You’re ripped out of your sweet dreams when a loud crash sounds through the house, followed by a cursing Nanami.
“Kento?” you call out, voice still raspy as you slide out of bed, the loss of warmth eliciting light goosebumps all over your naked legs. “What’s going on?”
He’s standing in the middle of the bathroom, different kinds of small bottles and packages scattered all around his feet. It takes you a few seconds to realise that those are various medications which Nanami must have accidentally dropped. It takes you another few seconds to notice that he’s actually barely standing, all his balance depending on the sink on which he’s holding onto with one hand while the other is tangled in his bed hair.
“Hey, are you okay?” you ask, noticing that the oh so composed man looks paler than usual as you step closer. “Not feelin’ good?”
“I’m fine. Sorry for waking-”
You gasp loudly as soon as your hand touches his back, the fabric of his cotton shirt drenched in sweat. And when your hand moves up to his forehead, Nanami’s eyes closing shortly at the touch of your cool skin, you conclude that he’s anything but fine.
“C’mere.” you gently tug on his wrist, letting him sit down on the edge of the bathtub. “Let’s get you out of that.” He looks so weak, barely holding his arms up as you peel the shirt off of him, a few dry coughs leaving his mouth in the progress. “Why didn’t you wake me up?” you ask, the judgmental undertone in your voice reminding him of the old times when his mother would have scolded him for overworking himself and neglecting his health.
today's thots 😏: you have been begging ghost to tell you his name for days now. he does it while eating you out.
a/n: literally wrote this in 20 mins, fully aware it kinda sucks
he has you sprawled across his bed, your legs freely hanging over the edge. he is kneeling beside you, his hands holding your hips in place, the rough surface of his gloves ever so slightly scratching your soft, delicate skin, his half-masked face buried between your thighs, which are littered with hickeys and bite marks. he's hungrily lapping at your arousal, shamelessly delving his tongue inside you.
a quiet whimper of annoyance, of protest, leaves your lips when he releases the hold of his right hand on your hip, and removes his mouth from your needy, dripping cunt. he brings his fingers to his wet lips, catching the fabric of his glove between his teeth, quickly pulling it off and throwing it away, leaving it forgotten laying somewhere on the ground. his focus shifts back to you immediately - he inserts two of his thick, long fingers inside you. he begins flicking his tongue at your clit, while his fingers pump in and out of you, filling you so deliciously, so perfectly.
occasionally, he completely changes his movement – he lazily curls his fingers inside you, (a pathetic, half-assed attempt to stretch you even more), and simultaneously removes his tongue to gently suck on the swollen, sensitive nub.
you are far beyond the point of hiding your moans in embarrassment. your mind simply too foggy to process anything but the lewd, wet noises filling the room, the sinister, overbearing, pleasure.
he feels you clenching around his fingers, he hears every breath that catches in your throat and he pays full fucking attention to each and every one of your pretty moans that grow carelessly loud, animalistic, and primal. he notices your muscles tensing up, as your body shakes and your hips involuntarily jerk forward – he groans at the sudden contact.
you, though, are simply too far gone to realize any of this, too needy and eager for your sweet release, far too wrecked and broken to form any thought at all.
he removes his dominant hand from your warm cunt, which is pleading even for the smallest touch, the slightest friction feels heavenly. he quickly and messily wipes the wetness off on the side of his clothed thigh. never removing his hot, sloppy mouth in the process - he continues to swallow the sweetness of your arousal, every fucking bit of it, as if his life depends on it, as if all the oxygen was sucked out of his body, your being replacing the air that he inhales, the air that he would die without.
And then he … taps your thigh twice, as if to draw any crumb of attention left in that scrambled pretty mind of yours towards him. your chest feels heavy, and that impossibly sharp warmth in your abdomen threatens to spill all over your body, … yet you manage to shoot open your half-lidded eyes.
he's dragging his index finger across your thigh, barely touching the surface of your skin. it's a shape? a letter? the repeated movement confirms it, S – I. what kind of sadistic mind game is the cocky bastard playing now? and most importantly why is he doing it now when you are so -
he continues his merciless assault, - M
your back arches, legs trembling, - O
the control over your own body begins to slip away from you, both intoxicating and terrifying to experience. you physically feel the fiery pleasure inside you threatening to spill all over the edge - N
''Simon?-'' it's a god-given miracle that you gained enough composure to repeat the word, the name, out loud.
the last thing you feel, right before the pure euphoria spreads through your body and mind, is him smiling against you.
