#though a bit hard too.. to put it all into words...

[softjeekies]

Waiting After The Rain

↳ chapter 7

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Pairing: ot8!stray kids x pregnant omega!reader

Synopsis: An omega pregnant and alone after being kicked out by their alpha stumbles upon a pack willing to take them in and care for both the omega and their pup as if they were their own, because now they are.

Genre: strangers to lovers, angsty but lots of fluff to even it out.

Warnings: vomit, violence, mean words are said to our omega in this chapter(not by the pack), a/b/o, past abuse physical and verbal, past sexual abuse(mentions of past non-con), mentions of past violence, trauma, self esteem issues, pregnancy, aftermath of abuse, panic attacks, anxiety, pack dynamics, angst but it will be okay, polyamory

A/N: remember my ask box is always open for questions about this story and as always, please enjoy this chapter :)

One of the harder parts of staying with the pack was times like this, during the day when members are out at work or living life. Of course, you were never alone, the omegas don’t have jobs though they do go out as they please, and the rest of the pack has purposely arranged their schedules so that at least one pack member above an omega is home with you guys at any given time. It’s a nice setup, you'll admit, but you feel useless. To be fair you never went out much when you lived with your old alpha but you were always cooking and cleaning to please him, you were never not busy. So that’s how you got here. Trying so hard to be useful you decided to clean up a bit instead you just made a bigger mess. You were moving on from putting the dishes in the dishwasher to cleaning the countertops when you got a whiff of the cleaning solution smell and immediately you felt the familiar sickness feeling, If you were a cartoon character you would physically be green right now. Now that you’re out of the first trimester the morning sickness should have subsided, and to be fair it wasn’t as bad as it was in the beginning but it was definitely still making itself comfortable in your life. At your last appointment, you asked the doctor about it and she said this was probably something to do with your already above-average sense of smell for an omega. At the same time, you could still get sick randomly due to your changing body, and smells would be your biggest enemy. But it was normal and that’s all that mattered to you anyway, though right now you kind of wish it wasn’t. The strong smell of vinegar and lemon is the perfect combination to kick your sickness into overdrive. Before you could even gag or process the situation you’d already thrown up all over yourself. With closed eyes you could feel your body begin to tremble, a familiar vibrating feeling that could only be accompanied by a panic attack. You couldn’t even bring yourself to sob, too afraid to make yourself any more noticeable, your body lets out soft whimpers from your quivering lip instead. Before you can even think of how to make your escape to the bathroom to clean yourself up you have to clean up the mess you made on the floor first. It's not a lot but it would be easier to clean up if the cleaning solution wasn’t making you gag even more. You don’t hear Changbin come down the stairs and enter the kitchen through the ringing in your ears.

“Y/N? I heard your whimpering and ran down here. What happ-“ Changbin cuts himself off at the sight of you all on the floor covered in your own vomit.

“It’s fine! I’m almost done cleaning it up, don't worry, I’m sorry I was just trying to help. fuck! Why can’t I help?” Your rambling is halted by a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“It’s okay bunny. Just breathe.” As you look into his eyes you feel a sense of peace, like a gentle reminder that yes you can breathe, it’s okay.

“Good, now let me.” With one fell swoop, he picks you up bridal style and begins to walk away from the kitchen.

“Changbin, what the hell are you doing? I said I could handle it.”

“I know you could, but as your alpha, I can’t let you. Like I was saying before you rudely interrupted me, let’s get you cleaned up!”

Changbin carries you all the way to the upstairs bathroom and places you down on the toilet seat and turns around to head out of the bathroom.

“I’ll get you some clothes and then you can shower!” Changbin leaves but not before giving you one of his signature cutesy smiles that almost makes you sick from how sweet it is. The alphas here confused you, hell the whole pack confused you, but Changbin especially makes your head spin. His personality was very cute and sweet which is an insane juxtaposition to his buff frame. He easily has the biggest muscles you’d ever seen, it was kind of comforting when it wasn’t scary. Changbin returns and places the clothes on the counter.

“I grabbed you some comfy warmer clothes, thought maybe it’d help soothe you.” Changbin seems unsure, you’d think this was his first time caring for an omega.

“Thank you.” and with a nod the alpha leaves you to take your shower. The water feels like it does more than just wash away your sickness but it feels like your emotions are physically leaking from your body. You watch the water run down your small bump, placing a gentle hand there as unease settles deep in your bones. If you can’t do something as simple as clean up what’s the point? How can you take care of a whole life?

You step out of the shower with a shiver, trying to get dried off and dressed as quickly as possible. As you put on the clothes Changbin picked out for you, the last item stops you in your tracks. A hoodie, but not just any hoodie, it’s his. The smell of firewood penetrates your nose and your pupils dilate. Without a word, you put on his hoodie to allow the smell to engulf you, just like it’s supposed to. Leaving the bathroom you’re greeted by the muscular alpha who now has a shocked expression. He waited for you. And god is he glad he did. The sight of you in his hoodie, covered in his scent makes him dizzy. So he waits no time to pull you back into the bathroom with him, standing behind you as you both stand in front of the mirror. Wordlessly he picks up the hairbrush and begins brushing your hair, It feels domestic, but you don’t run.

“This is your hoodie.” You speak, not really knowing if it’s a question or a statement.

“Felix told us about how alpha scents really help with your nausea, you didn’t have to wear it, I just wanted to help.” He smiles almost as softly as he brushes through your hair. You don’t miss how he brushes his nose across the top of your head, taking in your milky cherry scent.

Changbin’s heart swells with pride as his alpha howls in his head at the display in front of him. A pupped omega wearing his scented hoodie allowing him to groom you, His pupped omega, he internally corrects himself. He leads you down to the living room and he stops you from going into the kitchen.

“Don’t worry, I got it all cleaned up. Let’s relax now.” The alpha takes your hand leading you to the large couch letting you pick your spot before he sits next to you.

“Do you want to talk about what’s wrong, why you were cleaning up even though it was making you sick?” Your eyebrows furrow, and embarrassment floods your body once again.

“I feel useless and lazy. I don’t do anything, I don’t clean, I don’t cook, I don’t work, even though these are all things I can do with no issue. I don’t even go outside now, I’m becoming a slob.” Changbin’s heart breaks at your words, but understanding you just want some independence, some of your normal back.

“We can go out today. Could be like a more casual courting date or not, whatever you’d like.”

“I appreciate your offer but I don’t need your pity.” The alpha scoffs and your assumption of him.

“I don’t pity you, I care about you. And I want to hang out with you. Hyunjin can stay here with Han and Felix while we go out, it’ll be fun. No pressure.” Changbin gives you a hopeful smile, if he looks closely he feels like he can see a small crack forming in your wall.

“Okay, where would we go?” You don’t look at the alpha, afraid maybe he’d change his mind.

“We can go do some grocery shopping, you can help me!” Changbin emphasized the word help, as to soothe your worries.

“Really? I could help you pick out food for the pack?” You look up at Changbin with wide hopeful eyes, and his heart almost explodes.

“Yeah, we can go right now! Get your shoes on and I’ll go let the guys know we’re leaving.” He smiles before he retreats to the pack den where the pack members reside. You sit with your thoughts for a moment before releasing a contented sigh. Maybe things were looking up.

At the grocery store, Changbin pushed the cart with one hand and had the pack’s grocery list pulled up on his phone in the other. The list was split into sections, one for each pack member’s personal requests and a section for stuff for the whole house. You had a nice rhythm going on, where he guides you both through the store and tells you what to put in the cart. Though he can’t help but notice you don’t seem to be interested in grabbing anything for yourself, and they haven’t had a chance to add a you section to the grocery list quite yet. As you two made your way down a snack aisle he took notice of how you stopped in front of the milk drinks.

“I think I saw something about some sort of juice on Han’s list. What was it?” In all honesty, you don’t remember if anyone mentioned juice, you can’t think at all your mouth is watering at the sight of the banana milk. You recently started developing cravings, which weren’t weird, yet. Your mind was so used to not wanting things, you didn’t find yourself craving anything until you saw it. Sort of like love at first sight but with various cookies, rice cakes… and banana milk, as your brain had so kindly decided now. This wasn’t odd for you, you’d always liked banana milk but this was different. You didn’t want it, you needed it. This grocery trip was for them, you wouldn’t dare make this about yourself. And that’s where a gentle alpha’s encouragement comes in.

“Oh I love banana milk, should we get some?” You both share a knowing glance, though Changbin’s has an encouraging undertone.

“Maybe, maybe two packs would be good. Since there are so many of us.” The alpha is satisfied with your response, nodding at you to throw two packs into the cart. Though Changbin wouldn’t dare let the pack take your cravings from you, he’d be sure to let them know not to touch them later.

“Is there anything else the puppy wants?” Changbin takes your peaceful sigh as an invitation to be just a little more direct, trying to get you comfortable with his care.

“Seaweed chips sound really yummy… and those matcha cookies Hyunjin likes.” You blush, not used to giving in to your own desires. Changbin doesn’t care though, he wastes no time finding the snacks you want. As you continue your shopping trip the alpha does a lot more of that, encouraging you to get stuff for yourself too, showing you that you deserve treats just like the pack does if not more since you’re carrying a pup as well.

The walk to the car feels bright, and internally you acknowledge the progress you made in the store, it feels nice. Changbin insists he be the one to load the bags in the car but you don’t get in the car, you wait patiently in case he changes his mind.

The smell hits you first, like a bullet train traveling faster than sound itself. You grab onto Changbin’s arm, your scent is rancid like spoiled milk, full of panic.

“What’s wrong?” Now Changbin’s scent is burnt, afraid that somehow you got hurt on his watch. Before you can tell Changbin how urgently you need to leave the voice hits your ears and you’re shocked you don’t pass out in pure fear, you remain frozen, which somehow feels worse.

“Would you look at this, surprised I found you slut?” The slurred voice from the alpha a mere five feet away from him and his babies causes Changbin to let out a growl.

“Who the hell are you?” You want to scream at Changbin to not say anything to just get you both in the car and run but you can’t, you scream but nothing comes out. Once again trapped in your own mind prison.

“I should be asking you the same, you’re playing around with my sloppy seconds.” It clicks immediately for Changbin, this is the man who hurt you, who kicked you out on the streets pregnant and alone. The next growl he lets out is nastier, more venomous.

“Come on Y/N, you think you can run away and wear another’s alpha’s clothes and expect me not to find you? You’re carrying my seed, not his. I always knew you were a whore, but you were my whore.” If your blood wasn’t cold before, it definitely was now. Everything in you screamed to run but you remained still. Your mind feels like a slurry of nasty thoughts, like you were right back in his grip, like you’d never be safe from him.

“I suggest you leave before I rip your throat out with my teeth.” Changbin keeps one arm behind him, within each of you, keeping you both safe from this monster. The way his hand is inches away from your stomach makes you hyper aware of the pup growing inside it.

Alphas hurt pups. Our pup is in danger. Do something.

Your omega screams in your head but you don’t move, useless as always.

“Pfft her hole’s not even that good. She’s used goods pal.” The arrogant alpha slurs and it lights a fire within Changbin, nobody speaks about the people he loves like that. He lunges at the alpha determined to make those words his last, he punches him so hard that you can hear a loud crack. The alpha falls to the ground, unconscious. Changbin immediately ushers you into the car and drives away from the scene. You don’t speak, you don’t cry, you’ve completely disassociated. Staring in front of you out the windshield you think about how you got here. A lot of your first week with this pack was spent scared he would find you, but things were getting better, you had almost forgotten this was even possible. Changbin tries to comfort you the entire ride home but it’s like you’ve left your own body. His alpha cries for him to do something, to help his omega but nothing works.

When he pulls into the garage at home you immediately bolt out of the car and head straight to your room. At the sound of the door slamming and locking, everyone knew this was going to be a hurdle. But they were all willing to fight for you… literally in some cases.

[sarahroutldge]

caveman.

a/n: I wrote this for the brilliant 'make rafe great again' campaign by @zyafics!! It's a bit of a mess and unedited but I hope someone enjoys it!

summary: you may love rafe cameron, but that doesn't mean you have to love his borderline toxic possessiveness and jealousy.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, fluff, creepy guy behaving creepily (nothing graphic), violent rage on rafe's part (what else is new), alcohol, weed, smoking, mentions of past messy relationships, I'm lazy so I didn't proofread this... uh I think that's it. lmk if I forgot anything!

Parties at the Boneyard are practically rites of passage for the kids who grow up there; whether you’re a kid from the cut or the heir to a multi-million-dollar fortune on Figure Eight, you’re probably spending those summer Friday nights getting drunk or high—most likely both—at the Boneyard. In high school and college, those nights are treasured, rare moments where the parents and grandparents aren’t eyeing their kids, waiting to see them fail. 

And sure, maybe, on occasion, things get messy. The Pogues and the Kooks are never quite at peace for long, but usually it blows over before anything truly terrible can happen, as the Kooks involved know that once Deputy Shoupe gets notified, so will their parents. And for the Pogues, one run-in with the police is a future discarded—a scholarship taken away, a college acceptance thrown out, a job opportunity lost. 

But it’s hard to care so much about that when you’re a bit tipsy, a bit high, and dancing with your friends under the moonlight. Your boyfriend is just across the beach, drinking with his friends, and you can almost swear that the winks he sends you every once in a while feel like a jolt of electricity. Truly, they’re almost as intoxicating as the weed and the alcohol.

Kiara spins you around, and the two of you twirl across the makeshift dancefloor (which is really just sand), as you enjoy a drama-free night. The wind is just strong enough to provide an extra breeze to what would usually be a much hotter, much more humid Outer Banks night. And the music has mellowed from Top 40 hits to some softer, bedroom pop. You don’t know the words, but you’re having too much fun to care.

Unfortunately, though, nothing in the Outer Banks is ever truly uneventful. The bliss you’ve taken for granted is shattered without warning, when you feel a sweaty, unfamiliar hand grasping at your midsection. Immediately turning around, your hand drops from Kiara’s, and you make eye contact with the tall, unfamiliar man before you (a Touron, if you had to guess). Not wanting to make that much of a fuss, you simply shake your head, hoping he’ll get the message. But he’s either too wasted or simply doesn’t care, and he reaches for your waist again, and this time his grip is strong enough to pull you back into his chest. 

“What the hell, dude?” Kiara bites, before pushing him off of you. “Get off our beach if all you’re planning on doing is acting like a perv,” she adds. You grab her hand, squeezing it in thanks. 

The man raises his hands up as if he’s totally innocent, and you just scoff. Thankfully, though, he seems to finally take a hint, as he turns around. Kiara looks up at you, and opens her mouth as if to speak. But unfortunately, before she can, you hear the familiar but worrying shout of your boyfriend, Rafe Cameron, from behind you.

“Hey, what the fuck do you think you’re doing?” Rafe starts, before shoving the man’s back. 

You can immediately sense where this is going, and frankly, you’re not up for it. “Rafe, it’s fine. Let’s just go.”

Rafe turns around. “It’s not fucking fine. He’s scum.�� 

And just as you’re about to grab your boyfriend’s hand and pull him away, the stranger turns around. “Hey man, it was an honest mistake.”

“Yeah? Well, next time, ask a girl before you put your fucking hands on her, especially when that girl is my girlfriend.” 

“Rafe, please, let’s not do this. I just wanna go home,” you chime in, hoping that you’re loud enough for him to hear over his rage. 

“You didn’t want to go home until this prick put his hands on you,” Rafe argues.

And while you were annoyed before, now you’re irritated. “Rafe, let’s go,” you say, colder. 

He stares at you for a minute, and then looks around, noticing that the man who touched you has walked away. He huffs, his fists balled in anger, and then he walks away from you. You watch as Rafe walks across the sand, away from the crowd.

“Do you want to go after him?” Kiara asks, feeling awkward about the obvious tension between you and your boyfriend.

“No. He just needs to blow off some steam.”

Kiara nods. “Are… are you okay?” she asks, seeming genuinely concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine. It’s just… That was gross. And I’m mad at that guy, but unfortunately, shit like this happens. And I’m tired of having to deal with Rafe’s temper tantrums every time we go out.” 

“Any other time, I’d get it. Believe me. But this wasn’t just a guy getting too close—he wouldn’t back off. That piece of shit deserved whatever punch Rafe was gonna give him.”

“It’s not about what the guy did. Trust me, I’d be happy to see him get punched. It’s the possessiveness that bothers me. It’s like Rafe thinks I’m helpless without him,” you explain.

“I promise that’s not true,” Kiara assures you, but even she seems a little unsure of the words she’s saying. “Look, I’m not Cameron’s biggest fan—”

“I’m aware,” you interrupt, rolling your eyes.

Kiara chuckles. “But this time, I think that guy deserved what was coming to him. And it’s so obvious that Rafe loves you. Maybe your anger is a bit misplaced.”

You shake your head, trying to get her to understand your point of view. “Shit like this has happened before, Kie. And with guys that were way less upfront than that one. It’s not that I’m mad he defended me; I’m mad that he sees me as some damsel in distress, someone who can’t function without him as a bodyguard. I just wish he’d have a bit more faith in me.”

Your friend considers your words for a minute, ultimately giving you a tight smile. “C’mon, let’s get out of here. You can hang with us at the Chateau while your man figures his shit out.”

She tosses her arm around your shoulder, and your mouth curves into a reluctant smile. As the two of you make your way off the beach, your head turns behind you, looking out for your troublesome but usually well-meaning boyfriend. He’s far away now, but you can still sense the frustration radiating from him in waves. 

A few days pass before you see Rafe again. You’ve texted a bit back and forth, putting some space between the two of you. You know you’ll forgive him eventually, but you need time to consider how to move forward. Rafe’s issues with anger and jealousy span far back into his childhood. And it might not be your job to “fix” them, but you can’t help but want to. 

Rafe is complicated, always has been. From his issues with his father to his struggles with hard drugs and history of getting into fights, there’s a lot of darkness swirling around in that brain of his. For the longest time, he struggled with asking for help, lacking the attention and care of a parent who could teach their child how to deal with the toughest emotions. But you won’t deny that he’s gotten better at it. He’s matured in a way that his younger teenage self would never have imagined, and the responsibilities of adulthood combined with the weekly therapy appointments (that only you and his sisters know about) have helped to mellow him, giving him the tools with which to face his demons. 

And that’s why you won’t give up on him. 

Midsummer’s is just around the corner. Though balls and galas in the name of “charity” are certainly not rare on Figure Eight, Midsummer’s is always one of the grandest and most important (at least in the minds of the Eight’s parents and authority figures). For the teenagers, it’s a time to converse with adults about the future, hopefully landing connections that will help with the process of college applications and even internships later on. For the parents and grandparents, it’s the perfect time to show off the family unit; those who live on the island year-round and the families that stay just for the summer all come together to brag about the past year’s “achievements.” For those in their early twenties like you and Rafe, it’s a time to take advantage of the open bar and see the friends from high school that you haven’t seen in a while.

This year, however, is the first year that Rafe and you are attending as a couple. Your table is a mix of the Cameron family (plus Sarah’s boyfriend John B. who looks like he’d rather be anywhere else), your own family, and a few singles. Normally, this would be an occasion for pressure, but your families have known each other throughout the years, as the Figure Eight scene has always been a tight circle.

After the main courses have been served and the parents have swapped conversations about business for the latest gossip, the band’s music starts to slow. The sun has set and the moon looks stunning over the country club, reminding you of just how lucky you’ve been to grow up in a place so beautiful. And even though you and Rafe are a bit rocky, you almost forget it. The tipsiness from a few too many unclassy shots behind the bar with your friends has set in, and Rafe’s hand on your thigh feels almost too hot for a night like this. He squeezes the bare thigh uncovered by the slit in your dress every once in a while, as the two of you shift in and out of conversations with your family. It’s almost going too well. 

That is, until your father mentions your cousin’s upcoming marriage when he speaks to Ward.

“She’s the first of my nieces to get married. We’re all thrilled, and the wedding is only two months away.” He shifts a bit, seeking your attention. “Y/N, honey,” he says, and you turn your head to face your father, away from the pleasant and lighthearted conversation you’ve been having with Sarah and her boyfriend.

“Yes, Dad?”

“I still need to book the tickets for your trip with your cousin, so please send me the dates tomorrow at the latest. Or else you’re going to have to find your own way to pay for them,” he adds, laughing at himself like it’s the most ludicrous thing in the world. 

“Will do, Dad,” you add, and as soon as the words have left your mouth you go back to the conversation with your friends. 

But before you can speak, you feel the hand that’s been on your thigh move to your hand, squeezing to get your attention.

