#bruises heal but like i dont know if my mind ever will | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

luminousbeings-crudematter · 2 months

Text

folie à deux

or: the toxic ex boyfriend Ghost AU

PAIRING: Simon “Ghost” Riley x F!Reader

WARNINGS: || 18+ only MDNI || Toxic masculinity || Possessive & obsessive behaviour || Slut shaming || Groping || Gaslighting || Implied & referenced cheating || Mildly dubious consent

w/c: 5.7k (Read on AO3)

a/n: this was supposed to be like 5 paragraphs, so PLEASE if y'all hate it i dont want to know

It starts with a knock on your front door when you’re only half expecting to see Simon Riley.

He even knocks with a sense of entitlement, and it enrages you. Three hard raps, and that’s it. He won’t knock again. If you don’t open the door, he’ll kick it down to get to you—those were rules you’d learnt the hard way.

You mentally reinforce your motivation when you fling the door open: You’re scared he’ll break your door down, again, and this time, when they try to evict you, Simon won’t be around to terrify them into letting you stay.

How on earth you’d ever found the prick attractive is beyond you in that minute. Except, no sooner does the thought enter your mind do you dismiss it. Of course you had—and still—found him attractive. That had never been the problem.

He wore his military career on his face, much easier to see than the chest candy he bragged about but no less attractive to you–scars and burns, healing and the not-quite healed bruises plain to see on his face, a cacophony of yellows and purples. A nose that had spent more time broken than not, its slight curve most likely a combination of never having been set by a professional nor the opportunity to heal without being broken again. A thin scar dissected his lip, went all the way up the side of his face to his brow, almost like someone had taken a knife to him, carved him up like a piece of meat. You’d never asked, and it’s not like he’d ever volunteered the information.

It just sat there along with the three thousand other things he’d deposited in the chasm that stretched between the two of you.

“You…Jesus,” he breathes, and slams the door shut behind him, making you wince. “Where are you off to, then?”

“N’ wearin’ that?” He prompts again when you don’t answer, motions to your body with his chin.

You roll your eyes when he pulls you into him and plants a hard kiss on your mouth, ignoring your squirming. “Fuckin’ about to spill out, little dove.”

“Spill? Simon, I’m sewn into this dress.” You pluck at his shirt that has deliciously little give where it sits on his hard chest, leaving your palm there as a little treat for yourself. “You would know. You capable of wearing shirts your own size, or does the SAS make it mandatory to have your tits straining against them?”

When he doesn’t respond, you push away from him, and step back, crossing your arms against your chest, definitely not pushing your tits up slightly, and he mirrors your movement. He’s leaning against the wall by the front door now, blocking your exit, and you can only roll your eyes at the foreseeable display of machismo.

“Your stuff’s in the front room. Grab it and go, I have to finish getting dressed. I have plans.”

“With a pimp?”

Back when you were blissfully ignorant of Simon’s penchant for keeping you destabilised at all times, unconditionally wanting the last word, his crass words would have made you sputter and struggle to respond. Oh but you know him so much better now.

Now, the blatant transparency in his delivery just makes you laugh.

You interrupt his next words with a wave of your hand and turn to retreat to your room. “Get your shit and leave, baby.”

You hear his harsh exhale at the dismissal, and once upon a time, the repercussions of dismissing Simon in the middle of a conversation would have excited you. You used to do it to get a rise out of him, instigate him into chasing you around, fucking you silly when he caught you. Now, you just do it because you can.

“No need to be a bitch. I’ll be on my way in a second, just wanted to check on you, little dove.”

Your laugh is breathy, and you have to pull your mascara wand away from your eyes so you don’t end up stabbing yourself with it. “‘No need to be a bitch’ says the man currently being a bitch about me not telling him my plans.” Your laugh is mocking when you turn back to the mirror. “You ever tire of this routine, Simon? Because it’s tiring to me.”

Your words only make Simon’s eyes soften, and he looks at you almost indulgently, patronisingly, as though you were a child throwing a tantrum to get an adult’s attention. “Could never tire of you, little dove.”

“Stop calling me that,” you snap, but he only snorts in response.

It’s all a game to him, you know that. He makes it very clear how much amusement he derives from watching you fumble and fall, how much he gets off on the stress he gives you.

And yet, you’re drawn to him, every single time. Every single time, you play mental gymnastics to find a reason to write off his bad behaviour because, well, it’s Simon. He’s…like no one else you’ve ever known.

Your choices have always been limited between a cruel, mercurial god and inane, paltry men.

Except today. Today you hold your response back, try not to rise to the obvious challenge.

“Come on then, I’ll drive ya.”

“Are you insane?” you screech. “You’re not driving me to my date, you’re not driving me anywhere, what the fuck is wrong with you, Simon?”

A glimpse of his Adonis belt as he stretches his arms above his shoulders and cranes his neck from side to side briefly grabs your attention.

“Don’t be difficult, little dove,” he gently scolds you, and your eyes snap back to his—yours wide with incredulity, his calm and collected in that beautiful, honey brown. “What were y’gonna do, take the Tube with y’tits out like that? If the prick ain’t pickin’ you up, I’ll take ya to him.” He jerks his chin in your vanity’s direction and plops himself on your bed to watch. “Come on, love, finish yer preenin’ then.”

“Preening,” you mutter under your breath as you turn back to the mirror. “Fuckin’ weirdo.”

It’s only when you’re dabbing perfume behind your ears do you catch his eye just as he brings a cigarette up to his mouth, and you squeal. “Simon! The fuck are yo—don’t smoke in my bedroom!”

“Our bedroom—”

“What?!”

“—’n ya didn’t care before. Y’wanna share, ‘s that it, little dove?”

“Oh my god.” You turn around slowly, your hands against your lips, joined together as though in prayer. “Simon.”

“Yeah, baby.”

“You don’t live here anymore. This isn’t your flat, it’s mine. This isn’t your bedroom, it’s mine.”

Simon just continues to smoke as though he hadn’t heard you, dark eyes taking the slow, leisurely route back to meet yours. “Y’look good, baby.” His voice is hoarse, the words slow and deliberate and raspy, and…you can’t deny it. The pull he’s always exerted on you, the undeniably ruinous sirens call—you burn hotter and brighter than accretion, you’re a helpless sailor caught up in his thrall

“Simon”

“Did’ya always look so good?” The way he looks at you as though in a trance…you know he’s not listening, seeming to just be thinking out loud. When he stands up, you take an automatic step back, then cringe when the vanity hits the back of your legs. Nowhere to go to escape his looming presence. “No…not like this. Somethin’s changed.” He puts his hands on your shoulders and turns you around so you’re both facing the mirror.

The back of your neck feels particularly warm as he pushes his entire front to your back, and you can feel him there, hard and insistent against your lower back. When eyes meet in the mirror, he looks at you like you’re a puzzle for him to solve. “Nothing’s changed,” you whisper. “You’re still a dick.”

“Hmm,” he mutters, then lifts your face up with one hand around your neck, and brings his cigarette around to your lips with the other.

Your instinctive inhale makes him shift against you slightly, and your eye twitches from how good he feels pressed up against you like this. How he smells to you—that familiar mix of aniseed and icy menthol, fingers eking that potent hit of nicotine straight into you from where his fingers dig into your skin. “Definitely somethin’ different.” He pulls one strap of your dress down, and you exhale as he places one warm, lingering kiss on your exposed shoulder. “‘S good. Whatever’s different is good, little dove.”

“We can’t—,” you whisper, and his eyes glint at you with interest and arrogance through the mirror. “We can’t do this.”

“You’re so pretty all dressed up like this. Always were so pretty. So soft, and—” he inhales deeply at the spot just under your ear “—always smell so fuckin’ good.”

“You can’t,” you moan in response, but press yourself closer to him, anyway.

“But I can,” he responds gruffly. “‘Nythin’ I like, little dove. And I know y’like it too.”

“Fuck, just—” He interrupts you by giving you another hit, and this time you turn around in his arms to exhale in his face. He doesn’t even flinch. “What are you playing at, Simon? What do you want from me this time?”

Simon continues to look at your mouth as you speak, and almost as if on auto-pilot, slips his thumb into your mouth. You want to bite him for his audacity, you almost kick him in the shin, almost almost almost… But what you really end up doing is accepting it, licking the pad of his thumb and letting him push it into your mouth.

Your initials on the space between the base of his thumb and index finger catch your eye—it’s a new tattoo, and you know this entire game is a ruse to draw your attention to it—but you don’t react. You may be stupid horny for him, but you’re not stupid.

“Always such a good girl for me,” he praises, and it brightens you up on the inside, sparks hot and bright under your spine. “Tell me, love…still me you think about when you touch your pussy?”

Your harsh exhale and slightly narrowed eyes are the only indication you give of having heard him at all. In response, his thumb moves slightly deeper, sitting heavy on your tongue, and you let him.

Your stubborn silence makes him chuckle, and he stubs out his cigarette on the ashtray you (still) keep on your vanity, pushing your dress up over your ass so he can grab your cheeks possessively. The movement is so quick, so fluid that your protest turns to ash on your tongue when he finds bare skin and squeezes hard.

“Forgot somethin, did ya?”

“No.”

“No?” His hands grip you tighter and pull you harshly into him. The angle makes you grind into his cock, and you know that he’s not even half as unaffected as he pretends. “Gonna put out on the first date, then, like a slut? Don’t remember you givin’ me any the first time I—”

“It’s not my first date with him.”

Simon pulls back to look into your eyes, and you’re graced by the first genuine smile on his face all evening—the most brilliant of Rayleigh scatterings put to shame. “It is your first date, love.”

The blunt, matter-of-factness in his words gives you pause, your mind still coming to terms with what he’s just said, your heart starting to race at the barely concealed confidence about your whereabouts. “How do you—what are you saying to me right now?”

“Truth, little dove. Like I promised.”

The casual, off hand remark to one of the most devastating conversations in your life gives you whiplash and you have to physically shake your head to get rid of the feeling of something crawling up the back of your neck. You put your hands firmly on his chest and push him away, and he steps back easily.

“Are you…Simon. Are you having me followed?”

“Don’t need to. I know you, little dove.” He takes another step back from you and cocks his head at your dazed expression. “Put some knickers on. The white ones, y’know ‘em.” When you don’t move, he motions towards your underwear drawer with an expectant expression—as though you’re frozen because you’ve forgotten where they are rather than because you’ve just learnt that your ex boyfriend’s stalking you.

When he crosses his arms, you’re jolted to action. In a daze, you pick up the first pair your hands grab and pull them on. He thrusts your purse at you, and leads you out your front door with his hand clasped tight around yours.

You wish you could say that your ex boyfriend driving you to a date with another man is the weirdest thing that’s ever happened to you, but that’s not realistic for a life lived around Simon Riley.

***

The drive is silent, but one big hand remains on your inner thigh. His fingers are so long that they almost touch the seat on either side of your leg. It feels invasive but it’s also familiar, so you don’t say anything. Classic— he never had to try hard to get what he wanted from you.

When he asks you for a smoke, you light one up for him and stick it into the corner of his waiting mouth, and he kisses your fingertips as they retreat. You still don’t say anything. Instead, your eyes stay determinedly on your initials tattooed on his skin, his warm hand almost a brand on your thigh, and you think about your life with him in the .

The implication that things were normal in the before is wildly misleading, and a genuine disservice to the shit he’d put you through.

Once upon a time, you’d been delusional about your place in Simon’s world; now it just leaves a bad taste in your mouth. He threw special forces and taskforce and lads need me in your face every opportunity he’d gotten, and worse. Simon Riley was not a man who did or could be convinced to do something he didn’t want to—and you’d hardly ever asked for any explanations from him but still, the excuses were on the tip of his tongue, ready to be flung at you at Mach speed.

You’d bargained with yourself for weeks—oscillating between wanting to proactively end the relationship yourself or allowing its inevitable heat death. He was one of a kind. No one had ever made you feel like he had. No one had fucked you like he had.

No one had fucked you over like he had either, but on good days, you show yourself some grace and let that thought slide.

***

You find yourself falling into old bad habits easily—you wait inside the car until he’s on your side, opening your door for you and practically lifting you out of his car.

The warmth of his hands seeps through the material of your dress, through the skin on your hips, superheating the bones underneath. He squeezes the flesh there appreciatively, and though his expression remains hidden to you, you can safely guess the smirking just by the creased skin by his eyes.

“I never want to see you again.”

The words make Simon pause. He considers you for a second, the smirk never dropping. “Go’n, give us a kiss, then, if this is the last time.”

“I would never,” you insist, finger poking at his hard chest, and he retreats from you, puts his hands up in mock-surrender. “You’re a manipulative bastard, Simon,” you hiss at him. “And I’m going on this date.” With your piece said, you walk away from him.

“Never stopped ya, little dove,” he calls out, a hint of an aggravating laugh in his words.

You flip him off without even turning around. “Drop dead, Simon.”

To your great disappointment, your words don’t inspire the heavens to smite him where he stands immediately, and when you quickly shoot one last look back at him over your shoulder, he stands against his car, arms crossed, looking for all the world like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Asshole.

It wasn’t even that Simon was a bad boyfriend to you—though he was certainly the fucking worst—it was the fact that a) he was a bad person and b) you’d become a bad person by osmosis.

Case in point: you wanted to leave your date mid-meal, battling the intrusive thought of just putting your drink down and walking out the front door, but you couldn’t even say why. Your date had kindly acquiesced when you’d insisted on the worst table on the floor. The one overlooking the car park. The window overlooking the only car parked there—the massive black one, with illegally tinted windows and a suspiciously missing owner.

At least the bar was nice. Great ambience, dim lighting and pretty interiors, it should have been the perfect first date. Your date himself was fine too—nice enough with a sweet smile he flashed at you, politely having taken to talking at you when you’d made it clear with your apathy that talking with you wasn’t going to happen.

After just two drinks, you start to have flashbacks—even an hour spent in Simon’s company clearly manifesting as literal madness—which was disconcerting by itself, but the uncharacteristic subject matter has you really worried. Every time you blink, you see Simon’s face…or his cock…and when your date asks if you’d like to share dessert, you answer, “Simon…” before hearing yourself, and feeling the heat of shame dance on your cheeks. Your date just looks confused.

A quick glance outside the window shows the empty car park and…nothing else. No car.

Had he fuckin’ left?

The thought incenses you, and the irrational nature of the anger makes you feel even more shame. Why should you care? When had he ever done what you’d expected of him? And when had he ever been there for you when you’d needed it.

Fuck it, you think.

Maybe you were finally free of Simon and his toxic, shameless, unbreakable hold on your life. Maybe it was time to move on.

You allow yourself a satisfied smile when, in what feels like divine approval of your plan, your date offers to take you home.

***

There are cracks in your ceiling that you’d never noticed before.

You resist the urge to wince, then try to moan but give up when it gets stuck in your throat, and your date misinterprets your sigh of boredom and discomfort as one of pleasure, choosing to go down on you with more enthusiasm than before. Things could not be worse for you—the man between your legs is clearly in need of a compass and a map and trying so hard that you feel guilty about the whole thing—but you’re determined to tolerate it. So that the point is made.

When your date finally leaves, your shaky smile and poorly concealed look of relief convinces neither of you of a second date. You suppose you should be grateful that he left without a fuss, but you’re just relieved that he’s gone. You’re contemplating—holding your head in your hands while your elbows rest on the kitchen counter—when you hear him.

“This is pathetic, even for you.” You turn around, and yep. It’s him alright. Sitting at your dinner table, your flimsy chair all but invisible behind his massive frame. “Breaking in, Simon? Seriously?”

“Y’gave me a key, little dove.”

“Yeah. When we were dating. A key that you’d returned?”

When there is neither a response, nor any change to his posture, you turn around and start to pour yourself a glass of water. Then change your mind and grab two whiskey tumblers and your decanter. “Pathetic,” you repeat. “How long were you planning this?”

His sudden breath on the back of your neck makes you exhale harshly, and he steadies your trembling hands by placing his on yours. Together, you pour two glasses of whiskey, but his hands don’t leave yours even when you’re done.

“How was the date?”

“You tell me, Simon.”

“Wasn’t invited, was I?”

“It didn’t stop you.”

He places a small kiss behind your ear in response. “No.” His hands knead at your breasts and your head falls back to his shoulder with a sigh, and he grinds into you. “Feel that? What even your fake little noises do to me?”

“You were listening?” The thought is…unbearably hot, and you stubbornly refuse to examine it any further in your mind.

“You belong with me, little dove, you know this. You’ve always belonged to me. All of you. Every single inch. Where would I go?”

You reach behind you to touch him, and he’s thick and warm to the touch, even through the layers of fabric, and it’s familiar, it’s all so familiar to you.. “This is fucked up. You were here listening when another man fucked me?”

In a quick succession of lithe, almost impossibly quick movements, he’s picked you up and placed you on your kitchen counter, one glass of whiskey shattering on the floor. “Made your point, baby?”

Your robe is off your shoulders and pooling around your waist in a second, and Simon doesn’t even bother hiding his smirk when he pulls off your panties and pockets them. You don’t bother protesting. It even feels like trouble when he runs a single finger over the seams of your cunt—you’re damningly wet and if you had enough withal to curse your body out for it, you would.

“You've got such a pretty pussy, little dove,” Ghost says as he fingers you, his voice half-muffled because he's pressing a possessive kiss to your forehead. “And so wet baby, you’re dripping on my fingers. All of it fo' me? Or was it that twat, hm?”

You're seething inside, raging that your plan backfired like this. “It was him,” you say, before you can help yourself. “You heard him fuck me, yeah?”

“Fuck you?” Simon’s chuckle is dark and ruinous. “He didn’t fuck you, baby. He just stretched you out for me. Good man. Saves me the work, innit.”

Before you can react, before you can breathe, he picks you up and throws you over his shoulder, picks up his glass of whiskey in his other hand, and brings you to your bedroom. Fuck, your sheets are still rumpled, dress and bra strewn on the floor, sandals sitting like a death trap of heel and straps by the foot of your bed. The room even smells of sex and the cologne your date had worn—it’s disorienting. You almost feel bad. Almost.

