#you know he had to have nightmares about it

[moondirti]

Hellloooo🖤 I’m the anon who asked about the Safehouse story!

My brain, unfortunately, is not nearly as wrinkly as yours so I cannot come up with creative ideas like you 😂 BUT! I have a few ideas? Maybe? If you can call them that lol.

Was the spanking the first physical interaction they had? What did the morning after that look like?

What happens if reader has a nasty mental health episode & tries to hide it from Ghost?

Does the pet thing progress? I think we all know that Ghost has a thing for the pet play. I don’t even care, that’s totally canon for me at this point.

Would you ever consider writing about the general dynamic they have? Like the “rules” Ghost might have for them?

Totally and completely a self indulgent ask from someone who just had to pull themselves out of a nasty mental health episode lmao I’m so sorry please ignore this if it’s annoying or dumb!

shh i love all of these. i have so many thoughts now / prev

cw: dubcon d/s lifestyle. petplay. controlling behaviour. possessiveness. panic attacks. toxicity. noncon collaring. financial manipulation. mention of self harm. brief fluff.

Your thing with Simon is hard to contextualise.

Or even understand, really.

Parts of it are welcome. He asserts himself in a way you haven't found in the nobodies you've hooked up with previous, happy to fuck you dumb if it means you'll surrender yourself completely. Which you do. You listen intently and follow every direction he gives in bed, and as a reward he wrings orgasm after orgasm from your squirming body. You cum more in one week than you have in the past month, never not naked and sore, wrists tender from where he anchors his hand to keep them pinned above your head. You hear puppy more than your own name, at this point. And it's a concerning because– Well...

You don't mind it.

But you still don't like him.

It isn't like you necessarily need to like your partners in order to have a good time, but it certainly helps if you can tolerate them beyond a dick-in-hole condition. Simon is an anomaly in that he is the worst person you know, whilst also serving as the best lay you've ever had.

That is to say, his habits haven't changed. He's a fucking terror to live with. Nightmare flatmate, the type you see strangers complain about on reddit forums or hear in a friends story from their sister's husband's cousin. Not something you would take seriously until you live the experience – now existing as a sore, precautionary tale you'll no doubt be pitching to anyone also considering subleasing their place as a safe house.

Perhaps it's made worse by the sexual element you share. Before, he had just been your average perverse man, stealing clothes and walking in on you in the bathroom. Now, it seems that sleeping with him has given him the go-ahead to push that behaviour to an extreme. He'll pat your ass while you go about your business, or tug your hair when you raise your voice. Treats you like a pet that has yet to be debarked; just a silly, sub-human way of entertainment.

You can't help but feel you enabled it. But no–

The pet play is cute when he's drilling your brains out – and perhaps only because you can't think straight enough to raise concern – but you're not a dog. Nor do you want to be treated like one throughout all hours of the day. The onus is on him for not catching the hint.

But of course, accountability isn't in his lexicon.

Things only get worse from there.

"An' where d'you think you're going?"

You're halfway out of the door when he catches you leaving.

If you had been more iron-willed, you would slip out and scurry away before he can continue whatever spiel he has stirring. Instead, it's instinct to shrivel in on yourself, clicking the door shut before turning to face the behemoth waiting in the foyer.

"Out." You huff, intent on cold-stoning him. But it's a fools game when your opponent in the broad-shouldered lieutenant – for he merely cocks his head, waiting your silence out with more silence, and it's all you can do to bite your tongue against the deluge of excuses that pile up. "My mates thought it would be a good idea to catch brunch. Y'know– to celebrate the start of summer break. It's a nice day out so..." You gesture to your attire, like you have any reason to justify a sundress to some man you are in no way committed to.

But you can read the possessive gleam of his eyes as they take stock of your appearance: from your expensive mules, up your moisturised legs, to the low cut of your décolletage. It's easy to connect it to that look he had when you came back home that fateful night, the look of warning before he'd taken you over his lap and slapped your ass raw.

And for some odd reason, you're compelled to dig yourself out of trouble.

"Hm. It is a nice day, innit?" You nod a bit too quick. He stalks closer. "Lots of people out." Your nod is a little less enthusiastic. He's centimetres away now. "Some bad, bad men too."

He lifts the ends of your dress, slowly. Your next words quiver on their way out your chest. It's alarming to find that they don't sound nearly as assertive as you intend for them to be, not like they do horny.

"Where are you going with this?"

Your skirt pools around your hips now, held up by one hand as the other smooths over with the gusset of your panties.

"You plan on lettin' them have at this puppycunt? Have I not been givin' it enough attention?" He mockingly coos, pressing harder against the mound between your legs. Your knees grow weak. Not of your own accord, but weak nonetheless, and you have to hold onto his wrist to keep yourself upright. "Is tha' it?"

"N-No–"

"No? But that's what they'll think seeing you walk around like this, silly thing. Poor, neglected mutt, they'll say. Don't have a firm hand to keep 'er in line." Simon tuts, releasing his grip on your dress to pull something out of his back pocket. With the way he crowds into you, you can't crane your head to see what it is. "Now we can't have tha'. I spoil my girl rotten, wouldn' you say?"

"Yes. Yes but–"

"No buts, pup. Have ta stake my claim on you somehow." Something clicks. All too suddenly, you're made aware of the new weight on your neck. It tightens against the column of your throat – not enough to constrict your airways, but enough so that it hinders the way you move. "There we go. So pretty like this."

Panic seizes you, the steel fist of paralysis capturing your muscles in a vice-like clutch. Even as Simon pulls away, you're almost scared to find yourself in the nearest mirror. Scared of what you'll find dangling between your collarbones. There's no mistaking the textured leather that presses against your skin, nor the soft clink of metal hanging from it. No fooling yourself that this is all some cruel joke, not with the sick leer of satisfaction that warps his face.

Stumbling, you navigate to the bathroom and blindly turn on a light.

That cruel fuck.

"Simon," Your voice is devoid of the anger you feel roaring through your veins, circuiting through the frenzied stutter of your heart to find new passion. Instead, you sound horrified. Near hysterical, choking on your own pleas as you run back to the foyer. Your hands tug at the collar clasped around your neck, desperately searching for a buckle that will aid you in ripping it off, despite seeing the lock latched right at the centre that tells of its permanence. What's more, he had it engraved with a crude variation of a dog collar tag. If lost, leave alone. Or else count your days. "S-Simon, Simon please. Fuck– take it off. Take it off, take it off! I don't want this, I don't want... This isn't funny. I'll change if that's what it takes. Please."

Snot bursts from your nose, cheeks wet with a hot mess of tears. You can't suppress the hiccups that interrupt your begging like pathetic shots to the chest, or the weak hits you beat across his pecs. If you could, then perhaps he would give your tantrum more weight.

As it stands, you're nothing but a feral creature resisting training.

"Shhh. Pets can' speak. Pets don't cry." His thumbs press to your under eyes, tamping the flow of brine that mark steady tracks from your lashes. "You'll ruin your makeup like this."

"Si–"

He stare hardens into something dangerous. Against your better judgment, you clamp your lips shut.

"That's it. You're s'good when you listen to me, pup." Once he's sure you've stopped crying, he removes his thumbs to instead push one into your mouth. You can taste the salty residue of your tears on his fingertips. "Now, this is the bes' of both worlds, see? You can go see your friends with this on. I know pets need their playtime, af'er all."

You arch your back in protest, but all that does is bring you closer to the lieutenant. He misinterprets that entirely, of course, and a small smile breaks his face like you've agreed to his terms. A heavy palm pats your ass.

"S'jus' so you don't forget who you belong to." He chuckles. "An' if your friends like the idea, then I have a few friends for them."

You make it one block before hightailing back home.

Nothing in you wanted to give that bastard the satisfaction, but he made it so that whatever you chose to do – stay home or leave wearing a symbol of his ownership – he'd end up triumphant. Naturally, then, you opted for the lesser of two evils: to leave his vicinity immediately. Besides, you'd promised your girls you'd see them after going AWOL the past fortnight, and you knew you'd get an earful if you decided to reschedule at the last moment.

You thought you would convince them it was a bet. That the collar is just some silly joke you have to bear for the day after a football match didn't go in your favour.

But you make it one block before a tradie on his lunch break catcalls you (you about that freaky ting, beautiful?) and decide to change course completely.

You arrive back at your flat without further incident. Ego stung from the various odd looks you received on your way, but nothing as egregious as being singled out as a freak in the midst of a crowd occurs again.

Still, your hands shake as you push your key into its slot.

Which progress to full body tremors as you turn it in place.

Thankfully, Simon isn't waiting on you on the other side of the door. He sits, manspreading on the couch instead, focus zeroed in on the telly that broadcasts Fulham v Man City. When he doesn't look away, you allow yourself to hope he hadn't heard you come in. But it's a naive pool to place your faith in. Nothing escapes the man, and soon enough, his tone of humoured indifference shatters the silence you've been precariously trying to keep.

"Miss me 'lready?"

A wretched sulk, pit of anger hollowing out anew. You swiftly snatch your laptop from the breakfast bar before storming to your room, making sure to lock the door firmly behind you.

The website is bookmarked. Taunting. Sublet your home as a safehouse for our armed forces. Serve your country and help soldiers find refuge. You would laugh if you weren't so single-minded, typing in your email and password upon being prompted to. You don't have to deal with this shit any longer, nor do you intend to. If you remember correctly, there had been a way to report any problems you face. If you phrase yours right, you might just get Simon pulled from your services.

Good dick be damned.

But when you hit enter to sign in, an error message blinks in red.

Account does not exist.

Which is fine. Shit like this happens all the time. There's no reason to work yourself into a panic, you probably just used the wrong email.

So you try your alternate. Account does not exist.

It feels unlikely, but maybe you'd created it under your school email to give yourself credibility. Only–

Account does not exist.

Your blood pressure is no doubt sky high by now. Other symptoms of stress already start to wrack through you – blurry vision, chest aches, difficulty breathing. Your hands sweat excessively as you dig for the customer care number you're sure exists somewhere, efforts impaired by the ever-present weight of the collar around your neck. You wonder if Simon can smell your anxiety like a predator does its prey. If he's in the other room, salivating, waiting for you to wobble out of your room to go for the kill. Some part of you – a needlessly paranoid part – rests on the conclusion that this is somehow his fault too.

Your phone already rings in an outgoing call once you blink back to the present. While you've been functioning on autopilot, you must have found a number to call that related close enough to your issue.

And your suspicion is confirmed when an automated voice picks up. You are currently... second... in line.

It takes five minutes. When a placating woman speaks up amidst the nauseating music they have queued, you can hardly contain yourself from word-vomiting onto her. Safehouse signup. Lost account. Need to report an issue. Please. It's urgent.

"Okay ma'am. If you could give me your name, I'll be happy to find the source of your problem today." You can't spell it out any faster. "Alright. One moment, please."

"O-okay." You sniffle miserably.

"I see. I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but it seems that you've been pulled from the program after a complaint was lodged against you. Unfortunately I can't provide more detail than that, but if you need anything else, I would be happy to assi–"

You hang up. The poor thing doesn't need to hear the incensed scream that tears from the deepest parts of you, or the following crack as you chuck your cell at the wall. She'd done what she could. It isn't her fault. It was that self-serving bastard that had you blacklisted from the only thing keeping you financially afloat. It is that that self-serving bastard that continues to occupy space inside your home, despite having no real right to it now.

The tantrum isn't near cathartic enough to unfetter you from your prison of aggravation, and you continue to take it out on everything in your near radius. Your duvet and pillows. The lotion you keep by your beside table. Your own skin, nails piercing into the soft flesh of your palms.

And especially the collar constricting your throat, like vines that tighten at the first sign of struggle.

You have to get this collar off. Even if you fail at everything else, you have to get this collar off.

Scrambling off your bed, you turn your room upside down looking for a bobby pin or a knife. One is unquestionably the safer bet, but you know you'll sit for hours trying to pick the lock that keeps you shackled – so when you find the boxcutter sitting at the bottom of your junk drawer, you immediately take it to your neck.

Just as Simon barges into your room.

You're so far gone, you don't even question how this must look to him. In fact, it doesn't occur to you that you locked your door, and that the only way he could've gotten in is by having a replica of your key. No. You merely twist away from the all-encompassing hold he wraps around your arms, determined to keep the boxcutter away from his confiscation until you can slice through the leather.

But you're crying. Visibly, alarmingly unstable. And Simon's breaths are a little faster than normal, faltering in a way they only do when he's close to climax. He must be worried, which is a funny thought, seeing as he's the reason you're in this mess.

"Alright thas– that's enough of that." He grunts after managing to pry the blade from your hand. You hardly mourn the loss, rather crumbling in on yourself as your sobbing escalates. No longer frustrated, nor determined. Just primed into a suffocating panic attack.

Somewhere in your auditory periphery, you hear the clinking of glass. It doesn't register until he holds a vial of lavender extract you keep under your nose, forcing you to inhale the medicinal aroma. Soon enough, your mouth opens to swallow gulps of unscented air alongside it, and the imposed breathing exercise calms you to a point of blubbering calm.

(For someone so apathetic, you admit he handled that expertly.)

That isn't the end of it, though. Moments later, you're lifted off your feet. He cradles you in both arms as he makes his way to your bed, sitting up against the headboard and placing you on his lap. Safe. Undisturbed.

You say nothing, pressing your wet face into his shirt. For comfort, first and foremost, but the makeup that'll undoubtedly stain the white fabric is an added bonus.

"Know this is hard for y'to understand, pup." Simon begins. "Hard for you ta wrap your head around ownership after bein' alone for s'long. I won't punish you for tha'."

"Y-You don't own me." You accuse.

He shakes his head in response, like your mind is truly as little as he claims. Like you're a dog, complete with two ears and a tail, and he plucked you off the street on the condition that you heel.

If anything, he's the stray.

"Oh, but I do." A large hand rubs circles on your back. Never have you been so conflicted, so torn between leaning in and biting back. "Just don't see it yet, pet. Bu' you will, in time. And in the meanwhile, we'll establish some ground rules to help you adjust."

#do not be a cute girl around this man he will ruin your life #unedited #sorry this took me ages to pump out #tumblr deleted the first draft (?) so i had to rewrite #hate this dumb site #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ‘ghost’ riley x reader #simon 'ghost' riley #ghost #simon riley #x reader #x female reader #call of duty #fanfic #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

[shiny-jr]

not my world [ prologue ]

– Summary: One day you wake in a foreign world with nothing to your name except the clothes on your back. A talking cat named Grim, gives you your only lead to return home. Seek out the seven gods and pray they answer your plea.

– Warning: Yes, this series is a yandere thing, although this post really isn't. Gender-neutral reader.

– Characters: Grim.

– Note: Think of this like a test, just to see how it's received. Yes, this is based off that outlander post I made a while ago. I was thinking I could make this a long-lasting series. However, it really depends how y'all like it. There's not too much going on here, because I'm trying to set the scene and I wrote it all fairly quickly. However, it's just a small taste. So, let me know what y'all think.

– Pages: 11

“So… you’re saying that you woke up here on this beach with no explanation, but you’re from another world so you have no idea where you are? You fell asleep in your own bed, in your own home, and now you’re here, with no way to go back?” 

As far fetched as it sounded, you could only grimly nod. A dream, this should’ve just been a nightmare. But that was confirmed to be false when you pinched yourself multiple times and tried to splash yourself with the nearby ocean water. Everything felt so real, from the sand between your toes to the breeze in the air and the sunlight drying the water off the surface of your flesh. You wanted it to be nothing but a dream, especially when you found a talking cat with a forked tail and blue fire in his ears. 

This was your third attempt trying to explain things to this impish but rather harmless little furball, and each time he seemed more puzzled than the last. His little black nose twitched as he sat in front of you, his paws digging into the sand as those strange eyes of his studied you closely. His voice was grating, high-pitched, speaking with a tone of doubt. “You don’t look like you’re from any of the seven nations. No pointed ears, no beast features, not even a magestone to your name! Well, it makes sense. A nobody like you obviously wouldn’t have a magestone anyways.” 

That was probably meant to be an insult, but considering you didn’t even know what a magestone was, you didn’t really take any offense at all. Pointed ears, beast features, magestones, annoying talking cats– you really didn’t care about any of that. “Because I’m not from whatever seven nations there are. I already told you where I’m from.” 

“Yeah, well I never heard of wherever it was you said. So get lost, would you, human? I’ve claimed this beach alrea–” 

A low growl rang in the air. Swiftly you scanned your surroundings, fearful that you were about to be attacked by some mythical beast. However, when you looked back to the feline who now looked quite ashamed, you realized the noise came from his stomach. Actually, the little fellow seemed pretty scrawny, and you could just barely make out the shape of his ribs poking out of his sides. 

Standing up, you brushed off the sand clinging to the oversized t-shirt you fell asleep in. Thankfully, you at least had sandals, which was better than waking up here barefoot. With one look around, there didn’t appear to be anyone for miles, and no sign of civilization here. Leaving the cat as your only option to turn to, as jarring as it was to be speaking to a cat. “Er… Look, if you could at least help me find people, a shelter, a city, something– then I’ll see about getting you something to eat. Deal?” 

“I don’t need your help! But… I’m curious, so I’ll follow anyway.” 

“Great…” You sigh, as you decide to follow a path that leads away from the shoreline and into woodlands. At the very least, you were not completely alone. This would be much more terrifying if you had woken up and there was absolutely no one around. “So, do you have a name or are you, like, feral?” 

“I’m not feral!” It hissed as it walked in tandem beside you, keeping up with your steady pace. “Since I am so great, I will allow you to know my name. I am the all-mighty Grim! One-of-a-kind and destined to one day become strong, powerful enough to defeat even the seven gods!” 

“Seven gods…?” Was this some sort of fantasy setting? It had to be. First he mentioned pointed ears and beast-people, and you were having a conversation with a talking cat! Maybe seven gods were the least outlandish thing you’ve heard today. “Well, I’m (Y/n).” 

“You’ve never heard of The Seven? How stupid could you be?” 

You frowned at his toothy little grin as he ridiculed you for your knowledge on a place you just ended up in. “Well excuse me for not knowing anything about this place I just ended up in!” Tearing your gaze away, you saw a cabin up ahead. It appeared abandoned, so there wasn’t any hope of seeing another person yet. Still, there may be something useful inside, so you approach. 

Trying the knob, you found the lock jammed. The wood of the front door was rotting, some of it in splitters and the windows were shattered. With a few strong kicks, the door became dislodged and finally gave way beneath the pressure. 

“You’re excused– hey! Tuna!” You didn’t even bother stopping the feline when he rushed into the abandoned cabin, sprinting after the few cans of tuna he spotted on an old table. At least he would get to eat. 

You didn’t particularly care for canned fish that’s been sitting there for who knows how long. In practically a blink of the eye he had devoured three whole cans of the stuff and licked the remnants off of his whiskers. 

“Okay, okay, since I feel so bad for you, and because you found these tuna cans, I’ll be your guide. That way, I don’t owe you nothin’ after this! Maybe one day, if you’re still around, you’ll see me ascend to the ranks among the archons and you can brag like I knew him! Isn’t Grim so cool and praise worthy? I might even remember you and accept your prayers! You can thank me now.” 

At his smug expression, you squinted incredulously as he began walking down the path in the middle of the woods once more. Following hesitantly, thankful there was daylight and this seemed like a particularly nice forest, save for the very depths of it further away from the road that were dark due to the cover of leaves and branches above. However, the trees closest to you weren’t so dense, and the sunlight filtered through the thin foliage. The dirt road was wide, but slightly covered with scattered blades of grass and underbrush, as if no one had used it in a long while. Squirrel-like critters darted about in trees, strange fruits hung on low-branches, and foreign flowers sprouted alongside little ponds. 

“I’ll thank you after an explanation and a little help. So, what’s this about gods?” 