“What trip was your dad talking about?” Rafe asks, unsure of why this hasn’t been mentioned before.

“Oh, Rafe, I’ve told you about this. I’m going away with my cousin and a few other girls in a few weeks for her bachelorette party.” 

Rafe considers this. He knew you’d mentioned a vacation, but he could’ve sworn it was a family trip up to visit your grandparents. His jaw clenches, though his tone remains the same. “Where is it?”

“Miami. We’re all staying in one large suite at a beach resort that I can’t remember the name of.”

He nods. “Why can’t I come?”

You hesitate. He did hear the word bachelorette, right? “Rafe, it’s a bachelorette party. You’d be the only guy there.”

And yet he doesn’t seem to get it. “Exactly. Babe, you’ll be going to bars in Miami without me or any other guys. And as much as I love you, you’re the clumsiest drunk I know,” he adds, with a smirk. Clearly, he thinks you’ll find his comment funny. Though you normally would, he says it with a condescending tone that makes you drop the hand you’ve been holding.

“I can take care of myself, Rafe.”

“Can you?” he asks, not yet sensing the change in mood.

“Yes!” you respond, more sternly but without raising your voice. “I’ve taken care of myself drunk way longer than you and I have been together. I think I can manage a few days in Miami with my cousin and her friends.” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not understanding where your anger is coming from.

“I know you can take care of yourself, babe, but you shouldn’t have to. I’m a guy—I know how guys behave. And you’re nice—sometimes too nice—and it makes me worry about you.”

“I am a grown woman, Rafe. I’m not helpless.” 

“I never said you were helpless, and you know it. Why are you fighting with me over this? It’s like you think I’m the bad guy, and not whatever perv is gonna start groping you in a sticky Miami bar.” 

Frankly, you’re stunned, and a thought comes to your head. Is he really worried for me—or does he not trust me? But you don’t feel like voicing your opinion out loud, and you need to cool off. You stand up out of your seat, and shove your chair in. The action draws the eyes of your family, but you ignore your mother asking where you disappeared to. You need fresh air.

Taking the path you and every other Figure Eight kid knows from the time they’re fifteen years old, you follow through the winding hallway of the club that leads out back, to where the waiters and other club employees take their breaks. The immediate gust of wind feels refreshing on your face, and you walk to the edge of the parking lot. 

Your feet take you to the abandoned dock that, for whatever reason, was never taken down when the country club was renovated a few decades ago. It’s hidden behind overgrown trees and weeds, and you breathe in relief at the absence of anyone else there. Though from here you can still faintly hear the sounds of the event behind you, it’s quiet enough to where you can also hear the swamp waters crash against the dock, and the night bugs buzzing around you. 

The edge of the dock is too dirty for you to sit down on—your eagle-eyed mother would immediately notice any stain on your dress and berate you for it—so you simply stand there, thinking about the boyfriend you left at the table. The look on Rafe’s face just makes you let out a harsh chuckle. It occurs to you at that moment that your boyfriend is either an idiot or really entitled. Maybe he’s both. 

You’ve dealt with this shit before, and Rafe knows that. He knows that your most recent boyfriend before him was controlling and overprotective in a way that made you feel uncomfortable. It’s why you broke up in the first place.

Does he not even listen to me?

The small but effective cardigan that covers your shoulders begins to itch, and you reach to take it off, only to stumble upon something in the left pocket. When your hands grasp the item, you immediately sigh in relief, pulling it out. 

The pack of cigarettes is old, of course; you haven’t worn this sweater since high school, but it was the only one that even somewhat went with your dress tonight. And Outer Banks summer nights have always had a bit of a chill to them. Your fingers carefully open the pack, pulling out one of three cigarettes left, before setting the pack down next to your feet. You drag it to your lips, holding it there as your fingers naturally reach for the lighter in the opposite pocket. 

It takes a few flicks before a flame is successfully lit. You draw it to the end of the cigarette, an inhale.

About halfway into your second cigarette, you hear the sounds of footsteps on the creaking dock. 

“You hate when I smoke,” he says, and though the immediately recognizable voice of Rafe Cameron should be comforting, in the aftermath of the argument it’s only agitating.

“I don’t want to do this now,” you say without turning around to face him. He nods, though you don’t see, before walking a few more steps.

He’s about a foot away from you, and you still haven’t turned. “Look, Y/N, I only—”

And his insistence on talking only adds to your irritation. Turning around your heel, you look him right in the eyes, meeting his blank face. “No, Rafe, you don’t get to speak.”

“But I—”

“No,” you say, and he finally seems to understand. 

A beat passes, and he nods, encouraging you. 

“Rafe, I love you. I really love you. But I don’t love you enough to deal with distrust that clearly comes from a place of insecurity rather than genuine concern. I’m not saying that you don’t have any concern for me; I’m saying that whatever your little interrogation was back at the table felt more like an insult than anything else. And you know the shit I went through with Noah. So don’t act as if my rage is misplaced or coming out of nowhere. I’ve done this shit before and I know I deserve better, Rafe.” 

You take an inhale of the cigarette, before exhaling right in his face. He rolls his eyes at the action, but you remain unbothered. “Can I say something now?” he asks. 

“Sure.”

He looks hesitant, but he proceeds anyway. “I’m not great with words—you know this. I’m not good at expressing myself eloquently, and one of the things I like so much about you is that I don’t ever feel like I need to. You know what I’m feeling even when I can’t find the words to describe it, and you don’t push me to.”

He waits a bit, eyes searching your face to ensure that you’re paying attention. When he finds at least a bit of interest in your eyes, he continues. 

“I’ll be honest. I didn’t get why you ran off before.”

“I can tell.”

He ignores the snark in your comment. “But it doesn’t matter whether I get it or not. What matters is that I love you and I trust you. And I did sound a bit like a dick.”

“Just a bit?” you ask, and he tries not to smile at your question. Clearly, he’s headed in the right direction with his speech if you’re willing to even joke with him.

“Fine, I deserve that,” he accepts. “I mess up a lot. Like a lot. I don’t always say the right things and I don’t always express my feelings in the most polite way, but I’m working on it. I promise.”

“Rafe, that’s just the problem. I’m tired of hearing you say that you’re working on it—I want to actually see the change. I can’t do the possessive caveman shit again, I can’t. And I don’t like feeling like your teacher. I’m your girlfriend; as much as I care about you and want to help you with shit like this, it can’t be all our relationship is.”

He nods. “I know, babe. You deserve better than that.” And something in his tone makes you want to lean into his sincerity, trusting that he actually gets how you feel. You drop the butt of the cigarette, and he stomps it out with his foot. “Your mom would go insane if you ruined those heels.”

You smile… just a bit. Testing the waters, he brings a hand up to your face, and your body reacts by leaning in, craving his touch. Even when you’re mad at him, he’s the one you yearn for. But before you can get swept away in the magic, you need to make sure that he gets your point. Your hand reaches up to his and pulls it down. He immediately frowns at the action, and it takes all the willpower you possess to not abandon your speech when his lips pout in that adorable way that they do. 

Instead, you squeeze his hand in assurance, and his pout morphs into something less worrying, more hopeful. 

“Rafe, I don’t mind that you get worried sometimes. I don’t even mind that you get a little jealous. They’re your feelings and you’re entitled to them. But you’re not entitled to talk to me the way that you just did. I love you and I would never, ever do anything to risk that.” You punctuate your declaration by bringing your hands to his face, pulling him down to meet you. He settles into the familiar action, and leans in.

“I’ll work on it, I promise,” he says, only an inch away from your lips. 

You nod, sensing the truth in his words. “Thank you.”

His blue eyes look into yours with a gleam of hope. With the natural habit that comes with almost a year of dating, his lips come to press against yours, as his hands fall to your hips. The moment is picture perfect, and your hands run down his tux-covered chest. It’s gentle at first, almost hesitant—just like when you first started dating. But then it moves into something deeper, as you feel his hands squeeze at your hips and his lips move against yours, his tongue finding its way into your mouth. What started out as something soft and romantic quickly becomes something much more crazed and heated, with whines and sloppy kisses drowning out the noise of the waters behind you and the country club in the distance.

You make out like teenagers, hidden away from everyone else as if you’re not both grown adults in a serious committed relationship. It’s thrilling and messy, filled with passion and earnestness, as if he’s trying to convince you of his promise with the kiss. And you love it.

But unfortunately, the fog of youth can only last for so long. Your immature but intoxicating makeout session is too-soon interrupted by the sounds of your boyfriend’s closest friends, Kelce and Topper. 

“I told you they’d be making out,” Topper says, and you and Rafe immediately jump apart as if your parents have caught you. But he refuses to drop you entirely, instead pulling you with him as he turns to face his friends. 

His mood quickly shifts from slightly annoyed to severely unimpressed when he sees Topper take a twenty dollar bill out of his wallet, passing it to Kelce. “Really?” he asks. You roll your eyes at the juvenile bet. He pulls you in front of him, wrapping his arms around your waist.

“Hey, you have no reason to be mad, Cameron. You’re not the one with twenty dollars less in their pocket,” Kelce bites back, and Topper just snickers.

“Not really my problem and also not my fault,” Rafe retorts. You can’t help but giggle at the petty argument, and Rafe’s heart swells knowing that your argument has been resolved. Maybe not completely, but he knows the two of you will move forward. You always do.

As the two boys in front of you begin to bicker more about God-knows-what, Rafe leans down to your ear. “You reek of cigarettes by the way.”

“And since when does that bother you?”

“Oh, I couldn’t care less. But your mother—”

You huff, not letting him finish. “Don’t even go there. Let’s sneak out through the back parking lot.”

“You took the words right out of my mouth. Come on.” He grabs your hand, tugging you forwards. The two of you shove through Topper and Kelce, but Rafe couldn’t care less. You quickly make your way across the parking lot, hand-in-hand. 

“And maybe since I won’t be joining you on the Miami trip, you could give me a little show of all the bikinis I won’t get to see,” he adds with a smirk. 

You gasp in mock agitation, but the mischievous glint in your eyes tells him that you’re back in tune with him. “Only if you’re on your best behavior,” you tease back. 

I'm soooo bad at endings so apologies for that - but otherwise hope y'all enjoyed!! and here's a reminder that requests are very much open :)

also again - shoutout to zyafics for this clever campaign!! I loved participating and I encourage y'all to read the other great fics written for it <3

[hatethysinner]

Remmick reveals himself as a vampire to reader (maybe accidentally as a result of him putting off feeding? 👀) and she’s more than curious and willing to see how this whole thirst for blood thing works

ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴀ ꜱɪᴘ

ᴡᴄ: 2.6k

ᴀ/ɴ: WHEN MELEY ASKS I ANSWER! though not in the way she probably expected because the freak bug bit me HARD with this one y'all so sorry in advance girl 😭. it was def all the leftovers from meant to be yours.

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: 18+ MDNI (!!!!!), pathetic!remmick overload, creep!remmick if you squint, freaky!reader, established relationship, vampirism, blood, bloodplay, arousal caused by bloodsucking, inappropriate use of drool, dry humping, thighfucking (yes i went there), excessive use of pet names, excessive use of italicization, fast pacing

@jimmys-tiara

The day had been strange.

Not loud about it. Not obvious.

Just strange.

Remmick was still himself—polite, gentle, a little awkward in the ways that made him endearing. Still kissed your temple when he passed behind you in the kitchen. Still opened doors like it was a habit he couldn’t shake. Still called you darlin’ like the word was sacred.

But something was off.

It was in the way he moved. Like every step took thought. Like his body didn’t want to cooperate. He moved slower than usual, and not in his usual unhurried way. This was hesitation. Strain.

You’d asked if he was feeling alright sometime around lunch, when he barely touched the tea you brought him. He just smiled that soft, bashful smile, said, “Feelin’ a bit worn down, s’all. Long night,” and squeezed your hand.

But the hours ticked on, and it got worse.

By dusk, he was sitting rigid on the edge of the couch, hands clasped too tight between his knees, eyes following you with a focus that didn’t feel like Remmick. Like his body was in the room but his thoughts were very, very far away.

You’d offered dinner. He declined.

Said the smell of meat was making his stomach turn.

So now, it was just you.

Washing dishes with the windows cracked open to let in the summer night, the scent of honeysuckle thick in the air. Your hands moved absently through warm, soapy water, and for a while, the only sound in the house was the hush of running water and the soft creak of the old fan rotating from the corner of the living room.

Until you glanced over your shoulder.

And saw him watching you.

No—staring.

Not at your eyes. Not at your hands.

At your neck.

Still. Unmoving. Like he’d been sitting that way for a while.

You swallowed, wiped your hands, and padded across the room barefoot, quiet. The floorboards creaked beneath your weight as you lowered yourself onto the couch beside him.

“You okay?” you asked, soft.

He didn’t answer.

Didn’t look away, either.

You reached up and pressed your palm to his forehead. It wasn’t hot. It wasn’t even room temperature.

It was cold.

Colder than it had any right to be.

Your brow furrowed. “Remmick.”

Still nothing.

You snapped your fingers once, hard, right beside his ear.

That seemed to shake him.

His eyes blinked. Once. Twice.

He looked at you like he was realizing where he was.

Then that familiar, apologetic little smile crept onto his lips. “Sorry, darlin’. Don’t know what’s gotten into me. Just… tired, I s’pose.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but his voice trailed off.

Because he was already leaning in.

His face dipped low toward your throat, nose brushing the curve where your jaw met your neck. He inhaled, slow and deliberate, and your breath caught.

“Smell so sweet,” he mumbled, almost slurred. “So damn warm…”

His lips grazed your skin, then pressed there.

Not a kiss.

A test.

He mouthed at your pulse, breath shaking, and you felt a shiver ripple down your spine. Not of fear, not yet, but of something older. Primal.

“Been so long,” he whispered, more to himself than you. “So damn long. Shouldn’t’ve waited this long. Just—just lemme taste ya sweetheart…”

Your heartbeat kicked up.

You reached for him.

Caught his face in both hands and pulled him back to look at you.

And what you saw—

Your breath left you.

His pupils had all but disappeared, consumed by a burning crimson red. The blue was still there, barely, ringed around the edge like the last scrap of daylight before night swallowed the sky.

His fangs were bared. No attempt to hide them. Sharp. Long. Gleaming wet behind parted lips.

And his hands—those sweet, gentle hands—clenched tight in his lap, the nails lengthening in slow, grotesque stretches. Not growing, exactly. Just revealing what they’d been all along.

“Remmick…” you breathed.

His eyes widened, and the horror that bloomed across his face felt real. Human.

He pulled away like you’d burned him.

“I—I didn’t mean—fuck—I’m sorry, baby,” he stammered, backing toward the other side of the couch like space would fix it. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t gonna hurt ya. I swear it.”

You sat frozen, fingers still hanging in the air where his face had been.

“You’re freezing,” you said, softly. “You’re… starving.”

He shook his head too fast. “No, no, I—I waited too long, that’s all. Should’ve handled it before now, I know better—hell, I knew this was gonna happen—”

“Remmick.”

He stopped. Breathing hard. Watching you with eyes still lit like a furnace behind glass.

And you smiled.

Slow.

But not steady.

There was a tremble at the corners of your mouth, a hesitation that hadn’t been there a moment before. Your fingers curled into your palms, grounding yourself. Because you felt it now. How heavy the air had grown. How close you were sitting to something ancient. Unnatural. Starving.

“You should’ve just told me,” you said, softer this time. Like if you said it too loud, it might shatter whatever thin line he was still clinging to.

His lips parted in stunned silence. That rabbit-caught-in-a-trap kind of look. But his chest wasn’t rising. Wasn’t falling. Just perfectly still, like he didn’t need breath to live anymore.

“Darlin’,” he said, hoarse, almost broken, “ya don’t know what you’re sayin’.”

You hesitated.

Swallowed.

Your eyes darted to his mouth—his fangs—then down to his hands, where his fingers twitched against the couch cushion, claws now fully bared. Your heart beat too fast. Too loud. You were painfully aware of every pulse in your neck, every throb beneath your skin.

And still—

Still, something in you wanted to understand.

So you said, quieter than before, “Then show me.”

There was a beat.

A pause so deep it felt like the house held its breath.

And the hunger in his eyes flared again—brighter. Wilder. But something else flickered there too.

Regret.

He leaned in half an inch.

Then stopped.

Because this time?

He didn’t pull away.

But you almost did.

Remmick caught the tremor in your breath, the way your fingers tensed against the cushion between you. And for the first time all night, he seemed to wrestle with it. With himself. Like he was clawing his way out of something that had been dragging him under all day.

His jaw clenched.

“Sweetheart,” he said, voice low, too low. “If I do this—if I start—I ain’t gonna be able to stop right away. Ya understand?”

You stared at him.

His eyes were no longer just red.

They were lit from within. Glowing like coals.

He moved closer—slow, cautious—as if giving you time to run.

“I’m gonna bite ya.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He nodded, almost to himself, like saying it out loud made it more real. His voice dropped to a rasp.

“I’m gonna feed from ya, darlin’. Gonna sink my teeth in your neck and drink until it don’t hurt no more.”

His eyes searched yours. Frantic. Feral. “Tell me no, and I’ll go. I swear it. Y’just gotta say it.”

And you—

You didn’t say anything.

You just nodded.

Small.

Slow.

But it was enough.

Remmick groaned—something low and pained and grateful—and the next second, he was on you.

His mouth opened wide at your throat, breath hot and trembling, and then—

Pain.

Not sharp, not brutal, but sudden. Like two white-hot needles driven deep into the skin just beneath your jaw. Your whole body jerked, legs tensing, one hand clenching the cushion beside you, the other flinging up to grip his shoulder.

But before you could cry out, before you could fully register the hurt, something else rushed in.

A different heat.

Low.

Molten.

You moaned.

Without meaning to. Without thinking.

The ache was there, yes—but so was the pleasure. Something electric, something low in your belly, curling like smoke. Your legs loosened. Your fingers curled in his shirt instead of pushing him away.

Remmick groaned, too.

A deep, needy sound that rumbled against your skin. He sucked at your neck—first slow, reverent, and then hungrier, mouth working in wet, desperate pulls that sent little shocks through your whole body. His hips shifted forward against yours like he couldn’t help it, breath coming hard through his nose.

He sounded like he was enjoying it. Like this was more than hunger. Like it was bliss.

His arms wound tight around you, strong enough to cage you in, to keep you still. He lowered you down onto the couch, one hand at your back, the other slipping under your knees to cradle you, and his mouth never left your throat.

Not for a second.

The room tilted sideways.

You could feel your pulse slowing, but your arousal spiked—nerves on fire, thighs clenching around nothing, the soft friction of your clothes suddenly too much and not enough all at once. You gasped again, the sound melting into another broken moan as he sucked harder, deeper.

And still, his arms didn’t let you go.

As though you would pull away.

As though you could.

Your hand slipped into his hair, tangled there. You couldn’t help it. He was warm now. Burning. You could feel the heat rising off him as he fed, felt the subtle tremble of his body pressing flush against yours.

And then—

You felt it.

The slow, rolling grind of his hips against you.

Subtle at first. Gentle. But there.

His cock, still confined by fabric, dragging against your thigh in shallow, involuntary thrusts.

It didn’t feel like a decision.

It felt like a need.

And the worst part was—he didn’t seem to realize he was doing it.

Remmick was moaning now, softly, against your skin. Almost embarrassed by the sound, but unable to stop. Like something deep in his core was unraveling, and taking all his restraint with it.

You whimpered, hips tipping upward to meet his. Not even thinking.

His mouth paused.

Then—

A low, dangerous sound hummed from deep in his chest.

Still sucking. Still grinding.

Still starving.

And all you could do was lie there, wrapped in him, under him, around him—heat pooling between your legs, neck slick with saliva and blood, pulse fluttering slow and syrup-thick in your chest.

Remmick shifted above you.

One of his hands left your waist, trembling slightly, and reached between you both. The soft click of his belt coming undone cut through the haze like a spark, followed by the scrape of denim, the rustle of fabric. He was frantic with it. Fingers shaking, breath ragged, making quick, clumsy work of his jeans and underwear.

You barely had the strength to lift your head.

The room was blurring at the edges now, every color softening, tilting. You were starting to drift. Blood loss mixing with arousal, leaving your limbs heavy and boneless beneath him.

But before you could slip too far—

He pulled away from your neck.

With a wet pop, his fangs left your skin, and you gasped, air rushing in like a forgotten gift. His face hovered above you, lips stained deep red, chin slick with drool and your blood. His eyes were wild. Too wide. Too red.

