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thebadboyfanclub · 1 year

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She Has Your Eyes Pt. 1 (Daemon x Reader)

Alright man, this was entirely too long to put in one part, this is only part one and it’s 3k words long so let’s see how this part goes and we figure out the rest

The north has always been quite different when it came to their traditions, there was no exceptions or favouritism when it came to their children, especially when the children where Starks, to be born in the house of the dire wolf it meant you would be as strong as your sigil, daughter or a son it had no meaning

The tourney in the north was held in her honour for her 15th nameday, every house send a representative to take part in the duel, how could they know? It was not often that they had the chance to hold a stick against a Stark lady.

When Daemon got up on his horse to fight against her he had made the mistake of underestimating her, foolishly assuming that he should go soft on lady (y/n), to say he was surprised when he got knocked off quite violently was an understatement, he could still remember (y/n) taking off her helmet and her dark raven hair falling out, her strong features and tall build was compelling.

“Such a shame, I expected better from a dragon”

Her chuckle as she toyed with his reputation was a thing that would usually make his blood boil, however he laid there dumbfounded, “what a woman” he had thought as she trotted around on her stallion, the armour shined under the sunlight and Daemon had finally found his worthy opponent.

“You did well lady (y/n)”

“Well? I could have easily slashed your head off your shoulders”

“I am very thankful you refrained from such act”

“It’s a pretty head”

“To be on my shoulders or served to you in a silver platter?”

“I have yet to decide”

“I know the hour is late, although it just came to me that we have yet to present you with a gift”

“I do love gifts”

“Follow me my lady”

When (y/n) was met with Caraxes a audible gasp escaped her as she came to a halt at the Dragon being a few feet away from her. Daemon only took her hand in his to guide her closer to his dragon, Caraxes remained calm until (y/n) came close enough to sniff her, (y/n) felt her blood freeze out of fear something that did not happen often, as Caraxes appeared to accept the princess since he did not try to eat her.

“How did you know your dragon would not try to kill me?”

“I did not”

“You fucker”

The experience of riding a dragon was euphoric, the sense of freedom it brought while (y/n)s entire body shook from joy and a small dosage of fear was intriguing to Daemon, feeling her nails dig into him as she held for dear life was a scene for sore eyes, Daemon had never experience such emotions for a woman prior this.

Alas as the small folk say “all good things come to an end” and Daemon had to depart from the North, memories are such a funny thing, he could swear it was yesterday that he gave (y/n) a sweet deep kiss and got on his dragon, heading back to kings landing his stomach was turning as the red keep got bigger and bigger, when Caraxes landed Daemon wanted to throw up, he brushed it off as anxiety now he would say it was his body trying to warn him, an instinct some would say.

King Jahaerys was a king of justice, (y/n) leaned on that trait to ease her nerves at the suggestion of her being betrothed to Daemon. However Jahaerys was also a calculated man, the north was a strong force but they were never a problem, so a marriage alliance was not needed, runestone though needed a match, a union to ease the bad blood.

“Why would they say no? I am an eligible match”

“You are the perfect match my love, I guess we were… late”

“So, this is goodbye”

“I am afraid… it is”

(Y/n) could not find the strength to walk away, neither could Daemon and there they stood gawking at one another, it was (y/n)s eyes which were filled with tears that caused a reaction out of Daemon to pull her in his arms, to caress her hair as her body trembled from the sobs.

“Do not mourn me my love, I will always be with you”

Daemon had no idea of how his words would take form in a love child, (y/n) was locked up in her room for the entirety of her pregnancy and her mother was the one that tended to her instead of servants. People talk, the family could not risk the rumour of a Targaryen bastard that belonged to a married prince it would tarnish (y/n)s reputation and even be the sole cause of a war, they kept her safe until they could figure out what should they do next.

Ayleen came into the world during a snow storm, (y/n) was in labour for a full day until the babes wail was finally booming through the room, (y/n) was so exhausted that she could not even hold the small babe, her mother had to assist her so (y/n) could take a good look of her first born.

“She looks like him”

She had whispered with tears falling like a stream on her flustered cheeks, choking on sobs that no one could identify if they were from joy, relief, pain or sadness, (y/n) herself was not aware as of why was she crying in her mothers arms, cursing herself for allowing her heart to lead her and her womb for creating such a perfect thing that would not know what the true meaning of a family is.

Daemon was at the other end of Westeros, so far from his princess, still that cursed night he could not get a wink of sleep, tossing and turning in his bed tormented by images of the Stark lover calling for him while in pure agony, they had been bind for life and now he was absent at the birth of their first born, but he could feel every lick of pain, every grunt and push like he was there.

It was the only time Daemon got on one knee to pray, asking for the old gods and the new to save his lover from all harm, to shield her and spare her, even offering his own life instead of hers.

Daemon was a ghost of himself, he had left all life and warmth in the north, (y/n) was all he could think about, what was she doing? Was she dreaming of the way they laid together? Has she found a husband? Was she happy? A man that was known for his unquestionable lust for women and their presence to warm his bed was now feeling sick at the mere suggestion of bedding another woman.

The one time that he tried to get Rhea to bed to at least consummate their marriage after downing all the wine he could find Daemon flinched at Rheas touch, harshly pushing her to wobble out of her room, falling on his knee in his room and repeatedly apologising to his true love.

The morrow of that day he rode his dragon to go North, nothing was worth such agony, he must go to her or else he would die, the closer he got the colour in his face appeared, it resembled a spell he was under that would only be resolved if he was with her.

“Where is (y/n)?”

“Not here”

“You are lying, why are you keeping her from me?”

“Prince Daemon”

“Fuck off with all of that, I want to see her”

“Daemon?”

Her voice barely above a whisper from behind him took him out of his trance. Once he turned to finally see her his jaw hit the floor, she was holding a child, a tiny creature wrapped up with blankets, Daemon was confused and slightly hurt, has she already moved on? Whom was it that impregnated her? She found the gall to bed another man?

“This is Ayleen, Ayleen this is your father”

“Father? Is she”

“Yours, ours”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You are married, I did not want to cause trouble in your”

“Unconsummated marriage”

(Y/n) was left speechless, she had found peace with the idea that she would never be around him again, she had their child, a part of him and a token of their love, she had mastered the strength to love the babe enough for the both of them.

Daemon approached her by dragging his feet, the second he could fully eyeball his daughter it was the moment he felt his heart beat so hard he thought it would come out his throat, she was so fragile, barely the size of his entire arm.

“May I hold her?”

(Y/n) let out a laugh at the question, slowly and with careful movements for the first time Daemon held his daughter, “Ayleen, my love child” he kept repeating in his brain.

“She is… I would kill for her”

“Let us hope we do not have to go to that”

“I missed it, I was not here, I could not… help you”

“I do not hold grudges Daemon, you couldn’t have possibly known”

“I failed you”

“You gave me a daughter”

“No I did not, you did it, you blessed me with the most amazing gift”

They both yearned for one another, like two moths attracted to the flame, unfortunately everyone knows how that story ends, howbeit for that moment, those very few days Daemon spend in the north with his love and daughter he had been ecstatic, to wake up next to her or see her put the babe to sleep while sitting in her rocking chair, softly signing a lullaby, every waking moment was his new found treasure.

“Give her this, it was my mothers and my grandmothers before that”

(Y/n) placed a necklace on Daemons open palm, she could barely hold herself up from the despair of being separated by her firstborn, “it would be better this way” (y/n)s mother attempted to soothe the girl that cried at the decision of Daemon taking their daughter to kings landing, deep inside she could understand the reason behind it, even that how could a mother not be in shambles over this? It simulates the pain of her heart being ripped straight out of her.

Daemon kept his daughter close to his chest as he walked in proudly to the throne room interrupting another “important” event, he couldn’t care less for what was occurring, the presence of his daughter was far more important. Viserys was stunned, to see your own brother strut in after so long with a child was shocking.

“I would like to present to the court, my first born daughter,princess Ayleen Targaryen, first of her name”

“Gods be good, the princess of runestone”

“No, princess Ayleen was not conceived in the Vale”

“If she is not from your wife… then”

“She is my daughter, a Targaryen, that is all that matters”

“My dearest love,

I hope this letters finds you and our daughter well, I have missed you dearly, the memory of the sound of your breathing while you laid next to me has been my lullaby as a drift off to slumber ever since you left the North.

You must find the strength to forgive me for not writing to you sooner, I pray you understand it has not been easy for me to adjust with you and our sweetling being away from me

I come with the best news, the Gods have blessed us with a son, a healthy little boy named Saemor, he was born 3 moons ago, I did not inform you due to how difficult this pregnancy has been, we feared he would not make it out alive.

Me and Saemor will be waiting for your arrival, come to me my love and bring our daughter with you, let us be a family even if we both know it won’t last long

Yours truly,

(Y/n)”

Daemon took this as his way out, to finally be free of the bronze Bitch and be with his true love, the mother of his now two children. When Daemon announced his departure so he could summon his second born Viserys was livid, a state that Viserys rarely took.

“Another bastard! You have stained our name forever”

“They are my rightful heirs”

“They are bastards, from an unknown woman whom you have repeatedly denied of mentioning, a low life whore you yourself are too embarrassed to reveal”

That was the last thing Daemon needed to hear, his lover had gone through one of the most painful experiences alone, frightened as her life was in danger, she survived and came out of it victorious, the scene of her holding their frail son burned his mind enough to send him over the edge.

Daemon pulled out his sword and attacked his on brother, the steel of black sister shined under the light as Daemon let it rest on Viserys neck, the king was certain he was about to be killed while Daemons eyes were demonic.

“She is my love, my beautiful wife that owns my heart, I should take your head for merely suggesting she is of low rank, I was cursed to marry a woman I despised while you were free to take the woman you loved”

“You are a mad man”

“Mayhaps, but one important rule is to never tell a mad man that they have gone mad”

Daemon was a man that had committed plenty of crimes, to kill your own brother, your blood, no that was beneath him. He pulled away his sword and just walked away, he was sure that Viserys would banish him, send him and his daughter away, Gods know what that cunt of a man Otto had whispered in his brothers ear, poisoning their bond forever.

None of it mattered any more, all he did was take his daughter up in the sky while she held on her dragon egg tightly and fleeted to his love, his Stark lady for refugee.

(Y/n) had seen Caraxes fly above her home, at once she was up on her feet and ran outside to greet him, she had not changed one bit, she was as ravishing as he remembered her to be, his soulmate wrapped her arms around him before he could even firmly land on his feet. Her embrace was all he needed to finally be able to breathe again, relief washing over him, she was alive and well, that itself meant that he could be happy.

“Ayleen, oh my precious little wolf”

“She said her first word”

“Did she? What was it?”

“Mama”

(Y/n) gasped at the word, her daughter called for her and she was not there. (Y/n) balanced her daughter in her hip as she plastered kisses wherever she could find skin, she was finally whole again, with both of her children and her Daemon United, like a true family, to gaze into (y/n)s eyes was a dream itself, though to be able to view the scene of her holding their daughter was the biggest achievement of them all

“She has your eyes”

“She has your hair, a true Targaryen princess”

“I would much rather is she had inherited your hair, to have a little stark running around the castle and cause trouble”

“Come, you must see him”

As time went on Daemon and (y/n) were in their own little world that tasted like berries and cream, Daemon would take his family up in the sky even the small babe that would nestle in his fathers arms had grown accustomed to flying, the only way they could make him sleep was to take him up to Caraxes and fly in circles.