“Let’s see… I’ll put it so simple that even a baby can understand! There are seven nations, and each one has a god. These gods are super-powerful! I’m talking crazy-strong, like they can level mountains and raise the sea type of miracles!” 

As he strolled beside you, his forked-tail swished back and forth. For now it seemed like he knew where he was going, so hopefully that was a good sign. Right now, you had no idea what to do or how to get home. However, if magic existed in this realm, then surely there would be some way to get back. There had to be, for your own peace of mind. 

“Maybe if you pray to one, you’ll get an answer. But the chances of that are pretty much zero, because only idiots rely on the gods since they almost never answer. You’d have a better chance trying to actually meet one of them and try to talk to them in person, but good luck with that!” 

As the road neared a cliff, you caught a glimpse of the scenery. It was a kingdom, a whole city that began right at the edge of a vast meadow. The rolling valley ended at a river, across a wide stone bridge where the city began. Miles and miles of cobblestone roads lined with two to three-story buildings, and rising above it all was a white palace with red conical roofs that pierced the very sky. It looked fantastical, like something straight out of a peculiar little story book, especially considering how unnaturally bright the flowers were and how there was the occasional mushroom as tall as a tree. 

Never before in your entire life had you ever seen a single place like this. Some stupid naive little part of yourself had hoped that perhaps you were still in your world, but this was simply proof that tore that little shred of hope to bits. “What is this place…?” 

He paused to scratch a spot behind his ear. “That’s the capital city of Heartslabyul. You see that big palace all the way over there? That’s where the god of fire lives. One day, I’m gonna live in a place even bigger, grander, than that! My worshippers will build, brick by brick, a towering temple that reaches the very heavens! It’ll make that palace look puny in comparison!” 

Dumbfounded, you nearly get left behind in your stupor once the feline begins to walk down a rocky slope again. You follow, as Grim yammered on and on, “Fire is harsh, just like that place. Trust me, I tried staking a claim there, but I was kicked out! Can you believe it? Me! They just threw me out as if I were nothing! Anyways, I already forgot what you were looking for, but whatever it is, you’ll probably find something there––” 

“A way home?” You reminded him, a tiny bit irked that he seemed to forget so easily. For such a haughty little beast with nothing to his name, he was very conceited. 

“Ooh yeah, right. That. Gods have all this magic and wisdom from their years and stuff, so they gotta know something. But if I were a god, I wouldn’t answer you, to be honest.” 

Grumpily you point out the obvious. This cat-like creature was far from the divine that you were currently picturing. “You’re not a god.” 

Yowling in response, Grim shot back with irritation, “Yet! Not a god yet!” When he spat, a small puff of smoke and a spark of flames he tried to aim at the dirt caused his blue ear flames to flicker stronger until one stray flame popped like a hot scorching coal. It went flying directly at your face, and all you could do was react quickly enough to try and step back while your arms and hands covered your face. 

However, no pain ever came. “How are you doing that?!” 

“Doing what? And you need to watch it with––” When you began to lower your arms, you saw it. When you had shielded yourself, your knuckles had been against your cheek and so your palm was facing outward. Floating in your open palm, was that small spark that came from his ears and nearly burned you. Immediately your eyes widened, and the surprise didn’t end there. As if fluctuating with your shock, the fire became a small yet harsh monetary crackling burst that caused both you and the feline to yelp and stumble back in disbelief until your palms were normal once again. 

“You big fat liar! You do know magic! Where’s your magestone?” 

Seeing his gray fur stand on edge, you quickly answered, seemingly just as confused as he currently was. “I-I don’t, I swear! I don’t even have a wizardstone! That has never happened to me before! This, magic, stuff like that, talking cats, huge mushrooms, none of this is supposed to be real!” 

“Magestone! Not wizardstone! M-A-G-E!” 

“Same difference, what do I care?” You had to double-check your hands, wanting to trick yourself again into believing it was something that could be easily explained. Yet this didn't seem like that. This was something else entirely that didn’t make sense, it couldn't be explained. Not while you were still reeling and staring at your own two hands in utter disbelief. “What the hell was that…?” 

Sniffing the air around you, Grim paced slowly around you as his whiskers twitched with each sniff. After several rounds circling you, he plopped down in front of you and peered up at you quizzically. “I really don’t smell a magestone on you… but you used my fire! It was blue! Everyone knows you can’t use magic without one! Wait a moment… this is perfect!” Immediately brightening up, the little creature gave a toothy grin as he declared, “From now on, you will be my servant! One day when I am a god, I will make you a demi-god! Everyone knows the great gods have divine or mystic servants of some kind! So you will be my henchman! Count yourself blessed, human.” 

“What…?” For now you didn’t even want to touch anything, especially yourself. What if you just tapped something and it was set ablaze? Although you felt fine physically, you were not completely okay. Mentally your mind was scrambled with trying to comprehend everything going on and being said, and now you had the additional burden of accidentally burning everything you touched. 

“Maybe it has to do with the fact that you aren’t from here, so this world’s rules don’t even apply to you… yeah, that’s it! This is great! Does this mean you can wield other elements? We should try! If it storms tonight, we’ll stand at the highest cliff and wait for lightning to strike!” 

“Definitely not!” You screech in reply, currently trying to prevent yourself from panicking and having a destructive mental breakdown all at the same time. Keeping your arms away from your body and fingers spread apart, you tentatively try grabbing stones and sticks and blades of grass to test the ability and see if anything would be set ablaze. And yet, nothing happened, so you slowly began to relax, as much as was possible in that moment. 

Grim watched with great intrigue, hoping, wishing, to see you burn something straight with your hands. However, when he saw not a single spark or sign of smoke, he sighed, “Don’t you realize the possibilities! A small chosen few can wield magic like that, and even then, it’s only one element! This means that you might be able to do more! We’ll be legendary, beating every foe we come across!” 

“Woah, woah, woah, who said anything about beating foes?” Cutting off that idea right now before it would get out of hand. It had only been a few minutes, not even an hour, and even you could see that Grim was a handful. “I am no fighter. If I magically somehow have these weird abilities now, doesn’t mean I want to fight with them. Are you insane? The most I’ll do is like… instantly heat up my food or make a light in the dark. That’s it. Actually, that first one sounds pretty useful…” 

Angrily throwing his paws up in exasperation while falling back on some patches of grass, he groaned, “Ugh, but that’s so boringggg! Where’s your creativity? You could become a god among gods!” 

Choosing to ignore his less than enthusiastic response, you proceeded, drawing his attention back to something he recently mentioned. Awkwardly you grip your hands, twisting your wrist between your fingers, yet nothing hurts. Everything felt normal, as if you hadn’t just wielding fire a minute ago. “You said a god of fire resided over there in that city, right?” 

“Yeah, you’ll fit right in with all those hot-headed fire-breathers now that you have a bit of magic.” 

As the two of you neared the bottom of the cliff and approached a smaller section of the forest that would lead directly to the road that branched off into either a vast meadow or the gates of the kingdom, the world seemed to stop when a loud rumbling rang through the air. The birds ceased their singing songs and the squirrelish creatures paused their chittering chattering. The ground shook and in the far distance, miles and miles behind the palace where there looked to be nothing but untamed wilderness, balls of fire spewed forth from what you had thought were mountains but were actually volcanoes. Seeing the smoke pour out from the peak, you debated running right back to the beach which was in the opposite direction of the rupture in the earth. 

While initially startled, Grim quickly relaxed and began his walking again just as the sounds of nature resumed their tune. As if by some miraculous work of magic, the volcano stopped its rumbling just as quickly as it began, and the smoke receded as well. Like a pot popping on a stovetop and simmering over with water, but its vapor and contents contained by a top, that’s how rapidly it started and ended. Grim proceeded to walk in front of you to lead the way. Sensing your question before you even voiced it, he called out over his shoulder, 

“Don’t look so panicked, we’re not gonna die. That happens like once a week. It used to be more sparse but… well, like I said, all the humans in the kingdom are a buncha hotheads. Especially their king! Everyone knows the god of pyro has the worst temper of all the seven, that’s why the volcanoes go off when he’s all angry! All you gotta do is gather up the courage to ask him what you want to know, and pray that he doesn’t incinerate you where you stand.”

#shiny speaks #twst #twisted wonderland #grim #twst grim #outlander twst #not my world

[ceruleancattail]

Hey ! I just had an idea for your mystic animals au- imagine, the reader go to war without saying it to Malleus, Lilia and Idia, and the next time they saw them it's when they are at the hospital or still fighting, and they are badly injured (like, really badly injured. Like they will die if they aren't heal)

Sorry for the bad english, it's not my first language.

Have a great day/night !

Malleus doesn’t say a word.

He’s unusually calm, running a slow hand across your wounds. Gently caressing your hand with his thumb, humming to you softly. A tune you don’t recognise, yet it is soothing all the same. Like a familiar lullaby you heard once, a long, long time ago. A gentle tune that somehow makes your eyes weary, your tired body giving way to the darkness of slumber, slipping into the night.

Malleus holds your hand until you fall asleep, head dropping back onto your pillow. Before he slips his arms under your slumbering form, lifting you up. Cradling you close to his chest, sighing deeply into your hair. Nuzzling into you, sighing into that ever so familiar warmth.

With a flick of his wrist, all the tubes connected to you drop, needles clattering onto the ground. Pardon Malleus’ distrust, but since humans haven’t achieved the longevity of his kind, he doesn’t have too much faith in the inventions of mankind.

You won’t die here. He won’t allow it. He doesn’t want to be alone. Not again.

Perhaps there’s someone in the Diasonmia clan who’s accomplished in healing magic. Or there might be some arcane way to restore your life in the old texts. Oh, there was that movie both of you watched once. Something about the people being transferred to the future in a chemically induced sleep. There might be some truth in that story… and Malleus is adept at putting you to sleep.

A luxurious bed shouldn’t be too hard to find. He’ll lay you down in the sacred halls of Diasonmia, and he’ll create a bed for you amidst the thorns. Looking at you asleep soundly like this, your face utterly relaxed… it’s almost as if everything was normal, hm?

Like one of those nights you’ve called for him, your sleep plagued with nightmares. You’ve often asked for his company, those lonely nights. Holding his hand until you drift off into the land of dreams. Now, he’ll stay right by your side until you wake up. If you wake up… no. You must awaken.

No matter how badly you’re injured, Malleus refuses to accept this outcome, and he’ll struggle against it for all that he’s worth.

Until the moment you’re gone, he’ll never truly accept it. Maybe he doesn’t, even then. You are his Master, after all.

He’ll believe in you, until his last breath.

Lilia’s lying right next to you.

The moment he sees your battered body on that hospital bed, his gaze is overflowing with concern. Watching fluids of some sort flow into your arms, a steady mechanical beat beeping shrilly every second. Beeping along to the pace of your heart rate, following every rise and fall of your chest. Lilia’s devastated, to say the least. Yet he’s skilled enough not to let it show. Instead, he gently coaxes you aside, sliding under the covers beside you.

Honestly, why would you go to battle all on your lonesome? Only a fool would do that… a brave fool, nonetheless. Lilia pokes your nose softly, sighing softly. His warm breath wafting against your lips. Master, did you really think of him as a fragile being? As old as he constantly says he is, he’s still rather capable of razing down a few battlefields in your name.

Although you wouldn’t have accepted that sort of victory. You were always a honourable one, insisting that your victories should be seized by your own two hands and your effort. Lilia admired that part of you, truly.

You were a flame, burning away with determination, so bright that sometimes he couldn’t look at you directly. Perhaps that was why your touch was so warm. It comforted him, did you know that? Your presence, your voice, your touch… it meant everything to Lilia.

Shifting a little closer, Lilia’s arms snake around your torso, holding you gently. He’s a little hesitant at first, but unless you object, he’s going to embrace you. Coaxing your back towards the curve of his chest, gently slipping his legs around yours. Lilia’s head rests at your neck, every one of his breaths tickling the nape of your neck.

He squeezes you affectionately, timing each one of his hugs to your heartbeat. It beat feebly against his chest, one beat at the time. A steady, soft rhythm thumping against his very skin. His pulse slowed, as if to match yours. Lilia holds you as tightly as he dared, holding his breath whenever you went still, then exhaling as you took another breath.

For that moment, you weren’t quite dead yet. Thank the Great Seven, Lilia was allowed to hold your slumbering form for another second more. Master, you’re really a piece of work.

You wouldn’t allow him to follow you to the battlefield. And now, you’re threatening to slip away from the land of the living?

Please master, don’t be as cruel as to go somewhere Lilia cannot follow.

Idia clutches at your hands.

It’s almost desperate, the way he holds them. The way his own fingers tremble and shake, the way his jagged nails dig into your flesh, carving red crescents into your skin. He’ll let up the very moment you wince in pain, muttering apology after apology under his breath.

Even then, his voice quakes, lips trembling. Idia’s brows are frowned, his mind racing a million miles per second. Thinking about every possible scenario that could happen, each one growing more and more morbid after the next. Idia can’t help it. When he’s greeted by a problem in life, he’s immediately calculating the odds, going through every possible scenario to clear this stage without expanding too much effort.

Yet he can’t exactly do that now. You see, it’s you. You’re his master, his player two…. You’re his, as much as he is yours. Idia doesn’t want to lose another person so dear to his heart, not again.

Idia’s staying by your side in the hospital, night and day. Never leaving your side for a moment, his hand intertwined with yours. Constantly tugging your blanket just a few inches to the right, to the left. He has a corner pinched in his other hand, twisting and turning it over and over again in his fingers. If only to have something he can control in this messed up situation.

Why didn’t you summon him? Why? Was he not good enough for you? Did he disappoint you somehow? Were you just so disgusted with him to the point you couldn’t even stand his face? Idia spirals into negativity, his brain collapsing under the sheer depressive pressure he’s putting into it. Even if the truth is otherwise, Idia’s beating himself up about it.

He blames you, honestly. Only a total idiot goes into battle without their familiars. He hates that you left him behind without so much as a word. He hates that you got hurt and he could do nothing about it. He hates how you look like now, lying down, beaten black and blue.

But try as he did, Idia just can’t find it in himself to hate you.

His fingers caressing the back of your palm softly, Idia stares into your face again. The face he’s seen contorted into a million emotions. Your stupidly smug smirk when you beat him in a game after a thousand tries, the way your eyebrows frowned in annoyance when he plays a little prank on you, all of these remain as deeply etched in his memory as it was the very days he saw these expressions.

But his favourite one was your smile. If he closed his eyes, it’ll float up into his mind’s eye in the highest resolution a memory could be. A soft, radiant thing, filled with pure joy. A gentle light, embracing him, guiding him out of the pitch-black abyss of his overwhelming thoughts.

Idia squeezes your hand once more, staring silently at your face.

Praying that you’ll smile at him once more.

#twisted wonderland #twst #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #Idia shroud #Idia shroud x reader #Idia #Idia x reader #Lilia vanrouge #Lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia x reader #Lilia #malleus draconia #malleus draconia x reader #malleus x reader #malleus #mystic au #lucky potion🔷

[llamagoddessofficial]

Le gasp..

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs

Mafia Bad Sanses’ HCs?

Horror likes bashing in heads. He likes that his job means he gets paid to bash in a lot of heads. He doesn't really care that he's considered one of Nightmare's top enforcers, that even the hardest criminals tremble in fear at the mention of his name, that he's called things like the beast and the monster... he just likes that he gets to take out all his worst frustrations on whichever face Nightmare points him to. As a nice bonus, the money he makes means his brother and surviving friends live in safety and comfort.

... But he also likes pretty things. Pretty, soft things, that make him feel fuzzy and warm. You're all three. You find out pretty quick that his frightening face hides a softspoken, sensitive creature, who keeps appearing at your door with flowers (when did you give him your address?) and homemade food. It's bizarre, how such a violent man can equally be so gentle, getting flustered just from you looking at him too long. He wants to do to you what he does with everyone he cares about - use his money to make it so that you never have to worry about anything in life again.

Probably for the best that you let him. He famously doesn't have great control over his temper.

Dust doesn't appear too happy about working for Nightmare. It's clear to anyone watching that Nightmare has something over him; whatever it is, it must be pretty bad, because Dust never questions Nightmare's orders - no matter how terrible or violent. He does exactly what's asked of him, no more, no less. And it's obvious why Nightmare might want to force someone like Dust to work for him... there's no job this silent demon can't do.

Dust, with you, is a different man. He almost becomes his old self again. When you're alone together, he actually smiles. He desperately wants to keep you away from the world he's become trapped in, and he'll probably spend the first few weeks of knowing you trying as hard as he can to separate you from him and the other skeletons. But... he's in love. He can't help it. He's always drawn back to you again, no matter how many times he tells himself he has to let go.

You're his escape. You make him forget the things he's done, and the things he has to keep doing. He's addicted to that feeling.

Killer is Nightmare's right hand. The moniker 'Nightmare's dog' is often used, mostly in an attempt to offend him, but it just makes him laugh. Much like Horror, he very much enjoys his job... he enjoys the power, indulging in his violent desires and getting paid for it. Killer is just about the closest thing Nightmare has to someone he trusts; Killer is privy to many of their 'family's deepest secrets, partly because of his position, but also partly because Nightmare knows Killer genuinely has absolutely zero interest in these massively important secrets. Killer just wants to stab things.

For some reason he seems intent that you trust him. It's really hard to tell what he wants, behind that smile... you're cautious with him, given his clear loyalty to Nightmare. But maybe that loyalty isn't as unshakeable as it seems. It starts with little things... casually lying through his teeth and fully taking the blame for something you did. Conveniently 'forgetting' to mention you around Nightmare. Failing a mission you expressed horror at. Lying about the nature of your personal information, pretending (in front of the guys) that he doesn't know stuff he very much knows.

It's impossible to tell what he wants. But it seems like, whatever it is, he wants it more than all the power he's got now.

Nightmare will obviously want to learn the identity of the person who's somehow managed to completely disarm his three most valuable and violent soldiers. Despite all of them doing their damnedest to keep you out of Nightmare's crosshairs, you can't be hidden forever.

Nightmare is supposed to have everything - there's no luxury he can't afford. But he's always had this... void inside him. It's the very void that pushes him to keep expanding his territory, to keep killing and taking, maybe if he has just that little bit more he'll feel complete. Maybe if he just has that one last shiny thing, he'll be happy. But it's never been enough.

Then he finally meets you. And something clicks.

Dust, Killer and Horror tried so hard to keep you away from Nightmare, because they were terrified of what would happen to you if Nightmare decided he didn't like you. Instead, something much, much worse happened.

Nightmare likes you.

#llamagines

[jup1ter33]

Boothill headcannons

sfw + nsfw! 🔞 brings up his past so be prepared to hear about that😥

sfw

he is so goofy with you, always bickering and starting something just to get on your nerves.

he means no harm though, just playful banter.

he's a wee bit touch starved, so he adores it when he can hold you and kiss you

no body better try and hurt you unless they'd like a bullet between the eyes from him.

he has no problem firing his gun at anyone who dares to hurt you, whats a few more credits on his bounty??

when you first learned about what happened on his home planet, you didn't know how to respond. you could see the pain in his eyes, but he would try and dismiss it.

that same night, he ended up bawling his eyes out on your shoulder. the words "I miss my baby... my daughter." spouted from his lips. he was sure that he couldn't cry anymore, but with you, he felt such security, a safe haven for himself.

he'd have nightmares often. he'd abandon his charging station to come lay with you clutching you to his chest in fear that he'd loose you too.

but moments with boothill are rarely sad. In fact, he's typically enthusiastic and playful with you.

he's a charmer, calling you cute names and what-not.

he'd remove his hat and place it on your head while he kisses you.

being a galaxy ranger, he would often have to leave for weeks at a time. he'd give you a piece of his clothes, or a pin off his jacket, or some flowers before he left. he'd give you a deep hug, resting his head ontop of yours and taking in your scent before he has to leave.

on his trips he'd send you photos of the scenery, or some cool monuments, or anything he'd think would interest you.

he'd text you good morning and good night every day, saying how he misses you

on those days where he gets back in the middle of the night, he'd find you sleeping in the bed on his side, the blankets pulled up to your chin.

he's quietly snuggle his way in, cradling you in his arms.

buttttt, when he gets back in the morning, you better be ready to go out and have some fun.

he'll give you a gift he picked out for you, take you out drinking or to some random restaurant. sure, he'd get stares, but he didn't care.

he's so good with kids, he plays with them all the time and scolds them when they've been naughty.

he used to play guitar with his little girl, but now that his hands are metal, he has trouble getting his fingers to press on the fret board correctly:(

nsfw

oh boy, be prepared to hear this man

he's so whiny, he whimpers and moans so loud.

one of his absolute favorite things is to eat you out. the only human part of him left is his face, so being burried in between your thigh, your warm cunt pressed against his mouth, he can feel so much of it. it sends his fans whirling from the feeling of skin-to-skin.

and the pet names, he never runs out of them. darlin', sweetheart, buttercup, the list goes on and on.

because of his synestheisa beacon, it's hard for him to give you really any degrading words.