“Oh—oh God, I—I’m sorry,” he stammered, breath hitching, voice breaking apart. “Y’tasted—fuck, baby, y’tasted so—so good, I didn’t mean to—I wasn’t gonna—shit, shit, shit, I should’ve stopped—”

His hips bucked forward, and you felt it—

His cock, hot and slick, sliding against your inner thigh.

Not in you. Between.

Fucking your thighs with slow, desperate thrusts, using the wet mess of his spit and your blood and the slick that had gathered between your legs like it was enough.

He groaned. Loud. Open. Embarrassed.

“Jesus—Jesus, darlin’, I can’t—I need ya—been needin’ ya so bad, so fuckin’ bad—”

He rocked forward again, the head of his cock dragging right over the tender skin just beside your folds, catching on the sticky warmth pooling there. He moaned again, high and wrecked, forehead pressing into your shoulder as he fucked the space between your thighs like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“Y’said I could show ya,” he gasped. “Y—y’said—I didn’t mean to take so much, I didn’t mean to but ya—ya just gave it to me, ya—fuck, baby, you’re still so warm, still lettin’ me—still lettin’ me use ya—”

Your body jolted with every thrust. He was a mess of heat and movement and desperation, his hands gripping your waist like he needed to feel your pulse there, like the steady thrum of your heartbeat was the only thing tethering him to the moment.

Drool dripped from his mouth.

Mixed with the blood smeared across his chin.

Slicked the backs of your thighs as he fucked them harder.

“F-feels like I’m gonna come already,” he whimpered, voice cracking as his pace faltered. “Ain’t even in ya and I—I can’t hold it, darlin’, I can’t—been dreamin’ ‘bout this for so damn long—”

You whimpered beneath him, too lightheaded to form words, but your legs pressed tighter together, thighs flexing to hold him there.

He choked on a moan.

“Shit—shit, that’s it, th-that’s—baby, please, I need—need to come on you, need to mark ya, need—need to be inside you next, I swear I—I swear I will—”

His voice broke, and his whole body shook.

Then he came.

Hard.

With a cry that sounded more like a sob than a moan, his hips jerked once, twice, and then stilled, trembling as the first pulse of his orgasm tore through him. His cock throbbed between your thighs, hot spurts painting your skin, your belly, dripping down in long, trembling lines as he whimpered into the crook of your neck.

He didn’t stop moving.

Didn’t stop clutching you.

Rocked through it like he didn’t know how to come without collapsing—like it physically hurt to feel this good.

“Fuck—oh God, I—baby, I love ya, I love ya so fuckin’ much—” The words tumbled out of him in a wet, broken slur, lips still sticky with your blood, his tears slipping down to smear against your collarbone. “I didn’t mean to—I didn’t mean to use ya, I just—I can’t stop thinkin’ about it, about ya, about how ya taste, about how warm y’are, how ya let me—fuck, I wanna taste ya every day for the rest of my life.”

You gasped at the heat of his confession, your own body still pulsing from the memory of his fangs in your neck, from the hot slide of his cock between your thighs. Your heart was still racing. You could barely feel your legs.

But you heard him.

Every word.

“I’d never hurt ya,” he murmured, softer now, slower. “I swear, baby, I swear on everythin’ I got. I’ll be gentle next time. I’ll take my time. I just—I got so hungry, I couldn’t—God, I couldn’t think.”

He was crying.

Just a little.

Tears catching in the corners of his lashes as his cock gave one last twitch against your skin, sticky and spent. He looked wrecked. Flushed and fevered and in love. Not the polished, calm version of him the world knew.

But this one.

The one unraveling for you.

He pressed his mouth back to your throat, not biting this time—just kissing, worshipful and shaking. You felt his tongue flick out, tasting the blood drying there, humming like it soothed something broken in him.

“I wanna wake up to you smellin’ like this,” he whispered. “Every day. Want ya warm and soft and so full of me it drives me crazy. Want to drink from ya in the morning, fuck ya before bed. Keep ya too tired to run.”

Your fingers curled weakly into his hair.

And you whispered, “Then show me.”

Remmick stilled.

Then slowly—slowly—he smiled.

Something dark and bright and devout in the curl of his lips.

And you realized, in that quiet, trembling moment, with his come still dripping down your thighs and his tears wetting your skin, that you weren’t afraid anymore.

You weren’t being pulled into something terrible.

You were already there.

And you never wanted to leave.

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero

Chapter 12: I Swear To God...

Meanwhile, you didn't get the pleasure of going to sleep like Dick did. Your identity is as good as compromised. If only you had enough money to leave… 

Pacing around your room you try to think of what to do. The best option would be leaving - not just Gotham, but America as a whole. But, where would you go? Where would you get the money for a ticket AND the money to start over? 

You could sell some of your gear, or become a henchman - it’d only be for a bit! Just until you can get your money up, then you’d quit and make your escape. Yeah. That could work. But, did you really have it in you? To harm and steal? To know you’d been the cause of so many people’s lives? You couldn’t do that.

Sighing you sit down in your bed and pray for the night to finish so you can go to school.

-

Tim, however, is stuck at Bruce’s desk as Bruce monologues about how important it is to respond to messages in a timely manner. He forgot to message Bruce back about whatever he messaged him. 

“- Honestly, what would have happened if I was in trouble, or one of your brothers were in trouble and you decided to not respond.” Bruce states, it was rhetorical and Tim holds back an eye roll. The message wasn’t even that important… Okay, it kinda was. But, school got in the way and he kinda forgot.

“Well? What are we going to do now? If Y/N is Aranea that means-” Tim cuts off Bruce’s rant, already plotting. “That means we’re going to keep this information under wraps. We forgo plan A. If Y/N finds out we know she’d freak. Same with the others.”

The two talk for a bit longer, making up a new plan. After mere minutes of deliberation the two form a plan. 

-

Damian was confused and annoyed, you were an idiot, a hateful, disgusting and vile idiot. Yet, he was nothing if not observant, he noticed how you share the same figure as Aranea, he noticed how the ‘hair’ is a wig, he noticed all these things. 

However, he’d rather die than admit maybe you were Aranea, you had to be a sister or a cousin, someone else! And for you to hate your own blood family… It’s horrible to think about. Sure, he and Jason typically stay back from you, but that doesn’t mean their hatred is any lesser than the others. He’s sure Jason aches to put a bullet through your head any time word gets back to them about your shit talking.

To Damian, Aranea is an angel sent to comfort him, an older sister figure to help him vent his emotions, he doesn’t know where he’d be if it weren’t for her. What he’d be.

He won’t ever let someone extinguish her light..

-

The next day rolls around and you sit up, having barely slept. Rubbing your eyes you get up and proceed to get ready for school, trying not to think too hard about last night. When you get to school your friends aren’t waiting for you out front, weird. Shrugging it off you head inside the building - they were probably either late or getting something to eat before school.

Walking down the halls you pay no mind to Tim, who for some reason was staring at you with the same look one would give a shelter puppy - or an old dog about to be put down - it was sickening in a way, being watched by him like that. Did Dick tell him? He must’ve. That's why you’re getting the look you’re getting. 

You speed up slightly before turning into your first period class. The day passes in a blur, you don’t see your friends, Tim doesn’t talk to you, no one even looks at you. Something is wrong. Something is seriously wrong. When the day ends you waste no time in packing your things and leaving, the school’s suffocating atmosphere feels as though it’s lifted when you step out of the gates. You can’t bring yourself to head home yet, can’t bring yourself to enter another stuffy place.

Opting to walk along the grimy streets, rats scurrying by as if they were workers late to work. Everything seems to slow down for a minute as you walk, Gotham is a horrid, putrid wasteland of a place, yet for someone who has lived here all your life, you find this wasteland to be like a field of different types of flowers - colorful in ways unseen, quick to die yet surrounded by other life. No one dies alone in Gotham. Not truly. 

Your spider senses shoot to the heavens, freezing, you feel a kind of dread overcome you. Someone was watching, someone was waiting, someone was following. You're in danger. You have three options here.

You run, alerting the stalker you know of them. The person may be faster than you. 

You turn around to face the stalker, once more alerting the stalker you’re aware. You can’t tell who it is, they could be stronger than you, could have weapons.

You continue walking normally, not letting them know. This could lead to them attacking from behind.

Taking a deep breath you bend down, pretending to tie your shoelaces - you’ve been standing stationary for around ten seconds, if you started walking once more it may alert them. You soon stand up before continuing to walk.

The walk was uneasy, the presence of the person causing your spider senses to react violently, headaches, nausea, dizziness, the instinct to run, all of it was too much. You hated this. But discomfort is much more preferable than death. 

You curse your luck - for some reason people just weren’t around today. Though, even if they were, no one would intervene. They aren’t heroes. They wouldn’t risk their lives for a girl they don't know. 

The figure can be felt catching up to you and you bite back the scream of frustration, tears starting to rise. Why was everything so complicated?! You hate everyone! Fuck Timothy, fuck Richard, fuck Bruce and his rat son Damian, fuck Jason, fuck Stephanie, fuck Cassandra, fuck Duke, fuck Barbara - you know what? Fuck anyone who associates with that dysfunctional, borderline evil family!

You feel the person right behind you now, hell, even if you had normal senses you’d be able to tell. You turn just in time for a bag to go over your head before being knocked out. 

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[selfindulgenceisthekey]

If You Thought It Was Real Pt. IX

Pt. I Pt. II Pt. III Pt. IV Pt. V Pt. VI Pt. VII Pt. VIII

Once again, thank you @hannahbarberra162 for beta reading! Enjoy! <3

You’d like to say this was a thought-out plan. It was, at the very least, a half-thought-out plan. Maybe bordering on a quarter of a plan. Regardless, you had put some thought into it. The crew had ten people, and of those ten people, four had devil fruit powers. Which meant four of them couldn’t dive into the water after you. It was all a matter of timing after the plan started; if you were anywhere close to any of the others, then your plan would go up in flames.

Though part of you knew it wouldn’t work regardless of how much planning you implemented. Still, hope and fear make people do stupid things. 

Your strength was only back to a degree; you could stand and walk a bit longer than when you were first moving around. Though your ribs still stung when you breathed too hard, and your ankle felt seconds away from rolling again. If you continued to sit around and be complacent, who knows what would end up happening?

You knew what would end up happening; time would continue to slip by and before you knew it you will have spent your whole life on a ship with people who were supposed to be distant memories. 

You had to do this.

The storm approaching slowly gave you a perfect opportunity; most of the members were busy listening to Nami’s instructions to help steer clear of the worst parts and prepare for the rough waters ahead. Robin, and her terrifying many arms, were nowhere near you. If you managed to get into the ocean, even her devil fruit powers wouldn’t help her. 

When you were woken up that morning, sluggish and stressed from overthinking the night before, and Chopper told you he and Brook would be accompanying you for a walk today, you knew this had to be your moment. Neither of them, from what you’d seen, had terrifying reflexes, and neither of them could jump into the water after you. Sanji pranced into the sick bay, a steaming bowl of cinnamon oatmeal in his hands, as you sat silently, listening to him discuss the meal preparation that would keep him busy. To you, it was like he was gifting you the perfect opportunity, though he discussed being away from you in the kitchen like it were the most heartbreaking thing in the world.

You just nodded, eating your breakfast with shaky hands. Chopper was worried your body was being strained, and your response was a shrug, knowing full well it was a mixture of anticipation and anxiety. The oatmeal sat like lead in your stomach.

As the three of you strolled along the deck, Chopper voiced his concerns about the impending storm. . You went along, quiet and complacent as he and Brook walked slowly with you. The skeleton was discussing some composition he’d been working on, Chopper listening along intently. The sea was vast, and empty. There were no ships or land that you could see. That wouldn’t stop you, that couldn’t stop you.

The time in between you stepping out and landing in the water was a blur, words sounded fuzzy, and your eyes couldn’t focus on anything. You almost didn’t even realize you’d gone through with it until you were submerged in the water, the cold waves sending shocks through your system. It took every muscle in your being not to gasp, knowing at least subconsciously you’d inhale water.

Adrenaline was pumping through you, and as you tried to adjust to the cold all around you, all you could hear was your own heartbeat. Still, you knew it was only a matter of time before someone dove in after you. That realization had your heart freezing in your chest— someone was going to come in after you. Why wouldn’t they? Why didn’t you think of that?

You couldn’t focus on that. Using all the strength you could force into your limbs, you went against your body’s natural desires and swam down into the ocean. You didn’t know where you were or where you were headed, just determined to be away from the ship. Your lungs were burning, but you refused to resurface; you’d sooner drown.

You felt something splash near you, rippling the water against your body. You couldn’t risk turning, too focused on trying to get all your body parts to cooperate and willing your speed to kick in. All those hopes crashed the moment you felt an arm wrap around your waist. It wasn’t Sanji, judging by the size and lack of button-up.

Zoro.

Shit, this was worse. So much worse. Change of plans.

You changed focus from swimming to escaping, or at least causing him so much annoyance he’d let go. So you began flailing, making it harder for him to push upwards and resurface both of you. You hit and scratched, pushing your nails into his arm, feeling slight satisfaction every time you broke the skin. It wasn’t working, and your vision was wavering due to the lack of oxygen. Even if you had your full strength you knew it wouldn’t have mattered; you fighting against his strength wasn’t even a minor issue for him.

You two gasped nearly in sync as your heads reached the air, and your breath was quick, almost painful. Despite the bone-deep exhaustion, you felt you kept struggling, flailing in his one-armed grip around you. He was grunting, though he sounded more annoyed than strained. 

“Let go,” The words came out more of a wet cough than a threat, and you slammed your fists against his arm as hard as you could manage when he started swimming back towards the ship.

“Quit it,” Zoro’s response was sharp, and despite the fear his tone struck, you kept struggling.

Like hell you’d just lie down and be taken back to the ship. Again. The closer the ship got, the more desperate you felt. Hitting and scratching weren’t doing anything, so you leaned your head down, sinking your teeth into his forearm.

He didn’t respond; the only thing proving you had inflicted any physical damage was the taste of copper in your mouth. You bit down harder, maybe by some sheer luck, you’d be able to bite through his muscles, down to the bone. But—

“Love-cook may not hit women, but if you don’t let up I will,” His words were harsh, and they struck you to your core. So far, none of them had hurt you physically, but you were always afraid for that moment that one of them would. Looking at your position, it felt like you had created that moment. 

The fight that had been keeping you going was gone, and as Zoro climbed the ladder lowered down for him, you hung limp in his arm. What had you been thinking? Did you really think that would have worked? Even if you had been strong enough to swim farther, they had a fishman on their crew; if not Zoro, then Jinbe would have gotten to you within seconds. And if you had managed to drown yourself, or even come close, Chopper would have been able to bring you back easily. 

How could you be so stupid? 

Your legs couldn’t hold your weight as Zoro dumped you  back on board. Kneeling over yourself, dripping water, you kept your head bowed, staring down at the floorboard. Everyone was already closing in on the two of you, their voices muffled and overlapping. The familiar scent of cigarettes came close, and you didn’t have to look up to know Sanji was now next to you as he kneeled by your side. He moved to wrap a towel around your shoulders, soft and warm against your skin.

You wanted to laugh, hysterical and broken. You wanted to cry and scream. You didn’t react at all. He didn’t say anything, or maybe he did, you weren’t sure of anything going on around you.

Your name was called, a handful of times, before you finally looked up. Nami was in front of you, kneeled to be face to face with you. Her expression was blank, but her eyes were on fire. You heard the slap before you felt it, head turning sharply to the right. The crack was loud enough to silence the rest of the crew, and the stinging pain came seconds later. You were fully back in your body, bringing a hand up to cradle your now-burning cheek. Despite the mixture of feelings burning through your chest, you turned your head back, eyes wide as you stared at her.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She wasn’t yelling, but for some reason, you wished she had been.

She surged forward, grabbing you by the front of your soaking shirt, just holding you in place, “You already hurt Sanji once before! You already hurt us once before! What the hell were you thinking— are you trying to kill yourself? Are you so determined to hurt us that you’d do something so stupid?”

Her violence towards you was enough to leave you stunned, but her words rekindled that anger and that fight that had been buried. You only had so much strength, moving a hand up to grip her wrist, not able to tear it away or move it. 

“Your captain kidnapped me,” Your voice was hoarse still, raw and borderline painful in your throat, “You all act like I want to be here— like there’s no problems!”

“You’d probably be dead if he didn’t!” She wasn’t backing down, and it felt like if anything, your words only fueled her fire, “I’ve seen men like the ones from your island, I’ve worked for people like the ones you did! Luffy saved you, and you could at least act somewhat grateful for that!”

“I’m not grateful!” You were shouting now, tears flowing and mixing with the salt water on your face, “I’m not grateful— he should have left me there! I’ve known for years I’d die on that island, I’m not like you all! I’ve long since given up my dreams, I’d accepted my fate! There’s no reason for me to keep living, and you all are the ones who need to accept that!”

You could feel the motion around you more than you could hear it, unsure who was moving. Sanji was still by your side, frozen where he knelt. One of his hands hovered over your shoulder, unsure. Nami tightened her grip on your shirt, shaking you once, twice— a few more times. The soreness was bleeding back into your muscles, and you wanted nothing more than for Sanji to step in. He’d been so protective over you since you had met; surely, he wouldn’t continue to let Nami get away with her abuse. But he didn’t say anything, he didn’t step in, he just turned to look away. He was uncomfortable with what was happening, but he made no moves to stop it.

No one did.

“That might have been true before,” Despite her anger, you could see a shine in her eyes. You were struck by how uncharacteristically emotional she was getting over this situation, “But you’re one of us now. You don’t get to make that decision for yourself!”

There was talking nearby, quiet murmuring. You weren’t even sure who it was that was speaking, your attention too focused on Nami. She was nearly shaking with rage where she was knelt in front of you, not able to say anything more. You couldn’t find anything to respond with, your hand still holding her wrist loosely. After what felt like an eternity, Sanji shifted, moving to unclasp Nami’s fingers from your shirt. 

“ Nami-swan, please,” His voice was thick, it sounded like he was putting effort into even forcing the words out of his mouth, “Let’s give Chopper some space.”

Give Chopper space? Why would she need to give—

The second your realization clicked in your mind, she had shifted to stand, stepping back so the doctor could move forward. You barely had time to open your mouth before he moved, little hooves holding a needle that was quickly stabbed into your tricep. Before you could yelp or move your arm, he was removing it, whatever liquid already injected into you. It was only a quick sting, but you still flinched, clinging to yourself. He looked sad, but at the same time serious.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to keep you under surveillance going forward.” He spoke softly, as if explaining this to a wounded animal., “You tried to kill yourself., I can’t, as a doctor, let this happen again. Until you’re deemed to be safe to be by yourself, we’re going to have to implement a stricter schedule.”

The schedule they had you on was tight enough. You wanted to argue that, you wanted to cry or scream or even lash out at one of them. But your eyelids were already feeling so heavy, your arms felt like they weighed several tons. You blinked, each time your eyes closed, your vision became blurrier. You couldn’t feel most of your body now, any movement felt foreign. You were swaying where you were kneeling, that much you could make sense of. 

“What…” The word came out more like a whimper than a question, your head spinning as you processed that you were now looking up at the sky.

The clouds were rolling in faster, the blue skies completely overtaken by gray storms. You weren’t sure if it had begun raining, too soaked to tell, too out of it to know. You were being moved, and once more, the familiar scent of Sanji overtook your senses. 

He was carrying you, face locked and hard as he looked down. You were pliant in his arms, blinking sluggishly, unfocused gaze going back between the sky and his face. The mesh of clothes on you was still soaked, and he had the nagging worry of you catching a cold if you weren’t changed sooner rather than later. Chopper was with him, a few steps ahead as they made their way back to the sick bay. Brook followed, and though he lacked the skin to make facial expressions, Sanji could tell the skeleton man was feeling guilty.

Chopper was talking, his words coming out so fast, Sanji was mildly concerned he wasn’t breathing, “I know I promised we’d move her back to your room soon, Sanji! I’m so sorry! I’m a terrible doctor, I should have helped with her mental injuries too, not just her physical ones!”

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” He did his best to keep his voice gentle, though he didn’t look away from you as they made their way to the sick bay, and he carefully lowered you back onto your bed.

He knew what he had to grab, but he wanted to delay it as much as he was able. So he turned, looking from Brook to Chopper, “Neither of you, okay? We all should have paid more attention.”

