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peachesofteal · 3 months

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Part two the Sassy Series but can be read as a standalone.

Simon Riley/female reader 3.5k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ Angst, PTSD, canon typical violence, bombs, blood and injury. Smut, oral sex - fem receiving, praise kink, creampie. Unplanned pregnancy. Everyone is bad at feelings. He's like a bomb. Note: This was never posted to Tumblr, so in honor of the series and to complete the masterlist I decided to clean it up a bit and bring it over here.

The truck is a silent tomb.

Rigid, hard lines of muscle hold themselves still without quiver, eyes darting from the road to the floor, hands to feet. No one speaks. Soap’s fingers tap restlessly on his leg, and occasionally, he peeks around before refocusing his vision on something in the distance, something you’re not even sure exists.

The only one really looking at anyone, is Ghost. He’s staring daggers at you in the rearview mirror, fire blazing in his irises, heat so intense it forces your head down towards your knees. Even Gaz looks away from you now, occasionally nudging his thigh against your own, but keeping his gaze fixed out the window.

You’re fucked.

Simon explodes as soon as you’re all unloaded inside the gates. He detonates like a bomb, raw fury rippling through the air, impact radius large enough that it sends nearly everyone else scurrying. “Sass.” Your call sign is rough on his lips. He motions for you to step away, forcing you out from where you’re lurking close to Soap, rage, and something else, something secret, simmering beneath the surface, something you barely glean a glimpse of when he towers over you.

“Ghost. Listen-“ you hiss, fingers flying to push his hulking body away, anger boiling in your blood. He scoffs, like you’re so easily dismissed. Like you’re a child.

“You’re losin’ it Sass. I don’t know, and I don’t care how you used to operate, but we don’t pull shit like that in the 141.”

“Fuck you, Sim-“

“Don’t use my name right now.” The paint around his eyes is cracked, revealing small swaths of skin, the crinkle of crow’s feet. “You had no idea what you were doing out there!” He yells, and you snap backwards instinctively. “You were operating blind, like a fuckin’ idiot. Cap, and everyone else, seems to think you’re a world class operator but today all I saw was stupidity. Are you stupid, Sass?” His raised voice has captured Soap’s attention, who drifts closer and closer to where the two of stand. “I asked you a question.” Ghost snaps, and you want to melt into the ground.

“No.” you whisper. It’s too much. This is too much.

“Then why would you do something like that?” He snarls, and you shy away. You’ve never seen him like this. You’ve seen him ruthless, cold blooded, laser focused on target. You’ve watched him shove a pistol in another man’s eye socket and pull the trigger, torture someone, and in the same breath, turn around and save a child from a burning building.

But you’ve never seen this. Gunpowder and rage. Metal and carnage.

You’re about to ask him what the hell his problem is when Soap steps between you both, hand out towards Ghost like he’s trying to gentle a scared animal.

“Take it easy, LT.” You use the distraction to make your escape before he can see the tears that are trying slip down your face.

Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry.

“D’ye wan’ talk about it?” Soap sits with a thud next you, soft blue eyes shining in the setting sun.

“I think you got the gist.”

“LT can be kind of intense, but don’t take it personally.”

Don’t take it personally.

Don’t take it personally that last week he was shoving his cock down your throat, telling you how good you were.

Don’t take it personally that last week, when you woke up sweating and shaking, he pressed his face to yours with a whisper. “Just a nightmare Sass, I’ve got you.”

Don’t take it personally, that five, six months ago in Belize, he was screaming in a field medic’s face, promising to hurt them if you died.

Don’t take it personally.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He shrugs, slapping you on the back playfully.

“Get some sleep, lass.” Across the gap between two tents, Price and Ghost stand with their arms crossed, murmured words drifting on the wind.

Price glances at you. His mouth moves. Ghost nods, and then leaves.

Great.

A day passes, then another.

Then a week, then two.

Ghost- Simon, vanishes from your life. Evacuates whenever he sees you coming. At first, you tried to run him down, tried to corner him, get him to talk to you, but he’s too smart, applying his tactical prowess to his new mission: avoiding you at all costs.

One day, you catch sight of his retreating back around a corner and sprint after him, calling his name, not his call sign.

He ignores you.

He’s not Simon anymore, at least not to you. He’s Ghost.

You give up. You have enough sense to know when you’re not wanted.

“Sassafrass!” Johnny gleefully calls out as you duck into the ten for the briefing. Ghost tenses like he’s just stepped on a landmine, but you roll your eyes. Dickhead. You position yourself as far away from him as possible, just to the right of Soap, out of view.

He doesn’t even look at you anymore, anyway. Not like it matters.

“It’s an easy extraction, get in, grab the target, get out. Don’t over complicate it.” You nod your understanding, and Price gives you a smile. “Sassy, you and Soap will tackle the southeast side of the building from the back door. Gaz and Ghost will come through north. We’ll meet in the middle.” Again, you nod, and Soap grins at you like a goofy faced teenager. “Alright. Let’s load up.” You shimmy your backpack high above your hips and roll your shoulders, partially listening to your partner’s excited, halfcocked thesis on entry tactics.

It's the behavior that catches your attention. The guy looks nervous, skin gleaming with the sickly sheen of anxious sweat, tense and poised, like he’s waiting for something.

You’ve seen it before. Too many times.

“Soap.” You whisper. Your tone is dead serious, and he turns with a question in his eye.

“What’s got ye spooked?” Your gaze flicks over to the guy you’ve flagged. You shake your head, just as your target is swinging his backpack around and unzipping the top pouch.

You try to warn Soap.

You press your comm and try to tell the 141.

You manage to do neither before the world explodes.

Your eyes open to pandemonium. People are screaming. Kids are crying. You can hardly see, debris and smoke from the explosion making your eyes water and practically blotting out the sun.

There’s blood on your face.

Everyone is scattered. The screaming echoes around you, mirroring the screaming in your mind.

Where are you?

Your comm’s been knocked loose. Your gun is gone.

Your body is not your own. It’s acting on instinct. Fight. Flight. Push. Pull.

It shoves everything down. Everything your brain can’t compartmentalize right now gets locked away in a dark place. You can feel it all, later.

Right now, you have to survive.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Soap yells over the noise, snapping you out of autopilot. He’s somewhere behind you, sense of relief making you dizzy when you turn and see him crouched next to a large chunk of concrete. Thank fuck.

“Johnny? Shit.”

“Yeah. Shite. What was that?”

“A bomb.” You say, dryly. He gives you a dirt look.

“We’ve gotta split, lass.” The ground has a unique dirt pattern to it. The grains are all a different size, different shades of reds, greys, brown. Where are you? They work together, forming a chaotic design, one blanket of earth, dust and dirt swirling together and- where are you, where are you, where- “Sassy!” Soap’s face careens into your point of view. It looks distorted. You jerk backwards, the quick movement making your head spin. “You okay?”

“Where are we?” The words stick to the roof of your mouth. He gives you an odd look.

“Hey, Sassy. You alright?”

“I’m good. Yeah. All good.” A pause. A deep breath. A denial. “You got comms?”

“Negative.”

“Great.”

Johnny is bleeding. You didn’t notice right away, but the crimson stain spreads under his shirt near his hip, and your panic returns, ice slowly spreading through your veins, threatening to freeze you where you stand.

“You’re hurt.” You pat his shoulder, and he nods.

“We’ve got to find the others. Or the truck.”

You can’t find the god damn truck. You have no comms. No guns, only your combat knife and two grenades between the two of you, and Soap is actively bleeding.

It looks bad.

It feels even worse.

“Maybe we should just sit tight.” He grunts, and you startle.

“Yeah. Yeah, Johnny. Let’s just sit here, in the middle of active territory, with no comms, no guns, in the middle of the street. When you’re fucking bleeding out from your gut.” You snap. Confusion flickers across his face. You never snap at him. Gaz? Maybe. Ghost, yeah. Even Price sometimes. But never Johnny. “Sorry. Sorry, Soap. My head is still spinning from the blast.”

“It’s alright, lass.” His voice is calm, smooth. You can feel him watching you from the corner of your eye before he straightens, head turning the other direction. “There’s a hostel, a few clicks down the road. Want to give it a go? They probably have a phone.” You look at him, and then down the length of your own body, tallying and subtracting, plus or minus the odds.

Fuck it.

It’s not very far, but it feels like a full days’ walk. Your head is still buzzing, proximity to the blast too close, too much, too familiar. It’s scrambled your brain, and you find yourself trying to focus on the back of Soap’s head, breathing through your nose. One foot in front of the other.

Somewhere, a block or two away, a car backfires.

Your muscles flex, and you flatten against the side of the building. Soap is talking to you, but you’re immobile, and you can’t hear him. Breathe in. Breathe out.

Something kickstarts in the back of your brain and your feet move. You give him a nod.

The woman behind the desk is terrified of you. Her eyes go round when you approach, gesturing to the phone, and she hands it over immediately, nervously looking between you and Soap, who’s slumped over in a plastic chair, bleeding.

You dial the number you know by heart without pause.

Soap is leaning against you when the truck roars around the corner, dust fogging the air beneath its wheels. He’s doing alright, your rudimentary medical skills coming in clutch when you decided to pack his wound as you waited, and the woman at the desk kindly gave you some towels for pressure. You flag them down, Price white knuckled behind the wheel, familiar skull mask in the seat next to him.

Your heart sinks.

He’s going to kill you.

When he jumps from the passenger seat, he looks anything but angry. His eyes are frantic behind the mask, wide and darting from you to Soap, pulling him from your side into his as you get closer.

“Johnny.” He says gruffly, and Soap cracks a smile.

“S’all good, Sassafrass patched me up.” He groans, and Ghost loads him into the backseat, sliding in beside him as you take the spot up front.

You’re numb. Price is asking you questions, and you’re answering as best you can, surprised when he seems satisfied after the play the play. He even says you’ve done well, the praise from your captain warming a little spot in your cold body. You nod robotically, shallow smile on your face, and check on Soap in the rear-view mirror, relieved that he’s got good color in his cheeks, still breathing.

You catch Ghost’s eyes in the reflection. They burn into you from behind the mask, pulling you apart to see inside. He doesn’t blink, and you turn away, uneasy.

You stumble away from everyone after you give Johnny a pat on the head. He’s still smiling, and squeezes your hand affectionately, medical team carting him away to receive actual care.

He’s fine. We got here in time.

You’re staring at the blood in the sink when someone tries the door handle. After it doesn’t budge, a heavy fist thumps against the thin plywood.

“Someone’s in here.” You croak. The fist bangs again, and you sigh, swinging it open to tell whoever it is to go away.

Except, it’s Ghost standing on the other side.

“Fuck off.” The bewildered words come easily, and his eyes narrow. He shoulders through the door, slamming it shut, large hands gripping onto your shoulders and then tugging you into chest, heavy arms pressing you so tight into him that you’re having trouble breathing.

Your heart flips over.

He holds you, in silence, for a moment that feels like a decade. The balaclava scuffs along the top of your head, and he steps back, still clutching you by the arms, looking you up and down.

“Where are you hurt?” He shifts, thumb stroking a tender spot above your temple where you have a scratch, pulling the wet cloth in your grip free and dabbing it to the side of your head gently.

“N-no. I’m not. Just Soap. I’m fine.”

“Good. That’s… that’s good.” You stare like he’s grown two heads.

“Ghost.” You’re cautious, unsure. Confused. You don’t know what’s happening, why he’s standing in the bathroom, caressing your face, helping you clean up. He holds the cloth under the tap, bringing it back up to your cheek. “Ghost.” You try again. Nothing. Finally, you try; “Simon.”

His hand stops moving. He’s as still as marble in the bathroom, lungs frozen in his chest.

He’s looking into your eyes with a long, dizzying gaze that has your own stunned wide, unable to blink, unable to look away.

Until he lunges for you.

He snatches you by the waist, dragging you out the bathroom and hoisting you over his shoulder. You yelp. “Simon, what the fu-“

“Hush.” He swats your ass like you’re a petulant child, beelining for your tent.

Sometime in the night, when the base is somewhat quiet and the lamp light has dimmed, he folds you in half on the threadbare mattress, pressing your legs back towards your ear, eyes trained on where your cunt flutters for him, clenching around nothing as you wriggle and try to press your thighs together for friction.

“None of that. Be good.” He admonishes.

“Simon. Please.” You’re not too proud to beg in this moment, that’s what nearly dying will do to you. You need him.

He sinks to his knees, still framed between your legs, and rolls the bottom of the balaclava to his nose.

It’s the first time you’ve ever really seen the skin on his face in such a large amount. No paint. No skull. No black cloth. Just his jaw, broad and sharp. His lips, full and wet, flash of tongue darting out from behind his teeth, mouth hot against your pussy, thumbs spreading you open to have his fill.

“There she is.” He murmurs, lips on your clit like a lover’s kiss. His tongue seeks your swollen nub under its hood, and it’s so much, warmth of your body, his face, all of it melting into your skin. Your heel pushes against the mattress as you rock your hips up into his mouth and he chuckles, a hand pressing down on your lower belly. “You taste good, Sass.” You clench, twitching, getting close, orgasm barreling through your nerves, body moving in tandem with each swipe of his tongue, muscles seizing-

He pulls away, hand wiping his face and rocking backwards on his knees.

“What the fuck?” You screech, propping yourself up on your elbows. He’s loosening his belt, and you can’t resist reaching, wrapping your fingers around the throbbing length of his cock. He snatches your hand away, holding you by your wrist and bending you back down, laying his weight on top of you and pushing inside your cunt with a single thrust. It’s been months, yet your body yields to him immediately, aching burn fizzling out as your walls flutter and you whine.

“My girl.” He moans, fucking into you like a man starved. “My good girl.” You stutter out a response, some jumbled nonsense that sounds like his name, sounds like Simon. “My sweet girl, takin’ my cock like you were made for it.” He rears back, pulling your leg to his shoulder, foot dangling next to his ear.

“Fuck, Simon. Don’t- don’t stop please-“ His thumb continues in a circle on your clit, pleasure shooting through your muscles.

“Are you going to come?” you nod furiously, eyes clenched shut. “Look at me.” He bears down on you, gripping your face, and you find his usual guarded gaze nowhere, nothing between the two of you, just two raw currents slamming against one another they’re sparking. You can’t look away.

He thumbs your clits hard, giving you more as he thrusts, rising crescendo forcing insane noises from your mouth, sounds you don’t even recognize, gasping as your orgasm rolls over you like you’ve been hit by a truck. You tighten around him like a vice, and he swears, burying himself deep, walls pulsing around him, pulling his orgasm into you with ease.

You both slips into uneasy sleep, his body wrapped around yours so tight it almost hurts. Your dreams are broken, shattered fragments of bombs from past and present; voices screaming, friends pleading. You scream, pain and fear scratching under your skull, an attack, and bombardment you didn’t see coming. He holds you, soothes you, kisses you, still tense, coiled, ready to spring if need be.