But…Simon’s presence is all over your bedroom too. The smell of his aftershave lingered in the air, noticeable if you closed your eyes and breathed in deep. Other signs too—the faint bitterness of his cigarette from earlier that evening, it’s corpse in the ashtray on your vanity. When he sets his drink down on your nightstand, he sets it on the coaster you keep there—they’re strewn on almost every surface on your flat. Mementoes from Simon from different countries he’d go to on deployment.

“Told you he fucked me,” you say, cheekily—trying to dissuade your mind from leading you towards sentiment—and get a smack on you ass for your trouble.

“‘Course, little dove,” Simon drawls in response. “‘N you enjoyed it too, yeah? Tryin’ t’make me jealous. Took him to the same place we used to go, huh?” Another smack on your backside, this one hard enough to make you gasp. “Think I’d forgotten, baby? Fucked you in that car park, didn’t I?”

“Were you jealous?”

“Why should I be?” He sets you down gently on the bed so you’re sitting upright, then takes a sip of his whiskey. “Y’want this.”

“I didn’t think you were giving me much of a choice.”

“I’m not.” He takes another sip, and when he leans forward to kiss you, the whiskey floods into your mouth, rich and smoky and bitter. He continues to kiss you and you have to swallow around his tongue, which makes him kiss you harder. He’s a bully in every aspect of his life, and kissing you is no different. His fingers clamp around your cheeks and you have no choice but to kiss him back. Even in this he dominates you, trying to win even where there is no fight to be fought.

When he pulls away, your heart throbs at how he looks through the lights of the street outside pouring in through your window. You’ve seen his face before, you’re one of the trusted few that can say they know what Simon Riley looks like, but it’s been a while since you’ve seen him like this. The harsh lights from outside almost soften where they kiss the harsh angles of his face, where the sharp line of his clenched jaw disappears behind his ears, accentuating his thick neck.

He’s beautiful and cruel and bad for you and every adjective you can think of under the sun.

“Y’want this,” he repeats.

“I want this.”

And then Simon moves so suddenly. There’s no preparing for it, no accounting for speed that has no build up—one second you’re sitting upright looking up at him the next you’re on your back and he’s hovering over you, fingers making quick work of his zipper before, in one push, he’s buried in you. Your breath feels like it’s literally been punched out of your chest. He’s so deep in you, you can feel him in your throat—he allows you one deep breath before he’s got a large hand wrapped around your throat. The one with your tattoo on it.

The thought of it incites something foreign deep in your belly, low and simmering hot—you can’t believe he’s tattooed your name on his hand after telling you that he didn’t think you were what he’d wanted.

You can’t imagine your expression right now, but he tightens his fingers around your throat and it drags your attention back to him. He’s gritting his teeth, his jaw clamped tightly shut while he grinds his pelvis into yours, each thrust driving you further and further away from him and towards the centre of the bed. You don’t even understand the movement of his hips—you’re displaced and jostled from the sheer power of his thrusts—but the motion itself feels like it’s more of an up and down motion, dragging against your walls, punching into your G spot. When your head falls back on a low moan, he jerks your body to alertness just by your throat, and you clench at the feat of strength even when he’s buried in you as far as he can go.

Simon groans in response, the noise sounding like it tears through his throat on its way out, but you’re helpless to do anything at all, just trying to breathe through the foreign sensations inside you right now, clamp tighter and tighter around him, threatening to break. You’ve given up trying to look up at him anymore, the pleasure making you squeeze your eyes shut, one hand intertwined with his by your head, the other clawing at his forearm.

“Shit, baby, hold on, fuck, jus’ let me—” He moves to adjust you, grabbing one thigh to spread you open, push himself deeper inside you, when he freezes.

“Wha—Simon, what—”

“The fuck is this?” His voice is pitched lower than usual, dark and dangerous. You follow his line of sight and he’s transfixed, eyes unblinking, looking at a spot on your inner thigh. You know what he’s seeing, and in the midst of everything that’s happened, everything that’s about to happen, you wonder if you’re seeing the evidence of the existence of a just God.

“You weren’t…you weren’t meant to see it. It’s from ages ago…” He reaches out a slightly trembling hand towards it, stops inches away from it—and oh this is better than anything you could’ve imagined—before he brushes two reverent fingers over the little skull you have tattooed there. “Simon?”

When Simon looks back at you, he seems more determined, somehow. Like the final part of a puzzle has clicked into place, somehow, and a decision has been made.

This time when he moves, it’s deeper, more powerful but equally as deliberate. The hand around your throat moves to your face, brushing sweaty strands away from it, and framing the entire side of your face where it rests. “Got my mark on you, yeah? Want t’keep me, is that it?”

“I want…want to keep you,” you nearly whine at him, and his hips kick up, hammer into you, in and out, in and out— “Want to keep you Simon. Want to be yours.”

He bends over you, his grip on your thigh unyielding, long fingers digging into the tattoo on your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, I—” He uses your neck to muffle his own sounds for a second and then leans to kiss you. But it’s more than that. You feel Simon’s surrender in that kiss—the acceptance of the inevitable, your months of torturous longing for your torturer finding release—and when you come, you bite down hard on his lip.

It feels like your body is hot enough to melt the world into soft, sepia tones around you, and you don’t even understand what he’s doing to your body right now as he fucks you through your orgasm. He readjusts your hips as you come, and the slightest brush of the coarse hair at the base of his cock against your clit makes you vibrate from the shock of what feels like your second orgasm bleeding into your first.

And when he comes, he slams his hips into you like he’s trying to crawl inside of you. His groan is long and tortured, and for a man who’s usually silent when he fucks, the sound is delicious. You never want him to stop. “Fuckin’ shit,” he murmurs, and traps you as he collapses on top of you.

In the aftermath, there is quiet.

Simon lifts his head, once, to try to feel his way to the glass of whiskey on your nightstand, all while kissing you deeply. Turns out, fucked out of his mind Simon is clumsy as hell, and so you grab it for him, draining it yourself before offering him the empty glass.

“Fuckin’ whore,” he mutters, unimpressed, before burying his face in your neck.

“Says the man who slept with the entire British army in a matter of six months.” You kiss his sweaty hair and his grip on your hips tightens. “Bunch of slags.”

“Don’t call my sergeant a slag.”

“Your serg—” you gasp, feeling your restart its pounding in its cage. “Not Johnny! You slept with MacTavish? He fuckin—he fuckin’ offered to meet me for coffee so many times when we were broken up! I thought he was being nice!”

“Was bein’ nice, innit. Lookin’ out for his CO’s girl.”

Your head falls back to the bed as you stare up at the ceiling again. “This is messed up.” His casual tone feels like a barb, reopens old wounds and threatens to ignite a fresh wave of hostility inside you. But before you can stew in your bitterness any longer, he kisses the side of your neck and moves off of you.

“Can’t keep doing this, little dove.” He says, gathering your clothes from where they’re strewn all over your room.

You get up on your elbows and cock your head, feigning innocent confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Gonna have twats all over town stretchin’ you out fo’ me before I fuck you?”

“Why? You offering to put the graft in yourself?”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, and when he stands up to face you, he’s got a cig hanging off the corner of his mouth. “Y’got a light around here somewhere, can’t find mine.”

You roll your eyes, reaching over to the nightstand to grab one and throwing it at him. He catches it deftly, and lights up his cigarette. “What’s next for you then, Simon Riley? Off to the pub to find the next victim for the evening? Send me a recording of when you fuck her in the disgusting toilet?”

“Victim? Shit baby, give me ten, we’ll go again,” he says, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

“You’re staying?”

He leans forward, smushes your face with his large hand. “You got me inked on you.” You squirm away from him and he lets you go.

“It’s just a skull, Simon. Not my initials on your hand.” When his eyes narrow, you gasp theatrically and your hand flies up to your chest. “Or was I not meant to see that?” You lean up to pluck the cigarette from his fingers and take a long drag. “Obnoxious, by the way.”

He leans forward and kisses you, hard. You inadvertently end up blowing smoke in his mouth, but he doesn’t move, kissing you until you melt. “Love you, little dove. You're a massive bitch, though.”

“Pot meet kettle,” you whisper against his mouth.

You know what they say about history repeating itself. You’ve been through this cycle before, you and Simon. And you know what he promised you when he fucked you—he may have asked you if you’d wanted to keep him, but you hear what Simon doesn’t say. And what he doesn’t say is that you don’t have a choice in any of this. Simon operates like a bully, thinks like a bully because he is one. Like with most other things, Simon brute forces your relationship, moulds and bends and twists to his liking, does not care if anything breaks. You have no doubt that in two or three weeks’ time he’ll be across the world from you, bouncing someone else on his cock but it hardly matters. You’ll get your lick back. It’s what he’s taught you, afterall.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost mw2 #simon riley smut #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #lumi writes #toxic exbf! Ghost #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader

703 notes · View notes

mondaymelon · 4 months

Note

OMGGG what about the tall genshin men reacting when u suddenly distance urself from them, but they dont know its bc of something they said? feel free to edit n modify this as much as ud like :3

₊˚ෆ "𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐓, 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐒𝐄 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐎𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐄…" | diluc, childe, kaveh x gn!reader

art by @/kongqingkoqi on twitter! (not too sure on who you meant by tall characters, so i just chose a couple males with the tall model~ thank you for your request!)

— cw: angst + comfort ? injury (diluc), ngl reader is kinda a bitch in childe's but it was the only way i thought up of of making the situation work so. lmao. cries

[ Perhaps it was the winter cold that had bit him so, or perhaps it was merely a gloom that had briefly descended upon him. Either way, an unfortunate slip of the tongue has wounded you, yet they themselves remain unaware. ]

"Love?"

DILUC's eyes are round with worry, and his concerned gaze sweeps over you - from your crestfallen form, and then to your eyes that shy away from his. Ever since he had returned to the estate after being out of business since morning, you've been avoiding him, not wishing to speak a single word to his self and not even bothering to spare him a fleeting glance.

At first, it was bearable. Perhaps you just had had a long day and wanted some alone time, no? It was always a possibility, that is, until he saw your smiling self as you busied yourself in chatting away with the maids, and most importantly, that brother of his.

What had he done to warrant such treatment? You loved him, that he was sure of. Otherwise, you would've rejected him, wouldn't you? You wouldn't have let him take your hand and bring it to his lips ever so slowly, pressing a kiss into your knuckles?

"Love, I... I'm sorry. Please, tell me what I did wrong." His voice contains a shred of his desperation, and his crimson eyes only hold you in their gaze. You, who had broken past his carefully crafted walls and rekindled the flame that had long since been extinguished within his heart. "If it's something I did, if it's something I said-"

“Diluc, you…” Your quiet voice ebbs to silence as your eyes glance away, landing on everything except for the red-haired man before you, whose broad shoulders give the slightest tremor. The darkness in your expression, the displayed hurt… Ah.

Diluc’s weary mind raced, recollecting the hasty conversation from this morning, when dawn had yet to break and he had arrived home, coat blazing, skin littered in bruises and still-bleeding cuts. You had rushed out of your bedroom, still in your night garments, panicking over the wounds that covered his body and the red that blackened his already dark clothes. In a strained voice, eyes wide and frantic, you had called for the maids, only for Diluc to forcibly shush you, steadying himself on shaky legs.

“Love, what happened, what were you doing and how did-??”

“It doesn’t concern you.” His tone is low, tired. “Stay out of this, you won’t be able to offer any assistance anyhow.”

Begrudgingly, the man recalled his absolute exhaustion, having just returned after a bloody night of battling monsters, muscles sore and crying for relief. There was no need for your concern, his cuts would mend and his wounds would heal. Yet he hadn’t meant for his words to come out so harsh, for his tongue to pierce you in the way it had.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't in my right mind when I said that- I just... I just didn't want you to be hurt also... If I'm injured, those wounds will fade with time, but I.."

His words trail off, replaced with your silence - a voiceless agreement, one that Diluc takes as an answer. Holding both your hands in his gloved ones, it's somehow easy to feel his fiery warmth despite his cold demeanor. Cold... was it really so? The male's eyes shone, and then you were in his arms, tightly intertwined.

"..I don't know what I would do if harm were to befell you, love..."₊˚ෆ

"Love!"

CHILDE's playful smile fades at its corners as you walk past him, the way you're failing to even acknowledge his presence painfully apparent. "Hah... what's with you today?" Another absence of a response. You dash your way out of his sight, and he's left alone in the dark living room, a half-smile still on his features. The fuck?

Okay, maybe it was just one of those days. There had been several since the start of the relationship, and the harbinger offered his utmost understanding. Sometimes people just felt like shit, and didn't feel like doing shit, and he could understand that to some extent.

There, mystery solved, yeah? Ah, but just one problem, how come you had been completely fine just an hour before? He had the day off, and so did you, so there was a mutual agreement to just stay home and laze about in one another's presence - yet it was only nearing lunchtime and you had already given him the cold shoulder? For what..? You hadn't even gone outside or did anything today-

Oh. Then he had to have been the problem. He raps his knuckles on your bedroom door, but it's really his bedroom too, and is bold enough to poke his head through the frame without waiting for your confirmation, a hesitant grin decorating his lips. "Love, I'm sorry- for ah... whatever you disliked...?"

You're sat at your desk, weariness evident in your darkened eyes. "Childe, do you find me someone who needs to be protected?"

He blinks. "...What?"

"Childe, do you really just want to spend the entire day lying around?" Snapping your fingers, your eyes lit up with sparkles. "We should go to a cafe or something for lunch, maybe, and then-"

"Why through go all the effort? We're staying home because I thought you wanted to, aren't we?"

"Not to that extent Childe... if you were with friends, what would you be doing? Not sitting on the couch all day, I hope?" A sheepish smile crossed your face.

"Hmm.. friends... I suppose we'd duel...?"

"Then-"

"Nope, no way am I dueling with you, you're way too weak, love, that's why I gotta protect you, hm?"

He immediately shakes his head at your words, almost frantic. "W- No, I didn't mean it in that way, love. You're capable, it's just that... Well- you don't have a vision, or a weapon, or-"

"Childe." Not your usual 'love', a bright smile on your lips, and he flinches just the slightest at the sight. "We're in a relationship. I don't want to be in a give all take all relation, you know? I.. I want to be independent, I want you to rely on me sometimes too... I just feel like sometimes I'm just such a burden to you and-"

"A burden?" His eyes widen, features instantly shadowing with disbelief at your words.

You, a burden? Such a thing couldn't possibly be. The warmth that you had granted him, the delicate arms that had held him in its hold, the lips that had whispered such affections and pressed kisses on his skin-

"No, love. You are not a burden, not when you are someone who makes life worth living." ₊˚ෆ

"Love...?"

KAVEH's in instant full blown panic mode, the dark bags under his eyes especially evident with how wide they've grown. "H-Hey, are you okay?" Of course, something wasn't okay - otherwise, why would you be ignoring him like this? But his sleepless mind has grown frantic, and he's desperate for relief. His hand latches onto yours before you can disappear into another room, holding onto your wrist loosely enough to not seem forceful. "Ah..."

He'd moved without thinking, almost as if on instinct, and now that you had glanced back with something colder in your gaze, that same urge told him not to let go. "I, I'm sorry!" For what exactly, he wouldn't even be able to tell a soul, yet the words seemed to have done the trick, as your feet pause in the middle of a step away from him, hesitance clear in your expression.

"For what, Kaveh?"

Shit, he's fucked. This was it, all the all nighters and hours of laborious planning and calculations had led to this one moment... His mind was spurred into action as his mouth sputtered useless stutters and... oh, could it be?

"Kaveh, you should go to sleep, it's already so late, and you haven't gotten a good rest in days, love..." Your concerned tone rang clearly in his ears, but he shook the words away, his disheveled form only focusing on the work before him, the endless tasks he had yet to complete.

"No, I... I can't. Love, could you brew me a cup of coffee, the extra strong kind? Thank you..." He gave his sleepy eyes a rub, completely missing the look that had flitted across your face in that moment.

Your sigh invades his flashbacks, and you look completely done with him, brows furrowed a fraction and lips drawn into a thin line. "Kaveh, please, for the love of the archons, take some better care of yourself."

"...Ah?"

Suddenly, your tone had shifted in the span of a half second, and instead of the angry gaze he had expected, it was more so... scolding. Concern. "Close that jaw of yours, Kaveh, how come you look so surprised? I've told you this time and time again, you need rest!"

An accusing finger was pointed in his direction, the bearer someone he was certainly very familiar with. "Well, it's a big project, I have to finish it by next week and there's barely any time, so I need to-"

"-And how can you possibly plan on functioning if you haven't gotten any sleep?"

Curses, a valid argument. Kaveh slowly held up his empty hands in defeat, chuckling sheepishly. So this was about him, and not you? Thank the archons, for a second he had thought he had messed up big time-

"That look of yours, you better not be thinking what I think you're thinking! And, besides..." You glanced at the ground, as if suddenly reluctant to speak another word. "I was waiting for you so we could sleep together..."

...An angel? Was that who was before him?

"I-I'm sorry... I promise I'll take better care of myself and... you won't have to wait for me, tonight. I'll turn in early, love." ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) not all that proud of this one. but here. sigh

reblogs are veryyyy appreciated!! if you liked this fic, please consider following, as im super close to a follower goal id love to hit before new years! thank you.

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife, @lupicalbestwolf, @justyoureader, @fiannee, @aether-darling

828 notes · View notes

ccbb2222 · 2 years

Text

You Know I Hate it When You Cry: Part 3 Rooster x Reader

Catch up on Part 1 or Part 2!

Bradley Bradshaw x Reader pairing

Summary: Reader gives Rooster a shot.

Also- text messages are in italics and purple!

Warnings: *** This story contains Mentions of Abuse (physical, emotional, sexual)*** Please be advised this could be triggering. Angst, Eventual Smut, Protective and adorable Rooster.

18+ Minors DNI.

Laying on your bed, your hand absentmindedly runs across your healing abdomen as your stare up at the ceiling. You traced the outline of the freshest bruise softly, thankful that Penny had put you up in her sister's cozy home. She was traveling Europe for the summer, and after a phone call, Penny had situated you there for both your privacy and protection. She knew Grant was unfamiliar with the home should he come sniffing around Miramar.

Bradley's words about protecting you replayed over and over in your head; "I know I don't. But I want to."

You couldn't figure out why he cared. He barely knew you, and you told him just that. You remembered the frown on his face, his eyes meeting yours. Before he could reply, however, Penny came over, sensing the tension.