Chopper just whimpered, tugging his hat over his eyes, and Brook looked down at his feet. Sanji sighed, running a hand through his hair, “All of this is new for her. She’s stressed and in over her head. We didn’t even think about trying to tell her what happened to her old hometown either, so she’s probably worried sick about a lot of people from there. Panic makes people do stupid things, and she probably couldn’t think properly.”

From behind his hat, with a muffled sniffle, Chopper nodded. Brook tilted his head, though he didn’t argue with Sanji’s words.

“Now we know what to look for, so she’ll be fine. I have no doubts, not with the world’s best doctor caring for her.”

The little wiggle dance came as an instant response, and wet giggles came from their youngest crew member. 

“That doesn’t make me happy at all, you jerk!” He pushed his hat back up, eyes still shiny, but determined, “I promise, Sanji, I’ll do everything I can to make her better!”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“I also wish to lend a promise, though I’m not a doctor like our Chopper is, some have said that music is the medicine for the mind. I’lll draft a tune elegant enough to bring a smile back to her beautiful face!” 

Sanji nodded, glad that he was able to bring a buzz back to his crewmates’ steps. Though the comfort lasted for seconds, before his own heaviness returned. Brook, taking this as his cue to step outside, took his leave Once alone, Chopper began to fidget again.

“Um, Sanji? Do you think we should…?”

“I think it’s time,” Sanji was quick to admit, turning back to face you.

It would be easy to pretend you were just asleep, the rise and fall of your chest slow and peaceful. He winced as he realized how cold your skin was from the water, and he moved quickly. Chopper helped, grabbing clean sheets and placing them nearby, before grabbing from the pile of clothes Nami and Robin had lent. 

Though the two of you had spent countless nights together, you had never fallen intimate with each other quite yet. Sanji had hoped the first time he’d undressed you in full would be under different circumstances. He had been hoping for passion, maybe some well-lit candles. Beggars, apparently, could not be choosers. So he had to settle on this, taking in the sights of your bare skin as he changed you into dry clothes. 

Yellowing bruises still clung to your skin, and there were faint scars trailing different areas of your body. Chopper being in the room was the only reason his hands hadn’t wandered more; the softness of your skin was too tempting. 

Still, he was a gentleman. 

He gave pause, letting Chopper remove the wet bandages before replacing them with sterile ones. Once he deemed them secure, Sanji continued. Sleep shorts from Nami, a tank top from Robin, and once more, a sweatshirt that was Sanji’s. Once you and the bed were dry, he stepped back, almost admiring the work before him.

“Do, uh,” Chopper held them forward, “Do you want me to do it? Or would you like to?”

“Would you mind?”

Chopper shook his head, a small smile on his face, “Luffy said if we had to use it, you’d probably want to say when! So I trust you!”

Patting the little reindeer's head, Sanji grabbed the handcuffs from his grasp. They were lucky you weren’t a devil fruit user; they tried to limit the amount of sea prism stones they came into contact with. He rolled one of your sleeves up, enough space on your wrist to securely fasten one end of the cuffs on, before moving to attach the other to the bedrail. He tugged on it a few times, feeling satisfied with its lack of give.

“I’ll stay in here with her,” Chopper moved to hop onto his stool, sliding it to his working table, “Just for now. She won’t be awake for at least fifteen hours, and even then, she’ll be super groggy and really out of it. Nami says the storm will have passed by then!”

Sanji really didn’t want to leave the room; his skin was crawling at the idea of it. But each crew member had a job to do right now, and that included him. Chopper was watching over you, so he knew you’d be in good hands. He leaned down, lips pressing against your forehead, lingering for a moment as he took in the smell of sea salt. The reminder of what happened mere minutes ago had anger boiling up in him. Taking a deep breath, he stood, adjusting his tie as he made his way to the door.

“Oh,” Chopper called after him as the door shut, “I have some crushed-up sedative pills too, if you want to mix them into her food! It won’t be as strong as this, this was a level four, the ones for the food are more a- a level two and a half! I made it for situations like this.”

“Thank you, Chopper,” He sent the little doctor a smile, hearing the rumbling of the storm that was right overhead, “If you get a chance to drop them off in the kitchen, I’ll be using those with her next meal.”

A/N: I love schedules! Right now this is posted as I'm (probably) asleep on a plane! <3

Taglist: @hannahbarberra162 @sagyunaro @twismare @nerium21 @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @glaciuswduo @thekatisspooky @kultofkorii @cr4zybeach @ceramic-raven @theweirdgirl606 @jjsmeowthie @dinnersyummy @jetblackw1ngs @mizzhellsingsstuff @naheku @onepieceofass @zoecelestine @1sosleepyy @rururgent @flow33didontsmoke @mizzhellsingsstuff @maria-chwan @honestlywtfisgoingon @qalable

[alwayscorvus]

Hello, can I request Brant from Wuwa who had an argument with male!reader and the reader kinda give him space by avoiding Distancing himself from Brant.

When they both cooled down٫ reader is getting hit on by some lady and Brant swoops in and tells her that's his man :)

Jealousy and yearning

malereader x Brant, fluff; love this! couldn't wait to write this. thanks 4 the request! when I read it, it sounds different than usual, but let's see if you can enjoy it Fck I should focus on the scene that people ask me to do and not make long openings... But I can'ttt

-You always take it out on me!

-I’m just worried about you

-You question my decisions! - Brant threw his hands up in frustration.

-I just think that it’s not the best idea for you to go there. Especially alone -you tried calmly. Though his sharp voice, definitely contrasting with your softer, more composed one, was starting to get on your nerves.

-I won’t be alone!

Not good. As if you were talking to a wall...

-Yeah, you’ll be with some guy you just met

Brant put his hands on his hips, turned his head towards you, and gave you a look filled with something between contempt and boredom.

-Oh please, don’t be jealous

Jealous? You? Was he even serious?

You were probably starting to get angry.

-Don't be silly, i'm not jealous, i just-

-What?! Maybe you want to be a captain yourself?!

He didn’t even let you finish. Only yelled like a madman.

-You know that’s not what I mean -you said, trying hard to keep your voice calm and measured.

You wanted to act mature. Responsible.

You wanted him to understand your point of view. To realize that you didn’t mean any harm.

-But on the other hand, you don’t accept that I am the captain! You knew what you were getting into when you started to go out with me!

Andddd-... that's it.

Your patience has just run out.

-And that's the only reason why I should let you put yourself in danger now!?

You couldn't stand it. Where did your Brant go? Who were you actually just arguing with?

-I was never afraid of risk. If you didn't like it then there was no need to ask me out!

You replied to the loud shouting with visible irony:

-Oh, im so sorry that I fell in love with you

-Yeah! You should be!

...

Ouch.

That hurt.

What was that actually supposed to mean? It didn't make any sense at all. Like the whole argument.

Again, another quarrel. You were young, naive. Full of lively emotions. You often happened to exchange opinions. This stirred up the atmosphere a bit, woken up passion. Sometimes such exchanges were just healthy. You were able to get to know each other's perspectives. Come to some sort of agreement-

But not at this point. Today you crossed some boundaries. Neither of you wanted to compromise. Neither of you wanted to understand the other. Only to make his own stand.

You hated when Brant put himself at risk. When he gambled his life. You couldn't bear to see wounds on his body. To endure his groans of a pain. The thought that you could lose him pierced your heart.

And he didn't understand your fears. He grew up alone. He always knew how to manage himself, how to get out of any trouble. How to survive. He was strong, resourceful. He knew how to take care of himself, without anyone's help. Eventually, from nothing, he became the captain of a great ship. He was capable of a lot.

But sometimes he just forgot that now he didn't have to do it all by himself anymore. That he had you. Someone who wanted to take care of him.

He couldn't understand that your fear didn't come from a doubt in his abilities, but from pure love and a desire to help.

But his words… he certainly didn't mean it. He was surely throwing out random thoughts in emotion. He just wanted to annoy you. To win an argument. And at the same time he wanted for it to hurt.

You couldn't bare it. You didn't want to hear it. You didn't need any more insults.

You also didn't want Brant to go too far. For him to regret later. He would scold himself after and walk around with scolded face.

Despite all the hate and anger you just felt, you loved him so much. You cared about him an his well-being. You had a soft spot for him.

That's why you made the only responsible decision at that moment.

You got up and left.

With a slight slamming of the door.

Despite everything, you were angry. And a hint of immaturity told you to assert your “dominance”. At that moment it didn't sound as silly as it did in the next day.

On the way out you made another decision. That you would give him some space. To let him cool off a bit.

… And also to let it hurt a little.

And that's how your whole morning passed.

And noon…

And afternoon…

And then, the evening came. A tough evening.

It didn't take much for Brant to miss you. He was practically inseparable. You did everything together. And thanks to the fact that you were his right hand on the ship, you weren't even separated by work. While he was behind the wheel, you were studying maps right next to him, consulting with him about next destination of your voyages.

While you were delegating tasks to young sailors, he was watching you with curiosity, sitting cross-legged on a large wooden barrel.

While he was negotiating deals with some suspicious visitors, you always stood beside him, sending them a threatening look as a warning.

Together you checked out new merchandise. Together you went on escapades in new territory. Together you fought and together you spent all your free time.

It's almost surprising, that Brant himself wanted to go on a mission without you. After all, whenever he returned from such tasks, he fell tearfully into your arms and swore that he would never leave you again, because he misses you too much.

Or rather, he made you promise to never to leave him. He felt so helpless without you…

But you guess that history liked to repeat itself.

Brant liked to break off the leash sometimes, driven by sudden emotions. However, he was quickly caught by the abandoned puppy syndrome.

Exactly as in this case.

He didn't notice it at first. The fact that he was eating breakfast alone. The fact that no one was answering crew's stupid questions for him. The fact that no one followed him like a second shadow.

He completely forgot about you.

In the afternoon, however, things began to change.

Something stopped to fit right. Whole situation became suspicious. It was as if something had messed up his routine.

Standing alone on the dock, he didn't know who to smile at. Eating lunch, he had no one to ask for salt. Looking through papers in the office, he had no one to ask for a magnifying glass.

Same goes with performing. In rehearsal, he felt no joy in playing. As if the most important person in the audience was missing and thus the whole point. He didn't feel that piercing gaze following his every move. He didn't hear whistles or applause of satisfaction. Warm words after a good performance or a few longed-for remarks, necessary to improvement in the future.

He began to wonder. He furrowed his brow, walked absent around the ship and bumped into random people. Generously apologizing afterwards.

Some of his comrades asked what happened, if everything was okay. And he just waved his hand at them. They even began to wonder where you were, they wanted to ask for your help. They knew that only you could bring Brant back to normal. However, after meeting you and seeing your firm stare, they didn't even dare to ask. They turned quickly on their heels and forgot about the subject. Allowing you to work out your own problems.

Hours passed. Bloody difficult hours. And Brant finally understood.

All these things were done for him by one particular person. A person who loved to pamper him. To be kind and helpful to him. Even when he was whining. Someone who always made him laugh, listened to him and drowned out the boredom that Brant hated so much. That person was you.

But after all, you couldn't take a grudge against him forever. Right?

Brant decided to show you mercy and help you a little in your attempt to win him back. To give you an excuse to smooth things over so that things could go back to how they used to be.

Proud of himself and with a confident smile, he proceeded to execute his plan.

A small dramatic turn. A fake stumble. And a spectacular fall down the stairs into the abyss of lower deck. Perfect opportunity for you to move from a place not far away and be able to rush towards him. To catch him in your arms.

He specifically chose the right time and place just to feel your strong embrace and security of your closeness.

But he didn't hear any stamping of feet. Only terrified sounds of his companions with definitely poor reflexes.

Shit.

At the last moment, he used his forte to release some rope and grab onto the railing above.

Apparently, today he had to act as his own hero-

Fair enough.

After all, he told you that he could take care of his life and health. It would be foolish to question that now. But after all, it didn't apply to small things…

So he tried again.

But what was his surprise when, while dropping his compass beside you, he failed to get your help.

Only a loud clang and his gasp.

As if you didn't care at all.

Brant looked dumbfounded at the small object lying alone on the wooden boards. Why didn't you pick it up? Why didn't you hand it to him with a warm smile after which Brant could roll his eyes and, after faking seconds of thought, forgive you and let you return to his side? Why didn't you even look in his direction? Why you just walked past, busy talking to other sailor?

Okay.

Disasters happen. Maybe you just didn't notice. Maybe he should sign you up for a medical visit with that poor hearing of yours...

But you certainly must have noticed when he squeezed between dining room table and a bench on which you were sitting. Deliberately arcing his back. So inviting... Exposing his curves that you were so fond of. Just to encourage you- tempt you- make you lose control.

Orrr-… you could.

Things were beginning to call for drastic measures.

But after all, he couldn't apologize. Definitely couldn't. He had too much pride for that. Besides, you taught him this yourself. Brant didn't have to apologize. He wasn't just a captain, he was also like your little bratty princess.

Okay maybe not so little. Mostly not bratty. And for calling him a princess in front of the crew he probably would have thrown you overboard.

But-

You were always the one who made the first move. You liked to do things for him and couldn't stand the thought that he was sad. It was enough for Brant to send you eyes of a beaten up puppy from afar, asking to be taken in, and you were already running towards him and making all your misunderstandings go away.

But not this time.

Dear Jue. Why did you have to be so stubborn.

Especially now. Brant couldn't stand it.

He missed you so much-

He just wanted to soak in the silk sheets and be pampered with kisess by you until all his stresses from today were gone.

He will no longer go alone on any mission. He swears! Just take him back-... Please

Night has come. A period of celebration. That moment when Brant ordered time off for the entire crew. To relax a bit. Too bad that it didn't apply to him as well.

At least not today.

You decided to have some fun. Entire senior staff. You headed out to town, to one of nightclubs. The one with a shaddy reputation.

Rinascita's elite have always fooled around here. Golden spoon generations and those who knew how to crash.

Music here was loud and lights were colorful. Almost like any club, but in that air you could sense that aristocratic shabbiness. Laughs more fake than usual. Ostentatious clink of crystal glasses. And the drops of decades-old liquors that were falling prudently.

Splendor of expensive pearls and precious rhinestones competed with the beauty of personalities not tainted by work. It wasn't hard to feel on oneself mirroring gaze of others. Some searched for the best victims. Hoping to turn one night into a ring on a finger. Others oozed venom into their competitors. Whether they were hoping for a good candidate to settle down or just one for a passionate fun. Everyone was a rival here. Everyone was trying to be the most beautiful. Throwing on their best furs, tight outfits and putting on themselves the best make-up to highlight their features as much as possible. They batted their eyelashes, clicked their heels, playfuly curled hairs on their fingers.

Brant didn't need any of above to draw crowds. Or at least he didn't need to make such an effort. Even without expensive accessories, he unknowingly attracted plenty of suitors.

However, he wasn't thrilled with all the attention. He dismissed all pushy admirers with just a wave of his hand. Normally, he would probably get into a chat with them, make a joke, learn something interesting, maybe tease his boyfriend a little by that…

Today, however, all the whispers in his ear, all the nudges on his shoulders and every attempt to buy him a drink, bounced off him like off a wall.

He was in no mood for playing. And all his attention was focused on one person.

On you.

You were on two opposite sides of the room.

You were seated at a glass table, on a large, red, rounded sofa. He took his place on a modest bar stool, leaning his elbows against the bar top to which his back was turned. Abyss of glittering dance floor separated you both. From time to time the view of each other got blocked with bodies spinning in the dance.

Brant looked at you intensely, while you didn't even grant him with a single glance. It was as if you didn't know he was there at all. And that's probably exactly what happened.

While you were enjoying yourself at your best, drinking another purple drink, he was on tenterhooks. Debating whether to finally break through and approach you.

But he couldn't. His pride wouldn't let him.

Wasn't his presence enough? Didn't just the mere sight of him make you want to pounce on him? After all, it used to be like that… Did you manage to get bored of him already?

Brant bit his lower lip slightly. This situation was beginning to frustrate him and make him start to doubt himself.

He had had enough. These slimy people sticking to his body, this music piercing his eardrums. This club, you and himself. He already wanted to go home and bury himself into a bed. Crying quietly into his pillow and cuddling up to where your body should lie.

At the same time, however, he didn't even have the strength to get up. As if something was depriving him of will to live. Suddenly the vision of returning home alone in black night began to seem frightening. He sneaked down the dark alleys many times, escaping from The Order who tried to capture him. What's more, he always succeeded. And even if… he could walk out of each confrontation unscathed. After all, he was a big man. Postured, strong and persistent. Heck, he was the captain of a ship! After all, that's why you argued in the first place.

But now-…

Now-…

Now he just wished for you to hold him.

Brant lifted his head up, wanting to give you one last longing look.

And then-

Then he noticed something strange.

More specifically, someone who shouldn't be in your company. Someone who was definitely not a part of your crew.

A long-haired blonde woman, in a tight burgundy dress, with far too deeply cut neckline. She smiled flirtatiously at you. As if confident of her success.

With smooth movements she leaned towards you.

Brant felt how it began to boil inside him. And it wasn't due to the crowd of people or poor ventilation.

He took several deep breaths. Tried to calm himself down.

It's not that he couldn't trust you…

But her legs…

Her damn long legs in too high heels that she just threw on your lap!

Oh no. Definitely not!

You sat slightly troubled, feeling the piercing gaze tracing your lips. Gaze of someone you didn't want to feel.

But how did this happen?

At one moment you were chatting with your friends about your latest trip, bragging about your recent catch. And the next, you heard their immature, sneering whistles, suggesting the arrival of someone new.

This someone must have definitely been beautiful and phenomenal if they met with such a reaction.

You were hoping for Brant. You no longer cared about which one of you would apologize. It never mattered to you. You just wanted to feel him snuggle into your side, pretending that nothing had happened and joining your card game. Acting as your best charm and also the perfect source of distraction for your opponents.

Unfortunately. You could only dream. Instead of your confident boyfriend. His tangled sea hair, stunning, playful smile and beaming, curious eyes. You saw some stranger. A woman. Not much different from everyone else here.

That's how you found yourself in this situation. Blonde introduced herself to you by some local name. However, you didn't pay too much attention to it. You wanted to get out of her bony grip as quickly as possible. It wasn't easy though, you didn't want to be rude or make a scene and the only way out was blocked by your friends. Who apparently had a great laugh at your discomfort.

You felt as she traveled over your exposed shoulder with her long red claws and at the same time how she tried to fix her wavy hair. Apparently, this was supposed to be arousing, but for you it only caused unpleasant shivers. Like when you were suddenly attacked by some predatory echos in the wilderness, who tried to get they claws into you.

Woman tried to draw your attention to her colored lips, right after she saw your lack of interest in her exposed breasts. To her misfortune, all her disrespect of your personal space only turned you off.

In your head, you started making up some excuses. Arranging words in a way that wouldn't hurt her fragile ego. Despite everything, you were a gentleman.

You didn't take into your head what she tried to whisper to you. Promise of an unforgettable night, proposal to go to a hotel-

The only place you planned to go after leaving that club was to your boyfriend's bedroom.

Suddenly you felt something on your knee. Something that shouldn't be there. A foreign leg that you planned to push off as quickly as possible.

However, you didn't have enough time.

Loud gasps of your companions rang out all around. Terrified. They already knew how it would end.

-Hey! That's my man

You suddenly heard a firm and confident voice. So familiar to you.

Shocked, you lifted your gaze up at your partner. He stood proudly with his arms propped at his sides and with an unusual aura around him. Not just superiority. Something more emanated from him. Pure, natural beauty.

He didn't need skimpy clothes, cheap tricks or surgical touch-ups to be breathtaking. He was naturally bloody handsome.

Startled woman sprang back from you quickly. She looked horrified at the new company.

You could see the way she kept closing and opening her mouth every now and then. She probably wanted to argue, but she couldn't. It was as if she sensed that she was no match for her rival. You knew subconsciously that she must have launched herself on taken guys more than once. But the sight of Brant was overwhelming for her.

You weren't surprised with her reaction. You also could feel a shiver. Though for you it was more of a thrill of excitement. The way he was fussing about you was almost hot. Your adorable boyfriend, all flushed with jealousy. He glared at the intruder with deadly look. With a hatred stronger than when fighting the toughest opponent. On the battlefield, Brant at least tried to show his enemies some respect. Here, he showed only contempt.

You couldn't lie, you were really proud of your boyfriend. Or that you could be called his partner.

A sort of soft glow radiated from Brant's posture. Something like a warning. Any person who only dared to touch him right now could expect to get knocked down. Same applied to the violation of your person. Everyone present at the table felt that one inch movement in the wrong direction could make Brant snap. In his visions, he was already going for blonde's throat. Proudly fighting for what was his.

