#he doesn’t give a fuck about the cold anymore he is NEVER going to live in Kingslanding again

[catherine-sketches]

So… should I write the Aegon is a ward of the Starks!AU?

The one where Alicent and Otto just get fed up with 14 years old Aegon’s lack of responsibility, his disregard for duty, and his ever growing drunken behavior and his ogling of the maids and they go “you know what? The Starks are know for their iron clad honor and duty. Maybe they can shove some sense into his head.”

So off Aegon goes, to be raised in Winterfell far away from court drama and the expectations of the Greens. To learn about duty, honor and the value of keeping the pack together. Because the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.

And the plan works. The Aegon that comes back for his wedding to Haelena years later is a changed man. One that values his family and his duty to them above all else.

Unfortunately for Alicent and Otto, however, the plan kinda worked TOO WELL because now Aegon is all

“As the second child, it’s my duty to support my older sister in her endeavors. Rhaenyra shall be crowned Queen, and I will be the by her side when that happens. What do you mean I should support our family she is family what are you talking about, mother???”

And now they can’t even stop him as he goes to Dragonstone to swear himself to Rhaenyra without making a enemy of the Starks who pretty much imprinted on the boy and are the most ride or die supporters of Aegon’s whole “Fuck That Iron Chair I Don’t Want It” campaign

[ellecdc]

Can i request something bit angsty? 🥺 its totally fine if you dont wanna write it tho!

I was thinking, wolfstar x reader got into an argument and reader started to occlude and the boys got scared they might be out of line bcs she only occlude when shes really hurting?

this is my SHIT - love me some hurt/comfort. thanks for requesting, lovie 🫶

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader

CW: hurt/comfort, arguing, mention of past family discourse, toxic family memories

“I’m sorry. You did what?” Sirius beseeched, walking into the living room from the kitchen and interrupting the points (arguments) you and Remus were each in the process of making. You gave him an unimpressed look, knowing he wasn’t actually asking you to repeat yourself, he just couldn’t believe what he had heard.

“She gave Mary-Ella over a grand.” Remus muttered bitterly.

“I did not give Mary-Ella money, I loaned her money.” You were quick to correct.

Sirius just scoffed. “Sure you did, dollface.” He sneered, making his usual pet-name burn to the touch. “You are never going to see that money again.”

“What were you thinking?” Remus implored.

“I was thinking that my friend was in a bind and needed help. I hardly think that’s a crime.” 

“You didn’t just loan a little bit of money, though. You loaned a lot of money to a friend who is not reliable in the slightest.” Remus asserted.

“We have been working so hard trying to save up to move. To move closer to Diagon Alley so that Remus can be closer to work, and we can finally get out of my uncles flat.” Sirius added.

“I know we’ve been working hard, Sirius. I know this because I too have been working hard. But I’m not going to watch my friend struggle when there’s something I could do to help!”

“This choice impacted all of us. You had no right to make this decision on your own.”

It was your turn to scoff as you turned to glare at Remus incredulously. You had been trying to stay patient, knowing that this close to the moon, Remus was feeling extra sensitive. But him ganging-up on you with Sirius quickly found what little patience you had running thin. “I 'had no right' to make a decision about money that I made on my own?”

“You have no ground to stand on, buttercup. You’re now out more than a grand because of this choice; we’re all out more than a grand because of your choice.” Sirius growled, tone full of derision.

“If the roles were reversed, Mary-Ella would help me out!” You tried to reason, only for Remus to bark a laugh.

“That doesn’t even matter, dove. Because you’d never be in her position and likewise, she’d never be in yours. She’s irresponsible, unreliable, and a mooch.”

You tried to ignore the burning sensation in your sinuses as you spoke to the back of Remus’ head; he apparently had grown so disgusted with you that he couldn’t even look at you anymore. 

“I don’t like you talking about my friends like that. I don’t understand why we’re making such a big deal about this, I jus-” but you were cut off as Remus stood abruptly and turned on you. 

“We’re making this a big deal because it is a big deal!” he bellowed. “You leave this apartment in the morning and it’s like Sirius and I don’t exist anymore. You conduct yourself like some single woman with no responsibility to anyone else but herself.”

“You’re being selfish. You can’t possibly expect to drop a bomb on us like this and, what, expect us to just reply with ‘yes dear’? You fucked up, Y/N.” Sirius added, arms crossed defensively over his chest and cold silver eyes glared daggers that permeated your entire being. Remus carried on, unperturbed by the effects this conversation was having on you.

You felt like you were seventeen again, like you were eleven, nine, six. You felt like a babe whose hand had been slapped for reasons beyond your comprehension.

Do you ever stop and think about the consequences, Y/N?

You were sitting at the dining room table as your father lashed you with his words, each sentence punctuated with the slamming of his fists on the table. You were standing on the platform having just reunited with your parents after the school year as your mother’s claws dug into your arms, warning you that punishment was to come later if you didn’t smarten up. You were cowering in the backyard as your father screamed at you in front of the entire neighbourhood – a free show for all to enjoy. 

You think crying will earn you any sympathy here? You’re a manipulative little witch if you think that will work on me. Keep crying and I’ll give you something to cry about. 

You felt naked – like your figurative clothes had been violently ripped from your body – and there you stood, stripped bare for all to leer at. Standing before two people...who were meant to love you unconditionally...as they laced their words with venom and spat vitriol at you.

You couldn’t even hear the point Remus was trying to make anymore. It didn’t matter anyway.

He hated you. You were hated. You were a disappointment, a burden, unwanted.

But you couldn’t cry – could never cry. You’d just be manipulating them. You were deceitful. Emotions were deceitful. The way you felt was wrong. And they were right.

Always right. 

So, you did what you always did; you made it quiet. 

You began layering rows of stones around your being. Protection. Space. Distance. Safety.

They couldn’t hurt you from all the way in here, not from the other side of your wall. You’d be safe here. Here in the quiet.

It was safe in the quiet. 

Sirius felt disgraceful at how long it took him to notice the signs of you pulling away from the conversation. Away from them. Away from him.

Remus – always more sensitive than the two of you when it came to the likes of money, combined with feeling extra flustered with the upcoming full moon – had no reason to expect nor recognize signs of occlusion. 

Suddenly, Sirius was fourteen again. Walburga was standing over him with her wand aimed at his chest, but all he could see was Regulus. He had prayed at the time that his brother could hear him begging in his mind:

Turn it off, Reg. Just turn it off. It can’t hurt you if you turn it off. 

Sirius himself sat in an almost constant state of occlusion during his fifth year, knowing somewhere deep in his gut that the beginning of the end of his life as the heir of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black (or the end of his life in general) was near. 

Growing up wasn’t a whole lot easier for you, it seemed. And he knew that when things got to be too much, you did what you needed to do to protect yourself.

He suddenly hated himself. You weren’t supposed to need to protect yourself from him and Remus. It was their job to protect you; just like you always protected them. 

How you protected Remus from wasting away on the days leading up to and recovering from the full moon. You never let him go hungry or thirsty, you always made sure the space was clean and tidy, and you never let him fall into his typical pre- and post-moon self-loathing.

And you protected Sirius from himself; from saying things that he wouldn’t be able to take back, from being the worst version of himself, from losing you and Remus completely. 

He didn’t deserve you.

You didn’t deserve this.

For fuck’s sake all you had been doing was being kind.

Being a good friend, someone that others could rely on, protecting people who meant so much to you. 

All you were doing was being your kind, courteous, protective, generous self that Remus and Sirius had fallen in love with from the very start.

“Moony!” Sirius pleaded, causing the lycanthrope to pause in his tangent. You didn’t even flinch at the sudden change in the atmosphere as Remus looked at Sirius bewilderedly. 

“We’ve lost her.” Sirius murmured quietly, causing Remus to spin to observe you. 

“Well...” Remus began, still struggling to shake off his anger and the need to argue. “But I-”

“It’s enough, Remus.” Sirius hissed quietly, staring at Remus with a look he hoped conveyed no nonsense.

He apparently succeeded as Remus let out whatever breath he’d been holding as he turned again to face you.

“Dove, I’m sorry.” Remus whispered as he tried to move towards you, but you instinctively took a step back to maintain the distance between you; your arms wrapped around your middle protectively as if that was all that was holding you together. 

Sirius’ heart felt like it split in two – and based off of the look on Remus’ face, he wasn’t fairing any better.

“Y/N?” Sirius tried. You didn’t turn to look at him, but you hummed in quasi-acknowledgement.

“Can you look at me?” He tried quietly, but you shook your head no. 

Remus made a pained sound as he tried to move towards you again, ducking his head down in an attempt to make eye contact with you. You didn’t back away from him this time, but your arms tightened in their hold around your middle.

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry I...I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. I’m...I was out of line.”

“Come back?” Sirius pleaded. “Please.”

You took a deep breath and turned your face towards your boyfriends, but Sirius could tell your eyes were still foggy – you were still hiding.

“We won’t talk about it anymore. That conversation is done.” Sirius said.

“But-” you started, voice grating from the tightness in your throat, but he cut you off.

“The conversation is done. You did what you thought was right, you were being your kind lovely self, helping your friend when they needed you. We shouldn’t have yelled at you, sweets. I’m sorry.”

Remus made another pained sound and moved closer to you again.

“Dovey, I’m so sorry. Please, can I- would you like a hug?”

Sirius watched as you looked at Remus, seeming to weigh your options before you nodded once at him. Remus needn’t any more invitation and quickly (though gently) made for you, enveloping you in his arms. 

The three of you stayed like that – Remus with his arms around you, you with your arms around yourself and your face pushed into his chest, and Sirius standing helplessly at the side – before Sirius started to notice some tension leaving your shoulders.

“Why’d you go?” He asked you quietly, gently placing a hand in the middle of your shoulder blades and rubbing in a way he hoped was soothing.

“I didn’t want to cry.” You admitted into Remus’ chest, neither boy missing how tight your voice seemed to be, even as your voice barely raised above a whisper. 

“Oh, dolly. Just cry. Cry, okay? Make us feel like tossers, but don’t leave.” Sirius said.

“I didn’t want you to feel bad.” You muttered wetly, finally turning so Sirius could see your red and wet face. 

“But we deserved it. Oh, my love.” Remus cooed as he all but picked you up and locked your legs around his hips, forcing you to move your grip from around yourself to around him.

“I’m not s’posed to make you cry. I’m s’posed to make you smile.” He muttered pitifully, pressing his lips into your hair.

“And cum.” Sirius spoke in the same pitiful tone, brushing a strand of hair from your forehead.

You laughed wetly and the last of your occlusion appeared to slip away which was what Sirius had been aiming for. It didn’t make him feel all that much better though.

“Oh, my girl. I’m so sorry, Pads is right. You were just being your lovely self, and I’m a bastard.”

Sirius watched as your brows furrowed. “You’re not a bastard.”

“No,” Sirius agreed readily, “he was just being a bastard. Both of us were. Do you think you can forgive us?”

You nodded quickly but Remus tsked in response.

“Don’t let us off so easily, dovey. Make us pay for it. What do you need? Do you need a foot rub? You want cake? Ice cream? What about a kitten? You’ve always wanted a kitten.”

You had been shaking your head at everything Remus said until the last one, your curiosity obviously piqued.

Fuckin’ hells, Sirius thought, if she gets a kitten everytime one of us acts like an arse, we’re going to be overrun with cats by next month. 

[nakahras]

᯽ one more hour • chuuya nakahara

synopsis • you finally find out who chuuya is after months of him lying to you. unfortunately, for chuuya, you’re not the only one that figures out the identity of your boyfriend and that makes you a target.

warnings • intentional lowercase, angst, fem!reader, mild/medium language, verbal arguments, depictions of violence/gore, mentions of guns/knives, depictions of panic/anxiety attacks, hospital setting, mentions of injury/blood, chuuya’s an idiot

wc • 6.2k

a/n • i’ve been in the biggest writing funk. ofc this loser ginger was the one to drag me out of it wiriwiieiwieiqi

“how long did you plan on lying to me for? were you ever going to tell me the truth or were you going to hope i just never figured it out and let me live in complete ignorance?” you pace around the ginormous penthouse you find yourself in for the first time since your relationship with chuuya had started.

that was almost 7 months ago now. you can’t believe the amount of times you’ve almost said ‘i love you’ to the man standing a few feet away from you in just the last month alone. it’s comical, actually. chuuya isn’t even that person to you anymore, you don’t no longer even know who he is. you knew him as this above average guy that was an executive for some sort of multinational conglomerate. the adoptive son of the ceo. some form of a nepo-kid. that’s how you rationalized him being so successful at such a young age. 

you didn’t even know he had an ability.

you were delusional to think that this relationship was going so well because you had found the perfect guy. the perfect guy doesn’t lie to you about being a mafioso executive.

you stop pacing. you’re the most idiotic person on this planet. you can’t believe this is your reality.

“god, i cannot believe you hid something like this from me, chuuya. i cannot believe i fell for it.”

you have to give chuuya some credit. while you’ve been pacing and practically yelling at him he has annoyingly kept his composure with a straight face. unfortunately for him, that pissed you off even more. you turn to him finally and stare at the man in silence. his composure doesn’t budge. he gazes back but it’s as if he’s looking right through you. you don’t think you’ve ever seen him this emotionless before.

you’re desperate now, trying to rationalize your relationship even after finding out he isn’t who you thought he was. because, for better or for worse, even though you haven’t outwardly said the words to him you had, in fact, fallen in love with chuuya nakahara. 

you feel your stomach churn and waterline burn, you needed him to say something, anything. “are you just going to stand there like a fucking statue all night? or are you going to explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“how did you find out?” his voice is tight but unfeeling, expressionless and cold.

how frustrating of him. instead of answering your questions he asks one of his own. you shouldn’t give him the satisfaction he clearly wasn’t going to give you. you shouldn’t. but you have a bad habit of reacting before thinking about it fully.

“you attacked the armed detective agency at the hospital i work at? how do you think i found out, chuuya? you know how many times you’ve picked me up from there? just because i don’t work in that wing doesn’t mean my coworkers don’t know who you are. they sent me videos of what happened. i had to pretend that wasn’t you. i almost convinced myself of it.” your breathing is becoming erratic and uneven, only shallow and short breaths escaping you.

chuuya looks to the side as if he’s thinking something over then he looks back to you, gaze unchanged. “so other people know?”

“yeah, i’m sure not everyone believed me that it wasn’t you.” you let out a frustrated sigh, “why does that even matter? you should be focusing on the fact that i know.”

“it matters…” the ginger doesn’t give you any further explanation as he pulls out his phone and starts typing. 

you want to pull your hair out. he’s ignoring you almost — actually, you think him ignoring you would be less frustrating. he’s completely dismissing your concerns, questions and feelings on the matter. and now he’s texting someone?

that’s it. you were done with this conversation and you were done with him. maybe for good. you walk away to your belongings. chuuya clearly notices your movement and watches intently as you put your coat back on. 

panic finally settles deep within his chest and his voice cracks with desperation as he asks, “where are you going?”

you notice the change and look back at him from the elevator doors. his face is still expressionless, however, your eyes wander down to his gloved hands and take note of the way he’s gripping his phone just a bit too tightly. you shouldn’t, but you give him one last chance to explain himself, he just needs to give you anything to make you stay. it doesn’t need to be big, it could be the most vague explanation. just something enough that you can grasp onto.

“i’m leaving, unless you plan on answering any of my questions?” you look at him with wide and expectant eyes — they’re hopeful even.

chuuya just stands there, again. his bicolored eyes are filled with regret but he keeps his mouth shut. you let yourself sit in the silence that’s been created for a few moments. letting yourself get worked up. he was really willing to let you go, rather than just tell you what’s going on. 

you let out a shuddered and wet breath, tears welling up in your eyes and lips trembling. “i didn’t think so…”

with that you leave his apartment with a tight chest and damp cheeks.

that was 4 days ago and it has been radio silence on your end. chuuya tried calling you later that night but you didn’t answer. since then, there has been no further attempts on his end either. you weren’t sure if he was giving you space or still didn’t know how to answer your questions, but you think you’d prefer him blowing up your phone with no answers as opposed to nothing at all. you’ve been crying over a quart of ice cream all afternoon. you felt pathetic, sitting on the couch in pajama shorts and a hoodie of chuuya’s that you’re pretty sure was left behind on purpose. 

you lean over to set the now empty ice cream container down on the table of your kotatsu. a whine is heard from your lap and you look down to see your previously sleeping cat glaring up at you with an accusatory look in her eye. your movement had clearly disturbed her umpteenth nap of the day. you look at your little companion with an apologetic smile and pet her as an sorry for moving around so much. the torti is quick to be appeased as she starts purring loudly.

mochi, your cat, was the only thing that got you through this entire debacle. without her, you think you may have let yourself wither away into an empty shell. 

mochi’s ears perk up and suddenly she’s on high alert. the cat leaps off of you and investigates something in the kitchen. you hear her hiss and then a sort of bang. your brows furrow and you let out a sigh, thinking about how she probably just made a big mess in the kitchen as she scurries back in the room to hide underneath the kotatsu, bushy tailed and, oddly enough, growling. 

you shimmy yourself out from under the warmth of the kotatsu yourself and get up to investigate the mess you probably had to pick up. as you near the kitchen you feel a draft — funny, you distinctly remember closing the window in the kitchen. 