(Y/n) would sleep holding on to Daemon like he would slip out of her fingers during the night, as the cold of the North brought them closer clinging on to the heat of each others bodies and layers of covers protected them the shimmer of the fire made her look even more beautiful, Daemon would often stay awake just a little while longer so he can gawk at her, stroking her dark hair and whispering all types of things to her.

(Y/n)s head rested on his chest she found it comforting to listen his heartbeat, it was the only way she felt like their moments were real and they weren’t just figments of her imagination.

“He will be a menacing knight”

“What if he wants to be a poet?”

“Then he will be a menacing poet”

“No, our boy will be gentle and kind, like his father”

“Have you gone rogue? Or are you hiding something from me?”

“You are the most gentle person, you think I don’t notice how you tuck our boy in his bed? You are my sweet dragon”

(Y/n) whispered in Daemons ear before he kissed her bare shoulder, Daemon and (y/n) could not get enough of each other, the tension between them compelled them to crave the other ones touch, holding hands as they experienced the road of pleasure, neither of them knew when they would have to separate again so they started clinging to the present moment for dear life.

“Don’t start rumours about my gentleness I have a reputation to uphold”

“What that you are the scary ruthless rogue prince? You have never been that, you are loving, caring, protective-“

“And hungry for my lover”

Combined by a yelp coming from (y/n) before she could even defend herself her back was on the bed with daemon laying on top of her, a soft grin decorated her lips while she gently tucked behind his ear a loose strand of his silver locks.

“I really missed you”

“I missed you too my sweet”

Daemon had grown accustomed to living in the North, just being able to bask in her aura was enough for him to be content with his new way of life. That would be his first mistake, life has tricky ways to sneak in to your dream and remind you who is really in control, Daemon had to once again ride his dragon away from his beloved family, war had ensued and he was called for aid in the Stepstones, he could deny it, he should deny it.

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estrellami-1 · 7 months

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If I Should Stay

Ngl I’m kinda REALLY excited for y’all to read this one, though I’m also slightly worried I bit off more than I can chew.

Part 1 | . . . | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22

Steve gets Joyce situated in a guest room then heads back downstairs. Just as he opens his mouth to address the group, the front door opens.

“Steve? Who’s here?” A semi-familiar voice calls. “There’s bikes and cars all over.”

She rounds the corner and Steve is faced with a younger version of his mother, who blinks at everyone gathered in the living room, then smiles at them. “Hi! I’m Alli.”

Steve feels like he’s going to fall over. All the blood’s drained from his head and his heart gives a painful lurch. “Robin,” he manages, reaching out to grab her without taking his eyes off Alli. “Robin. Now.”

“‘Scuse us, just a minute!” Robin says as she drags Steve upstairs and into the bathroom. He slides down the wall and digs his fingers into his hair as she shuts and locks the door.

“Okay,” she murmurs, placing gentle fingers on Steve’s forearms. “We’re alone. What’s going on?”

He swallows a hysterical sob. “Alli,” he manages to whisper. “Allison. M-my sister.” He gulps, feels like he’s going to throw up. “The last time I saw her, I was seven. She was sixteen. She’d left for a… a girls’ trip in Indy. We’d t-talked on the phone the night before she left to come back home. She was so excited… gonna go out to dinner, one last time. They walked.” He can’t swallow the sob in time and throws himself into Robin’s waiting arms. “S-she got hit,” he whispers. “Drunk driver.” She gasps. “Dead before she hit the ground, according to the paramedics.” He begins to shake. “How’s she alive, Robs? How? She- we- I-”

“I know,” Robin murmurs, holding him close. “Oh, Steve. I’m so sorry. But she’s here, she’s okay. And you’ll be okay, I promise. It’ll be okay.” She hugs him tighter, lets him scrabble at her back until he finds purchase, digging his fingers into her shoulder blades.

A tentative knock on the door. “Me again,” Eddie says. It’s enough to make Steve huff half a laugh. “I think everyone’s kinda wondering what’s happening. And, uh. I’m wondering if you’re okay.”

Robin smoothes a hand down his hair. “Want me to let him in?” She whispers. He nods against her neck. “M’kay. Want me to stay? Or should I go do damage control?”

He sits back and sniffs. “Should probably go,” he admits. “Sorry, Robbie.”

“Hey,” she murmurs, leaning their foreheads together. “You and me against the fuckin’ world, okay?”

“Okay,” he whispers, managing a smile when she kisses his forehead.

She stands and opens the door, smiles wanly at Eddie. “I’ll let him explain.” She slips past him and down the stairs.

Eddie shakes his head as he watches her before turning to Steve, who clocks the exact moment Eddie realizes he’s crying. “Steve?”

Steve sniffs again, rubs at his face. “Yeah.”

“Um.” Eddie sits on the ground, back against the sink, mirroring Steve. “You alright?”

Steve laughs humorlessly. “Not in the least.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “With you… I knew. Right? I knew I was coming back, I knew I’d see you again. But her-”

Eddie blinks, frowns. “Your sister? Did you have a… a falling out, or something?”

Steve knocks his head back against the wall. “If only it were that easy,” he murmurs. “Last time I saw her, I was seven. She was sixteen, on a girls’ trip in Indy. Drunk driver hit her.” He swallows, tries to keep the tears in this time. “They were walking, it wasn’t that far from where they were staying. She was dead before she hit the ground.”

“Well, shit,” Eddie mutters.

Steve opens his eyes to regard Eddie. “Pretty much.”

Eddie opens his mouth, then shuts it with a frown. Finally he says, “I don’t know how to make it better, but I do have a joint.”

Steve laughs, only a little hysterically. “Maybe later. I want to, but…”

“You want to see your sister,” Eddie nods. “Do you have any idea how she’s here?”

Steve scoffs. “Not in the least. I’m sure Dustin’ll have at least one theory, though.”

Eddie chuckles. “He probably will.”

They sit in silence for a few minutes, until Steve feels like he can face the world—face Alli— without immediately crying again. He sighs. “How do I look?”

Eddie regards him. “Better than I thought you would,” he says, then peers closer. “Damn, Harrington, the hell kinda genes you got to not look like a mess after sobbing?”

Steve chuckles at that. “Thanks,” he says, which he knows isn’t really an answer. “Still kinda feel gross, though.”

“Well, yeah, dude, you’re still covered in Upside Down shit.”

Steve grimaces. “Don’t remind me,” he says, and they both chuckle. He manages a small, genuine smile at Eddie. “Thanks, though. You’re kinda really great at making me feel better.”

Eddie blushes a little, but his gaze is steady when it locks on Steve’s. “I’m glad.”

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#stranger things #if I should stay #steve harrington #eddie munson #eventual steddie #robin buckley #Allison harrington #Steve has a sister #Steve’s sister #oc #original character #slow burn #fix it fic #time travel fic #wibbly wobbly timey wimey #essentially #starambles

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frogmanfae · 1 year

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Anthony Lockwood x GN! Reader- You Too? (FLUFF with a little bit of angst)

Summary: Anthony can't sleep at night. You can't sleep at night. Most of the time you avoid running into each other, but one fateful night of tears in the basement leads to an awkward bedroom experience.

A/n: this one is quite a bit longer than my other ones, about 4,000 words. I think it came out pretty well. Please don't make this dirty, I beg of you. It really is just awkwardness that happens to occur in a bed it isn't anything spicy.

Reader pov

There are nights where I can't bear to be in my room. I'm not sure why. Perhaps I need a break from such mundane consistency. I just need to see something other than those walls.

On these nights, I usually make myself some tea and go to the basement. I'd much rather sit in the library, but Lockwood is in there most nights. Nobody ever comes down to the basement. I'm alone with only my thoughts and my tea.

I don't quite understand why my room has this effect on me sometimes. When my parents died, my room was my safe haven. My refuge. My sanctuary. So now that I'm in a new environment, it makes little sense to me that it can feel more like solitary confinement. It makes even less sense that I'm soothed by the concrete and dust of the basement.

Tonight is one of those nights. It's probably three in the morning as I sit on the floor leaned against the wall, sipping my tea. I'm a listener, like Lucy (though not nearly as powerful) so a moment of silence is rare, but extremely calming. To use my power and hear nothing is bliss.

I've only about half way finished my tea when someone comes down the stairs, clearly laser focused on something. We're in the middle of a big case, so that's probably it. I had expected it to be George doing some late research or maybe Lucy to see if she can listen to any of the sources down here and get a lead.

To my surprise, it's the other one.

I watch silently as Lockwood pulls out several files and spreads them out on a table. He seems extra stiff, like something is really bothering him. He grumbles something in frustration before collecting the files and putting them back in the cabinet.

He walks over to my wall and sits down a couple feet away. From what I can tell, he hasn't noticed me.

I'm right here, isn't your talent supposed to be sight?

I simply continue sipping on my tea, remaining quiet and looking forward to not disturb him, though he really is an idiot if he doesn't know I'm here.

I thought for a moment that he actually did see me, but he needed space and realized I needed the same so he just didn't acknowledge it. I was certain on this until I heard him crying.

I look over at him. He's still wearing dress pants and his button up and tie. He's still got on his dress shoes. However, his hair was a mess and his hands were currently tangled in the back locks, only making it worse. His face was buried in his knees. I swear I heard a tear drop on to the floor. He was quietly sobbing, clearly trying to not alert anyone but still in pain. Emotional pain, anyhow.

I debate what I should do for a moment. I don't want to startle him, and honestly he seems like he needs this. I decide to just keep drinking my tea and not look at him. I'll let him get it all out before I make my presence known.

It lasts longer than I thought. Perhaps ten minutes? I'm not the best with comprehending passage of time but that seems right enough. Regardless of the details, it was a long time to sit here holding my breath and listening to his suffering.

Finally, he sniffs and wipes his eyes. I'm still looking straight ahead holding my cup, only seeing him out of my peripheral vision. He runs his hands back and forth over his hair a few times. I close my eyes.

"JESUS FUCKI-"

I snap my head towards Lockwood. He's now on his back with his legs closest to me, propped up on one arm and looking at me as if I'm a ghost. I can properly see his face now. His dark circles seem more prominent than usual and his eyes are red and puffy. His nose is red. His cheeks are discolored. He looks abnormally pale. His lashes have been thickened and darkened by his tears. It was truly a sight.

"HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN HERE?"

"I was here before you."

"AND YOU DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING? YOU SAW ALL OF THAT?"

"Shhh you'll wake up the others, we both know how lightly George sleeps while we're in the midst of a case. Anyhow, you seemed like you needed it. I didn't want to interrupt. It's not like I watched you."

"But... You saw it all. You heard everything!"

"Lockwood, I hope you realize I think no less of you."

"What?"

"I- oh gosh you can't be comfortable like that. Sit up, why don't you?" He hesitantly pushes himself up and leans against the wall again. "I'm worried about you."

"Theres no need to be-"

"Bullshit. You can't keep concealing your emotions like this. It's okay to be overwhelmed or stressed or overall upset for any reason. You always act like everything is wonderful but it's not. I don't know if it ever has been."

He looks down. "(Y/n)... It's not that easy-"

"I never said anything about it being easy. Of course it's hard. I can't even imagine how you feel owning an agency so young, having all that pressure on your shoulders. It's terrifying to be vulnerable."

"Is that why you're in the basement in the early hours of the morning, drinking herbal tea?"

I hum. "I just couldn't sleep, and I like herbal tea."

"Now who's bullshitting?" The corners of his mouth tug up in a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "You much prefer green. Herbal simply calms you down. You only ever drink herbal tea when you're upset."

"How..."

"I notice things, (y/n). Lots of things. Don't think I don't hear the kettle during the midnight hours at least three times a week. The peculiar thing is I never hear anyone go back up the stairs and whenever I go into the kitchen, it's empty."