"Time to go, Bradshaw," she had said in a friendly and soft tone.

The look he gave you before pushing back his barstool was one that could only be described as determined.

Your phone buzzes next to you, bringing you out of your daze and causing your previous hand motions to halt. Looking over, you feel panic wash over you as you see a text appear from another unknown number.

Breathing deeply, you swipe open your phone.

Unknown: So Penny may or may not have caved and gave me your number. dont hate me.

A pause, and then another text comes through:

Unknown: its bradley.

You heave a massive sigh of relief and the panic is replaced by tiny butterflies in your stomach. Damn you, Penny. After saving his number, you quickly respond.

You: Hmmm bradley? doesnt ring a bell

Bradley: 😢 i should've known a girl like you was out of my league

You: Are you hitting on me again?

Bradley: depends...is it working?

You laugh, picturing him with a smirk on his face and nervously running his hand through his hair.

You contemplate a response, nervous to say the wrong thing, and still confused about what you felt for him.

He was kind, for some reason truly cared about you, and probably the sexiest man you had ever met.

Fuck it.

You: surprisingly yes.

Bradley: i knew it. what time does your shift start?

You: 8

Bradley: pick you up in 20? i know an awesome diner.

Your heart thuds against your chest. Were you doing this? Biting your lip, you agree before you can change your mind.

You: dont be late bradshaw

You text him your address and throw yourself back against your pillows..

"Jesus christ."

––

Exactly 20 minutes later, Bradley's Bronco pulls into the driveway. Your heart thuds against your chest as you watch him from your place in the kitchen. He's wearing another open Hawaiian shirt with a white t-shirt underneath and a pair of faded jeans. His aviators reflect the sun as he makes the short walk towards the front door.

Hearing the doorbell, you make your way over, opening it with a shy smile.

"Hi," he smiles.

"Hey," you reply, turning to lock the door behind you before turning to follow him towards the car. "I'm glad you texted me." You say genuinely.

His mouth pulls up to one side in a lopsided smile as he opens your car door for you, "Me too."

"So where are we going?" You ask once he joins you in the car. Your heart skips a beat when his hand reaches to grab the back of your seat as he turns to look out the rearview. You feel the car roll in reverse down the driveway.

You could smell his cologne, woodsy and warm. Being so close to him made you downright dizzy.

"Well," he says, concentrating on maneuvering the car in reverse, "I really hope you like milkshakes."

You nod with a laugh, "Obviously."

"Good," he replies, straightening the car out and putting it in drive, looking over at you with another smile, "Because this might be the best one you ever have."

–––

"Well shit." You say after the first sip of your chocolate milkshake. It honestly was the best one you'd ever tasted.

"Right?" He responds with an I told you so expression gracing his face.

"I'll give you this one. This is insane," You point to the perfect milkshake in front of you.

He shrugs his shoulders, nodding his head before gazing at you again.

His stare makes you flush as you reach for your straw, needing something to fiddle with. "So, um, did you have the day off?" You ask, curious why he was suddenly freed up on a week day.

"Yeah," he replies, pausing to take a sip of his milkshake and you watch his lips wrap around the straw. "My jet had a technical issue and we needed to rush it to the mechanics to get it all sorted. Cut my day short, but can't say I'm too upset about it." He winks.

"Stop hitting on me." You half joke.

"You're making that mighty hard to do." He says softly.

If you were flushed before, you were beet red now. "Thank you, by the way. For last night." You say, wanting to clear the air.

Bradley nods attentively, his face completely neutral. "Of course. I meant what I said."

You nod, looking down. "It's obviously, not really something that's easy to talk about."

You look around self consciously. The tiny diner Bradley had chosen was almost completely empty. Pictures adorned the walls and a jukebox softly played "Don't Be Cruel." You adjust your legs on the leather booth.

You check his expression again, his brow furrowing and his hand extends towards yours, palm facing up.

You look down at his hand before placing your’s on top of his. A spark jolts up your arm at the contact. His palm was calloused but somehow soft, warm to the touch, and you couldn't help but notice how perfectly your hand fit in his.

Sighing, you look into his eyes again. "Bradley I don't want to bring you down with me." You say honestly.

He frowns, cocking his head to this side, "What do you mean?"

"It's just that I come with a lot of...baggage. Grant, my ex, he's not a good man." You say, finally admitting this out loud. Not just to Bradley, but finally to yourself. "I have a lot of shit I need to work through and your job is stressful enough. You don't need to add me to your list of things to worry about."

"Hey, hey," he says softly, his thumb rubbing over the top of your hand, "Don't say that. You're not just a thing to worry about. I know we haven't known each other long. As cliché as this sounds, I just really want to get to know you. Please don't shut me out."

Tears prickle in your eyes and you attempt to blink them away. No one had ever shown this much compassion towards you. Over the years, Grant had isolated you from your closest friends and remaining family. For so long, you were on an island by yourself.

"We'll take it slow, yeah?" He checks again a small smile on his face. "This," he motions between the two of you, "Moves at your pace."

Who was this man and how on earth did you find him?

“I’d really like that.”

——————————————————————————-

We’re giving Bradley a shot!! This one was cute and fluffy…next chapter is when the #drama will start. 😈

Part 4.

Taglist:

@rosiahills22

@m3laniehearts

@savannahcole99

@emma8895eb

@atarmychick0077

@galaxy-moon

@5ugarcan3

@luckyladycreator2

#rooster bradshaw smut #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #rooster bradshaw x you #bradley bradshaw x y/n

306 notes · View notes

topsurgerystuff · 21 days

Text

Now, I will expound upon the scary things. These are things that happened after top surgery that spooked me.

All of these things ended up being harmless, I just wasn’t told they would happen and couldn’t find any info about them so they scared me shitless. My intention here is to save others from similar needless panic. This is not medical advice, just a description of my experience. Well some of it is advice, but keep in mind that I’m fucking stupid and I don’t know shit. Also, Never for one second have I regretted this surgery. The only thing I miss about my tits is being able to grope them whenever I wanted.

Okay so first of all there was the bruises. Blood from the surgery had pooled in my love handles and all over my thighs under my skin and made these HUGE bruises, right, and they didn’t hurt but they were large and had funky colors and I thought “What if the blood rots under my skin”. I googled it, I asked all my friends, I tried to reach my doctors but it was the weekend so they didn’t answer so I went to urgent care and the doctor there was like “I dont know…. That’s scary….” So I was freaking out and decided I would simply wait for death to claim me. It was fine. When I finally got ahold of the doctor she said she’s never seen it before but to just watch it and tell her if it gets bigger. My body slurped that shit back up in a couple weeks, totally harmlessly. Why haven’t surgeons ever seen shit like that before? Probably because nobody’s ever freaked out about it enough to mention it to them. Either way, it was fine.

Secondly, when I had those drains in me, that was spooky because I thought “What if they get yanked out and tear up my shit” and I couldn’t take off the bandage too see or nothing but when I did eventually take them off, I saw that there are stitches around the pipes but not like holding them in you, just there to make sure the holes they put in you stay the same size they are. So if they get pulled out you don’t get seriously damaged, you just call them up and say yo can you put this shit back in me pls. There will also be little meat chunks coming through your tubes with your soup and the soup will be mildly funky smelling. That’s normal. I was told to tell them if there was like CRAZY amounts of meat or if the soup smelled absolutely nasty. Also the bolster things they put on your nips are attached directly to your nips and nothing else, so if you feel shit sliding around under your bandage, that’s the bandage sliding, not the bolsters. They didn’t tell me that so I thought I was gonna wake up with one on my back or something and not be able to put it back where it was. And they make it so it’ll be nice and slippery in there the whole time so don’t worry about the bolsters getting ripped off, there’s not enough friction in there to do that.

There was also the hydrocodone they gave me. For me, the incisions didn’t hardly hurt at all even immediately after surgery but they prescribed me hydrocodone so I took it, and I assumed I wasn’t hurting because of the drugs and that if I stopped taking them I would hurt a LOT. So here I am taking opioids and I’m so fucking dizzy and I’m violently throwing up for two days. I texted my doctor and begged to stop taking it because I thought I would get in trouble or something if I stopped without asking and she’s like “Yeah, you didn’t have to take it if you didn’t want to, its just there if you need something stronger” ohhhhhhhh well fuck me I guess. So I stopped taking it and it turns out I didn’t need pain meds at all because it barely hurts, it just feels like a really long paper cut.

Some other things, I popped a stitch in my armpit because when you first come home and your shits still all numbed up, you can’t feel it when you overstretch your arm so if you forget you’re not supposed to do that, you can pop a stitch. It got infected, I put some antibiotic on it, it took a long time to heal and it made the scar a little uglier but it didn’t cause anything crazy. I will say that my incisions go up into my armpits really far and it was real hard to keep them clean on account of all the sweat. My nipple grafts also had many tiny, shallow stitches and I thought “What if they fall out because they’re so shallow”. That’s normal. My dad said that’s how you do stitches for sensitive areas so they look pretty, and they do look pretty, and also they are supposed to fall out after a couple weeks, that is also normal. Just make sure they don’t fall out too soon I guess. Pretend you’re made of glass for the first 4 weeks, honestly.

Also, your nip has the little oil glands in it, right, and when you’re nip scabs over as it is supposed to, it will scab inside these oil pores and you’ll lose the whole rest of the scab and have these little leftover scraps, and you Must. Not. Pick them. Those pores in my nips are little craters now because I picked the scabs out of them. Every scab you pull off, even the ones that are thin and tiny and already hanging halfway off, is going to make your nip even uglier. You wont die but you will say “Ugh why did it do that”.

Also, my nip hole collects nasty shit in it that I have to clean out all the time and since I can’t feel anything in there I have the be VERY careful. Skin is actually very easy to puncture. And there’s like little caverns in there that also get stuff in them a lot so I still put antibiotic on my nips after I shower just in case? Not really sure if its infection or like dead skin… its been getting better over time at least. Sorry if that’s TMI but listen, somebody’s gotta talk about it.

Sometimes my scars, the main incisions, will get these little blackheads right in the middle of them or little pockets of infection, and I always pick at them and the scar tissue isn’t very strong so when you pick at things on your scar, you will break open all the blood vessels around it and have a big red spot and the scar tissue is such that you will not get the blackhead out anyway so just dont do that. Put some antibiotic on it. Honestly just put antibiotic on anything that looks sus. Antibiotic can solve anything.

Okay idk what else to say so end post goodbye.

15 notes · View notes

lemmetreatya · 2 years

Note

I have never requested anything so I have no idea where to do that and stuff, i hope you dont mind me writing it here.. I was thinking if you could write about platonic relationship between Polnareff and reader? like, them being siblings and after Sherry's death reader would disappear for some years, they would reunite while stardust crusaders is happening. they would meet between fight with Anubis and after that they would talk about how they've missed each other.. hurt/comfort type of thing with some fluff in it. oh and also reader has a healing stand perhaps? they could help Polpol and Joot with their wounds. I hope its ok with you! if not, feel free to ignore it

That’s fine! Your request was lovely but you’re also my first imagine request so we’re in this doing firsts together 🥺💕 Hope you enjoy <3

Everything, Everything for You, My Darling

Polnareff x Reader

Count: 4.1k+

‘For as long as you could remember, it had always been the three of you’

Contains: Angsts, Character death, Hurt, Comfort, Strong Language, Happy Ending, Not Beta Read

For as long as you could remember, it had always been the three of you.

“Sst!”

Looking up towards the younger girl, you softly mouthed an apology. Her leg was still brushed red, tinged with small specks of blood and razor like streaks but you tried to clean up her graze as lightly as you could.

Apart from this one injury, Sherry was fine. Maybe a slightly bruised ego but she was holding her own, unlike the other addition to your trio.

Within your peripheral, you could see Jean Pierre marching up and down the paved field edge you were all currently situated on, his footing light but his clomps loud nonetheless. He was currently seething, hot with anger; something that wasn’t a regular occurrence but definitely felt once present.

“I swear — I fucking swear — I’ll get them back for that. Those sleazy bastards…. think, think they can just get away with hurting my sister, huh?! Fuck, they so have what’s coming for them.”

The collection of red stained cotton buds that sat besides your leg stacked up in a small pyramid. You added another one to the pile before addressing the boy, a sigh in your voice.

“There’s nothing you can do about it, Jean Pierre. They’ve already run off and there’s about seven of them and three of us. We just gotta cut our losses as it is, you know?”

Sherry nodded in agreeal to your comment although flinched afterwards as you lightly stuck a plaster above her knee.

“Yeah, don’t work yourself up blaming them. It’s not like they did it on purpose. I just happened to be in the way is all.” Her voice was as soft as ever.

Visibly you could see Jean Pierre start to calm down, his feet finally stuck in one singular place and his box shoulders sagging, although you knew the fire of rage still bubbled deep within his gut.

“Mon coeur, still!” He exclaimed towards you before switching his attention to Sherry, “They should have minded you or something. At least turned back and apologise…”

A lumpy silence fell over the three of you; no one had much else to comment but everyone knew someone needed to say something to fill the gap. Something that didn’t seem like a topic divert or talking just for talks sake. But as always, you knew what to say.

“It’s okay, Jean Pierre. The fact no one’s seriously injured is more than fine. We got lucky.” You encouraged.

With a pout, Sherry aimlessly reached a finger down to lightly smooth over her plaster. You mundanely rubbed the uninjured part of her leg before adding: “It just means you’ll have to be Sherry’s personal chauffeur.”

A soft laugh left Sherry’s mouth at Jean Pierre’s bewildered expression, the boy seemingly offended at the task he was now endowed with.

“What?! No fair! That’s even more reason to get them back!” He boomed.

You weren’t related by blood like Sherry and Jean Pierre were, but the two were the closest thing you had to family. Sherry was soft spoken and as pretty as she spoke. Jean Pierre was boisterous and forever daring in his outlook. You all complimented each other’s personalities but you looked up to Jean Pierre with a different austere air.

The way the older conducted life about him — care-free but never too lenient — it always inspired you to fulfil life in the same manor. It always gave you that edge to be watchful over the Sherry. You liked to think that you and Jean Pierre aided her under a wing each. If only you had known that instead, Jean Pierre was protectively holding his wings over the both of you.

However, despite his disposition, you would never have known the hollowing loneliness he constantly carried with him. Sherry hadn’t much memory of their parents but Jean Pierre did. He had tasted warmth and protection before, he knew how secure it’d make one feel. Jean Pierre even believes he would be better off having never experienced it. Maybe at least that way he wouldn’t daily feel that he was concaving — rotting, from the inside out.

Instead, he used the previous love he’d once received on the both of you.

Not once had the thought that the three of you could ever be apart cross your mind. Even if it did, there was no need to dwell on it as life was already as harsh as it was; why would you dream or even prepare yourself to be away from your only life sources? However, only naivety could fool you that deep.

When Sherry was killed the brutally dehumanising way she was, the only thing you could think to do was pull apart from your rootings.

Pull apart from everything that once made you happy, starve yourself of knowing what Home meant and felt like because why should you?

Sherry had lost her life; never again to see how burnt orange would tickle the vineyard horizons at early dawn or how the stars would wink goodnight under the heavy smell of olives in the evening. The sweet song of rushing brookes! How the clear current could surprise you with its strength if you were to comb your hand against it. No longer was Sherry here to experience those beautiful parries of life so how could you possibly live in the very vicinities she once did and constantly feel like you weren’t dying yourself?

You had fled from the town not even seventy-two hours after her death. It honestly had felt longer by then, but there was no sound voice of reason to warn you against that, and so you had acted on the fleeting decision once you thought it.

It was selfish of you really to not think of everyone else involved — especially concerning how much it would have affected Jean Pierre, how the burden of losing both of you would solely fall on him. You know you could never fear Jean Pierre, with utmost certainty you knew he wouldn’t even dare think about harming you.

But it's when you saw the rage, how the always lit but never boiling flame suddenly unleashed within the older boy towards Sherry’s killer, a part of you feared that you had lost him to an overdue battle.

Running never worked for anyone and to be honest, you’re not sure why it seemed right.

The grief, the pain, the hate all still remained. Everything you tried to run from, stayed. Your dear Family that you wanted to protect, gone. The only thing you had left of them was the faint shadow of their silhouettes that were engraved into the flesh of your eyelids, haunting you for as long as you drew breath.

Still yet, life went on and in due time of being a wanderer, you found yourself in places you could only have dreamt of visiting.

Currently, you were situated in Edfu, a small city that sat on the west bank of the Nile. Cairo had been a bit busy for you, even though you’d spent about a week or so there, and so you ventured more of the country to see what it offered.

You’re not quite sure what drew you to the ancient settlement of Edfu but from the moment you got here, you knew you were there for a reason.

It was just approaching noon when you were sat in the outside seating of the small cafe. It was also then that you heard a loud crashing bang.

When you looked, the trouble seemed to be coming from the barbershop that was placed just four doors down from where you sat. Most of the locals who were around you turned or gravitated towards the source of commotion, surprised at the sudden disturbance in their mostly quiet dwelling. You on the other hand turned the other way in your seat.

“Khan! Khan! Is everything okay?!”

You could only make out the few phrases of Arabic being used around you but you still chose to disengage and move away from the noise. Without even a look at who was involved, you quickly got up and slinked into the inside of the cafe.

Don’t get it wrong, it’s not like you didn’t care nor wanted to help. It’s just… everywhere you went, trouble seemed to follow you. The first few times, you engaged and tried to help out but after awhile, you realised it was always you who the attackers turned on.

This is one of the major reasons why you found yourself becoming a traveller. No matter where you landed yourself, bizarre occurrences always seemed to happen whilst you were in the vicinity.

In your opinion, you saw this as a curse — Sherry’s Curse. This was your judgement on earth already being served to you, this is what you got for running away.

As you sat by the peeling bar, you could only sigh with your head in your hands, the ruckus outside continuing on. The bartender had the same disposition as you. Whether they were used to the noise or just too dully complacent with their job to move from their position, you wouldn’t know. They didn’t mind you for the duration of the time you were there. They only gave you a nod once you entered and that was it. The rest of the time they spent quietly polishing away at the crockery.