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽���᯽•᯽•᯽•

chuuya isn’t even pretending to listen to what’s happening in this meeting. he could feel the concerned gaze he’s getting from kouyou but his nerves are far too shot for him to even pretend to care. all he cares about is you. how you desperately wanted him to open up and be truthful, how betrayed you looked leaving his apartment with tears running down your face, how you wouldn’t answer his phone call that night and how you still hadn’t contacted him to make another attempt at getting him to explain.

chuuya would answer the phone in the middle of this meeting if you called at this very second. he had made up his mind when he finally came to his senses later that night. he always seemed to be one step behind when it came to relationships. being one step behind may be enough to ruin yet another relationship that he cherishes deeply.

the executive can’t comprehend what you’ve done to him. he’s felt on edge since the moment you left the penthouse. his fingers twitch in irritation, his skin crawls, his breath feels constricted. it’s like he’s coming down from a long lasting high. he was having withdrawals. he hasn’t felt this tense and unfocused since he tried to quit smoking a few years back when gin got on his ass about finishing a whole pack in one day.

actually, a cigarette sounded damn good right about now. mori would have a fit though, of course he’s always been a doctor to the core. so, the ginger falls back on tapping his foot incessantly and checking his phone obsessively. 

this meeting feels like it’s dragging, time moving in slow motion almost. it’s only been 30 minutes but to chuuya it feels like 30 hours. it’s agonizing to sit here when what he needs is a distraction. a mission where he can let out his frustration on some opposing force. he’s never been one to complain about meetings but it’s never too late to start.

the executive is ready to leave, literally 30 seconds away from standing up and walking out, but then something happens. one of kouyou’s subordinates urgently walks in and makes a beeline for her. an emergency, clearly, because everyone knows not to disturb an exec meeting otherwise.

kouyou’s eyes widen and flit to chuuya. this worried glance is different from her previous ones. it makes the ginger’s blood run cold and hairs stand on end. if he thought he was on edge before — that was nothing compared to this. 

kouyou wastes no time in reporting the issue as she shoos her subordinate away. “there was activity from one of our many opposing organizations. my people are working on pinpointing which one but… they broke into and vandalized several apartment buildings in the naka ward…” 

kouyou looks at chuuya again. her brows are furrowed in concern, it makes his stomach churn. why is she looking at him like that? what did she even say? chuuya wasn’t focused. he was on the verge of getting up to leave just two minutes ago. 

he was going to leave.

he needed a better distraction from his stewing thoughts of you. the longer he sat here the more time he spent thinking about how he should really just show up at your apartment door. surely, you wouldn’t turn him away if he was willing to finally explain things, right?

“they were all within a 2 kilometer radius of the yokohama city minato red cross hospital-“

mori interjects, “you mean the one you all took the liberty of storming while i was ill due to that cannibalism ability?” 

if chuuya wasn’t paying attention before, he is now. he thinks a knife to the eye would be better than this. physically: the executive is composed and stoned faced — but internally? chuuya is sinking in his seat wishing he would simply disappear. they’re all used to mori’s snide comments, his tongue always being quick and made of silver. sometimes, like today, his comments hit a little harder. 

so, even though they all try to stay composed, chuuya doesn’t miss the way kouyou flinches and once again her eyes flit over to him. 

“yes, mori-san, the same hospital…” the woman sounds almost pained as she talks, her internal panic slowly seeping out through the cracks. “most civilians were unharmed… but there were a couple women who were targeted and are now in critical condition at the same hospital. one of them was pronounced dead by the time she got to the hospital.”

mori hums, eyes cutting over to chuuya. “interesting. chuuya, don’t you have a little friend that lives in the same area?”

there it was. the reason kouyou was so concerned and fidgety. chuuya’s heart sinks and stomach drops to his feet. everything unfocuses, his vision going blurry and swirling. the ginger visibly turns pale and his blood runs cold. his whole body twitches, the need to get up and leave far too strong.

chuuya feels physically ill. how had he not thought of you the second kouyou said what ward it was? he was so busy thinking about himself and wallowing in self pity that he didn’t even think to second guess the information he was being fed. kouyou’s glances tell him it was bad too, or worse, she had no information on your status. 

this was chuuya’s fault. he has this sinking feeling that you were the target. he should’ve known you weren’t safe when you told him people at your work had connected who he was. he should have been more insistent on talking things out. he should have had you come over to his and stay over until he knew you were safe. hell, he should have at the very least set up a detail in your neighborhood.

this was all his fault. 

chuuya abruptly stands up, hands slamming on the table. “i should check on the situation. may i be dismissed, boss?”

“i don’t see why you shouldn’t. report back when you’ve got a handle on…the matter.” mori raises his eyebrows, not bothering to hide his obvious amusement at the executive’s reaction.

chuuya doesn’t notice, he doesn’t even give any of them a second glance as he practically flies out of the room to find the nearest exit to this god forsaken building. he finds an open window and easily hurls himself out of it, using his ability to hurdle himself through the sky. chuuya didn’t even think twice about, maybe, taking a vehicle. his mind was far too muddled to even register what he was doing.

this was all his fault.

he wasn’t looking for practicality right now anyway, he was looking at what would get him there the fastest.

“there” being your apartment. he didn’t want to assume you were attacked. maybe it’s just wishful thinking on his part. chuuya makes it to the average looking building in record time — which he’d boast about in any other situation, but now was not the time.

the gravity manipulator is about to circle your apartment to get to the front but notices something odd. the window at the side of your kitchen was wide open. you never did that, you only left it cracked open when you were cooking. chuuya enters your apartment the same way he left the port mafia building: through a window. 

what he sees next confirms his deepest fears. he’s had actual nightmares about this — or at least he thinks he has, having never actually been able to dream. but he’s woken up in cold sweats, throat raw from screaming, and a pit in his stomach with you on his mind. this was more like a waking nightmare, he imagines this is what the ones he can’t recall are filled with. 

there’s blood on the floor and also splattered across the walls and kitchen utilities. broken kitchenware is scattered across the wooden slats, your oven and fridge are out of place too. an obvious sign of a struggle. you clearly fought back. of course you fought back. chuuya had tried to teach you some self defense but with further observation he had learned that you grew up taking mixed martial arts classes. something about letting out your bad temper in a healthy way.

all the fighting skills in the world couldn’t save you from a bullet though. there was one lodged in your fridge and wall. as chuuya nears the other side of your kitchen he notices the front door is also wide open, two holes in it indicating more shots were set off. 

then chuuya sees it. his stomach churns violently, so much so that he almost doubles over and retches at the sight. a trail of blood that ends at the front of your apartment and then…

a bloody handprint.

your bloody handprint.

chuuya would recognize it anywhere. he’s memorized every detail of your hands from the size down to the swirls in your fingerprints. you had to have dragged yourself out of your home for help. 

chuuya is glued in place. he feels like his whole world is crumbling around him. the edges of his vision going white as the color falls from his grasp. his ears are ringing, the white noise becoming louder as his mind runs wild. 

you weren’t here.

there was so much blood.

the smell of iron stuck to his nostrils.

where were you?

did someone take you to the hospital?

the hospital.

one of the women that was brought there was pronounced dead. even if that wasn’t you… all of the other women were in critical condition. he couldn’t imagine you being okay after seeing the scene laid out before him. 

chuuya was going to be sick. a wave of nausea crashes over him. he feels the bile clawing up his throat. he scrambles over to your kitchen sink, almost slipping on your blood. he doesn’t let anything out at first, just gags and dry heaves. then his eyes sting and what little contents he had sitting in his stomach are released. this time he really does vomit. 

the executive's breathing is shallow and labored. he looks down to where his hands are gripping the sink and realizes they’re now covered in your blood. he holds them up and his breathing quickens. his stomach churns and he shoves his gloves off. stumbling back as he stares at his trembling hands. it was too much. this was different from all of the gore and violence that comes with being in the port mafia. 

it was you, you were in danger and he wasn’t there. he couldn’t help you. he should have been there to help you. he should have kept you safe.

the only thing that brought chuuya back to reality was a high pitched mewl that came from further inside your apartment. chuuya would recognize that little noise anywhere. mochi. he whips around to find the small feline peeking out from under your kotatsu. the orange glow indicating that it was still on. chuuya lets out a sort of wet and shaky breath. 

the ginger gently approaches the clearly spooked creature. he’s never been particularly fond of cats but for some reason yours took a liking to him and he couldn’t help but fall head over heels for the torti. much like he couldn’t help the way he fell for her mother. chuuya reaches out a finger and mochi hesitantly sniffs it. her eyes light up at the gravity manipulator’s familiar scent and nudges his finger with her nose. 

after getting the clear go ahead from the cat, chuuya leans in and picks her up. the torti nuzzles into him and she was still shaking — or maybe that was chuuya. he reaches down and turns the flammable item off before straightening himself and greet the small feline.

“hey, sweet girl, you scared for your mama too?” chuuya’s voice cracks and he knows he needs to get to the hospital but he feels a little guilty just leaving mochi here in this disaster of an apartment.

chuuya sighs and let’s the torti down. he pulls out his phone and sends out a quick message to kouyou, asking her to send a cleaning crew and to pick up the small creature and take her back to the gravity manipulator’s place. her response is sent mere moments after his own. he doesn’t bother responding. 

the ginger strides over to the front door. he makes sure to close it behind him so mochi doesn’t get out then makes a beeline for the hospital.

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

”i’m sorry, sir, i pulled up her chart but you aren’t on her contacts list. unfortunately i’m unable to give you any further information.” the patient services rep behind the counter holds firm on her statement by giving the man a tight lipped smile.

chuuya’s bicolored eyes narrow in frustration. he knows, he knows, that the lady is just doing her job but she’s doing it so infuriatingly well. he’s desperate to know your status and his sanity is slowly losing its grip on him, he’s slipping away with each obstacle. as if answering a silent plea, a tap on his shoulder catches his attention.

the executive swivels around and is met with the sweet old lady that lives next door to you. she was always checking in with you. making sure you had enough to eat and were getting enough rest. you once compared her to your own mother, who is no longer with you but even when she was it was nothing like what the older woman does for you. when you introduced the woman to your boyfriend she was awfully judgemental of him at first, she was making sure he was good enough for you. he didn’t think so but apparently your neighbor thought otherwise, seeing something in him he didn’t see himself.

her usual smile is replaced with a furrowed brow and downturned lips. she was frowning at chuuya, something akin to scolding. the ginger felt oddly accosted by the woman standing before him. she’s never looked at him with so much contempt before.

she folds her arms across her chest and she lets out a huff, “what are you doing here, boy?”

chuuya flinches at her tone like she had just physically slapped him in the face. the ability user quickly recovers though, realizing if she was here that would mean…

you had to be here and you had to be alive, if not your neighbor wouldn’t be standing here in front of him scolding him. no, instead her face would be filled with grief. this was a good thing. 

you were still alive.

“where is she? i need to see her.” chuuya lets out a breath he’s been subconsciously holding in. 

the old lady bristles at his blatant disregard for her own question. “and why should i tell you? y’know, she’s been miserable the last few days because of you? she wouldn’t tell me you were the reason but i could just tell. what did you do to her? is this all your fault?”

chuuya actually takes a step back at her words. he felt like the woman had just punched him in the gut. the older lady packs quite the punch for how small she is, not even standing at 5 feet tall. she’s right, of course, this was all chuuya’s fault. 

it was all his fault.

”i didn’t mean to… she was supposed to be safe. i didn’t tell her anything to keep her safe.” he was rambling now, desperation seeping into his voice. “i just need to see her. please, please, ma’am, you have to tell me.”

the old lady falters, her scowl dropping and a pang of pity spreads across her chest. it doesn’t last long though. the implication of chuuya’s response, meaning he did have something to do with the fact you were in emergency surgery and would be in there for a few more hours.

you’d been rushed to the hospital. thanks to your neighbors, you assailants were scared off by the ambulance and police they called. after the first gunshot went off they were quick to make the call. 

you were brought in with a plethora of injuries. blunt force trauma to the head, 3 gunshot wounds (2 of which were still lodged inside of you), and several lacerations littering your entire body. all of which resulted in severe blood loss and unfortunately for you, since you weren’t the only one to sustain these kinds of injuries, the hospital was on a low supply of blood by the time you came in. 

the old woman is winding up to scold chuuya some more but she’s interrupted by a nurse walking up to her. the woman in scrubs looks exhausted, she must have been in the operating room with you. the nurse also looked worried, she must be a close coworker. 

“nakamura-sama? the surgeon wanted to give you an update…” the nurse’s eyes trail over to chuuya and her demeanor goes from concern to nervous, she nods at chuuya quickly, “please excuse us… nakahara-san…”

oh. she knew who he was. had she been one of your coworkers that he knew? chuuya’s guilt grows as he thinks he should remember who this woman is. this was all so frustrating. no one would tell him anything even if they knew who he was. the executive desperately wants to argue, to stand his ground and find out what was going on.

something occurs to him in that very moment. is this how you felt that day? when chuuya wouldn’t budge, wouldn’t tell you anything. shutting himself off. this was some sick and twisted karma. the universe was laughing in the ginger’s face and he only has himself to blame for it. 

a man’s voice speaks up, “the boy can stay. now why don’t you tell my wife and i how our dear granddaughter is doing?”

the nurse hesitates, looking to the older woman for guidance. mrs. nakamura squints at her husband for an uncomfortably long moment. however, the older man doesn’t seem bothered at all, he must be used to this type of scrutinizing glare from his wife. if chuuya wasn’t so distracted by your status he would be able to acknowledge that he wants that. he wants a future with you and he may be willing to give anything up for that.

mrs. nakamura clicks her tongue. “fine. the boy can stay.”

the nurse eyes chuuya for another moment before explaining your situation. she explains the injuries you sustained. that you’re still in surgery and probably would be for at least a couple more hours. you were doing surprisingly well, a fighter. of course you are. a warmth pools in the ginger’s chest. it was pride. 

“we have hit a small road block. due to the multiple victims being brought in… the blood supply is in the reserves. we have contacted other hospitals in the area and they’ve agreed to deliver us their extra supply. but it’s a process and it may take hours to receive any of it. do any of you know if you’re a match or a universal donor?” the nurse looks at the 3 of them hopefully, her gaze drifting to chuuya more than the other two.

chuuya freezes. he knows that he has type b blood, that’s not the problem. the problem is that he has no idea what your blood type is. he should know that, right? he’s sure you know his, sure you’re in the medical field but it’s common to know your partner's blood type. he should know this. 

he should know this. 

hanged, drawn and quartered. maybe a firing squad or even the guillotine. chuuya lists the ways he thinks he should be executed in his head. he’s had his head so far up his ass with trying to keep you in the dark about who he is that he hasn't even learned the most basic things about you. does he even know your favorite color? your favorite meal? your favorite song? 

this was the most criminal act he’s ever committed and that’s saying something considering the horrific things he’s done for the port mafia. this was bad. unforgivable even. this was all his fault and he couldn’t even tell the damn nurse if he was a match for you or not. 

what the fuck.

what the fuck?

what the fuck was wrong with him?

what does he even say? how does he tell the nurse and the old couple standing next to him that he has no idea if he’s a match for you? he supposes he can play it off. plainly state what his blood type is and leave it to the nurse to figure it out. maybe that could work. it would have to, he doesn’t have another choice. 

but before chuuya can even open his mouth the older man speaks up first. “i'm a universal donor, young lady. you can take some of my blood, i can’t possibly be using it all, i’m sure i have some to spare.”

the older man tries to lighten the situation as he chuckles at his own joke. his wife isn’t amused and even whacks him on his bicep with the back of her hand while clicking her tongue again. the nurse let’s out an uncomfortable laugh and looks to chuuya one last time. of course she would want to take a donation from a healthy young man. 

chuuya shakes his head and hopes to god he’s right when he says, “no, i’m- i’m not a match.”

”i see. mr. and mrs. nakamura, follow me please.”

᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•᯽•

your head feels light, like a morning fog had somehow managed to roll in and settle in your mind. everything was so numb and heavy, your entire body felt like lead. you wanted to keep sleeping. you wanted this annoying light behind your eyelids to go away. who the hell left the lights on?

did chuuya forget to turn them off again? why were they so bright? these weren’t your lights at home, they couldn’t be.

where were you? 

why did you feel like you got hit by a bus?

most importantly, where was chuuya?

…chuuya…

oh. 

you remember now. chuuya was an ass. he told you a sugar coated version of his truth. twisted who he was to fit your ideals even though you had never asked that of him. then he ignored you, refused to tell your anything and left you to the solitary confines of your apartment. and then…

your eyes fly open and you gasp for air. you were assaulted in your own home. someone had broken in and attacked you. they had guns and knives. you were shot. 

where were you?

did they take you? no, they were trying to kill you. you’re sure of that. if it hadn’t been for the sirens that scared them away, you’re sure they would have finished you off.

mochi. your poor mochi. she must have been terrified. oh god, they wouldn’t have…she hid right? she was safely under the kotatsu. she had to be unharmed physically. she had to be. you couldn’t be here right now, wherever you were. you had to get home and make sure she was okay.

distantly you hear this annoyingly incessant beeping and… someone's voice? what is it saying? are they speaking to you? your name. they’re calling for you but- 

who is it?

no. it wasn’t anything intelligible, it was screaming. it was your screaming. you were screaming. why were you screaming? 

a wave of fatigue crashes down on you, drowning you in darkness as you sink back into the depths of slumber.

the next time you wake up, you’re less confused. whatever anesthesia you were previously under obviously had worn off by now. the fog was certainly lifted and you were thinking much clearly now.

you haven’t opened your eyes yet but just by hearing the beeps coming from the monitors next to your bedside, you could piece together you are in the hospital and therefore you are safe. more importantly you’re alive. you try to bring your hand up to rub at your eyes but there’s a weight holding it down.

your brows furrow at the restriction. you stir only slightly, any movement you made right now was agonizing. you let out a grunt as a shooting pain courses through the entirety of your body. this wasn’t good, something like this was going to take a lot of time and physical therapy to recover from. 

how frustrating-

“are you awake?” his voice is gruff, filled with exhaustion but it was clear who was speaking to you.

you could pick out his voice from millions others. even worse, his voice never fails to soothe your soul. instantly your body relaxes from whatever tension it’s been managing to hold onto. traitor. you’re supposed to be upset with him. you should yell at him, kick him out. 

but… he stayed. he was here, he found you and stayed. how unfair. you’re tired, too tired to deny yourself the comfort he brings you. because despite everything, it’s still him. 

you think it will always be him.

so instead of crying or yelling or getting upset you simply give in. “yeah. i’m awake.”

you open your eyes, finally, to look at him. he looks like shit, it would be funny under any other circumstance. his hair is a mess, clearly he had been tug at it, nervously running his fingers through it. his usual under eye bag had bags. the dark circles a stark contrast against his porcelain complexion. 

if it weren’t for the fact that you were the one in the hospital bead, you’d think you two were here for him. after you examine him you look at his expression. it’s grim, he looks truly pathetic. you can only describe it as being akin to a wounded puppy. 

you let out a sigh but before you can even get another word out, he’s speaking. “i should have told you. i wasn’t thinking about you- i know i wasn’t but i convinced myself i was. i convinced myself that i was keeping you safe by not telling you but- i was a damn fool for that. this is all my-“

”chuuya, shut up.” this was so painful, you didn’t want to hear any of this. 

you are tired. you just want him to be there for you. you want him to comfort you. you just want your boyfriend. at this point you couldn’t care less about the bullshit he kept from you. at the end of the day it was his character you’ve fallen in love with and that was more than enough for you.

chuuya looks at you stunned. his words catch in his throat and he thinks he might actually cry. it’s been a while since he’s had the urge to cry like this. was this it? he almost lost you to death. now he was going to lose you in another way and he only had himself to blame. 

the ginger can’t even blame you for your decision. 

after all, this was all his fault.