I look down. How'd he make this about me so quickly?

"Tell me, (y/n), do you spend your nights in the basement often?"

"... No. Only when I can't sleep."

"So... Often." He nods. "Why don't you stay in the library? It's much more inviting."

"I don't want to bother you. That's where you are most nights."

"You could never bother me."

"Stop, you were the one crying a few moments ago, this isn't about me."

He sighs. "It was worth a shot."

"Now, what's bothering you?"

"Uh... Nothing, really."

"Lockwood."

"It's just the case, that's all."

"That's a lie and we both know it."

He let's out a noise of exasperation. "Fine, you really want to know? It's my parents."

"Your parents?" I ask softly as I scoot closer to him.

He nods. "They died when I was six years old. You really have no idea what it's like to have such a great life until suddenly you don't and it all gets ripped away from you without warning and nobody will take you in so you have to fend for yourself before your age even reaches double digits."

"Actually... I think I can relate more than you realize."

"How can you possibly relate?" He almost sounds angry. I don't blame him, I never told him my story. I kept it to myself even after living with other people all this time. I moved here with a purpose, to start new. Therefore, my past never happened according to anyone else. I was another person then. I've left all of that behind, taking only the nightmares and memories with me.

"My parents were murdered when I was eight." I look straight ahead. "Nobody really wants to adopt a kid who's just began to really get strong in their talent for hearing brutal murders and death. It freaks adults out. So I was on my own until I found you guys."

His expression softens. "(Y/n), I'm so sorry, I... Wait, you were fourteen when you applied. That's six years."

"It was hard but I managed. The whole ghost hunting agent thing isn't so bad. Once you've been forced to watch your parents get nothing short of quartered right in front of your sensitive, innocent eyes, you can watch anyone else get ghost touched no big deal."

"I'm sorry, quartered?" His eyes are wide.

"Yeah, are you familiar with the French Revolution?"

"I'm familiar enough to hope you were talking about a different type of quartering."

I shook my head. "It was intense. I still think of it every time I close my eyes."

"I can't even imagine..."

"I didn't tell you this for you to feel sorry for me. I only wanted you to know I'll understand. You aren't as alone as you believe."

He nods slowly. "I see... Thank you... For sharing, I mean."

"Of course. So now that you know I can at least sort of understand what you're feeling, what's going on with you?"

He sighs. "I don't know... Sometimes I just..."

"Miss them?"

"... Yeah." He nods. "Yeah I miss them a lot. I miss them all the time but sometimes when I think about it it's not so bad, it's let me do what I've done, accomplish all of this. Other times..."

"It's mentally suffocating."

"Mentally suffocating... Yeah that's a good word for it. Like it's put a sheet over your brain to prevent it from getting oxygen, but you can still physically breathe with your lungs for the most part."

I nod. "Yeah, it's frightening. George has a book on it he was telling me about some time."

"George knows you feel like this sometimes?"

"No, but we often discuss our readings, trade books, recommend authors or titles... Things of the sort. I haven't told anyone about my past. Except you of course."

"Well aren't I special," he flashes one of his signature Lockwood smiles.

I roll my eyes. "Don't let it get to your head, your ego is already so inflated I fear it might burst."

"Oh haha you love my charisma."

"Is that what we're calling it?" I smile at him.

He laughs. Not his public press laugh, but a true, genuine laugh. One that I've never heard from him before. It makes me feel a little bit warmer with emotion.

"You know, most nights I stay awake in the library simply because I can't stand the solitude of my room."

"What?"

"I know, it's silly-"

"No, not at all! I come down here for the same reason!"

"You do?" He raises his eyebrows, sounding surprised. "I thought you just worried over cases or, well now I thought you thought about your past but-"

"No, it's like..." I think for a moment, trying to figure out how to put it into words. "Like the silence is too loud and the space is too big for just me, even though my bed hardly fits properly."

"Exactly! Like I don't have anything to focus on except for the sensory deprivation and my anxieties."

"Yes! Oh my goodness I can't believe you get it!"

"I thought I was the only one!" He laughs again, different this time. It sounds almost relieved. "Say... Maybe we could help each other out."

I raise an eyebrow. "Help each other out? How so?"

"Well, feel free to decline if you want and we'll never speak of this proposal again, but perhaps we could try spending the night in the same room."

"But..." I get that warm feeling again, more intense this time. "Each room only has one bed..."

"Yes well..." Despite the horrid lighting of the basement, I could faintly see a light pink tint spanning across his nose and blotching on other, seemingly random, spots on his face. "Like I said I understand if you decline and if that is your choice we can pretend I never said anything... However... I feel it may be beneficial to the both of us to have a... companion in the lonely, deafeningly silent hours of the night. If it works, splendid we can finally get some proper sleep. If it doesn't, we each return to our respective seperate rooms and carry on as if nothing ever happened."

"..." I nod slowly. "Okay."

"Ah- really?" He turns to face me more. "In all honesty I thought you would detest the idea."

"Do you still want-"

"Yes! I mean," he clears his throat, "uh... Yeah, the offer still stands."

"Perfect."

"Well then." He stands up and offers me his hand. "Shall we?"

"Oh you mean like right now! Alright then." I take his hand and he pulls me up. He chuckles and leads me to his room.

"I uh... I'll go take this cup back to the kitchen and let you get changed and what not."

"Oh- right." He pushes back some of his hair. "I'll only be a minute or two."

"Okay, I'll be waiting for whenever you're ready."

He smiles at me as he steps back into his room and closes the door. I swiftly make my way to the kitchen and set my cup in the sink, resolving to wash it in the morning, and return in under a minute.

I wait outside for only about thirty seconds longer before Lockwood opens the door again.

"Sorry I took so long."

"Long? Lockwood that was- wait."

"What? Is something the matter?" He takes his hand off of the door handle and peeks his head out around the corner.

"No, just... You're wearing a shirt."

"Oh, well..." He stepped aside, inviting me in, and closed the door behind me "Yes in fact I am. What about it?"

"Lockwood you've never worn a shirt to bed in all the time I've been here. It's like an unspoken principle in the house; you don't wear shirts to bed and George doesn't wear trousers."

"I didn't realize it was such a disruption of order-"

"Well- that's not what I'm saying." I sigh. I've always struggled with putting things into the right words. "Obviously it's fine if you wear a shirt to bed, I just... I'm just wondering why all of a sudden?"

"Well... I don't know. I suppose I thought you may be a bit uncomfortable sharing a bed with me when I've no shirt on." He looked down, those pink splotches returning to his face. "After all, this is only an arrangement of convenience and practicality. It's not like were... uh... going out... or anything..."

"Ah, right..." I can feel myself getting flustered. "Well... I don't mind, really. The whole point is to feel more comfortable going to sleep so if you feel more comfortable with no shirt on, honestly it doesn't make any difference to me."

"... Are you sure?"

"I'm sure, really." I smile reassuringly. "Whatever makes you fall asleep best."

He hesitates. "Well, if you're absolutely positive-"

"Lockwood, I promise you."

He hums lowly. "Alright then. But if you change your mind just tell me and I'll put it back on straight away, I swear-"

"Lockwood!"

"Alright, okay! If you're sure-"

"I'm sure."

He holds his hands up in mock surrender, a smile gracing his face. It isn't one of his signature smiles, it's real, quite boyish actually. He seems so young. Sometimes I forget how young we really are, but then again, all youth since The Problem has forgotten how young they really are.

I try my best to appear to be disinterested and looking away as he removes his shirt and folds it, neatly placing it in the bottom right drawer of his dresser. Of course, I watch the whole thing unfold. I'm only trying to appear as if I'm not.

"Alright, well..." He awkwardly rubs his arm. I've never seen him seem so nervous before. "I suppose now is when we uh... get into bed, then..."

"Yes it does seem like that happens now..." I slowly nod.

"Well uhm... After you." He gestures toward the bed.

"Oh no, please, it's your bed, you go ahead first." I wave my hands.

"No no I insist. You're my... guest? Is that the appropriate term for this? What do we call this?" He lets out a breathy chuckle. "Sorry, I'm a bit..."

"Nervous?"

"To say the least."

We both laugh a little bit. There really was no need for it to be so nerve wrecking. We had already agreed that if it doesn't go well we pretend nothing happened. Nobody needs to know.

"Here, why don't we just both get in at the same time?" I offer.

"Yes! Yes, that sounds like a good idea." He goes to the side of the bed opposite of me.

It's still extremely tense as the both of us climb in under the covers. There's plenty of space in between us. I'm nearly hanging off the edge, no doubt Lockwood is as well.

Fuck it.

I move onto the bed more so I'm a comfortable ways on. "Lockwood?"

"Yes?"

"Can I be frank for a moment?"

"Well I think I'd prefer you to stay (y/n) but I suppose whatever makes you happy-"

"Oh shut up." He laughs one of those real laughs again. I nearly melt.

"What would you like to talk about?"

I take a deep breath, admittedly, his joke (however stupid) managed to cut some of the tension. "This isn't going to work unless we get over ourselves and actually share the bed. Like real sharing."

He pauses. "You're right. The question is, how far are we going?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean... Well..." He huffs. "If we're being frank-"

"I prefer Anthony, but I suppose-"

"Oh shut up, it really isn't funny." Despite his words, he was smiling again. "I see your point now."

"Well, what is it you were going to say, Frank?"

"Please don't." He laughs, making me smile more.

"I'm listening."

He inhales deeply. "Well, how far are we going as in... Are we simply laying next to one another and trying to go to sleep or... to be blunt, are we spooning?"

I nearly chocked on my own saliva. Blunt was certainly one way to say it.

"Well... Whatever makes you comfortable. Honestly I think it would work best if we... Uh... Did the latter, but I don't want to make you-"

"I was actually hoping you'd say that-"

He sighs, sounding almost... Relieved?"

"Really?"

"Yes, I-" he rolls over, bringing us from being over a foot apart to our noses now almost touching. "Goodness you are much closer than I thought-"

"Sorry, I-" I start to move back, but he puts his hand on my waist, gently stopping me.

"No no I uh... Well if we're going to uh... You know, uhm, we're going to have to be close anyway so..."

"Right, yeah..."

He softly pulls me closer using his hand that still rests on my waist. I move towards him until my hands are pressed to his chest and our legs are touching under the covers. His face is splotchy red again, the most intense I've ever seen it, though I can't imagine how flustered I must appear.

"Uhm... May I?" He starts to wrap his leg around mine.

"Ah..." I nod, unable to trust my voice.

And so now we lay here, about two seconds away from being puddles of awkwardness and mild embarrassment. He's warm. Very warm. It's kind of nice being this close to him.

I've always found him attractive since the moment I saw him. He is, objectively, a good looking guy.

Then I got to know him a little bit. He and I would often bicker and pester one another, some times seemingly more serious than others, but for the most part it was all in jest. Making jabs at each other is just what we do.

I think I fell for him more and more over my time here, but tonight I saw a new side of him. A side that really pushed me over the edge of having a bit of a crush on him to trying to stop myself from kissing him at any given moment.

"(Y/n)? Are you alright?" He brings a hand up to my forehead. "You're awful warm and you look... Distressed."

"Anthony?"

His gaze softened. I don't think anyone has called him that in... well who knows how long? Too long. "Yes? Is something the matter?"

"No I just..." I make eye contact with him, effectively rendering myself speechless.

He inches closer. "Are you sure? This is quite the... intimate position... I wouldn't want to make you..."

By this time, our noses are back to almost touching, but even closer than before. He tilts his head just enough to avoid colliding them.

