#you have to HEAL. you have to rest and recover and LET YOUR BODY HEAL. it’s just a really fucked up culture in the nhl and i get so mad

[bunnis-monsters]

NSFW

warning: yandere and obsessive behavior, mentions of death and violence, possessiveness

Yandere!Angel adored you with all of his heart, worshipping you as his goddess. He abandoned his creator, instead turning to you.

He kissed along your thighs, his strong, large hands holding onto your plump thighs as he spread them open.

He always looked up at you for permission, his chin resting on your leg obediently. Despite the fact he was nearly twice your height, he acted like a needy puppy before you, willing to do anything to please you.

“May I?”

You nodded, sighing happily as his tongue licked your soft, fat pussy, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

As he settled between your thighs, ready to worship his goddess, he began to remember how this all came to be.

He was supposed to be working on earth, helping guide humans to the correct path and keep them from sinning.

Instead, he ended up getting hurt, stranded on the side of the road with a broken wing.

He hadn’t been told how cruel humans could be.

So when you pulled over in your car, running up to him, he attempted to spread out his wings in a defensive display, his eyes shining bright enough to blind a man.

But his eyes dimmed and he yelped in pain as his broken wing moved. He fell back onto the ground, panting softly, looking up at you weakly.!

“Hey, hey…”

You knelt down, reaching out carefully to inspect his wing.

“Don’t touch me!”

You flinched, frozen in fear, his power causing you to be unable to move.

An angel’s command worked only on those pure of heart… so for a moment to examined you.

Soft and chubby with a kind face, like the cherubs he played with in heaven. As you did your best to bandage his wing, you noticed he was nearly twice the size of you… and very handsome.

“I won’t hurt you, I promise. See, it’s feeling better isn’t it?”

The angel watched you, his eyes wide with curiosity and wonder as you dabbed some soothing cream onto his swollen skin. You were being so gentle with him, guiding him back to your car.

The way you kept him flush against you, being as gentle as possible to make sure his wounds wouldn’t be irritated made him feel… strange.

He barely fit in your backseat, having to lie down so you could close the door.

“… thank you…”

He nuzzled softly against you, his undamaged wing flapping. “You saved me… you’re so kind, like an angel… like…”

You turned to see him staring at you, his eyes big. The golden orbs observed with newfound interest, watching as you grabbed a med kit to further clean and treat his wounds.

‘Like a goddess…’ he thought to himself, not daring to say such blasphemy aloud.

As he began to recover, you noticed him staring, following you with his eyes every time you moved.

“Need something?”

He quickly looked away, his cheek flushing a soft pink. His wing fluttered in both nervousness and excitement.

“I… don’t need anything.”

It didn’t take him long to heal, his body was different than any human or animal, but… he still feigned pain when you touched his now healed wing.

“Ah, it still hurts?”

You soothed him, letting him nuzzle into you and look at you with those big golden eyes. He was utterly entranced, wanting to worship and adore you… no one had ever been so kind to him!

So that’s how he ended up like this, begging for you to use him, to order him around and to let him love and protect you for all of time.

The only catch was… he was the only one allowed to worship the temple that was your body.

He pulled his fingers from your wet cunt, his tongue struggling to part with your puffy clit. It wasn’t easy, but he knew from your whines and tugging on his pants that you wanted his cock now.

And he would give you anything…

He pushed his cock past your wet folds, stretching you on him. The first time he worshipped you this way, he cried with you as your body tried its best to accommodate his large size. He hated seeing you in pain…

Your pretty, ample breasts bounced deliciously as he moved his hips, unable to stop himself from fucking you like a wild animal.

God you were perfect, his angel, his goddess… and no one would ever get to see the look of ecstasy on your face when you came.

A warm bath had you sighing in relief after, your angel happily bathing you, kissing your feet and scrubbing your body as gently as possible.

Though it was difficult keeping his jealously at bay… being with him wasn’t too hard. If only you knew how many men he had killed due to his possessive nature…

You’d never even think he was capable. He was an angel after all, with soft blonde curls and the prettiest, most innocent golden eyes.

And he wanted you to remain ignorant to his second nature. He much preferred worshipping you while you were relatively free and happy…

But he’d lock you up if it meant keeping you to himself~

The angel settled you down with him after your bath, covering you with his soft, feathery white wings. He kept you close to his chest, kissing your head.

Everything was just perfect.

For now…

(More?)

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NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @h3110-dar1in9 @keikokashi @aliceattheart @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @healanette @lem-hhn @spufflepuff @honey-crypt @karljra @zyettemoon1800 @exodiam @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @enchantedsylveon @mysticranger575 @readeryn68 @danielle143 @kittenlover614 @filthybunny420 @annavittoria-mm @makimamybelovedwife @blubearxy @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @fruk-you-usuk-fans @wil10wthetree @hammerhead96-blog

[experiencingpenguinshockey]

:/

[team-rnjr]

.

[zhongrin]

honey, can you…. un-sick me please?