“i don’t give a shit about who you are. tell me. don’t tell me. whatever. you found me and you’re here now. i just need you to be here. i-“ you choke on your words, you hadn’t realized but you’d started crying and it hurt. “i love you. i need you to not blame yourself for this because you need to be here for me and show me you can do this. please show me you can do this, i wont ask for anything-“

you can’t finish your thought. your lungs are constricted as you're held in his vice grip. you missed him. god, you missed him so much. his embrace is home. he’s your home and that’s terrifying. despite what you said you still have so much to learn about him. chuuya scares you but only because you feel so incredibly safe with him. 

you’ve never had that before and something tells you he’s never had that either. 

“i’m here. hell and back, i will always be here for you.” it wasn’t a direct admission but you don’t question it. this is the closest you’ll come to a declaration of love from chuuya for now and you’re okay with that. truthfully, you didn’t expect him to say anything.

you try your best to return the hold chuuya has on you. you get an arm around him loosely and rest your forehead on his shoulder. you’re still crying, like a baby. it would be embarrassing if it was anyone else. his hand is holding your head gingerly. it’s comforting and you manage to calm yourself down. you pull back, still sniffling but eyes no longer producing tears. 

your eyebrows furrow, something pressing returning to the forefront of your mind. “did you stop by my apartment? has anyone checked on mochi? is she okay?”

chuuya finally smiles for the first time in what feels like days — it might have actually been days since he last did. he pulls out his phone and produces a picture of the torti that kouyou had sent him. he hands the phone to you and you smile fondly as you let out a small puff of air, relief spreading throughout your chest.

“i asked kouyou to bring her to my apartment for the time being. i think she’s taken a liking to it.” 

you look at the picture then back up at chuuya, entirely unamused. “have you seen your apartment. i could fit like five of mine in it? of course she likes it there.”

something warm spreads across chuuya’s entire being. this scene is oddly familiar. reminiscent of the older couple from earlier. this was pure happiness, this is what it felt like. 

chuuya was going to make sure to cherish it deeply and keep it safe at all costs.

[ataliagold]

I Want Ours To Be An Endless Song

For @astrangersummer week 12 prompt 'not-date.' Title from Love Like Ghosts by Lord Huron.

Pairing: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson

Rating: T

W/C: 1245

Tags: Post Series 4, Everyone Lives, Eddie's in love with Steve, Steve loves him back but Eddie's a bit oblivious, fluff, first date, summer, picnic, first kiss, getting together

Summary: Eddie's been trying for months to keep his feelings for Steve in check. But unbeknownst to Eddie, Steve's taken him on a date.

___

It’s not a date, Eddie reminds himself for about the hundredth time that afternoon.

It’s just that the others must’ve cancelled, he figures. Robin and Nancy, because they definitely would’ve been asked too, maybe even Jonathan and Argyle, but it’s summer, people have other plans, the others just…must not have been available.

He tells himself this firmly as he follows Steve on the little path through the woods to the edge of Lover’s Lake.

As Steve sets up the picnic blanket, Eddie repeats it to himself again. And while he puts the little basket down, while he pulls out baked goods and small sandwiches with the crusts cut off Eddie chews on his bottom lip and digs his nails into his palms because Steve’s so fucking perfect and Eddie would love more than anything for the two of them to be something more, for this picnic to be something other than just an outing of friends…

But Steve isn’t his, and this is not a date.

“Want a beer?” Steve asks, blinking up at Eddie.

“Uh…yeah,” Eddie wills himself to speak, to unfreeze, to act fucking normal.

He lowers himself onto the blanket next to Steve, looks out across the lake. It’s a hot day, barely a breeze to shift the muggy air around, and the lake is still and clear as glass. Eddie sneaks glances at Steve as he rifles around in the basket for the beers he’d stashed there earlier. Steve’s in a tank top and stupidly short shorts, and he’s all golden skin kissed with moles and cheeks slightly reddened from long days spent in the sun and Eddie wants to reach out and touch…

He swallows thickly instead. Takes the beer Steve’s holding out to him, sips at it, then again to give his mouth something to do so he doesn’t say something stupid…

“S’nice here, huh?” Steve comments, taking the lid off one of his containers and offering it to Eddie.

Eddie reaches in, pulls out a cookie, no doubt carefully baked by Steve the day before.

Why did he have to be so perfect?

“Yeah,” Eddie agrees, clearing his throat. He flaps a hand towards the water. “Certainly nicer than when we were last here.”

Steve chuckles lightly, nods. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to – they all know they’re remembering that time in the dark, in the cold; slimy tentacles and black depths and a gaping gate to hell.

They’ve come to the opposite side of the lake today, Eddie notices. As far away from…that spot as they can be. And everything looks different from this angle, like if he squinted they could be somewhere else entirely.

That had no doubt been intentional on Steve’s part, he supposes.

They eat in silence for a short time, until Eddie can’t bear it anymore – he never was very good at keeping his mouth shut.

“A shame Buckley and the others couldn’t make it,” he says through a mouthful of bread.

Steve frowns, a flicker of confusion passing over his face. “Huh?”

“Buckley,” Eddie repeats, swallowing before he was quite ready to, wincing as the food hurt his throat going down. “And Nance, Jonathan and Argyle…were they busy or something? They would’ve liked this.”

Steve’s frown deepens. “I dunno, I didn’t…I didn’t ask them.”

What?

Eddie falters. Stutters around his sentence a bit. “You didn’t? I – I just…well, I thought…you and Robin do everything together and Nancy often tags along with her now and so I just figured you would’ve asked them at least, too.”

Steve’s brow unknits. He puts down his beer, turns to Eddie, sunlight dancing in his eyes.

Eddie’s heart thumps at the sight.

“Eds…I wanted to come here with you. Just you.”

“Why?” Eddie refuses to admit the way that word came out as a squeak.

Steve tilts his head, a small smile playing across his lips. “You don’t know?”

No, Eddie very much doesn’t, because he’s been refusing to let himself believe even for a moment that Steve is remotely interested in him for anything other than friendship because he’ll be let down, he’ll be so fucking disappointed when it turns out not to be true. So he’s been strict with himself, he’s told himself over and over that Steve doesn’t like him like that, has ignored the lingering looks from the other man and the soft touches to the back of his hand, to his shoulder, because Steve’s a touchy sort of guy, they don’t mean anything.

Eddie’s not in love with Steve Harrington, he’s told himself every single damn day for months now.

The truth is, he’d fallen ass over tit in love with the former King that fateful night in Reefer Rick’s boatshed.

“Eddie,” Steve continues softly, reaching cautiously for his hand, taking it gently.

Eddie lets him. Thinks he’d let this man do anything.

“I…I like you. All this -” Steve gestures around them, to the lake, to the picnic blanket, to the food he’d prepared, “ – you know this is…a date, right?”

Oh.

Oh.

“This is me trying to…woo you, or whatever, maybe it sounds stupid but I’ve only ever done this with girls and they always liked this sort of thing so I thought…well. Sorry. If it’s stupid. Or…” Steve waves a hand, drops his chin to his chest, cheeks flushed with something more than just the sun now. “We can go somewhere else, if you want. Or home. If you want to go home. I could drive you back -”

“No,” Eddie interrupts, perhaps a little too zealously because Steve snaps his mouth shut. “I didn’t…I didn’t know this was a date.”

Amusement dances across Steve’s face. “You didn’t think the picnic with just the two of us at Lover’s Lake of all places was a date?”

Eddie sniffs, because when it was put like that…

Steve laughs, shuffles closer to him. “Sorry, Eds. Maybe I should’ve just told you. I was nervous, ok?”

“You? Nervous? Because of a date?” Eddie splutters. “You’ve been on so many, you could like…tutor people on dating, and shit.” And that was…a little lame, but Eddie’s reeling here.

“But this is you,” Steve says quietly, and it’s so sincere that Eddie goes still, looks down at their joined hands. “It matters.”

Eddie breathes out. Looks up again, meets Steve’s eyes and goes warm all over because Steve’s gazing at him like he hung the moon or something.

He’d try, if Steve asked him to.

He let Steve bring a hand to his cheek. Let him guide him forward, until their noses brushed, until their lips pressed together, and then Eddie Munson was kissing Steve Harrington and stranger things had happened - the two of them were all too fucking aware of that, they were sitting on top of a nightmare realm for fuck’s sake.

But somehow the Upside Down had been easier for Eddie to wrap his head around than this.

Steve kisses him. Gently, with his hand tangled in Eddie’s curls, and Eddie thinks he could die here, on the shore of the lake that really had nearly killed them.

But then Steve’s pulling back a little, and Eddie remembers how to breathe, and he’s very much not dead, he’s alive and Steve’s smiling at him and Eddie feels like the luckiest man alive.

“You do that on every date, Stevie?” Eddie quips, but he’s panting a little, Steve having stolen the air from his lungs.

Steve grins. “Only the best ones.”

___

[daengtokki]

Warm

Kim Seungmin/Female Reader

wc: 2.5k

rating: fluff/explicit/18+ (contains oral sex) ಇ

contains: domestic idol!Seungmin — oneshot written as a continuation of Blind Date! ૮ฅ・ﻌ・აฅ

✩彡

The room is cold. The two blankets you have tucked up over your head aren’t doing very much at all. You could get out of bed and turn the thermostat up, but that would require leaving this nest that you worked so hard to warm up.

-

It can’t possibly be morning though, so why are you awake? It feels like night still. It feels dark and cold and very very quiet.

You run your hand across the chilly sheet and feel for a body. Seungmin’s body. He’s not there. Why wouldn’t he be there? Now you’re forced to peek out and investigate. The room is pitch black, curtain closed tight, tv turned off (you distinctly remember falling asleep with it still on).

But the door is cracked, just a little bit. The faintest glow is coming through, and you can tell right away that it’s coming from the kitchen, possibly the living room.

You yell out his name, but it comes out like a feeble, sleepy groan. Shit, I’ll have to get up.

You try yelling again. This time it echoes through the room, but you’re not sure it made it through the crack in the door and into the kitchen. He doesn’t answer.

Slowly you sit up, keeping one of the blankets wrapped tight around your shoulders and chest. You swing your legs up and over the side of the bed and search the floor for a pair of slippers. None.

The bedroom is carpeted, but nothing else in the house is. Touching your feet down here is no big deal, so you tiptoe to the dresser and pull out a pair of his socks. It takes some work to get into them, seeing as how your joints are frozen, but you manage.

Now to find Seungmin. He doesn’t mind the cold as much as you do, but he can’t be enjoying this.

The floor creaks as you cross the hallway. It’s definitely one of the kitchen light glowing, but the living room is lit up now as well. He’s standing by the kitchen sink, electric kettle in one hand, the other stuffed into his hoodie pocket.

“Minnie!”

He jumps, spilling water hot water onto the counter. “Fuck!”

“Sorry.” You shuffle closer to him, “I yelled for you, twice.”

“Why are you being so sneaky?!”

“I yelled for you!” You whisper it this time. “Why is it so cold? Why are you up?”

“The heat won’t kick on.” He finished pouring hot water into his mug. “And I woke up…couldn’t get back to sleep. Do you want some?”

You look into the mug as he stirs his hot chocolate, “yes please…you know, this never happened at my old apartment.”

“Your old apartment was always a thousand degrees.

“Yeah, that’s true.”

He gets into the cupboard again and pulls out your mug. “Pick one.” He gives you two different hot chocolate options. You choose the mocha one.

“My body knew you weren’t there.”

“That’s cute.”

“I know,” you walk up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist. He’s still pretty warm. “Are you coming back to bed?”

He mmhmm’s you and hands you your mug, “we will worry about the heat tomorrow, I guess.”

“Good.”

——

You set your mug on the bedside table and crawl back into your chilly pile of blankets. Seungmin finds the tv remote first and clicks it back on before doing the same. The glow in the room makes it feel a little warmer; the hot chocolate helps a little, too.

“Your legs are cold.” He pulls you a little closer when you wrap yourself around him. “Pants would probably help.”

“Yours are warm.”

“You’re gonna suck all of the warm out of me.”

“That’s usually the plan.” You bury your face against his side and relax. He yawns and pushes himself a little further under the covers. It’s comfortable. And it’s warm.

“Seungmin?”

He lets out a soft yeah. It’s almost a whisper, and it sends a little chill down your back. You almost forget what you were going to say.

“I’m not very tired anymore.”

“You just have to get warm again.” He rubs his hand in circles over your back, but that just wakes you up even more. “Close your eyes.”

Instead of closing your eyes, your fingers find the hem of his hoodie and make their way underneath. You can hear his reaction in your head before he even notices what you’re doing.

He flinches and you can feel his stomach flex under your cold palm, “no no no!” His sets his hand over yours on top of the fabric and kicks his feet, but you have him trapped. “You’re so mean.”

You pull your hand back out and push yourself up on the bed a little, just until you’re face to face with him. He’s smiling—you kiss around his mouth until he closes his lips for you. But you only peck them once before moving along his jaw and to his neck.

“Oh, you’re really not tired.”

“Are you? I can stop.” You climb on top of him anyway and work your way across his throat—at least where you can get to with his clothes still in the way.

“I’m good.”

You shove both hands under his hoodie and slowly move your palms up either side of him. His hips shift under you; stomach tightens, a little sound escapes his lips.

“Your hands are so cold,” he laughs and brings you in closer, pulling the blanket up over your shoulders at the same time. “Come here.”

You latch onto his mouth again and kiss hard until he relaxes into his mound of pillows. One of your hands move down from his ribs and along the outside of his waist and hip, kneading gently until you get a handful of thigh. He jumps a bit— he’s ticklish— but settles back immediately when you soften your touch.

He makes more room for you between his legs. You take the opportunity to slide your open palm to his inner thigh and underneath his shorts. Seungmin moans into your mouth when you touch him, and then giggles, “just take them off, please don’t tease me.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.” You can’t tease him the way he teases you, you’re too impatient for that. “I mean, I will…” you sit up on your knees and look at him. The blanket slips from your back and piles up behind you, “…take them off,” you finish your thought as you look down at his legs spread open in front of you.

He’s propped up on his elbows, looking down at himself, and then at you. You reach behind for the blanket and throw it over your head, and then disappear under it.

“So I don’t get to wa—” he stops abruptly and laughs. “Oh, be gentle please.”

“I always am,” your voice is muffled between him and the thick blanket. You pull gently at the waistband of his shorts until they come down just a bit, showing more soft skin. You place a kiss there and Seungmin flinches and you can see him hard and twitching beneath the fabric already.

“That’s teasing.”

You sush into his stomach and wrap your hand around him, still keeping his shorts on. He bucks his hips up again, this time much harder, so your hand slides smoothly over him. When he settles back on the bed, you pull down the fabric until the head of his cock peeks out. You put your lips on him and listen carefully for any little sound he might make.

He doesn’t disappoint. His groan comes out husky, and his stomach sucks in as he keeps himself steady. Your tongue slides up and over, and then down the length of him, getting him as wet as possible.

Just as you’re working him as far into your mouth as you can manage, you feel a cold burst of air. You don’t let it distract you, but as you slowly come back up, you sneak a look at him, and he’s smiling down at you. You can just make him out in the glow of the tv.

“That’s much better,” he says it in almost a whisper, “do it again.”

You don’t look at him, but you listen. His cock disappears completely in your mouth again. You hold him in as long as you can manage, and right before you slowly release him, you feel his hand brush the side of your face.

Now you lock eyes as you slide him out, making a mess of spit as you go. His mouth hangs open a little and one corner of his mouth twitches into a grin. You take him fully in your mouth once more before wrapping your fingers around him.

Seungmin lays back and sighs, enjoying the steady grip of your hand and the warmth of your mouth. You listen to the little hitches in his breath as you speed up—slow down—speed up a little more.

Suddenly his hand is on the back of your neck. You didn’t notice him sit up again. Now he’s looking down on you, gripping you tight but letting you keep your own pace.

You moan when he hits the back of your throat, and he holds you there.

“Do you like that?” He speaks softly, still kneading into your neck, but gently, and with just enough pressure to keep you there.

Another moan to answer him. Your eyes start to water, and you pull him in a little deeper even though you know you shouldn’t. You need to come up for air.

He senses it and softens his grip on you, runs his hand down your back until he can reach the hem of your sweatshirt, and pulls it up. The tips of his fingers tickle as he slowly moves them over your skin, and you have no choice but to release him. You put your hands to work so you can catch your breath.

“That’s good,” he wipes at your messy lower lip with his thumb and holds your gaze as you stroke him. His eyes flutter closed and he bites down on his lip to try and stifle a groan, but it comes out like a desperate mmm instead. He laughs at himself before looking down at you again.

“It must be,” you get up on your knees and pull him closer with your free hand so you can kiss him, but all you manage is a few bites at his lower lip. He grabs your hips and pushes you down hard on the blankets.

Just for a moment, you remember the coldness in the room, but Seungmin is on top of you before it matters. He kisses at your neck and pulls at the collar to get to more skin. His hands reach under your sweatshirt and fingers brush over hard nipples, but doesn’t attempt to pull it off of you. In fact, he pulls it back down over your stomach as he kisses further and further down.

“You’re still cold,” he laughs and hooks his fingers in the band of your underwear, slides then down your legs and discards them. Then his hoodie comes off— also thrown to the floor, before he leans forward and sucks at the skin on your inner thigh.