She tainted your body, her sultry touch left behind a filth that Brant would have to erase for a long time. He had an overwhelming desire to show this woman where her place was.

After all, he was the only one who was right for you…

But this woman didn't deserve it. She didn't deserve any extra minute to be wasted on her.

Brant didn't need revenge now. He needed you...

So before blonde could summon the courage to make one last gesture of cheekiness. Brant leaned over the table and extended his hand in your direction.

With a broad smile, you took his palm in yours. A pleasant warmth spread through your body. Brant reciprocated your happiness and this time rather pleasant, laughed sincerely. This soothing sound echoed through the room, drowning out the noise. You looked deeply into each other's eyes and everything around you began to fade away. Disappearing into the darkness, as if there were only the two of you. People, music, lights. Nothing mattered when you had each other.

You felt a sudden squeeze and pull towards your lover. Brant clearly wanted to kidnap his boyfriend, and you didn't plan to resist. Squeezing through the space your crew cleared, you let yourself be carried away by the strength of your partner.

And then you just ran.

Ran far ahead.

Laughing loudly and trying not to bump into any obstacle or break your legs on the steep stairs.

With the corners of your mouth raised high.

As long as you're together.

As long as you kept moving forward.

You felt a push towards the bed and a swish of sheets that raised into the air as a response to your rough siting on the edge of a mattress.

Brant looked at you with bent neck and made a small pouty face. Your heart began to beat faster, and you felt yourself slowly melting. You couldn't stay angry any longer. Especially after what he did in the bar. It was hard to hide how madly you liked it.

You spread your arms in an inviting gesture, and he didn't hesitate for even a second.

In the blink of an eye, he crossed the distance separating you both, and in a clumsy manner climbed up your thighs, straddling you. Out of habit, he snuggled into the crook of your neck.

You looked down. At his beautiful, closed eyes, highlighted with a soft pink line. At his heated skin, worn out by the run and heat in the club. At his unbuttoned shirt, perfectly exposing what you found so hard to resist.

You felt his weight, his gentle trembling. The way he wriggled on top of you to find the perfect spot. The way he arched his back and poked your arms trying to get your attention and seek your touch.

He was exactly where he belonged.

Completely swayed with this, you locked him in a gentle embrace and with slow movements began to roll circles on his back. Brant murmured satisfied at this and inhaled the scent of your cologne. Warm and heavy smell of sandalwood surrounded his senses. Man felt as his muscles began to slowly relax, and he unconsciously started to drift off to another realm. Nothing relaxed him more than your scent - scent of home.

-Don't leave me - he eventually muttered with authority into your shirt, to which you only responded with a questioning nod. You also were about to fall asleep from the feeling of high temperature of his body.

-I said don't leave me - he objected louder this time, pulling himself out of your neck and once again squirming in your lap -Don't leave me alone. Not now nor never. Especially for some blond-haired floozy. I am definitely better than her

His statement was more than serious, and you didn't dare question it. Especially now.

-Oh yeah, you are definitely better. I am much more attracted to blue-haired beauties

Brant didn't seem to sense this subtle irony. Or maybe he didn't want to… He breathed a sigh of relief and returned to his spot. Snuggled in tighter, like a cuddly koala. He was arranging himself as if he was planning a short nap on you.

And then you remembered something… You couldn't pass up an opportunity like this. An opportunity to have a little more fun.

Especially when he was so cute and vulnerable, exhausted after a full day of experiences.

-And what about your Rover?

-[M/N]~!

Brant scowled with that pouty face of his, and you snorted at this with genuine amusement.

You couldn't annoy him any longer.

-Okay okay. I'm sorry - you grabbed his cheek and looked deeply into his eyes - I promise I won't leave you again for more than five steps

When you thought that this would more than satisfy him, Brant furrowed his brow clearly displeased.

-No more steps. You must be close

Shit... what had you done to deserve him.

Without waiting any longer, you straightened up and saluted.

-Yes, captain! -you laughed again at the adorable groans of your sleeping boyfriend- No steps. I will be glued to you, so you won't be able to get rid of me

With a smile on your lips, you approached him, as your promise stated, and placed a sweet kiss on his forehead, sealing your words.

[dzvelinaskebiyars]

"Have you ever thought how easy it would be for us to end the other one and never get caught?"

I'm ngl, I should do something about procrastinating (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ) anyways, tagging: @shintaru @ravenwritten @sylith @bfwooin @zyart-jpg @i-nssomniia @kuchisabishiiiii

HYUK:

Honestly, at first Hyuk thought he heard you wrong. He's half-asleep on your chest, while you were gently playing with his hair, brushing it with your fingers or curling his dark folds around your digits.

And then you suddenly asked....that.

"Have you ever thought how easy it would be for us to end the other one and never get caught?"

Your question caught him off guard, especially your sweet tone and whisper, like you were asking if today's date. Hyuk lifted his head from your chest, his chin resting on your skin.

"To be entirely honest..." His voice trailed off, as if he was unsure whether it would be alright to admit it or not.

His hesitation made your chest beat faster. You were joking, of course. You asked that as a joke. It was totally just an intrusive thought- but with Hyuk...He was joking too, right?

He opened his mouth to speak again. "I've thought about what I would do if you were to die."

You blinked at him, his confession coloring you surprised. "Really? And what would you do?"

Hyuk stared at you for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. His mind shrifted to the old thoughts he had kept locked in his heart. It was unpleasant thought. No, it was more than just unpleasant.

The amount of effort he put in just to make you fall for him, just so you could get interested by him — whether it's the amount of times he freed his schedule just to see you, when he took you to playgrounds and proudly showed off his stunts, randomly asking to hang out with you, casually showing up in front of your house, memorizing your schedules, maybe he's bit guilty of obsessively having all his attention on you too.

It's weird to others maybe, but to him, it was normal. It was his calling to make you his, to understand you throughoutly and it was also his calling to don't lose you.

Hyuk usually didn't care about death as any normal person would. Maybe because he grew up in environment where death wasn't taken as seriously as it should have been, maybe because that thought didn't occupy his mind often. But maybe, just maybe, that wasn't case with people he was permanently fixated on.

Deep beneath that heart, he held a special place for people that he loves, in his own ways, and Hyuk isn't the type to just...get used to them not being here.

So what he would do if you died?

The thought is terrifying enough as it is for him, but confronting that question to give an answer was harder than he had thought it would be. "I wouldn't date again" he mumbled, loud enough for you to catch his words but quiet enough for the intimate moment. "I would still text you and send you videos of my stunts."

You let out small "aww", it was rare to see Hyuk being this open but i guess that's how he usually is half-asleep — clingy and open.

"But baby..." You awkwardly called him. "That wasn't the question....I still appreciate your answer though."

After hearing that, Hyuk furrowed his eyebrows in confusion and adjusted his position. "Then what was the question?"

"Have you ever thought how easy it would be for us to end the other one and never get caught?" You repeated for him.

He immediately flopped his head back on your chest, replying with "Nah" but then he slowly looked at you, raising his eyebrow slightly. "Have you?"

"Well..." You glanced away, rubbing your neck in awkwardness, purposely ignoring Hyul's soft gasp. "As a joke, kinda...That was when you scooped me as your backpack on your bike and pedalled like we had nine lives. At that time? I kinda wished to kill you but jokingly!"

Hyuk scoffs, closing his eyes. "Oh wow..." Honestly, he isn't surprised. You did almost bruised him from how hard you were holding him back then.

You continued to caress his hair gently, humming to yourself. In the midst of random prank question you heard from tiktok, you got such intimate moment for yourself and your boyfriend admitting he'd stay loyal to you even after death. What else could have possibly made you happier?

Wooin:

On a beautiful starry night, where moon blesses the streets with its silver light, when people are taking walk outside, kids playing football on playgrounds—screaming and laughing together, couples going on dates despite the time of the day, enjoying the warmth of the night....

You're stuck in your home with your sadistic, son of a bitch boyfriend, who decided making you watch horror movie with him was the best plan for indoor date.

That's how you ended up snuggled up to him, wrapped in the blanket like a burrito, your eyes wide in pure horror, fear nestled in your very bones. Wooin? He had smug grin on his lips, arm wrapped around you—pulling you in his embrace, his eyes switching from glancing at you to watching the movie, that didn't even scare him even a bit.

Honestly, he knows he's sick for enjoying the moment you're so terrified at but the way you're holding onto him like he's the safest space for you right now, the way you're cuddling with him, the way you're jumping at jumpscares and cussing out the ghost who, apparently, made you believe in existence of god as you were repeatedly begging deities to spare your heart from whatever the hell he picked—all of this was so amusing to him.

His eyes darted to the TV again, watching the way a main character killed his own wife in the fear of her being a witch and get away with it. Oh, that guy was nutjob, definitely. But then what could Wooin be called after asking you stupidly terrifying question at the worst (right) time possible?

"This made me think how easy it is to kill your own lover and get away with it. Have you ever thought of it?"

Your eyes immediately shoot up to look at him like he grew three separate heads, giving him most offensive side-eye he could ever get from human being, then turned your head to face him. "If you don't stop purposely trying to get me scared, I will kill you."

"Oohh." Wooin grinned. "Is that a threat? From you?"

"Very much so." You answered and turned your head back to the TV.

He hummed to himself, his thumb brushing your thigh. "But I could—"

"Say one more word and I'll suffocate you like this guy did in the movie."

"....." He opened his mouth again. "You know what? I don't dislike that idea."

And that's how he ended up sleeping on the couch instead of bed with you, since you claimed he was going to bring bad luck to you now–after all the nonsense he sprouted from his mouth.

JOKER:

Training with him was always amazing way to spend time, since both of you are quite athletic. But as always, his training schedule was too exhausting for you—as someone who wasn't interested in boxing nor weightlifting.

So watching him train after taking a break? Now we're talking. Usually, you'd be too distracted by his muscles, his biceps, the way his abs glistened with sweat but now? Your thoughts were occupied by certain question that intruded your brain.

So being too comfortable with him, you didn't mind asking it. "Hajun."

At the mention of his name, he glanced st you mid lifting, humming in response.

"Have you ever thought about how easy it would be for us to end the other one and never get caught?"

That's it. You did it. And almost made him drop the bar on himself.

His eyes meet yours, processing the question you just asked. Then he went back to lifting his weight while answering you with question. "Is that one of your intrusive thought too?"

Chuckle gets past your lips, barely audible. This poor man had to deal with lot of weird questions from you, huh? "No, this thought might be wanted."

He stops once again, side eyeing you before sighing in pure agony. "This is why I didn't want you to meet Hyuk. You got affected by his homicidal impulses."

"What impulses?!" You burst out laughing, leaning forward out of habit.

Opposite from you, he was NOT amused. Probably because of the recent race he had where Hyuk messed up everything by trying to have fun. Hajun, without a hesitation, repeated. "Homicidal."

He scoffed at your careless reaction, not seeing where he's coming from. "What?"

"Nothing, it's just..." You got yourself together, your laughter dying down. "I wasn't expecting you to insult Hyuk like that."

"It's not insults. It's facts. And you're getting influenced too." He explained, completely putting down the weight on the floor. "So, please don't act on your homicidal impulses. I actually have plans for our future."

[wingfleur]

omgg your desperate ex!dick fic got me thinking if you're interested in writing angst?? something abt his behavior is so.. devastatingly toxic lol. the push and pull would kill me. like what would he do if instead of getting a reaction, y/n started sobbing

# — dick grayson as a desperate ex (2).

soooo, i got carried away... i don't typically write part twos unless the fic was written with one in mind (this isn't really a part two, to be honest, more of an alternate ending), but, regardless, this turned into something i did not mean for it to turn into. here's the link to the fic in question. thank u for picking my brain, lovely! enjoy! | wc: 1.0k words.

cw: implied sexual content mdni (18+), gn!reader, angst, leaning into fuckboy!dick grayson again, and the implied childhood-friends-to-lovers-to-exes-to-fwb(?) energy, the toxicity is very much turned up this time too, like he is manipulative afffff

nonnie, you do not understand how glad i am that you asked me this. this scenario has never crossed my mind! fun fact: i love writing reader to be strong and stubborn because that’s how i am, but i don’t typically write pieces intending for them to just be plain angst. honestly, all of my work on here that is inherently angsty (i.e. helping mark lose his v-card, desperate ex dick, etc.) is a byproduct of the topic i’m writing about— it’s never on purpose 😭. but the idea of reader breaking down and crying instead of giving in to dick’s teasing made me so giddy because i came to realize that, no matter how you reacted in that moment— ignored him, lashed out, dropped to the floor in tears— he still would’ve managed to get into them drawls, and i think that’s absolutely terrible, LMFAOAOOAOAO.

like, walk with me: the end goal will always be the same, but the method? the approach? that’s what differs. dick can and will adapt; it’s up to you what show he puts on tonight.

so yeah, let’s say that you cry instead. that, when you get to your place with dick hot on your heels, you’re struck with a nauseating sense of clarity that reminds you that this man has done nothing but make your life miserable. that, by falling into bed with him, you’re degrading yourself and proving that nothing’s changed— even after you’ve spent so much time trying to convince him that you’re over it.

over him.

“i can’t,” you say suddenly, feet coming to an abrupt stop in front of your door. you can hear dick’s shoes scuff against the pavement as he stops just in time to not run into you, and the look of confusion that’s probably on his face has got to be worth its weight in gold. you’re not gonna look, though. you can’t. the tears in your eyes would make it hard to see, but the last thing you need is for dick grayson to see you crying.

too bad for you, dick’s already seen you cry. more often than not, he’s been the reason for your crying, so you don’t get to hide for long before he’s putting a gentle hand on your shoulder. with light pressure, he coaxes you into spinning around and ducks down a bit to be in your line of sight.

“can’t what, birdie? talk to me.”

that stupid fucking nickname.

“god, don’t fucking— call me that!”

it goes on like that for a while. you sob, scream, and kick at his expense, but it’s hardly satisfying because dick just stands there and takes it. then, once you’ve worn yourself out, he wraps you in his arms and pulls you firmly to his chest. you feel helpless as you sink into his arms; everything in you is screaming to pull away, but you’re too exhausted to listen.

“it doesn’t have to be like this, you know.” dick’s voice vibrates against your crown from where his chin rests atop your head. his tone is soft, melodic, and sincere. you don’t know how he does it, but he manages to be calming and repulsive all at once. it’s impressive.

“i fucked up last time, and i know that. i’m owning it, birdie, trust me. but before all of this started, we were friends. i’d be lying if i said it hasn’t been hell not speaking to you these last couple of weeks. i can’t fucking stand it.”

you don’t respond, but the beauty of it is that he doesn’t expect you to. all dick does is hold you tight and sway from side to side, just the way you do—well, did, you guess— when you hug him.

“i’ve been working so hard to become a fraction of the man you deserve,” he starts, “and tonight showed me that i’m not even close. it actually taught me that you’re incredible and i’m disgustingly selfish because, despite all the work i need to do, i still wanna be with you. now, as i am.”

you move to lean back. “dick—”

“i’m serious. don't be dismissive.”

dick meets you halfway and pulls back enough to see your face. your cheeks are puffy and your eyes are red, but dick thinks you’re adorable— a descriptor that has felt nothing but condescending and patronizing coming from him these last few months. but right now? as you feel a sense of dread and longing swirling up to create a toxic combination in your stomach?

you’re pathetically eating it up.

“i miss you”, he says. “and i’m sorry. so sorry. let me make it up to you by letting me inside.”

you stare up at him for a few, long moments, your eyes glassy, wide, and emotionless. dick hadn’t expected you to become such a tough cookie since the last time he saw you, but he can tell you’re close to cracking. all he needs is to give you the final push.

dick slowly unravels one of his arms from around your waist and brings it up to cradle your face. you stare at him for a few moments, his thumb running soothingly along your jaw, but then something gives, and your eyes flutter shut, head relaxing into the curve of his palm.

“there you go,” he coos. “there’s my baby.”

and when dick leans down to kiss you, his hands slipping effortlessly into your pockets to retrieve your key, he doesn’t bother to hide his grin. he knows you feel it— wants you to— but you’re not gonna push him away. not even if your subconscious is screaming at you to deck him in the face.

what you’re gonna do is let dick seamlessly open your door and guide you inside, a gentle foot kicking it shut as you two stumble down the hallway. what you’re gonna do is let him undress you on the way to your bedroom, then let him lay you down and work until you’re shattering with a cry of his name. then, he’s gonna leave you— alone in the morning with an empty bed and a pit of despair settling deep in your stomach. and, finally, he’ll quell your deepest, darkest worries by leaving a dorky note on the fridge about how “duty calls, but there’s breakfast in the fridge!” to make sure that no matter how much you convince yourself to hate him right then and there, there will always be enough of a gap in your armor for him to wriggle right back on inside.

# — navigation

[lunatf-ao3]

SICK CARE ☀︎︎

[TFWFC] Optimus Prime/Human!Reader

[⚠︎]: stomach flu

Okay, question: Should I or should not I do more of this? wfc Optimus get so little attention!! Taking the idea that the reader arrived on Cybertron in a similar way as in the fic 3.000 million years in the past. ⁱ'ᵛᵉ ʰᵃᵈ ⁱᵗ ˢᵒ ᶠᵒʳᵍᵒᵗᵗᵉⁿ, ᵇᵘᵗ ⁱ ʷⁱˡˡ ˢᵗᵃʳᵗ ⁱᵗ ᵃᵍᵃⁱⁿ!

-

"Your system is rejecting all food. I don't... understand why."

You can't respond immediately, interrupted by a cramp in your stomach. To Optimus's concern, you've been experiencing physical discomfort for a cyclo and thirteen groons.

Honestly, it's driving him crazy.

Your delicate organism rejects the only organic food they have to offer you, expelling it not long after ingestion. He wasn't quite sure what to do. You had assured him that it was "normal," that you were "sick" and had a "stomach virus."

The term was unfamiliar to him, of course, but he really didn't think it was normal for you to forcefully expel the contents of your tanks through your mouth.

He had to admit that it disturbed him quite a bit. He had never seen anything like it.

"And it will continue to do so. The best thing I can do right now is not eat anything, Optimus. You don't have to worry so much, it will pass... I think. I just got intoxicated from eating something weird."

He didn't like the word "intoxicated" at all.

"I don't think it's healthy for you not to eat anything right now. You're expelling your fuel and you don't look well. It's been my fault. I should have made sure to detoxify them." Optimus sighed, looking at the various organic foods in front of him that he had gathered to try to feed you. His optics turned to your face. You were paler than usual and... wet.

"It's not your fault-"

"You are wet." Optimus pointed out, cupping your face between his digits with concern. "You are releasing fluid."

"T-take it easy, it's just sweat. It's not bad, it's natural."

"I'm sorry... I'm worried I can't help you. How do they deal with that back there, on Earth?"

"On Earth..." Or what will be, in the future, many years after the present, this present. You swallow hard, your ship has been difficult to repair without the necessary resources and tools. Not even you can fully explain the anomaly that brought you here.

But for now, you're fine.

...Fine...

"Medicine. But only to speed up recovery or when it gets too serious. Nothing else."

That reassures Optimus a little, who resigns himself to believing you. "All right," he murmurs, putting a couple more blankets around you. It's been too cold lately, and he doesn't want that to make you worse in any way.

An internal reminder popped up on his processor. "Time to drink some water."

You don't say anything, accepting the small makeshift metal container he had made for you. Purified rainwater.

It quenches your thirst. Vomiting so much dehydrates you.

"There you go." Along with his words, he gently wiped your forehead with a small cloth, cleaning up the liquid you were secreting.

At that moment, a wave of nausea hit you.

Optimus didn't hesitate to bring the dented metal you had been vomiting into earlier, holding it for you while... you emptied your tanks.

He held your hair carefully, making sure the tiny strands didn't get in your way.

"Uhh..." You gasped, finally pulling away after you were done. The sheets felt more comfortable when you lay down again.

Optimus silently wiped your mouth.

"Oh, you don't have to do that..."

"It's okay, it's no problem for me. Your comfort makes me happy. Do you want to rest?"

You smile. "Thank you. And yes, I think I'd like to rest now."

He nodded, sitting down next to your little makeshift nest. Even though he didn't have much time, he wanted to keep you company while he could. "...Would you like to hear some stories from Cybertron?"

"absolutely yes."

"Perfect." He stroked your head. "Make yourself comfortable."