© zhongrin | 2023  ✼  no repost・translations・plagiarism of any kind・ai data mining. rebloggers get a free cup of tea ♡

✼ characters ┈ zhongli, al haitham, wriothesley, neuvillette, diluc

✼ tags ┈ gn!reader, fluff, crack, 'puppy' nickname used (wriothesley), you’re sick but nothing life-threatening (common cold/flu/fever), they’re all just so soggy for you

✼ a/n ┈ i did change my formatting recently, yes. i like this one better methinks hehe

ꜱᴘᴇᴄɪᴀʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ) ✼ ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴜʟʟ ᴍᴇɴᴜ (ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ)  ✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ)

“dear, i assure you, the ‘passing on the sickness by kissing’ method has never been proven to work... ah, please don’t give me such downtrodden eyes, you know i cannot help but give in when you look so saddened…”

zhongli was ever so patient with your whininess, clinginess, and overall annoying (your words, not his) self when you were sick with this kind of fever. he personally thought it was adorable, the way you insisted on following him around, asking to be pampered and spoiled in such a vulnerable moment…

… and boy, did he spoil you rotten.

though his mortal vessel is incapable of catching mortal diseases, he had seen the ever-evolving medical treatments throughout the millenia to know that your request to ‘kiss me so i can heal faster’ was meant to go unfulfilled. but how could he refuse you when you look so cute? he sighed fondly and ended up peppering you with kisses all over your flushed face, a gentle smile curling his lips when you giggled and clung to him even tighter in response.

anything to soothe his treasure.

“you’re delirious. go back to bed.”

your boyfriend might sound blunt and mean, yet the way he cradled your sickly self carefully and the gentleness in which he tucked you back into bed behind the blankets was everything but uncaring. al haitham was as complex as the books he read, but if you were thorough enough, you would be able to see the worried lines creasing his eyebrows and the turmoil behind his usually impassive green eyes fringed with bright terracotta lines.

al haitham became a mirror of his grandma ever since your body proceeded to shut down on you. he would make you soup and helped you eat it when you couldn’t muster the energy to do it yourself, and he fussed over you in his own way. admittedly, he had secretly sneaked in some herbs - grown with the help of his dendro vision - into said soup, which he read would aid you in your recovery… but that was a secret he shall keep to himself.

wriothesley looked torn between wanting to laugh at you or being incredibly worried if the fever was affecting you too much. he opted to shake his head with a chuckle and hoisted you up into his arms before tucking you back to bed despite your feeble protests.

“sigewinne told you to take plenty of rest, remember? you’ll get ‘un-sick’ed soon enough if you just listen to her, you silly puppy.”

your whines and pouts did nothing to convince him otherwise. your beloved seemed intent to keep you on the bed. he was very much tempted to threaten you with a promise to cuff yourself to the bed if you keep being stubborn, but he decided not to. instead, he stayed by your bedside like a loyal hound until the medicine kicked in and you fell into a deep slumber.

“let's have a picnic under the sun when you recover, yeah? but for now, let me just guard you while you're at your most vulnerable, sweetheart.”

neuvillette, the infamously aloof and diligent iudex, was anything but austere when it came to you. one might say he takes his role as your husband more seriously than his role as the chief of justice - and considering his accomplishments as the latter, it was an understatement to say that he excelled as your lover.

the day you got sick, rain fell throughout fontaine, persistent and seemingly neverending. it mattered not if it was just a common cold. you might as well be on your deathbed judging from the saddened gaze of your dearest’s sharp eyes and the way he was calling upon all doctors in fontaine to check up on you. even when you tried to lighten up his somber mood with your words, he merely grasped your hands tighter and brought them to his forehead, silently vowing to do all he could to make you healthy again.

“it is maddening that i do not have the power to heal humans, but rest assured that i will ensure that you can recover in the fastest and most efficient way possible, my love.”

the only time master diluc would be present in the kitchen is when 1) it’s a special day to you or the both of you, or 2) you’re cooking, or 3) you’re sick.

and currently, you’ve fallen ill from your recent adventure of dancing in the rain with your beloved. it was an addition into the romantic moments which the two of you would no doubt engrave in your hearts, yet while his pyro vision had subconsciously kept your lover’s body temperature from droppimg, it failed to do the same to you - hence why you were left with a bad case of flu and sore throat.

still, being sick while being diluc’s lover had its perks: for one, there were the maids who would take a good care of you, and they were always so considerate of your needs, especially when you were in this condition. but the best part would have to be your devoted red haired man doting after you like an overly attached falcon, personally taking it upon himself to nurse you back to full health. he was ever so patient with you, chuckling when you babble nonsensically, brain fogged and loose-lipped.

“yes, dear. i shall take it upon myself to ‘un-sick’ you. now, it’s time for your medicine. i’ll help you sit up... my love, don’t make that face… i promise to give you a forehead kiss if you finish the medicine.”

✼ ᴍᴇᴍʙᴇʀꜱʜɪᴘ (ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ) ┈ @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sunnshineflxwer | @yuutasbabe | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @marina-and-the-memes | @mixed-kester | @lordbugs | @anonymousficreader | @shizunxie | @ansy-tea | @irethepotato | @sassy-cat-in-town | @syrenkitsune | @smokipoki | @cakeboxie | @crystalflygeo | @ciexuvia | @illaasya | @celestewritestoomuch | @pams-comfortzone | @spidermanluvr444 | @ourstrawberryclouds | @ryuryuryuyurboat

[twizzie-lairs]

My Darling, My Honey

Alastor X Fem!Reader (Part 14- FINALE!)