"T-take it like the cutie you are..."

he ends up getting frustrated and decides that maybe until he can get that solved, he won't use those words on you.

wondering how his dick works? yeah me too.

he'd probably have a silicone skin layer underneath his metal "armor" so I'd assume that his girth would be made of that. (there's no way it's metal that would be torture 😭)

boothills hair is sensitive, like before, his head is the only human part of him left. giving him a good tug makes him groan and jolt.

manhandles you. not exactly intentionally, but because of his cyborg body, it's hard for him to remember that he's alot tougher than you are, and he doesn't mean it in a way that your weak, (because your not) but because he simply gets so worked up he accidently will toss you around a bit.

he's had his fair share of experience, mostly before be was a cyborg, so he'll test things out on you.

he'll watch and see if your reaction to his metallic fingers prodding at your hole, would his fingers be too hard for your liking? would they be too big? he'd be observant in the way he works thru things with you.

until he met you, he didn't know that this charging port was a little sensitive.

he was being rough with you, as a result, your arms wrapped around his body in pleasure, clawing at his back. on accident, your fingers slipped into the charging port on his lower back, and he came on the spot.

he was soooooooo embarrassed.

"i-i...darlin' I didn't know that could even happen to me..." You assured him that it was fine, and that it was rather hot.

he'll find himself on his hands and knees, his port being teased from your Skillful hands and he melts. he whimpers and moans so loud, already on his 3 orgasm.

kinda hard to overstim him, he doesn't feel alot through his metallic skin, but if you make him cum a few times, he gets so whiny and needy.

he's mostly a top, he prefers to have you wrapped around his finger. literally.

but in the case that he decided to be a bottom, he cries your name, telling you how good it feels, how much he loves you, all the things he wants to do to you. he really can't shut up.

after you two finish, he lays next to you for a moment, allowing his fans to cool his overheating body down, and for you to regain your breath.

"so...how'd I do?" He'd ask with a cheek grin on his face. he knows he did good, but he wants to hear it straight from you.

he'll run you a shower or bath, whichever you prefer. but since he doesn't exactly need to shower (and it makes him rust) he'll stay on the outside. helping you with whatever you'd need.

and while your busy washing up, he'll clean off himself with his cleaning kit, oil his fingers and joints, make sure he didn't screw up his alignment.

once you're done, he won't allow you to lift a finger. he'll change the sheets, get you food or a drink, dress you, help you with your skincare, everything. since his body is robotic, he can just charge and won't get sore. he wants to make sure that he didn't mess you up too badly.

once everything is done, he'll lay you in bed ever-so gently.

he'll cuddle up next to you, burrowing his face into your chest, listening for your heartbeat. yes, it brings him pain that he no longer has a beating heart, but as long as he can lay with you and hear yours, to know you're safe, all is well.

#genshin #boothill #honkai star rail imagines #honkai x reader #hsr fanfic #boothill smut #hsr smut

[remember-that-one-blog]

Waiting for You

A/N: This is a little shorter than I normally do, but it felt right. Enjoy, lovelies!

Rhys x reader

word count: 1.3k

Warnings: none

~

You woke drenched in sweat. The remnants of the nightmare lingered behind your eyelids. You couldn’t bring yourself to think of it. You saw a flash every time you blinked. You couldn’t shake the jitteriness you felt. You didn’t have to look at the clock to know sunrise was hours away. Throwing the covers off your body, you stood and tugged a robe on while you slid your slippers on. You made my way downstairs to the kitchen. There already at the table was Mor. She caught your eye as you made your way down the last few steps. 

“Couldn’t sleep?” You shook my head.

“You either?” She mirrored my earlier action. She slid a warm mug of tea toward you. She answered your question before you could ask. “I heard you tossing and turning. I figured you’d be down here soon.” She knew you better than you knew yourself sometimes. You couldn’t believe how lucky you got with her, with them. Your family.

“How are you holding up?” You raked a hand through your hair. You didn’t want to think about it. That’s what your nightmare was about.

“I’m barely holding on, Mor. It’s been weeks.” She nodded silently. It’s been months since any of us had heard from him. Your mate. “I don’t feel anything at the end of our bond either. I don’t know how he survived when I had to do that.”

“He was about like you. Barely hanging on, but he knew he had to put his people first. Just like you’re doing.” You took a deep breath. Being High Lady of the Night Court was everything you didn’t know you wanted. You loved it, loved your people, but dammit if you didn’t want to hide away until Rhys was back. Or we found him. You didn’t know what to do anymore.

“What happened that day? You were right with him.” You let out a breath as you contemplated your next words. How do you tell them you failed them? Failed your mate? It was quiet for so long Mor didn’t think you were going to answer.

“It was so quick.” She looked at you while you looked at the mug of tea between your hands. You thought back to that day. Your nightmare. “We were trying to contain that rogue. He was quick, not as quick as Rhys but quick enough to surprise us. Rhys lunged and then there was a flash and they were gone. I wasn’t quick enough.” You whispered the last part so quietly you weren't sure it even left your lips.

“Don’t you dare.” The tears in your eyes that threatened to spill stayed at bay, teetering on your lids. “You couldn’t have known, neither did he. You did everything you could and so did Rhys. He’ll come home.” You just nodded as the tears silently slid down your face. He had to come home.

~

It had been weeks since that night with Mor. You were still waking up to watching Rhys disappear. In your nightmare it was always the same. Every. Time. His end of your bond still felt silent. You couldn’t feel him or hear him. You missed him. You missed his smirk. You missed his smart ass comments. You missed his laugh. You miss it all. You missed all of him. You would send your thoughts down the bond even though you knew there wouldn’t be a reply. You would try. You would always try.

“Are you listening?” You startled as you saw Amren, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor looking at you. Amren was waiting for your reply.

“I wasn’t. I’m sorry.” Amren sighed.

“You know what, we can handle this. You go home, get some rest, girl.” Without another word to the others, you stood up making your way out of Amren’s apartment. 

~

Sighing you looked out at the Rainbow. You loved this place. You adored your home. It just didn’t feel like home without Rhys. You sighed as you let your mind wander. In those weeks he had been gone you hadn’t felt like yourself and you knew why. You had kept your scent concealed since you figured it out. The others just assumed it was because you hadn’t been yourself since Rhys disappeared, wanting to keep to yourself. Keep your sadness to yourself. It just didn’t feel right having them know when Rhys couldn’t. You made your way to the townhouse. Oh, how you wanted your mate back. 

You sighed as you entered the townhouse. You kicked your shoes off and hung your jacket up. You were so lost in your thoughts you didn’t notice the man sitting in the living area as you made your way toward the stairs.

“Seems to me you need to pay more attention to your surroundings, darling. Anyone could sneak right up on you.” You whipped your head around to see Rhys a little worse for wear sitting on the couch. You couldn’t decide what you wanted to do more, run to him or drop to your knees. The latter won as you sunk to the carpet unable to hold yourself up anymore. Rhys was instantly up and kneeling in front of you. You felt his hands cup your cheeks. You looked into those violet eyes of your mate.

“You’re alive.” His smile damn near broke you.

“I am. I had to come back to you, my love. I will always come back to you.” You held your mate’s face in your hands. He was here. He was in front of you. It wasn’t until this moment you could feel him on the other end of the bond. You felt him stroke the walls of your mind asking in. You immediately let him in. You felt him as he held you in every way he could.

“My darling, mate. I have missed you these weeks.”

“I’ve missed you. What happened? Where were you?” He sighed as he took you in. He was going to answer your question, but he wanted to look at his beautiful, beautiful mate first.

“Under the Mountain.” Your eyes widened. “It was some fae, who are now dead, and who figured out too late to never take the High Lord of the Night Court. They managed to put the wards back up that Amarantha had in place. No one will ever be able to do it again.That was why I couldn’t reach you, or you, me.” You stroked his cheeks with your thumbs. You hated those who took him back down there. That gods awful place. He was here, in your home. Right in front of you. He looked exhausted, you could feel it. You moved to stand, Rhys right behind you, moving his hands from your face to your waist. 

“Let’s get you washed up, my love. I know you’re exhausted.” The soft smile he gave you nearly broke your heart. 

“Always looking after me.”

“I always will.” You were so caught up in having him back, you didn’t realize you let your other guard down as well. You watched as Rhys’s brows furrowed. He took a deep breath trying to figure out what was different.

“Love, what-” That's when it hit him. His eyes nearly bugged out of his head. “Darling…” 

You smiled at the High Lord. He was speechless for once in his five hundred years. He looked down to your still flat stomach and then to your eyes for confirmation. You gave him a small smile and nodded. Tears sprang to your eyes and his. He let out a strangled laugh. He kneeled in front of you, placing a hand on either side of your belly. He placed a kiss right below your belly button. You couldn’t smile harder if you tried as the words left his mouth.

“Hello, little one, we’ve been waiting for you.”

#rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #azriel x you #cassian x reader #rhys acotar #acotar #cassian acotar #azriel acotar #acomaf #mor x reader

[prentisssgf]

| change the prophecy

| criminal minds

| emily prentiss x reader

| hurt / comfort

| 1634

| A/N - there are a few trigger warnings for this fic, including abortion talk, vomit, death, (basically the after effects of demonology, and when she was pregnant at 15), there is a scene where I talk about blaming someone’s death on someone else so please if you know that it will trigger you, don’t read it, otherwise I kind of tried something new with my writing style so please let me know what you think

You woke up around 2:30am to the sound of shuffling, you knew Emily and you knew that it would be her.

You heard her shrug off her coat and throw her keys into the bowl, you heard her hang her coat up and the sound of her heels as she kicked them off as she made her way into the kitchen to grab herself a glass of wine

You also heard her sigh to herself as she sat down on the couch

"Baby?" your voice both startled and calmed her, not expecting you to be behind her, but a gratefulness that you were.

"Oh my God Y/N I'm so sorry, did I wake you?" she quickly placed the glass down and made her way over to you.

"No no, I was up anyway" you spoke before you thought, making it so it sounded like you waited up for her all this time.

You both knew it was a lie, you were always in bed at 10, 11 would be pushing it, you definitely were not going to be awake at, now, 2:45am

Emily nodded, she knew you weren't telling the truth but she also knew that this lie was harmless.

"Emily I'm-"

"I'm coming to bed, baby, you go up and I'll be right there" Emily finished your sentence, already knowing what you were about to say.

Emily smiled as she made her way over to you, kissing your head and then your lips "sure" you smiled looking up at her with every single love and admiration a person could speak with their eyes.

3:08 was when Emily finally walked through your bedroom door "bad case?" you whispered so quietly that you hoped she didn't hear you.

"No not a case" she sighed as she slotted herself into bed with you.

"Oh" your eyebrow perked up "do you want to talk about it?" you lay there, now face to face with Emily, you both leaning with an elbow propped up, you stuck out your hand to swipe some hair behind her eyes.

"It's about Matthew"

You remembered when Emily confided in you, almost 2 years ago, you remembered how Matthew and how he encouraged her to go to an abortion clinic when she was 15 and pregnant and scared.

"What about him sweetheart?" you whispered gently.

She waited a few minutes, she pulled you closer to her by curling her hand around your waist and pushing you towards her, she rested her forehead against yours before she finally spoke again.

"He's dead, he died and I couldn't save him" that's what broke her, sobs finally broke free, she had been keeping those in from the minute she found out about his death, from when she had to go and talk to Matthew's parents and when she sat in her office for hours and hours and hours.

She sat there, for almost 4 hours; cold, scared, and alone, mirroring exactly how she felt 17 years ago, but only this time, she didn't have Matthew Benton by her side, she had you.

You pulled her in close, your chin on her head as she sobbed into your chest, you kissed her head many times as you rubbed her back all whilst whispering sweet nothings to her gently

"Emily?" you whispered, looking down at her, Emily didn't answer, instead her grip tightened as she looked up at you "hey hey it's okay, its okay, you're okay" you affirmed, Emily nodded and mouthed the same words back, you kissed her head once more "I just want you to promise me something, do you think you could do that?" you spoke softly.

"Hmm?" Emily both partially agreed whilst simultaneously wondering what you were about to say

"Promise me that if you ever need to talk to me tonight, you'll wake me up, or, or, if you have a nightmare or anything" tears fell from your face as you looked down to see Emily, she had been crying for hours and hours, she was tired and you could tell

"Yeah" she bit her lip and looked up at you, an attempt at a smile was made but faltered nonetheless "yeah I can do that?" she breathed out as she tucked her head into your chest again

Soon enough, Emily's breathing slowed down, she was exhausted and she tired herself out and she fell asleep in your arms, you kissed her head once more and you told her that you loved her and that she was the strongest person you had ever met, a slight smirk appeared on her lips to signify that she heard you which made you smile.

You watched her sleep for a few minutes before deciding do to the same, you shuffled down and kissed her shoulder as you slung your arm around her waist.

You woke up the next morning on your back with Emily's arm around your waist tightly, you screwed your eyes together as you hadn't yet adjusted to the morning sun, carefully you turned over to see a bright red "6:52" looking back at you, making you groan slightly, it was like it knew it was your day off

You kissed Emily's head once more before you went back to sleep.

You woke up a few hours later to the sound of thrashing next to you, you quickly sat up in bed to find Emily crying, with a layer of sweat down her forehead, as fast as you could you quickly sprinted to the kitchen to get her a glass of water, you ran back down the hallway into your bedroom to find Emily in the same position only now muttering to herself "I need to save him" your lip quivered as you made your way over to her, you knew how to handle Emily's nightmares, considering you had been her best friend for 5 years and together for 3.

"Emily, Emily honey, you're having a nightmare" you shook her lightly "Emily" your voice now filled with concern as she wasn't bulging "Emily" you accidentally shouted louder than you expected to.

With a huge gasp of air, Emily flung herself forward and heaved heavily, you knew what was coming so you quickly went to your bathroom to grab a bin for her to throw up in, you rubbed her back as she did so and held her hand all the way through it.

"Here" you picked up the water and slowly placed it in front of her lips "drink this" you prompted, you cleaned everything up and went back to bed, you sat up on the bed, purposely sitting behind Emily, you adjusted yourself to sit behind her as you pulled her up in between your legs, she kept quietly drinking the water, you kissed her shoulder again before leaning into her nightstand to retrieve a brush out of there, you asked silently for permission as you raised one eyebrow along with the hairbrush, she nodded and started sipping some more water.

You started brushing and playing with her hair, Emily would never admit it, but she absolutely loves people playing with and brushing her hair, she just shrugged it off as she never had an older sister or an older relative in her life that would take care of her the way you did; gently, warmly, and fully.

"I had a nightmare about Matthew" she sighed, a few minutes later.

"Okay" you gently prompted again "are you ready to talk about it?" she shook her head harshly "okay that's okay" your voice laced with a compassionate tone "well whenever you're ready to talk about Matthew or about anything, I'm always here" you repeated once more, you didn't have to tell Emily if she knew that because she always did.

"Matthew's parents" she placed her glass on the nightstand as she held back a sob and tried to console herself at the thought "they uh, blamed his death on me" she started to pick around her fingernails

"What!?" panic in your voice, almost in awe at how someone could do something as terrible as that.

"I shouldn't have said anything I'm sorry" Emily quickly retaliated.

"Hey, hey, no why are you sorry?" you asked as calm as you could.

"Because you believe them right? because you believe that I killed Matthew because I didn't get there in time!?" Emily raised her voice slightly, but you knew she wasn't angry at you.

"Can you turn around and look at me" you sighed, hesitantly Emily turned around to you, her head on your stomach as she lay in between your legs again "I would never, never think that" you sighed as you reached down to cup her cheek before repeating what you just spoke "I know you got there as quickly as you could, you didn't do anything wrong" you smiled gently.

"They still blame me for the abortion" Emily played nervously with the strings of your pajama shorts.

"Honey, you were 15, you were 15 and pregnant, it's okay to have been scared, you did the best thing for you and the baby" you sighed gently, your hand caressing her cheek.

"Thank you" she gripped your hand, absentmindedly swirling her finger around it creating different patterns, something she did when she was either nervous, scared, or sad "come here" you pulled her back up and hugged her as tight as you could "I'm glad you're here, I love you so much, please don't ever forget that" you stapled a kiss to her forehead once more before she fell asleep, you rubbed her back and played with her hair, whispering how much you loved her and listening everything you loved about her.

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #emily prentiss x you #paget brewster #criminal minds x you #emily x reader #emily x you

[augustjustice]

That Healing Touch

AO3 Link

They stand in the Mayfield’s darkened living room, all looking at each other like they can’t quite conjure up the words for their next move. Eddie rubs a hand over his head, eyes darting away from the gazes of the others, just barely managing to bite off another Jesus Christ by digging his teeth into his bottom lip. 

They can’t be certain where Mrs. Mayfield is. Maybe she’s been cleared out because of the hellscape currently seeping through Eddie’s trailer ceiling, like he assumes Uncle Wayne has. Maybe–she’s out for some other reason. The pinched expression on Little Red’s face suggests that wouldn’t be all too uncommon, for her mother not to come home in the night. 

Eddie knows that song and dance well enough from his own youth.  

All they can do is hope for the best–that she doesn’t show up. Eddie isn’t sure what they’ll do then, but he’s gotten pretty damn good at this whole running thing, bitter as he is about it. 

“We should try to get some sleep,” Nancy finally breaks the silence, clipped and authoritative, like she hadn't just been dragged through a landscape of nightmares by Vecna’s own design. 

After Chrissy, and then Patrick, Nancy makes the third time Eddie’s seen it, a pair of eyes glazing over, ghostly white. As shaken up as it’s left him every time just to see it from the outside looking in, he can barely understand how Wheeler is still on her feet, isn’t just a quivering mess in the corner somewhere, like he imagines he would be. Full of surprises is a fucking understatement, at this point. 

“Nance–” Steve starts, one arm stretching out towards her, the worry on his face transparent. 

“I’ll be okay, Steve,” she takes a step away from him, putting distance between them.

From the thin line of her mouth, Eddie gets the sense that any comfort offered might make her reach her breaking point. Steve must feel it too, because he drops his hands as though in surrender. 

“Just…” Nancy sighs, steadying herself, “we won’t be any help at all if we’re all too exhausted to function.”

“You heard the lady,” Robin gives a wobbly, uncertain smile, “she’s in charge, after all.” 

She pulls out that old adage, like it’s a well worn joke. Eddie has the good grace not to call her out on it, doesn’t quite drawl out a sarcastic That’s not what you said in the boat, but it’s a close call. 

Steve’s eyes dart back and forth between them, lingering on Robin, the pair of them managing some kind of silent communication through nothing but frowns and eyebrow twitches. 