“I got you, Sass. I’m here.” His voice is soft in the dark, fingers smoothing the sweat dampened skin of your face. “I’ve got you.”

Two days later, he rips the rug right out from under your feet.

“What the FUCK is this?” you brandish the stack of papers in your hands at Simon, who sits calmly in the corner of the tent. He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge your shrieking, your voice reaching frantic pitches of incredulity.

“Can’t have you here.” He says simply, like that’s all the explanation that’s needed. You’re vibrating, rattling with fury, with fear.

“You reported an intimate relationship with Price, to get rid of me?” His eyes narrow behind the mask, but he doesn’t deny you. “Oh my fucking god, Simon.” You laugh, and it’s sour, spoiled. Rotten, like the sickness that’s turning your stomach. This has to be a joke.

“I can’t have you here.” He repeats himself like a broken record, before he’s on his feet and heading for the exit.

“Simon!” You hiss at his retreat, but it’s far too late. It’s too late for all of this. He’s already gone.

He doesn’t come to say goodbye. Johnny shuffles out to the airfield to give you a hug, Gaz and Price with him. Betrayal burns the back of your eyelids as you shake hands with your captain, and he gives you a knowing look. A sad look.

When the helicopter banks over the tents, you see the black spot of someone standing outside, face turned up to the sky, and you stare at the white and black skull until it disappears from view completely.

You’re restless.

Your house is a skeleton, the walls of the rooms empty, silence so loud you swear you can feel it reverberating in the floors. You were technically on leave, but available for transfer, even though you hadn’t put in for anything, and hadn’t put any feelers out for private sector either. There was something glitching in your brain. Something serious after that last explosion. The whispers of self-doubt echo in your mind. You were off after that bomb, there’s no denying it.

You’ve tried to cleanse yourself of it. Of him. Of everything. You stand under the spray of the shower and scrub your skin until it hurts, letting the bathroom become so thick with steam it’s hard to see. It’s the only thing that relaxes you. It’s the only place that feels quiet.

It’s three weeks later when you start to get sick. At first, you think it’s a bug and expect it to pass. You have a hard time keeping anything down, your stomach sending food and water right back up your throat, forcing you to sip electrolytes throughout the day to keep from crashing.

When four days of the same turn into five, and then six, and then a week, you start to get nervous. You start to do the math.

That’s how you end up in the drugstore, staring at the selection of pregnancy tests. Just to rule it out. You tell yourself. There is no way you’re pregnant. You were good with your pills. You rarely ever missed one. Better safe than sorry.

The test glares at you, fully aware of much an affront it is.

“This can’t be happening.” You whisper to yourself in the mirror. “This isn’t right.” Fear ricochets up your spine.

Fuck. Simon.

#sassy series #peaches writes #simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader

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bowandcurtsey · 1 year

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hihi! posting this another time because anony slid into my dms with verification :3 Thank you for that and thank you for the loooong wait! I've been busy in irl stuff like dealing with house reno shits. sigh.

Also this request came from HERE. And also, Nozel is already in there so we'll do Fuego and some other characters that I wanted to try, hehehe

Characters: Black Clover : Fuegoleon | Zora x f! reader Haikyuu: Ushijima | Kageyama (post time skip) x f! reader tw: nsfw-ish, minors dni. Unchecked works. I'll try not to describe too much of body size but reader is in a body size that can fit into the men's clothes.

Fuegoleon Vermillion

The sun was already high up in the skies, a rare occurrence for Fue to still be in bed. But it was his day off and he was happy to snuggle in bed with his beloved, you.

He reached out his arm to pull you closer, taking in the scent of your hair and - wait. There was a musky scent. It was coming from your clothes.

His eyes fluttered open in confusion, you smelt manly and familiar.. you smelt like him. You were wearing his sweat shirt from the night before.

Then he recalled, the late night love making session ended with the both of you falling asleep in each others arms naked.

Seeing you in his clothes, you must have been cold, which covered your frame nicely like a cute night dress turned up a flame in him. The fabric covered all his markings that he left on your skin from last night, yet you in his shirt meant that you belonged to him - wholly.

He found his member harden against your behind, wanting more of you, wanting his clothes wrapped around you, your skin full of his marks and your womb full of his seeds. Again.

Zora Ideale

Well this man hardly wore anything on usual days so he was pretty caught off guard when he woke up, finding you in one of his old hoodies one morning.

He stood there for awhile, looking at you in his hoodie, barely covering your ass. Your butt cheeks stuck out a little as you walked around the kitchen.

His arms wrapped around your waist from behind, giving your ass a little squeeze.

"where in the world did you find this hoodie?"

"mhmm from your side of the closet? It was pretty cold this morning so I just put it on~" you gave him a peck on the lips as you returned to your cooking.

"with nothing inside?" your boyfriend was feeling you up from above the hoodie.

"well this was warm enough- "

you didn't finish your sentence because he turned off the fire and carried you onto the dining table

"maybe breakfast can wait pretty girl," he lifted the hoodie a little, double confirming that you were indeed wearing nothing.

"baby! it's cold today!" you protested as your squirmed under his hold.

"I have no problems fucking you in my hoodie babes."

Ushijima Wakatoshi

There was a gala last night and you were dressed to the nines, looking sexy and beautiful in your maroon dress, while your man looked a sharp and smart in his maroon suit.

Of course everything came off the moment the both of you came home; you both couldn't keep your eyes off each other throughout the entire gala.

But this, was another thing altogether.

He called you, telling you to wake up because he got your favourite breakfast on the way home from his morning jog. But what he didn't expect was how you looked so fucking sexy in your bed head, sleepy face and in NOTHING except his huge white shirt.

"You're back from running? That was fast.." your words were still slurry from sleep.

"You look sexy like this." your man was not a person of words so he was always simple and straight to the point.

"I have no idea where my pjs are and this is the only thing I could put on..." you were trying to explain but you were scooped up in his huge arms as your thighs was wrapped around his waist.

His member was already poking at your entrance from under his trackpants.

"Toshi I can't, I'm still sore from yesterday..."

He didn't answer you, he was already pulling the cloth apart, exposing your breasts and sucking on them.

Kageyama Tobio

Your boyfriend was set to leave home again, to represent his country this time, for the olympics. You're proud of him, but you always miss him badly.

And on the mornings that he has to leave, you find yourself unable to let him go.

After rounds of love making last night, you were exhausted but you had to see him to the door. You hear fumbling around the house, him taking a shower and making some final packings. The car would be here soon to pick him to the airport.

You got out of bed, and put on one of his old jerseys.

"I'll miss you," you said sadly, standing at the kitchen doorway as he refilled your water bottle - something he always did for you before he left, so that you'll remind yourself to drink more while he was away.

He turned around blinking a few times at your outfit, or rather whatever that was barely covering your naked body.

He looked at his old karasuno jersey, he loved this particular one, in black and the number 9, and you looked so good in it, but all he could think of was your body and how he savoured it the night before.

His cheeks flushed a tint of pink, even after all the years together he was still flustered with you sometimes.

He pulled you close, pulling you up on the kitchen counter.

"I have a little more time.." he spoke quietly, his hands and fingers swiftly going underneath his shirt, pulling your panties off again.

His car was coming to pick him, but before that, he thought he'll coat your insides with his seeds again. How could he resist when you were in his favourite jersey?

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punktactical · 2 months

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GUTS , trafalgar law

★

summary ; never trust a handsome stranger, even if he lies about having a medical license. (reader goes home with law and bites off more than she can chew.)

warnings ; 18+ content , dark content , dub-con , gore , organ pleasure , drugging , slight somnophilia , cumming in organs , manipulative behavior , naive reader.

a/n ; third post ! again , taken from my one-shot collection on quotev.

★

she laid flat against the cold, metal table, shivering. she met a handsome pirate today and he invited her over. how could she refuse? he was so charming. he was also a surgeon, leading her into his experi - ... work room. she was hesitant at first, but warmed up to him quickly. she was confused when he asked her to lay down but didn't question his motives. it got weirder when he asked her to remove her clothes. if he was a surgeon, it couldn't possibly be weird.

she truly was a stupid girl.

"mr. law? why do i have to take my clothes off?"

he simply stared at her, fixing up a small needle of unknown liquid. his eyes were solemn and brooding, dark circles underneath them. she began to grow nervous, shifting uncomfortably. she was naked, goosebumps forming on her sensitive skin. he stepped towards her, leaning over. his gloved hand pressed on her neck, making her suck a breath in. the needle began to close in. she brought up a hand, stopping it. "wait, why do you..." even with her protest, he still sunk the needle into her skin. the injection took immediate effect, leaving her breathless. her eyelids grew heavy, forcing her to close them. she was lulled to sleep by the sound of his silky voice hushing her.

she woke up in a cold sweat, body sore. she couldn't move, just stare. she felt paralyzed. a sudden pleasure struck through her cunt, a moan slipping past her mouth. she balled up her fists, nails digging into her palms. the wash of pleasure was too much to bare, it was unexpected. something kept entering and leaving her, her juices running down her thighs. "are you enjoying this, [f/n]?"

there was the voice she adored so much.

her body shook with pleasure, she could feel her climax coming. why so quickly? how? she couldn't respond, choking on her words. "it's okay, cum on me." the words barely registered for her before she was releasing the knot in her stomach. her body spasms as she climaxes.

"well would you look at that..."

his gloved hand grabbed her by her hair, forcing her to look at the scene in front of her. her stomach was ripped open, organs and intestines strung around like christmas lights. the image was nauseating. she gagged, swallowing the vomit that threatened to shoot out. "and you can still see my cock." he spoke with excitement, bucking his hips into her. his dick moved through the organs, the intestines rubbing against his sensitive tip. her eyes were half lidded, drool dripping from the corner of her mouth.

she wish she could feel the excruciating pain of the open stomach, maybe she wouldn't feel so guilty about enjoying the pleasure of it.

his gloved hand grabbed an intestine, stroking it. she moaned, throwing her head back. "you know, i thought of killing you. and just selling your organs." he thrusts inside of her, picking up his pace. "but when i saw you sleeping, it made me decide not to." he grabbed her throat, tightly gripping it. "i'm happy i changed my mind." she whines, teeth grit, tears streaming down her face. she can feel another climax coming, this time not so pleasurable.

"you trusted me so easily. it was quite adorable how easy you were." those words cut deep, deeper than his dick was right now. her organs fit perfectly around his cock, rubbing it the right way. he groans, his thrusts growing sloppy, hinting that he was close. "cum, cum with me." she gags, body paralyzed as she reaches her high. he pumps himself deep, groaning as he releases his seed inside of her. he pulls out with a huff.

"you can see my semen mixing with your intestines."

after everything, he'd stitch her back up, kissing her stomach affectionately as it heals.

god, how many times has she vomited now?

★

#one piece smut #one piece law #trafalgar law #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law smut #op smut #smutty smut smut #dark content #dub con #smut #law x reader #law smut #punkz postz

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loveharlow · 2 years

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LOVE SICK

PAIRING‧₊˚ JJ Maybank x Ex!Fem!Reader

SYNOPSIS‧₊˚ [3.1k] Who knew being sick could be grounds for rekindling a flame with your ex...

WARNING(S)‧₊˚ swearing, mentions of being sick/throwing up, mentions of a failed relationship, Y/n’s a little mean but it’s warranted (for the most part), hurt/comfort (?), mild angst, fluff at the end

A/N‧₊˚ My first post got a lot more attention than I anticipated, ty all sm. I was literally smiling from ear to ear like a fucking kid but here’s something new! I’m trying to make my way through all the basic genres (like fluff to hurt/comfort to angst, etc…) to get into the hang of it so bare with me please.

˗ˏˋ jj masterlist ˎˊ˗

I FELT LIKE SHIT. Absolute shit.

I woke up with a sore throat and decided to pour up a glass of tea, hoping it would ease the dry aching of my throat, even if only temporary.

I didn’t have work today. In fact, I was due to hangout with the Pogues in a couple of hours. It was nothing special. We were just planning to hangout at John B’s, probably drink beers around a fire and pass out.

But now, as I sat up from my nap hours after I gulped down my mug of hot tea—throat feeling ten-times worse, a spontaneous and incessant headache pounding in my skull, and my entire body covered in a thin sheen of sweat despite feeling cold to the point where I was lightly shivering, I didn’t think going out was in my best interest.

Even swinging my legs over the edge of my bed was a struggle. They felt too heavy to maneuver.

Just then, my bedroom door was cracking open—my mother peeking in, dressed in her waitress uniform. “Hey, hun. I’m off to work. You gonna be alright?”

“Yeah. I’ll see you later.” I insisted, voice raspy. Her eyebrows furrowed as she stepped further into my bedroom, coming to stand next to me with a hand on my shoulder.

“Are you sure- Jesus, Y/n, you’re burning up.” She hissed, quickly removing her palm from shoulder and moving it to my forehead, flipping it back and forth to assess my body temperature. “Hold on.”

Then she was stepping back out into the hall where I could hear her rifling through the hallway closet. She re-entered the room seconds later with a thermometer, prompting me to open my mouth as she turned it on and planted it underneath my tongue and I clamped my lips around it.

I felt like a child but I couldn’t care less.

A few moments pass and the device sticking out of my mouth was beeping and I take it out. 102.4. Damn.

“Well, you’re sick alright.” My mother proclaims, taking the small device from my hands. She sighs and runs her hands down her face. “I could call in and stay here if you want? I’m sure-”

“Mom, I’ll be fine. You don’t need to call out of work just because I have a fever, or whatever.” I assured her.

“Are you absolutely positive? I know you haven’t had the best past few weeks lately and-”

“Mom.”

I knew what she getting at. And I’d be lying if I said she was anywhere near wrong. First, JJ breaks up with me out of nowhere after being together for over 2 years—I’m talking no explanation or anything. Having to be around him and act like we were just friends, which I guess now we were, sucked. So, in truth, being sick wasn’t too bad right now.

Then, I get a rejection letter in the mail from one of the colleges I applied to—one of my top choices, at that. Now, I feel like someone ran me over then threw me into an incinerator. I appreciated her concern but I wasn’t on the verge of death, no matter how much I felt like I was. I’d be fine. We needed the money.

“Go to work. I’ll be okay. If I need something, I can call Kie or someone.” I told her with the best smile I could offer. She was still hesitant but she nodded, exiting the room with a ‘love you’. Once I heard the front door close and lock, I let out a soft sigh. Closing my eyes for a few moments to let the pounding in my head subside for a few moments before I had to face the inevitable and get out of bed.

Standing up on shaky legs, the room spun for a moment until it steadied and I was walking—more like dragging myself—out of my bedroom and to the bathroom across the narrow hall.

I opened the mirror cabinet above the sink looking for pain medication until I found it, barely full with maybe a small handful left. Trudging my heavy frame through the hall once again, this time to the kitchen, I poured myself a generous glass of water—with ice because I hated the taste of room temperature water, sick or not.