This he does for an achingly long time, because he’s much more patient than you, and so much of his pleasure comes from the wait. Even when you whine his name, he acts like he doesn’t hear—just keeps kissing and licking at his own pace.

Eventually though, he does give in. His hands slide roughly over your thighs and he pushes them even further apart. You feel his warm breath on you first, then his mouth. The contrast of the cold room and the heat of his tongue gives you goosebumps all over.

You know he’s holding himself back, but it’s still enough to get a whimper out of you. He moans back in response, and then the heat is gone. When you peek down at him, he’s looking back, mouth hovering inches above you.

“Minnie…”

“Yeeaaah?”

He goes back down and kisses your thigh again.

“Stop”

“I did”

“You’re a jerk”

“I know,” he closes his mouth over you and runs his tongue up until he hits your clit. His lips close around it and he licks gently until you push your hips into his face. You can feel his teeth graze lightly against you, and it makes you shudder.

You push into him again and reach down to run your fingers into his hair. He lets out a gravelly moan and you feel the vibration run through you, but he holds you down to keep you from moving.

Lips close tight around your clit again so he can suck. You can hear the little kissing noises he deliberately makes every time he releases you and latches back on again. It’s too much, and you feel yourself getting close to coming. You were already halfway there before he pushed you back onto the bed.

He stops again—makes his way back to your thighs—sits up again and looks at you, gives you his best cute, innocent smirk. It would be innocent, if it wasn’t for the wet mess all over his lips and chin. He dives back down and teases…uses the tip of his tongue to just barely touch you. It sends little sparks of pleasure through you, but it’s not enough. He knows that.

You tug his hair again. It gets his mouth moving. He licks and kisses, and you have to focus on not coming yet, because you want it to last so much longer. He adjusts himself for better leverage, and two fingers slide in easily, reaching and pushing at just the right spot. He presses and licks hard, like he’s trying to make his tongue and fingers meet.

Seungmin looks up at you, lips tight around your clit. You can’t hold it off anymore. It rises again, slowly. You’re warm all over, your thighs start to shake despite his grip on them. A smile lights up in his eyes when you buck your hips to his mouth. You let yourself cry out, a mix of fuck and oh god and Minnie fills the room.

He lightens his touch and flicks his tongue across you until your hips lift and you cry out again, loud enough to echo through the room. The release lasts longer than you expect, and he doesn’t slow down until your moans turn into steady, heavy breaths.

But when you settle, he keeps eating, unable to get enough. You reach for his hair and pull again, because now you’re too sensitive and his mouth is too much.

He stops, gives you a moment, then slides his tongue over you once more, just to see your body shake again.

“Minnie,” you breath out, this time a little more coherent. He’s kissing his way up your stomach, but you hear his little hmm? from under your sweatshirt. “Come here.”

You gently tug at him until he pops out and looks at you with sleepy eyes.

He plants a loud kiss under your jaw. “Yes?”

“I wasn’t finished with you.”

“No, that finished me,” he laughs into your ear and tucks his arms underneath you. “Now I’m tired.”

“And cold.”

Seungmin lifts and drops you down on the pillows before pulling the blankets up to his neck. He folds himself around you, pulls you tight against him, and places a kiss on top of your head.

[heartsforhavik]

possession (yandere bi-han/sub-zero x reader)

warnings: mentions of blood and murder, bi-han is possessive

summary: yandere bi-han takes care of your shitty ex boyfriend. reader is gender neutral.

a/n: i haven’t written a yandere character in sooo long. i chose bi-han just bc he’s easy to write as a yandere :3 anyways next one i write will be a yandere smoke x reader so stay tuned

bi-han was always possessive over you. the moment he laid eyes on you, he knew you were his. he carefully pretended to be your friend and then court you like a normal person, hiding his true colors.

he knew he would most likely scare you away if he showed his true colors too soon. he had to wait until he knew you’d never leave him. he had to be patient. but he couldn’t hold back anymore after he saw you crying.

“love.. why are you crying?” bi-han asked, gently holding you in his arms.

“it’s just..” you hesitated to tell him, knowing that he doesn’t know about your ex-boyfriend. you haven’t told him yet.

your boyfriend held you, waiting patiently for your answer, and getting ready to comfort you. if someone said something to make you cry, bi-han would rip out their spine and bring it to you. if it was anything else, he would just hold you for hours and not let go.

“my ex. i can’t stop thinking about all the shit he did to me.” you admitted, wiping your tears.

bi-han’s gaze turned cold. “your ex? who is he? what did he do to you?”

his grip on you tightened. he needed to know who it was. so he can teach the bastard a lesson.

he was also jealous of your ex. he got to hold you first, he got to kiss you first, and he got to call you his. but he fucked up by hurting you. bi-han will not let him live with those sins.

you told him all about your ex and what he did to you. you opened up to bi-han about all the trauma you endured because of your ex. and how he was the reason you were hesitant to get in another relationship.

bi-han struggled to stay calm. how dare he hurt you...

he had the audacity to hurt you? you’re so precious. so delicate, like a flower. you were so lucky to have bi-han as a boyfriend. he can protect you. he can hold you and keep you safe from harm.

“where is he?” bi-han asked, but it sounded more like a demand.

“i don’t know? he’s most likely at his house right now. why?” you questioned.

“give me his home location.” bi-han commanded.

you looked up at him in confusion. “huh?”

“don’t make me repeat myself.” bi-han sneered.

startled by his sudden anger, you blurted out your ex’s location. bi-han immediately got up and left to find the bastard and make him pay for what he did.

you couldn't sleep that night. bi-han left and still hadn't came back yet. did something happen to him?

you were worried sick, until you heard rustling and grunting outside. that had to be him, right? nobody else is awake at this time.

you walked outside, barely being able to see anything, but you saw your boyfriend slowly dragging something behind him.

"bi-han? what is that?" you whispered. your boyfriend stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice.

you took a closer look at what he was dragging. it was a dead body... but it was unrecognizable, almost as if it was beat to death. you assumed it was just some random guy the lin kuei killed, until you noticed the clothes. that dead body had your ex-boyfriend's clothes.

"by the gods.. did you kill-"

"he cannot hurt you anymore. he was a fool to put you through pain. i simply taught him a lesson. and now, you can live in peace. with me." bi-han interrupted, as he dropped the body and held you in his bloody arms.

you looked up at him, and he had a terrifying look in his eyes. this man enjoyed beating your ex to death.

"you know i will do anything for you," bi-han continued. "if i must get my hands dirty in your honor, then so be it. you need me, don’t you? without me, more people will target you and damage you. you're welcome, my flower."

he was trying to convince you not to leave him. how could you leave, when he just demonstrated what he is capable of when he is angry?

"i don't know about this, bi-han..." you whispered.

his eyebrows furrowed. "what do you mean? you know i can protect you, so why can't you trust me? if anything were to happen to you... i would tear the world apart. if you dare defy me, then i must teach you a lesson."

you panicked. you didn't want to end up like your ex. "no! i'm not defying you, love."

"good. it pleases me that you and i can live happily together now. nobody can hurt you while i am around. i will not let that happen." bi-han mumbled.

he meant every word he said. he will keep you safe from harm. he would never hurt you, so you must stay with him.

[fawnnpaws]

need childhood best friend!patrick to originally brush you off, not take what you have seriously and take you for granted. you’ve been friends for basically your entire lives. you spent summers at his mansion by the beach, he spent winters skiing in the alps with your family. somewhere in your young adulthood the lines started to blur. now you’re basically doing everything a girlfriend does but he won’t put a label on it. he’s on tour and you’re starting your career, so you only see him when he shows up unannounced at your door.

it would be easier if he didn’t tell you how much he missed you every time. if he didn’t eat you out like he’s starved for you and you alone. if he didn’t hold you in bed afterwards and wake you up with soft kisses all over your face. if he didn’t treat you like he loved you. a dirty word neither of you dare to ever say out loud.

because after all that, you know he’s seeing other people on tour. you know because the world is small and you’ll get texts from friends in far away places that say “i saw patrick leaving a club with some girl, are you guys not a thing anymore??” and you have no words to explain that you were technically never a thing in the first place.

you think you’re okay with it, that you can live with expecting nothing more than physical satisfaction from one another if it means patrick zweig is still in your orbit, but resentment starts to build. you start to fight more and eventually it all comes crashing down with him shouting “you’re not my fucking girlfriend! stop acting like you’re in love with me or something!” at you and watching in sort of horror as you go cold and just say, “okay.” and leave.

need him to agonize about it for weeks, waiting for you to break and talk to him first like you always do when you two fight. but it never comes. he’s left alone with a gaping hole in his chest that you used to fill. and what’s even worse? he’s left alone with nothing but himself to blame.

he can’t pin this on you. he didn’t realize how good you were to him, how much he’d miss talking with you and making you laugh, how much he relied on calling you and hearing your voice. not to mention, it feels like you’ve ruined pussy for him forever. he tries to fuck other people, but he can only get off if he’s thinking about you.

so, he caves. he has to, he’s fucking losing his mind without you. he practically bangs down your door with flowers in hand, wilted and abused from being shaken around while he ran to your apartment. you crack the door open an inch and he barges in, not letting you get a word in before he’s giving you a speech about how he fucked up and he wants— no needs to be with you. need you to take him back. he’s worked himself up to nearly hyperventilating by the end of it before you stop him and say, “patrick, i forgave you at the flowers, but it was really nice to hear you say all that.”

the thing is, you were seconds away from breaking when he showed up at your door. you’d never iced him out for that long and as much as you wished you had the strength to cut him off, you knew you never could.

you love him. and you tell him so. you let the words you’d been guarding since he kissed you for the first time when you were 18 spill from your lips. it feels different than you expected. every scenario you’d run in your head before this ended in him telling you he doesn’t feel the same way. but when you look at him now, with his rumpled flowers and tearful eyes, you know he does. and to your absolute delight, he tells you so.

[guiltyreverie]

Lollipops and cigarettes

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x reader

Content tags: established friends, slytherin!reader, no angst (i deserve a medal for this lmao)

Warning: mentions of drugs, suggestive content but no smut, just heavy foreplay

Prompt: "I know I signed up for this and all, but... if I die, it's still your fault and I will not hold back on blaming you." (source)

Summary: Mattheo thinks it‘s fun to explore the Forbidden Forest in the middle of the night

A/N: boy, the way I hop from one Riddle to another - i can fix him ykyk ok but these are shorter than other fics since theyre part of the prompt thingy I’m doing and I figured I should get started

Word count: 1.9k

You would kill him - you will kill him - if whatever is in here doesn’t kill you first and then you’ll kill yourself for letting him persuade you in the first place.

Mattheo disregarded many things, like his school work, attendance, relationships but you gotta leave it to him - he knew how to push your buttons and when he said he’d take Amara from the year below with him if you weren’t joining him, you snapped and agreed - looking at nothing but pitch blackness and the occasional rustle - that always scared the living shits out of you - you thought to yourself, he should’ve taken her.

You weren’t the type to get frightened easily but the eerie dread that filled you once you were so deep in you couldn’t even see Hogwarts anymore it was over and you almost jumped at every sound, your hand subconsciously reaching out for Mattheo only for him to give you the most shit-eating grin and tease your anxious behavior - Salazar knows why you like this idiot in the first place.

The unsteady path shaped by the trees seemed never ending and incredibly unnerving, even if you tried to see the end it was just pitch black.

“Come on, princess, ”, he pokes your side with his elbow and nudges his head forward, “who knows what’s waiting for us out there.”, he smirks and you scoff loudly and hit him, resulting in the leaves rustling in the trees and crows suddenly emerging with loud ‘craws’ and you almost shit yourself.

Subconsciously you hold on tighter to him to the point your chest touches his arm.

“I hate you, by Merlin’s beard, fuck you, Riddle.”, you whisper-shout into his ear; his head turns towards yours in a matter of a second, your face was already so close to his, your noses brushed together when he turned; you could feel his breath tingling on your lips.

Shivers ran down your spine - you were used to the tension that followed almost every interaction you had with Mattheo but this? This was on a different level - the both of you were alone in the woods, your body clinging to him and now you just had to move forward, not even two inches and you’d finally know how his lips taste - you bet like a mixture of lollipops and cigarettes.

He smirks and you could feel the ghost of his touch on your lips - you will breach the distance between you guys if he isn’t going to do it.

His hand reaches out for your hair and brushes a piece of it back behind your ear and you’re finally able to make out the shadows on his face, like his scar on his nose, or the scar on his right eyebrow, from the small light of the moonshine seeping through the branches of the tree and your breath hitches - he was smiling.

You knew you liked him and you knew how it felt to like someone but nothing could’ve prepared you for the way his smile accompanied by the soft glow of the moon on his face would make your insides explode; make you feel so warm - the former coldness of the forbidden forest long forgotten.

“Fuck me yourself, babe.”, he grins and the almost fairy tale-like illusion you just created in your head shattered - this is Mattheo fucking Riddle, by Salazar you still don’t know why you like him, of course he’d make a dirty jab at you.

You were about to roll your eyes and push him away but you had a better idea in your head; your hands reach for his jawline and you start to trace it, his small beard stubbles scratching your fingertips and you can see the way he gulps hard by his adams apple - his jaw clenched but a curious glint in his eyes - what are you doing? Your fingers start to trace the way down to his neck, followed by his collarbone towards his chest and abs until your fingers stop at his waistband; his eyes follow your touch in anticipation and curiosity but he hasn’t dared to utter a single word. You tug him closer towards you by his waistband and you reached up until your lips ghosted over his neck - right above the spot most girls would leave their hickeys on, you assumed it was his most sensitive spot; a few seconds later you make your way back to his ear, your lips graze his earlobe and you can hear his breath hitch and you smile: “Don’t mind if I do.”

He sucks in a deep breathe and gives you a warning glance: “Fuck, princess, unless you actually plan to follow up with that, don’t tease me like that.”

“Why not?”, you smile knowingly, Riddle might not be interested in romantic relationships but you knew the effect you could have on a man.

“I don’t think you want me to leave you alone right here because I have a hard business to take care of”, he glances down towards the dent on his crotch, your hand was still on his waistband and you let out a small giggle, “do you?”

“Let me take care of it, then?”, you give him your best doe eyes while your hands slowly pull on his waistband and you can almost see him come undone at the mere idea of you touching him - it made you feel powerful, hopeful and needy for him.

“Princess,”, his eyes darkened, he seemed to finally snap out of his trance and before you know it your back was pushed against a tree, Mattheo’s arms were wrapped around your waist and his forehead was leaning against yours, he was breathing heavily, as if he could barely contain himself - he looked at you like a starved prisoner, ready to finally devour you after he’s been denied for so long and god did it turn you on.

“Tell me off.”, he whispers against your lips, you start to wonder if you have to beg him to kiss you and you shake your head.

“Kiss me, Riddle.”

His lips immediately meet yours and you close your eyes leaning closer into him, wrapping your arms around his neck while he pulls you even closer by your waist. Earlier he looked like he could devour you and right now, he is, his one arm went up to your head and he started to slightly tug at your hair, not hard enough for it to hurt but hard enough to make your head go back and for you to let out an involuntary moan.

“Fuck, you’re so hot.”, he breathes against the outer corner of your mouth and starts leaving sloppy kisses there as well.

His hands roam around your entire body until they find the back of your thighs and he starts to knead them slowly and you let out a small gasp at the sudden sensation of his big hands around your thighs, you were growing hotter and hotter, you wanted - scratch that- you needed this man, the tension in your core only growing stronger.

He lifts you up by your thighs, his lips never leaving your body, it felt he like was trying to engrave this feeling into his mind, and leans you against the wall, your crotch is right against his, your needy core almost immediately starts to rub against his hardened member and you let out a whimper.

He gently bites you in the neck and licks your most sensitive spot and you moan out his name.

“Baby”, he groans, “moan my name again”, his hands meet your ass and he gives it a firm squeeze and you moan out his name once more.

Just when he started to take off his shirt an alarm went off and you opened your eyes hazily.

“Fuck”, Mattheo curses and immediately puts his sweatshirt back on.

You have to take a deep breath to get back from the high you just felt and you give Mattheo a concerned look and breathily say: “What’s wrong?”

“Theo texted, there’s an emergency and they’re gathering all the students in the great hall.”, he bites his lips and you can’t help but almost completely disregard what he’s currently saying and only want to feel his lips on yours again.

“You’re staring.”

“Can’t blame me.”

He chuckles: “Now, princess”, he grabs your hand and starts pulling you back to where you had come from, “we gotta hurry before we get into big trouble for sneaking out.”, he gives you one last glance, and the current situation finally seems to dawn onto you and you start to freak out.

“Salazar, fuck, Mattheo, we’re so going to get a whole year of detention if they catch us.”, you bite your lip, the anxiety finally overshadowing your horny mind and you both hurry back to Hogwarts.

Out of breath you finally are inside the castle, skillfully evading any teachers or prefects and you can’t help but curse at him, the anxiety taking over - what if you’re too late?

"I know I signed up for this and all, but... if I die, it's still your fault and I will not hold back on blaming you."

“Nobody is going to kill you.”, he chuckles.

You roll your eyes: “Clearly, you haven’t met my mother.”

“I’ll just swoon her off her feet, too.”, he smirks and you pretend to gag at him.

He checks his phone: “We’re fine, Theo says, they’re still gathering all the students.”

You sigh in relief: “Theo deserves the greatest head for warning us like this.”

He turns around to face you, almost as if you’re insane, like he can’t believe your audacity, his jaw clenched: “Do I need to remind you of who’s name you moaned 30 minutes ago?”

Your eyes narrow in confusion until you finally get it and you can’t help but smirk: “I meant a joint.”

“Oh.”, he looked dumbfounded.

“You jealous, baby?”

The both of you arrive at the Great Hall and before you can enter Mattheo grabs your arm and halts you from entering.

You stare at him confused and expectantly.

“This is more than just sex to me, princess.”, he looks at you, his eyes filled with so much vulnerability you soften at his words and your inside starts to fill with joy, you had hoped this is how it would be between you guys, even if you had been fine with just staying friends as well.

“I feel the same”, you smile at him and squeeze his hand.

He smiles back and you make your way into the Great Hall, the both of you skillfully and undetected make your way to your friends and stand next to them.