A few minutes had passed and the sound of fighting continued crashing throughout the streets. At one point you wondered if it’d ever stop. You were willing to try and leave, slip out in the other direction of the commotion and find yourself somewhere else to occupy. That was until you heard the sharp sound of barking.

Looking down at your feet, you noted a small boston terrier yapping for your attention. With a warm smile, you got down from your barstool to pat it on the head.

“Why, hello. Hey, who’s a good baby?”

The dog basked in your petting for a few seconds, clearly enjoying the attention before unexpectedly bolting towards the entrance of the cafe.

With a surprised face, you took it as the dog just being wryly but when you realised it was still watching you from it’s place you, frowned.

“What’s wrong, buddy? You lost?”

The dog barked once, twice and then turned in a circle a few times. You weren’t entirely sure what drew you to follow after it as it dashed out into the street, but you realised whatever it was felt urgent.

Meanwhile, having just come back to his senses, Polnareff was in distress.

With a sigh, the Frenchman crouched himself down next to the currently winded Jotaro. Never again does he ever want to be controlled to do something against his will like that. Anubis was tough but he believes he knew he was winning that fight anyways.

The Frenchman wasn’t as hurt as the younger male but he definitely did feel like he’d been in a hefty battle. Polnareff shuffled within his pockets, pulling out an old malted plaster before offering it to Jotaro.

“Here, I’ve got a plaster.”

Jotaro didn’t even look at what he was being offered, only grumbled out:

“No, I don’t want it.”

Polnareff didn’t take it to heart. He knew the male could be acute with the words he used and so he only shrugged before getting up to observe the area damage behind him. Before he knew it, he was met with the familiar flash of tuffed black and white fur.

“Oh, it’s Iggy! Where did you come from?” He couldn’t even be relieved for long as he grimaced over at the bull terrier, unaware of the figure who followed him.

“Beurk! Eating candy now are we? And right off the floor too, you disgusting…dog.”

As Polnareff’s words faltered, your feet came to a sudden stop, no longer allowing you to follow the small animal. Your mind went completely blank seeing the now older boy, no, man in front of you. With a dry gulp, you quietly called out his name.

“J-Jean Pierre…?”

There was a tense flicker of eye contact the both of you shared.

The facial expression the silver haired man wore was crushed into that of hurt and rage. Maybe it was because of your presence, maybe it’s because of the previous battle he just had. Either way, the smithereens of the anger you could smell on him at the day of Sherry’s death was the same smell you were smelling now.

Your heart raced with utmost speed, so much so you thought it’d explode right there, spray guts and blood down your chest and all over the man in front of you. After years of suppressing whatever you were trying to bury, suddenly it had all come to the surface. Forget that this was one of the most bizarre places to meet, the fact that the boy you had abandoned was here — right in front of you — was daunting.

You took a faulty step back, your footing wobbly as it almost failed you. Polnareff on the other hand desperately reached his hand out towards you.

“No, no it’s okay.” He cooed. I’m not mad at you, is what he wanted to say but for the record of their current company, he held his words.

You gulped, unsure of whether to stay or not. However, once he saw you weren’t going to fleetingly run away from him, Polnareff tasted the name he thought he’d never be able to use come the rest of his days.

“Mon coeur...”

The familiarity of the name churned your heart with nostalgia. Your breathing was still hitched but you were able to break through a reply.

“Hey…” You could barely whisper back, your facial expression twisted between final joy and sorrow.

Polnareff took a tentative step forwards, his arms opening in that welcoming way it always did once he knew you were unsettled. Without a second thought, you found yourself moulding into his chest —like the prodigal child finding Home again. Eyes peppery with tears, your arms dug into the man with an action that could only be described as desperation.

Whether he was in pain or not you wouldn’t have known, as Polnareff made no move to adjust you or place you where he wasn’t sore. He only engulfed you, no questions asked or uttered.

You both stayed like that for a good several seconds although it felt fleeting and short. The only reason why you let go was because Polnareff had suddenly switched and pulled his attention towards the Nile situated several yards behind you.

“Regardè! That cow is freaking out about something…” He pointed, almost childishly to the disturbed cattle and rocking boat.

Feeling slightly disorientatated, you didn’t even have time to reply or pay proper attention to his observation as it seemed that his shared company had more words to say about it than you did.

“Gimme a break, Polnareff. Who the fuck cares? Just go find Avdol and Gramps…”

As you looked towards the grimacing black haired man, you realised why Polnareff may have been reluctant to say much to you. Was this his friend?

“I’ll look for them, don’t worry.” Polnareff gave you a look to wordlessly excuse himself as he trotted back towards the other man who was still crouched.

The black haired man was definitely aware of your presence, well, you think he was. But he didn’t seem to acknowledge you as he spoke to Polnareff. You looked at him closely, unsure why he seemed so defensive but either way you weren’t phased.

All of a sudden, an inward fizzing sound occured and it was like you were looking at him with a different set of eyes.

Your vision was suddenly tinted purple, your surroundings all tinted in that very colour. The crouching man’s body highlighted yellow and orange in various places in the shape and size of incisions and cuts. One orange on his cheek and a yellow dotted around other places. However, his lower stomach seemed to blare an alarming colour of red. Even without the changed vision you could tell there was a pool of blood dripping from the very same place.

Your vision quickly changed back to normal but you lightly gasped before also crouching down by his side.

“Oh my goodness, are you okay?! That wound looks pretty deep.”

The black haired man didn’t look offended at your now invasive presence but he definitely watched you closely from underneath his hat.

“Ah, Jotaro will be alright. We just gotta find the others and then Avdol’ll be able to patch him up or something.” Polnareff chirped in.

Your brows furrowed between your eyes. Who were all these people Polnareff suddenly knew?

“Others?” You turned your head to hushly asked.

“Long story, I’ll explain later.” Polnareff answered.

“Yeah, but that’s only if we can find them in time.” The black haired man, (You’re guessing whose name was Jotaro?) grunted his piece as he finally sat down onto the dusty side road. His legs were spread out infront of him as his hand pressed painfully onto the crimson wound that stained just below his stomach.

“Fuck, I’m never going out with you alone ever again.”

Even though he directed that comment towards Polnareff, you could feel the bothered annoyance emitting from Jotaro. However, your concern was still towards his heavy gnash that didn’t seem to stop flowing red.

“I don’t know who this Avdol guy is but I’m sure I could help heal your wounds in the meantime.” You blurted.

Both Jotaro and Polnareff looked to you with questioning stances. Without much explanation, you tentatively laid your hands onto the bleeding area of Jotaro’s stomach.

Unexpectedly, the same purple tint that shaded your vision earlier glowed around your hand. Even though the healing wasn’t obvious due to the covering of his clothes, Jotaro’s visible discomfort started to ease.

With a dry laugh, Polnareff rubbed the side of his palm across his forehead.

“I never knew you had a stand?!”

As you continued to concentrate on the man’s wounds, you briefly uttered your reply.

“Oh. Is that what it’s called?”

Polnareff laughed again, yet this time it was full of bright colour.

“Now that I think about it, it makes sense. You were always the healing type. Whether it be a soothing word or just a plaster. You always knew how to make people feel better.”

You briefly looked up at your Home, smile warm as it radiated off of your face.

“Thanks.” You looked back down to where your hands hovered over the other man’s stomach. “I guess I needed to hear that.”

“You two know each other.”

Jotaro gruffly stated more than asked. His voice didn’t sound as pained but he was definitely worn out. Rolling his eyes, Polnareff answered for the two of you.

“Yeah, well, no shit.”

The black haired man didn’t scoff but he might as well have concerning how he lowered his cap further over his eyes.

Even though you weren’t familiar with their dynamic, you felt like you could figure it out quite quickly. If anything, it reminded you of the one you used to share with Polnareff all those years back. With a soft laugh, you shook your head.

“We all grew up together. Me, him and…”

You felt Polnareff freeze besides you. The distraught that was briefly dormant finally came back in a flow of cracked nostalgia. A pained expression dressed your face before you begrudgingly finished your sentence.

“…and Sherry.”

“The dead sister.” Jotaro stated.

Polnareff seemed distant now that the girl’s name was brought up. He nodded dutifully before heavily answering.

“Yeah. The one I avenged.”

You took heed of the older’s words.

Avengement.

Long gone were the days where you daily thought about reclaiming back power from Sherry’s killer. You found the task hopeless, time consuming and no use. Not because you didn’t care but because what use would it do you?

For ages, the guilt of Sherry simply being a victim haunted your psyche. It was only through suppression of feelings in which you could even bear to stand yourself, live on with your choices.

Maybe now it was finally time to face just one of your many demons.

“Let me help you.” You blurted out.

With a wild expression, Polnareff looked in your direction.

“What?”

A flurry of small tiny ants could have crawled along the inside of your chest with how it was seeming to burn. You cleared your throat once before explaining further.

“With whatever you’re doing out here. Fighting, avenging, I don’t know but just let me help.”

Conflict plagued Polnareff’s face. Even though it’d been so long, even though he’d grown a lot taller, older and even in a sense, more mature — that same expression he would wear as a child decorated his features.

For a split second you recond, to a certain extent, that Polnareff still counted as a child.

Polnareff searched his eyes over your face.

“No, mon coeur. It’s too dangerous.”

“Says who? I’ve survived long enough on my own and I turned out fine. You won’t need to look out for me and I won’t get in your way just…” You couldn’t even meet his eyes. “Just let me make it up to you.” You finished with a murmur.

With sagging shoulders, Polnareff stretched his hand down to you.

“You don’t owe me anything—“ is what he started with but as you moved your shoulder out of his arms reach, you seemed to unexpectedly burst.

“Jean Pierre! For the sake of finally being able to sleep easy. For the idea that I can finally say I’ve done something worthwhile with my life and stop running away — for me to avenge Sherry in my own way, let me help.”

Too stunned to speak, the older man simply didn’t. His mouth left agape at the sudden chagrin you spilt. The sudden realisation why life after Sherry’s death panned out the way it did for the both of you.

Having not been an active part of the conversation, Jotaro found himself being the one to keep the train of conversation going. God, Polnareff really did put him in the most awkward of situations.

“I don’t see why not.” Jotaro directed towards you. “Your stand will be useful anyways.”

Blinking over at the man, you realised that this was the first time you got a proper look at him. At first you presumed him to be at least Polnareff’s age or even older. But now that you saw his face, you realised that he was probably around the same age as you.

With a mild scoff, Polnareff wildly pointed his fingers in Jotaro’s direction, accusatory and boisterous air finally pumped back into him.

“And since when did you make the rules?” He fired.

Jotaro only sighed loudly.

“Gimme a break.”

As the six of you walked to your hotel destination for the night, you and Polnareff lagged behind the others.

It’d been a lot, taking in the story and journey Polnareff’s life had taken him on. Even the whole explanation of stands, stand users and the nefarious DIO seemed light in comparison to the eventual opening up of how the older man had barely been coping.

It was natural that you still felt bad about leaving all that time ago but Polnareff was adamant in affirming you that he understood — That he wasn’t angry.

“I won’t lie and say it was easy. I still struggle with coming to terms with her death, even after avenging her.”

As you kicked a lone stone, a flurry of dust followed its path. Polnareff continued.

“Avenging doesn’t do much for the dead. It’s only a way for the living to cope.”

Your shoulders raised and descended in a defensive shrug, your head held high.

“Doesn’t matter, I still want to help.”

Shaking his head, Polnareff disagreed. One of the guys walking in front of you, the one who you learnt went by the name of Avdol, glanced back towards the both of you. You watched as Polnareff shared a knowing glance with him before he continued speaking to you.

“I’m not trying to talk you out of it. Like you’d stand down if I said no, anyways. It’s just… Don’t think it’ll solve or heal anything. It just widens the hole.”

Sighing out of your nose, you shrugged once again only this time it was more of a mutual action.

“Jean Pierre, I know. And I guess— Well, thank you for looking out for me first of all. I do appreciate it, don’t get me wrong. But it’s okay. I’ve come to terms with whatever happens, what has happened.” With a soft smile, you directed Polnareff a warm gaze. “I know she’ll be proud that we kept on moving.”

Polnareff could only hazily smile back, a small nod in agreeal.

“Yeah. Yeah, I guess she would.”

#polnareff x reader #jean pierre polnareff #polnareff x gn reader #polnareff x gender neutral reader #sherry polnareff #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #anime #jotaro kujo #angst #comfort #fluff #happy ending #jjba fanfic #jjba imagine #jjba scenarios

141 notes · View notes

lyadontknowmel · 11 months

Text

Okay but hear me out and prepare for a rant about our lovely Grindeldore

All too well (10 minute version) by Taylor Swift is one of the top songs that describe Gellerts and Albus' relationship.

And I was thinking on the drive down, any time now

He's gonna say it's love, you never called it what it was

'Til we were dead and gone and buried

^ "Because I was in love with you" being said when they fell apart already

Check the pulse and come back swearing it's the same

After three months in the grave

And then you wondered where it went to as I reached for you

But all I felt was shame and you held my lifeless frame

^ Them touching each others hearts during the duel

Maybe we got lost in translation

Maybe I asked for too much

^ Gellert's pov cause he wanted to do horrible things

But maybe this thing was a masterpiece

'Til you tore it all up

Running scared, I was there I remember it all too well

^ Gellert's pov again because Albus was the one to leave

And you call me up again

Just to break me like a promise

^ Them constantly being forced to meet or think about each other

So casually cruel in the name of being honest

I'm a crumpled up piece of paper lying here

'Cause I remember it all, all, all

^ Albus' pov cause Gellert is cruel in the name of "freedom". Also Albus is always reminded about Gellert even as a headmaster for example with the Elder Wand

They say all's well that ends well

But I'm in a new hell every time you double-cross my mind

^ Everyone telling Albus its okay now cause Gellert is locked but not knowing how much pain Albus is going through

Some actress asking me what happened, you, that's what happened, you

^ I dont think I have to explain

But then he watched me watch the front door all night, willing you to come

And he said, "It's supposed to be fun turning twenty-one"

^ Gellert wishing Albus would come back

Time won't fly, it's like I'm paralyzed by it

^ They both cant and never actually move on

I'd like to be my old self again, but I'm still trying to find it

^ The whole thing changed and hurt them both deeply and they will never be the same

After plaid shirt days and nights when you made me your own

Now you mail back my things and I walk home alone

But you keep my old scarf from that very first week

'Cause it reminds you of innocence and it smells like me

You can't get rid of it

'Cause you remember it all too well, yeah

^ In the beggining of SoD its the blood pact, then for Albus its Elder Wand

'Cause there we are again when I loved you so

Back before you lost the one real thing you've ever known

^ They never had anyone else ever again. They never loved anyone that much. And probably never trusted anyone else that much either

And I was never good at telling jokes but the punch line goes

I'll get older but your lovers stay my age

From when your Brooklyn broke my skin and bones

I'm a soldier who's returning half her weight

^ They changed. They are scarred for life and will never heal

And did the twin flame bruise paint you blue?

Just between us, did the love affair maim you too?

^ I dont think I have to explain

#grindeldore #dumbledore x grindelwald #gellert grindelwald #albus dumbledore #fantastic beasts secrets of dumbledore #fantastic beasts #secrets of dumbledore #all too well 10 min version #all too well #taylor swift #harry potter #lgbtq #gay couple #gay love #ggad

12 notes · View notes

i-can-even-burn-salad · 1 year

Text

Word Find Tag

I was tagged by @dont-touch-my-soup :D

My words are: enough, thanks, goodbye, unconscious

Your words are: threat, trust, tie, time

And I am tagging (if you want to, as always!) @verkja @siren-of-agony @starlit-hopes-and-dreams and you, if you want to.

Just finding the words (or thesaurus your way through it) in anything WIP or published, whatever.

I couldn’t decide, so now I’ll do 2 for Undeserved and 2 for Thorns!

Undeserved

Thanks

Actually, you can have 2 POVs for that one. As a treat.

“Thanks. Anything else we should know?” There was a long pause. Damien barely dared to breathe, wishing so much his brother would speak again. Tell them to give him some water, or send a healer, to at least pretend he’d care. Please. I’m so sorry. I would never hurt you. I love you. Please help me. Please, I don’t want to die. “No. Good luck.”

“Thanks. Anything else we should know?” the leader asked. Valadan wanted to say so much. Things like ‘get him a fucking healer, you asshole’ and ‘I’ll drown you in your bucket of piss if you ever touch my brother again’. “No. Good luck,” was what he said instead.

Unconscious

It was the unrelenting pain that dragged Damien out of his unconsciousness. There wasn’t a spot on his body that didn’t hurt. His head, agony pounding behind his eyes, telling him he had used all of his magic and then some. His arms above his head, swollen and with the rope digging deeply into his wrists. His knees, almost numb after hours of being pressed against the ground; unfortunately, only almost. His skin, burnt on his back and stretching over countless bruises everywhere else. His forehead and nose pressed against the rough wood he was tied to.

Thorns

Enough

When the morning came, Caldyn didn’t feel like he was dying anymore. He wasn’t sure that was a good thing. The bit of water hadn’t been enough to truly save him, to allow him to heal. It had just been enough to keep him alive a bit longer, and that probably wasn’t a good thing either. He raised his right hand, flexing his fingers, noticing that he could feel them again. He could also feel the broken fingers of his left hand again, so he tried not to move them, because that was also not a good thing. Thinking about it, there really weren’t many good things left.

Goodbye

“I’m sorry. The fire’s gone. What have I done? I’m so sorry.” Seyonna was crying. “The morning was so chilly. I just thought some warmth would be nice. I didn’t think… didn’t know. I should have known, shouldn’t I? I always do everything wrong. It’s better if I leave. I’m so sorry.” And then, barely louder than a whisper, “Goodbye, Caldyn.” Caldyn heard her words, but was unable to understand them. Only the meaning behind them settled somewhere in his mind, drowned out by his panic.

#salad-tag

7 notes · View notes

andywinter16 · 1 year

Note

Would you be willing to do headcanons for drautos having a secret relationship with the princess of Lucis-Au- and dealing with being glauca at the same time :3! I’m so happy to find someone who’s still writing for kingsglaive lol

OMG YES! Titus is like my guilty pleasure, so 😉 Just warning, It will be bittersweet ( so basically I am taking canon end)

For clarification, you Y/N Lucis Caelum are older sibling of Noctis ( I want Noct to have older sibling who will protect him)

Titus much to his disdain trains you, because and I will quote Y/N “ Who can teach me better other than captain of mighty Kingsglaive?” Smooth move, my lady.