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 |

Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 - Final

Part 14:

A few weeks had passed by the time you were fully recovered. In those weeks, the hotel was busy and bustling in preparation for the wedding.

To make sure you recovered properly, Charlie insisted that she and Vaggie be in charge of wedding planning during this time. You didn't have any objections to it, your only requirements were that it was kept low-key (meaning a small wedding with only those closest to you guys) and that it was to be a simple and short ceremony with Charlie as the officiant.

While the rest of the gang were busy going about their normal lives and helping out with some preparation here and there, Alastor had your belongings moved to his room and took care of your injuries and saw to your recovery personally.

It broke his heart to see how badly you had been injured prior to your arrival at the hotel. He also felt extremely guilty about how roughly he had treated you, accidentally making some of your injuries worse temporarily. To heal his heart and mind, he had to heal your body first.

The two of you spent so much time together, hardly ever spent a moment apart- you two had a lot of lost time to make up for after all. Often as Alastor tended to your injuries, changed your bandages, and even helped bathe you to ensure you wouldn't slip or fall as you got in and out of the tub- you two exchanged stories of all kinds. Stories from when you were both alive, your pasts when alive, and so much that had happened in the decades in Hell that had passed when the two of you were separated.

As the date of the ceremony approached, after you had mostly recovered, matters required you to leave the hotel more often.

For example, when it came to dress shopping, Alastor was very insistent that he had to come with- he was still very paranoid that if you were separated from his side that you would come to harm. Though with enough pestering- Charlie was finally able to convince him to stay at the hotel so that the wedding dress shopping party only consisted of you, Charlie, and Angel.

Shopping with the two of them was a fun memory you'll never forget, with lots of laughter because of the hilarious contrast between Charlie's wholesome comments/tearing up and Angel's teasing/cat-calling (in a loving way- of course). Though when you finally tried on the dress, even Angel had no witty comebacks to respond with, both him and Charlie were left speechless.

Angel and Charlie weren't the only ones speechless - when those who were invited to the wedding showed up the hotel, they all had their mouths gaping open at the amazing decor. They few guests assumed that the invitation they received in the mail was a prank!

(Charlie may have needed to ask some favors from Lucifer for the decorations- though he couldn't hide his disgust as to who his daughter was asking him to do this for... His distaste for Alastor was always apparent. But who are we kidding- Lucifer can't resist Charlie's puppy-dog begging eyes no matter what.)

Jovial jazz music filled the air as Alastor walked out into the main lobby, "Why hello! It is so good to see you, Rosie! ... Mimzy."

"Oh Alastor! How come ya never introduced me to ya darlin' (y/n) before!" Rosie flashed her signature smile and sauntered over to give Alastor a tight hug.

"Yeah! Geeze, Alastor, after all we've been through, you never thought to bring her over to my joint or ya know, let me know she was even down here! I've missed the gal too, ya know!" Mimzy stomped on over to Alastor, hands on her hips as she glared at him.

"Hmmmm. Ah yes, Mimzy. How could I ever forget to bring her over to your... "sophisticated"... bar where she "definitely wouldn't" be in danger?" Static noises started to interrupt the music that had started playing earlier. Alastor would be lying if he said he was happy to see Mimzy. He knew she was important to you, but part of him can't help but blame her for your early death. Not only that, but she always had a habit of bringing trouble wherever she went, forcing him to clean up her messes. He didn't trust her to keep you out of danger.

"Well! If I do say so myself, I am parched! Where can a lady quench her thirst in this joint?" Rosie piped up to break up the tension as she walked around the room and examined the decor some more. "Alastor, I really love what ya guys did to this place- stunning work, really!"

"Oh my gosh, hi, Rosie! Nice to meet you again, Mimzy! It's been so long!" Charlie seemingly burst out of nowhere and shook both Rosie and Mimzy's hands. For once Alastor was thankful for the princess's ability to not read the room.

"This way, this way! The ceremony will be held in one of the ballrooms, follow me!"

After being relieved of Rosie and Mimzy's presence, Alastor disappeared into the shadows to retreat into this radio tower where he would remain until it was time.

With Rosie and Mimzy's arrival, the last of the guests had arrived. Yup, it was a very small group- just as you had requested (much to Alastor's relief. He could easily handle people, but you knew large groups of people irritated him much more than he would let on).

Meanwhile, Angel was helping you get ready. He knew his way around makeup and beauty the best out of anyone in the hotel after all.

You sat on a stool as Angel fussed over all the little details of your hair and makeup. As he did so with remarkable speed (due to his many arms), you found yourself smiling.

Not only was it the day that you would finally exchange vows with your beloved Alastor, but you found yourself smiling as you reminisced on the journey that led up to this moment- how you've come to truly cherish your newfound friendships with everyone at the hotel.