When they spot you they greet you with laughter and smiles, Theo winked at the both of you and all of you waited for the roll call, all while your hand never left Mattheos grasp.

“Y’know we’ll continue later, right?”, he whispers in your ear and when you turn around you’re met with his smug grin and the brightest shining eyes in the room and you smile feeling absolutely content and you can’t wait to taste the taste of lollipops and cigarettes again.

[a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual]

Nimona headcanons just cause

Nimona and Ambrosius are both like sentient space heaters 

Nimona runs hotter than the average human being because obvi

But Ambrosius is a whole nother ballpark 

I just know this man hates summer more than the average person

Poor baby is just a miserable sweaty clammy mess and if anyone tries to touch him during summer he threatens to bite them

Nimona and Ambrosius always refuse to let the ac get higher than 60 degrees and Bal suffers 

Bal should be classified as a damn reptile 

Poor baby has terrible circulation

It’s bad enough that Ambrosius has dragged him to the doctor multiple times 

He clings to Ambrosius and Nimona in the winter because this man is constantly freezing 

I just know he’s a damn menace the second it gets a little chilly

This little brat will shove his hands up Ambrosius’ shirt the second he gets home to “warm up”

And he’s got a metal hand so it’s twice as cold

Ambrosius has been woken up from a deep sleep by freezing hands or freezing feet and will whine about how it feels like waking up in an ice bath

One time Ambrosius walked into the living room to find Bal chasing Nimona around while they were screaming “Frosty the snowman is trying to kill me with his icicle hands” 

Ambrosius is weirdly good with all kids he’s been described multiple times as a “natural parent”

Does he like kids…. That’s up for debate 

Like he doesn’t hate them if their parents raised them right but if that kid is a little bully then fuck no he doesn’t like them 

Nimona is also really good with kids 

He’s a little cautious around elementary school kids cause you know trauma and has weird beef with all middle schoolers 

Bal is fucking terrified of babies 

One time someone asked him to hold their baby and then walked off and which sent him into a panic attack 

He’ll go on hour-long rants about how fragile are and how he can’t be trusted with something that can suffocate if you don’t lay them down the wrong way

He’s okay with elementary school kids and doesn’t mind middle schoolers but he has massive issues with highschoolers for some reason 

A high school once asked him to visit and give a talk to the students and Ambrosius had to take his laptop away before he emailed them back saying “I’d rather chop my other arm off”

Honestly I think even though Nimona craves stability she also needs freedom 

So every couple of weeks she’ll go on little solo adventures 

She keeps the boys updated constantly about where she is but she never tells them when she’s coming back because she doesn’t even know 

Most of the time she’ll come back when she wants a homecooked meal (and when she misses the boys)

The boys are pretty used to this routine so they aren’t surprised anymore when they come home to a note saying she’ll be gone for a bit

They also aren't surprised when he climes through their window at 2 in the morning to wake them up and demand food 

Could he make it himself? Absolutely 

Does he want to? Fuck no where’s the fun in that 

Plus he knows no matter how much the boys complain about messed up sleep schedules and how he “gave them a heart attack” they'd rather be woken up in the middle of the night so they can make sure he’s healthy and fed 

When they do come home the boys “force” them into a sleepover in the living room where they eat a stupid amount of junk food and watch old horror movies  

And they call out of work so they can catch up and learn everything that can't fit in a text

[hellishjoel]

Delicate - Chapter Three: I Wish You Would

2.5k / pairing: joel miller x f!reader

Series Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

summary: After making a bad impression on his first date, Joel nearly gives up - until fate in the form of his daughter Sarah intervenes; Joel and Petal come to a deal.

A/N: truth be told, @thetriumphantpanda and I completely forgot this series existed and got caught up in other projects BUT we're continuing it! because we still love our little baby!

warnings: joel and reader are single parents, rom-com vibes, foul language, Joel being terrible at dating in general, a lil angst

“It’s okay,” she said so reassuringly, looming by the cab as dark clouds began to form over the city. “It takes some time to get used to this again. I was the same.” He didn’t even have the nerve to look her in the eye anymore, brown droopy eyes finding solace in staring at the concrete. “It’ll get easier each time you do it, I promise.” 

His heart felt ripped from his chest, let down by his actions. 

Part of him wonders if he did it on purpose, leaned into ruining the date so he could give Sarah the excuses he’s been making up in his head. That it didn’t work out, that they weren’t a match, that dating just wasn’t his thing, and that he should just be left alone. 

But then he met you. And his heart beat so fast in his chest, he worried it might give him a damn heart attack. 

He’d never seen someone so pretty, with such a bright smile and warm energy that melted the cold exterior shell he had built up over the years. He had no excuses to give, and he didn’t mind. But then nerves took over. 

Joel sighs quietly, staring blankly ahead at his closed garage door. He sits in his parked truck, radio coming in and out of signal as the storm worsens overhead. He flips his wrist and tears the keys from the ignition. 

He’s back home now. Has been for maybe twenty minutes. He just can’t stop thinking about how fucking stupid he felt. Rain pitter-patters on his windshield, and he supposes it’s time to start going inside. Maybe then, Sarah would stop spying on him from the front windows in the living room. 

With a large huff, Joel steps out and makes his way up the porch, rain dotting his disheveled hair and half-decent ensemble. 

Upon pushing the front door open, he sees Sarah run back to the couch with Uncle Tommy just in time. 

“Hey,” she greets casually, fiddling with the remote and pretending to surf for something to watch, “Soooooo,” she coos, “How was your date?” 

Joel watches as Sarah’s face slowly sinks at the sight of him, large rounded-off eyes reading dismissively as he glances from her to Uncle Tommy. 

By now, Tommy is making a worried face, hiding behind a hand over his mouth, panic blaring across his eyes. Sarah’s a smart girl; it doesn’t take her long to look between the two. 

“Oh god, what happened, dad?” She asks with a strained tone, following Joel into the kitchen, where he fishes out a beer and sets his phone absently on the counter along with his keys. He lines the bottle cap to the lip of the counter and pops it open with ease, hearing the bottle hiss with the release of pressure before he takes a long drink. 

Sarah’s glaring eyes slowly turn to her Uncle Tommy. “What did you do?” 

“I-well-no, see, I tried- uh-” Tommy stutters haphazardly. 

“Ain’t Tommy’s fault,” Joel grumbles, the first words he’s spoken in an hour that couldn’t be farther from the truth. There’s a moment of silence as Tommy and Sarah share an empathetic look to Joel. “S’my fault.” 

After some begging and dragging, Sarah manages to get her dad to sit in the living room, the television’s volume set to mute. She rolls Joel’s phone around in her hand, swiping it open and finding the dating app he met his date on. 

Her pictures were beautiful. She was her dad’s type, too. Confident looking, with a sweet smile and a love for adventure. Even with a kid of her own. She understood now why they both found it important to make good first impressions. 

So, what the hell happened? 

“Jus’ tell’er what I said, Joel. I gave ya bad advice.” 

“Horrible advice, Tommy.”

“What advice? I thought this dating operation was a trio effort, and you left the Captain out of a very important dating advice conversation?” Sarah accuses, Tommy shrugs casually beside her on the couch. 

Condensation from Joel’s beer bottle makes a dark ring on the upper thigh of his jeans. He stares long and hard before continuing.  

“I was gettin’ ready for my date, tryin’ to find somethin’ to wear. Tommy helped an’-”

“And?” Sarah pressed, watching Tommy sink further into the couch, hoping to disappear between the cushions.

Joel grumbles quietly and continues, "Told him how nervous I was. Been forever since I had been on a proper date. So he gave me some advice that worked for him.”

“You took advice from your player of a brother? Who can’t find a wife to save his life?”

Tommy playfully scoffs, rolling his eyes. “I could find a wife if I wanted to-”

“Anyway,” Joel butts in, “He said I should try to sound uninterested. Play hard t’get, or whatever. Not ask too many questions. And uh… what did you call it Tommy? A twisted compliment?”

Sarah harshly gasps, turning to her Uncle Tommy as he drops his jaw, looking helpless at Sarah’s genuine anger. 

“You never do that! Ne-ver! Never ever!” She said, starting to swat angrily at his arm and shoulder. 

“Alright, alright, mercy! Mercy!” Tommy looks apologetically at Joel, shaking his head in dismay. “M’sorry, big brother. I thought it would work for you, as it works for me. The type of women I try it on works pretty well.” 

Joel shook his head, eyes drooping again. 

“She wasn’t like other women. She was…” He trails off, unable to articulate how wonderful of a woman he met tonight. And how fucking horribly he screwed it up. 

Joel closes his eyes and puts his palm to his forehead, fingers tugging at his untamed dark waves. 

A frown tugs at the corners of Sarah’s lips, a sinking feeling cascading over her chest. He could try again, find someone else, but now that Sarah has seen her profile and knows how perfect of a match they would be, she knows she has to do something to fix it. 

She casually clears her throat and uses the voice memo option in her dad’s messages. 

“So… what was she like? Your date?” Sarah posed, watching out of the corner of her eye as the recording picked up her question. 

Joel’s had a terrible night, and he’s not sure how much more vulnerability he can spare, especially after how badly he embarrassed himself. 

“Not tonight, Sarah.” He says dismissively. Joel lets out a heavy breath, and for the first time tonight, a little smile tangles on his lips. His eyes lose focus as he relays the moment his eyes set on you.  

“She was… everything. You should’ve seen her, Sarah. She’s got real pretty eyes and a gorgeous smile. When she smiled, it was hard not to smile with her. But she was more than just physically beautiful. She had this energy about her, uplifting and optimistic. Funny, too,” Joel pauses to shake his head, a fond smile on his lips like he was reliving a lost memory. 

His amber eyes slowly begin to droop in disappointment at what he had lost. 

“It felt like seeing a shooting star. She was rare. And I screwed it up. S’my fault.” Joel bites down on his lower lip and tastes the salt of his own wounds. “Just hadn’t had a date in so long. Tried to act cool. I don’t even know what cool is. I don’t know what I was thinkin’. Wish I would’ve just been myself.  Too worried about makin’ a fool of myself that I gave her a bad first impression, y’know? But she was everything. She really was.” 

Joel could hear everyone’s heartbeat, all in sync, all listening. They sat together unmoving, breathing in gentle lulls. No one moved, not even when the room became dark and the gentle rain outside turned into a heavy downpour. 

After Tommy had left for the night with a solemn hug to his older brother and Joel disappeared to sulk in his bedroom, Sarah replayed the sound bite she had captured. 

Her father was being himself, kind and honest. He was a good man, just a bit misled. Sarah wanted his date to know the truth, even if she didn’t give Joel a second chance. She didn’t need some poor woman thinking he was a sleazy jerk. Sure, Uncle Tommy, yeah, but not her father. 

Sarah stares longingly at the woman’s profile once more. This could have been his person, and it breaks her heart to think how remorseful her father was tonight. Like he lost something he should have never let go of. 

Her plan was hatched. This woman would hear how her dad truly speaks of her. The true Joel Miller. She types with ferocity into their existing chat on Hinge. 

Hello, mystery woman. Please don’t give up on him. Believe it or not, my dad deep down is a really shy and sensitive guy. I’m sorry he screwed up. Please know this is what he really thought of you tonight. I know this is a delicate situation, but I thought you should know the man you really went on a date with tonight. -Joel’s favorite daughter, Sarah

You’re not sure how many times you relistened to the Hinge message. 

You’d imagine yourself waking up early and throwing yourself into the endless housework that needs to be done. The laundry piles up, and you should meal-prep for the rest of the week. But you received this message so late last night, long after you had passed out, hoping to forget the terrible first date that you had been on. The last thing you expected was to wake up to another message seemingly from Joel. 

Hearing his deep voice echo his mistakes makes you rethink everything about your date with Joel last night. He sounds sincere, so incredibly nervous behind his seemingly confident bravado. How wrong was your first impression? 

After a bit of pacing and rehearsed dialogue, you get up the nerve to send Joel your number, which he calls not long after. You tell him the truth: that his daughter has sent you a voice note of his apology. 

He seemed quite embarrassed that what he wanted to say was truly heard. 

You reminded yourself that not so long ago, you were making the same mistakes. Dating again was difficult, but you would want Joel to succeed with whomever he finds in the future. Just because things didn’t work out between you and Joel doesn’t mean you couldn’t help him. 

“I think we should have a proper conversation about last night. Would you wanna stop by for a cup of coffee or something?” 

Strangled, deafening silence. “I like coffee,” Joel finally musters up. 

After a short drive in his pickup truck, he’s pulling into your driveway within twenty minutes. You can hear his engine rumbling before turning off on the pavement outside. 

“So, about last night-”

“You don’t-” he starts, but you both pause as the coffee machine stutters. 

Seeing him in daylight evokes the familiar fluttering sensation in your stomach that you first experienced when messaging Joel for the first time. Despite the autumn setting, the dark green flannel he wears shows signs of frequent wear and seems to be a staple in his wardrobe—suitable for any season, any day. It fits his figure, like it’s nearly grown around him. 

You force your eyes to drag their attention away from his broad shoulders and tan skin, clearing your throat and turning on your faucet. It barely trickles, which leaves you huffing. 

Joel takes an interest, rising from where you sat him at the breakfast bar with his empty mug. 

“Low pressure?”  He asks, voice low and honeyed. 

“The plumber came last week and swore it was fixed. It’s fine, I’ll figure it out.”

Joel purses his lips, and before you can stop him, his heavy boots are already backpedaling out of the kitchen. “I’ve got tools in my truck,” he juts his thumb behind him, “wouldn’t take me more than a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to, really, Joel. I don’t want you to work on your day off.”

“S’not a problem. Sit tight.”

He returns with a Milwaukee toolbox, cherry red with a white logo highlighted by lightning strike-looking font. 

You don’t realize you’re still wide-eyed until he looks between you and the lower sink cabinets. 

“Sorry.” You mutter with embarrassment as you move out of the way. He grunts softly as he moves to the linoleum, his knees digging into the tile as he starts moving aside the cleaning supplies stowed below. He squints his eyes, the skin around wrinkling with focus. 

Just start talking about why you asked him here. 

“So—” you start as you pace the kitchen, watching him move onto his back to eye over your sink’s anatomy. “I know our date last night didn’t go as well as we both had hoped and—” your eyes stray to see the hem of his flannel nudge up his front as his hands go to work with a wrench, hearing him mutter something about how he was still listening to you.  But all you can see is the bare skin of his waist, dark hairs stippled down the center of his belly. 

“Right, well, I think what I’m trying to say, or rather failing to say, is that I think I could help you.” The wrench’s clicking comes to a stop. Joel pauses and slowly ducks his head out from the shadows. 

“Help me?” He questions. His tone only inflects slight offense taken. 

“Or- help each other.” You take a moment and kneel on the floor beside where he’s working, watching him sit up on his elbows as his greying eyebrows knit together with curiosity. “It’s hard dating as an adult. Believe me, I know. The apps, and-and the having kids,” your eyes soften as Joel’s gaze falls. “You don’t need me to explain how hard it is. I was horrible at first. There was so much fear surrounding it for me, and I just know that after those voice notes your daughter sent me, you have a lot of potential.”

Joel chuckles dryly before he continues to look up at your sink, slowly loosening a fitting on a pipe. “You think there’s hope?” He says, sarcasm-laced. 

“I’m not going to lie and say it’ll be easy. But love isn’t just for teenagers. We both deserve to experience it again. Maybe it’s not with me, but you’re a real catch, Joel Miller. You’re smart, and you’re handsome,”

Joel chuckles again, but this time it’s more whimsical. The sound is joyful and echoes through around the wooden cabinet he’s working in.  

“So, you’re tryin’ t’offer me datin’ lessons? Is that it?”

You will yourself not to roll your eyes. “Yes, dating lessons. What do you think?”

With a long and forced sigh, Joel ducks out from under the sink and stands to his full, looming height. You scrabble off the floor, taking in how his eyes glimmer like honey in the sunlight. 

He ponders before flipping your tap on, watching the water flow with nothing holding it back. You grin with ease, your eyes flicking to his own.

“Little miss fixer-upper, aren’t ya?” Joel says snidely, taking a moment to offer your proposition. 

A shrug and a sweet smile later have him convinced. 

“Alright. I’m in.” 

[courfee]

@into-the-jeggyverse | "under" | wc: 592 | cw: suicide

“Promise me you’re not going to do anything like this again.”

He doesn’t give a reply.

“Regulus, promise me. Please.”

Regulus pulls his arm sharply out of James’ grip, staring up at him defiantly. “It’s none of your business what I do with my life. Not anymore.”

“It is when you’re trying to fucking drown yourself,” James snaps. “You can’t do that.”

“I could have, if you hadn’t dragged me out of the lake again,” Regulus mutters.

James huffs, his eyes burning with fury and pain and desperation. “This isn’t funny.”

Regulus can’t argue there.

He doesn’t get it, why would James care now? It’s not like he’s cared about him at any point during the past two months. It’s not like anyone has.

James’ expression softens ever so slightly. His voice is quiet when he speaks, the anger gone, now breaking from something else. “I need you to tell me when it gets bad again.”

“Why?”

“Because I care about you.”

“Why?” Regulus repeats.

James frowns. He doesn’t know the answer either. Regulus doubts he even knows if what he’s said is true at all. “Just, please. When it gets this bad... Tell me.”

Regulus fights with himself, tries his best to stay afloat, but he never knew how to deny James anything when he looks at him like this, eyes huge and glassy with the first idea of tears. So he grinds his teeth and nods.

“Do you promise?”

Another nod.

“You swear it?”

“Under the Unbreakable Vow, if you want,” Regulus says.

And James’ face splits with relief and desperation sets in as he extends his arm towards Regulus, a silent plea to stay true to his word. It’s the first time in months they really touch when Regulus accepts his hand, and when James pulls his wand and speaks the incantation, it’s the warmest Regulus has felt in months, too.

When the magic wraps around their joined hands Regulus knows this is the closest their souls will ever be intertwined again.

Regulus still dreams of drowning. He dreams of the gentle sway of the ocean pulling him in, the soft sounds of waves against his skin, closing in above his head, lulling him in and drawing him down. A lullaby just for him, the gentle rocking back and forth before his eyes close a final time.

Regulus dreams of drowning under the sun.