You are warm and very flirty toward him. Seriously you showed in him genuine interest. Like what´s his favourite drink, was he ever to ballet, that politician is such asshole, wouldn´t you say?

Dont kill me ladies His first though as Glauca is how it could benefit him in his plans. But as Titus he´s like why would you go for some old and broken wardog?

At first the relationship with you was just another backup plan If the first one failed. (Kidnap you and demand abdication from Regis)

You and Noctis are fine in his book, but he will still not hesitate to harm you as Glauca in the first stage

You are taking him around Lucis on your secret dates like to Little Galadh (where you met his glaives, it was interesting night to say the least)

The moment he realised that relationship with you went out of control was when they came back from front line bruised and bloodied

You´ve got into their headquarters despite protests from nobles, and helped them with healing. One of the Kingsglaive died on his injuries, and you blamed yourself for that, you even cryed for them

Titus was taken a back with how gentle and humanly you were treating his glaives, not like foreingers but equal to you.

And then you came to him, checking his injuries and apologesing for not doing enough to stop this war

Something in Titus snapped at that moment. You weren´t just another obstacle in his plan, he genuinly cared for your well being. I would even say that he fell in love with you!

But of course he´s Glauca, and that´s a massive problem. So Titus started to be distant and cold

He didn't last long with this attitude cuz you went obviously confront him about it. It was heated argument “But I love you, you idiot! I want to be there for you in every circumstance, so please don´t shut me down.“ You went on your toes to kiss him. In his mind Glauca was shouting to end this thing here and now. But for once in his life, he´s speechless at your outburst and your bold move. Hesitantly he wraps his arms around you and kiss you gently back.

Titus knows he can´t go back with you, you charmed him and he´s ready to burn a world for you ... Yet he can´t take back his decisions as Glauca

The fateful day of signing was here, and Titus did everything in his power to get you out of the city. You were suspicious of what was going on, but Titus with Regis´s help conviced you to go with your brother. Titus gave you an envelope with words to open it later.

Titus knew when he fighted that either Nyx will kill him or the starscourge in his body, thanks to Glauca´s armor.

When Nyx delivered that fatal blow, you were on Titus mind the whole time. His light in the darkness.

When you opened the envelope, tears were streaming down your face. There was a simple ring with small Y/F/C stone and on the letter were written four simple words: I love you, Y/N

#ffxv kingsglaive #titus drautos #Lucis AU #S/O is a badass princess #I hate myself for the ending #I did try to incorporate Titu dealing with Glauca problem #hope it didn´t dissapointed

4 notes · View notes

sodacrackerholepuncher · 7 months

Text

ive been putting this out in the back of my mind for such a long time that last night i woke up at 1am almost with a panic attack after not being able to feel things (im on zoloft) of the things that happened to me during the summer (june-august). ive never really also fully written it out bc im so scared

i lost so many ppl in the span of 3 months that i feel like such a complete failure in human relationships. 2 s*icide attempts and a bpd diagnosis later i felt some sort of relief but now it just feels like im back to being a teenager again picking myself up. all those years in my early 20s spent on trying to heal and make myself a better person went out the window after meeting this manchild of a straight man that bruised my soul. usually i dont let a stranger, let alone a manchild i just met affect me in such a way but i guess i valued the idea of him enough that it got to me. he was uncommunicative and gave me breadcrumbs. now that i look back at it it feels like he only pretended to like me or the idea of me, and im scared to try and make sense of it, is it coercive manipulation? was i abused? did i abuse him? or was i just reacting in a way bc the way he was treating me was a painful familiarity?

saw a quote here once that august feels like it was pressing onto their ribs and thats how it feels trying to heal from that relationship

in just pains me somuch that ive also lost friends in the process because of this dude and the person it made me become, but at the same time i know that a huge part of it is my fault and i cant help but be hard on myself all the time. one of my former closest friends who i thought i would never break my heart just blocked and ghosted me. i just wish she gave me another chance, and ive only ever made this one mistake during our whole friendship

i know im not any better of a person than all these people but im just tired of people telling me theyre not the kind of person they say they are only to show me later on that theyre exactly the kind of person they said they werent. im so tired, but also im still trying to understand that human relationships are so complex that sometimes as much as u try to make sense of them they dont and i guess im ok with that

0 notes

peanut-butter-parkerxx · 2 years

Text

Post-studying cuddle session

this is for all my hard-working babies that seek comfort after a hard studying session. coz i know studying can suck sometimes :/

Pairing: Peter Parker x fem!reader

Genre: comfort II fluff II mini one-shot

Disclaimer: reader not getting enough sleep (

PETER ONE-SHOTS II REQUEST FORM II NAVIGATION

I put my pen down as I hear my mom call my name, downstairs.

"be there in a second!" I shout and slowly push my chair out of the desk that I sat down in for supposedly the whole day due to my chemistry exam tomorrow. stretching my tense muscles, I walk downstairs. "yes?" I said, putting a hand over my mouth as I sigh tiredly. concern stretched across my mom's face as she saw how exhausted I was from calculating Redox Reaction and moles - fuck moles.

"someone's here for you" she said, smiling warmly while nodding her head forward, a signal for me to look behind me. a gasp escapes my lips as I see my boyfriend, Peter, sitting on the couch with a cheesy grin.

he looked like the most comfortable pillow I've ever seen. he was wearing his matching set of a grey hoodie and sweats, I assumed he put his shoes in the entryway since he was wearing his favorite pair of Star-Wars socks I've gifted him for his 15th birthday (which he still thanks me till this day), his hair looked so pretty. with the light that was cast by my living room lamp, it was like a mixture of chestnut brown and tiny golden strands that highlighted his curls.

he was in the middle of standing up, to greet me with his infamous solace and warm hugs, but I beat him to it and flopped him on the couch again. erupting a laugh from both him and my mom. my mother smiled again and walked to the kitchen, giving us privacy.

peter immediately wrapped his arms around me, holding me tight. his familiar smell of fresh oak wood cologne - that he would not stop putting on coz Tony Stark gifted it to him - hit my nose, making me sigh in content.

"hey babe" he lowered his head to nuzzle his face and kiss my hair. "how are you?" he lifted my sleep deprived body so I could sit on his lap - which still makes his ears and cheeks turn to an adorable shade of pink - and tilted his head. I shrugged, closing my eyes lazily. he hugged me once again and whispered, "I know. I know, baby." one of his calloused hand rubbed my back while the other held my waist securely. "if you need help, I'm here" he smiled, admiring my, tired, features. I nodded my head, eyes still closed as I enjoy the warmth of his body next to mine.

"I needed this" I sighed for the 23993th time today. peter's beautiful smile soon faded to a pout. it broke his heart to see me so exhausted.

"oh, y/n," he gently kissed my nose then pecked my lips. simple yet so healing. humming in delight, I moved forward for more. with no thought on his mind he reciprocated.

"I really gotta go" I mumbled on his lips before pulling away. "I just have 2 more chapters to study then I'll-"

"uh uh uh" he shook his head, "Miss Anne called me and said you haven't been giving time to yourself. baby, we talked about this" his tone was sweet and full of concern it made my heart clench.

"i know! i know its jus-" i huffed loudly "chemistry's been up my ass the past whole week" i felt overwhelmed, sad and really really tired, but i wanted to get it over with.

"let me help you then! you dont have to do this alone, y/n/n" peter craddled my head to his warm chest, gently combing my y/h/c hair with his fingers.i let out a noise which peter took as an 'okay' knowing i'd bruise my ego way too much if i actually said the words 'yes please'.

peter chuckled, shaking his head. "why dont we rest up before getting some studying done, yeah? and when we're done we can just lie down till my curfews up? or watch a movie?" i felt...i felt like the luckiest girl alive. there was this ecstatic fuzzy chemical feeling tickling my stomach. i was smiling so whole-heartedly, and genuinely to the point where it made peter's cheeks crimson. "y/n-?"

"yes" i held his hand "let's do it" without wasting another second, i'm being thrown onto his shoulder. it's a very common thing nowadays. "peter!" i squealed,

"let's go!" he exclaimed walking up the steps to my room "y/n wants my heeelp" he said in a teasing tone. i groaned, causing him to snicker, and flung my arms in defeat, making them swing from side to side since im being carried upside down.

"you know, i think im okay by myself now." i grumbled as he flopped me on my bed, spreading my legs before attacking me with his weight. his body fit right in between me perfectly, like a puzzle piece. i love it when he does that, it allows me to hug my legs around his middle and squeeze the shit out of him. he turned us to the side and scooted upwards, making us at eye level.

"im sorry, baby, i was just joking" he lifted his head to kiss my nose ever so softly before saying, "what do you want me to do?" he whispered. his eyes flickering from my eyes to lips every once in a while. "a massage? shower? food? i could order delmars-"

"just you" i blurted out, stroking his face.

"w-what?" he asked as if he didn't know what i mean. but i know damn well he understood because of the ever growing smile that decorated his pretty face, i could practically feel his heartbeat quickening as well.

"just you is enough" i threw my arms around him and hugged him tight.

"a-are you sure you dont want anything?" he took my right leg and hooked it around his torso - a position i grew very fond of - making me turn to his side even more to deepen the cuddle.

"no," i sniffled. suddenly feeling like a cloud full of tiny rain droplets that's about to burst one hell of a rain "this is perfect." he gripped me somehow even closer than before, kissed my hair one last time and breathed out an,

"i got you, y/n"

30 notes · View notes

spacedikut · 4 years

Text

my all ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid (criminal minds) x f!reader

summary: “hey could i do a fic request for an x spencer? could u maybe do something with really touchstarved spencer (bc germaphobia) and him being at first too awkward to go n cuddle and then as he gains more confidence he gets much more touchy and huggy and stuff? and reader being shocked by how cuddly he is? plzplzplz? its totally ok if u dont write it but just wanted to send in the request!” 2689 words

a/n: i hope i did this justice! i love spencer reid!!!!!!!!!

masterlist

Spencer first realised how much he loves your touch after a case where he put himself directly in danger.

You ran up, flung your arms around him and pulled him against you so tightly he felt winded.

He was shocked, stunned, and everything in between, but the most important thing is that he hugged back. It felt natural, the right thing to do, and his arms felt so snug and perfect around you his heart stuttered.

You pulled back, noticed his expression, and winced despite his reciprocation, “Sorry. I just. You could’ve died, you moron. You scared me.”

All he did was give you a breathless smile and with a squeeze of his shoulders you let go, allowing him to get checked by a medic.

Spencer struggled to sleep on the jet home, plagued by the thoughts of you - you with your arms around him, how much he enjoyed how it felt.

It felt… wrong to like it as much as he did. Like, in theory, enjoying your physical touch went against his moral code – as a germaphobe, the thought of having to come into contact with anyone in any way makes him want to vomit. But, with you?

You smelt so good, even after running for God knows how long. You were so soft, yet so firm, so warm and welcoming and dear God Spencer has never wanted to touch every inch of someone so bad in his life.

The case was a rough one, so Garcia was waiting for you all with loving eyes and a pitiful smile, arms wide open for whoever may need it. Spencer instantly decides no thanks, but you swoop in and cuddle up to Garcia within seconds of seeing her.

You even place a series of kisses against her cheek, and Spencer is transported back to your hug.

If he was more like Garcia, open to any form of love as long as it’s love, would you have kissed him like that?

His pulse quickens, palms get sweaty and he has to clear his throat to bring himself back to Earth.

He can’t afford to think like that.

But your lips…

No. Paperwork? Let’s do that and not think about a colleague’s lips.

+++

You’re furious.

You told Spencer to wait for backup, to not do anything stupid or irrational and definitely do NOT go in there alone, genius!

And what did he do?

He didn’t wait for backup, did something very stupid and irrational, and definitely went in alone.

And now he’s dealing with a hefty concussion and flurry of other injuries; cuts, scratches, and bruises alike all dotted over him like he’s a connect-the-dots drawing.

The second he wakes up, you’re gonna kill him.

For the time being, you’ll gently thread your fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp, and watch his chest rise and fall to ensure he’s alive and breathing.

“Mmm,” A groan, “That feels nice.”

His eyes flutter open. You lean towards the table next to him, pick up the bottle of water and the jello cup, and offer him both.

“Thanks,” He says, hoarsely.

You sit back in your chair. Spencer doesn’t take his eyes off you once. Not when he drinks the whole bottle of water, or when he cracks open the jello and inhales it with one slurp.

Your brows furrow.

“You’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

“I’m suspended?!” He guffaws.

“No,” You shake your head, “I’m personally telling you you’re not welcome back until you’re okay.”

“I’m okay now.”

“Do a backflip, genius.”

Spencer giggles, “I can’t do that in peak physical condition, Y/N.”

“Sounds like a cop out to me. So, again, you’re banned from work until you’re fully healed.”

He considers fighting back, but then he remembers what you were doing when he woke up, what he felt when he woke up.

He was confused and, you know, in pain, but there was this tender and soft, repetitive touch that immediately eased him. His subconscious knew it was you, in all your glory and sweetness, that had stayed with him for however long, looking after him even when he wasn’t conscious to know it.

So he just keeps staring at you, spoonful of jello in his mouth.

+++

When you get to Spencer’s place, he looks around like it’s his first time seeing it – awe and wonder painted on his face.

Everything he’s doing, everything he’s going through, you’re putting it all down to his concussion.

On the way here, he told you the whole history of car air fresheners after taking a good five seconds to get a good sniff of the cherry blossom scent you have.

“Let’s get you settled in, huh?” You say quietly, guiding Spencer to his bedroom. He walks a little like a mummy, kinda stumpy and heavy, and he flops on the bed.

You give a lopsided grin as you watch him. He’s mumbling incoherently, shuffling up to the top of his bed to fall flat on his back.

He moans.

“Alright, alright,” You placate, “Let me go… gather some things.”

You don’t know Spencer’s place all that well, so it takes you a while to find even the simplest things like a glass, a flannel, a snack. You get lost in snooping around, trying not to profile him, and the one thing you deduct is his apartment is so him. So Spencer, so lovely and comforting and a little odd.

You can’t get enough.

There’s a weak call from his bedroom: “Y/N?”

“Coming!”

He hasn’t moved an inch from where you left him. He looks so pitiful, bruised eyes and a cut right through his lip, and you almost coo at him.

“I’m not a good cook, so I thought we could order some food later.” You hand him the water and gesture for him to drink. “In the meantime, you need to rest. Mind if I borrow a book while I keep you company?”

You turn to leave, but Spencer’s voice makes you pause.

“Could you play with my hair again?”

A part of you wants to say no, like this is some overly intimate thing he’s asking, but then you remind yourself that he’s injured, which has reverted him to acting like a sleepy child.

“Please?” He looks at you with glassy eyes and he looks adorable, “Only for a little while.”

You say nothing, sliding into bed next to him. He scoots over a little to make more room for you, curling into you before your back hits the bed entirely. One hand rests above the covers, naturally placed on his arm, thumb smoothing him back and forth. The other, the one wrapped around his head, cards through his lightly tangled hair, all warm and loving.

He falls asleep instantly and, not long after, you fall asleep, too.

You both dream of eachother and wake up blushing.

+++

Spencer’s back in work within four days. You’re working a new case the second you arrive.

There’s been a shift in your dynamic and everyone’s noticed it. No one questions it, however, because they’re all aware you looked after him while he was away, and they witnessed how worried you were when you found him, but they can’t help but ogle and whisper.

They might be federal agents, but gossip is gossip and they love it.

You’ve noticed it, too, obviously. JJ tried to tease you about it, after Spencer bought you your favourite coffee and morning muffin on the way to the precinct, but you shut her down (and yourself from thinking about it too much) by reminding her you spent several days caring for him. He’s repaying you, even though you’ve told him he doesn’t need to.

Ever heard of transference, JJ?

A shiver runs through you as you look into the interrogation room. It’s not because of the suspect, though, it’s because the AC has been turned up – a tactic Hotch promises will be worth it despite your chattering teeth.

Something’s wrapped around you, suddenly, light but cosy and adds some heat to you that you need.

It’s a cardigan. Grey, much too big for you, the sleeves falling way beyond your arms and length reaching your mid-thigh. There’s a little red heart with eyes stitched on the left breast.

It’s Spencer’s.

“You’re shivering,” Spencer chastises, seemingly appearing from nowhere, “You know, when we shiver, it’s our bodies doing the opposite of sweating – it tightens the skin and shakes the muscles, a process that conserves and generates heat. We shiver to get warm. Do you not have a coat?”

“Alright, dad,” You tease, “It’s in the conference room. I wasn’t prepared for Hotch to make the unsub an icicle.”

Spencer breathes a laugh, moving closer to reach an arm around you. His other hand presses against your bicep, his grip sturdy as he vigorously rubs up and down your arms to generate heat.

Whoa.

It certainly works. You feel hot, suddenly, but not because of the cardigan or whatever the hell he’s doing, because Spencer has voluntarily touched you and is standing so close you feel like you’re on fire from the inside out. You’re sure your heart skips a beat and you stare at him in bewilderment.

He shrugs, as if it’s the most normal thing in the world, “My mom used to do that for me when I was young and got cold. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

You give a shy smile, “Yeah, I appreciate it a lot, Spence. Thanks.”

When Hotch leaves the interrogation room, he half-halts when he sees you in Spencer’s cardigan. It’s the perfect Hotch reaction, combined with the rise of an eyebrow as he walks past you to reconvene with the team.

You don’t take it off when you all walk back to the conference room, and Spencer doesn’t ask for it back.

Everyone notices. A lot of eye contact is made with many questions silently asked.

You and Spencer pretend not to notice.

+++

There’s a knock on your door at precisely 10:12pm. You check because your first instinct is if I’m about to get robbed, I’m making sure the timestamps are correct.

It’s not a robber. It’s Spencer – frazzled, wrapped up all nice and warm like a pretty present, Spencer Reid.

His nose is slightly red from the biting cold outside.

Leaning against your doorframe, you say, “Hey there,”

“Hi,” He waves.

You stare for a couple of seconds, then remember the polite thing to do is invite him in: “Come in, come in! Do you want some tea? You look cold.”