Taking a sip beforehand for good measure before throwing the tiny tablet back and washing it down. Now, there was nothing I could really do but wait for it to kick in.

A shower could probably help to ease some of the pain, though.

A shower definitely helped. My muscles didn’t feel as sore, either. However, I’m sure that was thanks the medication finally kicking in. I still felt chilly and my throat was definitely still struggling. There was nothing more I could think to do.

So, walking out of the bathroom, steam curling out behind me, I made my way to the living room, grabbing the throw blanket that was slung over the edge of the small couch and plopping down. I just wanted to lay down and get comfy but staying in my room wouldn’t help at all. Plus, I was closer to the kitchen if I got hungry and fairly close to the bathroom if I felt the need to throw up.

Sifting through Netflix, I settled on some show I had passed a few times.

THE third episode of whatever I was watching was starting and so far, I had gotten up to drink some more water—the mere thought of food making my stomach cave in on itself—and took another ibuprofen when I felt my headache making a return. I was reaching for the remote to turn the volume up when the door bell rang.

I groaned, not in the mood to get up. Pausing the show and wrapping the blanket around my shoulders, I rose from the couch and drug myself to the front door.

Upon opening it my eyes went wide like a deer caught in headlights.

“What are you doing here?” I asked the boy standing in my doorway. I truly didn’t mean for it to come out so harsh but I guess the bitterness I’d been hiding since our breakup was crawling to the surface.

I didn’t even notice how dark it had gotten outside, the sun had completely gone down.

“We-uh. You were supposed to meet us at The Chateau but you never showed so…” JJ said nervously, a hand on the back of his neck as he avoided looking me in the eyes.

I had completely disregarded my plans with the Pogues, meaning to tell Kie that I wasn’t feeling well and hoping she’d pass the message along.

However, this was the first time JJ and I had been alone—truly alone since he broke things off. Anytime we saw each other was around the Pogues or at school. We didn’t even text each other separately anymore.

“Guess I just wanted to make sure you were alright…” He trailed off. A gust of cool air swept through my house and it was then that I realized I had him standing outside.

Stepping to the side, I motioned my head for him to come in, an action of which took him by surprise but he accepted the invite nonetheless.

“You could’ve just texted, y’know.” I spoke, closing the door behind him and locking it. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here...” I couldn’t help the judgmental tone of my voice.

Yes, we broke up but I still couldn’t help the dissatisfied feeling in my stomach behind it. JJ never gave me a reason as to why he decided to end our relationship. We were together for a long time and we went through a lot. So for him to break things off on the simple premise of things “not working out” was off-putting for me. Even Kie said that it was kind of a dick move and didn't make sense.

I moved past him to plop back down on the couch, my legs beginning to feel weak the longer I stood. JJ stood awkwardly behind me and though I couldn’t see him, he was practically radiating nervousness. I sighed and turned on the sofa to face him.

“JJ.”

“Hm?”

“Please, sit down somewhere.”

“Oh. Sorry.” He apologized, moving across the screen in front of me to plant himself on the couch, on the other end—as far away from me as possible.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I don’t know why I just didn’t unpause the TV or ask him why he felt the need to come all the way down here but he was the one who came here so I just let him work out whatever he was going to say, if he was going to say anything at all.

“Are you sick?” Was the first thing he said after a couple minutes of radio silence.

“Huh?” I turned my head to the right to face him only to find him already looking at me—the first time he’s actually looked at me since we ended things. I forgot just how it felt to look in his eyes, the way my heart would speed up.

“You look sick. I-I mean, not like you look bad, you just look tired and your nose is kind of red.”

“Uh, yeah. I meant to tell you guys I wasn’t gonna show up. Just slipped my mind, I guess.” I muttered, the raspiness of my voice now accompanied by shakiness from how it felt to actually talk to JJ after weeks of not doing so. It was extremely awkward but I'd be lying if I said I wanted him to leave.

“Did you eat anything?” He inquired hesitantly, genuine concern laced in his tone. I could still feel his gaze on the side of my face since I tore my own away. I shook my head ‘no’ and within seconds he was standing from the couch and disappearing towards the kitchen.

I knitted my eyebrows at the sound of his heavy shoes hitting the floor, a sound I missed dearly when he would come over or stay the night. However, my confusion didn’t subside as I followed after him, finding him opening the cabinet where we kept the canned foods, pulling out a can of soup. “Oh, absolutely not.” I started, shaking my head and walking over to him, blanket still on my shoulders.

I stood in front of him, reaching for the can until he held it above his head and out of my reach. I huffed and leaned against the counter beside me as he raised a brow. "Do you not like this flavor or...?”

“I don’t need your help.”

“It’s just soup.”

“No, it’s not. It’s some kind of…gesture, or something.” I countered weakly.

“I don’t think it is.” He shrugged.

“Well, I do.”

“No, you don’t. You’re just mad at me.”

My jaw dropped slightly, trying to find a response. But he was right. I had no reason to stop him from heating me up a can of fucking soup. I was just pissed. I’m still in love with him and whether he knows it or not, I’m still hurt.

“I have a right to be.” I murmured under my breath, sliding down against the cabinets until I was sitting on floor, legs out in front of me. JJ pulled out a pot and poured the soup in, adding a bit of water since it was condensed and turning on the stove. Once he got it all together, he was sliding down too, except on the opposite side with his feet next my hip.

“I know. I don’t blame you.” He faltered. He sounded sad.

“You never told me why.” I whispered, trying not to strain my voice but also slightly nervous about the conversation that was stirring. JJ sighed a placed a hand on my calf, waiting a moment to see if I’d pull away or brush him off. I didn’t.

“I got scared.” He admitted. His words sent me into a mental spiral—we were together for 2 years, I thought we were way passed the stage of being scared of commitment or whatever. “Stop thinking about it.” He said firmly, seeing the tell-tale signs of my confusion written all over my face. “Just- I know we talked about it before. Commitment, loyalty and all that stuff but when I was talking to John B a while ago, he was saying stuff that just made my head spin.”

“Like?”

“It was nothing bad. Just stuff like, he could see us getting married and having a family and that he didn’t think I had it in me until he saw how I was with you.”

“And that scared you?” I questioned. I couldn’t hide the hurt in my eyes. “The thought of a future with me…scared you?”

“No, no, God no-”

“You’re confusing me, JJ.” I hated how weak I sounded, as if the thought of him not wanting to be with me would be the death of me. But JJ was a huge part of my life whether I liked it or not. He had seen every part of me.

“I’m saying-” He took a deep breath, lifting the hat off of his head to run his fingers through his hair before putting it back down and letting his head fall against the cabinet, looking up at the ceiling. “It was me. I want all of that with you but I’m not sure if I’m cut out for it, y’know? And I know you told me you wanted all of that somewhere down the line but I never thought about it so deeply before. We’re graduating soon and I just never really took the time to think about what would happen once we actually grew up. I probably won’t leave here and lord knows I’m not cut out to be a father-

“Don’t. Don’t even go there. You’re nothing like him, you know that.”

“It’s not that.” He chuckled humorlessly under his breath, head falling back down to look at me. “I ate a moldy sandwich for fucks sake, Y/n.”

That elicited a laugh from me that I couldn’t stop. “Yeah, I was there. I still think about it sometimes. You can be so gross.” I spoke through laughs. When I came down, my eyes met his once again. “But seriously,” I started, my smile dropping slightly. “You could’ve told me. You should have. JJ, if I wasn’t sure that you were what I wanted, I wouldn’t have roped you in with me.”

“You say that I’m what you want but, am I what you deserve?” He questioned, defeated. I could see the tears brimming in his waterline, threatening to spill with one blink.

I don’t know what confidence washed over me but I was suddenly crawling over to him to straddle his waist, making sure to take the blanket around my shoulders with me—the fleece falling over both of us as I cupped his face with both hands and looked him in the eyes. I was mad when he broke up with me and none of that bitterness had dissipated until now, as this beautiful and loving boy sat here and poured out, what I hoped was, the last of his insecurities to me.

A boy who had loved me regardless and only did what he thought would be better for me in the long run. A man who barely received love in his life but was able to give every ounce he had to me. And he was asking if he deserved me?

“JJ, I love you. If anything, I don’t deserve you. With the life you’ve had, you could’ve easily become the biggest asshole this world has ever seen.” He shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But you haven't. And so what if you don’t make it out of here? I don’t care. And who says you have to? JJ, you will do something with your life. You didn't even think you'd be graduating but you look at you. You're gonna walk across that stage with all of us. I don’t care whether it’s in the Outer Banks or thousands of miles away from here, you will be amazing. And whenever we get to that point, because we will, you will be an amazing father and husband and whatever else. You’re it for me.”

He stared into my eyes, a lone tear falling down his cheek. And I could see his full expression now, he was so vulnerable. “You mean that?”

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.” I spoke softly, my own eyes beginning to water.

“I still love you, Y/n. And I’m an idiot-”

“No, you’re not. You’re just a big ass softie who sucks at communicating.” I laughed, him joining. Once we quieted down, my hands dropped from his face as one of his came up to cradle my cheek, he was leaning in to kiss me and at the last second I turned so his lips met my cheek.

He pulled back with a look of puzzlement. I shrugged with a shy smile on my face, “I don’t want to get you sick.” JJ rolled his eyes and the hand cradling my cheek moved to grab my jaw, holding it in place as he placed a long and sweet kiss to my lips. God, I missed this feeling. Once, he released my face, he was smiling and his cheeks were pink. “You’re going to get sick.”

“Then I’ll have an excuse for you to take care of me.” He said as he stood up, not moving me from his lap, just holding me close so I wouldn’t fall as he rose from the floor, me wrapping my legs around his waist. He turned to the side so my frame wasn’t blocking his view as he looked at the boiling pot of soup and turned the fire off, my arms around his neck and head leaning towards him. “Who’s the big softie now, huh? You’re clinging to me like a Koala.”

I just shrugged, not bothering to pick my head up from his shoulder to look at him. “You picked me up. It's not like I wasn’t going to stop you.” Just as I said this, he sat me down on the counter to retrieve two bowls to pour the soup into. Pouring it equally and putting spoons into the bowls, he turned around, handing me my bowl with a napkin underneath as barrier between the hot porcelain and my hands and placed his on the counter as he stood next to me.

“Does this mean we’re back together? Because I missed you way too much for this to not mean anything.” I asked timidly, swishing the soup around with the spoon, still not entirely keen on the idea of eating.

JJ paused, letting his spoon fall into the bowl as he stood to his full height once more. He cradled the back of my neck and went in to place a kiss on my forehead. “Wouldn’t dream of it being any other way.”

feedback is appreciated! thanks for reading.

©loveharlow.

#jj maybank x reader #jj maybank imagine #jj maybank #jj mayback x reader #jj mayback imagine #jj maybank x you #jj maybank x y/n #jj maybank x pogue!reader #jj maybank x fem!reader #obx fanfiction #obx jj x reader #obx jj maybank #obx netflix

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steviewashere · 5 months

Text

Let Me Make You Soup, Let Me Show You That I Care

(also on ao3)

wc: 4,149, Steddie Tags: Post Vecna, Post Canon, Post Season 4, Sick Steve Harrington, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Vomiting (Though Not Extreme, For I am Emetophobic), Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, Steve's Sucky ass Parents

(Also, I hope y'all don't mind me cross-posting some of my favorite one shots that I've put up on ao3. Figured I could push them to a bigger audience, especially those who don't use ao3).

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Steve gets sick often. Small colds, allergies, the dreaded flu. Maybe it doesn't help him that he's had so many concussions and injuries on top of that too. Left with debilitating migraines and aching sides and muscles that become overexerted too fast.

Safe to say, his immune system is now a pile of steaming dog shit.

He's become good at attempting to "take care" of himself. With his parents being absent nearly all the time, much of the recovery process and gentle care was left to Steve. His hands don't have the same soft and slim quality as his mother's did, though. Even if she doesn't make the effort to shove his hair from his sweaty forehead or massage vapor-rub onto his chest or squeeze his shoulders as he dry-heaves into the toilet. He can miss that.

It's also safe to say that Steve Harrington, best babysitter and lesbian protector, is absolutely terrible at asking for help. His idea is, Got myself into this mess, I can get myself out. His other idea is, I don't want to burden anybody; I've been that too many times.

He suspects that's why his parents aren't there now to tuck him into bed and check his temperature and read him a bedtime story. Even though, now, he's a nineteen year old "man." More like a bruised child trapped inside the buff body of an even more injured adult, left to his own devices and decisions.

Steve is miserable today. Woke up with a knocking headache, an itch at the bottom of his throat, tingly fingers, shivering limbs, and the need to massage his abdomen to elicit the vomit to come up sooner.

It's barely nine in the morning. Just cracked his eyes open. Which, are heavy with crust and too much sleep, yet not enough.

It's barely nine in the morning and all Steve wants to do is lay stiff on his mattress, a trusty tried and true trashcan on the floor, curtains closed, a heavy duvet draped over his legs, and the A/C set to sixty-eight degrees. That's what he does. Doesn't have the appetite for breakfast or water or Tylenol. He doesn't have the energy to lay on a towel on the bathroom floor, body curled around the base of the toilet bowl. And, he doesn't have the confidence to plead with somebody over the phone to "Take care of me, just this once and I'll repay you."

He's done that before to Tommy. The bastard never showed and Steve sobbed so hard at the thought of being left alone, that he hurled right onto the beige carpet of his bedroom. That's why the desk is stuffed into the corner. To cover what he couldn't even take care of.

Steve has decided to lay in bed today. Has already used the trashcan. Kicked off the duvet then whined then brought it back to his sweat drenched t-shirt hem, then said fuck this and ripped the shirt off his body.

The silk sheets against his rapidly heating body feels nice. Like laying on the kitchen floor, Steve surmises. And that makes him think of soup.

A hot bowl of chicken noodle soup. Something he's made himself countless times before. A recipe that his mom never perfected. It's just Campbell's, the instructions are on the label, yet it was never made correctly.

She'd do that. When her motherly instincts were at an all-time high. That had to be when he was probably five? Six? His mom would make a bowl of soup so warm and soothing that she would have to warn him about touching the ceramic. She would bring him a glass of orange juice and say, ever soft and comforting, "It'll help you. Mommy promises."

The juice would sting his throat and he would cough so hard she would start to worry about doing the Heimlich maneuver.

That's what his mother's "sick care" turned into. A glass of orange juice that only hurt, never helped, just made him think about swallowing glass.

Soup turned into a heat-until-lukewarm situation. Juice wasn't bought for him. His parents elected to buy "fancy juice" instead. Another descriptor for Mommy's self-healing alcohol problem, Steve began to substitute. He remembers the last time she ever made him anything or gave a shit about his weakened body.

Steve was eleven years old.

He eventually learned where to buy the Campbell's stuff. From Mevald's. Now he keeps a hefty supply in the back of his family's pantry. Ready for a day like this.