“Alright, alright,” he finally agrees, however reluctantly, giving a defeated nod. “I mean, you’re not wrong on the sleep thing. Not like we can play our best game when we’re totally out of it, after all.” 

There’s something in his tone, the way his gaze flits briefly to the kids and then catches Eddie’s own, that reminds him of that moment right before launching off the bank out into Lover’s Lake. Steve’s being glib, casual, the way Eddie had been when he’d refused to let Dustin get on the boat with them, the four older teens all playing along with an unspoken plan. He’s trying so desperately to seem perfectly normal for the four munchkins currently in the room with them. 

Eddie barely understands how any of the kids are holding their shit together as well as they already are, especially when he feels like he’s about to shake apart himself at any second. But behind the brave faces, he can see it, the exhaustion beginning to settle, making them look older than they have any right to.

The least he can do is play along. 

“Not the sports metaphors, Harrington,” Eddie sighs, long and loud, as he sways into Steve’s space, grin too bright. “Please, be merciful, there are nerds present.”

“Yeah, well, when aren’t there?” Steve asks, low and dry. He bumps his shoulder against Eddie’s, gratitude obvious.

“I am not a nerd!” Erica protests loudly.

“You’re joking, right?” Dustin rolls his eyes. “We’ve been over this, Erica Sinclair. You are as nerdy as they come.” 

It’s a little uncanny, because the amused but fond look Dustin pins her with almost perfectly mirrors the way Eddie has seen Steve look at Dustin himself, the way Eddie suspects he also sometimes looks at the kid.

“Plus, some of us? Are jocks and nerds, thank you very much,” Lucas says, swiveling around to Erica’s other side and shooting her a pointed look. 

“Yeah, turns out Lucas isn’t too cool for the rest of us,” Max teases, eyes crinkling at the corners as she knocks her shoulder into his. 

“That’s true,” Erica agrees, hands on her hips in a way that reminds Eddie, hysterically enough, of Harrington. “You’ve always been the one who’s way too cool for my brother, not the other way around.”

As their bickering continues, Steve catches Eddie’s eyes again, mouthing a quick Thank you while they’re all too distracted to see. 

Nancy and Robin both look a little heartened, too, by the familiar sounds of the kids arguing, their rigid edges softening.

“Nine has long since past, so you know what that means–time for bed, kiddos!” Robin interrupts the petty squabbling before it gets entirely out of their control, starting to corral them back on track. 

Several groans ring out, but Steve cuts them off with a quick clap of his hands, jumping in right where she left off, their rhythm as fluid as a well-oiled machine. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he makes a motioning gesture with one hand, the other firmly planted on his hip, “Come on, you knuckleheads, and get a move on.”

The combined force of Robin and Steve seems, miraculously, to be enough, the younger four members of their little monster-fighting brigade getting into gear to set up their various sleeping arrangements, even as they grumble about it. 

“Robin, you’re with me,” Nancy declares simply before turning on her heel and marching from the living room.

Eddie catches the subtle look Steve and Robin share again.

“Better somebody stick close by Nance after…everything,” Steve says quietly, the tightness of his voice making it clear he’s still a bit shaken up.

“I’ve got her,” Robin assures him, giving Steve’s arm a quick squeeze at his grateful nod. 

Max clears her throat, then, drawing Eddie’s attention away from the pair as they hunch their heads together and head out of the room, still talking in soft voices.

“Erica can stay in my room. There are sheets and shit in the hall closet for the rest of you,” she directs.

Eddie nods, following her and ignoring the heated game of rock-paper-scissors that’s broken out between Dustin and Lucas to determine which of them is going to claim the couch. As they make their way down the hall, they pass what must be Mrs. Mayfield’s room, catching a quick glimpse of Nancy and Robin beginning to quietly settle in for the night.

Max stops in front of a wooden door, shorter in width than the rest, and yanks it open roughly.

With a dismissive wave of her hand, she gestures at the contents inside for Eddie to see. 

“Whatever you guys need, take it.” The words are brusque, a cover for the generosity of her statement, the ease with which she’s letting them all into her space, into her home. He’s noticed it to varying degrees with all of them–it feels transparent how much they know and trust each other, the way they’re willing to give up nearly anything to help the others, to help with this entire life-risking hero’s quest they’ve put themselves on.

But Eddie’s the outsider, here, not a member of their little party, the odd man out. So it still feels like he should be especially grateful, every time they extend that willingness to give whatever they’ve got to try and help him.   

“Sure thing. Thanks, Red.”

“Night, Eddie,” she murmurs, back already to him, quiet enough he almost doesn’t catch it.  

He’s turning to retreat back to the living room, blankets piled up in his arms, when a voice behind him stops him in his tracks.

"Psst! Eddie! Hey, Eddie!" Steve calls at a stage whisper from down the hall, reminiscent of the way he'd called after him in the Upside Down. When Eddie catches his eye, Steve motions with one hand for him to follow. "C'mere."

Eddie drops the stack back in the closet for now and dutifully makes his way towards Steve. 

“Yeah, dude. What’s going on?”

Grabbing onto a loose fistful of Eddie’s leather jacket, Steve tugs him into the bathroom in one quick motion, and then shuts the door behind him with a click.

Eddie tries fervently to ignore the thrill that goes up his spine at being manhandled by Harrington. 

It shouldn’t come as all that much of a surprise, really, that Steve’s capable of it. Eddie might not know shit about sports, but he did know that Steve was on, like, pretty much every team known to Hawkins back when he was in school. So, of course he can tug Eddie around like a floppy-armed ragdoll. 

That said–Steve seems winded from the exertion, after he does it, leaning back to basically slump against the bathroom door. The move serves as a reminder that he’s a little worse for wear, at the moment, despite the fact that he definitely hadn’t showed it earlier. Not while he was busy running around the world hidden beneath their feet. 

“Harrington, seriously, man–you doing okay?” Eddie asks, wincing slightly in sympathy pains even as he tries to keep his tone light, conversational. 

“Just–give me like…one second here,” Steve holds up a finger for emphasis, the fact that his breathing is still clearly labored not doing much to soothe Eddie’s nerves. 

But he does as Steve asks, taking a moment to drink in the sight of him–a check in with absolutely no subconscious ulterior motive, thank you very much. 

And, well–Steve is a far cry from the pristine, preppy visage Eddie had gotten used to seeing swaggering around the halls of Hawkins High in his perfectly pressed jeans and popped collar polos. Here, in the lowlighting of the Mayfields’ bathroom, he’s bare-chested–apart from Eddie’s battle vest still slung over his shoulders–skin smudged with Upside Down soot, his sides mottled with angry crimson gashes where the bats had dragged him across rocky ground. 

That famous hair of his is still somehow swooping perfectly into place, though. Annoyingly enough, and as fucked up as it probably is…Eddie thinks he manages to be mouth-wateringly hot regardless, whether he’s totally polished under the high school’s harsh fluorescents or mussed and panting beneath the dim orange glow of the single working lightbulb currently flickering above the sink.

He’s gotta admit, though, in his fantasies of Steve Harrington cornering him alone in a bathroom–of which there had been none, obviously, because that would be ridiculous, not to mention colossally stupid–approximately zero of them had panned out like this.

Especially when the next words out of Steve’s mouth are a hurried, “Eddie, man, you, uh–think you can change this bandage for me?”

Eddie's eyes dart down to the scrap of Wheeler’s shirt wrapped around Harrington’s middle, the darkened stain of rust colored blood coating it–and, yeah, shit. Definitely makes sense now, why Steve dragged him in here.

“I’d ask Robin,” Steve is saying, “but, dude, you saw how she got about the rabies, and I really don’t wanna freak her out more than she already is. And Nance–well, after the shit she already went through tonight, I’m not gonna put this on her too. There’s Henderson or Sinclair, I guess, but–”

Steve bites at his bottom lip. And, sure, Eddie’s never been great in school, but he likes to think he can read people pretty well. It doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientis to put the pieces together, especially after the little show they’d put on in the living room–Steve doesn’t want the kids to realize just how badly he’s hurt, and clearly he doesn’t want to burden the girls, either. 

Eddie wonders exactly how he should feel about the fact that Harrington’s singled him out as the one he’s willing to let carry some of the responsibility currently weighing on his own broad, more than capable shoulders…and decides to take it as a compliment. 

“Harrington,” Eddie cuts him off by clapping a hand gently to his arm, meant to be reassuring, “you don’t have to sell me on it, man. I’ll do it. Happy to help.”

“Oh, okay…good,” Steve’s shoulders slump, like he was expecting to have to put up some kind of a fight. He catches Eddie’s eyes, giving him a quick, almost uncertain half-smile. “That’s–thanks, man.” 

Steve moves around him, then, allowing himself to collapse into a sitting position atop the closed toilet with a pained wince. 

“Don’t mention it. Uh,” Eddie spins around once in the small space of the bathroom, searching, “has Little Red got…alcohol pads, gauze, shit like that?”

“Under the sink,” Steve pants, one hand clasped against his side, “second door.”

That one simple sentence from Steve is enough to paint a picture in full. Steve’s been in the Mayfields’ trailer. He’s been in it enough times he knows where things like the first aid kit are kept. 

Eddie squats down, ducking his head below the counter–and spots it immediately, the slender first aid kit, exactly where Steve had said it would be.

And, sure, Eddie had at least been aware that Steve knew his mouthy little red-headed neighbor. Dustin and the other boys had often regaled him, disbelieving as he might have been, with tales of their incredibly cool babysitter, the former King of Hawkins High. Eddie had even seen Harrington’s infamous BMW parked over here a few times, a sight so surreal he couldn’t help but register it. 

But, still–there’s a difference in knowing abstractly and actually seeing the familiarity between Steve and the kids in words and gestures, his importance in their lives taking concrete, undeniable shape. 

Like Eddie had told him while they trekked across the woods in the Upside Down–the Steve Harrington of reality? Is nothing like the one he’d pictured all those years they’d shared space in the same halls and classes. 

“Seems like you know the lay of the land pretty well,” he can’t help but comment as he tilts his head toward the cabinet.

“Yeah, well, Mayfield wipes out on her skateboard a lot.” Eyes widening, as though he just realized what he said, Steve points in Eddie’s direction. “Don’t tell her I said that.”

Eddie shoots Steve a toothy grin. “You scared of a fourteen year old girl, Harrington?”

“Absolutely,” the corner of Steve’s mouth quirks up into a half smile, “and if you know what’s good for you, you will be, too.”

“Trust me, man–I’ve got a healthy respect for Red’s fearsomeness. Even if I think she’s totally a lot softer than she lets on.”

Steve shakes his head, giving him a rueful smile. “You’re not wrong there.”

Popping open the kit, Eddie surveys their supplies. There’s an assortment of things inside, including an array of bandages in a variety of sizes alongside gauze, scissors, and hospital tape. 

“Jackpot.” 

Eddie holds up an alcohol wipe, shaking the little white package triumphantly.

“Great,” Steve agrees, though he sounds ragged, eyelids fluttering shut for a brief moment as he sucks in a sharp breath.

“You need me to,” Eddie tilts his chin towards the scrap of fabric wrapped around Steve’s middle, “undo that for you?”

“...Could you?” Steve asks, a flash of hesitance and uncertainty crossing his face. 

Eddie isn’t sure if Steve really thinks he might refuse, that he’s overstepping some kind of boundary by asking, or if it’s just costing him immensely to admit he needs the help. 

“‘Course I will, man. Absolutely. Said I’d help, didn’t I?”

Steve nods, then stands up, reaching out and gripping the bathroom sink briefly in order to steady himself. 

Once he’s up, Steve shrugs out of Eddie’s battle vest. The move puts himself–and that thick pelt of his chest hair over firm pecs, the hard planes of his stomach just above Nancy’s makeshift bandage–on full display…revealing the very physique Eddie had been desperately trying to get him to cover up by tossing him the vest in the first place. 

Eddie tries his damnedest not to ogle Harrington’s body too obviously, reminding himself of Steve’s wounds, of the task at hand. The task in which he’ll have to get up close and personal with Steve’s bare stomach. 

Jesus Christ. Maybe he’s still in Hell, and climbing out of that impossible, gravity-defying hole in the trailer’s ceiling had actually all been part of some elaborate fantasy. 

Eddie squats down in front of Steve, putting himself on eye level with his stomach. He shouldn’t be glad for the stain coating that strip of white fabric, the reminder of blood–he’s not, really, obviously he’s not–but he’s not mad about the fact that the sight is helping his boner just…calm the fuck down. Because now is absolutely not the time, but the wires in his brain can’t help crossing, taking very interested note of the fact that he’s all but kneeling in front of Steve fucking Harrington on a dingy bathroom floor. 

As Eddie reaches out for the makeshift bandage, he braces one hand on Steve’s hip to steady himself, his fingers grazing against the unmarred skin just below his wound. That initial brush is enough to have Steve sucking in a sharp breath.

“That hurt?” Eddie asks, spooked as he blinks up at Steve worriedly.

“All good, dude,” Steve shakes his head in answer before tilting it up to the ceiling, hands settling on top of his head.

He grips at his own hair tightly, mussing those luscious waves with the force of his tugs. The move is enough to have Eddie seriously doubting the truth of his denial. He’s got a feeling trying to argue the point, however, would get him absolutely nowhere. 

“Just keep going.” 

So Eddie does, unwinding the fabric in slow, careful movements, tongue poking unconsciously out from between his lips as he pours all his focus into the task at hand. 

He’s just managed to get off the first layer when Steve’s body gives a subtle shift, the only warning Eddie gets before the other boy sways on his feet. 

The pair of them let out an alarmed Shit! in unison just before Eddie catches Steve around the waist, careful not to press against his injuries.

“Dude! Holy shit, be careful!” he chides sternly. “You’re not gonna be a damn bit of good to any of us if you collapse on the floor and conk your head on the side of the tub or some shit.” 

Steve lets out a humorless laugh.

“And what exactly am I supposed to do about that, Eddie?” he asks, sarcasm on full blast as he gestures weakly to his belly, body still pressed close in Eddie’s arms. “Not sure if you’ve noticed, but I’m not, like…exactly at full fighting shape here.”

Eddie rolls his eyes.

“That’s exactly what I’m talking about, man. Look around,” he thrusts out his free hand in exasperation at the empty bathroom. “It’s just you and me in here. So you can give up the heroic, stiff upper lip shtick for a minute, and just–I don’t know, hold onto my shoulder, or something. Jesus Christ, Harrington, scare a guy to death, why don’t you.”

Steve lets out a huff, but Eddie’s pleased to feel his body loosening beneath his touch, the line of his shoulders no longer so taut and rigid like he’s a warrior who’s about to be called right back onto the battlefield. 

“Yeah. Yeah, okay, you’re right, you’re right.”

“No shit I am, Harrington,” Eddie reaches over and bops him lightly on the end of the nose, “and don’t you forget it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. 

“Uh-huh. No one likes a smart ass, Eds.”

But Eddie can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up into a private half smile. 

They untangle themselves then, resuming their prior positions. Miraculously, Steve does as instructed, settling a hand on Eddie’s shoulder, large palm warm enough Eddie can feel the heat radiating even through his leather jacket. He really hopes that’s not a sign Steve’s running some kind of infection induced fever. 

So Eddie returns to the task at hand, peeling back the last scraps of Wheeler’s shirt, he and Steve grimacing in unison at the way it tries to stick steadfast to his skin. 

With the wound finally free, Eddie hisses in sympathy as his eyes dart all over the bite marks beginning to scab across Steve’s stomach. They look raw and angry, bright red where all the skin has been scraped off or gnawed through. He’s seen his fair share of cuts and bruises, from brawls at the Hideout to scuffles at school, but nothing quite like this. 

"Shit, man. We could really use a Healer right about now."

Steve lets out a wry little noise of agreement, understanding enough.

“Guess that’s gotta be you, Munson,” he says, giving Eddie a jocular, almost apologetic pat on the shoulder. 

Eddie can’t stop himself from shaking his head, because Christ, this guy–all heroic, death-defying stunts and sarcastic comebacks one minute, and then big, sympathetic puppy dog eyes the next. He kinda can’t believe he’s even real, let alone that this is what the Steve Harrington is like.

Scrambling to cover up how awe-stricken he’s suddenly feeling, Eddie shoots Steve a smirk as he quips, "Admit it, Harrington. You just wanna see how I'd look in the skirt."

Idiot, Eddie mentally berates himself, posture stiffening the second the words leave his mouth. Just because you’re a sixth year senior, that’s no excuse to be a fucking moron, do not flirt with the former jock King of Hawkins High. 

After all, just because he's hurt…that doesn't mean he couldn't break Eddie clean in half if he wanted to, and flirting with a straight guy is practically a one-way ticket to just that.

So shock hits Eddie with all the force of an ice cold bucket of water dumped over his head when Steve simply huffs out a laugh, good-natured.

"You caught me," he sticks up his hands, like he's surrendering in a hold-up. "That's been my real plan all along."

For once, Eddie’s too flustered to speak, his mouth opening and closing a few times as he feels the distinct heat from a blush spreading up his neck, splotching his face and ears. 

There’s a playful glint in Steve’s eyes, then, like he smells blood in the water. It’s nice, after everything that’s happened this evening, to see them shine with something other than the foggy glaze of pain. 

“Oh, seriously, did I catch you off guard with that one for a change?” Steve leans a little closer into Eddie’s space, the corner of his mouth quirking up into a half-smirk. “What is it, Munson, cat got your tongue?”

Eddie finally recovers enough to shake his head and quip, “Can’t turn off that infamous Harrington charm for even a second, can you, Stevie? Bleeding all over the place, and you’ve still got it.” 

“Well, how do you think I get all the nurses at Hawkins General to take such good care of me when I end up there?” Steve shoots him a wink, being distressingly glib, in Eddie’s humble opinion, about the multiple trips to the ER he’s apparently got under his belt. “A little charm goes a long way, Eds.”

Eddie snorts. “Yeah, so they tell me.”

“Come on, man,” Steve waves a dismissive hand at him. “You’d know all about it.”

Embarrassingly enough, the mere suggestion that Steve Harrington finds him charming makes Eddie’s cheeks go even pinker.

He clears his throat, soldiering on quite valiantly, if you ask him. 

“Well, uh…Nurse Munson’s on duty tonight, and, in my totally accurate medical opinion, we need to get those scrapes cleaned up asap, big boy. No more dalliances,” Eddie wags a finger in his face, “and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your lollipop at the end.”

Steve laughs again. “Yeah, well, no way in hell I’m gonna miss out on that.”

But he stills dutifully, like he really is serious about being the model patient, earning back his treat. 

As he starts tearing open the alcohol pad, prepping for the next part, Eddie can’t help but shoot him a sympathetic look.

“Harrington–sorry, dude. This is probably gonna sting like a bitch.”

Steve’s grip, where his hand has settled back on Eddie’s shoulder, tightens, but Eddie refuses to shrug him away. As Steve nods his head, Eddie can see the way he’s clenching his teeth. 

“Just…try to make it quick, yeah? Lickety split.”

Eddie’s lips twitch in amusement from the dorky turn of phrase, yet another layer to Steve Harrington he finds irresistibly endearing. 

But he promises just the same. “You got it. Fast as lighting, that’s me.” 

Keeping his swipes gentle, Eddie begins to clean the wounds gouged into his sides. Almost instantly, he can see sweat beading on Steve’s brow. 

It feels kind of like a parody, of the handful of times Eddie had attended gym class, found his eyes lingering despite himself on Harrington’s glistening, Adonis-like form. Something inside him stirs, deep into caretaking mode, compelled to wipe the dampness away.  

He resists the urge, but just barely. And since there’s not much else he can do for the pain, Eddie figures conversation makes as good a distraction as any. 

“You know, I thought Dustin was full of shit before, but–you’re, uh. Totally babysitter extraordinaire, aren’t ya, Harrington?” 