At night, under the stars, he dreams of different things. He dreams of hands extending out to him, magic tying souls together, lips on his lips, hands in tousled hair.

He dreams of living only when he closes his eyes.

Regulus wonders if he should feel guilty about it. Should feel guilty about using James’ naivety against him, his need to help and his blinded desperation. He supposes he should. If it wasn’t James who had promised him a forever, no matter what, only to take his words back when Regulus followed the path he was always destined to go.

He supposes it doesn’t matter in the end.

James broke his promise. It is only fair that Regulus breaks his too.

The right thing to do, James had said. The only right choice.

This, too, is the right choice. The only right thing to do.

When the hands take hold of him and pull him closer, holding onto him cold and wet in places where once the sun had held him, Regulus doesn’t know if it is the water embedded in his lungs or the vow tied around his soul that claims his final breath.

[ghost-with-a-teacup]

hi!! i have a platonic req for miguel x chaotic teen reader who has a bad relationship with her dad, just a man who lost his daughter and a girl who never had a proper father.. what could go wrong..(im a slut for found family)

𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐮𝐢𝐥𝐝 𝐚 𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x Platonic!Reader

Summary: After a really bad fight with your father, you escape to HQ, the one place you can find solace. To take your mind off things, you go on a mission with Miguel, but it seems you're a little too in your head.

Warnings: Arguments, swearing, and violence in the beginning so be cautious.

A/N: Finally back with some good ol' hurt/comfort, and found family :3

✧✧✧✧✧

“I’m sick and tired of having the same argument with you over and over again!” you say, the anger rising in your veins as your frustration bubbles over. You blink harshly as you try to force the angry tears down, your father seething angrily in front of you.

“Ever since Mom died, you’ve been unbearable. I’m an adult, you can’t control my life anymore pretending like it's love when I know damn well you don’t give a flying fuck about me,” you say, pointing an angry finger at him.

“WHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU’RE TALKING TO,” he shouts, stomping over and grasping your hair harshly as you let out a yelp.

“I give you a roof to live under, food to eat. I raised you, I am your father, and you think you can back talk me you brat?” he spits in your face, and your recoil in disgust.

It was always like this. He justified giving you the bare minimum as being a father, when the house you lived in was never really a home. Not after your Mom died, when everything fell apart.

When you became your world’s Spiderman.

“You were a spectator in my life, you were never truly my father,” you whisper harshly as his grip tightens on your hair. His eyes narrow at yours before he throws you to the ground harshly.

“Get out,” he says.

“W-what?” you ask, your body radiating with pain from the impact.

“GET OUT!” he shouts, leaning over you menacingly. “You think you’re so grown, then get the fuck out of my house because I am sick and tired of you. You don’t think I’m your father? Then I won’t be. You’re lucky your whore of a mother wanted to keep you around because in my eyes you were always my one worst mistake,” he says, and his words hit you like a freight train.

You knew he never loved you. Even before your Mom died he never truly seemed to like you around, only tolerated you because of how much your Mom adored you.

When she died, the substance abuse began. You practically raised yourself and learned how cold the world truly was. You never knew the love of your father, but even still, it hurt to hear him say what you always understood deep down.

“Fine,” you say softly, standing up and opening a portal to HQ. His eyes widen as he watches, but you don’t even give a damn anymore if he sees.

You were never going to see him again anyway.

In an instant, you were gone.

~

You emerge on the other side, right into the lobby of the Spider Society. A few familiar faces recognize you, waving in greeting. You wave back with a smile that doesn’t quite meet your eyes.

“Hey Lyla?” you call out, and she appears hovering over your shoulder with a grin.

“What’s poppin', buttercup?” she says cheerfully, and the corner of your mouth quirks up a bit.

“I was just wondering if Miguel was around,” you say, and she reappears in front of your face.

“He was actually about to leave for a mission, want me to tell him to wait up?” she asks, and you nod.

“That would be great, thanks,” you say, letting out a soft sigh of relief.

“Already done, you know where to find him,” she says, before throwing up a peace sign and disappearing.

Miguel was…you didn’t exactly know what to call him. A mentor? A friend? Guardian maybe?

All you knew was that (despite a rocky start), he was one of the few people across the multiverse that you truly trusted. He was harsh at times, rough around the edges and gruff…but he was like a light you’ve never known.

You both had your baggage, and you have both lost a lot in your lives, but maybe that’s why it worked. Whatever it was.

“Miguel?” you call out, looking around the monitoring room. He wasn’t on his usual platform which was odd. All of a sudden you get that familiar tingle on the back of your neck, and you whip around.

“HOLY GODS,” you exclaim as you see him hovering in the shadows like a wraith ready to leap out for the attack. “What are you doing?!”

He only chuckles at your expense, walking out with an amused grin on his face.

“Just making sure your reflexes are working properly,” he states simply.

“By giving me a heart attack in the process?” you say with an exaggerated frown, and he snorts.

“Don’t be dramatic, besides, you make stupid faces when you get scared,” he says, and you gasp offendedly.

“Well, you always look stupid so beat that,” you retort, and his hand grasps his chest dramatically.

“How could you? After everything we’ve been through, you think I look stupid?” he says, and you can’t help the breathy laughter that escapes. But before long the smile is replaced by a frown.

You could never really hide your emotions around him, he could always read you too well.

“You alright, kiddo?” he asks. He tried to mask his concern, but his eyes never lied.

“Never better!” you say, your tone overly sarcastic. Miguel eyes you with an expression that says ‘That’s a load of shit’, but you just brush him off with a nervous chuckle.

“You were about to go on a mission right? Can I come along? Cool, great, awesome,” you say, not even waiting for his reply. You press a button on the back of your neck that replaces your clothes with your Spider Suit and turn to look at him expectantly.

“Let’s just pack this guy up, in and out right?” you say, and he sighs.

“Fine, you can come along,” he relents, opening up a portal.

“You do realize I was going to come along either way, right?” you say, and he shakes his head knowingly.

“I know, you have the stubbornness of a bull but it helps me feel at least somewhat like the leader of the Society if I get the final say,” he says, his voice almost small which makes you laugh out loud.

“There, there,” you say, patting his shoulder as the two of your approach the portal together. “Everyone around here respects your authority,” you say with a grin before your mask covers your face.

“Except you,” he scoffs.

“Except me,” you say in turn.

~

“So what’s the deal with this anomaly?” you ask as the two of you emerge on the other side, not wanting to go in completely blind if you didn’t have to. You were reckless, but you weren’t completely stupid.

“Came in through a tear from Earth-848710. Has the power to manipulate metal to his advantage. At the height of his powers he has the ability to control even the iron in our blood so watch out,” he instructs.

“Ooh, freaky. What, like blood bending in Avatar: The Last Airbender?” you ask, and a confused expression washes over Miguel’s face which makes you giggle a bit.

“Like what?”

“Oh Miguel, don’t worry, we’ll binge watch it later, just you wait,” you reply before the back of your neck tingles, and you sling a web up onto the ceiling, yanking you up off the ground.

Just in time, because in the place that you once were stood a beam of metal impaled into the ground.

“Holy shit!” you yelp, and Miguel is swinging right up beside you.

“That’s our cue then. On your toes, spiderling,” he says, and you grin. You don’t exactly remember when he started saying that phrase to you, but it was standard procedure before every fight for him to say it now.

“You got it, old man,” you snicker, and he rolls his eyes before swinging away, allowing you to analyze the villain down below.

His pillars were optimal at a range, so close combat was likely your best bet at beating the guy.

“You gonna hang up there all day, little thing? C’mon, give me a real fight,” the villain calls up to you tauntingly, and you scoff. Of course, he was going to be annoying, just what you needed.

“I’m just trying to find the quickest way to take your annoying ass down and believe me, it will happen,” you retort, swinging down before levelling him with a kick into his gut before he could react. He groans out in pain as you see Miguel send out his webbing from the corner of your eye.

But the villain seemed to notice it as well, using a shard of metal to slice it away before it could reach him.

“You think it’d be that easy, I’ve spent my whole life fighting so-called ‘heroes’ like you,” he scoffs.

“All that says to me is that you’re old,” you snicker, and he scoffs before sending a beam of metal toward you again. You leap out of the way just in time, but the villain picks up the pace.

Ear-scrapingly loud screeches of metal can be heard from all around as he pulls support beam after support beam out of the building to throw at you and Miguel.

“Where’s all that confidence from earlier, little hero?” he calls out toward you. “I thought you were going to take me down, yet here I stand. Maybe you’re weaker than you thought,” he laughs, and you narrow your eyes in annoyance.

You know you shouldn’t lead with your emotions, it was a recipe for disaster in a job like this but you couldn’t help it.

“Enough of this-” you seethe before you’re interrupted.

“THE BUILDING IS FALLING APART,” you hear Miguel shout, and it was true. With each support beam that the villain ripped from the frame, the more unstable the place became. You had to get this guy packed up and pronto, before you all were crushed.

“I’m tired of your games, anomaly,” you huff, levelling him with a glare.

“Why so serious? Your parents never hug you enough as a kid?” the villain says mockingly. You knew it was only to get a rise out of you, every comment of his was, but with your emotions already on high, you immediately saw red.

Everything you had bottled up and shoved down bubbled over like lava, and you lunged for the villain with a snarl.

You threw punch after punch as he cried out in pain, unable to do anything with your webs trapping him in place.

That’s when you feel webs that weren’t your own wrapping around your shoulders, yanking you off of the villain. You yank at the bonds, desperately trying to escape the fluorescent red webbing.

“Let me go, let me go! Let me finish him, Miguel,” you cry out, but he ignores you for a moment.

He shoves the villain through the newly opened portal without a second thought, knowing Jess would handle it on the other side before turning back to you.

“Hey, hey, hey, hey!” he says as he grabs your shoulders, holding you in place as he retracts the webbing. You wriggle around in his grasp, chest heaving with each breath as tears brim over in your eyes. He looks at you with concern, just scanning over you to make sure you were alright before truly looking at you. It made you feel small as you struggled to hold back your sobs.

His eyes only softened, clicking your mask off before brushing his hand gently over your hair, and it only made you want to cry even more.

“C’mere kid,” he says, pulling you into a hug. You exhale shakily before hugging him back tightly, the tears you had been holding back all day finally falling down.

He was so warm…his arms embracing you gently in the way your real father never could.

You stood there in his arms for a few minutes, sobbing into his chest while he just held you gently. After a little while your sobs subsided, replaced with the occasional sniffle before you pull away, looking off to the side sheepishly.

“Do you want to tell me what’s really bothering you now, mi tesoro,” he asks gently, not wanting to push you to say something you didn’t want to.

You only sigh softly, glancing back only to see the worry in his eyes before relenting.

“I don’t have a good relationship with my father…you know this,” you smile sadly, and he only nods, waiting for you to continue.

“We got into a really bad argument before I came here, and well, I don’t really have a father anymore. He kicked me out,” you sniffle. “And I know it shouldn’t bother me as much as it does, because he never cared for me like a parent should but it still hurts Miguel,” you say, your eyes tearing up again. He smiles sadly at you, brushing away a tear gently.

“I’m sorry, mi ángel,” he says, not really knowing what else to say. “But don't blame yourself for feeling what you feel. You can't help it, and besides, losing all that you knew, even if it hurt you is still difficult," he says, and you nod knowing that what he said was true. It wasn't easy to accept though, so you don't say anything in response.

"...You do know you always have a home here, don’t you?” he says, and you laugh softly to yourself, not really knowing why.

“I do?” you ask, and he chuckles fondly.

“Always,” he says before his eyes grow distant for a moment. “…I lost Gabriella a long time ago, I never really recovered from that loss…I don’t think I ever will. But I do believe that the universe sent me you in turn. You won’t ever be her, I know that. But you don’t have to be, because I care for you like a child of my own regardless. You know that, don’t you?” he says, the genuineness of his words evident.

“Thank you,” you whisper, hugging him tightly once more. “I have never felt more safe in my life than when I’m with you," you admit.

He only smiles, and for a moment you think you can see the glimmer of tears in his red eyes but figured it must have been a trick of the light.

“Let’s head back to HQ, kiddo. We can figure out some place for you to stay, alright?” he says, and you nod before pausing for a moment.

“Could I…stay with you?” you ask hesitantly, and his eyes widen for a moment.

“If that’s what you’d like, it can be arranged,” he says before laughing softly. “My house has always been too big for just one person anyway.” Immediately your expression brightens as you skip toward the open portal, a large grin on your face.

“I would like that very much.”

✧✧✧✧✧

A/N: Good gods it has literally been almost 2 weeks since I last posted. I'm so sorry, life has been kicking my ass but I'm back!! Anyway, I hope you enjoyed reading <33

Taglist: @beiroviski, @scaraza, @blueoorchid, @remuslupinwifee, @local-mr-frog, @johfaam0, @rawegggohan, @honeycriess, @alexenoirex, @chimpkinnuggies, @rqdior, @banana—belle, @notasadgirlipromise, @6billionyearsold, @gods-perfectidiot, @ieatmunson, @honeii-puff, @wh0re4zaynmalik, @toplinehyunjin, @ohworm-writes, @ishii03, @snowywhiterose, @leftcupcakedefendor

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 2 <<Part 1

-You are sitting on a bench in the lakeside park, reading a book and enjoying the bright winter sunshine when a cold nose presses into your hand. You look up to find a blue pitbull nuzzling you for pets. “Oh hi there, baby,” you coo, scratching his broad head without a thought. You follow the leash to the owner, and are very surprised to see Mr. Wick standing there, looking endearingly embarrassed about it all. “Sorry,” he says. “He pulled me over here.” He gives the dog a look as it leans against you, getting side scritches with a blissed-out doggo look. You have a notion that Mr. Wick might be jealous, somehow, but you push it away.

“That’s ok. What a good boy. What’s his name?”

“Um…Dog.”

You smirk up at him. “Original.”

He sighs, looking at you through his hair, and it pulls at your heartstrings for some reason. You pat the bench beside you, and he accepts, though he sits as far away as he can. “He likes you,” he says, looking ruefully down at the dog. “Do you have pets?”

“No,” you admit. “I travel too much.”

“Yeah?”

You can tell he’s surprised to hear this. Most people are. But you live frugally on your barista’s salary so you can go abroad for a month or so. You’re a budget traveler for sure, but you’ve been all over the world.

“Yes. I’m going to Italy this summer.”

“Sounds nice.”

“You’ve been?”

“Several times. For work.”

“What do you do?”

“I’m retired.” He doesn’t elaborate, and you leave it for now. You don’t really talk anymore, just look at the lake, and pet his dog who leans all his solid weight against your leg. You are content in the companionable silence.

You think he is too.

- It’s interesting sometimes, watching the interpersonal pageants of the regulars. When thrice divorced Victoria Fraser-Sims lays eyes on Mr. Wick for the first time in what you have come to consider his corner, she starts coming in for a lot more no-fat double-shot sugar-free vanilla lattés. All the locals are quite…aware…of Vicky’s predatory habits. A part of you wonders if you should warn Mr. Wick, but you reckon a single man who looks like him is quite used to fending off hungry cougars.

She starts by sitting near his table in her tight workout clothes, ostensibly bending over to pick up repeatedly dropped objects, affording various views of her generous cleavage and spin-class toned rear end. You know you have no right to feel so pleased that Mr. Wick seems to ignore her.

But then she ups her game, so bold as to sit down at his table with him to chat. He talks to her politely. One day, she actually succeeds in making him laugh. You hear it, loosed like an arrow that strikes you from across the room.

You have zero right to be jealous, of course, but you can’t help it. You and Mr. Wick have a thing.

Maybe just in your own head, but still.

But maybe they would be a good couple, you reason sadly, making yourself think realistically. Closer to the same age. And he does seem so lonely.

A few days later they come in the door together, seeming content, and your heart plummets to your feet. Holy shit, she actually pulled it off. They’re dating, you’re perfectly convinced.

In that moment you decide to back off. Mr. Wick is at least twenty years your elder. What the fuck would he want with an awkward little gremlin like you? It’s amazing sometimes, how well you can delude yourself. A curse of having a vivid imagination, perhaps. He’s just polite, and you are kind to him, because he seems a little broken. You resolve to behave. No more quips. No more teasing. From this day forward it shall be only, Here’s your coffee, yes sir, have a good day.

You’ve never been terribly good at keeping resolutions, but you’re going to try.

-Your determination to leave Mr. Wick alone is timed conveniently with a new hire who is around your age. He is and cute, and you get on immediately. Your flirting is fairly harmless, though you know the shop is filled with loud laughter from the two of you when your shifts coincide. Sometimes you feel Mr. Wick looking over at you after you’ve had a good chortle, and you sense he is annoyed.

Once, you catch him glaring at Brian’s back like he might like to carve the boy’s liver.

You try to quiet down, but it never really lasts. It’s been a while, since you’ve met someone who you click with so well. A comrade makes working in the service industry slightly more endurable, after all.

-One day, you burn yourself on the steamer wand while Mr. Wick is waiting for his order. Maybe it’s the volume of the unladylike expletive that spills from your lips, but he does not hesitate to come around the counter to check on you. It hurts like a motherfucker, and while you blink back tears you are quick to dig out ice to put on it. He even more quickly bats it into the sink, flipping the faucet on. “Cold water is better.”

Before you know it he is guiding your wrist into the stream with a gentle but exacting grip. “Hold that there,” he instructs. You can’t fathom disobeying him.

Brian stares rather dumbfoundedly at the customer behind the counter. “Um…sir? You can’t be back here.”

 “Then get her the first aid kit instead of standing there looking useless,” he snaps, and the young man jumps into action, scurrying away.

John gives a low whistle once you’ve finished with the cold water, blotting you dry at the butt end of the counter. “You got yourself good.”

“It’s not the first time,” you sigh. You’re not particularly clumsy, but it happens when you’re juggling five things at once to keep the drink orders moving.

John bandages the burn for you, frowning at the salve provided in the first aid kit that expired years ago, but deciding it will do in a pinch. His long-fingered hands are precise, but gentle, and as he touches you, you feel your brain turn to mush. You can’t remember the last time someone took care of you like this.

Maybe he’s not mad at you after all.