"Make me what? Uncomfortable?" I glance down at his lips, quickly looking back to his eyes to avoid suspicion. "Anthony, you could never-"

He kisses me.

Holy shit.

Anthony Lockwood is kissing me.

I'm in Anthony Lockwood's bed.

I'm kissing Anthony Lockwood!

"I'm sorry-" he pulls back. "Oh no... I shouldn't have done that... Shit... Oh shit I'm so sorry-"

I kiss him again. "Shut up, will you? I just had a life altering moment here and I'm trying to enjoy it."

"You- you liked it?"

"Of course I did. Anthony, I've liked you since... Well I suppose there wasn't a single moment I could pick out but-"

"I love it when you call me that."

I smile. "Call you what? Anthony? Well that is your name."

"It hasn't been used in years. Not by itself, anyhow. It sounds nice coming from your lips."

"I like your lips." It takes a moment to register what I just said. "Wait, I didn't mean-"

"You like kissing me~" He teases me, putting on his Lockwood Smile.

"Oh shut up!" I put my head on his chest to hide my face. "Of course I do..."

"Well... You know what I would like more than just kissing you?" He carefully lifts my head up with two fingers under my chin.

"Hm?"

He hesitates for a moment. "I'd like to be your boyfriend."

"What? Really?"

"If you'll have me, that is-"

"Of course I'll have you, you prick!" I lightly punch his chest. "Do you know how long I've wanted to tell you that?"

He shakes his head. "I can't say I do."

"Well there wasn't a specific time but I think I started to think about it more and more around the time we were working the Brentic case."

"The B- (y/n) that was at least a year and a half ago."

"I'm well aware."

"... Huh."

"What?"

"I think I've known since the Dalkins case."

"Lockwood, that was long before the Brentic case-"

"It seems my charm worked then."

"Oh shut up! Go to sleep!"

He laughs a bit. "So... Are we...?"

"... I think we are..."

"Wonderful! Splendid! Perfect! Grand! Fanta-"

I laugh. "Anthony shut up!"

He goes quiet, but the smile remains on his face. "Do we tell the others?"

"... Nah. It's funnier if we just let them figure it out. But we don't necessarily have to hide it either."

He nods. "It'll take all my self control to not shout it from the rooftops."

"Oh hush." I roll my eyes, ignoring the butterflies in my stomach. "Get some sleep, lover boy. You clearly need it."

He kisses me once more, shorter this time, before closing his eyes and pulling me closer to his chest. He falls asleep surprisingly quickly, his breaths going even and his mouth falling slightly agape in no time at all.

I watch him for a moment. Once again, he really shows his age for only a second. I push some of his hair away from his face and place a kiss on his forehead, causing him to stir just a bit.

Before I know it, my eyelids feel heavy. It becomes increasingly harder to keep them open, to stay awake. Soon enough, I'm drifting into sleep with pleasant dreams to greet me and Lockwood by my side.

How lucky am I?

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ragingbookdragon · 1 year

Text

You're Feeling Ten For Ten

Task Force 141 x Reader (Actually Reader x Ghost if you look close enough) One-Shot

Word Count: 1.6K Warnings: Explicit Language

Author's Note: Hey I made a part two. Happy now? Enjoy! -Thorne

**********************************************************************

The little breakroom is cozy, she decides as she plants her ass on the couch and props her legs on the other side. Cozy enough that she can already imagine some of her things here and there. A bag of Black Ivory coffee beans beside a La Marzocco Strada Electronic Paddle, a seventeenth century Persian rug, a Parsifal Round Fendi couch complete with a Metropolis coffee table, the ideas are endless, and she can’t help but begin to call in orders from her high end clients. It’s the center of her focus until a ringtone echoes from the coffee table and, her being who she is, reaches over and takes the iPhone, carefully looking over the contact.

Nannie Moira? Must be the Scots granny, she thinks and answers the phone.

“Hello!” she chirps politely and the response she gets is not one she expects.

John?

“I’ve been called quite a few things in my life, but ‘John’ has never been one of them.” She’s already pulling up the 141’s files, sliding to “John MacTavish” before she enters “Moira MacTavish” into a search bar. Of course, she comes up within the first ten searches and she smiles.

Oh, Christ, I thought I’d rung my ogha.

“Oh, you did, Missus Moira,” she answers. “I’m afraid John is out right now, but he left his phone and you seemed quite important, so why not answer?” she smiles. “John talks quite a bit about you Missus Moira.” Her eyes scan the newspaper articles from Stirling, Family of Five Killed In Massive Car Pile-Up, Leaves Boy, Two, Orphaned. “Best woman he knows, yes?”

Aye, my ogha, John. Raised the lad myself.

“Missus Moira—”

Call me Nannie Moira, darling. Any friend of John’s is a child o’ mine.

“Of course, Nannie Moira,” she smiles. “So, tell me more of John. He’s so tight-lipped about himself.”

Oh, I can talk for hours of my ogha. Did you know—

***

It’s a good half hour before the door to the break room opens and in piles four men who stop like deer in headlights as they take in the woman—they do not know—sitting on their couch, laughing as she answers, “Nannie Moira! You did not say that to Johnny’s girlfriend!” Whatever response she gets, they can tell it makes her laugh because she presses the back of her hand to her mouth.

Soap’s already headed her way at the mention of his grandmother; she bats at his hand when he tries to take the phone from her. “Oh, Nannie, I think John just got back, would you like to talk to him?” she holds out the phone expectingly and chastises, “Nannie’s very upset you didn’t call her last night.”

He takes the phone, “Nannie, are you alright?...well, yes, I know I didn’t call, I was—yes, Nannie…yes ma’am…I promise I will call you tomorrow night…I love you, Nannie.” He hangs up and glares down at her. “Congratulations, you’re invited to midnight mass on Christmas Eve.”

“Can’t wait,” she replies with a smirk and turns her gaze to Ghost. “Hi, Simon.”

“How,” he starts darkly and stalks towards her in slow, warning steps. “Did you get in here?”

She blinks owlishly at him. “Let’s see, I forged a key card, showed it to the enlisted at the gate, and you might want to actually enlighten them on who they should and should not let it, and walked right in.” she sniffs and tips her head to the air vent that they now notice is missing a covering. “Air vent was a little snug too.”

“I’ve half a mind to arrest you.”

“Oh, I can agree you do have half a mind. It’s why you’ve never managed to beat me in any fight we have.” She raises her hands like she’s waiting cuffs. “Go ahead. But if you arrest me, you won’t have a way to blow up that Syrian power plant you all are planning without leaving someone behind to make sure it does.”

That stops all of them and they stare at her, Price especially when he walks over. “You’re the woman Soap mentioned.” They all ignore how Ghost absolutely glowers at Soap who has now found the ceiling much more interesting. “How much do you know?”

“About the power plant or the mission?”

“All of it.”

She taps a pointer to her chin. “Well, that’s no fun to tell and not get rewarded. I’m not a good girl unless I get a reward, Captain Price,” she purrs and gazes at him. “In return for this information, I’m going to give you my file and you will strongly consider my…introduction, into the 141.”

“No, absolutely not,” Ghost gripes. “I am not working with you.”

“Oh, don’t hurt my feelings, Simon. We both know you and I work so well.”

“You are a killer.”

“I’m a murderer of very bad people, the same as you. So, I’d be careful waving that hypocrisy stick around—might end up with it too far up your ass.”

Ghost turns to Price. “Her name is Spades, she’s an international assassin responsible for taking out targets with the biggest bounties.”

“So, by technicality, I’m a bounty hunter,” she adds. “He’s right though, I do take out quite a few bounties. But believe it or not, the most scandalous thing about me is that I am a morally good assassin. I don’t kill good people. Only very, very, very bad people. Like the Guestroom Butcher.” She ignores the shocked stares. “God, I had to spend months in London before I got that guy. I hate London.”

“You—you killed the Guestroom Butcher?” the fourth man asks, and she peers at him.

“You must be Gaz. And yes, I did. His name was Albert Franklin. A physics teacher at a local secondary school who was a janitor part time. Spent years traveling to different guestrooms all over London to murder tourists. Such an odd man. He talked a lot before I killed him. Kept muttering something about his late wife being killed by tourists decades prior. Sad, but understandable as to why he targeted tourists.”

“And how do we know you killed him?” Gaz inquires.

“Well, my name isn’t Spades for a reason, dear,” she explains and looks at Simon. “Have my card still?” He wordlessly pulls it out and hands it to Gaz, who looks over it. “That’s my calling card. I leave it on bodies so that police know I was there. Look up the case on the internet. There’s a photo of my card.”

“How do you know someone didn’t forge this?”

“All my cards are made by hand, with gold inlay. Signed too. No one can forge my card. And no one in the business is foolish enough to get on my radar for pretending to be me. I’m one of the best there is for a reason.”

Price looks at her. “How do you know about the mission?”

“Simon forgets that he shouldn’t carry around information on a phone.”

“It was locked,” is all he replies when Price glares at him.

“Oh, it was, I unlocked it with a hacker’s bypass.” She clears her throat. “As for the mission…I know the logistics of what you’re planning. I know someone is going to have to stay behind to make sure the pressure in the facility gets high enough that it blows. I also have a bypass for that in which we don’t have to hold a funeral for someone here.”

They stare at her, watching, waiting.

She lifts a small plug, no bigger than a thumb. “This, is a kill-switch made by one of the scientists who helped build the power plant. When the Syrian government found out he was gay, they had him executed. Before that, he made this as insurance and sold it to the black market the United States frequents. I paid quite a pretty penny for it.”

“What’s it do?” Soap asks.

“This little plug will directly overload the system in fifteen minutes. There is no way to stop the overload once it’s been activated by this. That’s why it’s the kill-switch.” She rolls it in her fingers. “You insert this into the mainframe and in exactly fifteen minutes, you blow everything in a ten mile radius to kingdom come.” She smiles. “Only takes five to get out of the facility and to the rescue chopper. Ten minutes to get outside the blast radius.”

They’re silent and she knows she’s found her entrance point as she rises from the couch; their eyes follow her.

“I’ll be in my quarters. Simon, I chose the room between you and Gaz since it was vacant. Oh, and Captain Price, there’s going to be quite a few boxes being delivered to the base in the next two hours. If you would, have someone bring them to my room so I can set them up.” she gathers her things. “Also, if one of you, I’m hoping it’ll be Soap, can help me move out all that ugly military furniture from my quarters, I would appreciate it.”

She walks past them without a care in the world.

“Can’t believe you plebians live like this. What ever happened to having good furniture and a supported spinal column when you sleep?”

The door closes behind her and Simon’s the first to break the silence. “You’re just going to let her stay?”

Price glares at him. “The fuck am I supposed to do? She looks more prepared for our mission than we are right now.”

Ghost growls, legitimately growls, and says, “I cannot believe I have to fucking work with her.”

This, doesn’t stop Soap from raising his hand and asking, “Wait, so fraternization only works on folks in the military right?”

“SOAP, SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

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itwasthereaminuteago · 10 months

Text

|| Clouds ||

Frank Castle x female reader

Tags/warnings: depressed reader, comfort. Been feeling low for no reason, wrote this for myself and hope it helps anyone in a similar place.

He's been holding you for a long while, ever since you came home and he saw the way you were detached and unresponsive to him when he asked you how your day had been.

One of his hands strokes slowly, deliberately, up and down your back, the other cradling your face, thumb rubbing lightly over your damp cheek as you slump in his lap.

"You wanna tell me what's wrong, baby?" Frank gently urges, still spooked by the quiet sobs that choke out of you.

"Nothing."