[bigheartbuck]

i keep these longings locked

part i part ii mentions of abbytommy/tommy-centric/eventual bucktommy

tw: internalized homophobia/homophobic language

I promise the next bit is going to be more lighthearted!

tag list: @sweaters-and-silly (lmk if you wanna be added too) ______________________________

His chest is tight as fuck. Tommy breathes through it. Head between his knees, feels his pulse uncomfortably loud and present in his neck. Lockers have emptied out mostly. His vision is swimming. He feels like throwing up.

"Kinard? Oh shit, hey."

He can hear fast footsteps, and then a warm, big hand on his shoulder. "You got it," the voice says and Tommy's brain is desperately trying to place it. His hands are shaking. "Inhale.... hold your breath, three, two, one, ....exhale. Good. Again, come on."

By the time Tommy emerges from what feels like the deepest, darkest sea and comes up for air, he's realized that the warm hand and firm voice belong to his new captain. Hen had given him a week tops. But Nash has persevered. Four weeks and counting. Tommy would've rather been found dead before ever letting Gerrard see him like this but Nash has a softness to him. His whole lets have dinner together shtick, his we're a family and we ride together pathos, his unwavering determination to make them act like a team -- Tommy's not sure he quite fits in there. Right now, though, he's glad it's Nash who found him like this and not Howie or Hen. They'd stage an intervention immediately.

Nash hands him a water bottle, sits down next to him. "Better?"

Tommy lets out a shaky breath. “Thanks cap. I, uh, I don’t know what just happened." He rubs his hand across his face. “I don’t usually get… like this.” He forces a smile. "Guess it was a couple of tough calls."

Nash eyes him, somewhat curiously. Several beats. "Everything alright at home?" Tommy shrugs. He should go home. Sleep it off. He meets Nash's steady gaze, but there's a flicker of genuine concern. Tommy can't handle it, Nash's empathy.

"Yeah. Everything's good," he lies and reaches for his bag. Nash stops him. "Not so fast. I uh -- I'd been meaning to talk to you."

Tommy blinks, confused, his hand still hovering near the strap of his bag. He’s not sure where this is going. "Uh oh," he says dryly. His pulse is still racing and only slowly returning to normal. "Am I being fired, too?" Deluca is still pissed at Nash but Tommy knows it was the right call. He's been putting in the work, though. Doing his part. It would be really shitty timing for Nash to let him go as well.

Nash’s gaze sharpens for a moment, like he’s sizing Tommy up, and then he exhales softly. “No, you’re not getting fired.” He pauses, like he’s choosing his words carefully. Tommy's shoulders relax. "But?" he asks.

"But..." Nash continues, "I've been wondering if maybe you're not exactly who you're supposed to be."

"That so?" Tommy asks, aiming for casual. Nash doesn't know, does he? Fuck. He wonders sometimes if it's all over his face. Tommy Kinard thinks about kissing boys. Tommy Kinard is a queer. Don't ask, don't tell. But look at him, he tries so hard to be a big guy but he'd take it lying down, wouldn't he? Fuck. He needs to get his dad's voice out of his head. It's funny, the way he is still such a fuck up. How he tried to make it work so hard and how he still failed. He would've given everything to be happy with Abby.

He juts his chin forward. Nash looks at him with so much kindness it makes Tommy want to crawl out of his skin.

"You're a pilot," his captain says, oblivious to the dark spiral of Tommy's mind. Tommy exhales. Breathe. For fuck's sake. Breathe.

"And you're competent, skilled, you're quick. I'd love to keep you here. But I keep thinking maybe you belong elsewhere. And I hear the Harbor is looking for someone like you."

Tommy must look genuinely surprised because Nash lets out a huffed laugh. Tommy hasn't considered flying in years. "Seriously?"

Nash nods. "You're one of my best. But I saw the way you lit up when we called in air support last week. You loved working with them. So, my guess is, that's where your heart is."

Tommy thinks no one's ever paid attention to him like this before. His stomach unknots slowly. Shoulders uncurl.

"I'll -- I'll think about it."

Nash squeezes his shoulder. "You should. It can feel like suffocating. Denying yourself what you want."

Tommy stares down at his hands.

"Yes, cap," he says, throat working.

"Bobby." Nash points to the jeans he's wearing. "Off shift. I'm just Bobby."

"Bobby." Tommy echoes. His legs still feel like jelly.

He takes a few sips from the water. "I might --" His tongue feels heavy in his mouth.

"I might have to look for a new place soon."

He hasn't talked to Abby yet. But he needs to, has to. He wakes up, shirt soaked through with sweat at least twice a night. The darkest, deepest sea in his mind and his father's voice are so hard to turn off. He can't live like this anymore. He's been googling apartments. Abby doesn't even know yet.

"I really uh --" Tommy doesn't know why he keeps talking. "I tried to make a good thing work and it didn't work."

Bobby nods. "And that's causing the panic attacks?" He asks it matter of factly.

Tommy clears his throat. "One panic attack." Lie. But Bobby doesn't have to know or be right about everything. "And I guess --" He hesitates. "Gotta figure out some stuff. Big stuff."

Bobby doesn't say anything for a while. Keeps his gaze steady. Tommy thinks he could probably confide in him. Bobby would see the ugly, dark, twistedness of Tommy's insides and tell him it was okay. That it gets better. And the thing is, Tommy knows. He knows. He saw some kid online the other day on YouTube. They were what, 15? When Tommy was 15 -- well. He's mid thirties now, not any less terrified. It's difficult to explain, out loud. How his head works. How the stuff that goes for others, doesn't apply to him. How he's less deserving of it.

"The big stuff," Bobby says after a while. He looks at Tommy, face open. He says it like a question, gently prompting Tommy to continue.

Tommy's eyes prickle. He should go.

He exhales. "Yeah. Been pretending to be... Someone I'm not."

He's a teenager and his dad caught him with a magazine of naked men and his hand down his pants. He's in the army and Micah is kissing him. He's 34 and engaged to a beautiful woman and he feels nothing when she shakes around him.

His mouth is dry as cotton.

Bobby squeezes his shoulder. "I hear you." A beat. "Don't need to say anything else."

They sit like this for a little while longer. Then, Tommy gathers his things, shoulders his bag. The ground feels a little less shaky. His knees don't buckle. He'll find an apartment. And he'll tell Abby.

"Kinard," Bobby says when Tommy's already at the door. Tommy turns around. "Promise me you'll think about transferring, yeah? Go after what you want?"

Tommy huffs out a laugh. Shakes his head. His chest is lighter. "Aye aye cap." He gives a half hearted mock salute. What he means to say is thank you.

He's pretty sure Bobby hears it anyway.

On the way home, at a red light stop, a jeep comes to a halt next to his car. A guy leans out of the window and asks for directions to the LAFD training academy. He's young. Bright smile, short blond hair. Tommy tells him where to go and the guy thanks him profusely. "Starting a new chapter," he says enthusiastically and adjusts his backwards hat. Out of his stereo Tommy can hear hip hop blaring. Eminem. "Me, too" Tommy shouts back and watches the lights switch to orange. "Good luck then!" the guy shouts over the revving engine and grins. "See you around!"

Tommy laughs.

"You, too!"

Lights turn green.

[imagination-mess]

A Second Chance at Life (Touya Todoroki X Fem!Reader) Chapter 8

Summary: For the past five years, you’ve been raising your son as a single mother. You’ve successfully avoided questions about his father by claiming that he died during the Paranormal Liberation War. From what you believe, this isn’t a lie. The last time you saw him was when he personally escorted you to U.A.’s shelter amidst the chaos in the streets.

Unbeknownst to you, he has been alive all this time, clinging to life in a facility working to keep him alive. His father, Enji, has been desperately searching for someone willing to heal him. After his presumed death, a single photo of you and Dabi began circulating through the underground, hinting at the nature of your relationship. To protect yourself and your child, you had to pay someone to stop the pictures from spreading further.

The photo provided answers to a long-standing question: who was the healer Dabi had been protecting? It identified you as the healer who had been deemed untouchable, but it also brought unwanted attention.

A/N: Sorry for any grammar or spelling errors in advance.

Word Count: 1.9K+ Masterlist of ASCAF Previously Chapter Seven

The soft beeping of machines was the only sound Touya could hear as he slowly woke up, surrounded by the sterile, familiar smell of the hospital.

His eyes fluttered a few times before his vision adjusted. Above him was a plain white ceiling and a fire sprinkler. His gaze drifted to the sides, spotting two windows on opposite ends of the room, curtains drawn for privacy. His attention landed on a whiteboard with a large, clearly printed message:

Please press the button in your left hand when you are awake.

Was this a dream?

Or…

Was he dissociating again?

The last thing he remembered was being rushed through hospital halls, the lights overhead blurring past as they pushed him in urgency. He couldn’t make out what they were shouting. His body had been shutting down against his will.

He used to think it was a myth — that your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

But it wasn’t a myth for him. He saw it and felt it. Terrifying and painful, moment after moment replayed. And at the end of it all, there was you , walking someone back to the U.A. shelter. The last thing he remembered was your smile, but even that was hazy. Your face wouldn’t come clearly. Just a blur. A voice he barely held onto.

He could hardly remember your face now. Too many years spent dissociating during confinement, using it as a shield from the pain that came when even the strongest meds stopped working.

Now, he didn’t feel pain.

Now, though, there was no pain…only a strange weight in his limbs.

He tried moving his fingers. They trembled. Slowly, he felt the small object in his palm. It took every bit of focus to curl his fingers around it.

His thumb brushed over the button as he clenched his teeth, focusing all his effort on making his body obey.

A soft chime rang through the room.

His body gave in, muscles relaxing, too exhausted for anything more.

A few minutes passed before a familiar face entered the room.

Kaito, your father stepped in, offering a soft, reassuring smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Todoroki. I am Dr. (L/N). Let me run a few quick examinations before we get you some soup to start with. Then, we'll work toward solid foods. I’ll also catch you up on everything that’s happened, alright?"

The white-haired man came beside him and wrote something on his clipboard, glancing at the machine beside the bed.

"You’ve been unconscious for over a month now. It took longer than expected for you to wake up. You’re going to be disoriented and sluggish for a little while, and probably confused. It’s normal. Nothing to worry about." Kaito said, putting the clipboard down and hearing the water faucet turn on.

"I'm just going to test your strength. I'll place my hand in yours, and I want you to squeeze as hard as you can. After that, we'll see if you can move your toes and fingers. Then we'll get you some soup. You need to be on a liquid diet for a bit."

Kaito moved closer and placed his hand within Touya's grip before glancing up at the doctor.

"Squeeze my hand as best as you can. I’m just testing how well the operation connected your nerves to your muscles. After that, you can try moving your toes whenever you wish," he explained.

Touya did as he was told but struggled. He could barely manage it, but he did it. That was the best he could do. He had to try again with his right hand, the one he had believed was destroyed. His right hand was much harder to move, and he realized just how much heavier it felt compared to his left.

Kaito was watching him carefully, but his expression remained unreadable. He walked away, grabbing his clipboard once more. He returned to Touya's bedside and flashed a light at his eyes, prompting him to follow it. As he did, Kaito wrote something down.

"One last thing. Can you speak for me? One word would be enough. Even a curse word would count," Kaito asked with an amused smile.

Touya’s throat felt painfully dry, as if he hadn’t spoken in years. Despite the discomfort, he forced the words out, even though it felt like sandpaper scraping against his throat. A hoarse rasp escaped, and he tried to swallow, barely managing it due to the lack of saliva.

"W-what had-hap-pened?" His voice was weak and strained barely above a whisper. "You were taken in as a case study to see if someone with severe burns and near-death injuries could survive if their body was healed. It was done with your father's permission. No one wanted to take your case until Dr. Remedy was contracted by your father as a last resort." Kaito lifted his eyes from the clipboard, briefly meeting Touya's gaze.

Touya’s eyes widened at the mention of her name— your hero name, which was also the name you went by as a doctor.

"She’s the only reason you’re alive right now. If she hadn’t gathered doctors from across the nation to help you, you wouldn't have made it. The others, along with her, are dealing with the consequences, even after over a month. Many of them ended up in the hospital and have been banned from using their quirks for the next few months, for their own safety. All because everyone who worked on your case was treated as a case study. They overused their quirks."

Kaito paused before continuing.

"They all did it for scientific reasons, ignoring the fact that you were a high-profile criminal. They were doing it to help future patients with burns like yours. But the cost was too much for those doctors, who are now facing the consequences. In other words, you’re going to be the only person in this nation to undergo this dramatic transformation." Kaito looked directly into Touya’s eyes.

"Take this opportunity. Another chance at life. Your body costs the well-being of 15 doctors and 5 nurses. You better take care of it. Otherwise, you're wasting Dr. Remedy’s belief that people like you deserve second chances." ____________________________________ The next few weeks, Touya cooperated with the physical and occupational therapists, walking through the hospital with a walker. He felt like a baby deer learning how to walk again. The only reason he went along with it was because he was sick of feeling like a damn baby.

Due to his physical condition, his stay was extended until he could move on his own, after which he’d be transferred to the rehabilitation facility. He rejected visitation from his family. He felt too vulnerable like this. Too exposed. He didn’t want to see their pitying stares.

He heard the arguments outside his hospital room. His father, Enji, tries to see him, getting rejected every time. The old man had nothing but time to waste, showing up day after day, just to be told no.

As much as Touya hated getting help from strangers, the staff had been patient with him. They didn’t push him too hard. Some nurses definitely judged him, but at least they kept their comments to themselves. The hospitality was… normal. He was treated like any other patient.

They didn’t look at him with pity. They encouraged him, even when he told them to shut up and mind their own business. They just ignored his outbursts and kept going.

His quirk-canceling cuffs rotated between ankle and wrist restraints. Military grade, due to his classification as a high-profile criminal. The staff rotated the cuffs regularly to prevent weakening or discomfort while he regained strength. They were far more advanced than the ones he’d seen before. He remembered snooping through your apartment out of boredom, finding backups of your hero costume and the old quirk-cuffs tucked away in the closet. Those things looked like toys in comparison.

Once he was able to speak normally again, a therapist from the rehabilitation center started visiting daily for his sessions.

If he could, he would’ve jumped out the window by now.

He knew he’d agreed to his younger brother’s rehabilitation plan. Something that would hopefully work in the court system’s favor. But in truth, he didn’t care about all that. He just wanted out. Out of confinement. Out of pain. Out of this miserable limbo.

He did think of you, a couple of times.

After he regained his voice, his lawyer began visiting twice a week. What he didn’t expect was for your mother, Reika, to actually keep her word that if he left you out of the chaos, she’d represent him. She planned to take his case, even in the event that the League was taken down.

She was a terrifying woman who demanded respect. If you didn’t give it, she’d drop you as a client without hesitation. Well known in both the legal world and the underworld under a different name and a different mask.

She may have been a lot of things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. When she made a deal, she kept her word so long as you kept yours.

“Touya, your father is a piece of shit.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. The expression on her face told him everything. 

If she could kill the old man herself, she would.

“What did he do this time?”

“Acted like a misogynistic prick,” Reika snapped, her voice full of disgust. “Like I haven’t defended more high-profile criminals than most lawyers ever dream of. He pulled that ‘I’m the dominant man in the room’ garbage gave me that stare like I was supposed to flinch. Tried talking over me like I was his damn secretary.” Her tone shifted into a mocking imitation of a deep, gravelly voice. “ ‘I’m the alpha in the room.’”

She scoffed and leaned back in her seat.

“Honestly? I was one bad moment away from stabbing him in the neck with my pen.”

She clicked that same pen in her hand, her fingers twitching with irritation. "Anyways, none of that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you to ensure that you aren't surprised if it gets brought up in the court." Anyway, enough about that old geezer. I wanted to review what I have so far with you—to make sure you’re not surprised if it gets brought up in court.”

"How is (Y/N)?" Touya whispered, loud enough for her to hear.

 He knew it was out of the blue.

He’d eavesdropped a few times. Doctors and nurses mention how this would be the longest leave of absence you’d ever taken.

He knew he had a better chance of getting an answer from Reika than from Kaito. Kaito was always accompanied by someone. Touya couldn’t show that he knew him personally, and he understood why. It would launch an investigation, especially with all the pro heroes and police constantly walking around.

Reika paused for a moment, glancing up from the leather folder she always carried to jot down her notes.

“She’s doing better. Got discharged about a week ago,” Reika said, tapping her pen against the folder. “She’s being forced to take a six-month leave, but other than that, she’s okay. You’re not the reason she was bedridden. There was just an incident with Endea—”

“Did he hurt her?” Touya cut in sharply.

“No. It was indirectly... surrounded by other factors,” Reika replied, shifting into her lawyer voice. Touya shot her a look, but Reika didn’t flinch. She simply flipped to a new page in her folder, her tone shifting coldly as she dove into the notes and legal strategy for his upcoming plea hearing. --------------

Anyway, how are we feeling about Touya being awake now? He already hates feeling weak, and now he has to talk about his feelings? He’d rather jump out of a window, especially if it means talking to a stranger.

This chapter was going to go differently, but I decided to delay a certain scene. There’s actually another deal Reika and Touya made, which is the main reason she’s representing him during the war. The chaos happening in these streets is no joke.

The next 2 chapter will explore how Touya and Remedy met as teenagers: one struggling to survive in the streets, and the other trying to help people with nothing but good intentions. Spoiler alert: Touya is the stray cat, skeptical of the preppy cat.

Any thoughts or theories? I’m all ears! I’d love to hear them. Thank you so much for everyone who commented on the previous chapter! You guys are the reason why the chapter got posted earlier than expected. Your comments seriously mean the world to me. 💖 I’m so grateful to know there are people who want to read more. Next Chapter 9

[only-lonely-star]

so your post abt your concerning amount of injured reader requests inspired me. you should totally do a gang x reader who just got out of surgery. like still under anesthesia that makes you act all high and stuff. i don’t remember if you do hcs involving the entire gang (separate ofc) or not, but if you don’t, then you could do this with dally or ponyboy— tysm ily and your writing 🤞🫶

Curtis gang x anesthetized!reader HCs

Curtis gang x gn!reader

Warnings: Reader is under anesthesia. Brief mentions of bruising and blood. Reader experiences mild pain.

Author’s Note: I decided to specify this request for wisdom teeth! I got mine taken out a few years ago so I have experience lol. enjoy!! <3

+ my little story time of when I got my wisdom teeth taken out at the end bc why not :)

✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ 🦷 ✦ . 　⁺ ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Ponyboy

As soon as he saw you being pushed outside from a wheelchair, he just felt bad. Not because he had done anything wrong, but because it feels so scary to see someone he cares about so out of it.

I feel like his idea of someone being anesthetized is like ‘they zone out for a bit and slur their words’, but your experience was totally different.

If you were crying, he definitely thought you were in pain from the surgery. (For reference, some people cry when waking back up from confusion, stress, etc.)

Just by hearing your rambling, he was genuinely thinking ‘What the fuck…? Did they put you on anesthesia or something else?”

He’d try to be as helpful as possible, especially at first when you were numb inside your mouth. I think he would make a great nurse for the day and help talk you through your discomfort.

Maybe Pony would read you a book once you calmed down enough to understand what he was saying. At first you can’t do much else besides lay there and mellow yourself out, so he could easily kill time reading to you.

Ponyboy would remind you of what you’re allowed and not allowed to eat/drink/do within the first few days. The thought of dry socket scares the SHIT out of him. He wants absolutely noooo part in that.

Johnny

Johnny would laugh his ass off when you’re first rolled out of the operation room. Deep down, he’s a little scared of the possibility that he might have to have his wisdom teeth removed, so he disguises it with laughter.

He would try to fuck with you a little bit because he’s aware you can’t form coherent thoughts just yet. He thinks it’s sooo funny to watch you panic like that 😭 “Where’s your tongue?? They removed that too?!”

Okay, after he’s had a good laugh, I think he would try to comfort you a little. Especially if you were more emotional when waking up, he’d probably feel slightly guilty for teasing. I can totally see him letting you rest your head on his shoulder or blab about whatever as his way of showing you he’s there for you.

If you WERE a crier right off the bat, Johnny wouldn’t joke like that. He imagines that would feel like pure torture.

Since you can’t smoke, he’d do you a favor and exhale towards you so that you can get your dose of second-hand smoke in until you’re better.

He isn’t fazed by your all-liquid diet. Hard times have led him to consume soup, broth, and whatnot even though he can chew. I think he might try and keep solid foods out of your sight as a sign of respect.

Dallas

Similar to Johnny, I think Dallas would take one good look at you before bursting into laughter. He’s familiar with various drugs and such, but anesthesia isn’t anything like the party drugs he’s used to.

He personally thinks your swollen, gauze filled cheeks are hilarious.