Angel, who became a very close friend to you after you two had many heart-to-hearts and shared a fondness for cracking jokes, something you discovered over many nights at the bar together. Often after you two were done at the bar, you'd have beauty/spa nights which often led to more gossip sessions- something you were never able to indulge in when you were alive. Occasionally even Cherri joined in on the gossip sessions- practically bursting the door down if she ever felt like stopping by unannounced.

Husk, was someone you could always trust him to give his honest and objective opinion on anything you asked- which you found to be invaluable whenever you showed him any of your art. Though he often didn't understand the abstract complexities you drew, it was always a great source of entertainment for you- his confusion apparent as he tried to interpret it seriously before giving up with a "Fuck it, I don't know anything about this bougie shit!" - always causing you to erupt in laughter every time without fail.

Charlie, of course, was always your ray of sunshine and was someone you very much respected. She saved your life without knowing who you were, regardless of the potential danger. You feel as if you'd never be able to repay her kindness, so you offer to stay at the hotel even after you recover and help work however you can after the wedding.

Vaggie, you felt a kindred spirit in and also respected a great deal. Someone with such an intense sense of justice and duty was truly a sight to see, you could always see it in her eyes. She was often busy, so you hadn't been able to spend as much time with her as you would have liked to so far, the few times you were able to sit down with her were always a pleasure. Whenever she needed love/relationship advice, she came to you. Funnily enough, Charlie did too, so you were flattered that the two girls liked and trusted you so much.

Even Nifty, who always made sure to dust you or pluck some random out-of-place hair whenever she saw you, stopped calling you stinky! You wondered if it was because you spent most of your time around Alastor...?

"Alright! Hehe, you look absolutely stunning if I do say so myself, doll face!" Angel stood back from you to admire his work with a huge satisfied grin on his face.

He spun you around to face the mirror that your back was previously facing, "Hey, whaddya think? One of my best works yet!"

You chuckle and lean in closer to the mirror, "Wow... Angel! Gosh... you never cease to amaze me!"

You then stand up and give Angel a hug, "Thank you... Angel... this means a lot to me..." Angel pulls back from the hug and nudges you in the shoulder, "Hey now toots, no crying on me now! We just finished your makeup, don't go ruining it now!"

"I know! I know! Haha!" You laugh and smack him back playfully.

"Ah shit, it's almost time, we gotta get a move on, come on!" Angel quickly grabs your bouquet with one hand and takes your hand wit another and leads you down what feels like a maze of corridors. He lets go of your hand when the two of you reach a set of double doors that indicates it's one of the ballrooms and not just a regular room.

Upon hearing your arrival, you see Charlie's head peek out of the door. After seeing you standing there, she quickly sneaks of the ballroom. "FIrst of all- oh my gosh (y/n)! You look BEAUTIFUL! But it's time for your entrance, lets go!" Charlie offers her arm out to you. You link your arm through her's, then you look over at Angel who hands you your bouquet, "You got this ,(y/n)." He said with a wink before slipping into the ballroom.

You took a deep breath and looked at Charlie who gave you a heartwarming nod as she took a step closer to the door, hand grasping the handle. "Ready, (y/n)?"

"I've been ready for decades."

Upon entering the small ballroom, soft jazz music filled the air and you gasped as you took a look around the stunningly decorated space. Charlie was very insistent that this be a surprise and by god, you were speechless- you never could have dreamed of a more beautiful space to finally exchange vows with your beloved Alastor. You were starting to get misty-eyed already!

The very same Alastor who was now all dressed up in a new formal outfit and stood at the other end of the ballroom with his hand outstretched towards you. It took all the self-control you had to keep you from running into his arms right then and there.

Walking to the front, you pass by the small group of friends both you and Alastor had invited to this exclusive occasion. You could see Rosie clutching her hands to her chest in awe, Mimzy was trying to fight back tears as she kept dabbing her eyes (ruining her makeup in the process), and the rest of the hotel members. Angel was clinging onto Husk for dear life as you heard a quiet whisper from the spider that was accompanied by a dramatic sniffle, "Oh god I never knew I was capable of feeling so sappy."

You chuckled at the sight of Nifty, who volunteered to be your "flower girl". She was scurrying all around, scattering petals but then immediately picking them back up again like it was the best game ever!

"Oh, be still my dead-yet-beating heart" You thought to yourself as you finally reached the front of the ballroom and were able to place your hands in Alastor's. You'd never seen Alastor this dressed up before. You always thought he was attractive but oh my god, was this a whole new playfield that you didn't even know was possible!

Charlie then went to stand next to Vaggie, who were both your officiants for the wedding. A bit untraditional, sure, but this was Hell- everything's a bit unconventional here.

The music fades to a quiet level before Charlie pipes up, starting the ceremony, "Thank you all for coming to celebrate this momentous occasion with us today! Today we are here to commemorate the marriage between (y/n) and Alastor!"

"In a shocking twist of events, the last few weeks have proven us wrong that yes, even the Radio Demon, is still capable of love." This remark from Vaggie earns a few chuckles from those sitting in the guest seats, earning a glare from Alastor as he tightened his grip on your hands. You rub your thumbs over his hands in reassurance, causing his grip to relax again. You smile at Charlie and Vaggie, nodding as you signal them to continue.