“Coffee would be great, thank you.”

You move to your kitchen, not very far from your front door, but Spencer stays put and awkwardly glances around your place. He loves it, he decides. Very you.

You notice he hasn’t moved, “Make yourself comfortable, Spence. My cat is somewhere if you want to say hi.”

He slowly moves to your couch, removing his coat, scarf and satchel as he does it. Two drinks in hand, you join him and fling your fluffy sock-clad feet onto your coffee table.

“So what can I help you with?” You ask.

Spencer takes a sip of his burning drink, “What makes you think I want something?”

“Why else would you be here? You wanna watch Grey’s Anatomy with me?”

Spencer laughs lightly. You’re right. He’s here for a reason that isn’t to watch TV that he loves to correct with you.

He’s quiet, then, and does that thing where his tongue flicks out to lightly wet his lips in nervousness.

“Something’s been going on.” He starts, ambiguously, “And it’s left me asking a lot of questions.”

Your brows furrow. It’s not like Spencer to be cryptic like this.

“Did it mean anything?” He asks, finally, turning to look at you. “Any of it?”

“Did what mean anything?”

“The.. the playing with the hair, the over-all gentleness, the cuddling.”

Your shoulders tighten up and you hope he doesn’t notice.

He does.

“Spence,” You give a fake laugh, “You were hurt and I was comforting you. Looking after you. You know, like a friend does.”

“No one else did as much as you.”

“You wanted comfort, and I’m more than happy to provide that, Spence. Everyone else was busy.”

“You took time off for me.”

You don’t have an answer for that.

You’re trying to keep the conversation light and breezy to not show your true feelings. You’re not ready for that kind of conversation, but he’s right. You used your vacation days to stay with him and care for him.. and you know you didn’t do it platonically.

“You’re my friend, Spence,” You say, voice soft.

“That’s it? That’s all it was?” He doesn’t sound angry, or hurt, maybe peeved. He won’t look you in the eyes, though.

“What else would it be?”

Spencer scoffs.

He moves away from you, hands running through his hair in exasperation when he lets out a breath.

“We cuddled, Y/N. I haven’t done that with anyone in-in years! The last person was my mother when I was ten years old!”

“That’s supposed to mean something?!”

“I-I don’t know,” He sounds exhausted, as if the complications of his emotions are taking way too much energy out of him, “But I really liked it. And I really like you.”

You look at him, then, and he’s staring back. He looks… hopeful.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

You swallow deeply.

“I tried to show you with the uh, the cardigan thing,” He scratches the back of his neck, a laugh to mock himself leaving him, “But I’ve never been good with that stuff.”

He moves closer, shifting to face you, eyes remaining locked with yours.

“Say something.” He whispers.

“I-I-“ You stutter, “Are you sure?”

“Of course I am. I’ve spent the last week thinking about it non-stop.”

“Really?” You laugh in disbelief.

“Yeah!” He gives a small smile, “I-uh.. wrote to my mom about you, too. She told me that if I’m this caught up on you, you must be special. Which you are, by the way.”

“I’m special?” You grin teasingly.

“Very special.”

There’s a moment where you think he’s going to kiss you, but instead he shyly asks, “Do you feel the same?”

You bite your lip. “I do. Really, I do. I’m just.. a little apprehensive, I guess.”

“Of what?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Nothing is stupid when it comes to you.”

God, he’s so infuriatingly sweet. You wish you could kiss him all over.

You might be able to, if all this goes well.

“I don’t want things to be weird if we don’t work out.” You admit, adding a shrug to appear casual. It’s not like you’ve worried about this since you realised you liked him.

Spencer tilts his head at you, “You’re already thinking about a breakup when we haven’t even gone on a first date?”

You giggle, which he returns with a smile, “I mean- I like you, Spence, and have for a while. I’ve thought about all outcomes.”

“All?”

You roll your eyes as he gives you a look, “Yes, all. I’d want us to work out but.. what if we don’t?”

He places a now warmed up hand on yours, “Well, we won’t know unless we try, right?” His hold tightens, “I’m willing to give it my all if you are.”

You look from your hands to his face, and decide yes, if there’s one risk you want to take in your life, it’s a risk that could possibly result in you spending the rest of your life with your favourite person on this planet.

So you nod.

“I’ll give you my all, and then some.”

He grins, “That’s quite the promise.”

You don’t reply, instead swinging your legs over his lap and leaning into his side to cuddle up to him. He reciprocates like it’s second nature, hand slipping from yours to wrap around your waist and tug you closer.

“Wanna watch Star Trek as a mini first date?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

You really are perfect for me, Spencer thinks.

“Yes. Yes I do.”

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic #mine #thank u to everyone who has sent a request i promise ive seen it #i kinda hate how the confession is written but im tired n feeling d*pressed and anxious #so take it pls

2K notes · View notes

intergalactic-padawan · 3 years

Text

inquisitor - Ezra Bridger

Requested: yes, by the beautiful @raganbridger! Sorry for the wait, it's finally here!

Warnings: angst, dark side!reader, confusion, mentions of bad injuries/blood, betrayal

A/N: You asked for le angst, so here it is! I've had this idea for a long while and this request was the motivation I needed to start. LOTS of alternative endings were written, this was mostly the reason it took so long.

Pronouns of reader: she/her

*ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE! I make mistakes just like everybody else 😉*

-"oh, good, you're awake"

You sit and inhale sharply, focusing back on the real world, startled at the strange voice.

Well, not so strange per se. You knew who was talking to you. What was strange was why he was talking to you.

Before you can adjust your vision to the unfamiliar environment, the memories from hours earlier instantly come flooding back.

Malachor. The place where jedi go to die.

An easy kill for you and your inquisitor colleagues.

That's what they had said on the ship, at least. You, on the other hand, knew better than to underestimate how slippery those jedi could be - especially if they fought side by side, like they always did.

You remember cornering the younger one during the fight. His skill was minimal compared to yours, which would give you an advantage against his master if he were to die first.

The boy and his friends go after the sith holocron. There had been a blinding light when it was placed at the altar.

And also, the jedi knight who was blinded by your former master, Maul.

Maul.

Not only had the cursed man left you for dead years before, he had come back from hiding to haunt you and join forces with your other enemies.

But you were an inquisitor. You wouldn't - you couldn't let him get the best of you, not this time.

You feel a light hand pressing your forehead and recoil in fear, reaching for your lightsaber, only to feel it was not there.

-"whoah, woah, calm down. I'm not going to hurt you" - it was the padawan you'd been fighting before - Ezra Bridger. He had placed you and his master inside a cave in a planet you were not familiar with when you'd escaped Malachor.

You'd escapd Malachor? But how?

You couldn't have, unless he'd carried you back to his ship.

-"hey, hey, it's alright."

-"what do you want, jedi?" - you wince in pain again.

-"a thank you would be nice, actually. I did just save your life"

-"a foolish mistake. One you will pay for with yours"

You reach out for your lightsaber, but can't feel it anywhere close. Scouring with the force for its presence, you quickly realize he must have hidden it outside the place.

-"Nope, absolutely not" - just as quickly, he slaps your outstreched hand - "I may be an idiot, but i'm not stupid. Your lightsaber's not here, it's caused enough damage already."

You rub the hand he pushed away, more shocked at his actions than anything. How DARE he?

-"Then what do you want from me, if not revenge? Why treat my wounds if not to finish the battle we started?"

-"Listen, I'm not sure if it's the adrnaline or something, but you're in no condition to fight anyone any time soon"

-"You underestimete me, Jedi. Even in these conditions you would be no match for me."

-"Like I wasn't a match for you at the sith temple?"

At the mention of the event, images of the fight start to come back.

Back at the sanctuary, you drew him away from the fight, knowing his strengh lied with his allies. Only, you hadn't imagined your former master to join his side - not until you'd seen the holocron in Ezra's hands, at least. You'd warned him: "he will use it and throw you away. Like he did to me". Needless to say, he didn't listen.

Your vision starts to lose focus at the intensity of your anger and you groan in pain, not able to sit anymore. Driven by instinct, the padawan holds your side so you won't fall completely, pressing your abdomen and making you hiss in pain.

-"ah, looks like I was right. You're conscious, but not healed" - you feel yourself be adjusted back on the ground, too weak to fight him.

-"where are we? Why did you save my life?"

He hesitates, eyes studying you, like you might attack him any second and he still knew it.

-"not so sure" - he finally answers - "maybe because now you owe me one?"

-"Did you hit your head or something?" You scoff - "Make no mistake, I WILL kill you when the opportunity rises!"

-"And that is why your lightsaber privileges have been revoked for now."

You lock eyes, studying him like he had you. It made no sense- you'd followed his group to the sith temple, tried to kill him several times, called for the man who had murdered his strongest ally, Ahsoak Tano. Why was he helping you?

With a shiver, you realize he's still holding your side, not as firmly as before but still providing support for your back. Inhaling sharply, you graze his hand and he lets go instantly, realizing how close the two of you had gotten.

Standing up just as quickly, he brushes a strand of unruly hair our of his forehead, while you you clean your throat, diverting your attention to the exit of the cave. The rain pours on the large trees outside, but you can't make out much except for the fact that you're in a forest planet (maybe a moon?) and his ship is in less than ideal conditions to get out of it.

-"here" - Ezra kneels down with two bacta patches and a piece of fabric from a medical kit -"i felt your back was pretty sore, but didn't want to take off your shirt while you were out. Your cuts need cleaning."

You hesitantly take the items, using the rocks behind you as support to lean your body on. He stands up, hands on hips, and chuckles when you sniff the gel, suspicious.

With the small bit of privacy he gives you by turning around to check on his master, you fumble with your shirt, deciding to take it off in order to see better.

-"Need some help over there?" - he asks, hearing you grunt in frustration at not being able to reach some spots

-"Not from you, thank you very much"

-"Oh, so she CAN say thank you! That's a welcome change"

You throw the rag at his direction, irritated out of your mind. Who does he think he is??

He must sense the harmless ball of soaked fabric coming his way, turning around to catch it mid-air. Now that he's turned, you see a glimpse of amusement in his eyes at your rage, giving you the answer you needed as to why he went through the trouble of saving you; it was merely to see you suffer and laugh at your expense, apparently.

His expression quickly changed when he saw your bruised torso, however.

- "who did this to you?" - he whispers, and you look down at you look down at your sore ~ well, everything~, covered only by a wrap in the bust area.

-"As you said, jedi. I may be better than you, but you still gave me a decent challenge"

"No. I didn't even hit you there." - his serious reaction to your injuries had caught you off guard, you had to admit. - "those are old and deep, you shouldn't even be able to walk!"

-"I'm not, remember?" - you motion at your debilitated situation, unable to even sit down or cross your legs properly -"But i will be, soon. And then it's over for you"

-"you know what? I think if you wanted to, you would have killed me by now." - he shoots back and you're impressed at his audacity once again.

But he had a point. Why hadn't you attacked him yet?

Sure, you had no lightsaber or phisical conditions to stand, but your force abilities were still as strong as ever. You were vulnerable, but so was he, and you weren't kidding when you said you could deal with him even at your worse.

-"you know what? " - you cross your arms. He was playing with fire now - "maybe I might"

-"and why haven't you?"

-"because I wouldn't enjoy it as much." - you snap back venomously - "I want to see you suffer before I bring you to Lord Vader"

His expression darkens at the mention of Ahsoka's murderer. His whole body stiffens as he balls his wrists and clearly struggles to control his anger at the recent loss. For a moment, you fear you've gone too far, but reprimand yourself for worrying about his feelings over yours. You're not supposed to be anything more than indifferent to the weak and ruthless to those who dare oppose you.

-"Yeah, no matter what you do, you're still imperial scum"

You're not prepared for those words to affect you so much. You're supposed to have a response, but nothing coherent seems to come out of your mouth, so you settle for an an uncomfortable silence.

It doesn't last for long, however, as his comlink goes off. It's his droid, asking - no, demanding - that he go help him with repairs on the ship. He hesitates, looking at you and contemplating how bad it would be to leave you unnatended in the company of his defenseless master.

-"Dont worry."- You reassure him. -"I won't make his situation worse. Maul is the worse you can get, and I refuse to step that low"

You can see he doesnt like it, but leaves for a few moments before returning with what must be the droid that talked to him before. It was a C1 series unit with an orange top and a bratty atitude, you could tell that much by just seeing him interact with the jedi.

-"Chopper will stay here, just in case"

-"I understand. It's fine."

-"I wasn't asking if you were fine with it. Behave" - you can't be sure if his command is directed at you or the droid, but you weren't about to ask.

The coldness he now had to his voice was understandable - you had worked to get him to that emotional state - ,but you felt hurt at the change. The droid didn't do much to help you think clearly about what just happened, and by the look of it, your frustration would only grow bigger in the many hours it would still take to repair the ship to a normal flying condition.

'He thinks i'm imperial scum, huh?' - you think as you scour a pile of your belongings with the force, not too far away inside the cave.

Bad news, your lightsaber really wasn't there.

Good news, your wrist comm was.

'i'll show him imperial scum'

With a plan forming in mind, all you had to do now was be patient and wait for the right time. There's no exchange of words between the two of you when he gets back, which makes time fly by before he's betrayed by exaution and finally gives in to sleep. You take care of the droid easily after that.

Activating the tracking beacon, you start to leave the cave, but not before noticing the boy's lightsaber beside him. It was a bold move, he could easily wake up if you took it, but you knew that if he woke up to see you gone you'd need it to compensate for your injuries.

You were still on opposing sides, after all.

You knew there had to be an imperial ship near the planet, and they would pick up your signal in an instant when you called. Wallking to a less dense area of the forest, away from the crash site, you're proven right when, in a matter of minutes, a shuttle tripulated by four troopers and a senior lieutenant meet you on the ground.

-"and what of the jedi?" - the higher ranking woman asks when you finish your brief description of the events that led you there.

Well, not all events. You'd left out the part where Bridger had helped you recover.

You could just tell them to take the two jedi for excecution. You were supposed to do it, in fact.

-"it's just me. And the younger one's lightsaber" - you finally answer, not exactly knowing why you'd deliberately just saved them.

She nods curtly and escorts you back to the ship without a second glance. It was a good story so far, but you would have to work on it if your superiors were to believe it.

-"Wait- " - you start, second-guessing your motives for not giving away their location. One of the troopers turns to you expectantly.

-"yes, sir?"

You hesitate for a moment, ready to do what you'd beeen taught to do your whle life. Kill the jedi.

Kill the jedi.

A tingling crept up your sides, where the padawan had touched earlier to give you support. You try to betray the gut feeling pressing you to do your duty as an inquisitor, but it's stronger than you. Something is forcing your better judgement to be leaving your natural enemies alive.

-"nothing." - the tingle goes away as soon as it had come, leaving an unusual feeling of relief. - "Thought i'd sensed something. Let's leave"

'Perhaps it's for the best'. - you think as the shuttle's door closes. After all, you did owe him one for saving your life - whatever his reason was for doing so.

That was what you told yourself as you boarded the ship, at least. Now, the next time you saw him, there would be nothing to stop you from finishing him and his friends for good.

Hope you like it? I gave him a 'hands on hips' moment in honour of your videos for a more personalized touch hahahaha

#ezra bridger fic #ezra bridger #ezra bridger imagine #ezra bridger x reader #ezra bridger x you #ezra bridger x y/n #inquisitor!reader

57 notes · View notes

theravencawsatmidnight · 3 years

Text

Rabbit iiiiiii

Ending.

Want a chapter two? Let me know!

Draco finds a Hufflepuff attempting to cheat. He torments her, keeps her under his wing becoming possessive , unsure of his feelings. After turning Reader into a Rabbit he realizes how much of an ass he was. But now hes in Azkaban for his crimes.

A/n. Okay. So i asked Multiple people. “What happens in Azkaban?” They all said “you sit in a cell.” And im sitting here like. “I cant write that.” So THIS is what i came up with. I hope its okay :/.

W! Mind games, self injury(scratching), fear of going insane, Draco gets kicked and punched around.

@khemz1312 @goofygobber @rosiehufflepuff @trashyvicks

“Cheers love”

Draco said once you vanished from his sights, he never thought the twins would help you come see him, or anyone for that matter. Of all people, he was not exactly the most loved at Hogwarts. The man looked both ways down the very long hallway not seeing anything except for darkness. At least no one would bother him while he was thinking.

He made his way back to his spot under the window to think about his actions; maybe he went a little overboard with how he handled catching you. But a teacher? That's not as fun. Draco looked down at his hands counting the cuts all over them, he had the most on his palms and around his fingers. He was very roughed up, as soon as he got here the dementors were not very kind to him. Draco blinked his eyes feeling sleepy and slightly cold. He rolled his eyes leaning back on the wall reminiscing the time he turned you into a rabbit.

You were so cute like that; so little, curious, fit right in his pocket. Dracos hands fell to his sides and his eyes started to close. You had gotten used to him when you were a rabbit…

So tired…

When he got out Draco wanted to master the spell to change humans back whenever so he could turn you into a rabbit again. If you let him of course, he laid down on his side, holding himself.

Fading….

His father.. What would he do about that? Obviously he could not take you home . Maybe a flat of his own would be better. And that shop? It made him smirk as his eyes started to close. Cute..

Footsteps could be heard and they were getting closer now. It woke Draco up from his slumber which he was not happy about. The one time he was actually getting some sleep in this place.

“Dinner already?’ he asked, in a condescending tone as he got up to rest his back against the wall. “Is it more than bread today?”

The cell opened and closed after the figure stepped in. Draco scrambled to his feet with wide surprised eyes,“..Father?”

“Not the best cell.. But it suits you.” the man said, dusting the dirt off his clothes.

“What are you doing here? Who let you in?”

“I'm here because I have unpleasant news for you.” he took off his gloves while he spoke.

“..news?” Draco stepped over to his father.

“That girl you turned into a rabbit is dead.”

“..she… shes ……….” Draco went as far as the chain would let him to his father. His ankle was straining against the cold tight cuff link. “H..ho-w…”

“Quiddich”

“What?.. But she doesn't fly! She doesn't have a broom!” the man grabbed his fathers coat shaking it, asking him multiple questions just for Lucious to throw him off and kick him away from him. Draco hit the cold brick wall on his side in the corner. He held his head trying to process this , he was hurting inside and out.