“For all the good it does me,” Steve lets out a huff that’s at once amused and exasperated, and the sound is music to Eddie’s ears, breaking up the short, pained breaths from before. “Those little shitheads are total pains in my ass–but, I mean, somebody’s gotta keep ‘em alive, you know?”

“And that’s gonna be you, huh?” Eddie quirks an eyebrow up at him as he continues rubbing circles into his skin, doing his best to clean the gore and muck from the stretches that remain uninjured. 

Talking is helping distract him, too. Sure, he had patched up his dad as a kid, after a few jobs gone wrong, but, still–nothing that really held a candle to this. The less he thinks about the raw wounds spread out in front of him, the ones Steve is trusting him to help with, the better.

In honor of that, Eddie lets out a whistle. “Steeeeeve Harrington, big damn hero. Never thought I’d live to see the day.”

“Shut up, man,” Steve complains, and even though the lighting is low, Eddie would swear there’s a pink tinge staining his cheeks, “it’s not that big a deal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear Steven. It absolutely is. Total paladin behavior, in fact.”

The little confused furrow that appears between Steve's eyebrows is ridiculously cute. Eddie isn't sure how disgusted he should be with himself for what a lovesick thought that is.

"...Pala-what?"

“They’re like knights, basically. The D&D version. Championing a cause, protecting the weak and defending the innocent, restoring good to the lands. That sorta thing.”

Steve gives a short nod of understanding, his mouth forming a perfectly shaped oh. 

“I’d say the shoe–or, you know, armor, whatever–fits.” Still meticulous in his strokes with the pad, Eddie finds himself rambling. “Diving into that lake to protect the rest of us? That’s paladin 101, man. True heroic shit.” 

“I mean…it’s really not.” Steve shrugs ever so slightly, his lips tugging down into a small frown. “It’s what I’m good for, you know? Nance and Robin–hell, even the kids–they’ve got the brains part of this operation covered. They need somebody around to just…take the risks so they don’t have to.” 

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up immediately at the implications of Steve’s words. 

“Well, well, will you look at that? Now who needs to cut himself a break?” Eddie asks, echoing what Steve said to him back in the Upside Down.

“Just the facts,” Steve says with a wan smile–parroting the phrase Eddie’s heard the youngest Sinclair use on the boys after she’s thrown out a particularly cutting remark, and not even having the decency to look bitter about it.

Eddie shakes his head, vehement. “That sounds like a crock of bullshit to me, Harrington. Don’t sell yourself short, not like that. You’re a badass, sure, no two ways about it–but those kids, out there? They’d be fucking…lost without you, man. Hell, when Buckley realized you’d gotten hurt? Looked like she was hanging on by a thread. They need you.” 

I need you, Eddie thinks, but can’t quite say it, his throat constricting anxiously around the words. Still, he catches Steve’s eyes deliberately, willing him to catch his full meaning. 

Sucking his bottom lip between his teeth to chew at it, Steve ducks his face for a second, dodging Eddie’s look. When he speaks again, it’s quiet but no less sincere.

“Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it,” Eddie answers immediately, a smile breaking out across his face. “I mean, what’re friends for? You’d do the same for me–already have, even.”

“Oh, so you’re saying we’re friends now, Munson?” Steve crinkles his nose in amusement, inviting Eddie in on the joke.

“Well, I mean…hell pretty much has frozen over,” Eddie replies, playing along easily. “Besides, who else but us is there to band together, give Dustin a hard time so his head doesn’t get any bigger than it already has?”

Steve inclines his head, smile amused, soft. It’s a beautiful sight, one Eddie could get used to seeing. 

“Can’t argue with that.”

As Eddie finally finishes up cleaning the last of the scrapes and bite marks, he can feel Steve’s eyes on him, following his movements. 

“You know, you’re not half bad at this,” Steve observes thoughtfully.

Discarding the last of the alcohol pads, Eddie gives Steve a cordial half bow. “Why thank you, my liege. That’s high praise indeed coming from the king himself.”

“Never mind, I take it back. Your bedside manner sucks,” Steve says, deadpan, rolling his eyes. Then, he jabs a finger in Eddie’s direction, “And don’t call me that.”

“Guess you’re just gonna have to report me to the doctor on the floor, then…your royal highness.”

As Steve reaches out to shove his shoulder, Eddie lets out a delighted cackle, dancing just beyond his reach. 

“Strike what I said earlier, too. There’s no friendship bracelet in your future, dude, not with that attitude.”

Eddie lays a palm over his heart, gasping like he’s been hit. 

“Not the friendship bracelets, Stevie! What have I done to deserve such a cruel and unusual punishment? And after I helped heal your wounds, too.”

“Yeah, well, the job’s only half done on that front, Nurse Eddie. Better get back to it, and then I’ll think about letting you earn back your friendship bracelet. Maybe,” Steve says, mimicking Eddie’s ultimatum from earlier. “And you’d be missing out, too, dude. Just ask Robin, I come up with the absolute coolest designs.”

“Challenge accepted, Stevie boy. Prepare to witness the best bandaging you’ve seen since Boris Karloff’s The Mummy.” 

Steve’s lips twitch, like he’s trying to bite back his smile. “Thought you were trying to keep me alive, Munson, not turn me into a Halloween decoration.”

Eddie clucks his tongue. “Such limited imagination, Harrington. I assure you–I can do both.”

Gauze from the first kit at the ready, he gets right to work unspooling it, giving himself a suitable enough length to get started with ease. 

Now that they’ve managed to jump over that first major hurdle and Steve’s injuries have been thoroughly cleaned, the full magnitude of the situation hits Eddie all at once. A wave of tiredness, bone deep, rolls over him as he presses that first layer of gauze against Steve’s side, and he can’t help but say, “This whole thing is–completely and utterly batshit insane. You realize that, right?”

Steve’s got his arms raised over his head, now, but the slight tilt of his eyebrow might as well be a shrug as he looks down at Eddie, the quirk of his lips apologetic. 

“You kinda get used to it, after a while.”

“Get used to it? Jesus Christ–” Eddie groans in disbelief even while he keeps his fingers steady, holding the gauze carefully in place as he continues wrapping it around Steve’s stomach. “Don’t say that kinda shit to me, man.” 

“Sorry.” Steve has the decency to look chastened, though not nearly as apologetic as Eddie thinks he should.

“Like, sure, okay–dark wizards and magic, that’s great for D&D. But in real life? Kinda prefer that the evil alternate dimensions didn’t eat a hole in the ceiling of my uncle’s trailer, you know? Some of us need a place to live.” 

Eddie’s practically hugging Steve around the waist by the time he’s stopped talking, ready to secure his handiwork. There’s a bizarre kind of intimacy to it, Steve warm and solid in his hold, and Eddie wonders if Steve can feel it too when he glances up at him, silent communication passing between them that has Steve ripping off a long strip of medical tape and handing it down without having to be asked. 

So, needless to say, Eddie’s a bit distracted, finishing off the job and giving everything one final assessment, when Steve breaks the silence with two totally nonsensical words. 

“...the pool.”

Eddie blinks, startled enough he straightens up and gives Steve a full once over, wondering for a moment if the bats had gone for his head, too, without them being any the wiser.

“Wait–what?”

“The pool, at my place,” Steve trucks on, that determined clench to his jaw. Not from pain, this time, but something else. “That’s what it was–well, is–for me. The place, where the demogorgon attacked. It took Barbara–Holland? Nancy’s best friend. The first night that we…”

He trails off with a shake of his head. 

“Well, anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’m just saying, I get it. Maybe not to the level of, you know, having your whole goddamn ceiling ripped out, but–the Upside Down, all this shit. It takes things from us. All of us. And I’m sorry it happened to you, too, but…at least you’re not alone?”

Eddie gnaws on his bottom lip as he looks at Steve, watching the other teen wince. Like he just knows it’s not enough.

But the thing is…it is. Steve has to know that it is.

“To be honest, I think that’s the only thing that’s keeping me from just, I don’t know–shattering into a million little pieces, or something,” Eddie admits. “The fact that you guys–” 

Embarrassingly enough, his throat constricts, for a second, choking off his words. 

“...that you’re here. With me. Especially Buckley and Wheeler and Little Red–even Lucas, after I was such a shit to him…and you. I mean, you don’t even know me, not really, and the whole rest of the town is practically lined up outside with Carver, holding pitchforks…but not you. Pretty damn sure I’d never have even made it this far without that.” 

Steve clasps his shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“We’re not going anywhere, man,” he promises, gaze steady, hazel eyes so serious Eddie doesn’t dare doubt him. “We’ve got this. We’ve got you.”

Eddie takes a chance, settles his hand on top of Steve’s, gives it a squeeze in return. 

“I’ve got you, too. You know?”

Steve gives a little nod, his smile warm enough to light up his entire face. 

“I know you do, man. I know.”

And, for a second, looking back at Steve, the hope floods in, and Eddie lets himself believe it. That, with this merry band of misfit monster hunters standing behind him, there’s no choice–it’ll all turn out alright, in the end.  

—

By the time they make it back to the living room–“decent” again, Steve having immediately shrugged Eddie’s battle jacket back on over his now freshly wrapped bandages, the sight of which had made something in Eddie’s chest immediately flutter–Lucas is settling down on the couch with a patchwork quilt while Dustin bemoans his fate, loudly, as he piles blankets onto the floor in something that’s steadily resembling a nest. Eddie guesses, when he didn’t immediately come back, the pair of them must have gone on their own journey to raid the Mayfield’s linen closet.

“We said best of ten,” Lucas is saying with a sigh, the picture of put-upon patience, “not my fault you suck at rock-paper-scissors.” 

“It’s a game of chance!” Dustin squawks in protest. “There’s absolutely no skill involved. How can I ‘suck’ at some bullshit game that requires no strategy.”

Lucas shrugs, unperturbed. “You tell me.”

The noise Dustin lets out makes it clear he’s gearing up for a continued argument–when Steve drops a hand on his head, distracting him with a noogie. 

“No one likes a sore loser, Henderson.” 

“I am not a sore loser!” Dustin huffs, arms crossed over his chest and lip jutting out in something that dangerously resembles a pout. 

“Au contraire, my dear friend. You’re right about that, you’re not a sore loser. You are, in fact…” Eddie holds up a single finger, Dustin’s face brightening in that moment’s worth of anticipation, “the sorest of losers.”

The blue streak Dustin swears up is worth it for both Lucas and Steve’s guffawing laugh. 

He continues muttering to himself, low-voiced and difficult to make out apart from something that sounds distinctly like traitors in my midst, as he somewhat viciously tosses more quilts onto the ground.

“Gimme that,” Steve says without heat, taking several blankets from Dustin’s hands and spreading them out, laying a solid foundation for a pallet that he quickly uses the others to build upon. “Now, come on, man, quit complaining and just…lie down.”

Given the fuss Dustin’s been kicking up, Eddie can’t help but be impressed that Steve’s instruction is enough to actually get him to comply. The powers of babysitter persuasion strike yet again, it seems. 

Or, at least…half as he’s told, since settling onto the pallet still offers plenty of back talk on Dustin’s part. 

“I can’t believe this. My theories turn out to be correct all damn night, and still I get relegated to sleeping on the carpet. How is that fair?!” Dustin huffs. 

From his position on the couch, Lucas’s only answer is to snort, shaking his head. 

Hand on his hip, Steve cocks a single eyebrow, shooting Dustin the driest of looks. There’s something deeply wrong with Eddie, he’s pretty sure, that he finds the whole thing painfully attractive. 

"Dustin, man, it’s not a competition. Besides…beats the floor of a Russian elevator," he comments, and Eddie has no idea what the hell that is supposed to mean.

Dustin tilts his head from side to side, as though considering. Reluctantly, he says, "...Agreed."

Nodding, seemingly satisfied, Steve lays down on one side of Dustin. Eddie does the same, following suit until they’re bracketing him like a pair of parentheses. A warmth settles over Eddie, pleasant and bone-deep, as he tilts his face to catch Steve’s eyes, staring back at him from over the top of Dustin’s head. 

"Scoot over, dude. Eddie doesn't want your pointy ass elbows digging into him." Steve nudges Dustin in the side, causing the younger teen to readjust with a minimal amount of grumbling. To Eddie he says, sotto, "Trust me, man, I know. Those things are like daggers or something, I swear."

“Are not,” Dustin protests, though the words sound drowsy, his eyes having already drifted shut despite all the protests about how uncomfortable he’d been.

“Are too,” Steve volley backs effortlessly. Eddie catches the look he’s giving the kid, though, and it can only be described as fond amusement.

“Thanks for the warning, kind sir,” Eddie gives Steve a mock salute, eyes sparkling mischievously. “I’ll be on the lookout for those deadly weapons being brandished in the night.”

“Can’t believe…ganging up on me…” Dustin murmurs, the last word trailing off as his breathing begins to even out. 

“You’re the one who wanted to introduce us, dude,” Steve argues softly, though it’s clear his words have fallen on sleeping ears. To Eddie he says, voice a whisper, “You believe this kid? The arguing never stops, man, even in his sleep.”

“I know,” Eddie whispers back, parroting back Steve’s own words in the Upside Down, and the pair of them share a pleased, knowing grin.

And it’s comforting, the thought that sweeps through Eddie’s mind once he’s settled enough to start drifting off, Dustin’s snoring soft between them, Steve only an arm’s length away.

They’ve got Henderson. And as for Eddie himself?

Well…Harrington’s got him.

#stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #henderfam #henderdads #the party #brotp: babysitter's club #buckington besties #my writing #my stuff #my things #missing scene fic #fellas is it gay to gently clean another man's wounds? you decide

[lieslab]

Mess is mine

Pairing: Seungmin X gn reader

Summary: After missing for a couple of weeks, Seungmin comes back home to find you struggling with an anorexic relapse.

Genre: Comfort/hurt

Word Count: 1.7K

Trigger warning: Mentions of food, diets, weight loss and weight gain, starvation, counting calories, and body dysmorphia.

A/N: We're back on track with requests. Food and eating disorders are really mentally draining and ugh. They're really awful to deal with. I'm sorry to anyone who has to deal with them on the regular because they suck major ass. I always say it and I'll say it again, please be gentle with yourselves <3

_ _ _

You can’t see some illnesses and that’s just how it is. A person can look entirely normal to your face. Everything appears perfectly fine, but a smile can always be fake. Hidden beneath the skull, mental illness can bury themselves into the warm crevices of your brain far, far, far away from sight. 

Locked and drilled into you, how do you separate yourself from your mental illness? How do you keep it away from swallowing you and devouring you whole? How do you fight it before your mental illness claims your soul? 

Food was something you always struggled with. How amusing it must be to some people. How could you have a battle with something that every person needed to nourish their body? How did that happen? 

It wasn’t hard when you grew up in a world where models and actors and actresses were eye level in the store. The bold and accusatory titles had been ingrained in your head since you were younger. 

Some actress caught swimming at the beach had gained a bit of a stomach. Check out the interview with the Victoria’s Secret model who swore off sugar and went on strict diets for the upcoming famous Victoria Secret Fashion Show. Check out how this latest up and coming actor dropped a massive amount of weight for his new role. 

With everything at your fingertips, it wasn’t hard to find a parent’s worst nightmare. Tips on Tumblr for how to starve yourself. Reddit threads about how people lost weight and kept it off. Insane and unsustainable diets that were sure to cause you to crash and burn. 

It wasn’t a surprise when you fell victim to an eating disorder. A silent struggle that you always thought about any time a bite of food came near you. How many calories was in this and that? 

Did salt and pepper add more calories to your food? Maybe you should eat your salad plain and without dressing because calories count in every little thing. With your own brain against you, you were driving yourself mad until you thought you would burst and on and on it went and then…and then you met Seungmin.��

It’s not another person’s job to fix you, but when Seungmin found out, he helped you the best that he could. He took you outside on walks every now and then, so the two of you could talk. On the days you admitted that you didn’t have breakfast or lunch, he made you nutritious snacks. 

The beginning was the most difficult thing in the entire world. You remember the salted taste of the soup he made for you one day. The recipe was out of your hands and he didn’t tell you what it was. You silently freaked out in the bathroom because you didn’t know how many calories you consumed. 

A hundred calories was basically five hundred and five hundred might as well be a thousand, plus a few hundred. It’s a sticky situation that’s hard to get out of. 

However, you knew this inner battle couldn’t go on forever. You knew you had to try and fight and you were jealous. You were jealous of the people who ate what they desired and stayed around the same weight. You hated that you didn’t have the same mindset as them, so you tried. 

You tried to keep the same mindset and you were brave. You ate the dessert after dinner, you ate the snack between lunch and dinner, and you ate breakfast. You didn’t realize you had gained weight until you finally stepped on the bathroom scale.

The next day, Seungmin left for Japan. It was only a few weeks that they’d be doing promotions. When the band came back to Korea, they’d be getting ready for another comeback. Seungmin wouldn’t have time for you and you were grateful because this was a mess and you needed to fix it. 

Weeks later, you didn’t realize that Seungmin had let himself into your apartment. You came home from work utterly exhausted and defeated. You pushed the door open to your bedroom and stumbled inside. 

Seungmin was in the kitchen and he had helped himself to the items in your kitchen. He was preparing the two of you a snack when the front door opened. He dusted off his hands and began to head towards your room. 

Too distracted by your own thoughts, you didn’t hear his footsteps as he approached your bedroom. You bent down to tug off your work shirt and ripped it over your head. Your work pants soon followed and during that time, Seungmin’s heart dropped. 

Through the setting sunlight, he could make out the ridges in your spine. He was able to count your ribs again. You grabbed an oversized shirt and shimmied into it. The cotton baby blue hung down to your mid-thighs. 

You didn’t bother with a pair of pants as you dropped back onto the bed. Still unaware of Seungmin’s presence, you pulled out your phone and shot him a text. He was supposed to be home today, but you didn’t know when and asked for clarification. 

When a notification bell came from the hall, you jerked up in shock. Your eyes were wide as Seungmin stood in the hallway. You hated that the first thing you noticed was the disappointment in his eyes. 

Body dysmorphia was a very scary and real thing. You were starving yourself. The skin was stretched tight over your bones. Carved out cheekbones and a perfectly sharpened jaw completed your face. You struggled to force your eyes to meet him. 

“Seungmin, I-” 

“Why?” He got out softly as he approached you. His hands gently reached out and he grabbed your hips. The padded flesh had melted away. The comforting feeling was left jagged and unnatural. “When was the last time you ate?” 

“I can explain, I-” 

“You relapsed. You relapsed and you didn’t tell me. Why didn’t you tell me?” 

The tears filled your eyes before you could stop them. Your voice fell out shrill. “I-I’m sorry, but you were busy and I-” 

He pulled you into his arms and wrapped them around you. “You’re not and you’d never be a bother to me. I don’t care if I’m up in the air and halfway around the world or a few countries over. I’m your boyfriend and I don’t want you to suffer alone. I know this is hard and scary, but please don’t shut me out.” 

“I-I-” Your voice cracked as it wavered. “I didn’t mean to. I gained weight and it wasn’t that much, I know, but it felt like I suddenly gained a thousand pounds. I just wanted to lose a few more and I-” 

Seungmin’s sudden warm squeeze cut you off. You shut your eyes and put your head on his shoulder. In the very beginning of your relationship, you had struggled with things like this before. It was never easy to be vulnerable with another person. 

You were his entire world and he wasn’t going to let you suffer alone. He sucked in a deep breath and inhaled the familiar scent of your body. You were his home for months now and you always would be. 

It was finally washing over you that this was a battle that was greater than you. Sometimes we can’t fight battles on our own and sometimes it’s better to ask for help rather than suffer in silence. 

There’s a weariness and fear in being vulnerable, but there’s a warmth and a light in some people. Some people will do anything in the entire world to try to make you feel better. They’d set themselves on fire to keep you warm if they had to. 

“When was the last time you ate?” 

“I don’t know,” you finally admitted. 