Charlie cleared her throat before she continued, "Ahem! Yes! But with that, we also gained an amazing new friend here - (y/n)! And I just want to say (y/n) that I am SO proud of you, you've done nothing but bring lots of joy and laughter into this hotel. I think I can speak for everyone when I say that we love you and appreciate you (y/n)! Alastor is a very lucky man and we are honored to be a part of your journey!" You could hear some applause and a holler that likely came from Angel- because you heard a scoff from Husk that followed immediately after.

"That's right, Charlie! Because we respect you both so much, we'll not delay you two love-birds from finally exchanging your vows any longer." Vaggie said as she dragged Charlie away to take a seat in the audience.

You take a deep breath and look into Alastor's eyes, your heart racing a mile a minute.

"I honestly thought I would know what to say by now! I've been dreaming of this day for decades!" You nervously laugh out loud before continuing, "All I can think about now is how thankful I am to have met you when we were alive. You gave me a spark of light and hope in the darkness that I never thought was possible in my life. Meeting you gave me the courage to break free from the cage that kept me trapped like a poor little bird who couldn't fly free. You showed me what true love should be like- even if it meant eating a few people along the way... haha. But you treasured me, you gave my life meaning again and I'll always love you. I'll always be your's, Alastor."

You look down at the floor, embarrassed that you spilled your heart out in front of so many people. Now it was Alastor's turn to reassure you with a gentle squeeze of the hands.

"My dearest (y/n), now, I am not usually one to be so 'sappy'- especially in the company of others, however, I think I can make an exception for you this one time."

Alastor took one hand, the other still holding your other hand, and gently lifted your chin back up so that your gaze would be back on him. To say that this made your heart skip a few beats would be an understatement!

"It may still shock you all, but yes, (y/n) is indeed my beloved that was taken from me all too soon back when we were alive. When I buried her body and held her in my arms for what I thought was the last time- I said these words that still ring true to this very day and will continue to do so forever more-, ' In life and in death, I am forever yours, as you are forever mine. I love you, (y/n)' " You feel the tears start to well up even more, threatening to burst forth at any second, all while not breaking eye contact with him as he continues on.

"I truly relish in this opportunity to finally make you mine, as I had wished to do so for what feels like an eternity. Much like you had described dear, your surprise appearance in my day-to-day life truly shook my world. Why, upon meeting you for the very first time, hearing your voice felt like it was akin to listening to most beautiful music I had ever heard- truly! As a radio host, I was very familiar with many musicians, but no instrument or vocalist ever held a candle to you my dear. No ever has and no one ever will, and I will be sure to protect you at all costs this time, ma chérie ..."

As he trailed off, your face immediately flushed red all over at Alastor's vows. But before you had time to process what was happening, Alastor manifested a new pair of rings and slid one onto your left hand, replacing the previous one. Then with a snap of the fingers, the other matching ring appeared on his left hand.

Somehow the rings were even more beautiful than the one you had before. Upon seeing the sight of both your and Alastor's hands finally wearing matching rings, you burst out into tears, overcome with emotion.

Alastor chuckles before pulling you in for a kiss- shocking everyone in the room, everyone making a collective gasp. Even your own eyes were wide open in shock, before you then relaxed into the kiss in Alastor's embrace.

It wasn't before long that the room was filled with cheers, hoots, hollers, and clapping.

Pulling away from the kiss, Alastor leaned his forehead against your's- just a brief sigh of contentment escaping his lips as he stared lovingly into your eyes. You sniffle as you return the smile, chuckling at the sensation of your cheeks feeling sore from smiling so much and so intensely.

"I truly adore you with all my heart and soul, dearest. Thank you, for being the one to complete me."

Tag List:

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[luveline]

Hi Jade!!! I love, love, love your writing. I was wondering if you could write something for Tsam Peter x reader where reader has a concussion and Peter is just generally super sweet about taking care of them? I have a concussion right now and I feel like he would be so sweet about it. If not feel free to ignore this, love you!!! <3

i love u!! fem!reader, 1k

You’re shivering again. Peter looks up from his book suspiciously, squinting at the curve of your where you’re laying on his couch. He should let you rest —you’re allowed to sleep with a concussion, despite what some might think— but he doesn’t like the shivering. It’s weird. 

“I'm coming, baby,” he says, standing up from the armchair to situate himself by your hips. 

Peter pulls the blankets more firmly to your chin. “Are you cold, bub?” he asks. It might appear that he’s talking to you while you’re still sleeping, but the smile you give when he talks proves otherwise. 

“No,” you force out in a mumble. 

“Are you sure?” 

It takes you some time to think about it. Your body’s been thrown for a loop since you hurt yourself, but you’re healing nicely, and your mental stamina is yards better than it had been. Peter asked you yesterday if you wanted a kiss and you couldn’t answer him for a full minute, and when you did it was an uncoordinated lift of your chin. You’re still in there, still his girl, just mildly incapacitated for the time being. 

“I might be,” you decide. 

Peter grabs a throw from under the coffee table and shakes it out over your arms and shoulders. “There. Need a drink?” 