A day where at eleven, before noon, Steve has a sudden mouth watering appetite for measly chicken noodle soup.

He hefts his body into an upright position, feet planted onto the carpet, fingers white-knuckling the edge of the mattress, a quick glance thrown at the trashcan, and a heavy breath burrowed into the stale air. Right before he scoots to stand, he hears the telltale sound of Eddie knocking on his front door. A simple three pattern.

The rapping startles Steve slightly. He forgot that Eddie was supposed to come over. I'll have to send him away, he thinks solemnly.

"Coming!" Steve croaks to the bathroom floor. With whatever strength the knocking has given him, he tucks the trashcan under his right arm, creeps to the top of the stairs, and ever so carefully floats down them.

The can is set off to the side before he opens the door.

In the glow of the daylight, energized and cheery, is Eddie Munson. Wrapped in a leather jacket, hair tied up into a bun, jeans replaced with jorts, and a grin the size of the moon.

"Hey Stevie," he drawls as his lithe frame leans against the doorjamb.

"Hey man, listen..." Steve begins before being interrupted.

"Whoa, what's going on with you?" Eddie shoves into the house. His grin is set into a small frown and his eyes are glazed with concern instead of the excited energy equal to a golden retriever. "Did you get enough sleep last night? You could've called me if you had a nightmare."

That's something him and Eddie do. When one has a god awful nightmare about floating bodies and squelching flesh and sterile hospital walls, they call each other. Sometimes to just hear that the other is alive. Other times for a trip to one another's house. The phone calls could be Eddie recapping a campaign storyline or Steve bemoaning over a wretched, hag of an old woman that demanded a refund on an R rated movie her grandson finagled her into renting. Or just breathing. Steve's fond of the soft puffs of air that signal Eddie finally relaxed enough to go back to sleep.

"No, weirdly enough I slept way longer than I was supposed to. I'm just sick today. But, I'm fine. Or at least I will be, got a good grasp on this. Y'know, trashcan, soft bed, canned soup. Was actually coming down here to send you back home," Steve rushes out. He's out of breath and feels lightheaded. The headache has turned into a pulsating mess and his stomach churns violently. Before he can warn Eddie again to go out the front door and leave him be, Steve finds himself hunched over his trashcan at the bottom of the stairs, trembling with the force of his grip. One hand on the edge of said bin. The other, wrapping tendrils of hair around his fingers and pulling with enough force to surely rip out some of his luxurious hair. Which, really, is a sweaty disgusting mop today.

He feels the hand in his hair loosen. A smaller, slightly cold hand replacing it. But this time, the fingers work carefully to sweep back any loose strands. Another hand joins the mix. This one squeezes at his right shoulder.

Eddie is behind him, whispering and shushing, "You're alright. I got you, let it out." His cold skin feels amazing over Steve's damp forehead. And equally, his touches are soothing.

Steve coughs once, twice, spits the same amount, and then leans against Eddie with a heavy sigh. "Thanks," he mutters. He shutters at being oddly exposed. Now that he's realized his torso is bare and he probably looks as awful as he feels and now all of his guts are in a bin in front of him.

The bin gets shoved over to the left and Steve starts to get up from the hardwood floor. Eddie lifts him up and leans him against his side. "How about this? I'll make you something mild, get some water into you, and divvy up a couple Tylenol tablets. Your skin is hot and not in the sexy way," he chuckles.

They make their way to the living room. Steve is deposited onto the couch with a cushion shoved behind his back and the can placed appropriately at his feet, within arm's reach. Eddie adjusts his hair again, this time with the tie from his own hair, and leaves to the kitchen.

Steve is dazed. Hot all over. Itchy in some places. Runny nose, aching stomach, watering eyes, and throat so itchy he wants to dig his fingernails into the skin on his neck. This predicament almost makes him embarrassed, more ashamed than anything. He gets his ass handed to him annually and has to have people take care of him during the concussions, until he's given the okay to go home and grovel in silence. And he puts himself in situations he can't get himself out of. He's tired of it, he realizes. Feels the need to apologize to Eddie, make him cookies or something, promise to never make him do anything like this ever again.

When said man comes back into the room with three extra-strength Tylenol in his palm and a cold glass of tap water, Steve wants to cry. It's not until Eddie is setting everything down to pet at his hair and shush him again doe he notice, he is crying.

"Sorry," Steve's voice rasps. He takes a gasping breath before choking out another nasty, wet sob.

"Nothing to be sorry for. It's what your body has to do," Eddie coos.

"No, I'm sorry you have to take care of me," he breathes. That's tally number two for decisions Steve is making today. Some miserable, lonely, somewhat pathetic decisions.

Then, Eddie pulls back. His eyes are the size of saucers. And that small frown from earlier has turned into a deep-set, terribly worrying downturn. "You don't have to apologize for that. Not at all. You need help, I'm here for you. It's what we do, okay?" he murmurs. Steve cries some more at that. Choking on his tears, practically. Enough for Eddie to say, "Hey, breathe with me. I don't want you to make yourself sick again."

So they sit for a few minutes. Breathing. Steve keeps his eyes on Eddie's mouth, watching him count. And Eddie stares at his eyes. Trying to piece together all the little details about this version of Steve. The one not picking fights and towering over unlucky underclassmen and spitting venom instead of backing away when he's supposed to. This Steve that looks like a small, terrified, lonely little boy. Who feels the need to apologize for being a human being. Somebody that makes sure everybody is better off and happy and swooned over before taking an assessment of his own body, the injuries stitched into his side, and the possibility that someone also wants to make sure he's doing alright.

God, who is Steve Harrington, Eddie questions to himself.

Once the tears have subsided and breathing has been placed under control, Steve feels exhausted. Eddie seems to notice because he suggests, "Why don't you lay down for a while? Maybe snooze some while I make soup?"

Steve nods with slight hesitancy. "Can I—" he stutters, "Can I lay down in my room?" To Eddie, this is the quietest he's ever heard his friend. And that doesn't sit right with him. A man—bulky and toned, loud and sassy, bark with no bite—now sitting with his shoulders slumped, skin blotched in various shades of pink and red, breathing ragged, and looking at Eddie with terribly timid eyes. He's just a little boy, some part of Eddie whispers.

"Yeah man. 'Course you can. How 'bout you get yourself to bed, I'll follow behind with your can, give you your medicine, and leave the door open just in case you need something?" The nod Eddie gets back is so energetic, it's as if Steve wasn't sick to begin with. That part of him that's been whispering and wondering is now aching. All he wanted was to be looked after.

Where are your parents, Eddie wants to ask aloud. Who was here to take care of you, Eddie wants to dig.

In mere moments, Steve is tucked back into bed. The curtains are drawn to be almost completely closed. His door is left unlocked and gaping. There are soft snuffles drifting through the house. And Eddie finds himself in front of the Harrington's fancy electric stove.

Before he came back downstairs to cook, Steve whispered something about there being Campbell's in the pantry. "If you want to heat it up on the stove, that's what my mama did when I was really little. It's what I do now."

Eddie glances at the cans and makes a decision for Steve, He deserves better than a piss poor attempt. Homemade it is.

When he was little, Wayne used to make soup on sick days. Still does. During the recovery time when Eddie's sides were still sore with stitches and itchy with stretch, Wayne would bring him a bowl of soup and a tall glass of orange juice on a little tray. He makes a mean bowl of tomato. "Something my mamaw taught me and now I can show you," he had told Eddie.

As much of a bare wasteland as Steve's kitchen is—What does he eat, Eddie wonders—he manages to find all the ingredients necessary. After a couple cupboards are ripped open and some miscellaneous drawers sifted through, he finds himself stirring a simmering metal pot of something he hopes Steve can keep down.

Eddie wants to chastise Steve for even thinking about being sick alone. What a misery sentence. Was probably going to call Robin and say something about, "You don't need to worry. It's not bad. I'll just be out of work for a couple days." Then he would've trekked back upstairs, slow like molasses, and locked the door behind him. Would've laid in bed shivering and crying and barfing. Probably would have passed out by the time he was finally hungry.

Steve even apologized earlier for being taken care of. As if he was a burden. Made himself smaller and tighter and quieter, that's for sure. So Eddie won't do any form of chastising. That'd only make him disappear on himself more.

As the soup is being dished up with plain toast and a cup is being filled with pulpy orange juice, Eddie hears Steve startle awake upstairs. Goes from snoring almost as loud as Wayne in the winter to dry heaving, hard.

Eddie sets the made tray down onto the counter. He makes his way back to the front door and chucks his shoes to the side and hangs up his jacket. Then, tumbles upstairs just as Steve is breathing raspy again.

One. Two. Three knocks on the open bedroom door. And in the blink of an eye, Eddie is over at Steve's side. He's crying again. Nothing like the nauseous sobs from earlier, but sniffles and silent watery blinks.

Steve's hair is pushed back again. "What's goin' on Stevie? What happened?"

"N-nothing," he spits frantically into the air. Like a kid trying to hide a lollipop behind their back. A teenager caught with a lit cigarette in hand. The family dog with a sneaker in it's mouth being told to drop it.

"Okay. Okay, I won't push. But I brought you some soup and orange juice. It's not the best because there's so much pulp in it, but it'll do for now. Oh, and—" Eddie sings. He digs around in his jorts pockets for a small container. As he brandishes it just in Steve's line of sight, he says, "Found some vapor-rub in the medicine cabinet downstairs. Now it is a few months out of date, but that just means more will need to be appl—honey, what's goin' on?" he questions softly.

Steve's sniffles have turned into thin-lipped, eyes glazed and bloodshot, muffled sobs. He has a streak of snot dripping down on his upper lip and his chest keeps stuttering. Eventually, he chokes out, "You brought the soup to me."

And what a statement.

The sentence slaps Eddie across the face, causing his head to rear back. It confuses him, that's what it does. Obviously I brought him soup, what the fuck, he asks himself incredulously.

"Wha—of course. That's what you do when somebody is sick. You help 'em out, bring soup or crackers or whatever and make sure they're better," Eddie supplies as he wipes away the sweat and snot with his banana. There's a brief moment where the only sound is Steve crying. The room is dim and he seems more comfortable than when the door was initially answered.

Eddie thinks back to the apologizing. The making himself smaller and quieter. His hesitancy about wanting to sleep in his own bed. How his mom used to make soup. And the statement, "Got a good grasp on this." Pieces start to click, sirens sound off, door number three has opened and behind it is a shiny new car.

A horrifying realization. The easy solution to Eddie's childlike curiosity over where Steve's parents are. And that in itself makes him want to hurl into the trashcan or pull full force at his hair or sob.

His parents aren't here and haven't been in a long while, Eddie accuses.

"Oh, Stevie." He pets again at his drenched hair. "I'm not going anywhere, alright? You don't have to worry about that with me. Let me do what I need to do, but I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Okay," Steve whispers.

Within just a couple minutes, Eddie has Steve propped back up on a mountain of pillows. Some from the hall closet, the stale bedroom of his parents, and the ones from his own bed. He's changed the bag in the can with a call of, "It's alright, no big deal," after Steve's cry that Eddie didn't need to do that. A bedside lamp has been turned on. An ice cold wet rag has been situated over his neck. There's a thick layer of vapor-rub in his chest hair.

Then came the aforementioned lunch. It smells divine. As if God himself started a soup kitchen in the Harrington's desolate house. What's even better is that it's definitely not chicken noodle.

"I don't remember there being any cans of tomato in the pantry," Steve notes.

"Oh, well. I thought you deserved better than that crap. Made something Wayne usually serves up. Family recipe," he sings again.

"Oh," Steve breathes. His eyes feel wet again, but he fights every part of him that says to cry. He's done enough of that. "Y'know, you didn't have to," he says quietly.

Eddie makes the wounded sound of a shot dog. He finishes setting up the tray on the stiff mattress. Then, situates himself to sit on Steve's left, rubbing down his bare back. "I wanted to. That's all that matters. Now eat up before it gets cold."

And he does just that. The bowl is hot to the touch. Its contents still fresh from being boiled. Even the gulps of orange juice don't burn as bad as when he was little. Steve feels five years old again. He's anticipating the late afternoon lunch from his mom where she'll show him vapor-rub and a spoonful of Pepto-Bismol. In the living room, she's going to lay down, with him on top, and they'll watch reruns of his favorite cartoons. The curtains are closed and she hums lullabies as he drifts off to sleep.

Eddie rubs his back and hums songs and kisses his forehead gently. Which, Steve hasn't been given that amount of affection in a long while. And he honestly doesn't mind.

There's something that's been sitting between the two of them, a thing the size of a ten pound medicine ball. A word shaped like love and comfort. The space where Eddie shares stories about Uncle Wayne and his hibernation snoring when the temperatures drop and how he acquired every single mug on their wall. And in response, Steve listens and drips a couple droplets of how his mom would read Goodnight Moon and kiss him on his cheek or on summer days where they'd splash each other in the shallow depth of the pool. Before it became a graveyard. Or the loosely sketched outline of a mom and her child. His dad wasn't as close, but he'd play catch when Steve was still learning about baseball or share facts about his car that intrigued little eight year old Steve in a way no sport has ever done before. How he acquired the bowling pin from the one time his parents took him out for his birthday. The car painting being something his dad did in his spare time, not bought from some general store in the next town over.

Even in his sick state, Steve thinks about pecking Eddie on the lips. Wonders how smooth they are. If he uses chapstick. What flavor it could be. His mind supplies days in the future where they make soup for each other and shout about how excellent Hellfire was or Lucas' basketball game had been. Mornings shaped by soft snores and gentle touches and steaming cups of coffee. Nights wrapped around each other, cooing sweet nothings when the nightmares become bloody again, and sex that's slow and drawn out. Or the quiet moments where Steve needs a shoulder to cry on. And open arms so that Eddie is encased in comfort, even after everything.

At his final spoonful and dip of toasted crust, Steve whispers, "I love you." As treacherous as his mouth has been in the past, this final decision isn't as daunting as the rest from earlier today. Some part of Steve knew that it would come to a head and the words would spill from his lips like the soup on his chin.

Eddie hums beside him. He kisses Steve one. Two. Three times on the forehead. Then he sets the tray aside with all the empty dishes and the vapor-rub with three finger divots. He strips down to his boxers and a simple t-shirt. And he tucks Steve in as he scoots on top of the duvet to hold him.

"I love you, too," he responds. "And I'll be here when you get up. So get some rest and the next time you're awake, I'll go get some new orange juice and more ingredients for tomato soup and a container of unexpired Vick's."

Steve drifts off to sleep with his body curled around Eddie's side.

In the morning, the curtains are open and soft sunlight streaks in the bedroom. Eddie has left the house to do a quick grocery run, leaving behind a note of "Just lay back and relax. I brought the phone upstairs if you want to keep yourself entertained."