Seungmin pulled away and looped his hands through yours. “Come on,” he tugged you towards the kitchen. Your feet remain rooted to the ground and fear began to bubble in your stomach again. 

“Please don’t worry. I made us a small snack and I promise you, you won’t gain weight from it. You need something in your system, so you don’t pass out. What if you passed out in the shower? Do you really want paramedics oogling over your moist and naked body?”

A smile began to tug at the corners of your lips. “You know that I hate that word a lot. It’s such a disgusting word and I-” 

“Oogling or moist?” 

“Both.” 

“That’s just too bad. Come on, we have a lot to catch up on. Just wait until I tell you what the guys and I did. Come on, go faster! I got on pinterest while away and found the cutest little snack inspirations and I made them!” 

You smiled softly as you let him lead you to the kitchen. You weren’t sure what to expect, but it wasn’t too often that Seungmin could be so soft. It made you feel warm and fuzzy on the inside. 

“Ta-dah! Do you like them? I think they’re very cute. I’d say that you can pick yours, but this one is mine. I made it and it reminds me of Lee Know.” 

Your heart melted as you found a piece of toast on a plate. Seungmin gently pushed the porcelain plate towards you. It was so cute, you thought you might cry. 

A thin layer of peanut butter had been spread over the toast. The scent of bananas still lingered in the air. He had applied a small slice of banana to each top corner. Another banana slice sat perched in the middle of the toast. Two raisins placed above them created eyes and another raisin on the middle banana slice created a tiny button nose. 

“It looks like a bear, right? I thought it was cute. Sometimes you like to sleep a lot and it reminded me of hibernation and bears. This one is mine,” he pointed to his own slice of toast, “it’s a cat.” 

Two blueberries sat in the middle of the peanut butter toast for eyes. A single strawberry had been cut up. Two triangular speckled slices sat on each corner to create ears. Tiny snips of strawberry were placed along another smaller slice of strawberry for whiskers. 

“You know what dogs do to cats?” 

Before you could respond, he grinned and took a huge bite out of the toast. 

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Masterlist

Requests, taglist, and inbox rules

#stray kids #stray kids fanfic #stray kids drabbles #skz fanfic #kim seungmin #seungmin #seungmin x reader #seungmin x you #seungmin x y/n

[rosemaze-reveries]

I would like to ask for a idv male hunters(of your choosing) reacting to a female reader where she suddenly goes "omg your tits are bigger than mine.."

maybe it was their first meeting, maybe she was bored when she got chaired, whatever the case I just thought it'd be funny.

SJKASKJA thank you for the laugh, i opened this ask like WHAT!!!! but i will indulge u anon... <3

⚠️ suggestive content (strip tease, clothed fondling & flirty banter).

⚠️ reader uses she/her.

🐦‍⬛📸🦎⚡🌪️🦌

🐦‍⬛ Nightmare doesn't immediately respond. He sends a sideways glance to you, who's bound and bored at a slow-ticking rocket chair. "I guess you'd be hard-pressed to find any bigger than those. Must be nice to brag about," you rattle on. If you're trying to seduce your way to freedom, you're failing miserably. Nightmare stalks over to your chair, his broad chest casting a shadow over you.

"Would you have that same attitude once you've been smothered beneath them? Keep mouthing off, and I might just test it."

...What? Was that supposed to be a threat? Anyway, it didn't achieve the desired effect. You blink up at him, not totally opposed to the idea.

📸 Joseph's gaze flicks to your chest. He blinks away a milisecond later, but not quickly enough to escape your notice. A cheeky grin appears on your face as if to say made you look. "I disagree," he tuts. "Remind me, which one of us is so inept with her brassieres that she needs me to unclasp them for her every night, and – despite loathing them so – dutifully puts them on again the next day, as if her poor, aching back demands it of her?" Knowing you can't say anything, he sends back a winning smile of his own.

🦎 Luchino readily cocks his attention to you. "Oh? Like what you see?" You just never noticed how visibly his chest protrudes, especially from a side view. But your comment attracts him closer to your chair, and he decides to give you a little show. Slowly, too slowly, he slips off his jacket, letting it crumple to the floor.

"Oh," escapes your lips once you realize what's going on. Next goes the first button of his shirt.

⚡ Alva sets down his pen when you drag your nails down his chest. What began as an innocuous shoulder massage quickly turned into marveling at the broadness of his pecs. He's sure you meant well, but that comment draws a sharp sigh out of him. "I'm glad to know I'm entertaining you..." he murmurs. That snaps you back to reality: you wanted to be serving him today. You kiss his shoulder blade as an apology, kneading his tense muscles until he lets out another hitched breath.

🌪️ Ithaqua takes your comment as an invitation to reach forward, cupping an icy hand over one of your breasts. It happens so fast you can barely register it. Then he decides: "They're not too bad." He has never been one for delicacy, but that was so blunt it startles you into a fit of giggles. Sometimes you forget he's inexperienced with this sort of thing.

🦌 Bane looks down at the pout you're sending him. This is the first time he's let you hug him, and you're just realizing how much you have to strain your neck to avoid being suffocated by his chest. "A bigger body just means a stronger shield. Nothing more to it than that," he says dryly. You roll your eyes. He's always so hardheaded.

"You're more like a pillow to me," you try. "I wish I had some of these."

He still doesn't give you the reaction you're fishing for. He silently clutches your waist and tips back onto his bed, so that you're properly laying on top of him -- like a pillow.

#idv x reader #identity v x reader #alva lorenz x reader #ithaqua x reader #idv nightmare x reader #joseph desaulniers x reader #bane perez x reader #luchino diruse x reader

[pauli-writes]

warning: controlling behaviour, manipulation, toxic relationship, could be read as yandere tendencies

pairing: sunday x reader, a little dan heng at the end

author’s note: this was written before i played the 2.2 update, I’m sorry if it’s ooc requests are coming soon when i get back in the groove of writing i promise :3

☆ support me on ko-fi if you like what you’ve read ☆

people had various reasons to join the astral express, some had nowhere else to go, others wanted to see the cosmos. you however were running away from something, well more like someone.

once upon a time penacony was your home, your favourite place on earth. the people were always smiling and the party never stopped, but it was only recently that you’ve realised that this self proclaimed dream was a nightmare in disguise.

“why can’t i go outside?” you asked softly, sitting on your grand queen sized bed, surrounded by pillows and hugging your knees to your chest.

the tall man standing in front of your window, that was overlooking a small part of the golden hour, chuckled. it was out of amusement from your question, but you only found it to be demeaning. he turned to face you and sat down at the edge of the bed.

“you know why. you could get hurt,” he said, his voice stern, contrasting greatly with the gentle look on his face. it confused you greatly.

“you go outside,” you said with furrowed eyebrows, slightly lowering your knees.

“that’s different.”

“why?”

his eyes narrowed slightly, it was a telltale sign that he didn’t like that you questioned him.

“because i say so.” he took a deep breath and reached out to touch your cheek, caressing it slowly. it was meant to bring you comfort, but in this situation it felt like anything but. “oh, reader. i know what’s best for you. and it’s not loitering on the streets.”

“you don’t know that,” you replied, you saw his eyes narrow further. “you can’t keep me in here with you for the rest of my life.”

he chuckled once more, this time it was fair more sinister, he tightened the grip on your face and gave you a soft slap on your cheek, before standing up and walking towards the door.

“you’d be surprised about what’s all possible inside a dream,” he said, then taking a small pause and taking in your small fragil form in the bed. “now, i have some business to attend to. stay here until i get back or else.”

you felt a shiver run down your spine, and nodded. “yes, sunday.”

with a satisfied smile he left the room, making sure to lock the door behind himself.

“reader? are you alright?”

you snapped out of your thoughts and suddenly you were back in the warm parlor of the astral express, the smell of coffee tainting the air. pom pom was sweeping the floor near the jukebox and dan heng stood in front of you, surprising you greatly. “huh? yes, sorry.”

“is something wrong?” he asked further, a hint of genuine concern in his voice. he carefully sat down next to you, keeping a respectful distance. “himiko said you were originally from penacony. it wasn’t easy for me when we stopped at the xianzhou, do you have similar feelings?”

“compared to your struggles mine are nothing…” you replied, thinking back to dan heng and his history before he boarded the express. you turned to look at him, his expression was unreadable as usual, but you could feel your words worried him a little. you took a deep breath and put on a brave face.

“what i mean is, thank you for your concern, but i’ll be fine as long as i don’t set a foot in the reverie.”

#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x gender neutral reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x reader #hsr x gender neutral reader #hsr x you #hsr x y/n #hsr sunday #sunday x reader #sunday x you

[leelee1234love]

You get Lost…

18+ Minors DNI!!!

Full Masterlist Marvel Masterlist

Pairing: Daddy!Loki x Little!Reader

Summary: you get lost…

Warnings: crying,lost,swearing,bad language,dark room,ddlg,age regression!!!(please tell me if I missed any!!!)

You was walking around the palace until you saw an entrance way you had never noticed before..

You walked through curiously and automatically got lost as you looked back and there was four other entrances.

You panicked and walked in a random direction hoping for the best.

You saw a door that looked familiar and pulled it open walking in, but when you saw it was an empty dark room you panicked and tried to leave but the door locked.

You panicked and began pulling down in the door repeatedly as you cried.

“No! Daddy?!” You screamed through a sob when you looked back at the pitch dark room.

You cornered yourself in the corner of the door and sobbed.

Trying to keep your eyes focused on the dark abyss but your tears kept blurring your vision.

“Daddy…” you choked through cries and held your heart when you began panting. You felt like you was about to have a panic attack.

You absolutely hated the dark it was one of your biggest fears.

You always slept with a nightlight or Loki would magic a soft light portray of sheep on the ceiling, as they were being counted to help you fall asleep.

So this was your worst nightmare.

———

“Where is my angel?” Loki asked one of the servants and he shook his head “I don’t know sir”

“I last saw her in the main hall” he said as he thought.

Loki nodded as he walked to the hall and looked around for you but you was nowhere to be found, he was starting to get worried.

Usually he would hear giggling or your little feet tapping on the ground but he heard nothing.

He looked around the whole palace and found nothing.

He was swearing to himself as he quickly walked through the same hall again and bumped into Thor.

“Loki..are you okay?” Thor asked when he saw lokis panicked face.

“I can’t find y/n! I’ve checked the whole palace!” Loki panicked as he ran his hand through his hair.

“I’ll help you” Thor said and they both looked around together until, Loki saw the storage room entrance and his eyes widened.

You had never been in there before…maybe you didn’t go in there?

He shook his head and walked in there anyway just in case.

And that’s when he heard it.

Your sobs.

“Fuck! Angel I’m coming!” Loki said loudly as he ran towards the door he could hear you from.

He tried to open the door but swore to himself when it didn’t open.

“Shit!” He swore as he let go of the handle

He used his magic to quickly form a key and unlocked the door, you sobbed as you looked up at him.

“Daddy!” You cried and he sighed in relief as he instantly wrapped his arms around you.

“Shh,shh…daddy’s here” he whispered into your ear softly as he stroked his hand up and down your back.

He took you out of the pitch black room and shut the door again.

“is dark-“ you cried into his neck and he kissed you on the head stroking your hair.

“It’s okay…it’s okay angel..it’s not dark anymore” Loki reassured you but you still cried, trying to catch your breath properly.

“I’m so sorry angel…” Loki said into your hair softly.

“It’s okay now…”

“No more dark” you said and he nodded

“No more dark” he repeated as your cries died down.

You hesitantly looked up from his shoulder at the light room.

You looked at him through your wet eyelashes.

Loki felt so bad when he saw your face fully.

Your cheeks and eyes were puffy from crying, eyelashes wet, eyes red and you had tear streaks down your face.

He gave you a kiss on the forehead “I’m so sorry angel..I’m so sorry” he whispered and you nodded

“I-is scary” you stammered and he nodded

“I know…you’re so brave..I’m sorry” he said and you nodded nuzzling your face back into his neck.

“Why was you down here angel?” Loki asked you and you pouted.

“Curious” you mumbled but he heard and he laughed.

“You’re my little trickster aren’t you?” He chuckled making you giggle with a nod.

“Loki? Did you find her?” Thor asked as he walked into the hall to see you in his arms on the floor.

“Is she okay?” He asked and Loki nodded.

Loki stood up with you, you rested your head on his shoulder.

“I’ll tell you later…let’s go have some food” Loki said to Thor when he felt your stomach rumble.

#loki x little!reader #loki x little reader #loki series #loki x reader #mcu loki #marvel loki #loki odinson #loki laufeyson #loki #loki fanfic #loki season 2 #Loki imagine #fanfic #fic #marvel #marvel fic #marvelfic #avengers #avengers x reader #avengers x little reader #avengers x little!reader #the avengers #loki x you #loki x y/n #loki x little #little reader #little!reader #fandom agere #age regressor #age regression

[cenorii]

A little theory about birthdays

I'm bored, so it's time to share my silly thoughts about when Chris, Jill and Wesker's birthdays are. The exact date of birth of Resident Evil characters has never been officially stated, but thanks to information from the games, assumptions can be made.

Be careful, there are a lot of numbers here that you can get confused about. So take your time reading this article.

So, what do we know? Officially, in re1 (1998), Chris is 25 years old, and Wesker is 38. And Jill, btw, is 23 years old. Officially, their birth years are: 1973, 1960 and 1974 (date from her grave). Let's remember these dates, they will be very useful to us ahead.

I won't use Jill's age confusion from re5 because she has the wrong dates there.

And also I won't take Chris' age info from re1, because it was already changed in re5, and now the old info contradicts the new info. Example: he is 32 years old in August-September 2006 instead of 33 because his birthday is not yet due, but he WAS 25 years old in July 1998. This is a contradiction that I will ignore. Therefore, I will calculate Jill's birthday by re1-re3, Chris's by re5, and Wesker's by re1 and re5.

Let's start with Jill.

Jill has 1974 listed, although based on her age (23) in re1-re3, it should be 1975. I tend to assume that she just hasn't had a birthday yet, so she hasn't had time to turn 24 yet. The events of re1-re3 take place between July and October, so her birthday must be after. Probably from October to December.

Now Chris.

Chris's age in re5 (2009) is 35 years old. However, 1973-35=1974, not 1973. This means that in re5 he is a year younger than he should be. It also means that it is his birthday this year, and that he has yet to turn 36. The events of re5 take place in March, so his birthday could be anytime between March 8 and December 31. However… let's remember Lost in Nightmares, the events of that DLC take place (presumably) in late August or early September 2006. It states that Chris is 32 years old, which again doesn't ring true, he should be 33. This means that even at the time of August-September, Chris still didn't have a birthday, meaning that the interval has shortened, and that his birthday could actually be from September to December.

Wesker.

He is officially 48 years old in re5 (2009). But Wesker was born in 1960, which means… 2009-1960=49. His birthday hasn't had time to come yet either. However, in July 1998, he had already managed to turn 38, so that means his birthday is between March and July.

Result: Chris's official birthday is from September to December, Jill's is from October to December, and Wesker's is from March to July.

#resident evil #rebhfun #chris redfield #albert wesker #jill valentine #resident evil 5

[anundyingfidelity]

RED LEDGER — Soldier Boy/Ben (Chapter I)

Summary: As a former FBSA analyst, you find yourself fighting against supes in a morally gray manner. Knowing there’s not much to do thanks to Hughie’s revelations about your current director and your hidden feelings for him, you agree to help his team despite your lack of special abilities. Just like Butcher and his boys, your family has been hurted badly by Vought and its superhuman puppets. But the one you hate the most is perhaps the worst nightmare you could ever ask to face every damn day: Soldier Boy in the flesh.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 3.2k.

Genre: slow burn, angst, some hurt/comfort and romance in the end.

Warnings: Soldier Boy hurting reader intentionally and unintentionally, some misogyny, suggestive and sexual themes, mentions of a dead older brother, mentions of drugs and alcohol usage, usual language, canon violence, wounds, blood, some OOC!Soldier Boy, reader is a badass, unrequited love (Hughie x reader).

Chapter I |

GEN MASTERLIST!

Note: i hope you all like this short fic, i'm still working on my previous soldier boy fic but with season 4 right at the corner i'm arranging some stuff for it, so meanwhile please have this commissioned work, thanks !!

If you’d like to be added, the taglist is here!

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

Your eyes opened with lightning force. You can’t hear anything but an uncomfortable and annoying beep sound, echoing in your ears making you flinch and hiss in pain. Moments before you found yourself in an old, dusty tech room with Hughie inside a secret, rotten lab. Now, taking secret files and information of those who sent the V there wasn’t coming out easily.

And now, everything was blurry, your body aching on the ground as you tried to get yourself up on your knees after a very known blast blew up everything around. Debris and smoke surrounded you and you tried finding your partner with the poor visibility you had, the lights flickering on and off as rocks fell by your side.

“Hughie?!” you scream with a sore throat, inhaling the dust and dragging yourself on the floor. “Hughie!”

You perceived a mess as you stood up on your feet. Every limb and inch of your body felt like a truck had hit you countless times. This was one of the things you hated the most; being around supes all the fucking time, exposed to their childish tantrum and, in consequence, getting fucking hurt by them and their uncontrolable powers.

As the dirty haze faded away, you were able to spot Hughie’s legs. He was lying under a big hunk of concrete, and you ran towards him however your body allowed you to. Once you dropped yourself to his side, you tried to push the concrete away with no results. You could hear his whines, observing his eyes shutting close, teeth biting his lip and blood running down his temple. At least he was alive.

“Someone help!” you shouted, giving up on your vain attempts to free him. “Help! Please!”

And like a prayer, Kimiko showed inside the ruined room. Injured, with blood and guts sprinkling on her clothes, she quickly came closer to where you knelt. She gently pushed you aside and lifted up the concrete, throwing it away without further effort. A heavy gasp left your throat, taking in the sight of a big metal rod buried on his stomach, making a pool of blood on his shirt.

“Fuck! I’m bleeding, I’m dying, I’m fucking dying,” Hughie hissed through his teeth. You could hear better now the strain on his voice, the beep long dissipated from your ears.

“Shut up! We’re gonna take this out of you,” you said, sternly. In reality, you were just as fucking freaked out as him. You didn’t want to lose him. You just couldn’t.

Kimiko gave you a look; one that you knew too much. She nodded at you, eyes narrowed, and immediately, you grabbed Hughie’s hand. He screamed when Kimiko took the rod out of him, throwing it away with a thud. He held tightly to your hand while the supe applied pressure on his wound, soaking her hands on his puddle of blood.

“That shit hurt!” Hughie cried, his heartbeat increasing, anxiously breathing. “Ugh, fuck!”

“I know, but we have to go now. We have everything we need, let’s go.”

You took one of Hughie’s arms, helping him sit up. Kimiko made him stand up, taking all the weight on her. He cursed under his breath as he grabbed your hand again. It was a sign he was disturbed and concerned. And as much as you wanted to keep his touch, you pulled away, letting Kimiko do her work. She was much stronger than you anyway, and the last thing you wanted was hurting him more. They disappeared behind the rubble, Hughie’s whines of pain slowly disappearing as they left you behind. The room you were in now had two walls barely standing, door completely destroyed, and computers and metal messily arranged on the ground.

When you looked back to the direction from where the blast came, you caught a glimpse at him. That fucking bastard. He strolled through the mess between the pillars that were left slowly, and his green eyes studied the place around, realizing what happened. Or better said, what he caused. His hard stare fell on you, standing a few feet away from you. Your fists clenched and your eyes turned red at the sight. If you were more than a simple human, you would have found a way to kill Soldier Boy already. 

“Ow!” you hissed in pain.

“Sorry, Y/N,” MM mumbled, finishing up an improvised bandage on your waist. “Got a very bad wound.”