“Do you?” you ask. 

“What?” 

“You’re asking me lots of questions,” you say, slowly, quietly, but not without character. “I thought I’d ask one back.” 

“I don’t need anything.” He tilts his head to align your faces, leaning in, not quite close enough to kiss you. 

“You look very serious right now, Spider-Man.” 

He glares for show. “So serious.” 

“Sorry I can’t really make you a drink.” 

Peter wipes the glare. “I’m sorry you got hurt. I don’t care that you can’t be my serf right now. When you’re better I’m gonna work you twice as hard, that’s all.” 

You raise a tired hand to his jaw. You’re extra careful to offset your wonky hand, stroking a clumsy but tender line from his ear to his chin. “Can you help me up?” 

Peter doesn’t question you. You’ve been recovering for a few days (he hasn’t realised before your injury that some people can take months to get better after a head injury, even without blood clots or fractures) and he’s not felt the urge to baby you beyond waiting on your every whim and want. If you’d like to sit up, that’s okay. The only thing he’d insist on is getting enough sleep at night, and thats something you’ll do happily. 

“Can I give you a hug?” he asks, his eyebrows pinching up at their starts. “I hate seeing you shiver, it makes me sad.” 

“Makes you sad?”

He squeezes your elbow where the blankets have fallen down. “Is that surprising?” 

You want to trade jokes with him but you can’t summon a retort, and your smile quickly fades. It can’t be nice, feeling a shade of yourself. Peter’s heart aches for you twice. 

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he says, slipping his arms under yours, encouraging you to wrap your own behind his head or let them rest behind his shoulders. He loves hugging you like this, almost lifting you, spider strength begging to be used as you sigh and settle into place against him. You feel a little like a shell of yourself, not quite quick with touches, fingertips twitching against his shoulder blade as he nuzzles his face against yours unabashed. “There you are. Where’d you go, huh? I was about to send out the search party.” 

“I’m right here.” 

“Yeah you are. Lucky me, right? Luckiest guy in the world.” 

You sigh happily beside his ear, your face pitching slowly downward until it’s pressing against the curve of his neck, your arms slipping down his front as you run out of energy. He doesn’t mind, bundling you up with no intention of letting you go. 

“How do you feel?” he asks. 

“Still fuzzy, like… it’s like we’re talking to each other through a screen door.” 

“Do you need something? Or want something? I’ll get you anything.” 

“I’m fine.” 

He lets out a sorry sigh. He wishes you’d want something, god knows he’d love to put a smile on your face. If you were feeling better you might ask him to go and get you something for dinner from across the city, or beg him to find you a bunch of flowers (which he’s always willing to buy). But sick, you ask for nothing. You just lay on the couch and wait to get better. Peter doesn’t think it’s super fair. 

“I’m sorry you’re not better yet,” he murmurs, his lips drifting down to your temple, which he kisses weakly, the barest brush of his lips. “Wish I could take it from you.” 

“I’ll be okay soon.” 

“I know you will, but I still wish I could take it. It’s shitty.” 

You think about this for a while. “It’s not shitty,” you work out finally, hand curling against his waist in a tired display of affection. “I have the… best boyfriend ever looking after me.” 

“I’ll be here until you’re better, you know that.” 

“I know.” 

Peter ushers you back and lifts your blankets, slotting himself next to you with a careful arm held behind your back. You show some surprising excitement at the offering of a cuddle and work under his arm, shuffling down the couch to leave you both laying on the same cushion, blankets uneven but warm over your chests. “You should probably go back to sleep,” he says. 

“Nap with me?” you ask, endearingly hopeful. 

He turns his face, intending on drawing lines into your cheek with the tip of his nose until you either fall asleep or can’t take it anymore. “Sure, baby. I bet you’re exhausted, huh? Let’s sleep.” 

He falls asleep before you, breathing snores into your cheek. You have enough wits about you to laugh, and then you fall asleep, too. 

[cozage]

First of all, love the way you write the characters and stories!! They’re so fun to read and always is a huge moodbooster!

May I request Law or the monster trio finding reader after finishing up a huge battle? (Like where the reader is too exhausted to move)

Please remember to take care of yourself so to not end up like overworked reader!! You’re always allowed and deserving of rest 🫶

Characters: gn reader x Law, Luffy, Sanji, Zoro Cw: post-battle exhaustion  Total word count: 800

Post Battle

Law

Law would be pissed that you spent all of your energy to fight a battle. Especially a battle that he started.

He would be more scared than anything, and he would also blame himself for putting you in this situation. He just wants you safe, and it’s not fair that you ended up like this because of him.  

He would probably scold you and warn you not to take things too far again (“your body can’t take much more of this y/n-ya. You know better”)

But he doesn’t want to lose you. That thought is the scariest thing in the world for him. He can’t live without you. 

And the fear of losing you comes out in the form of anger. But his fear will quickly extinguish, and he will quickly become the soft, loving man you know in secret. 

He’ll pick you up and shambles you both away to safety, where you are priority number one. He cares to your wounds and caters to anything you possibly need (even if he does fake-grumble about it, he really does love it)

In the future, he promises himself that he will do better and he will never put you in a position like that again. 