He calls Robin to muse aloud how excellent Eddie is. Their dance around each other now concluded over a simple bowl of soup. How nice it is to finally get the care he wish he had when his mom started to go away. Him kissing a guy before she could kiss a girl and her shriek off, "The next time I see you, I'm gonna give you the nastiest, biggest wet willy this world has ever seen. Trust in it, Steve Harrington."

The threat isn't an empty one, but it makes Steve chuckle anyway. Even though he still feels that encroaching violent twist of his stomach and a cough that could send him flat on his ass.

And when the phone call ends and Eddie is back inside with soup being made on the stove? Steve feels like maybe it's alright to rely on his true family when the time comes. He makes a promise to himself too that he'll learn how to make the best goddamned chicken noodle soup this world has ever tasted. All so that he can dote over Eddie the same. Make sure that he really knows just how much Steve loves him.

"I love you," Eddie breaths into his tussled hair later on the couch, where they're watching cartoons.

"Love you, too," Steve slurs as his body becomes heavier with sleep.

#stranger things #fanfiction #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #post canon #post season 4 #angst and hurt/comfort #sick steve harrington #sick fic

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friendsoup · 6 months

Text

Sick Day with Dikke

Recipe: Dikke x Sick!Reader, fluff, gn!reader, can be read as platonic or romantic! WC: 1k Chef's Note: I just got Dikke, so I thought it'd be nice to write something for her! Not to mention everyone is getting sick around me... It's a simple drabble, not my best work but not my worst by far. I just wanted to actually post something for once. Anyways.... here's a tough girl showing you some affection <3

Today was not your day. You woke up feeling miserable, your entire body aching. You were drenched in sweat, an uncomfortable wetness soaking into your bedsheets. You attempted to pull yourself from bed, only to find such a task to be impossible. You fell back, your head pulsating pain as it hit the pillow, your eyes slowly closing themselves again. You had just managed to fall into an uneasy sleep, when a knocking at your door awoke you. “M’lord?” A stoic voice asked, before giving a few more hearty knocks. A groan escaped you, knowing full well who the person behind the door was. You’d promised Dikke that you’d train with her, and it seems she’d come to take you up on your offer. You didn’t think you could hold a sword like this, nor use any of your arcana, but you couldn’t leave her outside your door like this. You’d worked so hard to get close to her, you’d hate for it all to be for nothing. You crawled out of bed, slowly slumping towards the door. It took you a moment to fiddle with the doorknob, before pushing it open to receive your guest. “Art thou-” Dikke paused, her eyes widening at the sight of you. “Oh my.” She said under her breath, raising a hand to her mouth. “Sorry, I don’t think I can train today.” Your voice cracked, your throat burning with each word. “I’ll just-” “Stay.” She commanded, before turning tail and rushing off. You watched her go, admiring the way she held herself. Dikke always moved with purpose, as if her destination was the most important thing in the world. She held herself with such high confidence, something you could only aspire towards. You’d been trying to make friends with her for a while now, though you weren’t sure it’d been working. She treated you with the same coldness she treated everyone with, barely sparing you a second glance. Not that you blamed her, she was an important person, a hand of justice. And you, well, you were just you. Some low arcanist, barely worth her time. A minute later, you were still standing in the doorway. You didn’t know why you were following her command so closely. Your body was practically begging you to go back to sleep. But when Dikke spoke, you felt inclined to listen. Not wanting to upset or disappoint her. It was just as you were going to turn back into your room that she appeared again, holding a tray of food. You blinked at the display. There was porridge, a glass of warm tea, some toast, and a small flower placed gingerly on the side. “I received assistance from Madam Bunny.” Dikke admitted, before nudging you back. “Thou must return to thy bed. Your body needs rest if it is to regain strength.” You nod, too tired to argue, and too hungry to reject the help. Bunny Bunny always made such nice meals, who were you to decline something made by her?

You turned back to bed, nearly collapsing on top of the covers. Dikke simply shook her head, placing the tray down on a side table. “M’lord, you’ll be cold if you fall asleep in such a position. Allow me to aid you.”

Softly, she raised the covers over your lap, helping you sit up as she did so. Your eyes fell closed once again as you leaned into her touch, your breathing slowing as a sense of peace fell over you.

“Not yet, M’lord. Thou must eat.” You couldn’t help but hear a twinge of concern in her voice as she spoke, an emotion you were not used to hearing from the ruthless girl.

“Yes, I’ll… I’ll eat.” You told her, fighting back a yawn. Dikke stood once more, picking up the tray and walking it over to you. She placed it on your lap, and right away you began to dig in.

It was heavenly. It warmed your insides, soothing your raspy throat and relaxing your tense muscles. Dikke sat at the edge of the bed as you ate, watching you with great intensity. You’d seen such a look before, it was the focus of a woman in battle, though you couldn’t comprehend why she was showing it here.

“It’s good.” You commented. Dikke made no response. “Bunny made all this?”

“Yea. The moment she heard you were unwell, she leapt into action. She couldn’t stand the thought of an ally being sick.” Dikke said, giving a curt nod.

“And the flower.” You continued, “I’m guessing that’s also from her?”

Dikke’s cheeks went pink, her gaze falling off of you. “Nay. Twas I who placed the flower on your tray.” You watched this change of expression, shocked. You’d never seen her like this before, all delicate and soft. This was a far cry from the woman you’d seen fighting, who slayed foes with such great force.

“Oh.” You muttered, feeling your own cheeks grow hot. “Thank you. It’s nice.”

“You are welcome.” Dikke squeaks, fidgeting with her hands.

The two of you fall silent, save for the sounds of you finishing your breakfast. You catch Dikke glancing at you a few times, though she quickly looks away whenever you notice. She’s far from the confident girl you’re used to, though you don’t understand what could have brought about this change. Could she simply be nervous because you’re sick?

You finish quickly, devouring the remaining bits of toast in a few seconds. Dikke nods, pleased with your appetite. Standing, she picks the tray off your lap, and places it back on the side table.

“Lay down, M’lord. It’s time for you to return to sleep.” Her voice is soft, her eyes looking down at you kindly. You simply nod, shrinking down into your bed, feeling an intense exhaustion pull you under. Dikke takes a step towards you, placing a hand on your cheek. It’s light, but her skin is so cold, it feels like the touch of an angel. You lean into it, and this time, she doesn’t pull away.

“Goodnight, M’lord.” She whispers to you, gently rubbing her thumb over your cheek.

You can barely hear her though, as you fall back into a restful sleep.

#x reader #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #Dikke #Dikke x reader #Dikke x you #Dikke reverse 1999 #fanfic #reader insert #Let's Make Friend Soup!

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xhmeusworld · 3 months

Text

one hit (to the body) | vernon chwe

genre: non idol! vernon, angst, fluff, transgender reader (ftm)

pairings: vernon chwe x transgender reader (ftm)

warnings: injury

word count: 1k

note: okay, i started writing with the intent to always write gender neutral imagines; however, i believe representation is critical. as a trans person myself, more works surrounding trans people was always something i was looking for and hopefully by posting this, i’m helping someone get comfort from the fact that they are not alone and that they are being seen within this world. they are not being erased or overlooked. they are real and deserve a better world. that being said, my messages are always open

everything was spinning as you lowered yourself down on the bench. your legs felt like jelly and your ribs burnt like fire. your face was coated with a fine layer of sweat and you had to resist the urge to rest your cheek against the cold metal bench. the nausea in your stomach made it hard to focus. you didn’t even notice that someone had yanked your baseball helmet off until a stream of cold water met your head, drenching your unruly hair and running under the collar of your black and red jersey.

“are you sure you’re okay, y/n?” your teammate, vernon, asked, raking his hand through the young boy’s wet hair in an attempt to get it out of his face. “you look like you’re overheating.”

if it was a normal day, you would be mentally freaking out over the fact that the boy who you had a crush on since seventh grade year was running his hands through your hair, but your brain felt too much like mush in your head.

your eyes squinted up at vernon and breathing through the pain your ribs, you spoke. “i’m fine.”

“you don’t look fine to me, y/n,” coach countered, jogging up to you. “you’ve been off since warm-ups and i can tell your brain isn’t in the game today. that’s the reason why i called a timeout. i think you should stay on the bench for the reminder of the time.”

you shook your head, water droplets still falling from your hair. “no, i can play. i’m okay. it’s just hot out today. the water vernon poured on my head helped.”

you hoped that your voice sounded convincing. coach mulled over your words for a few seconds before releasing a sigh. “fine, but if i think for a moment that you’re unfit to play, i’m pulling you out whether you like it or not. now, let’s get back in the game. it’s your turn to pitch.”

you nodded as vernon grabbed onto your hands, pulling you to your feet. you held back a cry of pain as your ribs were set ablaze once again.

vernon gave you a look of concern before running out toward the outfield. you slipped on your mitt, running toward the pitcher’s mound. you could hardly breathe as you attempted to zero in on the area you were supposed to aim for. your limbs felt heavy as you lifted your left leg, letting the ball fly.

you honestly weren’t even sure how you were still standing. the black stars exploding in your line of vision made you feel disoriented and it felt like there was weight on your chest. you were so focused on not passing out that you didn’t even notice the batter make contact with the ball, sending it flying in your direction.

“y/n!” vernon called out while the rest of the team called, “look out!”

vernon rushed toward you, but he wasn’t quick enough. the ball made a sickening crack as hit the side of your head, knocking you to the ground. you weren’t even awake when you hit the dirt mound below.

however, the moment you woke up, it felt like someone had took a sledgehammer to your skull. your hand moved up to touch your temple, but instead it came in contact with soft material, which could only be gauze. you let out a groan as you attempted to open your eyes only to be greeted by harsh light. you were in the nurse’s office.

“what happened?” you asked as you felt movement to your left. you turned your head, causing another burst of black to enter your vision, to see seungkwan positioned next to your bed.

“a baseball hit you in the head,” your best friend and fellow teammate explained, grabbing a hold of your hand in preparation to pull you off of your back. “how do you feel? are you dizzy? is the pain bad?”

“on a scale of one to ten, i would say-” you let out a yelp as seungkwan pulled you up into a sitting position. your hand instinctively moved to your rib cage. you expected your fingers to come in contact with the fabric of your baseball uniform, but instead, you touched bare skin.

“why is my jersey unbuttoned?” you asked, your breath coming out heavy.

seungkwan sighed. “when vernon carried you in, you weren’t breathing right. the nurse had to check your heart and-”

your eyes widened as you searched the blonde’s face. “does he know?” your voice was barely above a whisper.

seungkwan gave you a sad look. “i tried to get him to leave before the nurse did anything, but he was worried about you. he wanted to stay.”

an involuntary sound left your lungs as you realized the power that your best friend’s words held. the secret you had been hiding your entire middle and high school career was out and it wasn’t even your decision. a sob escaped your lungs, intensifying the pain in your ribs and chest.

“hey, hey,” seungkwan whispered, cupping your face. “breathe, okay? crying is only going to make your ribs hurt worse. the nurse wanted to take it off of you, but your dad told her to wait until he got here.” he gently pulled the smaller boy against his body, being careful to not squeeze you too hard. “you shouldn’t have slept in it last night. my family wouldn’t have noticed anything. i should have made you take it off.”

you pulled back from seungkwan, your eyes filled with tears. “he’s going to tell everyone. the whole school is going to know. I’ll get kicked off the team.”

your words caught in your throat as the nurse’s office door opened and the last person you wanted to see stepped in. you wanted to scream as the vernon’s eyes darted down to the binder constricting your chest. “i’m not going to tell anyone, y/n.”

“why? because you don’t want to expose the transgender kid?” you spat out.

vernon gave you a small smile. “no, because i care about the boy in front of me.”

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spnexploration · 10 months

Text

Pack chapter 22

Pairing: Alpha!Dean Winchester x Omega!Reader, Alpha!Sam Winchester x Omega!Madison

Series summary: Omega!Reader is thrown into a world she's not expecting when her mate turns out to be a hunter, and she's not used to Alpha & Omega Pack dynamics.

Chapter summary: The morning after your night alone.

Chapter warnings: reader self-conscious including about her body, but nothing particularly detailed

Word count: 2.6k (long one!)

A/N: I forgot to add the last chapter to the masterlist when I posted it, which I have now done. Sorry about that! Make sure you read it first.

This fulfils the nesting square of my 2023 SPN AU bingo.

Series masterlist | Supernatural writing masterlist

Part 21 <- -> Part 23

“Good morning Y/N, how’d you sleep?” Sam asked as I trudged into the kitchen.

I just groaned in response.

He chuckled, “You really are perfect for Dean. There's fresh coffee if you'd like some.” I nodded and he fetched me a cup.

I was halfway through before I thought of sharing my news. “Dean messaged me when he got to Claire, at like 3am.”

“Yeah, he messaged me too. He said he's going to work the case with her today, then decide if they stay for tomorrow. I think he realises she'll rebel even more if he dismisses her work.”

I nodded, focused back on my coffee.

“So what are we doing today?” I asked when I was feeling more awake.

“That’s up to you. We can do some more lore if you'd like, you can spend the day reading or watching TV, or you can put yourself in Madison's hands and let her go crazy keeping you entertained.”

I laughed. “Maybe we can do some lore and then I'll see if I'm up for Madi entertainment.”

“Good choice. Grab some breakfast and then meet me in the library. I'll fill Mads in when she's out of the shower.”

---

Sam had me try reading some lore myself and try to make sense of it, all related to the topics we'd covered yesterday. I didn't realise how complicated killing monsters was!

After a while I was feeling tired and run down, so I headed off to Dean's room for a nap. It was probably just the poor sleep I’d had last night without Dean around. I snuggled into his pillow and fell asleep instantly.

---

I woke later. I was not feeling better. I felt so cold, but I was drenched in sweat. My joints ached, it was hard to move them at all.

It took a lot of effort, but I made it to the door finally. I was going to call out for Sam and Madi, hope that they had medication for whatever illness must've struck me down.

I opened the door but felt out of breath with the effort of crossing the room. I had to get my breath back before I could call out.

Suddenly, I heard hurried footsteps.

“Y/N?” Sam called, sounding worried. “We're coming.”

How did he know I needed him?

He rounded the corner a few seconds later, Madison hot on his heels.

“I think I'm sick,” I wheezed out.

“Omega, you're in heat,” he said gently. “I smelt it as soon as you opened the door.”

“But this feels- I've never felt like I was dying before!” I started to fall as I used up all my energy complaining. Sam quickly caught me and carried me back to Dean's bed. Now that he said it, I could feel slick gathering between my legs, but given how much sweat I was covered in, I hadn't really noticed before.

His phone started ringing. It said 'Claire Novak’ on the caller ID.

He answered and put it on speaker, “Hey Claire.”

“Sam! Dean just went into a rut and he is fucking mental! What the hell do I do?!”

I thanked my lucky stars that my body had settled on Dean, that our cycles had aligned. But now I just had to get to him, to be claimed. I shivered. What if my heat finished before I got to him?

“First, tell him Y/N is in heat,” Sam said to Claire. “It will reassure him some.”