When Hughie and Kimiko left, you started to look up for Butcher and the rest, and it wasn’t until MM saw you that he noticed you were bleeding. There was a deep cut on one side of your abdomen, a horrendous one, and you felt nothing, only after he pointed out. You were able to walk just fine to the back seat of the car with MM’s help, Soldier Boy joined Butcher on the front, both men in complete silence.

“It’s fine,” you answered. “Where’s Hughie?”

“Kimiko took him to Frenchie’s van, they should be home already,” the man said, cleaning the blood from his hands with a cloth. “I’m really surprised you didn’t feel anything.”

You flinched a little, avoiding his worried eyes. “Yeah… I get to ignore pain easily.”

The whole journey back to the building, you didn’t feel a single hitch of discomfort. Most likely because your mind was far away from your reality. From your seat, the only thing you could think of was Soldier Boy and his reckless stupidity. Nothing would’ve made you feel better than to cut his throat. Too sad it wasn’t like you could. Your eyes never moved from him. He looked as calm as ever, like if he didn’t fuck it up. Like Hughie and you were nothing. Soldier Boy treated all of your team like fucking trash. And probably everyone else was getting used to it, but not you. You could not let him step over you.

With a small limp, you made it to the building and entered the place now you called home. The walls were too small, making you feel imprisoned inside. Every day was a living hell, but that special night was the worst of them all. Butcher and Soldier Boy led the way, and you bumped into them to surpass their slow strides until you stopped in front of Hughie’s door. Annie walked out before you could knock.

“How’s he doing?”

Annie’s eyes widened. She was taken aback.

“He’s resting,” the blonde said, closing the door behind her.

You could only get a small picture of Hughie lying down on the bed, sound asleep. For some reason, you felt a liability on your shoulders. Maybe you could’ve done something. Anything. If you just acted when the rumble started and before it all happened, he wouldn’t be there.

“Don’t worry, he’ll be fine,” Annie reassured, placing a hand on your arm. You looked at her and she gave you a soothing smile and continued. “Hughie’s very strong, you know that.”

God, you should be the one comforting her. She was his girlfriend after all, she was supposed to be the one fucking worried for him. In the end, you were just a friend. A very good friend he trusted a lot, according to his words. But the time you spent with him at Supe Affairs was more than enough to feel things you shouldn’t. It was so wrong recalling your own unrequited feelings being in front of Annie after her boyfriend almost died.

“Y/N, I’m sorry I have to go, need some medicine and painkillers for Hughie,” her words interrupted your thoughts.

All you could do was nod and you followed Annie with your gaze as she crossed the place between the three men standing still in the middle of the living room. She suddenly paused and let her gaze fall directly at Butcher.

“We’ll talk later,” she warned through her teeth, loud enough for everyone to hear.

The blonde continued her way to the front door, not before laying her burning eyes on Soldier Boy. The lights flickered up for a moment as she stopped on her tracks to look at him and in a second, she disappeared and closed the door with a loud thud. You were only able to see her back, but you knew better. She was angry.

And you’ve seen Starlight pissed off before, why wasn’t she doing more than giving them both a warning? Butcher was an idiot and Soldier Boy was a fucking terrorist supe under an uncapable asshole as a leader. The only sane fucker between them was MM, but even he wasn’t doing shit either. Kimiko and Frenchie were probably now locked up together. Did nobody fucking care? That was the moment where your guilt turned into pure rage. Your feet started moving on their own and hot blood erupted on your veins, your gaze on Soldier Boy as words blurted out.

“You stupid motherfucker! You’re a fucking monster!”

“Oi!” Butcher’s voice boomed over yours.

You felt strong hands grabbing your arms, forcing you to stop only a couple of inches away from Soldier Boy, not allowing you to go further.

“We almost die because of you, fucking asshole!”

“Hey, Y/N! Calm down!” MM shouted on your back, holding you in place.

“Let me go!” you yelled, squirming and trying to release yourself. “We almost got compromised because of this bastard!” you screamed to MM and quickly your gaze turned to Soldier Boy. “Don’t you know how to fucking control yourself, you stupid fuckface?!”

The supe seemed unimpressed at your poor attempts, his flickering eyes looking down at you with a straight face that you couldn’t really describe. Just like all of him. He always seemed to not fucking care. And at that moment, what else could you do? Slap him to death? You were nothing compared to him.

You hissed as MM held you tight, his strength wasn’t letting you go further and the wound on your abdomen became too painful to bear.

“Fuck,” you mumbled under your breath.

“C’mon, I need to stitch your wound,” MM tried to persuade you, pulling you backwards.

You shot a last angry glare at Soldier Boy. “I so fucking hate you!”

As you spilled your words, the supe just smiled mischievously. “Get in line, sweetheart, a lot of people are waiting for a shot.”

 You forced yourself to calm down before letting MM take you away to help with the cut. You kept cursing under your breath until you disappeared inside the room under Ben’s playful gaze and Butcher’s equally pissed and concerned eyes.

“You gotta be fucking kidding, mate,” Butcher commented, watching him strolling inside the living.

Soldier Boy placed his shield on the couch before he paced around the kitchen, opening and closing various cabinets until he took out a bottle and a glass that he used to serve himself a drink. He took a sip, letting the sweet liquid burn down his throat. “We have what you fucking wanted, we’re alive… Well, twink’s half alive. But besides that, you’re all so damn welcome.”

“Yeah, you could’ve held up a bit,” Butcher tried reasoning with him. “But they were so fucking close to you.”

“Then you should tell those fuckers in the lab to stop playing their fucking russian music, I can’t stand it,” he hissed, swallowing the last bit of whiskey. Butcher gave him a stern look. “Look, they’re dead. You have your info, the stupid tubes, and I just stopped them from creating more terrorists by killing them.”

Butcher grimaced, knowing it was pointless to argue with the old man. “Just be careful with my boys,” he voiced out and he walked to your door, knocking two times before opening it and getting inside.

He was greeted with your whining as MM finished the last stitch on your wound.

“How you doin’?” the British man asked.

“Not so good,” you hissed, taking the glass of water from MM’s hands with a soft ‘thanks’. “I want to fucking punch his nose.”

“About that, I’ll give him a chat.”

You scoffed. “Can we stop bringing him into this? Hughie almost died. And next it might be me, or MM, or you, but sometimes I doubt you fucking care.”

“Stop right there,” Butcher sternly said. “Of course I fucking care.”

“Then why is he here?”

“Just for props,” he answered, but you were definitely starting to doubt it inside.

And you knew MM was feeling the same. The difference between you and him is that you were reckless, and you didn’t really were the one putting the stupid team together. If anything, you would put yourself first. Maybe Hughie. But that’s another story. You let out a deep sigh, turning your attention to Butcher.

“Alright, I’m tired, please just go. I’ll kick his balls tomorrow.”

“Found another lead,” you announced. “Sending coordinates right now.”

Frenchie, who stayed by your side working on his own laptop, smiled at you. “Perfect, ma dame.”

“Should be around 15 miles away from here; trucks have been getting there with more V according to the last security camera,” you said, standing up from your seat at the dining table with a painful grimace on your face as you approached the fridge for some cold water. “Butcher can let us know when we should attack.”

“No need, I think we can do that in the next three days. Besides I still have some ammo,” Frenchie informed you.

“That’s good news I guess,” you replied back, with half a smile as you looked around when the main door opened.

Butcher and Ben entered the place, and your mood was down again. It was barely noon and you had already taken the stupid jokes coming from the old fucker a couple of hours ago. When Butcher announced he was leaving, taking Ben along with him, you sighed with relief. Pity that peaceful time wasn’t enough for you to recover. Sure it was not plenty of time for you to forgive and forget how a piece of crap he was, and how fucking horrible your wound hurted the few hours you got to try and sleep each night. Two days after your last mission, the pain on your abdomen hadn’t been lesser, and the fact that Hughie was still inside his room sleeping and resting, accompanied by Annie just made it worse, reminding you of the amount of hatred you had grown for him. As you finished your bottle of water resting against the kitchen counter, Ben approached, leaving a paper bag on top. You watched Butcher and Frenchie talking about the next lab target from afar.

“How’s your wound doing?”

Soldier Boy’s question made your eyes fall on him, frowning your brows.

“Are you asking ‘cause you care?”

He smirked. “I don’t need liability, that’s why I’m fucking asking. I know the twink is not doing so well though.”

“Fuck off.”

Soldier Boy rolled his eyes as your gaze focused again in Frenchie on the dining table, folding your arms on your chest.

“You really have no idea of what triggers my blasts, do you,” Ben said.

“No. And if you won’t tell me that you will control your shit, then I don’t fucking want to keep talking to you.”

He scoffed, with that stupid, haughty smile of his. You noticed he got closer to you, as he started to speak. “Right, and I might have to remind you that you’re alive and breathing.”

Anger raised again and you forced yourself to keep it cool, just because you didn’t want to make an act. After all, you couldn’t really control it. Butcher already scolded you for it the day before, like if you were a damn kid. MM also talked to you about it. You were ready to throw a knife to Soldier Boy last night right during last dinner, even if you knew it wouldn’t do anything to him. He was such an annoying douchebag and probably deserved more of what happened to him back in Russia.

“Listen, if it was on me, I’d already cut off your dick and shoved it down your throat until you choked on it,” you blurted out in a whisper, holding his eyes.

He tried to lean to get closer to your ear, but you stepped back. And even with that, the distance was too short for your comfort when he whispered back.

“Sugar, I still need my dick. Maybe you’d like a taste.”

“You’re so fucking gross,” you snapped. “And you could’ve gotten us killed!”

“Is this really about you or… Hughie back there?” he teased. “Because trust me, I thought Butcher was sucking him off all this time if it wasn’t for Starlight. Or you.”

And then, everything happened so fast that you didn’t know that your fist met his cheek.

The door closed behind Butcher’s back as you entered the room first, turning on your heels to face him.

“Now, remind me why I am here and he isn’t,” you inquired.

He approached you, placing a hand on your shoulder. You could already feel the sermon coming out of his mouth. Butcher seemed to forget Soldier Boy was the one starting to bother you and being an idiot since he arrived, and the tension was palpable but nobody seemed to care. That or they were pretty good at hiding it. Of course the only thing Butcher cared about right now was taking down those labs to sabotage Homelander and Victoria’s campaign, not how well you’ll mix with everyone on his team.

“Just a couple of fucking missions, Y/N,” he started, and you noticed he tried to use a calm tone of voice on you. “I know you’re not particularly fond of him, but we don’t need another unpredictable reckless asshole in our team, now do we?”

“Me? Reckless? I’m not the one putting everyone in danger because I can’t control myself!” you shouted, and watched as Butcher doubted his next words. Instead, he pulled his hand off from your shoulder and straightened himself. “I’m wounded, but Hughie had the worst part and you still scold me for being mad at Soldier Boy for that. Are you gonna do something when it’s your turn to be blasted by that piece of shit?”

He took one of his hands, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I fucking know that. We need him to take the labs down. Can you behave while we do that?” he asked, looking right into your eyes.

“How much time?”

“I don’t have—”

“How much fucking time?”

Butcher scoffed. “A month, or two. Maybe more. I don’t exactly have a number to tell ya.”

You rolled your eyes. “Your chat with him was for nothing, dickhead. He��s still out there, being an asshole. And honestly, he deserves more than a punch, and you know that.”

You were ready to leave, passing by his side when his hand wrapped on your forearm, stopping you in your tracks.

“He’s being watched by the CIA, they put a tracker under his skin. Once we’re done, he'll be put to sleep again,” Butcher informed. His words made you look back at him.

“You better make it happen.”

Soldier Boy taglist: @delaynew @k-silla

@thesilmarillionblog

@onlyangel-444 @mrsjenniferwinchester

@daisy-the-quake

@jackles010378

@mostlymarvelgirl

@deans-spinster-witch

#soldier boy/ben #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy x y/n #soldier boy fanfiction #soldier boy jensen ackles #the boys soldier boy #the boys series

[thelesbododo]

This is a headcanon circulating around a sensitive topic and one that you may not agree with so if you don't want to read it please scroll.

This headcanon revolves around the character Osamu Dazai and the concept of sexual assault

I believe that Dazai was sexually assaulted as a child

This has nothing to do with Mori and takes place long before they even meet

While it is true we know little to nothing of BSD Dazai's past, it is also true that it is highly likely the Irl author and his No Longer Human counterpart was SA'd

There are two specific pieces of writing are evidence of this

"My true nature, however, was one diametrically opposed to the role of the mischievous imp. Already by that time I had been taught a lamentable thing by the maids and manservants; I was being corrupted. I now think that to perpetrate such a thing on a small child is the ugliest, vilest, cruelest crime a human being can commit. But I endured it. I even felt as if it enabled me to see one more particular aspect of human beings. I smiled in my weakness. If I had formed the habit of telling the truth I might perhaps have been able to confide unabashedly to my father or mother about the crime, but I could not fully understand even my own parents. To appeal for help to any human being - I could expect nothing from that expedient. Supposing I complained to my father or my mother, or to the police, the government - I wondered if in the end I would not be argued into silence by someone in good graces with the world, by the excuses of which the world approved.It is only too obvious that favoritism inevitably exists: it would have been useless to complain to human beings. So I said nothing of the truth. I felt I had no choice but to endure whatever came my way and go on playing the clown"

- No Longer Human

"I ceased being a child soon after entering grade school. It was then that my younger brother’s nurse taught me something that took my breath away. It was a beautiful summer day, and the grass by the vacant house out back had grown tall and dense. I must have been about seven, and my brother’s nurse could not have been more than thirteen or fourteen. My brother was three years younger than I, and the nurse shooed him off. She said, ‘Go get some leaf grass’ - that’s our word for clover back home. Then she added, ‘And make sure it’s got four leaves too.’ After he left, she put her arms around me and we started rolling around in the tall grass. Thereafter we would play our secret little game in the storehouse or in one of the closets."

- Memories

Both No Longer Human and Memories are semi-autobiographies, meaning they're somewhat based in truth

I can't speak from experience but SA has a big effect on the lives of the survivors

Some of thes effects include;

Sleeping or Eating disorders

Dazai canoniclly has issues sleeping and there are scenes that imply he has issues with and/or doesn't see the point in eating, at one point saying that it is "so much trouble"

Nightmares

There is a specific scene within one kf the light novels where Kunikida asks if Dazai has nightmares.

(Unfortunately I can't find the exact moment so I can't quote it so if anyone can find it please let me know)

Self-hatred

It might not be clearly stated that he hates himself but ay the same time its rather clear that he does

Suicidal thoughts or self-harm

He is a suicidal maniac

Riskier sexual behaviors such as having many partners

He canoniclly has had quite a lot of lovers

Substance abuse

The one scene we see of his apartment we see that there is more alcohol than furniture (it's also a popular hc that Dazai smokes which makes sense considering his past with the pm and that irl author smoked)

Another moment to mention was when he seduced the nurse (which technically counted as SA too but that's not the point of this)

I'm probably gonna end it here because it's late and I'm tired but anyone willing to add or correct anything please go ahead and I hoped you enjoyed my hc

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bsd dazai #bungou stray dogs #dazai osamu #dazai #soukoku #dazai x chuuya #dazai headcanons #dazai hcs #dazai bsd #bungou stray dogs dazai #dazaibsd #osamu dazai #bsd headcanons #Bsd hcs #bsd thoughts #bsd analysis #bsd theory

[ma1dita]

when the curtains close

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader

words: 5.3k

summary: (post-tlt) The one where you lose two people in the Labyrinth that day. All strings are cut. (Pollux, Annabeth, Percy, and Mr. D find out the biggest difference between you and Luke.) (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader)

a/n: yeah to me this fic sounds and feels like that tiktok of the girl humming to her microwave. split povs: pollux, annabeth, your depictions of the titular battle of the labyrinth at CHB, some blood/gore, death & grief. the usual. you forced me to by lizzy mcalpine. references to cat on a hot tin roof by tennessee williams if you squint

(posted 5/14/24, semi edited—def coming back to this)

—

The first time Pollux has a panic attack, time seems to stop and the world keeps moving on without him.

He’s reminded of a time when you rambled on about how anxiety takes possession of the senses like a moment frozen in a snapshot meant for you to identify. In the memory, you had your feet kicked up on the dash flipping through a DSM-5 while he and Castor took turns speeding up and down Farm Road (totally normal older sister behavior from you, and when a cop pulled you over, the three of you narrowly escaped a ticket by talking in riddles and godly smoke that smelled like grapes). Pollux still remembers the sound of laughter in the car blending like three different chords to an archaic melody (or squawking crows in the strawberry fields)— the bond between you three laid out before time knew limits and was always meant to be.

It’s still his favorite song. You’re their favorite (and only) sister, they love to joke. These are facts that will never change.

“You two have each other, and well, I’ve got this,” you had said, the Zippo flicking open and closed against your thumb in the blossoming darkness of the car. Pink and purple rays of waning light blanketed the old hatchback as it steadily made its way back towards Half-Blood Hill, comfortable silence shared in the way only siblings can stand to be quiet—when there are no words needed to get a point across. But you’ve always set yourself apart from the pack, not needing anyone like how they need each other.

Not since Luke left. The growing distance between you three since your untimely resignation from camp was proof enough. Pollux’s eyes met Castor’s in the rearview mirror as they both noticed your sad smile. His brother’s voice broke through the silence then, having always been the one blunt enough to say what was on his mind, “You’ve got us too if you let us see you more often.” Your fidgeting stops.

“It’s not you two, it’s just hard to be back here sometimes. I see things for what they used to be instead of how they really are now. Now it’s just… it has to be all business.”

Pollux cracked a smile, “S’what you get for growing up. Soon we’ll just be annoying voices in your head like you are to us.” Shutting your textbook, you turned to look at them from the passenger seat, eyes that match theirs darting between their blond heads, “All of us have to grow up eventually. Except maybe you two— I prefer you in my nightmares like the kids from The Shining. Whenever you get sick of Dad, come see me. Gods know that camp deserves a break from the two of you too.” Your knuckles knocked against both of their heads affectionately as he put the car in park, “My built-in bodyguards, huh? Always looking out for me.”

All words and meaning escape Pollux now as he stands in the greenery of the North Woods with battle gear ill-fitted to his large frame. It’s the first siege he’s ever taken part in, the first time he’s had to use battle strategies outside of Capture the Flag and the first time he’s slashed his way through monsters and demigods with the intent to try and kill or be killed. Sword and Shield could have never prepared any of them for this—as his eyes meet Castor’s and then yours with all of you thinking the same thing, the three of you join the sea of iridescent orange through mind-numbing black moving like a sharp three-pronged sword.

This type of stuff isn’t typical for him, he thinks. He and Castor are used to being comedic relief— being the source of laughs and juice boxes for pesky little campers instead of facing the real world outside the boundaries of the Mist. Perhaps your father babied them to make up for the time he lost with you, but there’s a moment where he wonders how being kept soft will keep him alive in a world as harsh as this one.

Childlike innocence is ripped away from them in the bubble they’ve inhabited until this moment. Home is now a warzone and like lambs set up for slaughter, the twins both turn to look at you as a shuddering gasp leaves your mouth at the carnage in your surroundings, monster blood and fallen friends and enemies at your feet. Breaking away from formation to take a deep breath, he looks at the sky and wonders where your father is, but smoke and soot fill his lungs and he coughs desperately for a breath of fresh air.

Pollux thinks he must have stopped breathing before Castor took his last breath. It wasn’t supposed to be a competition, but sometimes life was just funny like that.

5, 4, 3, 2, 1.

Just like you told him.

Castor was always the more manic one while Pollux knew how to endure. Children of Dionysus are forced to befriend insanity before it makes an enemy out of them—twisting the ugly into what’s real and creating something beautiful out of the deranged. You’ve shown the boys how you detach from emotion by recognizing the details—separating fact and fiction, a methodical process only describable by the blood that runs through your veins. Pollux doesn’t know where to start—everything happens so fast but it plays out in front of him like someone putting the pieces together to a stop-motion animation.