A/n: just a simple Erwin x reader hurt/comfort drabble I was feeling. Canonverse, slight spoilers?, mention of blood/canon typical wounds. This one got away from me in the end so I hope it makes sense. <3
Darkness still clutches at the night sky outside when Erwin first opens his eyes.
If he had to guess, it’s somewhere between three and five in the morning. The Scout Regiment’s Headquarters is still; quiet enough that his ears are ringing but after the last few days he’s had, it’s a miracle he’s here to experience the silence at all.
It’s not as difficult as he would have thought to rise up out of bed with one arm missing. Still, it doesn’t stop him from huffing out a strained grunt with the effort it takes, especially when his brain is still adjusting to not having access to both of his limbs.
Stiffly, he manages to get both feet to the floor.
There’s a dull, throbbing pain emanating from the stub where his right arm used to be. The wound is covered in weaves of thick, heavy bandages. From what little he can see with the aid of the moonlight, they appear freshly changed. He gives an experimental flex of his shoulder muscle as he ponders who’s been assigned with the duty of caring for him. The movement makes him wince just as the door that leads into his office opens.
“Erwin?”
He turns with a jolt, blinking in the flickering light of the lantern you’re carrying in one hand. You’re holding a glass of water in the other, dressed casually in a simple cream colored blouse and plain trousers. On your feet are a pair of thick woolen socks, but Erwin quietly notes the distinct lack of boots.
There’s a red splotch on your left cheek and a tired look in your eyes. He’d wager if he were to walk into the next room, he’d find a makeshift cot arranged next to his desk. The mental image makes him want to laugh.
Round the clock care from the infirmary’s finest, it seemed.
Erwin says your name in a half-hearted greeting. Each syllable catches in his throat, his voice low and gravelly from too many days of disuse.
You cross the threshold and round the corner of his bed, sitting on the edge. “How are you feeling?”
“Fresh as a daisy,” he replies, though the frail attempt at humor seems lost on your concerned expression. “How long have I been asleep?”
“Fourteen hours?” You hazard a guess. Your gaze transforms from exhausted to clinical with staggering ease as you reach for the bandages fixed to his rib cage.
It doesn’t faze either of you that he’s already bare from the waist up. Even if he wasn’t in such a vulnerable condition, it’s a sight you’ve seen on numerous occasions long since past. “You need to take it easy for now. We can’t have these stitches ripping open.”
Satisfied, you gently cover them again and reach for a small bottle of pills on his nightstand that he hadn’t noticed before. You pop open the cap and hand him two. “Here. It’s time for your next dose of pain meds anyway. These will help.”
He takes them without question with the water you walked in with. It gives you a moment to take him in, alive and well for the first time in four days since he was first carted into your office, half-delirious and white as a sheet from the loss of blood.
Seeing him in such good spirits now makes you breathe a bit easier.
His complexion is warmer now; not quite to his usual skin tone but it’s getting there, and there’s a fair dusting of dark blonde hair outlining the curve of his jaw.
He swallows the last of the water. “What is it?”
You blink and look away, too engrossed in your thoughts to realize you had been blatantly staring. “It’s nothing, I just… I’ve never seen you so disheveled like this.”
He hums and quirks a playful brow. “Does it suit me?”
You snort. Amusement bubbles easily in your chest. It’s a strange emotion to feel in his presence after so long, but it isn’t entirely unwelcome. “You’re not getting special treatment if you flirt with me, you know.”
He watches you, eyes growing soft. “I thought it might still work on you though.”
Rooted in place, it takes everything you can muster just to breathe normally. He’s wounded, you tell yourself. Still probably feverish from the pain and making only half-coherent connections about you in his mind. Still, the attention makes your heart flutter just as easily as it always has. From Erwin, it probably always will.