Sanji

Sanji didn’t even want you to fight. He’s angry that you put yourself in harm's way. Someone should’ve been there to protect you. He should’ve been there. 

Not that you can’t handle yourself. He trusts you to get the job done. He’s just mad at himself for leaving you in the first place and putting you in a situation where you had to fight. 

When he whispers your name and coos in your ear, promising you that you’ll be okay.

He calls for Chopper and he wipes your hair out of your face. He doesn’t want to move you in case he ends up hurting you further. He’s trying his best to stay calm. 

He wants to panic, and every bone in his body is screaming in agony seeing you like this, but he doesn’t want you to panic, so he tries his best to act normal (he's not super great at it tbh he is so obviously scared for you)

He keeps saying stupid things like “no no don’t talk, save your strength” or “you look so beautiful everything is going to be okay” and you have to remind him that everything WILL be okay. You’re not dying, you're just tired. 

While you're recovering he makes so. much. food. You have to pawn some off to Luffy when Sanji isn’t looking because there’s no way you can eat so much. 

Luffy

Luffy would be proud. SO so proud. 

Covering you in kisses and cheering and showing you off to the world proud. 

He trusts you to handle whatever battle you’re in. And he knows you’ll hold up your part of the deal. You’ve never let him down before. 

He keeps you close though. He takes a post-battle nap with you, intertwined with your body. 

He feels safe with you next to him like that. He swears your body has magical healing properties, because he always wakes up 200% better after sleeping next to you (you feel better too, though you can’t explain why).

He keeps you next to him through the feast and the party, and he examines your new cuts, bruises, and scars. He only admires them, which helps you feel a little less insecure about them. 

Sometimes you all have matching cuts or bruises, to which Luffy celebrates with another round of booze and another plate of meat. 

Zoro

Zoro is also insanely proud of you. 

He never doubted you, but he knew it would be a hard battle. It was for everyone. But of course you got it finished. You were a person of your word and you would do what you said. 

He tries to be casual about it. He won’t admit that he was a little worried about how you would end up, but he’s so relieved to find you mostly okay. 

He doesn’t admit how his pace quickened when he saw you crumpled on the ground. How just for a moment, he found himself considering a quick prayer to some random god to make sure you were okay. 

But you were just tired. And he knows how to fix that. He gently picks you up and carries you back to safety. 

He lets you sleep while he runs his fingers through your hair and across your skin, so so thankful that all you need is a little nap to be okay. 

And to be honest, he could use a nap too. He’ll blame you for needing a nap, but he always sleeps easier with you around, especially after a battle.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ DUMB & POETIC ♡·˚

— [♡] ; you sprouted love like flowers, growing a garden in your mind and watering the petals with every unshed tear. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: hanahaki disease, fem!reader, fluff, slow burn, angst, hurt/comfort, emotional growth, vulnerable gojo satoru, recovered feelings, love after trauma, reconciliation, slow healing, happy ending, chapter two of four!

wc. 6.1K

↳ part 1 | part 3 [soon!]

Gojo’s newfound resolve was suffocating. The moment he realized the truth—that you were suffering, that you had been wilting away in silence—something inside him had shifted. He couldn’t let it go. His usual carefree attitude was gone, replaced with an intensity that left you exhausted beyond words. Every time he saw you now, he was right there—checking on you, offering his help, making sure you weren’t fading into the background anymore.

But you were tired. So tired.

You had spent so long trying to keep your head down, to hide the growing petals and the blood that came with every cough, that his sudden attention felt like too much. It was overwhelming. His presence, once something you had longed for in silence, now felt heavy, a constant reminder of how far gone you were.

After your confession, Gojo had made it clear that he wasn’t going to stand by and let you wither away. He was determined to help, to fix things, even though he didn’t know how. But that resolve, that fierce energy that he always carried, only served to remind you of how out of place you felt in his world.

Gojo was a powerhouse, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could bend the very fabric of the world to his will. He was confident, capable, and surrounded by students with talents that could rival his own in time. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara—they all had bright futures, their potential limitless. And then there was you: lungs full of blood and flowers, a cursed technique that barely registered on anyone’s radar. You had never stood a chance of catching his attention before, and now that you had, it was because you were slowly dying.

You made your way back to your room, each step heavier than the last. Your body ached with fatigue, the constant strain of the hanahaki weighing you down. The tissue box was empty, and you knew you would have to ask Shoko for more supplies soon, but even that felt like too much effort.

All you wanted to do was lie down in the dark and disappear for a while.

When you finally reached your room, you shut the door behind you, leaning against it for a moment as you let out a shaky breath. The air felt thick, your chest constricting with the familiar tightness that signaled another coughing fit. You swallowed hard, willing the flowers to stay buried for now. You couldn’t deal with another fit, not right now.

The room was dark, the curtains drawn to keep out the harsh light of the afternoon sun. It was a small comfort, the darkness wrapping around you like a blanket as you made your way to the bed. You didn’t bother turning on the lights. You didn’t need them. All you wanted was to rest, to escape the relentless exhaustion that had become your constant companion.