“Sam says Y/N is in heat,” she said slightly muffled, like she'd turned the phone away. “He's growling, hang on.”

There were some strange noises and then Dean’s voice, much lower than normal, “Omega?”

“I'm here Alpha,” I managed.

“You... ok?” he sounded like speaking was hard for him.

“Yeah, I'll be ok.” I didn't want to tell him how unwell I felt.

Sam gave me a knowing look and said, “Alpha, can you put Claire back on? I'm going to work with her to get you two together.” Dean growled slightly throughout, but the sounds of the phone passing happened again.

“Sam?” Claire asked. “He didn't say anything, he just gave me the phone back.”

“Ok,” Sam continued, “The next thing you do is that you submit to him. If you start challenging him when he is in an unfilled rut, away from the Omega he is yet to claim, he is going to go feral. I recommend calling him 'Alpha’ and barring your neck if he gets antsy.”

“Great,” she deadpanned. The teenage sass was practically dripping.

“And then you get him back here, as fast as you can.”

“What about the case?” she asked petulantly.

“Claire, I promise, we will help you on this case. But this is literally the second time he has gone into a rut after finding his mate, their mating has already been threatened by factors outside their control. They cannot miss this opportunity. Plus I’ve got an Omega here who’s about to go through the worst heat of her life, she needs him.”

I gulped at Sam’s words.

“Ok, I get it. Sorry. I’ll get him back.”

“Thanks Claire.”

“Bye.”

Sam hung up and turned to me. “It's gonna be a while before they can get here, so we need to get you comfortable.”

“What- what if he doesn’t?”

“That's not going to happen. You've only just gone into heat, and even your normal heat probably lasts longer than one day?” I nodded. “This one is likely to be longer, and worse. Dean got to Claire in about half a day. There is plenty of time, Omega.”

I sniffled and he stroked my hair gently.

“How about we get you some painkillers and a cool bath or shower to try and drop this fever a bit, and then Madi can stay with you. I don't think you're going to want to be around another Alpha too much, but I'll help with the cooling down because I don't think you can hold yourself up right now. Does that sound ok?”

I nodded, too tired and achey to reply.

“I'm going to take off some of your clothes, ok?” I half-heartedly nodded. “Omega, I need your words. I'm not going to do anything you don't consent to.”

“Yes,” I mumbled.

“Ok, thank you.” He started to pull Dean's flannel off me and I whined. “I know, I know, we’ll get back to Dean’s scent as soon as we can. Now, bath or shower?”

I shrugged. He kept gently removing my clothes until I was in just my underwear. I wished he was Dean. Partway through Madi had brought me painkillers and water, but I didn't feel any better yet. Everything ached and every so often I shivered, although Sam assured me I was actually hot.

“I'm going to carry you to the bathroom, ok?” I nodded and he lifted me up bridal style. I leant my head on his shoulder and, whilst he smelled reassuringly like Pack, I just wanted Dean. I started to cry.

“I know, I know,” he murmured reassuringly. “We’re gonna get Dean back as fast as we can, ok? And you're gonna feel a bit better soon. You're gonna be ok.”

He made it to the bathroom where Madi was standing next to the full bath. “Ready?” he asked me.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

He went to his knees and lowered me into the water. It felt strange at first and I clung to Sam's neck, but after a few moments it felt better and I let go of him.

“Now, ordinarily we'd leave you alone, but I don't think you're well enough for that right now.”

I nodded. I felt too weak to do much more, which was probably Sam's point.

Madi wet a face washer and put it on my forehead. I lay back and closed my eyes. I was starting to feel a little bit better. My joints weren't aching quite as much.

I relaxed.

“Hey, hey,” Sam said, tapping my face. I didn't know how much time had passed. “No falling asleep in the bath.” I blearily opened my eyes and tried to glare at him. He chuckled, “I'm not about to let you drown in our own house.”

I started to get uncomfortable, trying to find a way to position myself. And the water was starting to feel cold. Sam must've noticed my fidgeting as he said, “How about we get you out?” I nodded. “You wanna try standing up?” I nodded again and he reached in, lifting me out and gently placing me on my feet on the mat. Madi wrapped me in a towel.

I was still too sore to do much other than whimper as Madi dried me off. It was like having the worst case of flu ever.

Slick flooded out of me into my wet undies and down my legs. I saw Sam's nostrils flare as he smelled it, and he swallowed thickly.

“Are- are you ok?” I asked him, suddenly worried that he might be unable to control his reactions.

“Yes, sorry I scared you. I'm not going to hurt you. The scent of Omega in heat is just a bit, uh, overwhelming to Alpha senses. But it's fine,” he said with a reassuring smile.

I felt like I knew what he meant. His Alpha smell was starting to get overpowering. I scrunched my nose up a little as I smelled him and he chuckled.

“I think you're entering the horny phase of heat,” Madi observed wryly. “Let's get you back to your room and we can kick Sam out before you start scratching him for getting too close to you.” Sam laughed.

“Huh?”

“I might have clawed Dean when he came into the kitchen and surprised me when I was in heat one time,” she said with a smirk. “He was literally just walking past but I, uh, reacted with claws before my brain engaged. Anyway, enough about me, I think you're dry enough.”

“Are you ok if I pick you up again?” Sam asked me.

I was still feeling weak and shaky, so I nodded. He lifted me into his arms and my skin started to crawl. I didn't like Sam touching me, he was wrong, wrong!

“It's ok, I'm going to put you down and leave in just a sec,” he murmured. I was holding myself tense, probably having my facial expressions tell the story of my discomfort.

I suddenly realised I was starting to growl.

I couldn't stop.

He placed me on Dean's bed and hastily backed away. I grabbed Dean's flannel and rubbed it over my face, utterly enthralled with its scent.

“Message me if you need anything,” he said to Madi. “I'll keep you in the loop if I hear anything from Claire or Dean.”

He left. I stopped growling.

“Alright, let's get you out of those wet things,” Madi said.

I tried to reach behind me to unclasp my bra, but my arms were too weak to undo it. I started to cry, scared and annoyed about what was happening to me.

Madi sat next to me and wrapped her arm around my back. “I promise, it'll get better. I think you're feeling rubbish right now partly because of your massive fever, and partly because you're away from your mate. When Dean gets here, I promise it will get better.”

“Omega biology sucks.”

“Oh, so much! Ruts look way easier to get through than the shit we have to put up with.”

“Was it like this for you? I didn't expect to feel this much like I’d been hit by a truck.”

“No, I had Sam with me. So whilst I felt bad when it started, we pretty quickly got to dealing with it. And it sucks you don't have Dean, but he is on his way. You just gotta hang in there for a bit longer.”

I sniffled. More slick flooded out of me, for no apparent reason, and I felt weirdly like my skin was missing something. I started to fidget, trying to work out what I was feeling.

“Ok, ok, before you get all antsy, let's get you in fresh clothes.” I’d almost forgotten my bra and undies were wet from the bath, so distracted by the various painful and strange sensations from my body. I let Madi help me out of them and into a pair of summer pyjamas.

I grabbed Dean's flannel again, rubbing it over me. Then I smelled his pillow, bringing that to me too. I tried to wrap them around me, whining when it wouldn't work.

“You ever built a nest before, Y/N?”

“Huh?”

“I think you’re trying to nest. Hang on,” she pulled out her phone and tapped away at it.

I couldn't focus on what she was doing, I was too busy trying to work out what to do with Dean's things. I'd positioned myself over his side of the bed, throwing back the covers so I could smell it better. I kept moving his pillow and his flannel around, but it just wouldn't do what I wanted. I was starting to shiver again, and Madison held her hand to my forehead.

“Fuck,” she muttered, “you're burning up again.”

A few moments later there was a knock at the door and Sam pushed a laundry basket of clothes in. I growled at him. I didn't mean to, I just couldn't help it. He quickly shut the door.

I finally smelt the clothes, now that Sam's wrongness had gone. Dean!! I reached out weakly to the basket and Madi picked it up and brought it to me.

“I asked Sam to get all of the clothes out of the hamper that were yours or Dean's and smelled like Dean. I thought you might like to use them in your nest.”

I purred at her and set about arranging the clothes. I don't think I've ever purred in my life.

I had to admit, now that I was putting things where they felt most right, I was clearly making a nest on the bed. I was surrounding myself in Dean's scent, picking up each item and carefully deciding where exactly to put it.

Once it was done, I tried to position myself in it. It wasn't big enough. It wasn't quite right. I wanted Dean!! I whined.

My skin was feeling strange again. I tried to scratch it to make myself feel better. But it wasn't quite itchy? It was something else. I rubbed it. Yes, that was better. But it still wasn't right.

I moved my hands around on my body. It felt a bit better. But not enough. Now I was getting frustrated that it wasn't feeling better enough.

I whined again.

“Where are your toys?” Madi asked me.

“What toys?”

“Sex toys. Can't you tell you’re getting super horny?”

Oh. Maybe that's why my skin felt weird. And why it didn't feel like the right touching. It didn't feel like normal arousal, and I’d been so distracted by everything else, I hadn't even recognised it.

I moved my hands lower. I slipped my fingers under the waistband of my shorts and approached my clit. Fuck it was sensitive right now!

I tried to get Dean's scent. I tried to find the best way to be in my nest. I tried to rub myself, but it felt like trying to tickle yourself. I wasn’t getting anywhere. My skin was crawling again and my joints were aching. I was so annoyed!

Madi appeared in front of me. I had forgotten all about her. She held out her hand.

“Try this,” she said as she handed me a vibrator. “Trust me.”

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murasaki-cha · 1 year

Text

I was gonna post this as a reply for this post by @he4d-banger but it got too long so I’m making it a separate post.

I have talked about this before but I’ll talk again because I love talking about Cale’s complex emotional state.

More than pushing them away, Cale completely ignored his grief which has made him completely emotional constipated. This has lead to many side affects which get glossed over most of the time since we read the novel from Cale’s pov.

Some that I can remember from the top of my head right now are: dissociation, selective memory, depression, anxiety, stress and tons of physical problems like eating disorder, etc. which I’ll get into more another time. His self destructive tendencies based on the decisions he makes are all because of his emotional constipation.

Cale’s denial over his own symptoms has become chronic over the years even tho it’s fairly visible from other peoples perspective. Some instances I can remember where we see Cale’s condition from other peoples pov are: moments when Alberu tells him he’ll definitely get his slacker life, everyone’s reaction to him smiling after crying, Choi Han meeting younger Cale, the villains’ reaction when Cale gets angry, everyone telling him he’s too weak and skinny, Ron and Choi Han’s pov during side story 7 after Cale dreamed about CJS and LSH first death anniversary, etc. Everyone can recognize that he’s not well.

And about the venting on destroying stuff, that’s exactly correct. Many times when we see the fight from the other pov of the villain, most of the dialogue is about how angry and terrifying Cale looks. Of course part of that could be due to the effect of Dominating Aura, but they specifically mention Cale’s expression and the look in his eyes a lot. That’s what truly terrifies them. Cale doesn’t recognize this but he’s really expressive, everyone says that he’s very expressive and lets his emotions slip through his face.

Another case when he couldn’t control his emotions anymore was when he cried. An interesting fact is that people who aren’t used to crying and/or hold themselves back from crying, once they do actually cry they can’t stop the flow of tears and are motionless and/or rather calm and quiet. It’s that silent unstoppable crying that Cale displayed. His grief finally exploded after meeting LSH and he couldn’t understand the sadness he was feeling at that moment because the meeting ended with consolidation and relief. All the pain over the deaths of his best friends finally released.

That is a complete contrast to his reaction in side story 7 after the first anniversary of his team’s death. When he arrived home he just collapsed on the floor expressionless. Not once did he cry. But the way he collapsed at that moment said a lot about his state at the time. All the stress accumulated in his body from holding back his emotions all day today affected his physical health to total exhaustion

Actually in my opinion SS7 is one of the best chapters about examining Cale’s emotional state. There are multiple visible of him suppressing his emotions like: keeping a neutral expression all day around, refusing to mention what day it was tomorrow even though everyone knew, not closing his eyes in front of the grave because the memories would resurface, the small panic attack shown by his shortage of breath, background silence and feeling of heaviness, and you can see how burned out emotionally and physically he feels. The only way he wouldn’t feel these things was by working, as it is noted multiple times throughout the story that he never took days off.

And my favorite moment was when we see Cale waking up from the dream and very clearly experiencing signs of ptsd and a panic attack. He was feeling cold despite the entire house being heated with magic, cold sweat running down his face, shortage of breath as soon as he woke up and a distressed expression as shown from Ron and Choi Han’s pov He also felt the need to hear noises and pet the kids to make him feel a sense of attachment with reality since the silence in his memories made him feel suffocated. Tho Cale himself couldn’t recognize these symptoms.

That side story also shows how he has grown emotionally throughout the novel now becoming more emotionally open with others.

I can also go on about his selective memory, anxiety, get more into his self destructive lifestyle and about his obvious signs of depression during his team leader days and early part of the novel while touching on his childhood trauma, but this post is already long enough so I’ll leave those for another day.

#tcf #trash of the count's family #lcf #lout of the count’s family #cale henituse #tcf novel

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neonacity · 2 years

Text

BLOOD RED | CH.3 | HAECHAN X READER

Summary: You’re a forensic psychiatrist assigned to one of the country’s high-profile criminals. You want to unravel him, but he’s set on catching you in his web instead.

Characters: Haechan, Reader, Jungwoo, Johnny

Warnings: crimes, blood, weapons, toxic dynamics, psychological themes, personality disorder, mental health disorder, dissociative identity disorder, smut (fingering, F receiving). Please, please, please, do not interact if you are a minor.

This work is not meant to romanticize any personality disorders or toxic dynamics. Also, I am not a trained psychologist or medical professional so there might be inconsistencies on some of the scientific things here. Most medical references mentioned, however, are based on the book “The Minds of Billy Milligan” which is based on a true story. This is a work of fiction and I am not implying any likeness between the characterization here of the boys to their real life counterparts. I also reserve the rights to all my work—I do not post anywhere else other than tumblr.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2

The bitterness of the last few drops of coffee spread on your tongue like poison. You looked at the flimsy paper cup with a frown—as if it was its fault you'd downed the rest of its contents—before crumpling and throwing it to the bin beside you. Your eyes were heavy and yet your mind was in overdrive—as if you weren't running on two hours of sleep today, just like how you were yesterday and many nights before that.

You can remember the first time the nightmares started coming.

The feeling was similar to being slowly being undone, as if your seams are on the verge of falling apart any moment. You couldn't understand the cause of it...

It was two weeks ago when things slowly started turning for the worse. You couldn't remember the last time you've had such vivid dreams before, but you knew—the moment you woke up with pure fear sitting at the back of your throat that night—that what you had was out of the norm. Frustratingly, you couldn't remember much of your nightmare the moment you opened your eyes, but you could tell from the way your heart thundered in your chest and the cold sweat that soaked you that some switch has been flipped inside of you. You remember voices, but not their words, and a part of your fear-fogged brain could still draw up silhouettes that were too hazy for you to make out. For the next few days the nightmares would come and go, leaving you shaking in fear from something you don't even know every single time.