Later that day you appear from the back, to find a little paper pharmacy bag on the counter with your name written in concise black print. Inside there is more ointment, large Band-aids, and a little Snickers chocolate bar.

How did he know it’s your favorite?

Even though you didn’t see him come or go, you know it was Mr. Wick, and this small gesture touches you to tips of your toes.

[whimsicalpolitical]

I got me a concept (if you’re okay with it and if not that’s okay too)

Girlie escapes a toxic household and Matty comforts her and pulls her to sleep

I’m totally okay with it, hope it’s like you imagined

content warning: toxic household, yelling, reader gets hit, sweet matty

You’re sitting in your room, headphones in your ear because you’re not able to listen to what’s going on downstairs anymore. You’re staring at the go-to back you’ve already packed months ago in case something like this happens.

The words won’t leave your head. “You’re a little ungrateful bitch”, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” “Is there anything you can do?” “I should’ve never had you in the first place.”

Tears are streaming down your face, whether you want them to or not. Maybe you have a lack of understanding of why your own parents hate you so much, why you deserve this.

“You say another word and I’ll hit you twice as hard.”

Of course you didn’t say anything else, the sting in your face was already enough of a ‘lesson.’ You don’t even know what you did, you had a long day, came home and were faced with unnecessary confrontation immediately.

“I don’t want to see your face again tonight, you hear me?” You regret not answering him because the next hit to your face was indeed harder. It feels like you’re bleeding, but from experience you know that it’s just going to be a black eye or a red print. “You answer me when I talk to you.”

It’s hard to be in a place that has never been your home. It’s your house, that you live in, but instead of it filled with love and happiness, it’s filled with hatred and anger. You can’t deal with this any longer.

You wait until it’s dark outside and until you’re sure that your parents are asleep, when you climb out of your window with your bag. You take a last look inside your cold, empty room before deciding that you will not miss it anyway.

You take your bike from the garage as quietly as possible to go to the only place where you know you’ll be okay. Matty’s. Matty knows how your family is and being your best friend he offered you multiple times that you can stay over at anytime but of course your parents would never allow.

On their good days you lied to them and asked them if you could stay over at your friends house, female of course. That’s the only way you could spend time with Matty. It’s rarely that they allowed you, but one night at Matty’s house brought you enough joy for one month at your terrible house.

At least you don’t have to worry about his parents because he has his own place. That’s where you are right now.

Your whole body is shaking as you lean the bike against the wall, question if it was a good idea to bother Matty at this late hour.

Your cloudy thoughts and bad memories take over your physical body. It feels like they possess you. You start trembling and panting. The world feels like it's ending and collapsing. Your chest slowly brews into a tremendous amount of pain, feeling like you're having a heart attack, and you feel like you can't catch your breath. Everything seems like it's closing in on you, and you feel like you're dying.

“Oh god,” you knock on his door multiple times. You are still freaking out and panicking and every second Matty doesn't answer the door you panic even more.

‘Please just be there’

The door swings open there he is. In a superman shirt and black sweatpants. And you’re there. A crying mess with a red face and a laceration over your eyebrow, sure that there is a handprint very visible on your cheek.

“Hey, hey, love, what happened?” He asks softly, guiding you inside away from the cold, closing the door.

He knows exactly what happened so he doesn’t push it. “Fuck, darling.”

You can’t answer him right now, struggling to breathe. „here, give me this.“ He takes your bag from your hands and sets it on the floor.

"I- I- I. I can't. I can't. Matty-" you pant. You run your hands through your hair uncontrollably, and you are out of breath. You don’t know what to do. Matty then gets closer to you.

“It’s okay, baby, you’re okay, breathe.”

"I- I can't. Matty, I can't bre- breathe," you whimper, gasping for air. Matty still tries to reassure you. He knows a panic attack when he sees it. He’s too familiar with them and he knows exactly what to do.

“C’mere, it’s alright okay, m’not gonna hurt you.” Matty gently pulls you closer, his arms encircling you in a protective embrace. Your head rests against his chest, and you listen intently to the steady rhythm of his breathing, each inhale and exhale a calming lullaby. The warmth of his body seeps into yours, gradually melting the tension that has gripped you for so long.

“You’re doing perfect, alright? Just keep breathing.”

You can hear the comforting thump of his heartbeat, strong and regular, grounding you in the moment. It feels like an anchor in the storm of emotions swirling inside you. Matty’s fingers trace soothing patterns on your back, and you close your eyes, focusing on the rise and fall of his chest. The world outside seems to fade away, replaced by the gentle cadence of his heartbeat.

“No one’s gonna hurt you anymore,” he whispers, “you’re safe with me.”

You hold onto him tightly as well as grasping onto his shirt. His arms are just around you, gently swaying you from side to side. You are shaking and sobbing uncontrollably. You can’t think, you can’t breathe. You feel like you are suffocating.

“Sorry- I’m sorry,” you sob. Matty tightens your hug bringing you closer to him.

“Nah, love, don’t apologize ever.”

Minutes have gone by, and Matty is still holding onto you, not daring to let you go until you feel better. Your cries slowly start to quiet down, and your chest pain fades away. Matty hold on to you feels like no one and nothing could ever hurt you because he's there.

“That’s my girl,” Matty notices you stopped shaking, and your sobs started to die down. He stops holding you and holds your face. He gently wipes your tears with his thumbs and looks at you with his soft eyes.

“Need to take care of that, s’that alright?” He asks, his thumb brushing over your eyebrow and you hiss, feeling his touch close enough to your wound. You nod and let him guide you into the living room.

Matty guides you gently to the living room, where he sits you down on the couch. “Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice soothing, “I’ll get the first aid kit.” He disappears for a moment, leaving you to take in the warmth and safety of his home. You clutch the edge of the blanket he draped over you earlier, trying to steady your breathing.

When Matty returns, he kneels in front of you with the kit in hand. He opens it and takes out some antiseptic wipes and gauze. “This might sting a bit, love, but I’ll be gentle,” he says, his eyes filled with concern.

He carefully wipes the wound on your eyebrow, his touch feather-light. You wince slightly, but his gentle murmurs and the warmth of his presence make it more bearable. “There we go, you’re doing great,” he says softly, his fingers brushing your skin as he works. The scent of antiseptic fills the air, but it’s mingled with the comforting aroma of Matty’s home—coffee, a hint of vanilla, and something uniquely him.

As he cleans your wound, you find yourself looking into his eyes. They’re warm and kind, a safe haven amidst the chaos of your thoughts. “I know it’s been a rough night,” he whispers, his voice steady and reassuring, “but you’re safe now. I will not let them hurt you anymore.“

You nod, feeling a lump in your throat, but the urge to cry is slowly being replaced by a sense of calm. “Thank you, Matty,” you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. He gives you a small, comforting smile.

Matty finishes cleaning the wound and applies a small bandage. “There, all done,” he says, his hands lingering a moment longer on your skin, grounding you in his warmth. “How are you feeling now?”

You take a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts. “A bit better,” you admit, “I don’t want to go back there.“

“You don’t have to, promise,” he says, his hands on yours, “stay with me, we’ll figure something out, not now though.”

He sits beside you on the couch, close but not overwhelming, his presence a quiet reassurance. “We can take it one step at a time, yeah?” he says, his hand still on yours. “D’you want to talk about it.”

You shake your head, “always the same, I’m a shit daughter and then he h-hit me.”

“Fucks sake, you are not a shit daughter, they are shit people. S’not your fault.” He puts an arm around your shoulder and you immediately lean into him, the warmth of his body seeping into your own. “You’re a good person, love, too good for any one else. Don’t listen to a word they’re saying, they’re daft if they don’t see that you’re perfect.”

You nod, feeling a flicker of belief, a tiny spark in the darkness. “Thank you, Matty,” you whisper, your voice trembling but sincere. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He leans back slightly to look at you, his hand still resting on your shoulder. “You don’t have to thank me, love. I’m just glad I can be here for you.” His eyes search yours, concern and care etched in his features. “D’you want to watch something? Maybe take your mind off things for a bit?”

You shake your head, a small smile playing on your lips despite everything. “No, I think I just want to go to bed. Would you… could you stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?” Your voice wavers, the vulnerability in your request making your heart pound.

Matty’s expression softens even more. “Course, love. I’ll stay with you as long as you need.” He stands up, helping you to your feet, and wraps an arm around you as he guides you to the bedroom.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, comforting light.

“I’ll give you some clothes of mine, shirt and sweat pants alright?” You nod and sit down on the bed waiting for Matty to return.

He returns with clothes and leaves the room for you to change. When you’re done he comes back.

Matty pulls back the covers for you, and you slip into bed, the sheets cool against your skin. He sits on the edge, his hand brushing a strand of hair from your face.

“You comfortable?” he asks, his voice low and soothing. You nod, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Good. I’ll be right here.”

He lies down beside you, his presence a solid reassurance against the darkness that threatens to creep in. You snuggle into his side, his arm draped over you, holding you close. The steady rhythm of his breathing, the warmth of his body next to yours, and the gentle pressure of his hand on your back create a cocoon of safety and peace.

You’re exhausted. Sad. Angry. Every time your thoughts come back to earlier tears are threatening to fall. A tired tear slips from your eyes.

“Oh, dear, s’alright.” Matty’s voice is a gentle murmur in the dimly lit room. He reaches out, his fingers brushing the tear away. “You’re safe now, remember?”

You nod, but the emotions still churn inside you, a storm you can’t quite calm. Matty shifts closer, pulling you into his chest. His arms wrap around you in a protective embrace, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back. You bury your face in his shirt, the fabric soft and comforting against your skin.

“I know it’s hard,” he whispers, his breath warm against your hair. “But you’re not alone anymore. I’m right here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

You cling to him more, “You don’t have to be strong all the time, love,” he continues. “It’s okay to let go, to let someone else take care of you for a while.”

A small sob escapes your lips, but it’s a release, a letting go of the weight you’ve been carrying alone for so long. Matty’s arms tighten around you, his touch firm and reassuring. He starts to hum a soft tune, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your body, soothing you, lulling you into a state of calm.

“Close your eyes, love,” he whispers, his voice barely more than a breath. “Let yourself rest. I’ve got you.”

You do as he says, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. The darkness behind your eyes is no longer frightening; it’s a blanket, soft and warm, wrapping around you. Matty’s presence beside you, his arms around you, is a shield against the nightmares, a promise of safety.

“You promise you’re gonna stay?”

Matty sighs softly, “promise, it’s you and me right? Always.”

You hum, your breathing evens out, matching the steady rhythm of his.

“Sweet dreams, love, I love you.”



[sehtoast]

With Love to You, Thirty Years Later (Homelander x OC)

4k | time travel, angst, little homelander, adult homelander, graphic violence, hurt/comfort, spidersona oc | Fic Directory

benjamin would give the present if it meant soothing homelander's past

Benjamin didn’t expect to have to stick a landing, much less clench his eyes shut and hold back the contents of his stomach from making a surprise reappearance.  

Fucking jackass, Ben groans inwardly.  She didn’t warn him about anything more than the time limit. 

Vought had a dirty little secret. Deep in the vaults, in a facility outside of the city, they kept a supe far more dangerous than anyone knew what to do with.  A real bonafide time traveler able to send both herself and others to any time at all, even to specific locations.  All she needed was a little information and a visual, and… well…

That’s how the web-head ended up face down in the grass outside of the most haunting part of his lover’s life.  See, he couldn’t take it anymore.  For every night Homelander woke up in fits of panic, eyes glowing red and blankets torn to escape tortures long buried in the past, stories of agony and torture, humiliation and pain, Benjamin just… couldn’t. 

Especially after he found out about the woman in the vaults.  But, then again, who wouldn’t damn their own future to spare their greatest love from agony?

He brushes away grass clippings before heading inside.  Security was so lax.  He needed only to snatch a badge from an incapacitated guard to have full run of the place.  Once clipped upon the white lab coat he’d snagged from his own time, he looked perfectly the part.

Every nerve in his body feels wrong.  Even his sixth sense tingles in the strangest of ways. Whether it was because he was in danger or for having hopped back to the nineties was a mystery, but something was terribly wrong. 

Three hours. 

That’s all the time he has to find Homelander and break him free. With any luck he’ll get him somewhere safe, somewhere that Vought can’t find him before his time runs out.  If not…

He’d rather not think about it.  Entertaining the idea of failure isn't on the table– hell, it’s not even on the floor.  He has to save John.  

Every grainy scrap of footage he’d ever found of his love’s upbringing flashes in his mind as he descends the first elevator.  It’s enough to make him see red, and his skin crawls beneath his clothes and spider-suit. Recollections of every sobbed or dissociated detail his Johnny has ever told him… 

It’s all too much.  To know he’s going to walk in and see it in person is– it’s not–

It’s terrifying. 

It’s terrifying, and Homelander lived it.  He lived it every day for sixteen years only for it to adapt and change to consume his life in different ways.

The hair at the nape of his neck stands at attention when the elevator door dings and slides open, but he’s met with an empty room.  Concrete walls and abandoned folding tables.

But that doesn’t seem right to him.  Of course it’d be hidden, right?  That only makes sense.  Can’t have the state inspector showing up to check for mold and finding a little boy locked in an incinerator, right?

Vought would never shit where they eat.  

And he knows their tricks all too well at this point.  Ben pats his bare hands over the cold, hard walls.  There isn’t much to the room. There’s dust all over the furniture, and the floor checks out, so it must be the walls.  Something stupid– like a push mechanism or a scanner or something.

He pats around for some time until one slab of concrete feels just a little too warm under his palms.  He embeds the setae of his fingerpads into it and gives a hard tug, making it lurch.  He follows with a heavy push and the sounds of latches and mechanisms clicking slowly shifts the stone to the side, revealing another elevator.

This descent is even worse.  When the door opens, he’s met with a gun in his face and a room of men and women gawking as though they’d expected the feds to be raiding the place.

With a tap of his badge, the gun lowers and the bug enters.

“Hi, everyone,” he greets.  “I’m the new–”

A quivering cry jars him immediately, and Ben’s head rips over to the right to find the red glow of the incinerator burning bright through the glass window on the door.  His body moves faster than his mind can will it and he slaps the big red emergency shutoff button so hard it crushes into the wall.

An alarm blares, but the clicking of that firearm is clear as day.  The bug vaults backward before the first shot is fired, narrowly avoiding its ricocheted path through the cramped room.  A sweep to the guard's legs drops him to the ground and Ben pins him by the wrists, teeth bared.  It takes everything Benjamin has not to move his hold to the throat and squeeze the fucking life out of him.

He webs him to the floor, much to the horror of the onlookers and their frenzied whispers of him being a supe.  He disassembles the gun and chucks the slide and magazine to random ends of the room.  “Nobody fuckin’ moves,” he orders with a pointed finger.  The vitriol in his voice is not unlike Homelander’s.  So much hate and rage behind his commands.

It isn't undeserved. 

Ben makes a beeline to the incinerator door and all but tears it off its hinges.  He blinks through the waves of dispersing heat.

Out stumbles a boy, naked and almost entirely unrecognizable with his long blonde hair and baby-face to the man Ben knows in his own time.  The bug kneels down and shuffles his lab coat off within seconds to wrap it around John’s shoulders. He crosses it at the front to shield him from every sick bastard in the room who’s ever denied him such a bare minimum of dignity.

He’s still weeping from the pain.

“Hey, shh– it’s okay now.” Ben coos, tears welling in his own eyes.  “I’ve got ‘ya.” 

Seeing him is so much worse.  It’s real now.  It always has been, but now it’s… it's worse. That tortured little boy is sobbing in his arms and clutching the coat to his body. He's more than a memory now.  

Ben pets softly over John’s hair, grimacing at the presence of knots and the building layer of grime.  “M’gonna lift you up now, okay?  Hang on to that coat.”  

He waits for John to nod his consent before hoisting him up to his hip, supporting the boy’s weight with one arm while the other points around at the others to keep their distance.  As he looks at them, he fails to find any familiar faces.  In particular, Vogelbaum’s. 

“Who do you think you are?”  Asks one of the men.  A quick glance to his badge reveals his name is Frank.  “Do you have any idea–”

“Consider me your new boss.”  Ben snaps.  “Now go get him some clothes.”

“What–”

“Did I stutter?”

A quiet giggle next to his ear is about the only thing in the moment that brings about any lightheartedness.  He wonders when the last time was that John laughed in here at all. When anything was even just… nice.

“Hey, when was the last time you ate, huh?  You’re pretty light.”  Ben questions with that signature soft smile of his.

It’s like a lightning bolt of agony and joy to see him reciprocate it.  John shrugs.  “I… think this morning?”

“That’s no good, is it?”

John shakes his head.

“We gotta fix that then, right?” Ben puts his hand out to the crowd.  “Car keys.”  When none offer anything more than silent panic at the idea of their precious subject escaping, Ben singles out a woman– badge says Deborah–  and once again puts his hand out.  “Keys, Debbie.  Don’t be stupid.”

Benjamin smiles at her as she digs them from her pocket and shakily places them in his palm. The bug then turns toward the red door.  He feels John tense and the boy’s arm around his neck tightens.  

“S’okay.  Gonna web the door open.”

And he does.  He layers it with so much goo that the normal two hour dissolution was likely closer to six.  By the time the last layer crumbles, they should be long gone.

Ben sits beside John on his springy, awful excuse of a bed, elbows resting on his knees.  

God, what was he doing?  If he does this, Homelander stops existing.  The John he knows– his Johnny– may never be.  Ryan may never be. But wasn’t this the right thing to do?  Everything in Benjamin’s gut screamed to save the boy, but his heart shattered with every step closer to liberating him.

His and Homelander’s lives will be upended entirely.

But he can’t fucking take it anymore, knowing how his love suffered.

“Who are you?”  

His voice is so tiny. He's so little.  To think he was in that incinerator just moments ago…

The bug turns to face him.  “Ben.”  He answers, putting that soft reassuring smile back on his face.  “My name’s Ben.”

“What’s that?”  John asks, pointing to the red webbed sleeve coming out from the sleeves of Ben’s t-shirt.  

Inquisitive little guy.  Would probably love that twenty questions game.

“Part of my costume.”  He explains.  “I’m a superhero where I come from.”

John’s face lights up like a Christmas tree.  “You mean like Soldier Boy?”