“They needed one more , and you were not there so I suggested...”

Draco glared over at his Father, who looked rather proud of himself. His hands went to his hair white knuckling them. “You…”

“She didn't last long, it was a waste.” Lucious stepped to his son grabbing his chin so he was looking at him. “And to think she would still be alive if you just left her alone”

“Its not my fault!” Draco shoved his father just for him to strike him down into the cell floor. “Get your hands off me boy, remember who your authority is. “

“Shes dead because of you!, shes.. !!! …………………..” Draco felt very cold all of a sudden, looking down he saw that his hand was fading as if it was getting sucked up by something.

“Wait.. Azkaban would never let you come into the cell…” Draco stumbled up, hitting the wall to steady himself. “They wouldn't.. Your not my father! Get out you bloody dementor!!!”

“Draco dont you know your own father?”

“Shut up! I know my father and thats not you!”

“Pity, enjoy your time here.” the figure of Lucious faded and Draco woke up in a very cold sweat. He was still laying down under the window, no one was with him in the cell and his body ached.

“Dementors.. “ slowly he got up moving to the corner to hug his knees. “Do your bloody worst, im Draco ffffffucking Malfoy.”

It won't be the last time the Dementors mess with Draco… they were determined to break him. Throughout the two years he was there you had not come to see him again except that one time the twins helped you. Draco told you now to bother the twins so you didn't. Fred and George did try to cheer you up though as much as they could. They even got a hold of Dracos old robes that they gave to you. It helped but you wanted the real thing. Him.The carrot cravings went away after a couple weeks which was nice. You did not need to carry a bag of the produce with you anymore.

Hufflepuff was still weary of you and Slytherin were still jerks. The Ravenclaws sympathized with you and you found comfort in them when you needed it. You wanted to visit him, see if he was okay. But all you could do was hope and stare out your window at the moon knowing he was looking at the same one ..

Two years later.

“You killed me”

“Shhhuut up….”

“Im dead, because of you.”

“...”

“Do you ever wonder? What could you have done differently? Acted in a more.. Reasonable way?”

“Your not .rrr.-re-al..”

“Not anymore, my time on this earth has ended. Because of you Draco”

Draco ran into the bars punching at them, blood was dripping from them now. The figure of you faded away right as he got to them to reappear in the cell next to him now. “Your not real..” he said again.

“Treated me like an animal, toyed with me..-” he swung at the dementor watching it fade away then reappear. “I was just a hufflepuff, an innocent girl.” Draco shook his head but the thoughts just got louder and louder.

“Dead”

“Gone”

“Killed”

“Stay here”

“...with me, let's be together” you held out a rotted hand to the shaking man. “Be like me”

Draco had been tormented by these dementors at least 3 times a week ever since his ‘father’ had come to see him. Day in and day out for at least 6 hours a day a dementor came to him as you to try to get Draco to crack.

The first time he almost fell for it, but he quickly realized it was not you. You were not a crying mess trying to touch him and you could not float….

But still seeing your figure hurt him, your body was made to look dead to cause even more damage to the man which it did. All he could do was endure and think about you, the real you. It was all he had to hold on to. He told himself when he spent his first night here that he would be okay, he would make it out fine.

But now hes crying on the floor at least twice a week with new bruises, cuts, and a giant headache. He fully knew how awful he was to you now, he had to apologize properly. That motivated him to fight, along with keeping you safe from his father. He would get out, he would be okay.

“...b-b-b-e like you?”

“Yes Draco, like me. Lets be together, lets get out of here.”

“Get .. out..”

“Yes , lets get-”

“No, you get out. Get out of my cell, get out of my head just GET OUT!, ill never go with you! Your not real and your NOT HER!” he stepped back, tripping over his feet and grabbing the cell bars to steady himself. His clothes by now were tattered and his dirty dark blond hair was in a pony tail. The cuts on his face turned to scars and his nails were bloody from him scratching at his itchy skin . Everytime he swung at the dementor it would fade out leaving traces of itself on the man making him freak out and scratch at his own skin till they turned purple.

The dementor faded through the bars down the hallway and Draco sunk down to his knees scratching at his arms trying to free himself of the lingering black smoke.

“Rabbit… “ Draco choked in a big breath glancing over at the small window to see the moon shining in on him. “Ill get out.. Ill be okay. We will be okay……………………….”

A few days later a man had come to Dracos cell. He unlocked the old door letting it swing open. The man stepped to the side gesturing to the hallway and Draco looked up from his hand to see Snape looking in at him.

“Hurry up, its filthy in here.”

“How is she….”

“Why don't you see for yourself? Do i look like a owl?”

“More like an over dramatic snake.” Draco slowly got up limping to his old professor who helped steady him.

“Im glad your okay, Malfoy.”

Draco rolled his shoulders and cracked his very purple bloody knuckles. “Of course i am”

Meanwhile, those two years you had graduated and opened up your own shop with the help of Fred and George. They pulled some strings and found an empty building you could sell potions in. it was a small building but you liked it.

The Wet Nose it was called. With little bunny decorations all over the inside and on the sign, the sign was your favorite. It had a little bunny looking over the sign with its ears down. You tried to make it apparent you were here so Draco could find you.. All you could do was wait now..

Draco had left Azkaban with Snape , showered, eaten , and dressed in real clothes. He was in clean black pants with a matching suit top with awhite shirt underneath and black shoes. His face was still heavily scared and his knuckles were starting to slowly heal. The scratches on his arms would not heal though. They would stay that way for a really long time. He worried if you would still want him like this. He also kept his hair long , just past his neck he liked it. Draco was not completely free of the dementors, he could still hear them in his head from time to time. Whispering things for him to come back and what not. He always had to shake his head and they would go away for the time being.

Snape had dropped him off at Diagon Alley as he requested. Before he left he got out of the car to give Draco one final word.

“Malfoy”

“What? Which way am i going?”

The man rolled his eyes and pulled Draco in for a one arm hug, even though draco loathed this. The poor man fought and cursed, slipping free of this unwanted affection.

“The bloody hell was that?”

“Go down this way, on the left.”

“Fantastic but what was-” he slapped him on the head.

“Oww!!! What gives?”

“Thats, for barging into my classroom.” and with that he left.

“Barging into my classroom” mocked the man fixing his hair.

Draco wasted no time getting to your shop. He found it easily and just stared at the sign. He was scared. Terrified, would you still want him… you said you would wait for him.. But.. the way he looks. He shook his head, making the dementors stop. “No. she will, she waited all this time. She will.”

Ring ring!! The bell on the door went off once Draco opened the door. The first thing that got his attention was the many smells coming from all over the room. All the windows were open with plants sitting in them . He had to make his way to the back where the register was, passing all types of potions a variety of colors. When he finally went to it he saw a little brown rabbit sitting on the counter wiggling its nose. The rabbit tilted its head at Draco and the man did the same.

“Biscuit? Is someone here? And you didn't ring them up you silly animal” you joked coming from the back room up to the counter.

You looked up from the rabbit to see Draco standing there, his smile slumped and he had his mouth half open. He was in awe. It was really you. The real you. Quickly he fixed himself and his smile went all the way up his face, the man stepped closer with a happy, relieved tone.

“Hey, Rabbit”

#draco 😤#draco x hufflepuff reader #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #.RabbiyFic

41 notes · View notes

bioodorange · 3 years

Text

||How I See The Pastas||

This was originally supposed to be how they looked but I decided to go for mental aspect and explain why as well PLEASE like, reblog and share your thoughts on this in the comments or inbox

Below the desciptions are images i’ve compiled and some art (if you know the creator please tell me so i can credit them) for a visual

dont forget to like reblog and share your thoughts with me, I spent a few days on this so i’d appreciate this

Jeff the Killer

So lets start with the obvious- jeffs pasty white toothpaste lookin skin

But realistically he wouldn’t be completely covered in scars

It would be blotchy, with pink fleshy patches among the burns

He most likely has contracture scars, third degree burns that turn the skin a pale white and tighten the skin

This explains his gaunt features and skin color

Now we have to take into account the vodka that was splashed on him, he’d probably have worse burns there with exposed flesh and damaged nerves

This would result in gnarly exposed skin, a damaged scalp and maybe damage to his teeth and eyes

Realistically, Jeff wouldnt have burned off his eyelids that alone would have resulted in blindness and death

Than his smile, his signatuure mark would probably be more of a gangly bloody scar mess

Pastas heal faster and aren’t really human, he’d have to recut his smile pretty frequently making it pretty jacket up because ltes be honest hes far from clean

ANd than his hait being chard black is very unlikely because as nasty as he is he s h o w e r s

not very frequnetly given his living situation and untreated burns but people can figure out how to wash hait and not much else

also i think its funny he’d shower with a plastic bag on his face to avoid getting soap in his nasty infected scars-

His hair would probably be dry and cut unevenly, more of a dark brown color with blonde undertones

Not to mention his burned scalp, hair probably wouldn’t grow there so he’d have a cool unintentional side shave

Jeff would also be a tall individual, he cant really eat, snacking on things from his victims homes giving him a more skeletal build

His personality and mindest is about as pretty as his face- but he most likely has a very screwed up headspace

Lacking in self care, maturity and sanity its fair to say he’d be a brash and violent person

Fun Fact: While researching this I learned that some versions of the joker had facial scars in the shape of a smile

Ticci Toby

So tobys age, unlike a lot of pastas, is pretty well agreed on, 19

So unlike when he was first a proxy toby most likely has stronger facial features and facial hair

Because shaving and hygiene isn’t first priority for pastas (gross-)

He stands around 5′7 and has grayish skin

Toby i feel is picky about foods, not only is it hard for him to eat its hard for him to keep food down

He’s malnourished explaining his thin figure and grayish skin

His hait is dark brown and a curlish mess, unkempt but short so it doesn’t get in his way

I’ve always seen him with a small gap in his teeth, because I can

And since toby can’t feel shit I wouldn’t be surprised if he tried to eat rocks simply because he fuckin could

So some chipped teeth that are a bit uneven

Along with his CIPA and not eating enough Toby would bruise easily and have lots of scars, from things like cutting his finger on accident or getting mauled by a racoon

I wouldn’t be surpised if some of his joints were a bit screwed up, because whenever theyd beak or fracture he wouldn’t notice, this would probably happen a lot causing them to not heal correctly

One of tobys habits is nailbiting but he cant te;; when too far is too far

His fingers may be abit odd looking, knobby and discolored nails because of how exetreme his habit is

Would most likely have bandages around his fingers frequently to prevent the habit

So theres a lot of debate about tobys cheek was it the CIPA or the car accident, I beileve the accident because his other cheek is completely fine, theres damage from the OUTSIDE to inside and considering his sister died in the accident its unlikely he survived unscathed

Fun Fact: only a small handful of people have ever been diagnosed with CIPA, less than 500 (documented) cases around the world

Bloody Painter

So Helen is often seen as quiet emo painter boy

but uh no <3

Personaly i beileve he suffers from narcisistic personality disorder, exetreme importance and that he is always victorious and gets what he wants

This sporuts from the constant heavy invalidation from classmates, toxic friends and neglect from his parents

He doesn’t hang out with people because he doesn’’t lie them its because they never let him in the past and he beileves he’s better than them

But this also links to deep rooted insecurity and social anxiety/being inept completely

Him being nice is basically so you like him, he wants validation amd admiration not love

Unlike the other pastas he’d be a more clean well kept one a helthy figure and some tattoos bevause he can

I beileve he lives in socity, finding hus victims in girls and men alike who fall for his charm

he uses hhis skill and ordinary appearance to blend in on the streets

From his behavior helen most likely keeps his hair a bit shorter and clean

He always looks his best

Has chapped, and picked at lips because of his anxieties

Aswell as his breakdowns- his identity is completely in his head, he is very unsure of who he is and takes the delusions in his mind as reality

Unrelated but paino fingers-

And finally in order for his art to be as perfect and amazing as him, he has to be apart of it

Thus using his own blood in his pieces and the body parts of those he admires

Covers his scars with clean bandgaes

But his paintings turn brown and dry out, he’s always in need of a new medium

Is most likely anemic from all the blood he looses and has a paler skintone

Clockwork

ahh yes finally someone who knows what self care is-

helen, i love you buddy but you need to stop

But anyway natalie has a stronger, athletic build

She often chases her victims and gets in altercations, relying on strength most of the time

on that same note, this would defintelty cause many scars on natalie

Wether it was a bite mark or scars from a kitchen knife, shes got lots of scars

A few even on her face

Now, for the clock in her eye that thing is like holding her skull together at this point, realistically

She is probably delicate and cares for it becaise 1) it hurts 2) if it gets screwed up that could cause a lot of problems

natalie would be a smart person, I wouldn’t be surprused if she had a few other stray stitches or bandgaes wrapped around a fresh wound

For more visual-ish things uh m u l l e t (credit: @cum-looking-sock-mf in a chat like 4 months ago)

She has one, fight me on it

but also thick and curlish hair so I also riase you

Undershave

just y e s

I can also see her getting tattoos over certain scars on her arm, just to make them look not so ugly

I feel like clockwork wishes things worked out better

Wishes for another chance but knows she’ll never get one

Thus her taking goof care of herself

Natalie throws herseld into her “work”, keeping her body in shape and killing people

Its a way to avoid her life and that it is- a huge, sad mess

Shes an outgoing impulsive individual, confident but questions her actions

She’s also unstable- protective and loyal but explosive and strong

Jane the Killer

Jane is the final one, im sorry I couldn’t do more theres a photo limit and I wanna bash my head into the wall

Now a main different between her and jeff is she had surgery and lie treatment

Janes skin is still greatly scarred but it is greatly healed

She takes care of it and had skin grafts

Her face is disfigured, a scarred smile and burns around

But unlike Jeff she doesn’t recarve the cut so its a cleaner line and a lot healthier

Janes hair took a rather long time to grow back, but it did!

She has a slightly long pixie cut a bit choppy but she doesn’t mind

Her wife definetely cuts it for her and you can fight me over that

I can see Jane having a lot of facial trauma, scars around her nose and cheeks

She was young when she started killing and went for the over the person, pin them down kill which didn’t work out

She switched to a silenced pistol after awhile, you know like a smart person

Janes arms and legs are in alright condition where most of the burn trauma is on her back

She has a leaner but healthy figure but like boobs-

Like clockwork and Helen she takes care of herself

She doesn’t kill as frequently, going after a few of jeffs victims before him and is of course, actively hunting him down

Her eyes are a pale green and she wears makeip to fill in her eyebrows because those bitches take a long time to grow back

fun fact: jeff has no eyebrows, fight me

#jeff the Killer #creepypasta #creepypasta headcanons #slenderverse #slenderverse headcanons #jeff the killer head canons #ticci toby headcanons #ticci toby #bloodypainter #bloodypainter headcanons #clockwork headcanons #clockwork #jane the everlasting head canons #jane the everlasting #jane the killer #jane the killer headcanons

159 notes · View notes

whumpingcrow · 3 years

Text

Pt.21 "The 'Welcome Home' Committee"

CW: nightmares/PTSD/flashbacks, dehumanizing language/themes, collar mention, aftermath of emotional abuse/gaslighting, tourettes/ticcing, self deprecating whumpee, drugs/alcohol (explicit), discussion of past noncon/dubcon, whumpee expecting noncon/dubcon, injury/blood mention, brief sensory deprivation mention, food mention (let me know if I missed anything!)

Tyson was holding Elias close against him in their shared bed, mind almost entirely occupied with the thought of how happy he was that Elias was home safe. He couldn't be sure, but it looked like he was enjoying the way Tyson was stroking down his back gently, his body arching into the touch. Tyson watched with interest, trying to tell if he was aware of his reaction, if he was asleep. It didn't matter, he decided, he had his Elias in his arms, twitching and stirring and alive, so it didn't matter if he was awake and aware or not. Tyson was observing him closely for any signs of a nightmare just in case he was asleep, but the last time he saw him have one it wasn't evident until he woke up, gasping and searching the dark for a threat, so he was sure he wouldn't be able to tell until it was too late. When he wasn't keeping a watchful eye on Elias, he shifted his focus between the bedroom door and the window, paying extra close attention to any car or person that passed by.

Tyson was ready this time, the doors were locked and the hall light was on, he had a baseball bat hung up on the door. Elias had to feel safe, he would show him that it was ok to be home, that Tyson really wasn't going to let anything bad happen to him, not again.

Still, even with all of the new safety precautions, it wasn't too long after the sun started to rise that Elias bolted out of Tyson's arms and out of bed, his shoulders hitting the wall hard as he stumbled into the corner.

"No! No, no, no! Please God, please!" He cried, arms wrapped around his shaking body as he slowly slid down to the floor, anguished sobs retching him forward. "I'll be g-good! I'll be good!"

"Elias!" Tyson rushed, hopping out of bed and approaching him carefully. "It's ok, you're ok!"

"I told them no! P-please, don't h-hurt me please!!" He had his eyes squeezed shut, arms pulling his legs to his chest to protect his body. Tyson watched him flinch away from injuring hands that were only there in his imagination. Tyson hadn't even tried to touch him yet. "I swear I'll be better!"

"Baby, listen to me," he tried, dropping his voice low to try and counteract Elias's hysteria, "it's me, it's Tyson. No one's gonna hurt you."

Elias shook his head furiously, ducking away further into the corner. He was sobbing and begging incoherently now, his panic manifesting into cries of "please, please d-dont, I'm so sorry, please!" and the like.

Tyson had an idea of what to say to try and calm Elias, but even thinking the words made him bitter. When Allen had first gotten back from August, Tyson and Leo had to adopt some of his heinous language in order to keep Allen calm. Tyson remembered how quickly it worked, how it could make Allen drop his hysteria in only moments. They used it only when they had exhausted all other options, because both Leo and Tyson were upset at how much it felt like speaking to a dog. But it was different with Elias, Tyson couldn't encourage him to stay in the same mindset he'd been forced into, so he wouldn't use the same language August used, he refused to. He tried again, in his own way. "Eli, everything's ok. Look at me, please."

"I c-c-cant!" He sobbed again, thrown back into hysterics. "I won't, August! I'll be good!"