Or maybe you do. You're just too afraid to admit what it is.

The sudden sharp knock from your door made you almost jump from your seat. Your surprise must have been so obvious, because the moment you turned around, you caught the look of obvious worry on Jungwoo's face. Clearing your throat, you decided to quickly gloss over your reaction before he could even have the chance to point it out.

"Hey. What are you still doing here?"

Your friend strolled inside and gave you a look that made you shift your eyes away from him. He stopped just beside your table while you tried to busy yourself in fixing the messy folders cluttering your desk.

"I could ask you the same thing. You've been pulling so many long hours lately."

"I'm just taking care of a couple of things."

"Is the 'couple of things' the Lee kid's case?"

You hate the way your hand froze in the middle of picking up something. It was a quick slip, but it was enough to catchJungwoo's sharp, observant gaze. Pointedly, you pushed through the roughness in your throat and tried to divert the conversation to safer grounds.

"I'm fine. This is the first time I've ever handled a case like this so I'm just a little bit more fixated than usual. You have to understand, I don't even know if I'll ever come across someone like him again."

Jungwoo gave you a look that told you he wasn't buying any of what you were saying.

"That's bullshit and you know it. Have you taken a look at yourself lately?" He paused, his jaw ticking as if he was stopping himself from saying something he shouldn't. You couldn't bear to look at him, knowing exactly where the conversation was going.

"This case is consuming you. He is consuming you. I'm worried that this is becoming an obsession."

You tried to push back the bitter taste at the back of your mouth. Your stomach had turned into knots and for a second, you actually thought you were slipping from reality. Jungwoo put into words what you couldn't—and what you refused to acknowledge—but hearing it straight from him felt like an actual punch in the gut. You barely realized you have been shaking in your seat until you felt the warmth of his hands covering yours.

"You need to stop…"

"I can't."

"Why?" He frowned, concern evident in his voice. His hold on you tightened when he felt your hands tremble more in his grip.

"I don't know," your voice finally caught as you looked at him helplessly. "Jungwoo, I've tried. I tried stopping, believe me, but I can't. He is everywhere, even in my sleep. I don't know what's happening to me and I'm terrified. I can't get rid of him. It's like… he's inside me."

The punctuated silence that followed after your confession was almost physically painful. Jungwoo took a while before he spoke again, his steady on you as if he's trying to dig through whatever it is that was festering inside your head. The dead air in the room became unbearable, and it's only until you've started feeling the dull pain of your blunt nails digging against your palms that he decided to reply again.

"We're taking you off the case. I'm calling the headquarters right now."

Your head shot up so fast as he started pulling away from you. Quickly, you scrambled for his hands again as if they were your lifeline.

"What—W-Wait, Jungwoo, please. You can't do that."

"I can and I will. I can't just stand around watching you like this. I don't know what the hell that boy is doing to you, but I'm not letting him lay another finger on you."

"Okay. I understand. Y-You can call them. But can you do it tomorrow? It's late. I can—I can give my own supporting testimonial if they want to. But—let's just do it tomorrow, okay? Please?"

The fear and desperation in your chest was almost making you gag. The still rational part of your mind was trying to connect the dots to understand why you are acting this way, but the choking feeling consuming you was overriding any sort of logic left in you. You knew Jungwoo was right. You probably look like an addict being threatened off his source of heroin right now, but you didn't care. All you know is that cutting lines from that boy would make you drown more in whatever murky mess you're swimming in at the moment.

What the hell are you doing?

The voice in your head reflected the same look of confusion that Jungwoo gave you. You honestly have no idea why you blurted that or what you were even trying to do, but you've gotten to a point where you've let your impulses finally take over. Despite yourself, you were able to gather the little control you have and gave the man a convincing look. You squeezed his hand, your eyes determined but pleading.

"Please, Jungwoo?"

A shadow of something passed his gaze. You couldn't exactly point out what it was, but you were relieved that you sound like your old self again. He also probably noticed, because he gave you a small nod after a few more beats of silence.

"First thing tomorrow… okay?"

"Yes… I promise."

"Good. You should go home and take a re—"

"Wait," you tugged at his hand to gently cut him off. His brows slightly shot up at the action, surprised by it.

"Can I sleep in your house tonight?"

His lips parted in confusion.

"What?"

"I've been jittery because I've been losing sleep. I've tried everything. I think having someone with me will help me relax better. Calm down my anxiety…"

"Don't you have… someone who can help you out? That man you went out with?"

"He's nice, but he's a stranger. I would feel more comfortable with my best friend," you said, almost way too smoothly. "Please, Woo? Just like the old times…?"

You saw the way his jaw tightened again as you trailed off. The strange shadow in his eyes flickered once more, except this time, you have half an idea of what could be behind them. After a long pause, he finally sighed and looked away as he ran his hands through his hair.

"Fine. That will be easier for us to call the headquarters tomorrow. Come on. I think you still have a few things in my apartment.”

Your smile didn't betray the erratic beating of your heart. You squeezed his hand before finally letting it go.

"Thank you. I owe you one."

*******

You have no idea what time it is when you finally decided to crack your eyes open. The room was pitch black, so it took your vision a couple of seconds to make out the glow-in-the-dark hands of the clock nailed to the wall. 2:55 AM. If luck's on your side, you can pull off this stupid plan of yours without setting off something.

Carefully, you moved your head to the side without rustling the covers around you too much. You couldn't really see Jungwoo's face, but you made sure to closely listen to the sounds of his breathing to check if he is already deep in sleep. For a good ten seconds you just watched him, making sure that he really is out, before you slowly started peeling the duvet off of you so you could get up from the bed. You winced in discomfort the moment your bare feet touched the cool marble floor of the room, but you decided to push on and forego slippers to mask your steps. Your heartbeat was drumming so hard against your ribcage that you almost feared Jungwoo could hear it, but that didn't stop you from feeling your way out of the room in the dark. You had to thank your muscle memory, because you were able to navigate to the door without hitting anything or tripping over yourself.

The stiffness that has climbed up to your neck has lifted a little when you finally managed to step into the hallway. Allowing yourself a soft sigh of relief, you didn't waste any time after to go to the small study that Jungwoo uses as his home office. If there's one thing about your friend that you are a hundred percent sure of, it's that he is a big sucker for organizing things. So if you're going to be snooping around his files, you're sure you will all find them in one place and one place only.

You weren't disappointed when you finally managed to crack open the door at the end of the hallway. Not wanting to risk it by opening a light, you moved quickly towards the table where a laptop is and quickly tried to revive its screen. It was passport protected as you expected, but the light from it now bathed the pile of folders filed neatly beside it. You quickly grabbed for them with shaking hands and opened them one by one to check their contents.

You were on the verge of giving up when your hands finally froze and hovered over the last file. Slowly, you read the words typed on the first page under the blue light of the screen.

If you're going to be honest, you don't exactly know what you are trying to look for. Your gut feel tells you that there is something and that you are close, but your disappointment grew by the second as you realized that all the folders you went through are the same ones that have already been given to you. Could it really be possible that you're simply paranoid? Was Jungwoo correct after all about this case affecting you so much that you are slowly losing grip in reality?

Case 04532

Status: Unclosed

Year: 2018.

File Record: Alias, The Apothecarist

You frowned at the lines of text in confusion. Your first thought was that Jungwoo might just have misplaced the folder and placed it in the pile of Haechan’s records, but you knew for a fact that he is not assigned to any other case at the moment. Slowly, you turned to the other pages, hoping that something there might give you a clue about what exactly you’re looking at.

A minute of fast skimming gave you a quick review of the case. From the year 2015 to 2018, a serial offender given the alias of The Apothecarist supposedly committed no less than 50 crimes across the city and its closest neighboring areas. The person’s signature offense was through poisoning, supposedly using a combination of lead, arsenic, and still unknown herbal blends to kill their targets. However, other unverified crimes were also connected to the suspect, with the police believing that the person’s mastery in mixing chemicals also extended their talents to creating bombs and other explosives. In 2018, after a particularly large fire that injured dozens and killed many, all the crimes came to a sudden halt. To this day, no leads about the serial offender have ever been found.

Your mind slowly processed the information as your eyes continued to skim over the pages. Nothing still makes sense to you, not until your gaze landed on the list of dates the crimes were supposedly done. You paused. 2018… Four years ago. Slowly, things started moving in your head as a cold feeling made its way up your spine.

Four years ago, Haechan was eighteen years old… The same age Donghyuck supposedly started with his crimes.

It felt like time started moving slowly for you afterwards. Your frozen fingers went back a couple of pages so you could read again the list of crimes that happened during the three year period. Large scale poisoning… Arson. Bombing to the point of total incineration. All victims died without blood mainly because nothing much was left of them in the first place. Even the poisoning cases could have been easily disguised as a random heart attack.

"Do you like blood?"

"I'm not particularly against it."

"Is that why you committed three arson cases, four bombings, and ten mass cyanide crimes across the city?"

"Princess, none of those drew any blood, but if you're asking that question to confirm my love for violence, then yes, I did them all."

Your head was reeling. A dull ringing has already started at the back of your head when you pulled Haechan's file and went straight to the page that lists his own crimes. When you focused on the dates, it felt like you finally closed your fingers on the missing piece that you've been desperately trying to fumble for in the dark.

The years are different, but each and every recorded attack that Donghyuck confessed to happened on the same date that The Apothecarist did theirs. Even the nature of the crime was almost similar—like a well-made replica of another maestro's work. When your gaze landed on the date of the first crime ever recorded under Donghyuck's name, you swore you stopped breathing.

It was exactly a month after The Apothecarist's last and biggest crime… also done on the same day and almost in the same manner. The pattern says it all. It was a continuation of an unfinished work, a struggling effort to keep an obra maestra from entirely dying.

Donghyuck is not the master of Haechan.

Because he's been under the influence of someone else all along.

*******

You tried your best to keep your gait steady as you passed through the heavy metal gates of the prison. You have no idea whether Jungwoo called the headquarters already to officially take you off the case, but the guards barely even looked your way when you told them that you're here for another interview. In fact, the pair currently flanking the main entrance didn't even miss a beat in getting back to their card game when you told them you wanted the session to be entirely private. Their lack of blatant care told you that it might be Haechan that they escorted today. Or at least… who they thought was Haechan.

He was already waiting by the table when you finally walked in. Turning to look at you, the boy gave you his usual wide smile, before it froze on his face when he saw your expression. For a while, you only stood in silence by the door, watching him quietly. When you finally started slowly walking towards him, he followed you with his gaze, like a predator tracking his prey.

"You did a great job fooling the guards today, Donghyuck."

The slow smirk that replaced his once innocent smile sent pins of cold straight to your bones.

"You're getting better at this too, Princess."

"I've figured you out," your voice came as an almost shaky whisper as you stopped at a distance from where he was still calmly sitting. Something changed in the light of his eyes as you said it, and in that moment, you were sure he knew exactly what you were talking about.

"You did," he said, his tone not giving away whether he is stating a fact or asking a question.

"Everything you've done… You did it for your teacher, didn't you? You weren't just acting out. You were following a legacy. Does Haechan even know about this?"

He didn't answer. He only stared at you, his face devoid of any emotions you could pick apart.

“Were you under his orders? Does he know the police caught you?”

More silence.

"Are you his successor? Of the Apothecarist?"

His blank facade finally cracked as he curled his lips before giving an empty laugh.

"Am I their successor? Darling, I think we got a little lost in translation there,” he said, his eyes dancing with a light that almost made you physically shiver. “I would give anything for that person to give me as much as a glance. Why do you think I have done all these things?"

You froze. Trying to scramble your brains, your train of thought was easily lost on you as you watched him slowly rise from his seat. He started moving closer with measured steps towards you, his gaze pinning you on the spot. Before you could even stop yourself, your gut instinct took the best of you and made you take a step back to keep him from closing the distance.

"I have done everything to find that person again. You see, people like me and Haechan, we're wrong in the head. We're outcasts. That person was the only one who could have understood us, but they made the stupid decision to stop. I didn't like that. So I took up their activities, because I thought, maybe if they see me doing it, they'll have no other choice but to crawl out of their hellhole and find me. But no. Even that didn't work no matter how many places and people I ripped apart. It was very, very frustrating."

Your breath caught in your throat when you felt your back hit the cold wall behind you. He was towering over you now, eyes dark and hooded as he slowly and pointedly rested both arms beside your head to cage you in place. Goosebumps rose on the skin of your arms when he spoke softly again, his face close enough that his breath was fanning your skin.

"You said you figured me out. The question now is… What are you going to do about it?"

You didn't know how you managed to answer, not when he slowly lowered his head to run his nose gently over the curve of your cheek. His lips ghosted over the shell of your ear after, causing your eyes to flutter shut. Your knees have gone weak, but you couldn't really find it in you to push him away.

"Y-You need… to leave," you croaked. He laughed softly as he pressed his lips to the sensitive spot of your neck, a move that finally made your legs give way under your weight. Before you collapsed though, one of his hands caught you by the hip and pressed you against the wall harshly to keep you steady.

"You'll make me leave? How are you even going to do that, hm?"

You were fighting for air. You pressed your hands against his chest now, though that didn't stop him from trailing his hand on your hip to the hem of your skirt. You gasped as his knuckles grazed against the skin of your thigh.

"What are you—"

"Answer. Or I'll turn you around right now and fuck you against the wall."

Your voice died in your throat. You knew he wasn't kidding, not when he slipped his fingers under your clothes and started slowly rubbing circles inside your thigh. Every now and then, he would stop the gentle movements to bury his blunt nails against the soft skin there to leave half crescent marks on your skin. You were absolutely wrecked, breathing heavily as you became painfully aware of the wetness and heat that has now gathered in the apex of your thighs.

"Answer… Now."

"M-Merge. You need to merge. With H-Haechan."

Your reply made him momentarily pause. It was quick though, his movements soon enough resuming to leave burning tracks on your skin.

"Merging… That's very... novel. I've read studies of it. Multiple personalities are merged and fused together with the core personality to make a single entity," he said casually in an almost thoughtful voice that was a complete contrast to the way his hand started inching closer and closer to your core. Both your hands dropped to his wrist, trying to stop him.

"So you're thinking you can merge me with Haechan… Make us into one person so that I can be held back, is that it?" His voice was brimming with amusement now as he smiled down on you. You gave a dry sob, absolutely hating the way your body was screaming for him to touch you where you needed him. You didn't even bother to answer as you painfully became aware of how his fingers suddenly stopped moving a pitying few inches from your dripping core. For a moment, none of you talked and moved. The only sounds in the room were that of your heavy breathing and the ticking hands of the clock on the wall. When he spoke again, his soft words were like the crack of a whip that shattered the tension that shrouded you both.

"Do you cum from thoughts of me, noona?"