Not the best comparison, but…

“Like Soldier Boy,” Ben hums.  He's nothing like Soldier Boy. “I’m–”

A knock at the wall interrupts them.  One of the scientists enters, a heavier man– sweat glistening on his receding hairline.  Ben glares at him as he approaches John, failing to catch how the boy looks down and away from him. That tingle in his head whispers its warnings.  No good.

Something’s wrong.

Something’s very wrong.

“These are f-for you. From Frank,” the man says, voice shaking.  “Here you go, Squirt.”

The bug's eyes widen. 

Squirt.

Squirt.

Benjamin knows this man even without checking the badge.  Knows the story.  Knows the foul meaning behind that fucking nickname.  The dread and shame it causes. 

That it caused. 

A glance over and he sees John avoiding eye contact, gaze locked on the floor.  The boy pulls the lab coat tighter around his body.

Something snaps.

“Get on your knees, Marty.”

He remembers every night he ever held Homelander.  Every time the humiliation came back to haunt his love.

He looks at Benjamin with knit brows and a polite, confused smile.  “I– I’m sorry?”

“On your knees.”  Ben says.  It’s like something has ahold of his body.  His rage is… different than ever before.  It’s workable. Calm.

Precise.

Would the bug have done this years ago?  Would he have done anything like this before he met Homelander?

He doesn’t know anymore.

He doesn't care anymore. 

Sometimes what’s right is right no matter how ugly it is.

Benjamin walks behind Marty, grabs his forearms, and places his right foot between his shoulders.

“Johnny?” He calls. 

The boy’s barely able to cast his gaze in the man’s direction.  The shame and discomfort is all over his face, and that pit of white-hot fury in Ben's gut swirls like never before. 

“Apologize.”  Ben commands, pressing his foot forward and giving the slightest tug against his arms– barely anything to the bug, but raw pain for the man who deserves nothing less.

Below, Marty yowls and begs.  Suddenly, John has no problem looking up.

“I'm sorry!  Oh fuck– oh god!”

But it's not enough. He has no goddamn idea what he's even apologizing for. He just wants it to end. 

“For what?” Ben tugs harder, keeping the tension.  “What’dya do, Marty?  Spit it out!” 

“I don't– I can't– oh Jesus, please!” 

“Harder.” Comes a small, still whisper.  

Ben looks up to find John fixated on the sight, blue eyes sparkling under the fluorescent lights. The bug does as he says and gives a sharp tug to Marty's arms, the resounding scream bouncing loudly between the cramped walls. 

“Think it’s funny to humiliate a kid like that?”  Benjamin grits.  “Rubbin’ his nose in it every day for just being normal– tell him you’re fucking sorry!”

“I’m sah–hahr…hah…” Those pathetic sobs taper off and his body goes limp.

Even the look on John’s face dims at the anticlimactic end.

“You kidding me?”  Ben groans.  This was supposed to be a lesson in not being a fucking creep and he faints?  “Whatever, just– just get dressed.  Let me know when you’re ready, okay?”  The bug instructs, dragging Marty out by the collar of his shirt.  He tosses him forward, letting him skid across the floor to the feet of his horrified colleagues.  Ben's sure the sounds of what little corrective actions he got to take were convincing enough that none of them would dare try anything stupid.

It takes a moment before John calls him back inside.  The boy sits on the bed, staring down at the ground, dressed now in all white.  He holds the lab coat on his lap, fiddling with the buttons.  Just as Ben kneels down before him, words on his own on his tongue, John speaks.

“How’d you know about… that?”

The shame is written clear as day on his face.  

Fuck, Ben thinks to himself.  Didn’t consider that… 

“I…”  The bug ponders a good way to say it.  He breathes a laugh through his nose, shaking his head with a smile on his face.  Homelander would hate it if he was lied to, and that was the one thing Ben always promised he would never do.  “You told me about it.”

The confusion is clear as day.

“Listen, I’ll explain everything when we’re outta here, okay?”  Benjamin says, pulling the car keys from his pocket and jingling them with a devious smile and raised brows.  

“We’re leaving?”

“Mhm,” he hums.  “We’ll make a stop at Vought-a-Buger and get you a milkshake, and then–”

Bang!

A flash of white steals his sight and Benjamin drops everything to shield his ears. The screech that follows is deafening– unlike anything he’s ever heard before.  It hurts, everything hurts, like it’s rattling his fucking skeleton and–

His body is heavy.

“Joh…n…” He tries, but his tongue feels like lead.  Run, he calls, but it doesn’t come out.  Run, Johnny!

There’s nothing.

It’s cold.

Heavy…

It’s all so heavy.

The bug’s first breaths feel labored and wheezy.  Chest is tight.  Head throbs.

There’s a commotion nearby. Canisters on the floor– one kicked by brown flats, rattling across the floor.  Words are blurry save for a few.

Disappoint me…

Like they’re all under water.  Garbled and muted.  Little whimpering cries.

Ashamed of you…

He fights to chase them, to protect that little voice from whatever’s going on, but his eyelids drop with a weight far greater than Benjamin can fend off.

Even in the blackness, his resolve urges him to wake.

Get up.

His sixth sense stirs.

Get. Up.

He can’t just leave John to suffer his fate.

You have to.

His leg twitches.  He fights to take back control.  Like waking up after surgery.  

Wiggle your toes.

His limbs tingle. 

Fingers next. C'mon… 

Fight it off. 

It’s time to wake up!

His violent gasp for breath burns like nothing else, but it shocks his system enough to pry him from the void.  Benjamin’s head rips back and forth, taking in the surroundings.

Still in the bad room.  Door’s shut.

“Johnny?”  He slurs, tongue still heavy in his maw.  The bug shuffles onto his knees.  In the corner sits the boy, hugging his knees to his chest with tears streaming down his cheeks.

Shit.

He takes in the sight of gas canisters and spent flash grenades.

A glance to his watch timer breaks the harrowing news.

Twenty minutes.

“No!”  Ben wails.  “No, no, no. no!”

He’s up in a flash, stumbling to beat on the door.  Every loud bang does little more than dent it.  The haze fades, overpowered by adrenaline and the desperation to do fucking anything. 

I came here to fucking save you!

“Help me!”  He calls to John. “Help me help you!”

“I don’t think so,” calls a strange voice.  The crackle of it rings from a speaker in the ceiling.  A woman’s voice.  Proper and collected.  Eerily calm.

Ben drives his bloodied fists into the door harder and harder, whimpering with each scream of his bones to cease his efforts.  He stumbles backward, panting heavily.  

He could never make it past that door. It was made to withstand someone far more powerful that he'll ever be. 

Ben spins around, staring into the lense of every fucking camera he can find.  

Why didn’t he fucking web them!?  Stupid, stupid– too busy beating on that sad sack of shit for calling John that goddamn name!

“Fuck you, and fuck this place!”  He roars, heartbeat pounding in his ears almost as hard as the throbbing in his skull.  “Torturing a fucking kid like a bunch of sick fucking freaks!”

“Where did you come from?”  She asks, unbothered by the outburst.

“From fucking Craigslist you bitch!”

“It would behoove you to cooperate, young man.”  The satisfaction is all too audible in her tone.  “John.  Subdue him.”

Wh–

Within a mere flash, Ben’s forearm is in a vice grip more painful than anything he’s ever felt.  He can practically feel his bones crunching under the sheer brutality of force, threatening to give at any moment.

“–clearly a Vought asset.  Why are you here?” 

Ben crumbles to his knees.

“Johnny, don’t!”  His pleas fall in sobs, tears clouding his vision.  “I just wanna help you– please let me help you!” 

The faintest flash of doubt and a loud ripping sound precedes the release of the bug’s limb.  His torn sleeve reveals a bruise already forming in the shape of a child’s hand.  The tattered, webbed scrap of fabric is clenched in the boy’s iron grip.

“How do you know of this place?”

It’s like this is just a minor fucking inconvenience to her!  

“Johnny, listen–”

“Restrain him now.  Do not disappoint us, John.”

Ben’s back hits the concrete wall and he sputters against the hand wrapped around his throat.  He squints to meet crimson eyes whose heat emanates painfully hot near his face.  “Jo–”

His feet leave the floor, flailing for purchase against the wall– anything to offset the weight of himself compounding with that vice grip.  John floats higher and higher, stopping just below the ceiling. 

“Not–” the bug chokes through clenched teeth, voice barely more than a hoarse pushing of air through a collapsing throat.  “Not your… fault.  S’okay– forgive’ou–”

The hiss of sizzling tears is only just audible over the woman’s instructions to end it all.  The hand at his throat loosens just enough for the bug to barely draw a breath. 

The five minute warning from his watch beep barely reaches his ears.

Ben wishes John would say anything.  Instead he’s a silent attack dog, obedient to his commands until that small moment of hesitation.

“Good kid–” Ben hisses, fingers prying to loosen the hold just a little more.  

At this rate, he just needs to survive.  Just make it through the five minutes and lick his wounds at home.  Pray he hadn’t fucked up the future too much.

“You’re good– a good kid, Johnny– don’t–” 

John lurches with a violent sob, descending slowly, eyes dimming to watery blues.

The woman’s voice commands him to finish the job.

Fuck– fuck that works!

“A sweet boy!”  Benjamin sobs, gasping for air as the hold relaxes all but totally.  “It’s okay, pumpkin– you’re okay. Doin’ amazing– S'okay.  Everything's– it's all okay…”

Ben lets go with his right hand and rests it on John’s head, stroking softly over those blonde locks just like he did when he pulled him from the incinerator.

His arm is aglow, particles of his being preparing to return from whence they came.

Their time together is almost up.

“What are you doing John?”

Their knees hit the ground with loud thuds.  Ben scoops the boy in a hug.

“I’m sorry,” the bug weeps.  “I’m so fucking sorry!”

He failed.  All of the pain and suffering this boy will face from here on is his fault.

Benjamin pulls back, swallowing his cries to deliver the bad news.

It’s time to go.

“No!!”  John wails, grabbing Ben by the wrists to keep him in the only way he knows how.  “No! You can’t leave me!  You can’t!”

The glow emanating from Ben’s body starts to creep brighter through the room.

“No choice,” he whispers through the tightness of his throat.  “I have no choice, buddy…”

The sound of the woman demanding the door be opened rings through the room.

“M’from the future,” Ben sniffles, chuckling at the boy’s widened eyes. He deserves the clarification. “That's how I know you…”

 That same bursting feeling from right before he was sent back is building and building, ready to snap at any moment.

“But I–”

“You’re gonna have to come find me.”  Ben takes a deep breath.  “Be good, pumpkin–”

And, just like that, he bursts into nothing. He's hurtling through the fabric of time once more, nausea building in the pit of his gut as he screams and sobs through the echoes of history.

He failed.

He failed John.  

He failed his Johnny. He failed Homelander.

And now he didn’t even know if he had his Johnny to go home to.

The bug doesn’t even bother to stick the landing.  It felt almost good to land face down and lay there before The Traveler, body screaming with the pains of his injuries. It's no less than he deserves. 

She regards him with blank white eyes.

“Have you learned your lesson, Benjamin?”

Lesson?

Lesson!?

Through his defeated tears, he shifts just enough to meet her gaze.

“What is shall always be.”  She says calmly, the perfect counter to the hurricane of emotion brewing within the bug.  “Time and fate will always protect one another.”

“Then what the fuck is the point, Cryptic Carl?” he whispers. He means for it to be snarky. Just a little something to salvage his decimated pride and offset some of his own hurt. It's more pathetic than anything.  “If it’s all fuckin’... just like that.”

Her answer does nothing to soothe him.  He thinks of it the entire way home, ignoring how frightened the VUber driver was at his condition and exposed suit.  He ponders it with every access panel that accepts his information and prints, and even as he ascends to the penthouse in the elevator.

It’s all he can think of when he limps through the hall of mirrors and into the arms of his frazzled love.

The point is what you make of it.

One look and he can see the puzzle pieces connect in Homelander’s mind.

The shredded shirt, the torn sleeve of his suit, the handprints on his throat and forearm, the proximity burns on his face… 

Memories fade in with every second he spends in John’s arms– some new, but mostly old and unchanged.  The hostility of their first meeting.  The rapid development of their friendship after joining the team.  The night after he killed Stillwell.  Their first kiss.  Shared rooftop ice creams and dances amongst the clouds.  Washing the blood from his love every time some fool dared cross him or the world became too much.  Every confession of trauma, every admission of love… The good, the bad, the lovely.  All of it.

And then something… new.

Lifting the latch to that odd little dresser full of keepsakes early in their relationship.  The scrap of his suit, tattered and faded from more than thirty years of keeping.  Homelander finding him inspecting it, explaining nothing and everything.

I never stopped looking for you.

He sobs in Homelander’s arms, apologizing through the pain of his damaged throat until he’s a hiccuping wreck.  

He failed.

Benjamin failed and John had to continue living in that hell hole.

He wishes more than anything that his Johnny would punish him for it.  Finish the job and take out all those years he had to suffer on him– because that’s what the bug deserved for fucking up so goddamn badly.

Instead he receives kisses peppered over every inch of his face and Homelander’s tears mingle with his own.  Benjamin doesn’t know what he expects to hear when his love’s lips part.  He deserves the worst.  Names, insults– anything. Even fucking lasers to the face.

What comes is more than he can handle.

More than he’ll ever know what to do with.

But… it makes it all worth it.  Rips his heart clean from his chest and breathes life into each shattered piece, willing it all back together again.

It’s more than he deserves.

“You were the first person to ever give me hope.”

But it is what he makes of it. 

[httpsghostie]

i just . many thoughts head full . thinking about toxic husband price that doesn’t compliment his darling anymore bc they’re already married and so he “doesn’t have to” . then they go out and she’s looking all pretty and someone compliments her . and he gets mad ! bc that’s his wife !! nobody else gets to call her pretty if not him >:c

Is It Really You?

sorry not sorry love u

Summary: your husband doesn't compliment you anymore.

Word Count: around 900

Warnings: toxic!husband!price x f!reader, angst/hurt, estabilished relationship (?

masterlist

Marriage was being a burden.

You never thought it would end up like this, all the sweet moments you two shared were replaced with toxicity and you seemed to be the only one holding it together.

John had become a different man after a certain mission he had in the military, leading to a lot of heated arguments, him sleeping on the couch way more than often. Sex wasn't the same also, that's when you two even engaged in it. 

But to everyone else it was perfect. Such a cute little housewife doing everything to her handsome, hardworking husband. And to be honest, you'd do anything for John, only if it wasn't for the man he'd now become.

He was cold, distant, indifferent. He didn't compliment you anymore, he wouldn't pay attention to the small details of your being like he always used to do, so loving and caring, just because, in his mind, he didn't have to earn you again. You two were already married, why should he?

Meals were shared with him on his phone, dealing with work, and you watching some crappy romance tv show, hopefully imagining you could live that again.

But it wasn't until the day he was invited to a dinner and had to show up with his pretty wife, pretending like the life you shared wasn't only being held by convenience.

You two stood in front of the house, a fine bottle of red wine in your arms, patiently waiting for someone to open the door. You wore a beautiful black dress, the one that your husband would never fail to compliment, but instead he just complained about you making him get there late.

"What a bonnie lass!" Said Soap as he greeted you, holding his arms open for a hug. You laughed as you stepped inside, accepting his hug.

"Thanks, Johnny, it's nice to hear that." You glanced at your husband who was putting his cigar away.

"That's my wife you're talking 'bout, Sargeant." He said, crossing his arms after he closed the door behind him, giving him a stern look.

"I acknowledge a beautiful woman when I see one." You chuckled, but felt your cheeks flushing. It's been a while since someone complimented you. It was such an innocent act coming from him that you didn’t even mind, but you knew what your husband thought of that.

You could see Gaz in the house as well, and he was making the universal 'cut that shit off' sign to Soap — a small waving hand on the side of his neck. He knew Price more than Soap, and for longer, also. He knew about your decaying relationship and he also didn't want a scene.

"Show some fucking respect, she's my wife, MacTavish." Price almost spitted out, raising his tone.

“Wow, ok, easy there, Captain!” Gaz finally stepped in between them, trying to ease the mood as he chuckled. “No need for that,— do you mind?” He pointed at the bottle in your hands that you’ve almost forgotten about, and if it wasn’t for him offering to take it, you’d probably have clutched it so tight that the glass would snap. You gave him a sweet smile and an almost inaudible ‘thank you’, not being really sure of where to shove your red face from embarrassment. 

“Is there a problem there?” You heard the deep voice of Simon approaching the little reunion by the entrance hall, Price’s hands turned into clenched fists and he took a deep breath.

“Not at all,” you chuckled awkwardly, waving your hands, and turned to your husband, whispering to him as the guys made their way to the living room, “and enough, John, why would you want to cause a scene, hm? Suddenly you’re jealous? What is that?”

“You’re my wife.” He pointed a finger to your chest. “You’re mine and you deserve respect.”

“Respect? John, that was the furthest thing from respect, he was just complimenting me, what’s wrong with you today?” You two were arguing silently, trying to keep as cool as possible.

“I don’t know.” He softened his gaze on you, brushing his beard awkwardly. “I- I don’t know, my dear, ‘m sorry.”

“Let’s pretend this didn’t happen.”

You didn't pay attention to the dinner whatsoever, nor the conversations going like nothing ever happened, the embarrassing scene your husband had caused in the hall of Soap's house were merely enough to make you dissociate. You felt strange, like something lit inside of you, those long gone butterflies finding its way to your stomach all over again. 

The drive back home was silent, from the start of the engine to the keys being tossed on the side table by the door, followed by the sound of you taking your high heels off.

“Didn’t mean to do that.” He said. You sighed, holding back your tears as if you were in a burst of hormones. “You… do look beautiful, darling.” It came out strained, like a cry for help.

You weren’t sure why, you thought you should feel grateful for having someone to be jealous over you, you thought you should run to his arms, hug him, tell him everything was going to be alright, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do so, you couldn’t even care to look at his face. Your heart was shattered in pieces, bleeding out. How could you deal with the pain?

And there he stood, watching the only thing that kept him from ending it all, slipping away from his fingers and mournfully perambulating through the hallway to their once shared room.

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