No matter if you’re crying or not, I think he would try to straight up interview you on the spot. “How’s your mouth? Does it hurt? You remember who I am?”

He would take advantage of your state and try to get you to confess the most embarrassing things. Stories he can recall from ages ago that he knows you would never retell would just slip out because of your lowered inhibition.

The never ending teasing Dallas would commit to is just ruthless. You’ll be “chipmunk cheeks” to him forever.

He wouldn’t know better when it comes to post-surgery rules. He would try and be nice for once by bringing you a milkshake just to find out you need to be spoon fed instead of using straws like normal. As much as it would grate at his nerves, he would go back and out of his way to find you a spoon to slurp from.

Sodapop

He would be concerned at first glance, noticing the bruising on your cheeks and the swelling around your jaw. Soda would try and comfort you physically whether it be holding your hand or letting you lean on him for support. (This can be interpreted romantically or platonically)

When you’re rambling, he would simply nod along and go “mhm” every few mumbles so you felt heard.

During the car ride home, he tried to keep you as calm as possible. Crying or not, there’s usually a bit of a panicked reaction when first waking up from the anesthesia. I actually think Soda may have gotten his taken out before, so he knows it’s not super pretty.

Constant reassurance if you were one to cry a lot. “No, no it’s okay. It’s over now. You’re doing great.”

Once you’re a little more conscious of your surroundings, he would sit and listen to you talk about how you feel, what you need at the moment, etc. Overall, I think he would be super caring (partly because he has experience).

Steve

He would make a 😧 face when he first sees you because of how fucked up you look. He would be on the more stunned/amused type rather than comforting.

He would poke at your cheeks in fascination. The slight bruising on your jaw is “tuff” according to his judgment. “Looks like you took a few blows. I mean, it looks pretty tuff if you ask me😼.”

I think he would save the teasing until after you’ve gained full consciousness again.

He would be the type of person to try and make you laugh/cheer you up if you were crying from the anesthesia. I assume he would think you’re crying in pain or because of the blood on your gauze because he doesn’t have personal experience in this area.

If this was a modern au, he would definitely try to sneak a phone in and record you to embarrass you with videos later. Not in a mean way, but in a playful & teasing type of way yk?

He leans your head against the seatbelt in the car, trying to NOT touch your puffy cheek. His worst fear in the moment is for your gauze to fall out of your mouth and land anywhere on him.

Two-Bit

He covered his mouth like 🫢 when he first saw you, trying his hardest to not laugh IN your face.

He would talk to you like a child, and it surprisingly worked well. The slower, more simple sentences could actually be comprehended even though you were still under anesthesia.

Tries to get you to open your mouth to show him where they operated on you because he thinks the concept of surgery is so fascinating.

Similar to Soda, I think he would play along with your loopy rambling. If you’re speaking straight up mumbles that only make sense to you he’d try to mumble back like you’re speaking a language only the two of you know.

He’s oddly gentle with you. I think he would offer you something to eat (liquid foods) right away. He would try to take care of your needs because being on anesthesia does NOT look like him to fun. Funny? Sure. But fun? He would pass.

He hypes you up HELLA. I’m thinking in an encouraging but also impressive way like, “Look at you, you’re all done. It’s over! I couldn’t ever get my teeth taken out.”

Two-Bit makes you feel ‘guilty’ when he assists you. Obviously he’s just teasing, but under anesthesia you can’t take the hint. He would wipe your drool or adjust your bloody gauze and proceed to say something like, “Who else would do this for you? Mhm, exactly. Exactly! You owe me.”

Darrel

He’s so gentle and attentive with everything. He’s used to the role of a protective, caring, selfless big brother, but it’s like something snaps within him when he sees you so drugged and out of it.

He tries talking to you immediately, surveying how you feel, if you’re in pain, etc. Bonus points if you’re crying- he’ll try to ask if there’s anything he can do to help.

He tries to read the little pamphlet with care instructions from the nurses but he can’t even focus on it because he’s so concerned about you.

I feel like Darry would try and shadow you 24/7 post-surgery. If you’re asleep or simply resting on the couch he would pop his head in just to make sure you weren’t laying on one cheek or eating solid foods.

Again, this is more of a modern au type of deal- I think Darry would try and scold anyone who tried to record you. BUTTT he would take a picture for himself to keep as a silly memory, not to tease you endlessly.

He would probably be the one to drive you home post-surgery. He volunteered himself since he trusts himself enough to bring you back safely.

He shushes you when you try to ramble, he doesn’t egg you on like the others.

Story time:

My story isn’t all that interesting, but it was pretty funny to me when I retell it from my own perspective. I wanted my parents to record me so bad, but my mom insisted on not doing so. Okay so— I was brought into the operating room and sat down like normal. After about 30 minutes, who I think ended up being my surgeon came in with a thick ass needle. I knew right then and there that was the anesthesia. He starts asking me about school, what grade I’m going into, and what my favorite subject is as he’s injecting the anesthesia into my arm. I was talking like normal and I swear I blinked ONCE and I was suddenly in the backseat of my dad’s car. I remember closing my eyes for .2938384882 seconds and opening them to find myself sobbing and asking something along the lines of, “but how did I get from there to here?” and “Is it over?” repeatedly. I was sort of hunched over my lap/the back of the passenger seat with my hand stuck out towards my dad. I remember him holding it and trying to comfort me because he thought I was in pain or something. I’m 99% sure I was just confused and a little overwhelmed with the surgery feeling like a LITERAL blink of an eye. I wasn’t sad or hurting or anything like that. What’s cute is that my best friend got her wisdom teeth taken out just months before I did and claimed she was crying for me. I ended up doing the same thing, asking both my mom and my dad if she was okay and if I could text her to tell her I was awake. I also remembered seeing my brother get escorted from the exit doors into the backseat next to me. He had his eyes closed and mouth open saying shit like “I am fully awake and fully conscious” knowing DAMN well he was nowhere near planet earth. He swears he never said that but I remember him trying to act all hard so vividly. OKAY THIS IS GETTING LONG—. To conclude my little story time, I have to specify that this happened the summer after 8th grade and my Outsiders obsession was still so new to me because I read it 4th quarter of 8th grade. I was a lot more awake by the time I got home, so I could somewhat slurp down some of the milkshake my dad bought me. My mom and I laid down in her bed and we binged the Karate Kid movies together since she grew up as a Ralph Macchio/Michael J. Fox kind of girl lol. She also knew that I was really into The Outsiders and said I would like Karate Kid because I thought Ralph was sooo cute. My cheeks were bruised and puffy for WEEKS and I literally hated every single second of recovery. It felt like I could taste my own flesh because there were literal holes in my mouth from where the teeth used to be. To end this (for real this time) on a better note, I think it’s safe to say the surgery wasn’t all that scary. I was really nervous beforehand, but it turned out just fine. I recovered quickly and safely, and that’s all that really matters. So if you’re scared, don’t be! It wasn’t bad at all.

IF YOU READ MY LITTLE STORY YOU HAVE MY WHOLE HEART LOL (ts was NAWTTT little, it was longer than all of the headcanons combined)

TYSM FOR READING!!!

-Sophia 🫶🏼

[saycheeeese]

Zombie Apocalypse x JJK (Part 2)

By some strange miracle, the four have you haven't encountered any zombies since you met - which makes it two days. They warmed up to you fine enough, but still, you can't help but envy the special bond they have in times like these. Good for them, you think. At least they have something to fight for. Or someone.

They led you to a dilapidated restaurant, soundlessly weaving their way through the haphazard tables and seats, and took you into the pantry. Though it was dusty cold, it certainly had ample space - and the racks were lined with canned foods and non-perishables: dried beans, oatmeal, uncooked porridge boxes, white rice, boxed pasta, powdered milk, vats of honey, bottles of spirit, hard cheeses, and a stack of dried fruit. It was difficult for you to suppress the rumble in your stomach while they quickly fixed a tiny meal that would do.

Yuuji and Nobara had fought like animals to snag the big container on the top rack, and without them even noticing, Megumi had silently retrieved it, leaving them to fight. The plastic container had oats soaked in milk, and it was a lot of them.

"Help yourselves," Megumi said, sitting cross-legged on the floor where you and the two joined him. They took heaping spoonsful straight from the dish, and you'd hesitated before digging in.

"Is this ... porridge?" You'd inquired - the food was not so bad. At least it wasn't rotten.

"Yup," Yuuji nodded, swallowing his bite hastily and choking. Megumi punched his back hard, a loud thump sounding in the pantry, and his face turned red. Nobara shifted closer to you, disgust written on her face.

"We soak them overnight in milk," she explained, "Or we keep them soaking as long as we're gone from ... home." She said the last word a bit quietly, and you nodded, taking another bite. What had happened of your home? You shook the thought from your head. In this world, love was a weakness that could be used against you.

Despite the yawning cavity in your stomach, you'd filled up pretty quickly and excused yourself. They'd covered the porridge and put it back, Nobara turning to you.

"What next? Want to sleep, or ...?" She tilted her head.

"Kick some butt?" Yuuji raised a brow, his smile less brighter.

"Neither. We have to go and get some new tools to sharpen our weapons," Megumi announced, arms folded. "We can't kill them with a blunt stick and a can of beans."

You dipped your chin once. It was probably good for you to acquire a new weapon. You unbound your hair and tied it into a braid, the bun falling apart. The laces in your shoes long since gone, you catch up to them.

"Where are we going?" You ask as the four of you exit the safety of the restaurant.

"There's a house some streets away," Yuuji debriefs you, one hand on his crooked, rusted dagger, and focus on his surroundings, "that belonged to a either a mayor or a weaponsmith. You should see the basement - it's full of knives and swords and daggers and arrows."

"We stock up from there about every month," Nobara says from behind you. She and Megumi bring up the rear while you and Yuuji lead the team. Team. A small smile blooms on your lips, and you immediately smother it, scared to let yourself be happy nowadays - because your happiness is always snatched from you.

Yuuji doesn't miss it. "She smiles!" He whisper-shouts, grinning, flipping the dagger in his hand. "You know, you look good when you smile. Alive."

"I ... don't deserve to smile, you know," you confess. "I've killed too many people, and everything I've ever loved has - you know, died. Or zombie-fied."

Yuuji doesn't flinch, like you expected him to. Murderer. He gives you a sideways glance, and his eyes are full of sorrow and understanding. He looks at you for a moment, then softly says, "You know, I also thought that. That ... I don't deserve this all. I don't deserve them. Because I killed a lot of people." He swallows. "But that’s exactly why you - we - deserve to smile. Because the world’s taken everything it could from you, and you're still here - still human. Still you. That smile? It’s not a betrayal. It’s rebellion. You're showing them that they can destroy your world all they like, but they can never destroy you. Let them rot and die at your hands - you're alive; so you deserve to feel alive."

You worry your lip, not letting the tears burning your eyes fall.

“Wow. That’s dramatic," Nobara nudges you with her elbow playfully as she sidles up to your side. "You should write a memoir. ‘How I Killed Everyone and Still Managed to Look Hot While Crying in the Dark’ Bestseller, easy.”

You roll your eyes. "You should write 'How I'm Living In a Zombie Apocalypse and Still Manage to Look Gorgeous and Have Shiny Hair.' Honestly, are you aiming for a shampoo commercial?"

"Pfft, I've dyed it," she dismisses your compliment like a mere fly. "It w-"

The rattle of tin and scuffling shoes makes you instantly tense, back straight and legs apart, dagger poised in hand. Well, what's left of it.

Nobara flanks your right and Yuuji your left, Megumi as silent as a cat behind you, obviously alert.

"Did you - did you hear it?" You breathe, your breath clouding in the musty, cold air. Your ears pick up obscene groaning noises before you spot them.

Five zombies, limping towards you all with unusual speed, blood smeared on their clothes and splattered on their faces. You cringe, and clench your dagger tightly. "Company," you say under your breath.

"I hope you weren't lying when you said you could kill them," Megumi whispers in your ear, "because we'll need all hands we can get."

"I thought you could fight?" You slightly turn, his face too close and eyes wide, assessing.

"We can," his breath tickles the shell of your ear, "but we need to be fast if we don't want more to come - and you might prove a distraction if you scream for help."

You nod sharply, pivoting ahead, a plan in your mind.

"We got seven incoming!" Nobara hissed. You start. Seven? Two more must've been hiding.

"I told you this path was cursed," Yuuji groans, his fists poised.

You take a deep breath and roll up your sleeves. "Weapons can wait," you mutter. You scan the area once more before sprinting. A garbage can, scaffoldings, something that resembles an oil can, some fractured glass shards and heaps of stone; gravel, flint, rock, granite and other unidentified materials. You'll make it work.

Your feet are a blur as you overtake the nearest zombie without it noticing. By the time it realized its target vanished, you kick its back hard and bury your dagger in its skull. The zombie is flung ahead - straight onto Nobara's ready dagger. She recoils. "I didn't even aim."

"You're welcome," you breathe, focusing as two more round on you. The other four zombies aim for your team - very well. They can fight, you think.

You rip a bent metal bar from the scaffolding and duck low. One stumbles into the bar, and you lift. Momentum does the rest. It somersaults over you and cracks against the pavement, its innards oozing out.

You barely pause to breathe. An oil can glints beside a trash bin. You snatch it and hurl it at the last one, your shoulder burning. It bursts and black slick spreads under the zombie. You pivot, wrench open the dumpster, and catch it mid-stumble. You drag it halfway in, then slam the metal lid on its neck. Over. And over. And over.

It stops moving after the third. You flip your dagger in your hands and slice it through its head. The blunt edge does little to harm. You swear colorfully and instead pick up a shard of mirror - just a sliver - and jab it into its eye.

You whirl back, chest heaving, hands covered in rotting blood, the oil creating a path from the can to the middle of the street. Movement at the corner of your eye makes you look up - shit. Zombie backup.

Four more zombies drop down from a ramshackle building, the crooked stairs giving them purchase. In a matter of seconds, they descend and approach your friends. Shit. Eight zombies.

They make quick, neat work of the zombies, but you know that more will come if you don't leave quick. Your eyes dart across the area - and you're moving before you know it.

You retrieve a piece of flint from the corner, pivot on your feet and bolt back, kneel beside the oil spill and whip out your dagger. You mutter some prayers to whoever's listening, and strike the dagger against the flint - once, twice, thrice.

Nothing, nothing, n-

A spark. You rub it again, your breath caught in your throat.

"Is she-" Nobara's voice floats over to you. She grunts and impales a zombie.

"Please tell me she's not doing what I think she's doing," Yuuji grits his teeth as he punches a zombie, its head twisting a full 180 degrees.

"Why would she light a fire?" Megumi adds, beating the hell out of two zombies.

You look up. "GUYS! GET THE HELL AWAY FROM THEM!"

You only give them one warning before lighting the oil, sparks igniting from your dagger. You uncoil to your feet and run. Faster than you've ever run, your feet barely touch the ground as the four of you scurry to the end of the alley and beyond. You're running, out of breath, when you feel the heat at your back, the smell of charred flesh and burning ash singeing your nostrils. You deem it safe to stop, and the four of you halt your frantic dashing.

Megumi wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you back against him, closer to the group and away from the fire. His chest heaves behind your back, and it takes a while before you all are composed. You slip out of his grip, your face inexplicably warm.

"What the hell-" Yuuji chokes.

"Coast is clear," you mutter.

The three of them glance at each other - and then grin. Fiendishly.

"I knew I liked you for a reason," Nobara claps you on the back.

"You're terrifying," Yuuji grins. "Terrifyingly amazing! Next time, warn us before you go full apocalypse MacGyver."

"I'll admit, I'm impressed," Megumi stuffs his hands in his pockets, a ghost of a smile on his face. "You should be proud of those skills, not horrified by them. Saving our asses back there - thank you."

You shrug, a warm feeling in your gut. And you smile, your face lighting up. Smoke puffs from behind you, the ruby and amber flames doused out - thankfully. You turn to them.

"Let's retrieve our weapons, shall we?"

★ Who do you want reader to end up with? Yuuji or Megumi? Part 3 soon ★

[spamdelta]

for any of my og followers u prolly know already that in my au aster (lightworld gaster, essentially) is spamton's secret caller/benefactor, and in the process he isolates spamton and forces him to change (setting up for the whole "puppet" transformation) for his own benefits (aka fucking around and finding out until he realizes fucking around and finding out was an entirely BAD idea). but i was thinking, for spamtenna purposes....

when the library laptop is brought to the dreamurr living room and spamton and tenna meet, at first they're like rivals because they're both popular and have similiar qualities and charisma (theyre both like "he's stealing my look!!!!". or at least tenna is). But eventually, word gets out and tenna finds out that spamton pretty much became a bigshot overnight – he was nothing to EVERYTHING in such a short amount of time. And tenna wants to know WHY.

So he reaches out to spamton, proposing a deal: he can make him an even BIGGER bigshot by putting him on tv. He'll be a STAR! All Spamton has to do is tell his little secret; how he became a bigshot in the first place. Tenna hopes this deal will convince Spamton to accept and thus tenna will be able to reap the benefits from Spamton and become a BIGSHOT, too – maybe even bigger than spamton. Hopefully bigger than spamton. But Tenna's not gonna tell him that.

Spamton, of course, refuses. Because Aster would kill him. And besides, Spamton isn't suppose to get close to anybody anymore – he's a bigshot now, it'd get in the way of his work and public persona. He cant get close to anybody. He's not allowed to be himself.

Tenna's disappointed with this, but he doesn't give up easily. Despite their rivalry, he tries to get closer to Spamton.. Gets to know him better. Starts looking forward to talking to him. Starts actually enjoying his company. Starts actually seeing him as a friend. Oh no.

Spamton, on the other hand, is trying hard NOT to be interested in tenna's antics. He's a bigshot! He can't afford friends!!!! His career is ruined if he gets too close to anybody!!!

He brings this up to Aster one day, on a call. Aster thinks on it for a bit... considering options. But then, surprisingly, he suggests Spamton should collaborate with Tenna.. it MAY be a good idea to work with the T.V., since having a collaborator like that WOULD increase his clicks and make him a bigger salesman (though it also might alleviate some work on Aster's part, but he's not gonna tell Spamton that). However, under absolutely NO circumstances, Spamtons CANNOT tell Tenna his secret to success – or about aster, period. Aster doesn't trust Tenna, and does NOT want Tenna to jeopardize everything he's worked for. He want's the situation simple. Controlled.

Spamton is silent at first, then after a beat he agrees. He has to – his benefactor is always right. Always knows what's best for him. After agreeing, Aster immediately instructs what Spamton should tell Tenna next time they cross.

the next time Spamton sees tenna, he immediately strikes up a new deal – similiar to tenna's deal, but... different. Spamton offers they collaborate through both TV and the web: Spamton can show his ads on TV after Tenna's show, and Tenna can learn how to make it in this advancing technological world (because, after being pestered by Tenna so much, Spamton discovered that Tenna is NOT tech saavy with anything beyond tv or plugs. He doesn't even know what an email is!)

Hearing this, Tenna is ECSTATIC! Sure, it's not the original deal he wanted, but it's a start!! And who knows, maybe after some time their partnership and friendship can grow, and maybe, JUST maybe... spamton can finally tell tenna his secret to being a bigshot (now that he likes spamton, he doesn't really want to SURPASS spamton anymore.. but he wants to RELISH in it with spamton). Tenna agrees to the deal, and soon starts the beginning of their new business partnership.

But, as time passes....... they DO grow closer. Very closer. And tenna catches feelings for Spamton. Which is great for Tenna! He loves talking with spamton. He loves when Spamton watches movies late at night when theyre hanging out in the break room after hours. He loves spamton.

But spamton, oh, spamton... He's afraid. As both he and tenna get closer... He really starts seeing Tenna as an actual friend. He's trying his best to deny his feelings, but he just likes Tenna too much. And that's a problem, because he's not supposed to like Tenna as a friend. They're business partners. It has to be professional. If it isn't, and Aster somehow found out...... he doesnt even want to think about it. It wouldnt be good. It'd be disastrous, probably.

And to spamton's dismay, he and tenna start getting closer. And as they get closer, Spamton starts realizing things.. He loves when Tenna talks to him energetically. He loves when tenna walks into the room in mornings and greets him with an enthusiastic "GOOOOD MORNING SUNSHINE!" and smiles. He loves when Tenna smiles and is just... himself. No gameshow, no performance, just himself.

And that's when, Spamton realizes the worst:

He's in love.

With Tenna.

Oh no.