You won't meet his eyes but he doesn't force you to, simply pulling you closer into his body, the skin of his face pressing to your own, hand smoothing over your hair as he hugs you to his warmth. The simple action draws a fresh flood of tears from you as you feel the heavy pull of the void within, the melancholic thoughts that had been swimming around your head all day.

"Hey, hey s'alright." He soothes, letting you cry absolutely everything out. When you stop shaking he reaches across the coffee table to get you a tissue and dry your eyes.

"It hurts seein' my pretty girl like this. S'there anythin' I can do?"

"I– I don't know…" you eventually reply with a sniff.

He considers for a moment. "Maybe there's someone I gotta beat up? Hm?"

That manages to raise a tiny hiccuped laugh from you and Frank dares a smile. "S'that a yes? You just tell me who and I'll take care of it honey, you know I will."

You shake your head, eyes cast downward again. "No, it's no-one. Just me."

He tips your chin up slowly with his fingers and nudges his nose to yours before he kisses you chastely on the lips, and for a moment you forget your reasonless grief as your eyes flick up to meet his patient and loving gaze.

"C'mon now, I don't need you beatin' yourself up sweetheart." Frank snuggles you against his chest again and you close your eyes as you breathe him in. After a time you find yourself taking deep breaths along with him and the racing din in your overwhelmed mind eventually starts to quiet.

"It's gonna be okay honey, you know you gotta just feel what you feel, even if there ain't any reason for it." He softly kisses the top of your head. "Those shitty thoughts in there, they're just clouds across the sun and they'll be gone soon enough, and I'm gonna be here until they are."

He keeps his word, stays cuddling you on the couch as long as you need, distracting you with the odd light kiss as you gradually begin to feel the grey skies break and brighten up. He makes dinner after hearing the loud grumbling noises of your stomach, and runs you a bath before bed, sitting on the bathroom floor as he gives you a head massage while shampooing your hair.

And when he's curled close around you in bed, not leaving any room for intrusive thoughts to come back, you make your gratitude known.

"I don't know how I got so lucky with you Frankie, I'm sorry I've been such a mess lately."

"Don't apologise for anythin' darlin', and you know you do the exact same f'me when I'm having a shitter of a day." You turn in his arms and he strokes a stray lock of hair away from your face.

"I mean it, you do so much for me."

His smile is so warm and you return it. He doesn't miss the little glint in your eye as you sidle up closer to him.

"Well now, there anythin' else I could do to make you feel better sweetheart?" He asks.

You nod "I'm sure I can think of something…"

you say as you run your fingers through his thick hair, humming as you lean in to capture his lips in a soft, languid kiss.

#frank castle x reader #frank castle fluff #comfort fic

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itsjaywalkers · 4 months

Note

can I have regulus holding a little lamb 🐑 please

i don't know if this is what you had in mind nonnie but . here u go:

"Regulus?"

He startles a little, his jump making the tiny body between his arms shift slightly, a weak bleat that almost sounds like a protest dragging a frown out of him as he turns around. Regulus shushes the animal gently, rocking it against his chest before he finally looks at the person in front of him.

It isn't who he had been waiting for, considering he had called his brother, but taking into account Sirius' worrying levels of codependency when it comes to his friends, he supposes he should've seen it coming.

"Potter," he greets him, eyebrow arched. "Is my brother gonna make an appearance at some point or is he using you to elude his responsibilities? Again."

Potter starts shaking his head effusively even before Regulus has finished talking, the desperation in the gesture nearly making him roll his eyes. Always so quick to defend Sirius' honour.

"Oh, no, he's coming, I swear he's coming," James reassures him, offering him an apologetic smile. "He got held off at work, so he called me and told me you had an emergency and asked me to keep you company until he arrived."

"And couldn't he had called me to tell me that?" Regulus inquires.

James looks away, rubbing at the back of his neck. "He didn't think you would've reacted well. He said it'd be... easier to just. Send me here without a heads up, to make sure you wouldn't refuse."

He cringes at the end, and even though it's the bare minimum, Regulus finds some satisfaction in Potter's obvious discomfort. It's nice to know that he isn't the only one who finds some of his brother's methods despicable, despite the usual good intentions behind them.

"So Sirius' reaction to me asking for his help is to bring his best friend to deal with the issue without consulting me about it first," he states blankly, disappointed at the fact that he isn't even that upset about the whole ordeal. Really, it's classic Sirius behaviour. They're okay now, usually at least, but part of him is always waiting for him to fuck up one way or another. "Nice to know."

"C'mon, Reg, you know that's not it—"

"Don't call me that."

Potter has the audacity to roll his eyes. "Okay, Regulus. But really, he wanted to be here, and he will be, as soon as he's done with work. This was out of his control. And he asked me to come because he didn't want you to wait for god knows how long on your own."

"Whatever," Regulus huffs, refusing to admit that hearing about Sirius' concern is enough to soften him a little. Just a tiny bit.

There's a beat of silence after that. Regulus isn't going to entertain a conversation with James Potter of all people, and besides, he's busy trying to calm the animal he's holding between his arms, which is still quite restless. Regulus doesn't blame it. He's pretty unnerved by Potter's presence himself.

Of course, and considering who he's with, it doesn't last.

"Potter," he calls him, making him snap his head up, one of his hands coming up to readjust his glasses. "Spit it out."

"What?"

Regulus represses the urge to scoff. "It's obvious there's something you wanna say. I can almost hear you thinking, and it's pissing me off, so just—fucking say it."

"Um," Potter starts, blinking a couple of times, eyes alternating between Regulus' face and his chest. "That's—a lamb. You're holding a lamb."

"Astute observation."

Potter snorts. "You gonna elaborate on that, or...?"

"I'd rather not," Regulus sniffs, raising his chin slightly.

Potter opens his mouth, more than ready to whine, maybe even push, but in the end, he simply lets out a deep sigh before closing it. The sound is resigned, which pleases Regulus, but also a little fond, which only manages to confuse him.

Although, if he's being honest, most of Potter's actions do. In ways he does his best not to think about.

"Can I at least touch it?" Potter questions, tilting his head to the right as he watches the lamb intently.

Regulus' first instinct is to refuse. But he doesn't know how long he's going to have to be alone with Potter, and antagonising the other man will probably just make this whole thing even more awkward. Tenser. Not to mention, the lamb is quite adorable, and if nothing else, he understands Potter's want to get close to it.

He nods, and Potter looks so taken aback for a second that Regulus is almost offended. But then, and before he has the chance to change his mind, Potter is moving, closing the distance in fast strides.

He's less than a breath away barely a second later, and Regulus feels dizzy all of a sudden, a woodsy scent filling his senses and a lovely warmth surrounding his limbs. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from letting out an embarrassing noise.

"Careful," he warns when Potter simply goes for it, eager and clumsy, the rushed movement dragging another weak bleat from the lamb.

"Sorry," Potter says in a whisper, so near his breath hits the side of Regulus' face. It sends a shiver down his spine.

He tries again, gentler this time, making a show of putting his hand in front of the animal. Potter waits a few seconds, and then goes to caress its head, slow and patient, watching out for any discomfort and stopping every time the lamb squirms.

As soon as the lamb looks relaxed in Potter's presence, he finally reaches out properly, touching softly and with care. The lamb barely reacts, apart from a tiny shift of his head, pressing against the contact. It makes him laugh delightedly, and Regulus hates that he can't look away.

Potter raises his head right after, a bright grin curving his lips. But they're so close that their noses graze each other with the movement, breaths intermingling, and his smile falls the moment he realises, hand stilling on top of the lamb's head.

Regulus feels his traitorous heart stutter in his chest. He wants to step back, needing to put some distance between them, but his body refuses to respond, no matter how many times he gives the command.

He's barely breathing when he licks his lips, throat dry and full of knots. And he definitely stops when Potter's gaze falls to his mouth, eyes darkening dangerously and body leaning forward, intentions more than clear.

Regulus doesn't think Potter is aware of what he's doing, and yet, this knowledge isn't enough for him to put an end to it. To pull Potter out of his daze. Push him away.

No, instead, Regulus also leans in, fingers twitching against the body between his arms. He gulps, heart beating wildly in his chest, and then he starts to close his eyes, the first contact of Potter's lips against his making him tremble. It's tentative, and so soft it can't even be called a kiss. But it still leaves him aching for more.

A needy sound crawls out of Potter's mouth, and when Regulus is about to press closer, crash their mouths together, a loud bleat makes them both jump apart.

Tending to the little lamb in his arms comes as a reflex, and Regulus is more than grateful for the distraction, even though it isn't enough to keep colour from rushing to his cheeks. He tries to focus on shushing the animal, on caressing it until it calms down, doing his best to make it feel safe. But his mind is somewhere else, on someone else, and before he can stop it, he's sneaking a glance at the other man.

Regulus' heart almost stops when he sees Potter's expression. Eyes dark and still fixed on him. Lips parted and shiny. Glasses askew. Breathing uneven.

When Regulus notices his closed fists resting at his side, knuckles almost white from how hard he seems to be holding back, he has to tear his gaze away, face burning.

Fuck.

#this is so silly and messy and it barely makes any sense but . there u go nonnie #hope u enjoyed <3 #or that it at least fulfilled ur wishes #asks #anons #jegulus my beloveds

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slamminslamminmcgill · 3 months

Note

i can only support from the shadows but as an SA survivor please DO write about joel killing your rapists it would cure me

LETS GOOOO SA survivors eating good tn!!!! we making it out the rape kit with this one 🥵🥵🥵

warning: descriptions of sexual assault, rape kits, non-consensual drugging, police malpractice/incompetence, victim-blaming, arson, and spanking. one single use of the f slur for shits and giggles. reader is male and joel’s roommate. reader’s assailant is male.

"So, the next morning I..."

You sniffled as you relayed your trauma to Joel. He wondered why you'd tensed up anytime anyone even uttered the word 'FEDRA'. You’d said it was a bad experience. He’d said that doesn’t really narrow it down much, so you gave him the full story.

“I got the rape-“ You cleared your throat, that word burning your vocal cords like an acid, “got the rape kit done at the clinic… And I asked for a drug test, so that I’d… that I could prove he slipped me something… Nurse was good, she was nice… She gave me the release of evidence form to give to FEDRA’s law enforcement precinct… but they didn’t… they didn’t take it…”

“What?” Joel’s face was contorted in shock, then a scowl of disgust and rage on your behalf. “The hell you mean they didn’t take it?”

“They didn’t believe me. Said it was my *sniff*… my f-f-fault for meeting up with him in the first place…” You had your eyes down, staring off into space, speaking more to Joel’s shoes than to his face. You couldn’t bear to look at him right now. You just know it’d make you burst into tears, tears that you were struggling so hard to contain. “I told them he drugged me… and they said… ‘H-How do I know you didn’t take the drugs before you got there?’”

“Fucking pigs…” Joel grumbled, “…so they just put the blame on you and let him get away with it?”

You nodded. Eventually, you couldn’t hold it back anymore. Your tears flooded the dam, spilling down your cheeks and onto the floorboards with one lone loud sob. Your hands clamped over your mouth, a makeshift plug for the vocal leak. Your body convulsed with sorrow.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s okay… You’re okay, bud…” Joel cooed as he took you in his arms, squeezing you tight enough for the facade to pop and your emotions to rush out in full. He held you to his chest and let you scream-cry into his clothes. You didn’t have to look at him, you could just let it out, eyes closed, your face buried in his flannel shirt. “It’s okay, little man. I’m here. I’m here.” He stroked your hair to calm you down, and sighed “We’re gonna make this right, you ‘n’ me…”

“H-How?”