He sees Castor’s sword fall to the ground when he gets slashed on the forearm and sees him get clubbed over the head with a metal weapon he’s only seen bad renditions forged for theater practices and hanging on the walls of the armory. Castor falls first to his knees, and then into the dirt with a thud. He never knew there could be that much blood coming out of a person, much less a mirror image of himself. Pollux sees your face come into his line of vision, deep maroon splatters on your face glittering with hints of ichor and then you’re moving because he can’t. The enemy is coming back for him now, and for a moment he wonders if Castor will be mad if he lets him. He sees you turn in an instant, swinging your sword down on the neck of the aggressor, a teenager not much older than he and his brother are—were. It’s funny how his brain immediately makes the switch to past tense, and how he can’t stop thinking about how he’ll forever be older than his twin now. Pollux then sees you catch the body of the boy you just killed as life seeps out of him slower than it did for Castor.

It doesn’t make him feel any better.

His knees hit the ground next to his twin, touching the sludge of dirt soft like quicksand and moist with what he hopes is not blood, but Pollux is not quite sure of what else there is to hope for. His fist is wrapped around Castor’s shirtsleeve, touching faded orange and sweat as he holds on for dear life. Maybe if he tries hard enough his soul will still be intertwined with his. Your hand touches his shoulder, five fingers reaching out to brush the back of his neck and the feeling of your skin helps him refocus a bit, even if you’re saying something he can’t make out. Then the metal of your Zippo lighter feels cool to the touch within his palm and he knows what he needs to do.

The battle isn’t over, but for the three of you, everything stops here. There is no going forward without your brother. You were never meant to be children of war.

Pollux hears the sound of his heartbeat thundering through his ears, blood rushing through his veins and can’t help but notice the silence amid the chaos. There are no words fit for this—and even if there were, Castor and you were always the more talkative ones. He hears the spark of the purple flame between his fingers, blowing the smoke over him and his brother’s body, and their father’s powers blanket them like how you used to tuck them into bed, warm and safe. This is what your family is—unconventional and unending even in different realms of existence. And then Grover’s scream of panic echoes through the air and everyone hears that. Hysteria ensues as monsters and demigods alike run amok, and Pollux realizes he’s stopped shaking. In his father’s domain, he will always find comfort.

You stand above him now directing campers calmly with a free hand—a brewing storm hidden beneath your skin that he now understands. Hidden by the illusion of smoke, Pollux’s tired bones rest alongside his brother’s dead ones— together as they always were meant to be.

The three of you together, his little family—that is a fact he hoped would never change.

The smell of grapes envelops him as he leans his forehead against your muddy leg… when did the battle end? It almost masks the scent of death that rips through the air as your hand brushes through his sandy hair. Pollux stinks of sweat and you stifle a laugh as you see him smell his armpit. You three were always the same type of fucked up. He doesn’t look down at Castor laid across his lap but knows he would’ve found it funny too. Ignorance of reality even for a moment serves as a comfort. Purple meets purple as he looks up at you with a smile that doesn’t fit his face anymore and he croaks, “Wonder what dad would say about our first battle…”

Glory was never meant to be this bittersweet—it tastes like blood in his mouth until he wipes it away from his cheek and realizes it’s Castor’s. In a way, it’s his too, everything about him and within him is exactly the same down to the star stuff the fates wove them from.

“I’ll be the one to tell him. You take care of Castor,” you answer, as if there’s anything else he would want to do and he realizes you’re crying— and he’s seeing all of the pieces put together in front of him in this photograph in his mind.

Pollux blinks slowly.

Suddenly the image he has of you is more defined— there is new meaning to the sadness you could never shake off all these years, and he is too young to lose his greatest love but he realizes then that so were you.

How long does this have to go on? he wonders, grabbing onto your hand with an eagerness only comparable to the feeling he got when you and Luke whisked him and Castor away from Florida all those years ago. This punishment of living while half of his soul does not—what is he supposed to do next? This was supposed to be the safe place. There is nowhere left to run. His thumb rubs circles into the back of your shaking blood-soaked hand, a secret hidden by the smoke.

Pollux thinks there will always be a part of him frozen in time now, a memory of this day hung up in his mind like a portrait as he holds Castor’s cold hand in his warm one.

—

Annabeth finds you in the middle of the strawberry fields before the sun sets. She knows you won’t be sleeping tonight, not if you can fight it— not when there’s so much to do. You’ve long grown out of your ripped-up and tie-dyed camp shirts, and the one slung on your frame is newly pressed and starchy from the storage room of the Big House, still stiff against your freshly washed skin. When she’s close enough to touch you, you’ve been scrubbed clean of today.

She doesn’t have to be a daughter of Athena to know that you know that she’s there even if you can’t see her, but for once she feels like she has to hide. For once, Annabeth Chase doesn’t know what to say. How can she explain the feeling of guilt that coils around her brain like barbed wire—how can she even begin to apologize for the thing wearing her brother’s skin, knowing that it killed yours? For once, her hubris is crushed by the sinking feeling of humiliation.

“Was your first quest all you thought it would be, Annie?”

As she takes her navy cap off, silver braided strands around her face wave in the wind as a reminder of what Luke put her through. Though as she looks at you now with your berry-stained fingers plucking at stems one by one instead of using your powers, she thinks that your mind is elsewhere—anywhere but here, where everything is a painful reminder of your five years as a camper.

Five years with Luke.

Mourning him isn’t a new feeling for either of you, even though he comes in and out of your lives like a poltergeist you want to bash across the head, just always out of reach. But he’s a constant, even when he’s not here and he’s what binds you two together as you huddle hidden away from the rest of camp.

“He did this for you.”

It’s not a question, more so a fact out of Annie’s mouth when you finally meet her eyes and sigh, “Luke’s always had a way going about things. The most stubborn man to ever live.” You toss another strawberry into the crate at your feet. No one’s working right now, trying to tend to the injured and the dead. Everyone’s doing their best to chase away the nightmares that are bound to come, and she knows you’ll be making rounds with her on the night shift to ease everyone’s anxieties. But there’s a thought so strong it makes her head hurt, bursting at the seams until she can’t stop with her last-ditch effort to fix her found family.

“Maybe if we find him, we can save—”

“He’s been out of time for a while now, Annabeth. We both knew that,” you say, voice firm and unwavering. You’ve never sounded so monotone before, and it hits her as her mouth falls agape, “You’re giving up on him? Why…why would you give up on him?” Anger courses through her veins like fire and she’s mad that she’s at the center of this prophecy, of Hermes’s anger for his doomed son who will love you until the ends of the earth.

And what of her?

What of the hope she has in happy endings, how is it that you’re so damn calm? Annabeth kicks at the crate, strawberries rolling out in different directions and your jaw tightens as you let her be petulant, let her scream and yell until her inner child can catch up with the reality of the world around you.

“How could you?”

Your name echoes as she repeats it, grabbing at your shoulders and she’s as desperate as the truth that shakes her when you cup her face in your hands and wipe her tears.

“You’ve carried the weight of the world Annabeth– you know what it feels like to let it go. It’s time to let him go. There’s nothing I can do or say to fix this.”

Then it hits her that you knew of his fate and yet this was still the outcome. There was nothing else to do but watch him be puppeteered by a Titan and have to fight evil while it wears his face.

“He came to you after he saw me, didn’t he? Why didn’t you tell me? Why don’t you love him anymore?”

Because it wouldn’t have changed a thing, your eyes say. Instead, you grimace as you say, “Wouldn’t that be funny if it were true?” You lean down and pick up the fallen berries, some bruised and covered in dirt, and then you look at her again with teary eyes.

“Some prophecy huh? To lose a love to worse than death. What could we have done besides love him until the end?”

“He’s still in there. I know you know that too. Don’t talk about him like he’s not,” Annabeth insists, and a sad smile settles upon your face. It’s as gentle as the kiss of the breeze on your cheeks.

“I lost a brother today, Annie.”

“Me too.”

—

The funny thing about planning funerals is that with all the fuss it takes to organize one, you still find extra time on your hands. Barely getting any sleep and dragging yourself out of your dad’s bed, Pollux snores loudly next to you after hours of working on Castor’s shroud. Sleep wasn’t expected for either of you, but being unconscious was the only way of giving your brains a reprieve. The both of you have been busy doubling down on the preparations, even if it means Mr. D won’t be back in time while he’s out rallying gods for war.

The faster Castor’s earthly body is reconnected with his soul, the easier his trip will be into the Underworld, Nico says, and it’s funny how comforting the little emo pipsqueak can be when it comes to matters of death.

Perhaps this is the solace you bring to others with things you’re able to control—keeping camp afloat is something you were always good at, and helping every traumatized child that comes up to you for a juice box or a lullaby eases the guilt that follows you. Walking around Camp Half-Blood for more than a weekend made you feel like a judge, jury, and executioner. Though most of the campers from almost five years ago have either aged out, defected, or died—the ones that remain still look at you like you’re trouble.

Perhaps you always will be.

You even found yourself with the time to pray to Hermes last night for your brother’s safe passage into the afterlife, though if he’s angry at Annabeth, he must hate you for letting Luke go. Dinner didn’t seem appetizing enough anyway, so your whole plate was tossed into the hearth. You hope he likes chicken and rice.

But if a god can’t fight fate, what did he expect you to do?

The Iris Message to your dad last night was difficult, to say the least. Pollux’s hands shook as he continued to paint grape vines onto the silk cloth and the both of you didn’t say anything when your father started to cry. He out of all of the gods knows what it’s like to be tested to the limits—to endure pain and it’s a gift you and your brother are grateful for in times like these. Watching the god display the human emotion that either of you couldn’t as freely made it more real though.

There was also the interesting predicament of Chris Rodriguez being locked up in the basement of the Big House. Replacing screaming fits with serenity was almost second nature, and your gentle hands were what got Clarisse to truly respect you again for the first time in years. You could hear her sneak downstairs and talk to him while he slept (and the look in her eyes when you’d greet her with a cup of coffee made it known to you that she finally understands what it means to love someone who’s lost—two demigod daughters filled with a lot of rage and hurt were more alike than they think).

So the morning of your little brother’s funeral, you found yourself on the shoreline of Canoe Lake, setting your Redbull against the post of the dock and looking out onto the water.

You needed to do something with your hands. In the past few days, if your fingers were not occupied by pen and paper, a guitar, supply crates, or anything else that was helpful to others and all the more distracting for you, it’s been so easy to pick at any little thing. Perhaps it was your subconscious trying to reflect the damage on the inside, but today, your nail polish was chipped beyond belief. A small price to pay to not lose it without a signature boyish smile to ease your worries and amber eyes that could help you escape from the routine.

Running camp was always easier back then with your runaway boy and his scarred cheek.

How pathetic.

Crouched over in the sand, you plucked stones and filled your pockets with them. They knocked against each other — weighing your pockets down as you walked closer to the dock. Swinging your feet off the side and chucking them into the water, you could barely achieve a ripple.

It’s so quiet that you end up wondering if the rocks in your pockets would weigh you down to the bottom of the lake. It must be nice down there, to exist away from everything.

Bubbles surface slowly in front of you, then Percy’s head bobs in the water as he squints at you through sunlight.

“You chucked a rock at my head!”

A smile tugs at your lips, almost indiscernible but definitely there, “I was trying to skip them. Didn’t know you were doing water tricks in there, kid.” His grin gleams like freshwater pearls, pulling himself up onto the dock as his hand clasps yours. Shaking his sopping hair, Percy’s gangly frame sits next to yours like a wet bag of sand—all wrinkly and misshapen and sprinkling you with lakewater.

“Maybe next time don’t pick rocks the size of your fist. How many have you got in there? Your aim is scarily accurate,” he laughs and you huff and shake your head when his hand sticks into your pocket and takes out a few smooth ones to roll around in his hand. You mirror him, watching him skip a few stones into the water that reach a good distance before sinking into the depths of the lake.

There’s something sad about feeling comfortable to trauma dump on the teenage son of Poseidon, but with the way he grabs your arm at your third unsuccessful toss of a rock, you can’t do anything else but sigh.

“Why didn’t any of you call me, Percy?”

He was waiting for this question—it’s been banging around in his head since the beginning of Annabeth’s quest, and perhaps her talk with you yesterday didn’t go as expected so once again he’s left with the difficult part.

Things happened to turn out pretty difficult for him a lot.

Many things could have been made easier in the past few weeks: Ariadne being your stepmother and her blessing to you would’ve made the Labyrinth easier to navigate, and having another demigod to fight alongside him instead of a mortal girl would’ve been a plus too. But he looks at you with ocean eyes and a smaller smile that reminds you of how he looked at you when you dropped him off in Montauk the summer you met him and quit your head counselor job.

“You’ve already made a lot of difficult decisions. We weren’t sure if…”

The rotten wood beneath you creaks under your shifting weight as you turn to him, tucking your legs underneath your bottom.

“Didn’t think I could handle it?”

He shakes his head, “The opposite, actually. Annabeth has this notion that you’re the only one that can save him. You know, back on my first quest I met Luke’s dad and he told me something…”

You swallow instead of answering. There’s no way Percy is giving you Hermes’s advice right now. Somehow this feels like karmic retribution after years of spiting that asshole, and what he tells you next is more of a sign that he listened.

“He said, ‘Do you know what that feels like? To be so close to someone you love knowing neither of you has any choice but to keep hurting each other?’ I didn’t get it then, but I do now.”

“With Luke and his mom?” you ask, picking at the remaining slivers of varnish on your thumbnail.

“With you and Luke. I didn’t call you, because… why would I want to see you hurt after everything?” Percy says this like it’s something he would do for everyone.

Perhaps it is, but the knot that forms in your throat feels as heavy as the boulder you almost sunk into his skull. He’s tall enough to lean your head against now, and you don’t mind the water spots that will form along the side of your funeral outfit. The shape of him it leaves will remind you of the little brother you gained through so much loss.

“Plus he has a new girlfriend. Absolute horse of a girl,” he jokes. It slips over your head but you still giggle, “I could’ve taken her.”

“I know, that was Grover’s worry. You’re prettier anyway…” Percy pauses, and then clears his throat, “You’ve always taken care of this place, y’know? Even after….I just think someone ought to take care of you.”

Your shoulder bumps against his as you finally skip a rock. It only bounces across the water twice and you think Percy might have had something to do with it, but you’re not bothered by the help this time around.

—

You wake up in the dark of night to see your dad looming in the doorway to his office. With drool and a post-it stuck to your cheek, he comes over to ruffle your hair in amicable silence.

“Hard at work or hardly working?” he chuckles, leaning over your shoulder to scan over the paperwork sorted into piles for him to sign from his absence.

“Hm. You wish,” you scoff, leaning against your arm as you look at him. He’s not in his usual eyesore of attire, wearing a clean-pressed suit with his hair slightly slicked back.

“You look good. The meeting went okay?”

“Grover will be. The Council of Cloven Elders? Not so much. Neither are the gods ready to take sides. Putting out little fires everywhere as we speak.”

The wheels of the office chair roll as you swing your feet, and if you both listen closely enough you can hear Pollux snoring upstairs. Chiron loved the earplugs you gave him.

Your father’s face smooths out a bit at the sight of you and the sound of his son’s breathing upstairs and he asks, “Are you? Good?”

A shrug slides off your shoulders, “How does one be good in a world like this one?”

A startling scream echoes off the walls of the Big House, rattling the floorboards from below as your father grimaces.

The work is never done for you two.

“Don’t look at me like that. It was worse when he first came here.”

“Don’t doubt it,” he mumbles, brushing lint off your shirt before he notices you’re donning neon orange. “Didn’t do laundry, princess?”

“Pollux and I haven’t gone back to our cabin since... I can wake him up if you—”

Mr. D shakes his head and goes to toss his body onto the couch against the window, shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath.

“Dad? Do you think Chris is a bad person?”

A beat passes and you think he may have fallen asleep, but then his voice sounds like gravel scraping up his throat.

“I don’t think anyone can be bad, kid. I think it is more often that people get lost. What Rodriguez needs is someone to take hold of him gently, and hand your life back to him—you…Clarisse… that’s what we’re giving him.”

Now you’re silent, staring at the dust on his name placard at the edge of the desk.

“Do you think otherwise?”

He calls your name again, and you look up like you’re about to lie to him but don’t have the energy to.

“Princess, do you think you’re a bad person?”

He stands up and walks around to your side of the desk, sitting on the edge so you have to look at him.

“I killed someone. During the battle. Didn’t even think twice about it, slashed his neck as soon as Castor went down and…” you sniff. “I kill monsters, not children, Dad. How does that make me any different?”

The last time blood was on your hands like this it was Luke’s in the Garden of Hesperides. All these years later you ended up being right— the only person you vowed to get bloody for is Luke Castellan, and now in a twisted turn of fate, you’ve bloodied your hands because of him.

“Because you did it for your brother. There are no other explanations needed.”

He sees the exhaustion in your eyes, the drop in your shoulders, but your dad also sees the strength in your bones that spans generations and he knows you and Pollux are strong because you are both his.

“Humans believe in life everlasting—glory, as some call it, but they’re too focused on achieving it on earth instead of enjoying what life has to offer,” he scoffs, “Everyone has the guts to die, but no one has the guts to truly live. How sad.”

“His name was Rowan. Son of Hecate. I taught him how to whistle the summer I left. This is all my fault, Dad,” you say shakily as he comes near and pulls you into his side. He shushes you but you relent.

“Luke’s killing all these people to fulfill a promise he made for me. I’m just fucking disgusted with myself for being the cause of it all. What good life can I deserve when wherever I go I leave a trail of blood?”

Love and addiction must be so alike; to know that to be sober you can’t indulge in the vice ever again—not only does it hurt you, but others around you. But through the years you’ve always kept the taste of his name in your mouth, the feeling of his skin under your fingertips, and the knowledge of why he’s destroying the world so he can make you a better one. Insanity stems from fighting for so long that you embrace the pain; feeling something so intensely that when it consumes you you’re able to walk out the other side and wear it as armor.

Not everyone is hardwired to persevere. There are moments like a night like these where it would be easy to give up. Instead, you pour two glasses of whiskey you’ve conjured and hand one to your dad. You both sip on your drinks slowly, embracing the crawling feeling of the burn.

“Liquor is one way out and death is another,” your dad sighs blissfully. He almost looks rejuvenated by the alcohol he knows he’ll hear about from Zeus later, but perhaps the death of his son is a good enough pardon.

“For some of us, we don’t have to think about the answer.”

Mr. D grabs a pen off the desk and starts signing papers to do something with his hands, and then you speak again, “I think I’d rather die than for people I love,” and your dad’s attention whips to your blank face staring at the moon outside the window. “Instead of killing for them. I’ve never been a good soldier, Dad.”

Mr. D looks at you thoughtfully and wonders where all the time has gone that you sit there in front of him with more knowledge than him at your mortal age before saying, “You’re my daughter. You’re a fighter. Death is for chumps anyway.”

He lifts you by the arm to try to usher you up the stairs but you stay in his office chair swatting his hands away.

“Got work to do, you and I. Not getting rid of me until it’s done.”

“When are you going home?” he asks, pulling up a chair next to yours.

“I am home.”

You don’t look up from the papers you were filing, stubbornness leaking through your voice.

“If there is a war coming, I want to be home as much as I can. I’m finishing my last semester and I’ll be here before and after classes. You can’t stop me, dad.”

And he knows that too.

There is no such thing as leaving Camp Half-Blood for you.

Never for too long. Your love for it is scattered everywhere campers can see.

—

In all these years, you never believed I loved you. And I did. I did so much. I did love you. I even loved your hate and your hardness. - Tennessee Williams

#luke castellan x reader #trouble!verse #made by ma1dita ♥︎ #pjo x reader #percy jackon and the olympians #luke castellan angst