[charleemoon]

i love hannibal lecter so much so much so much… and because i think other anons have established you understand will to a great depth, and will understands hannibal the most, i wanted to know if you have any headcanons about hannibal himself?

my personal one is that he’s always cold like just. perpetually chilled. if someone points it out he says something like “i’m cold-blooded” as a mini joke to himself (ie the cannibal puns haha) but on a deeper level (because everything with dr lecter has to be complex) is that it’s almost like he never warmed again since mischa died😇😇 it also adds to him being inhuman a bit

but yes thank you good pal

hi anon!!!!!!

i also love love love hannibal lecter more than anything. im so happy to be regaled as the will understander!! i only hope i can do the same for hannibal :D

i reallllyyy let this one simmer for a bit tbh because it was hard to remember off the top of my head, so i just kept a note open and jotted things down when they came to me. might have ... too many. now. i hope you enjoy at least!!!

i love love love the cold hannibal hc its something i had already imagined so i hope you don't mind if it pops up once or twice in my own too... "it’s almost like he never warmed again since mischa died" IM PUNCHING YOU DEAD

hannibal speaks lithuanian when he's overwhelmed with emotion. i adore in fics when he is so deeply moved and enthralled with will that he just starts speaking full sentences to him. i don't think he'd open with it, not at all, it's not something he does out of choice. i imagine since mischa's death, he hasn't spoken a word of lithuanian to another person. he spent his years mute until he moved to paris, spoke only french and english. he writes to himself frequently in it, keeps many things in his house labeled with his mother tongue. but no one has known the voice of his youth since the loss of his sister. but in will's embrace, in his shocking eyes and warm breaths, he finds it spilling out of him, shaky and vulnerable. some days, it's the only language he speaks to him. after enough time, i think will is familiar enough with it that he is able to speak short phrases back to him, and it melts hannibal's heart all over again

i like canon pansexual hannibal, he'd just never refer to it as that. he'd say some weird vague shit like "love, like death, is a fluid, ever present thing. i find it to be undeniable, and am at most peace to let it run its course." or whatever

hannibal is also like. very nonbinary/gender fluid to me. but again its like in that "all human existence is fluid why should i confine myself to one state of being" nonsense. all pronouns "we cannot control others perception of us. we can exist in a multitude of bodies and minds, never one quite the same. who is to say gender is not one of those evermoving pieces of the self?" i think he should wear a skirt 🥀

hannibal is just as touch starved as will and is veryyy clingy. always giving lasting touches, quick kisses, anywhere he goes in the house, he offers for will to join him because he likes his presence so much. sit in the kitchen with me while i cook, lay by the fire with me while i read. impossible to escape him in bed. he's got a leg over will, tucked into the crook of his neck, hands holding him in every place they can. will needs to piss and it's like prying off an octopus. he's always cold compared to will running hot so they regulate each other's body temperature [sometimes he puts his cold hands under will's shirt and he goes EEEEEPPPP STOP IT!!!!]

he's very, very autistic to me [going more into this in another ask about my hannigram hcs...] part of hannibal's autism is his whole control freak thing so i think when he plans out a day or an event and it gets fucked up, he gets like severely upset. like gets really overwhelmed emotionally and is prone to like irrational anger or physical discomfort. no one knows this though because he is extremely good at outwardly controlling his reactions. i think he also goes nonverbal when he's overstimulated but he just. doesn't allow himself to. people are always expecting him to speak, and speak well, fill the space. but it burns, hot and heavy on his tongue, discomfort twitching in his neck. he deals with irrational anger and meltdowns when he's triggered which is obvious. because he kills people over it LOL. IN MY HEART THATS AUTISTIC 💜[someone tell him what masking is]

adding onto this, hannibal is the worst person to vacation with. he overplans everything and gets really stressed out when things go wrong. but not like visibly but you can TELL. like his jaw is tense and he won't look will in the eye. clasping and unclasping his hands into fists. will leans to take his hand and rub soothing circles into it, a quiet comfort, and a grounding thing. "please do not kill our flight attendant, it would be very messy."

hannibal does not know how to dress casually. like at all. i think his fashion sense is the way it is because it's controlled and predictable. all his suits are the same material that feel comfortable against his skin, it helps him keep routine. when he starts dressing down more around will i think he looks a LITTLE stupid

hannibal cries significantly more than will. at films, and music. in love, and in grief. he's moved to tears at the sight of will, wiping sweat off his forehead in the lawn, basked in the warm glow of the setting sun, an easy smile on his lips. will always laughs, quiet and embarrassed. he keeps a handkerchief on him even when he's dressed down. he's always dabbing away at misty eyes in the presence of his beautiful husband

hannibal listens to music very frequently and while he does most things. it's always playing somewhere in the house. he likes using really old and traditional recordings of music. has original copies of scores and operatic performances and whatnot.

hes a masochist btw. i don't need to elaborate

hannibal age regresses!!! BTW. this is like one of my favorite hcs. this most frequently happens to him regressing to his teenage years, going mute, feeling odd emptiness and confusion. he only ever regressed alone before will, and wasn't aware it was happening. once he grows more comfortable with will, he regresses more and more around him, especially in the winter or when triggered. i think he's deeply hesitant to, not entirely consciously, as i don't think he's in control or understanding of it [kind of a part of him he just tucks away and suppresses]. in regression, he speaks entirely in lithuanian or is mute, again depending on how young he is. he has crying outbursts, can't stop shivering and covers himself in blankets, trying to keep out a cold that isn't there. tėtis, mama, he whispers in broken prayers. ne, ne, ne, shaking his head and crying, pulling hair and rocking back and forth. will always stays with him, even when he screams, when he can't control his fear, his bladder, his sobbing and cowering. šaltas, he whispers through chattering teeth, and will holds him. will is the only thing that can keep him warm in those moments. "tėtis is here, you're okay. gerai. everything is okay."

as mentioned, he hates the cold and suffers seasonal depression because of it. its why he's always wearing like 4 fucking layers. he keeps his house very warm. he's still cold to the touch. carrying will from the verger estate triggered a severe episode that he forcibly went through to get will home. he was mute for the rest of the day, much to the fbi's chagrin.

further!!!!! hannibal was extremely distressed during his imprisonment due to the forced changes to his appearance and routine. i think he was regularly regressed or going through episodes, but he went straight back to the rigid control over it all. forced himself to appear normal, never weak. it was a more horrifying concept to be seen in that vulnerability, in such a lonely place. it was always cold there. no matter how hard he tried, he could never stop his shivering at night. the touch starvation made him nauseous

he has nothing of mischa. no photos, no clothes, he burned it all. mischa exists nowhere but in his mind, his memory of her. no one can know her unless he lets them. despite this, his house is littered with odd things here and there that don't seem to fit his image. porcelain animals and lace fettered things. figures of angels with golden hair. he buys them and he doesn't know why. beautiful things his sister might like. he doesn't think of it

expanding on that, i think hannibal is a compulsive maximalist. while he is in love with art and creation and takes great pride in his belongings and their beauty, he fills his life to a maybe unnecessary degree in response to his childhood, growing up in orphanages, going country to country. nothing ever really belonged to him, everything was always temporary. he overdoes it now

hannibal is. at all times a little passively suicidal. he enjoys the life he's created for himself, and he is angered at those who threaten it. but he has that call to the void, he likes getting close to death to prove himself greater than god. but i think he also expects it deep down. and is always ready for it. he's been waiting to die ever since mischa did, his whole life feeling like a clock ticking past its final toll. waiting for the gears to break and splinter. when him and will get together, i think they find out he's a lot more self destructive than he realizes. he attempted suicide as a teenager. smiles

[the-s1lly-corner]

Mime Makeup (Ending 10) (Blot x Reader)

something soemthing i know i said id do a bunch of predetermined endings because i had an out of state trip coming... but i guess it got cancelled and no one communicated? kinda annoying but whatever. so! yeah! polls are back, and as a treat you guys get blots ending since he hasnt been featured in the polls yet due to option limits!! yay! polls are back baby!! notes: gn toon reader, pre game, takes place during christmas, yes blot dialog is written backwards, reader doesnt understand him all that well and blot decides to be a little shit about it, potential ooc since blots still so new word count: 2.6k cws: none

Everyone’s eyes glue onto you as you reach your hand into the opening of the sack and pull out…

..It felt like glass- hard and cold. Something you could only describe a worn paper label rubbed against your palm as you wrapped your fingers around it. Short, but not small… thick… the neck was short and shallow and the cork almost felt like rubber against the tip of your finger. 

If you were being honest you didn’t much care for how the still somewhat sticky residue of the label’s glue felt against your skin… whatever it was inside didn’t matter. The bottle was old and the paper was peeling. Admittedly you rushed in pulling the item out just so you didn’t have to feel the old glue against your hand for much longer. 

A bottle of… makeup… black and grey- it didn’t take a genius to realize the owner. 

You turned your head and spotted Blot somewhere towards the back of the crowd, of course standing with the rest of his troupe… None of them had noticed what was in your hand yet- not until you lifted it high into the air. 

Dandy did the rest of the work in getting their attention… it was probably for the best, you felt a little silly standing there holding a bottle of make up over your head in front of everyone. 

“Blot!” Dandy called out after sharply whistling. The circus troupe ceased their chatter- the mime’s singular eye fixed on the bottle in your hand… which was still raised in the air. 

The mime put both his hands over his chest and leaned back- wordlessly asking “Who? Me?” 

Yatta grinned and tugged on his shoulder- whatever she… not very quietly… whispered to him didn’t reach you.

…She did point at you though.

You couldn’t help but to shrink under her massive eyes. 

Dandy playfully rolled his eyes- before he took the bottle of paint away from you and held it out to Blot, shaking it slightly in the air. 

“We don’t have all night, you know,” He lightly teased… but something about the way his teeth clicked together made it sound like there was some… 

You shake off the thought and force your eyes away from Yatta’s- catching Blot’s instead. For a toon so outwardly expressive it was sometimes hard to read him. The lack of mouth and eyebrows probably didn’t help.

…Did he have eyebrows?

…no, he didn’t- you could tell as soon as he started to step forward. Of course he couldn’t walk towards you like a normal person but everyone was so accustomed to his antics by now that no one batted an eye as he raised his knees up high with each step. 

Dandy’s smile twitched on one side when Blot finally crossed the distance, taking the bottle of makeup and tucking it away… somewhere… 

“Right-” The flower suddenly cleared his throat and shifted his feet just a bit- standing up straighter as he stared at the two of you. You couldn’t help but think he was looking down on the mime- but you weren’t given the chance to dwell on it for too long as you were both sent away down to the gift shop to start the round. 

…At least you went towards the gift shop before it became clear in an instant that the players were intended to settle themselves into the connected storage room. 

You catch a glimpse of one of the Christmas themed Looey plushies set out on the counter… it was… 

..Well at least the hat was nice..

“...I don’t know how to feel about the… freckles on top of the… cheek circle… make up… things…” You mumbled softly as Blot pulled the door to the storage room wider- his foot propping it open as he turned to look at the plushie. 

“!etuc skool ti kniht I” 

Blot’s voice sounded garbled and weird- the noises stretching and squashing just to make the sounds actually come out.

The corner of your mouth twitched as you tried and failed to untangle what it was he had said- and you felt awful for not understanding him. Even if it was just seven minutes you can’t imagine it’d be fun to sit in a dark room with someone you can’t really… converse with. 

A part of you almost cursed yourself for not taking more time to spend with the troupe. Maybe you could find a notebook somewhere in the gift shop..?

…No, there were none in sight. 

So instead you just awkwardly smile at him and nod along as if you actually could understand every word he spoke. 

The thought of actually communicating that you couldn’t understand didn’t cross your mind… the need to please and not be possibly seen as awkward was one hell of a thing… even if speaking up would lead to a less weird route…

“..s’that so?” You mumbled softly and hoped it was a normal response to whatever Blot had said. 

Blot only stared at you for a moment before looking into the storage room. You weren’t sure if his silence was a good thing or not- but his invitation to step into the storage room was clear enough. 

The moment you stepped inside your eyes stung from the dust lingering in the air- particles floated around, like someone had at least attempted to clean the place up before the game but clearly didn’t have the time, judging by the thick layers of dust still settled on the floor and the pile of Shelly plushies crammed into the corner. 

By the time you blinked your eyes clean Blot had already set himself up against the wall in a sitting position, one of his legs neatly folded over his knee. His core strength was… admittedly impressive. You shoot him an awkward smile as his propped up foot shifted around lazily in the air… you’d sit across from him on the other wall… just not in a wall sit…

…and you remained silent. 

Of course you felt bad about it but you genuinely, truly, had zero idea of how to even begin to decipher Blot’s words. 

Would he be upset if you told him you couldn’t understand him? Would he be even more upset if you pretended you did? 

As you debated what the right move was Blot spoke up and broke the silence between the two of you. 

“...dekcohs elttil a yltsenoh m'I ,semag fo sdnik eseht yalp ot noot fo epyt eht ekil mees t'nod uoY” His warped voice carried through the air. Not loud enough to bounce off the wall but not quiet enough to go unnoticed by you… not that he was easy to ignore.

For a mime he actually talked quite a lot, but you’d never say that to him out loud. 

And Blot continued to speak.

“-ereht tuo flesruoy tup uoy gniees ecin s'ti ,gniht dab a s'ti kniht I taht toN” 

He pointed a gloved finger at you and you felt absolutely awful for simply nodding along. 

Your teeth gritted slightly as your eyes darted between his face and his hand. 

“Really?” You finally managed to draw out after half a second’s pause… but it felt like it was so much longer as your mind blanked and fumbled to think of some response that could make a lick of sense. 

It seemed for now you were fine… Blot nodded again, the floppy pieces of ink on the sides of his head swaying with each bob of his head. 

“.emag gnissik tesolc eht sekil ohw enoemos sa em ekirts t'nod uoy tub ...od uoy ...tcaretni ot dnet yllaer t'nod uoy tub gniht dab a s'ti kniht t'nod I !haeY” 

The pitch of his voice picked up just a bit around the end… the beginning? What counted as the end of his sentences? It almost sounded like he was teasing you. 

“.ereht tuo flesruoy gnittup uoy gniees ecin s'tI” …his voice was softer this time around. 

Another click of your teeth as you tear your eyes away from him… how much longer was left of the round? You weren’t entirely sure you could keep this up with this lie for much longer. 

Still the question of whether or not this was… the right thing to do… still hung in your head.

…But you knew it wasn’t the right thing. It didn’t even feel like it was an okay thing- but you’ve sunken so deep into it now that it might be worse if you spilled the truth now. Were you just going to pretend you could understand him forever going forward? Was this going to make Blot see you as another toon in Gardenview to talk to? 

It’s not like he was in short supply of friends- even outside the circus troupe he had toons he could talk to who could understand him- 

Blot’s hand waved gently for your attention. 

“-ot htraE ?olleH”

You cut him off before he could finish whatever he was trying to say. 

“Yeah! I guess it is kind of funny, huh?” You gave him an awkward forced grin.

Blot blinked and stared at you in silence for a long moment. The stretch of silence felt nearly unbearable as your skin crawled. The distant muffled sound of the Christmas music in the lobby didn’t make things any less tense- you think you’d rather it be dead quiet… the muffled music only added a weird dream-like feel to the dark storage closet. Horns blared weakly through the thick walls of the storage room- and it wasn’t until now that you realized just how much you hated Christmas time in Gardenview. The festive tune was always too loud, too persistent. 

The awkward drumming of your fingertips against the wall behind you did next to nothing to ease the hot coil of anxiety making itself home in the pit of your gut. The room was supposed to be cold… so why did the back of your neck burn so much? 

…Did toons even have necks? What part of your body was burning- 

“ ?uoy nac ,em dnatsrednu yllautca t'nac uoY” Blot finally broke the suffocating silence. Whatever he said, he didn’t sound all that angry or upset. You quickly took the vaguely amused sound of his voice and ran with it- to you, you haven’t blown it yet. The mime’s singular eye squinted just a tiny bit, like he was fighting back an invisible smile. 

The hot knot in your gut relaxed just a tiny bit as you leaned back into your lie. 

“Yeah I know right? I can’t believe it either-” You forced out a dry laugh and prayed that it sounded natural enough to the mime.

It didn’t… but it made you feel better to tell yourself otherwise. 

“gniod er'uoy tahw ees I ...yakO” You offered him a weak laugh in the face of his distorted words. “.em rof nuf erom siht sekam tsuj siht ,ti tuoba dam ton m'I”

You nod in agreement to whatever he was saying and shifted around against the cold wall behind you- the metal door behind you leading to… wherever… freezing through your clothes. 

The flesh of your cheeks ached at how hard you were forcing the smile over your face, but you didn’t dare drop it out of fear that the sudden shift would give everything away to the toon in front of you. Instead you focus on dragging your foot through the thick layer of dust under you- and marvel at just how… dirty.. The room was…

No actually, why was there so much dust? Did the staff just… not bother cleaning up back here because the visitors wouldn’t ever see it? Clearly they go back here- there were clear tracks where the staff would walk and the more popular toons had pristine plushies set to the side to be purchased. You shake the threads of dust off of your foot- horrifyingly there were loose strands of shed hair mixed in with the mess. 

It took everything in you not to gag at the clumped up feel on your leg. 

Blot snickered to himself. 

“-ereh ni yhtlif s'ti ,ereht detcepxe uoy tahw wonk t'nod I” He shifted his position against the wall- only slipping a little bit as his foot caught on some dust but otherwise he remained sat against the wall. 

You could nearly see the chair he envisioned for himself. 

“.pohs eht ni deyats tsuj evah dluohs ew kniht ot gnitrats m'I ...ereh ni emag eht tsoh ot aedi doog a saw ti thguoht ydnaD yhw erus toN…” 

The smile on your face twitched slightly. 

“How come you wanted to play this game…? You give off… spin the bottle vibes instead of…” 

You gesture around the dusty room.

“...the closet game….” 

That at least seemed to give Blot pause in his shuffling around. He folded his hands politely over his knee and looked you up and down. 

Judgement, that’s what your brain automatically decided. Even if there was still amusement in his eye- twinkling just barely as it caught the light seeping in from under the door. 

“ .gniyas m'I tahw wonk yllautca t'nod uoy nevig ,tsenoh eb ot truh t'now ti sseug I” Blot only shrugged, but he continued to speak- and you really did try to do your best to pick apart the noises but to no avail.

“...ekaf dna decrof oot s'ti ...hguoht ,won thgir no tog ev'uoy eno eht ton -elims ruoy gniees ekil I ...tub ,lla dna htuom on ,uoy gnissik ...pu dne yllautca d'I taht ton -uoy htiw ereh ni teg ot gnipoh saw I”

His eye wandered around the room as he spoke before finally settling back on your face- your awkward grin as you nodded along to what he was saying. A soft look broke over his limited features. 

“.sgnileef ym truh ot gniyrt ton er'uoy gniwonk teews s'ti tuB…”

“Yeah?” You finally spoke out after a few seconds.

“.haeY” 

“Yeah..” You repeated.

Mercifully, someone knocked on the other side of the door- the game was over. A sense of relief washed over you as you (almost too) eagerly pushed yourself off of the wall behind you. The joints in your ankles lightly popped, and you took a moment to crack the rest of the stiff joints in your body. 

“ ...yats ot woh no spit rof attaY ksa dluohs uoy ebyam ...netfo erom hcterts ylbaborp dluohs uoY” Blot’s eye twitched with each crackle and pop of your joints. 

“...rebmil…”

“I don’t know about you but I’m just about ready to get out of here, it’s too cold… maybe I should take a page out of your book and start wearing sweaters until it starts warming up again…” You mumbled mostly to yourself as you stepped to the door. 

Dandy greeted you on the other side, only glancing down at your dusty foot for a second before looking between you and the mime. 

“I guess I should have spent more time cleaning up the room before starting the game, huh?” He snickered as Blot followed after you. 

You only gave the flower a shrug. “I’m sure it’s not so bad… Tisha might blow a gasket though,” 

Blot let out a reversed string of what you could only assume were laughs. Honestly the noise sounded terrifying but you kept that thought to yourself as the three of you walked back to the party. 

Dandy returned to the center of it all to start the next game, leaving just you and Blot at the entrance. 

“..It was nice spending that time with you even if we didn’t do anything,” You hooked your thumb over your shoulder. “I think I’m going to try some of the cookies before Yatta eats them all-”

You tried to make a break for it before you could get sucked into another awkward one sided conversation. Blot at least let you go easily. 

Whatever warped words he said to you fell on deaf ears as you created distance between the two of you to go stew in the corner over the entire thing.

“......ynnuf”