How indeed. Joel’s eyes scanned the room for an answer, until they landed on his lackluster liquor cabinet. 2 shelves, on top: one nice bottle of scotch, about 3/4ths of the way full; on the bottom, about 12 cheap-shit bottles of moonshine. He broke the hug, hustled over to the shelves, and grabbed 4 bottles. He set them on the kitchen table, but not before peeling off the ratty-ass tablecloth that sat atop it. He grabbed it by one of its pre-existing rips, tore it into strips, and plugged the bottles with the cloth. Without even looking back over his shoulder, he commanded of you the following:

“Go grab your lighter.”

—

Thank god you’d had your panic attack when it was dark outside. There were only a couple of hogs working the night shift at the Boston QZ North Pigpen Precinct by the time you two rolled up to bike lock the doors. You’d split up to take the back entrance, while Joel hit it from the front. Then, you met around the side of the building, crouching under a window. He was holding a brick, and you were digging 2 molotovs out of a backpack.

“Alright. Now you’re gonna light ‘em, then I break the window. You throw ‘em in, and we fuckin’ run ‘til I say we can stop. You got that?”

How Joel managed to look so hot even in a ski mask was beyond human understanding. No one’s ever cared this much for you, ever been willing to risk so much for you, and who knew that arson was such an aphrodisiac? You’d been gazing faggily into his eyes, thinking about how hard you were gonna suck his dick after this. It’s the least you could do for him. You were processing such a vivid picture of the rough and nasty catharsis-fucking that you were due later, it was using up all your mental bandwidth. Therefore, his question took some time to buffer. “…What? Oh! Yeah, yup, got it. Sorry.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? Then tell me what we’re gonna do.”

“I light the bottles, brick goes through the window, bottles go through the window, and we run.”

Joel was actually pleasantly surprised that you were listening. “Okay, good.” He gestured to your hand holding the lighter. “Go on, do it, light ‘em up.”

One flick of the lighter, two burning strips of fabric, and three throws later, Joel grabbed you by the wrist and bolted down the street with you. No words, no time to think, just a mad fucking dash for a couple blocks or so. Eventually, he stopped you in another dark alley.

“Here’s good… Fuck…” Joel panted, bracing his hand on the nearest wall. “Ah, shit…”

“You good?” you asked.

“Yeah, ‘m fine… Fuckin’ knees,” he huffed, “Don’t get old, kid.”

You snorted, “I, uh… I don’t think that’s up to me.”

“Yeah, yeah…” Joel took one last deep breath, nudged you on the shoulder, “Hey,” and pointed out to the street. “Watch.”

You peered out past the alley, checking the left side first and keeping yourself mostly hidden behind the brick wall. You weren’t even sure where you were supposed to be looking, until-

BOOM!

Your head whipped around to the other side of the alley, where several blocks down, the precinct erupted into flames. A dark cloud of smoke suddenly draped the side of the building like a ceremonial cloth, smelling like incense lit by burning rage. It was prettier than any firework show you could imagine. The flames roared, sizzling away your trauma, your anger, and cauterizing your wounded spirit so that it could finally heal. You took off your ski mask to get a better look.

“Pretty, right?” Joel’s voice sounded from behind you seemingly out of nowhere. It made you jump out of your skin, snapping you out of your daze and into a new one when he peeled off his mask to show off such a gorgeous face. His expression was nurturing, cut with affection, pride, and yet laced with a lethal dose of violence. Yeah, Joel, you’re right. You sure are pretty. That’s definitely what we’re thinking about right now. You were left speechless, and simply nodded.

“Y’alright, kid?”

You nodded again, tripping over all your words as they tumbled out your mouth. “Y-Yeah, yeah, I’m… I’m fine. Thanks- Thank you… Thank you.”

“You remember where he lives?”

“Huh?” You cocked your head in confusion. “Where who lives?”

“Y’know… The guy who actually…” Joel pursed his lips, trying to find the most delicate word for the situation. “…violated you.”

“Oh!” You hopped up with an unexpected enthusiasm. Truth be told, you were so hyped up in the beauty of the blazing pigpen, that you’d forgotten FEDRA was only half the problem. They weren’t even the original offenders; they just shat the bed so badly that they managed to take the heat off your actual rapist. “Yeah! Yeah, I remember… I know where he lives.”

“Good. He’s next. Let’s go.”

—

And then later that night,

when you and Joel were back home, in the privacy of your own apartment, your joint safehaven, naked,

your face smushed into the window,

him inside you, behind you, and slapping your ass,

you moaned like a crazed slut, laughed ‘til you cried, and peered through the glass,

to see two vengeful fires lighting the skyline.

#btw this is ripped directly from my second assault a cop actually said that to me LMAO #fbi if you’re reading this and you think i’m a terrorist go find my rapist first please 💖 i told y’all where he was #anon #ask #sa tw #tlou x reader #tlou smut #tlou #the last of us x reader #the last of us smut #the last of us #joel miller #joel miller x reader

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princessbrunette · 4 months

Note

ok, so i’m having a thought rn. bear with me please, my writing sucks :(

kinda spitballing but i can’t help but imagining what it would be like for reader the first time she meets JJ’s dad. like, obv he’d never willing introduce them. but i kinda like to think maybe Luke would show up to their shared apartment (thinking JJ lived their alone) and is so surprised when he sees reader. like “who the hell is this??”

and ofc JJ would be so protective and shielding the reader from Luke like “don’t talk to her” or whatever. idk, what’s your take on this?? <3

(also, i love your writing so much and if it’s not taken, can I be 🪐 anon?)

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

he had no idea who you were, but you knew him.

the man who’s made jj’s life hell, leaving him bruised and broken from years on end until he could finally free himself of the curse that was luke. you’d happily opened the door to your shared apartment, smile dropping as soon as you were confronted with the man. even your blood ran cold.

“the fuck are you?” he frowns, swaying a little— clearly drunk.

“i think you may have the wrong address, sorry…” you lie, going to close the door— hoping it was enough to rid of him but he slams a clammy hand against it, holding it open.

“wait, nah — you got a jj maybank here?”

jj had heard his fathers voice, it was a voice he could recognise anywhere and froze in place in the kitchen — momentarily immobilised. what quickly got him moving, was the thought of you having to deal with him, and the blonde quickly arrived beside you, placing a hand on your waist to gently but firmly pull you behind him. luke’s eyes followed the movement, piecing together the fact you were a couple.

“what the hell are you doin’ here?” jj clenches his jaw, holding it high as he looks down his nose at the man who hadn’t changed in years if you minus a few extra grey hairs.

“that any way to greet your old man? what, not g’nna invite me in?” he grins a yellowed smile and you cringe, shrinking back behind jj when the man ogles you for a reaction. jj stands even taller upon seeing this.

“how’d you find my place, pops?” jj stares down at the man’s soaked tank top, the smell of liquor radiating from it fuelled by body heat.

“asked around. this place ain’t so big, you know. anywho, i need a place to stay. just for a few days whilst i get my shit together, crashed the old boat — need to spend some time on land gettin’ a new one. i got a guy comin’ up to see me tomorrow who’s gonna help me with—”

“dad, you can’t stay here.” jj cuts him off, and for a moment you see that same scared little boy inside him, a look of fear flashing across his face. he presses his lips together as his father squints at him.

“and why the hell not? you think you’re fancy now huh—” he starts to raise his voice, but jj cuts him off once more.

“because this is my place. with my girl, and my life. you think you can just show up here after years and treat me like i’m some hotel? nah.” he scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head. “i helped you out for the last time on that dock when you left and i told myself never again, dad. i meant it. leave… now.”

luke shakes his head in disbelief, laughing at the boy in a way clearly meant to belittle him. soon, his drunken gaze finds you once more.

“and what about you doll? hell i might be your father in law one day, will benefit you to be nice to me.” he smiles at you, taking a step closer but jj shoves him back so suddenly he stumbles and falls onto his ass.

“dont talk to her. dont come near her, dont even look at her. get the hell off my property, dad. i mean it.” jj barks, doubling down as he stares down the weak alcoholic on the ground. the old man sniffs, ungraciously picking himself up after a minute, sizing up the blonde.

“‘think i won’t beat your ass like i used to just ‘cos your little girlfriends here?”

your hand finds jj’s arm, stroking the back of it soothingly as if trying to ground him from that traumatic memory. he stares his father down with nothing but disgust.

“go ahead, pops. i’ll just let the cops know where you’re at. would be a real shame to see you back in the clink.”

knowing he’s lost, luke finally leaves and jj stares off at him until he’s certain he’s out of sight and gone for good. exhaling shakily, he shuts the door softly, leaning against it.

“jayj.” you speak softly and he shakes his head, dismissing you with a watery smile and a hand.

“nah i’m good. showed him who’s boss, huh?” he chuckles, but accidentally lets a tear slip down his cheek. before he gets the chance to wipe it, you throw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck, listening to him sniffle a little against you.

“you did good jayj. did so good.”

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

#anon #jj maybank prompt

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silent-raven13 · 9 months

Text

Hobie never cries but

this time he did

Hobie never cries, not the neglect of his mother, not for being alone, not for losing his closed ones, not for no one. Until...

Hobie: Shh, it's okay, luv. We're gonna pull through -he holds Miles in his arms, he felt his tears coming down his cheek-

Miles lay in his arms having trouble breathing, his mouth covered in blood: We- Did we win? Did we finally beat the anomaly? -he coughs up blood from his mouth, his eyes feeling so heavy-

Hobie sniffs trying to maintain his cry: Ye-yeah, luv. We defeated it, peter pan. Peter and Mr. Grumps are taking care of it. -Mr. Grumps is a nickname they use for Miguel in secret. The salty tears burns Hobie eyes, his hand placing on Miles' chest- You saved Mayday.

Miles breathes again: Heh, Miguel is gonna be so mad at me, huh? -cough a bit louder with more blood out of his mouth. He saw his boyfriend crying- Hey, man... don't cry. I'm okay! It's not that bad right?

Hobie let out a small chuckle with a bit of painful scoff: Yeah, it's not. We'll take you to med-bay. You'll be alright, sunflower. You're gonna be alright. -His hand finally pressing into Miles' large wound, he had been struck with a beam in the middle of his chest. A hollow bloody hole not even Hobie can prevent the amount of blood lost.- Your gonna be alright, Miles.

Miles gave a weak smile: Funny... you never cry. Here you are crying for me... must be bad. -He felt his body so cold, his eyes heavy, he couldn't even move to caress his lover's cheek. Hobie looked a mess too, his face covered in dirt, scratches, and blood. Could it be blood from him or Miles- who knows!- I-I I love you, Hobie.

Hobie: Don't talk like that, Miles. -This time he broke into tears- Your gonna pull through -false hope, denial- We're gonna take you to med-bay and-and your gonna be good as new, mate!

Miles' eyes look up at the grey cloudy skies: Tell my parents, I'm sorry. I wasn't- I wasn't care enough. -his body feels so cold and heavy- Tell our friends- I'm sorry..

Hobie: Stop it! You're gonna be fine, mate. -he holds Miles tightly. He saw Gwen and Pav running to them after the fight of the anomaly. Gwen was the first one to gasp with her hands covering her mouth. Pav quickly buried his face into Gwen's chest having to cry-

Pav: Oh no...

Gwen sniffs: Miles... -her voice weak-

Miles couldn't hear them, his hearing fainting: Hobie, I feel so-so cold -his skin slowly turning into paler dark purple shade, his lips chapped covered with his own blood. The life out of him is slowly fading- Hug me.

Hobie: I am, luv. I am! Look here, I got you. I got you right here. I'm not letting you go! You hear me! Don't give up on me! You hear, sunflower... -no response- Miles? Miles!

