me. At first he left an anonymous notes on my table. He would tell me I looked pretty, that I was cute or other things like that. It wasn't anything creepy yet, and I will admit I was quite flattered at the time. 'Secret Admirer' and all that, you know?"

"Then he got hold of my number." Morgan took a shakey breath, trying not to look at the thrashing lump thar was the therapist's pocket.

"I don't know how. But he did. He messaged me, telling me it was him who left the notes and asking if I liked them. Then... he started saying things that weren't as sweet. Telling me about how thought about me when he- saying I looked pretty but he thought I would sexier if I... if I lost weight. Stuff like that."

"I know I'm not exactly-" Morgan gestured to herself. "-thin, but that was such an awful thing to say. I-It made me so upset. He wouldn't stop messaging me though, he kept sending me gross messages and..." She shuddered. "Pictures."

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"The block button is there." His tone was professionally dismissive. "Did you press it? Or... did you like the attention? You mentioned you have self image issues before, after all."

Morgan sat up straighter and glared at the therapist.

"I blocked him." She growled through sharp clenched teeth. "And then he found me on other social media and I blocked him there too. Then he just went back to putting written notes on my desk."

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"Did you report him?"

Morgan hesitated.

"...Not at first. I was afraid of how he would react and I wasn't sure if I'd be believed. Complaints against him were always dismissed and those who lodged them always looked so... a-afraid afterwards."

As Morgan spoke, her voice quivering, the therapist opened his mouth. Wide.

A large pair of fangs flicked out, glistening with something sickly, and a black forked tongue slid out to slide across them. He looked utterly delighted.

Morgan trailed off,coming to a sudden stop as she watched the display in mild horror. Gooseflesh rippled across her dark blue skin.

The therapist would not stop smiling.

"Don't mind me." He cooed, fangs retracting. His voice made her teeth itch. "Continue."

"I-I only reported him after... after a dance our class put together. It was going to be so much fun and apparently he wasn't coming, so I got excited and brought a really beautiful dress for it. It wasn't fancy and it was kinda short, but it looked good on me and it had a good price."

"Turns out that asshole was coming. He made it his business to feel me up and whisper really gross shit to me even after I told him to stop multiple times." She buried her face in her in her hands. "The staff did nothing."

There was a brief silence after that, filled only with the scratching of a pen and the ticking of that damn clock. The lump was still moving, making a faint rustling noise.

The therapist would not stop smiling.

He tilted his head and blinked owlishly.

"Why did you wear that dress?"

"What?"

"You said it was quite small. You know how dressing like that is interpreted . Why did you wear it? It's almost like you were asking for it."

Morgan gaped, flabbergasted. "I-"

She was cut off by a brief ringing noise and the therapist sighed.

"That's the end of our session I'm afraid. Thank you for your time. This was a most productive discussion. I'm quite hungry now."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a... a mouse?

It was white with pink stripes running down its back and large pink eyes. It squirmed in the therapist's hold, squealing and flailing like a mouse gone mad.

Something about it was strangely familiar.

"Want a bite?" The therapist asked, teeth glinting.

Morgan shook her head wordlessly.

The therapist did not stop smiling. He simply shrugged.

"Ah, more for me then."

He tilted his head back, dangled the mouse by the tail over his open mouth, dropped it in, and swallowed it whole.

Morgan watched, mortified, as a visible lump slid slowly down the therapist's throat.

What had she just witnessed?

The therapist acted like nothing happened, picking up a notepad off his desk and scribbling something on the first page before tearing it off and handing it to her.

"What's this?" Morgan asked, squinting at the unreadable scrawl.

"A prescription."

The therapist's smile was so wide it took up half of his face.

"For a medicine to help with weight loss. It'll help those image issues of yours. The medicine and me prescribing it to you will cost extra."

"W-what?" Morgan stuttered. "I can't afford paying extra!"

She had learned through other patients that refusing a prescription outright ended very poorly, and it was best to try and bargain.

"That's something for you to sort out with the front desk." The therapist cooed, ushering her out the door. "See you next week!"

He slammed the door shut and Morgan was left standing alone in an empty hallway.

With no one else there and the prescription paper unreadable, Morgan had nothing to distract her from the... mouse.

That mouse.

That. Mouse.

It was so familiar.

White. Pink streaks. Pink eyes with a flicker of orange.

It looked so scared.

Green eyes widened.

Oh.

O h.

Morgan suddenly felt very very sick.

She saw that mouse.

She saw it last week. But not as a mouse. As a person. Crying, telling the disinterested cleric that they couldn't afford their prescription charge.

Morgan's stomach churned and bile rose in her throat.

She raced to the front office, paid for her session and prescription with shaking hands, shoved her new bottle of pills into her back, raced outside and proceeded to throw up all over the pavement.

Panting, she turned to glare at the tall, grey building stretching up to the blood red night sky.

She gasped.

At the window on the ground floor, peering at her from between the now open blinds, was the therapist.

Sickly yellow eyes glowed dangerously. There a mouse tail protruding from between his teeth.

Morgan started crying.

The therapist did not stop smiling.

-End

.....................................

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! I've never written in quite this style before.

Tagging: @onehelluvatime please let me know what you think!

#helluva boss critical #hazbin hotel critical #vivziepop critical #writing #writing peice #one shot

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