Your head shot up at him, stunned by the question.

"Wha—"

You broke off into a scream before you even managed to push the word out as he suddenly moved his hand and plunged two fingers inside of you. He moved so fast in pushing your soaked underwear to the side and burying himself to the hilt that the only thing you managed to do was to grip at his shoulders as a mixture of stretch and slight pain overcame your body in waves. He was quick enough to cover your lips with his other free hand, the action softening your voice into muffled groans against his palm.

"Shhh… Keep quiet now. You wouldn't want the guards to come running here and see me knuckle-deep in you, right? Or maybe that's your thing?" He laughed softly, his voice sweet and gentle. It was an ironic contradiction to the way he pumped his fingers deep inside of you, fast, deep, and unforgiving. He didn’t even let you adjust, instead starting a pace that made you shake against him. Unable to answer, you shook your head vehemently as tears started pricking your eyes.

"Fuck, you're such a dirty slut. Can you hear yourself? You're soaking wet. You're even spreading your legs for me."

"I know you dream of me. Don't even try to deny it," he whispered against your temple as you struggled to keep yourself up. Without warning, he pushed another finger inside of you, so deep this time that it hit that spot that always made your vision turn white. The sensation made you actually scream again behind his hand, a reaction he ultimately caught as he smirked at you.

The realization hit you like a truck when he said those words. Looking down in panic, you caught yourself trying to spread yourself wider for him as your thighs continued to tremble. You watched as his fingers disappeared inside of you again and again, massaging your walls that were desperately trying to suck him in. A broken groan left your throat as you felt yourself tighten against him, desperate for more. When he resumed his pace and went deeper, you clung to him harder, nails digging against the fabric of his shirt.

"Oh… So it's this, huh? Your special spot. Look at you trembling. Are you close? Are you going to cum with just my fingers?"

All sense and reason have left you at this point. Tears have started spilling down your cheeks, but all you could care about was the way he continued to drive himself deeper inside you again and again, right where you need him. Your legs were in pain, and you threw your head back against the wall as the beginnings of the tight knot in the pit of your stomach started to unravel. Donghyuck pressed his lips against the column of your throat and nipped your skin in between murmuring words that your foggy mind could barely understand anymore.

Come on.

Give in.

Beautiful.

Stop fighting me.

"Cum."

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he made one last thrust and buried his fingers against the spot inside of you. Vision turning white, the pressure inside you finally broke and sent waves and waves of electric pleasure through your veins. You could hear everything and nothing, your mind temporarily blanking out to block everything but your high. Just as you were at the crest of your orgasm, you heard him whisper words against your cheek as he gently kissed you there.

"Perfect… You're so perfect."

"Too bad you can never be her."

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A/N: Well... that was a ride. This is the second to the last chapter. Enjoy!

Taglist: @negincho, @jhornytrash, @aaasteroidsky, @huangberryyy, @marijmin, @ashkuuuu , @lostlovesoul11 , @johnniverse , @traint0tokyo , @lilyinthewinter , @byunniebaekhyunnie , @ellatizw , @bettyschwallocksyee , @stopeatread , @glitching-wren, @tyongf-sunflower99, @chelzinha26, @vaerinri, @minshookie29, @grandmasterslickfox, @coconuttiez8d, @haechanalpha, @markleemelonn,

Untaggable for some reason 😔 @hyukiebb, @kpopstanforlifeuwu

If I missed anyone, please let me know!

#yandere haechan #haechan yandere #haechan smut #haechan smut fanfic #haechan x reader smut #nct fic #nct smut #haechan x reader insert #nct imagines #haechan x reader #nct-fic #fic: blood red

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foibles-fables · 10 months

Note

For the soft cozy fic prompt: Control, Jesse/Emily, 15-Bed warm. They need some cozy times with all the chaos they’ve been through

I wrote this weird stream-of-consciousness thing on the plane today--hope you enjoy!!

EDIT: Posted to AO3 today!

Jesse’s nightmares are hazed in red. They come rushing in with a hollow fear that punches a swift and heavy-dense hole straight through her sternum.

Stars blown away, none left to guide her. Just emptiness, emptiness, emptiness, and a looking glass. It’s all a matter of perception. Glancing sidelong (never head-on, too much, recoil) presents an image—a face that matches hers by a measure of half, bare scalp and calm-frenzy scarlet eyes and a sharp smile that twists and twists as he stares her down.

The mirror is a poster. Peel it back and see the same. Their names are etched in concatenation with a designation that follows: P[6/7/6/7/6/7]. The numeral is not text but it compels, it vacillates. Like a seizure. Like a film projection, distorted.

This was by chance. This was by design. Two lives and two outcomes. Snap your fingers to transmute.

That's all it'll take.

And when Jesse opens her mouth to whisper, to scream, to bid it to stop, she’s drowned by a discordant babel of affirmation in voices that are all her own.

I want to listen. I want to dream. I want to smile. I want to hurt.

I don’t want to be.

There’s a soul-deep glimmer of warning behind her closed eyes—they snap open stinging as Jesse wakes with a start, wakes without a sound. Laid out flat on her back and soaked in cold shiver-sweat, she spins into substance from the periphery and inward, halting around the through-and-through void gaping at her chest. When she breathes it's shallow and ragged, uncontrolled, and all the air she takes won’t fill it in. Her hand aches. First finger feels bone-sore from the Service Weapon’s trigger. She chose this.

She chose this but it's not here. It's not here. Find something else to reach for.

Find it before they find you.

"Jesse?"

Her name, spoken on its own, sounds broken-off. Vestigial. One of two parts, half of the not-hers dream-name, left to exist on its own.

But her name is also a gentle and groggy question spoken by a husking voice that soothes. In comes a surge of context. Naked. Bare skin against scratchy linens, water stains on the ceiling, motes of dust floating with enviable aimlessness through curtain-cracked sunlight. The ring of an untouched bell chimes over crackling radio music.

One hand and a light-switch cord, three pulls—one hand holding another’s with purpose, fingers laced.

"Jesse."

Less of a question.

She scrapes up the capacity to turn her head and finds Emily lying beside her in the motel bed, watching, gaze drowsy but intent. Her blue eyes pale to silver in the slats of perpetual daylight strewn across bedding, across exposed skin. Emily's is as bare as her own. The sheets pool at her waist. No HRA—the Hiss haven’t touched this place and Polaris’s protection isn't needed.

Or maybe her protection has just—extended.

Jesse looks at Emily and considers this and her throat goes dry.

But she also breathes. Deep and satisfying.

"Hey," she croaks on the labored exhale, still finding her voice. "Sorry, did I—was I, uh, making noise?"

"A little." Emily touches her, hidden from view: a stroke of her thumb on the inside of Jesse's wrist. "Are you alright?"

What follows is a lie, but only just. "Yeah. Yeah, I—woke up and didn't know where I was, for a second."

The corners of Emily’s mouth quirk into a tiny smile, and Jesse knows what’s coming.

“To be fair,” she says, all eagerness, Head of Research minus the clipboard (she holds Jesse’s hand in a loose grip instead), “we don’t really know where we are. In dimensional euclidean terms, at least.”

The Oceanview Motel and Casino is a Place of Power in ways beyond the obvious and the obscure. A dreamscape that offers a moment of reprieve in transit. A liminal sanctuary for this new ritual they’re establishing when the shifting gets to them: visit together, share each other, be.

Jesse gets another breath. Her skin thrums with remembering and she wants to be closer—wants to reach and cling and bury her fingers to the knuckle in the roots of Emily’s short-cropped hair.

“Just kind of feels like Nevada to me,” she says instead, squinting against the sunlight while keeping her gaze fixed on Emily’s long lashes. Doesn’t want to know what she might see if she looks away.

“Could be.” Emily’s fingertips trace up to the curve of Jesse’s bicep. Dream-logic as physical contact. It’s calming in a way Jesse hasn’t let herself grow used to, but she’s trying. “We’ll learn. For now, though, it’s kind of exciting. That for all that we’ve seen, there’s still so much left to fathom.” Her grin broadens, brightens, cracking the corners of her eyes. Jesse’s pulse kick-starts, erratic. Polaris, knowing, resonates smugly, if smug is a thing extradimensional sentient frequencies can be. “Don’t you think?”

Emily has a way of seeing what’s there. All the rest falls away—all of the complications, all of the tangles, all of the clouded context.

And Emily has always seen Jesse. Chalk that up to synchronicity too.

“Yeah,” Jesse says, wanting to be a part of that so badly she aches. “Yeah.”

Emily’s smile softens. “You look so tired.” A palm, then, smoothing across Jesse’s neck, her cheek. A bodily tether in all of this liminality. “Turn over? We can stay here a little longer, if you’d like.”

There are no words and there is no lack of understanding. Jesse capitulates—turns on her side, facing away. Bed-warm and soft and so quiet, Emily moves closer to curl against her back. Her hand flattens against the valley between Jesse’s bare breasts. The space between Jesse’s shoulder blades feels like it was made for the press of Emily’s mouth.

Somehow Emily transcends her own limits. Fills empty spaces. Maybe that’s just another reason why Jesse was led here.

They both breathe with the rhythm of sleep. Jesse's empty hand splays out over Emily's.

Jesse chose and Jesse chooses. Over and over, she chooses.

Jesse wants to be.

Jesse is glad to be here.

#i literally do not know. this was a thing that happened #control #control game #control 2019 #control remedy #jesse faden #emily pope #jesse x emily #jesse faden x emily pope #foibles_fables

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0oolookitsme · 2 years

Text

A Day Made Better

Type- Blurb

Verse- Marvel-Actress!Y/n x Marvel-Actor!Harry and Marvel-Actor!Tom Holland

Warnings- None that I can see, but please do tell me if there's any I should put!

Word Count- 912

A/N- I'm slipping back into writing a lot now. Like, I've literally got two more fics saved up and ready to be posted in my drafts and I'm onto working another one. You believe me now? Good. I hope you enjoy reading this <3

Description- Y/n isn't having the best day of her life, Tom can't seem to stop falling and Harry is just too good at making people happy with his little jokes.

It'll be a lie if they were to say that they 'didn't even try' to keep Harry from joining the duo of Tom and Y/n.

Cause they did, they really did try their best. Alas, sweat broke on their foreheads as they lost the unconfirmed battle. But that doesn't mean they are at peace now, oh that's such a no. Perhaps that's why they were gatekeeping Harry, to save them from any greater number of chaotic plans plotted against them.

Every morning, Harry is the first to arrive at the set. Followed by eating-something-Y/n and then a disheveled Tom. And everyone loves their presence but somedays they want nothing more than to tie the three up and throw them in some random deep pit.

Today, majority of the marvel actors are on the set because of some random interview filming which apparently required to them to be on the set. This made the lot who wasn't in the camera view feel annoyed- not sure with the interviewers or with the ones who are being interviewed.

Whatever the option, Y/n is most definitely annoyed with both.

She's been asked to come on set at 5am in the morning, since the last two weeks. Well, everyone has been. But today wasn't like just any other days, no. She had gotten her periods last night, which she blames to make her cry last night. In the morning when she woke up, she was met with her unpleasantly puffed-up eyes, causing her to cry almost again especially when her hair wouldn't get in a proper braid.

At the end, she washed her face with cold once again, looked away from the mirror and threw her hair in a hand curated bun. And, as expected, it looked better than anything.

Then when she arrives on set, she sees Tom on the ground looking like an embarrassed five-year-old, and Harry who's standing right behind him, clutching his stomach and laughing his lungs out while providing his friend with his arm for support.

That did turn the corner of her lips up a tad bit. But when she was told how there wasn't going to be any shooting done today because of interview she and the other two are not a part of, she felt like ripping her hair off her scalp.

She had asked if they could go back then, but the answer she received might be the reason she's sitting in a corner as she registers the fact that this day was going to go down the sink of moodiness.

"Let me tell you a joke," Harry came to sit down beside her, his thigh touching with hers and y/n's not sure if it's because his love language is physical touch or just an unintentional thing. Either thought makes her smile a little. "But you'd have to participate in this one- just once!"

"So, a papa tomato, a mummy tomato and a baby tomato were walking down the street. The baby tomato was walking too slow and got a little behind the parent tomatoes. That made papa tomato mad, and he squished the baby tomato, telling him to: 'ketchup!'" Harry shrieked at the last word and started giggling himself before fixing his eyes on y/n's mouth to see if it made her smile even.

It's like she's laughing, but she doesn't want to laugh- like she wanted to remain sad. Which makes Harry bump his shoulder with hers and laugh along.

Y/n feels something brush on her back before the third musketeer's voice follows. "What's so funny, eh?" He asks as he tries his best to sit down in his kinda tight skinny jeans. "Tell me too, my day hasn't been very heartful either. It's been rather hurtful," he continues himself, squeezing out an unexpected laugh by the other two.

"He's been falling on his ass all morning long," Harry tells y/n as he calms down, still giggling every once in a minute. Though when he sees y/n frown in amusement, he goes on full tryna-convince-her mode. "Like literally!"

"I've fallen what, three times? And what did you do about it, other than wheezing huh?" Tom defends himself from the other side.

"What else could you expect me to do? Massage your arse??"

This snatched a wheeze from y/n's lungs as her body shrinks down. Clutching her stomach, she rises back up and starts to clap while still laughing hysterically.

"Shut up," Tom mumbles, the tops of his cheeks reddening as if someone pinched them.

Harry sputters out laughs as y/n and Tom tell him more about the pranks they have pulled on the rest of the cast members before. But none of them pulls a laugh as loud as the can toppled over Tom's head does.

"Should I throw the other two too, or are you guys coming here to get them?" Sebastian shouts from quite afar with two more cans in his hands.

"No wait! We're coming!" Y/n manages to string the words together in the middle of another wheel of laughter, all while Harry helps her up and Tom cusses out Sebastian.

With the cans finally in their hands, they come back to sit back at their spots. The time followed by goes like that, Y/n spilling her drink as she opens her can, Tom almost slipping over the same drink as he stands up to enact a scene from his favourite movie he was describing and Harry throwing lame jokes here and there.

Tagging- @onecrazydirectioner @tatehuxley222 (you both requested for a part 2 :)) | @marvel1dhp @eloquentree (you both asked to be tagged in all the works <3)

Feel free to reply under any of my original posts or send in an ask requesting to be added in the tag list <3

#harry styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles one shot #harry styles x reader #harry styles x fem!reader #harry styles fluff #best friend!harry #eternals!harry #eternals #tom holland fluff #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #bestfriend!tomholland #marvel cast x actress!reader #actress!reader #marvel!actress!reader #<333

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local-anaesthesia · 9 months

Text

A Cure in Liyue: Kaeya x Fem!Reader One Shot

This one-shot is from my collection called "Postcards from Teyvat," originally posted on AO3. SUMMARY ---

You experienced an unexpected and unfamiliar illness, and Kaeya went to extraordinary measures to ensure your speedy recovery and restored health.