Tyson wanted to put a hole through the wall. Fucking August. He broke Elias, he made him unable to sleep through the night, made him too scared to remember Tyson. It was repulsive, to see the aftermath of such a monster on the person he loved. He thought back to Allen, how fast he was able to calm down at those two, dangerously sweet words. But would Elias even react the same? What if it just made it worse? All of those fears and more ran rampant through his head, but he was running out of options, and Elias wasn't calming down, so he really didn't have another choice.

"Angel," he murmured, extending his hand slowly, trying to coax him to open up a bit, "you're alright. You're...you're a good boy, Eli."

It worked like a charm, and Tyson cringed at the effectiveness. Elias relaxed, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward. He looked so scared still, head turned to the side so he wasn't looking at Tyson, inching out of the corner slowly. His ragged breathing was evening out a little at a time. "I...I...?"

"Yeah, there you go. Good." He smiled softly at Elias in the pale blue morning sun, moving to lean against the wall with him. He was relieved when Elias rested his head against his shoulder, sighing deeply as he did. Tyson looped his fingers around his thigh, squeezing gently. "I've got you, darling."

Elias whimpered, ticcing in small twitches against Tyson. "I'm s-sorry." He breathed, muted by his guilt, barely audible.

"No, don't be, Elias. Are you ok now? Are you back with me?"

"I think so." As he spoke, he turned to look up at Tyson, blinking hard to clear the tears from his eyes. "Hm...Ty." He breathed. "My Tyson."

"Yeah. Yeah, love, that's right." He searched Elias's face for a moment, taking in the remnants of fear leftover from his nightmare. "Do you...you wanna talk about it?"

Elias didn't say anything for a long time, looking away from Tyson and instead out the window as he pondered the question. It was windy, the palm trees just outside were swaying against the breeze. He realized that it must've been early morning, and a twinge of guilt for waking Tyson up like that hit him. He didn't know if he wanted to talk about it, about August or the strangers or the pain. But Tyson deserved to know, and he was asking like maybe he wanted to hear what happened. So Elias turned his attention back to Tyson and started talking.

"I don't understand what I did wrong. I don't know why he stopped… pretending to care about me." The weight of the sentence made him feel tired all over again, and he was frightened to be admitting to his confusion. He was an idiot, to not even know what he did to be punished. He knew that it was well deserved, but that's about where the understanding stopped. "I mean...I know I messed up somehow, but I can't remember what I did. He just stopped c-caring."

"You didn't do anything, Eli. It was all him."

"No...Ty, he cared about me, at least a little. He went through all that trouble to...how could I not be good enough for him? What does that say about me?"

"It says that you're too good for a scumbag like that. Maybe he just finally realized that."

Elias froze. He didn't believe it, of course, but the words made something glimmer behind his tears. "Too...too good?"

"Yes, love," Tyson cooed softly, taking his hand, "he knew that people like him don't deserve good people like you. He must've just dropped the facade."

"So who am I...Am I good enough for you? Not too good?" His voice was desperate, borderline hopeful, if Tyson dared to believe that.

"Mhm. You're perfect." He chuckled softly, squeezing his hand ever so gently. "And I want you so badly. Good or not."

Elias finally broke a smile, a genuine, almost carefree, grin as he looked up at Tyson in adoration. He was still shaking, but his breathing was back to normal and he felt more grounded. Usually August would force him to ride out the fear from the nightmares on his own, then punish him later for keeping him awake with his whimpering. "Sorry I woke you up like that." He added it, just for good measure, because Tyson didn't hurt him, he wouldn't, but he was still nervous. He wondered when that would stop.

"You didn't, baby. Besides, it's morning anyway." He stood up, pulling Elias up with him. "Also uh...Allen's been asking about you. If you're ok with it he wanted to come check on you later."

"T...today?" He mumbled, sinking back onto the mattress and watching Tyson pick a shirt out from the closet.

"You can get settled in first, I don't want to overwhelm you-"

Elias could laugh. Settle in, what a joke. Ten months in France made this place he used to call home feel distant and strange, how could he possibly settle in? "Today's fine. I just wanna...wanna wake up and stuff first."

"You sure? You've only been home a day."

"I'm sure," he smiled at him to really sell it, and Tyson nodded approvingly.

Elias washed the dishes as they waited for Allen to show up, Tyson was tidying up in the other room. Supposedly Leo was coming too, and Elias was heavy with fear. He'd be sent away before they got there, surely, given substances to shut him up. Or maybe Tyson would allow Elias to be used, maybe he'd watch.

Elias was afraid at the dreadful excitement he felt at the idea. He was sick to his stomach with anxiety at the possibility of something like that happening, but he couldn't see past the obsessive need to be touched, to be used. He finished the dishes, ducking off to the bathroom to make sure he looked ok. His pale hair curled into small waves in front of his face, it felt unnatural to not find any dried blood in it. His wide eyes and flushed face were still tainted with injuries, but there was nothing he could do about it besides wait for them to heal. Besides, the people who used him usually liked him bruised up anyways, they usually kissed his injuries with patronizing softness or pressed on his bruises to watch him squirm. He fixed his shirt, then realized all at once that he was too sober for this, that he couldn't be used this aware. Couldn't be good. He began to frantically search through the cabinets for anything that might make him feel better, pills or even mouthwash. His eyes fell onto a pill bottle on the top shelf of the mirror, his hands fumbled over it quickly. Tiny, colorful pills spilled into his hands, it was recognizably molly. He didn't know why Tyson had it, but it was August's favorite to give Elias, and so he knew it well. He threw two pills back, chasing them with water from the sink, and then returned the bottle back to its spot. After he started to feel it just a little, he looked back into the mirror and fixed himself up a little more, forcing a smile at his reflection, just to see how it looked. Something was off, he didn't look right, he was worried that if he looked anything less than what he was used to, he would fall apart. The ground dropped from under him just a little when he realized what it was: his bare neck. He needed his collar, people were coming, he had to have it. Fucking stupid, he thought, spent months wishing you could take that thing off and now you suddenly want it again? Stupid fucking idiot.

In one of the drawers he found a silver chain, he inspected the little pendant dangling on the end, at the way the blue jewel in the middle caught the light when he turned it. He almost wanted to put it back, it was too nice for him, but he decided that it was better than nothing. He slipped it over his head, it was loose, but it would work fine. He looked so much better already.

"Elias, you ok in there?" Tyson was asking from the hallway. His voice was tight with anxiety and Elias instantly reached for the door handle and stepped out.

"I'm ok," he smiled at him, his grin lopsided so that his chipped tooth was showing just a little. "I was just getting ready."

Tyson tilted his head at him, smiling softly. "You look nice. How do you feel?"

Elias offered a lighthearted shrug, shuffling forward and standing up on his toes to kiss Tyson's nose softly. "M'ok. I cleaned the kitchen."

"I saw!" He took Elias's hand in his own and pulled him closer. "Thank you, for that. Very helpful."

Elias beamed at the praise, and Tyson was reminded again of Allen, how he lit up like a damn Christmas tree when someone said anything close to a compliment or approval, and it was quickly becoming evident that Elias was going to be the same. It was disgustingly cute how reactive they both were, how their lips twitched into a sick smile, their eyes fluttered helplessly. So beautiful, so tragic. He got this way through horrible mistreatment and brainwashing violence, but he looked so genuinely ecstatic that Tyson wasn't sure if he ever wanted to stop.

"Uh...they're waiting outside. We can let them in when you feel ready."

Elias took a breath, forcing himself to nod. He reminded himself to keep his composure, allow himself to be movable and soft and pretty. He was trembling all over, in excitement or fear he wasn't sure. Tyson rubbed his shoulder gently, still giving him a moment. When Elias finally seemed to come to terms with being around other people, he looked nervous all over again, but this time with a hint of eagerness behind his eyes. Tyson wondered how often he was allowed to see other people when he was with August. He said that August had kept him hidden away, but what exactly did that entail? When Allen was with him, he came back not used to light or sound because August had been keeping him depraved of those luxuries. Elias didn't seem like that though, he just seemed...skittish, too vigilant and too self hating to be around others. He spoke and carried himself like he knew he was less than them, and it bothered him just to be near them. And yet, at the same time, he looked exhilarated at the idea of putting himself into that position at any second. Finally, he looked up at Tyson with a wavering smile and nodded at him to tell him he was ready.

Allen looked way too good, Elias was completely baffled at how healed he seemed, like nothing had ever been wrong with him. How had he been with August and healed, how was he not broken forever? Elias didn't think he would ever be able to get there himself, all of this damage was irreversible, he couldn't imagine himself with a flushed, healthy face and a carefree grin. Or an ability to walk into a room with seemingly no issues or qualms, just existing. How could he do that?

He was also the first person to talk to Elias, which made him a little breathless at how unexpected it was. He stayed far enough away when he waved at him, politely saying "hey, Elias, how are you doing?"

Elias flinched, looking to Tyson for permission to speak, but he was given only a glance, and he was left confused and too scared to answer. Instead he just nodded his head once as a response. He looked down to see his knees were visibly wobbling, he didn't realize he was also squeezing his hands into tight fists at his sides. He couldn't force himself to relax, even though he wanted to, the molly in his system felt like metal in his veins, forcing him rigid and stiff.

Tyson quickly realized that Elias was more overwhelmed than he had hoped for, that all of his promises that he would be ok and he was sure they could come were quickly falling apart. He was standing so straight, like he'd collapse in on himself if he let his muscles relax at all. His legs were shaking with the effort of standing, Tyson wanted to scoop him up and hold him close to his chest, take away the strain of being upright, relieve him in any way he could.

"How are you settling in, pal?" Leo asked him, watching his head drop down instantly as he was addressed. He inched toward Tyson just a little, glancing up at him yet again. This time, Tyson caught his eye and realized what the look was about.

"It's ok," he whispered, rubbing his shoulder gently to reassure him, "it's alright, Eli, you can talk to them."

Elias was thankful for the permission to speak, he wanted to interact with them so bad he was buzzing, he wanted to speak to them and be heard and acknowledged. It had been so long since he'd been around people who understood him, who he could have conversation with. He worried for a split second that he might've forgotten how. "It's different. France is very different."

Leo chuckled at that, nodding his head. "Yeah, I would imagine. It's beautiful though, I hear."

Elias nodded enthusiastically. "Yes, the beach is my favorite."

Tyson was smiling at him, at how eager he was to speak, how even though he had been through hell there, he still found something beautiful in it. Elias had been trapped with August and made to do awful things that Tyson wasn't even sure the extent of yet, and still he had picked out a favorite place.

"Well I hope you didn't get too used to the food there, cause you'll have to deal with my cooking tonight." He smiled teasingly, and once Elias heard Tyson laughing, he realized it was a joke. Someone was joking with him, like an actual person. He smiled brightly at him, shaking his head.

He didn't have a response though, smiling at him seemed to be enough. Leo followed Tyson into the kitchen, leaving Allen and Elias to be alone in the living room. Allen had sat down on the couch, and Elias occasionally looked up from his spot in the center of the room, wondering if he was supposed to follow Ty. It seemed too late now, and besides, he knew in the back of his mind that he belonged here, to be observed as a centerpiece, touched if anyone felt the need for it. He wondered if, he hoped that, Allen felt the need for it. Or anyone at all, really.

"Wanna come sit with me, Elias?" Allen checked suddenly, watching as Elias straightened up to look at him, eyes wide. He quickly nodded before stumbling over to the couch, hesitating a moment before sinking down to the floor on his knees. Allen looked rather bewildered at the motion, his face flushed and mouth parted in surprise. The movement was familiar to Allen (August was consistent, he'd give him that), but it was shocking to see it from this perspective, made him want to push Elias out of the way and take his place. It took him a good thirty seconds to gather his thoughts, and when he did he felt sick to his stomach as he looked into Elias's fearful puppy dog eyes. "Oh...you don't have to..." He started to choke out.

Tyson froze when he came into the living room to see Elias like that, down on his knees with his head bowed pathetically, right in front of a flustered, uneasy looking Allen. They'd only been gone for five minutes, what had caused this? He may have grabbed Elias's shoulders a little too hard when he hoisted him back upright, causing a confused mewl to escape his throat.

"Don't sit down there like that, Eli," he scolded, "you sit on the couch, like everyone else."

"B...but I..." Elias shook his head in weak protest before shutting himself up, cringing at the stern look on Tyson's face. He was frustrated, if they wanted him on the couch why didn't they say so? Why did they want to confuse him so much? Was it to make him fail, make him easier to punish?

Tyson nodded at him once, turning and making his way reluctantly back to the kitchen. Elias huffed to himself, his shoulders drooping sadly.

"Hey," Allen said softly, grabbing his thigh gently, "it's ok. I remember when I got back I didn't use furniture for weeks. Tyson knows better now, he won't let you do that."

Elias looked at the hand on his leg. Thank God, he thought. He smiled softly at Allen, nodding along to his voice. So that was it, then, Tyson wanted him on the couch. He could look pretty on the couch, August sometimes enjoyed that.

"I know Tyson can get a little...upset, sometimes, but he means well. He just gets discouraged when he can't help."

Elias nodded eagerly again, eyes still on Allen's hand on him. Was his hand tight, or was he just imagining it? It was warm, it fit comfortably around him, and Elias found himself leaning against his arm in response to it. "Thank you," he whispered, "you've always been so kind to me."

"Well of course. What you're going through it's...well, kindness is definitely something you could use right now." Allen was smiling at him, in a way that no one had smiled at him in a long time. It was pure and friendly, not malicious or dangerous or full of lust. It was foreign, it made his chest feel hollow and sad. He didn't deserve to be looked at with such fondness. He would have ran and hid, if the smile didn't also make him feel so nice and warm all over. That made him even more upset, he didn't want to like it, not when he wasn't supposed to be receiving it in the first place. That was like enjoying a gift that had someone else's name on it, and he felt guilty for it.

Allen must've noticed his anxiety, and he pulled his hand away slowly, fingers slipping off his leg one at a time. Elias looked away from him entirely. He wanted to be back on the floor, he wanted his collar, he wanted to be hurt or touched, he wanted to be higher than he was. Most of all, he wanted to know what the hell everyone around here was expecting of him. August had rules, and even outside of those rules, Elias had gotten pretty good at reading his body language so he could guess what August wanted from him. Here was so different, he didn't know what was and wasn't allowed, he didn't know what Allen wanted from him when he grabbed his leg, or what Tyson wanted when he randomly left the room without a word to him. It was all so jumbled, made Elias feel so lost. The molly made it easier for Elias to speak, to listen, but he was still miserable and confused.

"What's wrong, Elias?" Allen asked in a hushed voice, like their conversation was ultra secret, like Leo and Tyson weren't allowed to know that it was taking place.

"It's just hard." He whispered back, folding his hands neatly in his lap. "I don't know what anyone wants anymore. When I try to guess I just look fu-fucking stupid. It's confusing."

"Have you tried asking?"

Elias gawked up at him, like the idea was bizarre. "Asking...?"

"Yeah. If you're not sure, just ask." He said this like it was simple, it couldn't go wrong. "Try it, ask me what I want."

Elias blinked at him, clearly bewildered. "Uh...wh-what do you...want?"

Allen smiled at him, nodding approvingly. "Right now, I want to sit on the couch and talk to you, and I also want dinner, but I'm waiting for it to be finished."

"O...oh." Elias breathed, looking back down at his hands. He guessed that was easy enough, the world didn't crumble around him. He couldn't hide his amazement, he couldn't believe Allen could easily say he wanted things, he must've not been taught that it was against the rules. Or maybe it was just something he outgrew, once he was away from August. Elias didn't think he'd ever outgrow it.

"What about you? What do you want?"

The confused, almost mangled, whimper Elias let out was telling enough, Allen wasn't supposed to ask him that. He was only just now realizing that it was ok to ask others that question, he obviously wasn't ready to answer it.

"Oh I don't... I c-cant..." He stammered, shaking his head vigorously. This was a test, one he could pass. He knew better than to say he wanted anything, he'd been proving that since he came back. He remembered when he accidentally begged Tyson to touch him, using the word 'need'. He must've told Allen, and now Allen was trying to get him to slip up again. He wouldn't, he would be good. He could be a mindless pet with no wants or needs.

"It's ok," Allen reassured him, his hand was on his thigh again, this time a little higher, "you don't have to answer. I get it."

Elias was breathless, he couldn't tell if it was from the question or Allen touching him, but he couldn't seem to breathe deep enough. He couldn't have wants, but still, the warm palm on his leg was enough to make him tremble. If he were allowed to want, he would want someone to lay him down and touch him everywhere, make him feel good because he hadn't felt good in so long, stroke his hair, call him 'good pet', call him 'bunny', tell him he was beautiful and perfect. If he were allowed to want, he would want that so bad it would make him cry.

"Shit, Elias, I'm really sorry, I didn't mean to upset you," Allen was rushing. Elias's cheeks were wet with his tears, his face was blank and sheet white. Tyson must've heard the commotion, and it wasn't long before he was in front of him, kneeling down to be at his level.

"Hey, Eli, what's going on, love?" He asked him gently, his hands on his shoulders. They weren't grabbing him as tightly now as when he put him on the couch. "Why are you crying?"

Elias wiped his face, shaking his head quickly. "I'm s-sorry!" He whined. "I don't know I j...just..."

Tyson shook his head dismissively, pulling Elias against his chest and rubbing his back. "It's ok. Everything's ok." Tyson held him close as his shoulders shook, allowing him to tire himself out a little. Once he seemed calm, Tyson pulled away from him, stroking his cheek gently as he did. At some point Allen had gotten up and left them alone in the room together, and Elias couldn't help but feel a little relaxed that he wasn't around to watch him fuck up any more. "You alright?"

Elias nodded, sniffling miserably. "I'm sorry."

"No worries, love. Go ahead and get cleaned up, dinner's done."

Elias obeyed instantly, standing up and heading to the bathroom wordlessly. He looked so rough around the edges, washed out from crying and in desperate need of an actual good nights sleep. He debated skipping dinner and going to lie down instead, but then he remembered how much he ached to talk to everyone, be around them, so he changed his mind. He never again wanted to be alone in a separate room when there were people around, it wasn't ever an enjoyable experience. Once he was decidedly more put together, he joined everyone back in the kitchen, setting himself in a chair between Tyson and Leo, mouth glued shut and eyes focused on the plate of food in front of him.

22 notes · View notes