Miles's body unresponsive, his eyes no longer holds that sunny glow that Hobie fell for. They were dead, darken, his face frozen as if time has stopped. He was gone...

Hobie: MILES! Wake up, man! This isn't funny! MILES! -he broke down crying- Come on, mate- luv! Your Spiderman! You can't just fucking die on me! You made a promise we will be together forever -he hugs his lover's body having to rock back and forth. For once in his life, he felt like a scared little child. He finally broken down, as he cried out loud for the love of his life- MILES!

Gwen and Pav stood crying softly for Hobie and for the lost of their Miles. When Peter holding Mayday and Miguel arrived, they were too late to help. They're fellow Spiderman gone. Hobie refusing anyone to touch him.

Lyla softly whispered into Miguel's ear: Looks like Hobie has reached his canon. He had lost his own Gwen Stacy. -Miguel said nothing, because he knew it was meant to happen-

(Part 2)

#punkflower #angest #hobie brown #miles morales #spiderman #spider verse #across the spider verse

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justreckin · 5 months

Note

🤎 multiple kisses / kisses all over / kiss after kiss

for fleve, or for platonic Eve and Ezekiel if that floats your boat

no hurry and no pressure!!

Genuinely shocked that I actually have something for this. And it’s only been a few days 🤪 Now here's hoping you like it.

Waking up the morning after vanquishing Apep was... not fun.

Eve groaned, head already pounding, her whole back on large ache, her throat so sore that even just the action of groaning had her wanting to go back to sleep and not wake up for another century.

“How’re you feeling?” Flynn stood in the doorway, already fully dressed.

Eve glared at him.

“Okay, yeah, that’s fair.” Flynn crossed the room, coming round to her side of the bed and settling several jars on her nightstand, “Can you sit up?”

Eve gave it a valiant effort. When that went about as nowhere as she expected it to go, Flynn reached down to help her. His arm was gentle wrapping around her shoulders, but the pressure on the bruising and the intolerable stretch of abused muscles made Eve whimper. Flynn froze, and Eve spared half a moment to be grateful he hadn’t dropped her. “Just,” she gasped, “go slow. Hurts.”

Flynn nodded, pressing a kiss to her temple. “I’m sorry.”

Eve hummed, “What’ve you got?”

“Bruise balm. The stuff Judson used to make always smelt vile. But this,” Flynn opened the jar, giving it an experimental sniff, “Seems like Jenkins cracked the code.”

Eve was more than a little familiar with the Jenkins’ miraculous bruise balm, “Anything too strong messes with Cassandra’s head. And it gave Jake a headache.”

Flynn began applying the cream to her back, mumbling something about medicine and scent. Eve was mostly just glad she hadn’t bothered to get dressed last night after their we-made-it-out-alive celebrations. Putting anything on this morning was something she’d only be willing to try after the miracle cream soothed away enough of the ache for her to feel half human again.

Coming back around to her front, Flynn frowned at the bruising on her throat. “What happened here?”

“Apep,” Eve said, shifting her shoulders experimentally.

“When did he get close enough to you to grab you?”

“When he-as-General-Rockwell flung me into those boxes.”

“She picked you up by the throat?” Flynn yelped. Eve arched an unimpressed eyebrow and Flynn hurried to begin applying the balm to the bruises on her neck. “It’s lucky she was possessed,” he muttered, “and Apep’s vanquished. Either of them try coming after my wife again and they’ll be sorry. I’m very good with a sword, trained by Excalibur and everything. Y’know, I’ll bet Cal would be happy to help--”

“Wife?”

Flynn froze. “I, uh, well, I mean. Significant other. Girlfriend. Partner, really. Guardian. Definitely Guardian.”

Taking pity on him, Eve slipped a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, pulling out the ring there.

“Wife, huh?” she smirked at him, taking the time to examine the ring she now held.

“It, uh, it was my mother’s... How, how long did you know about...?”

“A while.”

“I, I wanted to, but with Apep, and the end of the world...”

Eve slipped the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand, “I think I like the sound of wife.”

Flynn practically lunged for her. Landing a quick peck to her lips, he pulled away before she could respond. Moments later his lips were on her left cheek, then her right, her forehead. Eve didn’t even realize she’d closed her eyes until two gentle kisses landed on each of the lids. As her eyes fluttered open, Flynn landed a playful kiss on her nose, before drawing back to kiss first her left, then right hand, then the ring now on her finger.

Standing tall once more, he smirked at her as if he knew exactly what her reaction would be. And, well - Eve grabbed hold of the lapels of his jacket, yanking him into one more, proper, kiss - he probably did.

#the librarians #eve baird #flynn carsen

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mxtantrights · 11 months

Text

adventures in cat-napping.

the blurb below follows this one but this can be read on it's own.

The two of you went out last night. As per the request from his family Tim decided to put the caffeine down and pick up a few other drinks. Last nights party is clear on your mind up until the fourth drink.

Tim stuck to fireball shots and then tequila shots. You could never really do shots, they weren't your thing. So you stuck with your sangria.

The two of you made it home not by the grace of any omnipresent force. You were less drunk than Tim so you called one of his siblings to come and assist you two back home. You're not sure who it was though.

Right now all you can think about is how heavy your head feels and how Tim is snoring his head off next to you. With your eyes squinted shut you reach out to the nightstand for you phone.

Instead of cool metal your hand meets something furry. You keep touching it for a moment, softly, and then you slowly retract your hand.

"Tim?" you ask.

He snores again, he didn't hear you. You open your eyes and nudge him softly a few times. On the third try he stops snoring and picks his head up.

"Tim?" you ask again.

"Yup?" he asks.

"Something very furry is on my nightstand." you say.

You watch as he slowly crawls over you and looks at your nightstand. His eyes widen and then he looks down at you. You were way too hungover to think inappropriate thoughts right now but damn did Tim make it easy.

"It's a cat." he says.

Your eyes widen at his words. You turn your head slowly. And sure enough he's right. A bright ginger cat is perched on top of your nightstand, staring at the both of you with green eyes.

"When did that happen?" you ask.

"I'm not sure. Did we do that last night?" he asks.

"I can't remember anything after the fourth glass of sangria." you answer.

"Yeah after that forth fireball I can't remember what happened." he replies.

"I think next time we stick to two or three drinks maximum." you say.

Tim nods his head.

"And what do we do about the cat?" he asks.

You slowly hold out your hand again. This time to the cat's nose. It sniffs your fingers for a few moments. Then it starts licking your hand.

"It's friendly." you answer.

It was answer enough really. You loved animals and always wanted one of your own. Growing up you had about five fish. But now that you're an adult you think you could handle taking care of something a bit more complex.

"We can't keep it-" Tim starts.

"I didn't even say that! I just said it's friendly!" you whisper shout.

"I know you, and you wanna keep it." he says.

You pout. He's not even looking at you now. But he lets out a light hearted chuckle.

"Pouting isn't going to help your case." he says.

"Especially when it's my cat."

Both of you yelp at the sound of another voice. Tim cages you in his arms as you maneuver around him to see who it is. And as luck would have it, it's the youngest Wayne.

Damian is standing in the threshold of your bedroom door, his Gotham academy uniform on. You smile sheepishly as you remember now. Yes the phone call you had with him was short but brief.

"What are you doing here?!" Tim shouts.

This makes the cat leap to the ground and patter it's way over to the young boy. You watch as Damian picks the cat up in his arms and cradles it.

"You called me last night. I'm the reason you got him in one piece." he answers.

"Damian," You start and move Tim off of you, "how exactly did you handle the two of us?"

"I can benchpress both of you if I wanted to. That's how."

"Yeah that tracks." Tim says.

"So does this mean we can't have the cat?" you ask.

Damian makes the same noise your'e used to him making. Something between a tsk and muted scoff.

"Thank you Damian."

"Next time call Dick."

And with that he's turning around and headed away from you and Tim inside. You watch him disappear down the hallway until you can hear the front door open and then close. You don't want to think about how he closed it from the outside without a key.

You turn to Tim.

"Okay so less caffeine, less fireball. What am I supposed to do now?" he asks.

You laugh, "Maybe water."

#dcblurbs #Tim drake x reader #Tim drake imagine #dc imagine #dc fic #dc x reader

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boxboysandotherwhump · 1 year

Text

Sam on the drip. (Sam signs pt. 2)

Taglist: @vickytokio @ashintheairlikesnow @thefancydoughnut @malcolmisthebrightestboy @redwingedwhump @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @hackles-up @generoushelpingofwhump @sad-boys-anonymous @whump-it @whumpsday

CW: weird wru fuckery, creepy handlers, nudity

Mister Wilson enters the tiny back office Sam finishes the paperwork in, a plate of pretzel rolls in one hand and a can of coke in the other.

“Here, eat up little one.”

Sam stops writing. The pen bleeds a tiny spot of blue ink into the cheap printer paper, right in the middle of a half finished word.

Designation preference: Plat Romant-

There is a spot of ink next to the brown flaky blood stain from early tonight. “I’m not hungry.”

Mister Wilson puts the plate down in front of him, right atop the questionnaire. “Trust me, little one. You’ll want to have something in your stomach when we start the drip. A wipe is no walk in the park.”

“I thought- I-” Sam swallows, his throat suddenly sandpaper dry. “Will it, uhm, will it, like- hurt?”

With a scrape of table legs over the linoleum floor, Wilson sits down, eyebrows raised in a comical customer service smile. “All the products wru uses in training are tried, tested and one hundred percent cruelty free. Is what I’m supposed to tell you, but to be honest kid- I have no bloody idea. The only thing I do know is that your body will fight it. No matter how bad you wanna get rid of your past, turns out the subconscious is a little bitch latching onto existence, no matter what.”

“Hey there, little one, don’t cry. Tell you what, no matter how rough it gets, once you wake up you won’t remember a thing of it. We will have a great time training together and then it goes straight to your new life. Destination happiness with no pit stops, alright?”

Sam rubs at his eyes furiously enough an eyelash comes loose and sticks to his thumb.

“I’m not crying.” he sniffs and adds, hesitating, “Do you promise? That it’ll be alright, after.”

He feels stupid, like when he was small and stuck in summer camp, too afraid to join the night hike so a counselor had to comfort him, holding his hand during the entire hike.

“Pinky promise.” Mister Wilson beams and taps the pretzel roll plate. “But now, eat up.”

When Sam reaches for the plate he notices the eyelash. Face growing hot with embarrassment he closes his eyes, purses his lips and makes a wish.

Please let me be happy.

When his eyes flutter open, Mister Wilson's face is so close to Sam’s, his breath tickles the tip of Sam’s nose.

“Good, you’re adorable.”

Flushing a deeper shade of red, Sam grabs a pretzel roll and stuffs it into his mouth, choking on the too large bite.

“M not.”

Tossing his head back, Mister Wilson erupts in warm rich laughter that does nothing to help calm Sam’s nerves. “Let me decide what you are.”

Guess, that's the idea here. Sam stuffs his face with another pretzel roll, flushing his meal down with the coke. After the last crumb is dutifully eaten, Mister Wilson puts the contract down in front of him.

“Sign here and we can get going.”

Barely looking Sam scrawls his signature onto the dotted line and gets up. A shaky inhale. “Kay. Let's do this.”

They have to switch elevators twice until they finally reach the ground level, where the training rooms are. The hallways are a winding maze of white walls and cold air. Every step they take echoes, Sam’s sneakers a soft pat next to the harsh click of Mister Wilson's boots.

More clicking comes from behind a corner. Another handler emerges, grinning at the sight of Sam.