Absently, you reach for the necklace draped on your collar. It’s a nervous habit, grounding you when words seem unlikely to manifest themselves in your throat.
“I’ll let Levi and the others know that you’re awake in the morning,” you manage.
“I’d rather let them wait a little longer.” His eyes flicker down, following the movement of your fingers as they fidget with the dainty gold locket around your neck. For the first time since he’s been awake, you see a careful look of wonder on his face. “You kept it.”
Without warning, he leans forward, fingers barely brushing yours in his attempt to get a better look at the jewelry. It stirs something inside of him. Something equally as earnest as it is fearful.
“Of course I did,” you tell him softly, as if by speaking any louder you’ll reveal all of the things you’re too afraid to say, even cloaked in the night’s protective darkness. Tentatively, you settle on, “I’m glad you’re alive.”
If the price he needed to pay to see you again was loss of limb, then he’d say it was worth it. But tonight was only a glimpse of his predictions coming true. Why he had ended things before they could truly begin.
As one sided as it seemed at the time, he hadn’t wanted to put you through the pain of witnessing him like this. Only it seemed he was doing it anyway, just without the benefit of having you as you once were, by his side.
Next time, he may not be as lucky.
He snaps back to reality when you pull away and move to stand. Erwin’s good hand—his only hand now—drops to his side.
“You know, it’d be easier to observe me if you stayed in the same room.”
You pause in front of the open door. With your hand still on the handle, you send him an incredulous smirk over your shoulder.
“Goodnight, Erwin.”
The door swings closed, but only before the latch clicks into place do you think better of it and push it open again, just in case.
Walter “Fuse” Fitzroy if you read this im free on Thursday night and would like to hang out. Please respond to this and then hang out with me on Thursday night when I’m free.
idk how to use capcut but i did what needed to be done
Me: I’m strong and independent. I don’t need love to be happy!
Also me: If a tall, rich, and handsome man doesn’t walk across a field in the early morning mist to tell me that I have bewitched him body and soul soon I might have to do something drastic
Donate if you can please. I’m being charged with assault and battery for punching my racist neighbor for spitting on me during a pandemic. I need to pay for lawyer fees and to move out of my racist town. 💗
If you don’t want to donate through gofundme then you can cashapp me $Muvatokyo
If you can’t donate, please reblog when you see this. I’m desperate. Thank you!
On August 19th, in the midst of COVID-19, I was spat on by my neighbor. After 5 m… Monea Williams needs your support for Escaping Violently
[Image Description: a screencap of the gofundme, that says "Escaping Violently Racist Environment". At the time of the screencap the donations were at $1925 out of $5000. The text reads "On August 19th, in the midst of COVID-19, I was spat on by my neighbor. After 5 months of being racially profiled, targeted, and harassed; we got into an altercation. I hit her in self defense she was not harmed, had no injuries, and continued to scream and yell about the property and how I “hit like a girl”.
There have been issues between my grandmother and neighbor for 5 months that stem from property line issues and I got caught in the cross fire trying to defend my grandmother.
Before this incident she has flipped me off, cursed me out, flashed me her butt, harassed me for my “black” hairstyles, and even thrown broken glass on our porch.
Back in March of 2020 my neighbors’ dog killed my dog. Since my dog passed away, I have been suffering from extreme depression, have been going to therapy and even have been put on anti depressants.
The particular incident in which the altercation ensued happened a week after she assumed my white GRANDMOTHER and I were in an interracial lesbian relationship. She proceeded to make cardboard posters to display in the windows facing our house saying “Gay for Trump” and “Trump2020”."
Below are photos: a cardboard sign in a window with "Gay For Trump" scrawled on it, the racist white woman (young, short brown hair" pointing outward and yelling at the camera holder, the same woman spraying something on the grass, and a torn note that says "I asked you not to mow your property (obscured) came out fuck that bitch. You said your (obscured, maybe "welcome"?) I video (obscured, maybe "you") mowing (obscured)". End ID]
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