“Wilson. You got another trainee?”

“Sure do.”

Halting in front of them, the handler smiles down at Sam: “Number and designation?”

“Uhm.” Sam falters and sees the smile slip from the handler's face.

“He doesn’t have a number yet.” Wilson interjects. “We’re just on our way to the wipe.”

“Oh, well that explains the clothes.” The handler yawns. “My bad, shorty. Guess my brain’s still half asleep. Have fun.”

“Ah, uhm, thank you?”

Chuckling, Wilson tells Sam not to mind his colleague while they make their way down the hall. When they enter the room where Sam will be erased for good, his heart beats so fast he fears to pass out.

It’s oddly warm in the near empty room. The entire thing is tiled in white ceramic, glittering under the fluorescent lights. There are some cabinets on one wall, and a small freezer. In its center stands a padded stretcher, restraints dangling from it to fix someone's feet and hands in place. Next to it, the drip. Mister Wilsons hits the power button on it and gestures to a bench near the entrance.

“Strip and put your clothes there. I’ll give you a uniform in a sec.”

Sam does as he’s told, hands shaking as they pull his cat shirt up over his head. The kitty's face in its center is weirdly deformed, staring up at him one eyed from where he tossed it on the bench. Everything had happened so fast after that fight, Sam had really run to WRU still wearing his pajama shirt. Headless, panicked. He hadn’t thought this through at all.

Behind him, Wilson pulled a bag from a freezer, hooked it up to the Iv-machine.

Sam really just signed his life away in a frumpy, fucking cat pajama. A hysterical laugh bubbles up his throat but all that comes out is a sob.

Tears roll down his eyes as he yanks down his shorts and tosses them on the bench.

Mister Wilson looks at him, eyebrows raised. “Do you want a sedative to take the edge off?”

Fists shaking at his sides, Sam nods, earning a humoring smile from Mister Wilson. It doesn’t escape Sam how Wilsons eyes linger on his crotch.

“What?”Sam hisses, shame and rage and panic chasing each other in circles inside his head until the room spins around him. He flops down on the bench, knees pressed together to hide from Wilsons curious eyes.

“I’m only surprised you have a dick and a-”

“I’m inter.” Sam snaps, curling up on the bench, protecting his naked body from Mister Wilson's eyes. Boots click click click over the tile floor and a warm hand finds its way into Sam’s hair, down behind his ear, where it starts to gently rub over soft skin.

Sam blinks up, new tears falling.

“Hey now. It’s a really great surprise, if that's any relief.”

A watery laugh escapes Sam upon the absurdity of it all.

“I’ve never trained an inter pet, but I’m looking forward to it. What makes you tick,” his hand brushes over Sam’s cheek nearly touching his lips, wanders further up, gently tugging a curl behind his ear. “What makes you feel good.”

Breath catches in Sam’s throat.

Smiling, Wilson hands Sam a pair of black shorts. They are soft under Sam’s fingertips as he slips into them hastily. He eats a tiny white pill from Wilsons fingertips and the harsh white world of WRU’s training facility grows fuzzy around the edges. His thoughts slow down, flashes of fear and anger getting lost in the fog.

A warm rough hand wraps around his wrist and pulls him forward. Climbing onto the stretcher is difficult with his limbs hanging by his sides like heavy noodles but with Mister Wilson's help, he manages.

When Wilson grabs one of the Mitts with a rattle of chains, Sam whimpers and pulls his hands under his chin.

Wilson smiles. “These are only to protect you from hurting yourself when the drug hits.”

Another whimper. Wilson grabs one of Sam’s hands, gentle but steady and forces them into the Mitt.

“Don’t forget little one, you signed up for this.”

Head lulling Sam mumbles: “Though’ forgettin’ s the point of t’is.”

Grabbing Sam’s other hand, Wilson grins. “I can’t wait to start our training.”

With his feet buckled in tightly and his arm cleaned, the preparations are done. The needle glints in Wilsons now gloved hands. Sam turns his head, eyes shutting so tight stars dance behind them.

His arm is grabbed, hands squeezing in gentle affection. “Ready?”

A shaky nod. A quiet whimper.

Steel breaks his skin, the needle slides home.

A heartbeat, freezing liquid floods his veins. Another, his brain melts into weeping white.

No past.

No future.

No dreams.

No self.

White noise.

#whump writing #whump #pet whump #facility whump #box boy whump #box boys #drugs #drugged whumpee #boxboy universe #box boy universe #sam the medic #pet whumpee #medical whump #wru #bbu #Mister Wilson

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sulky-valkyrie · 3 months

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Hey Sulky! I'd love to see something with the Origins crew for the prompt "They all have different drinks in the morning, and all of them know by heart what and how the others like to drink theirs (for example coffee, tea and energy drink, coffee with milk, tea with a tiny bit sugar, and a very specific brand and sort of energy drink)" in 600 words or less!

Happy Friday, Lucky! Have 600 words on the nose of a slice of life of the DAO crew's morning drink habits for @dadrunkwriting

The door handle rattled loudly. “Breakfast!”

Ris groaned and rolled to her back. Leliana was always too chipper in the mornings, but this time she seemed particularly grating. It made sense, and she’d regret it if she didn’t take advantage of it: real food, not a cookpot of whatever oats and barley and bits of dried meat they’d scraped together. The arl’s estate in Denerim was by far the nicest place they’d slept, even if the arl himself left a great deal to be desired.

As she sat up, Alistair grumbled sleepily and wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her close. “Five more minutes.”

Five would turn into ten, then twenty, then an hour, and breakfast would be cold or gone before they made it down. “Now,” she yawned firmly. “Bacon, Alistair. Bacon and real bread and tea. With milk.”

That got his attention. “You think?”

“We’ll never know if we don’t go down there.” She slipped out of his grasp and tugged one of his shirts on. "Come on.”

He sat up, stared blearily at her – his – clothes, then handed her the belt from his trousers. “Dress fit for a queen.” It practically was, minus the ‘queen’ bit. With the belt around her waist, it bunched and flared out almost like a dress should. Alistair was big, even for a human, and though Ris had the height to look most elven men in the face, she was still slender.

A quick kiss later, and they headed downstairs and found Zevran and Leliana already eating, while Morrigan stirred her usual strange herb concoction in a wooden cup - not quite tea, because it dissolved instead of steeped, but something like it. “Thought you'd be in bed at least until lunchtime,” she muttered.

Alistair blushed as he sat down as far from Morrigan as the table allowed. Leliana passed him a mug of tea, and he frowned at it, then her. “Did you –”

“It's got all the milk you want,” she interrupted as she offered a different to Ris as while she grabbed a plate. “And none of it for you.”

Ris smiled in thanks as Sten appeared in the doorway holding a tankard. “The brewmaster was reluctant to part with ale this early, but I prevailed.” He put it down at an empty seat, then walked around to the coffee pot.

Zevran grinned and slid a cup in front of him. “No need, my good Sten. I have yours right here, and with enough sugar that the spoon stood at attention, as befits a warrior of the Beresaad.”

“Your attention to my preferences will not make you any safer when my people return to conquer these lands.”

“Ah, but they will make me safer now, will they not?” Zevran replied cheekily. “If I please you now, will you hold the line more firmly? Turn a blade meant for my back?”

Sten rolled his eyes as he sipped his coffee. Ris had sampled it once, and had found it so painfully sweet she thought her tongue might shrivel up and die, like a slug that had been salted.

Wynne, Shale, and Ohgren were still missing, but that wasn't much of a surprise. Ohgren was likely sleeping off a hangover, and Wynne had probably awoken hours ago and gone to Eamon's library. Even as she wondered, Shale came in from the kitchen holding a steaming bowl and followed by a prancing wagging Borkin.

Alistair took a curious sniff as she put it down on the floor. “Chicken broth?”

“The furry squishy one deserves a treat as much as the rest of you.”

#da drunk writing circle #dragon age #dragon age origins #prompt fills #warden x alistair #leliana #zevran arainai #morrigan #sten #shale #mabari #ris

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xtrafluffyteddy · 2 years

Text

Without him

pairing: steve harrington x reader, past eddie munson x reader

Mentions: minor cheating, yelling, heart break, comfort

So we have two endings you can choose from:

Revenge: I see red

Forgiveness: Healing is linear

Pick your poison

You and Eddie had been on and off for as long as you two had known each other once second your his dream girl the next he’s not talking to you for months you grew tired of it though a little part of you always wished you were good enough.

You were sat in Steve’s bed knees pulled up to your chest it seems like you and Eddie were on the off season Eddie deciding Chrissy Cunningham was more and important.

“I’m so sorry dude” steve whispered rubbing small circles on your back becoming sick and tired of seeing you fall apart every time Eddie decides he’s done with you all over again.

You quickly wipe your tears putting on a strong face “you know what Stevie this is better for me. Y know now I can focus on the people who really want me really start getting out there if you know what I’m saying” you began lip quivering a couple of times through your rant

“Hey, it’s alright to be angry” Steve assured not wanting you to bottle it all up until you inevitably explode from how much you kept in “he did a shitty thing and you have every right to be angry” he repeated taking a hold of your hand caressing your knuckles gently

“Hey why should I be mad, atleast this time I got a call that he wasn’t gonna show. I just wish I hadn’t wasted my money on these stupid tickets” you sniff fishing two vip back stage passes out of your back pocket to a metal concert the next town over.

“I’m sorry babe..if there was something I could do” he began looking into your eyes mirroring your sadness as a fresh set of tears welled up in yours.

“You don’t have to be sorry Stevie” you began voice wobbling “it’s not like I’m still in high school you know, not like I’m gonna be sitting up at night wondering why Eddie Munson is never gonna want a girl like me, wondering how I wasn’t good enough that time, so who needs hi, he wasn’t there when I was learning how to play guitar just to impress him, and I got pretty damn good at it to, didn’t I Stevie” you finished looking into Steve’s eyes heartbreak and anger towards Eddie swirling in your eyes.

“Yeah babe you did” he reassured pulling your into his arms rubbing up and down your back in lazy circles pressing a kiss to the top of your head hating seeing you this way.

“TO HELL WITH HIM” you shouted angrily all of the pent up anger from Eddie ditching you and leaving you behind all coming to a head at that very moment

“I didn’t need him then” you sniff weakly “I don’t need him now” you fall apart in Steve’s arms sobbing quietly.

“Babe…babe” steve repeated trying to calm you before you started hyperventilating or worse throwing stuff in a fit of rage “deep breaths cmon” he soothed as he rubbing up and down your back.

“No you know what Stevie? I’m gonna move out of Hawkins without him, I’m gonna get through college without him, I’m gonna become a professional singer with out him, I’m gonna marry someone who treats me right, and I’m gonna have a shit ton of little rockstars, I’ll be a better person than he ever could be I’ll never leave my partner high and dry at the drop of a hat for anything. And I sure as hell don’t need him in my life for any of that. Cause there’s not a damn thing he could say or do that would cause me to give him another chance I’ve given him to damn many” you ranted through tears cheeks before flushed as you tried to calm yourself down squeezing Steve’s hand as he reminded you to breathe and to take a second to calm yourself.

You take a long pause before turning to Steve eyes blood shot and red and you whisper brokenly “why doesn’t he want me Steve, why wasn’t I good enough” you begin sobbing again falling apart in front of him all Steve could do was pull you close wrapping you up in his arms tightly reassuring you that your wanted and Eddie “the freak” Munson was missing out on all you had to offer and that anyone would be lucky to have you as you sob into his chest.

#eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #eddie st4 #eddie munson stranger things #eddie stranger things #eddie munson angst #steve stranger things #steve st4

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