As you lay down, sinking into the worn-out mattress, the silence of the room pressed in on you. For a moment, you allowed yourself to breathe, to close your eyes and pretend that everything wasn’t falling apart. But the pain in your chest wouldn’t let you forget. The flowers were still there, growing larger with each passing day, their roots winding through your lungs, cracking your bones and choking the life out of you bit by bit.

Gojo’s attention, his concern—it was supposed to help. He had hoped it would help. Maybe he thought that by staying close, by showing you that you weren’t alone, he could somehow stop the disease from progressing. But no amount of resolve could stop the petals from blooming. No amount of determination could fix what was happening inside of you.

And deep down, you couldn’t help but feel like you didn’t belong in his world. Gojo was larger than life, a figure of strength and power, while you were fading away. Even now, with his attention fully on you, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were out of place. That no matter how hard he tried, nothing could change the fact that you were weak.

The tears came unbidden, slipping down your cheeks as you lay there, curled up in the darkness. You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the familiar tightness as the flowers bloomed again, but this time, you didn’t fight it. You let the petals come, the blood staining your lips as they fluttered out, beautiful and deadly.

You had wanted Gojo’s attention for so long. You had dreamt of him noticing you, of him seeing you the way he saw the others. But now that he had, it only served to highlight the gap between you—the gulf that separated your fragile existence from his unstoppable strength.

As another coughing fit wracked your body, you buried your face in the pillow, the sound muffled but still too loud in the quiet of the room. The petals, soft and cerulean, fell onto the bedspread, a cruel reminder of the love you could never express. You wiped at your mouth, the blood mixing with the tears as you struggled to catch your breath.

Gojo was trying to help, but you were too far gone.

You curled tighter into yourself, your breath shallow as you closed your eyes and let the darkness take you. All you could do was hope that, for a little while, the world would leave you alone.

The past few days had been especially brutal—nosebleeds every time you so much as raised your head, petals blooming with every shallow breath. Your body had begun to reject even the most basic movements, leaving you bedridden, trapped in the darkness of your tiny dorm room.

You hadn’t gone to class in two days. The mere thought of leaving your bed felt impossible, the effort it took to even sit up leaving you dizzy and coughing up more blood than ever before. Your assignments, your studies—all of it had slipped away, fading into the background as you struggled just to survive the onslaught of pain and exhaustion.

The worst part wasn’t even the physical toll. It was the isolation.

You had cut yourself off completely, hiding away from the world and everyone in it, hoping that if you stayed quiet enough, no one would notice. But deep down, you knew that Gojo had been watching, keeping an eye on you even as you disappeared from his class. It was only a matter of time before he came looking for you.

It happened on the third day.

You were lying in bed, the covers pulled up around you despite the suffocating heat of the room. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, plunging the space into a dim, shadowy haze. The air was thick with the scent of blood and petals, a sickly sweetness that clung to everything. The tissue box beside your bed was nearly empty again, tissues scattered across the floor, stained with red and blue – turning almost a slickly hollow purple.

You hadn’t bothered getting up that day. Every time you tried, your head spun, and your vision blurred with the strain of another coughing fit. It was easier to stay still, to let the darkness wrap around you and pretend, for just a moment, that the world outside didn’t exist.

But then, you heard it—a knock at the door. It was soft at first, hesitant, but unmistakable.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too raw, your chest too tight with the ever-present flowers, their roots winding deeper into your lungs with every passing minute.

The knock came again, louder this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of Gojo’s voice. “Hey… you in there?”

Your heart sank. Of course, it was him. Of course, he had tracked your dorm room down.

When you didn’t respond, the door creaked open, and Gojo stepped inside. The sight of him, standing in the doorway of your tiny, dark dorm room, was almost surreal. He looked completely out of place, his tall frame too large for the cramped, messy space. His usual bright, confident energy seemed dulled by the atmosphere of the room, as if the darkness had reached out and swallowed him whole.

For a moment, he just stood there, taking in the scene before him—your rumpled bed, the scattered tissues, the bloodstained pillows. His blindfold-covered eyes scanned the room, his expression unreadable, but there was a heaviness in his posture that you hadn’t seen before.

You tried to sit up, but the effort sent a wave of dizziness crashing over you, and you collapsed back onto the mattress, your chest tightening painfully. Another petal slipped from your lips, landing softly on the sheets.

Gojo’s expression shifted, and in an instant, he was beside you, his presence filling the space around your bed. “You weren’t in class,” he said, his voice quieter than usual. “Two days.”

You tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. Your throat burned, and all you could manage was a weak cough, more petals spilling from your mouth as you pressed a tissue to your lips.

Gojo’s hand hovered near your shoulder, hesitating before he placed it gently on the edge of your bed. “You should’ve told me,” he said, his voice strained. “I would’ve—” He stopped, his sentence hanging in the air, unfinished.

It was almost funny, how out of place he looked in your dorm. Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, the man who could command any room, now standing awkwardly in your dark, messy space, his usual confidence dimmed by the sheer weight of the situation.

“You’re really out of your element here, Gojo-sensei,” you rasped, the words barely audible as you tried to laugh, but the sound came out more like a wheeze.

Gojo’s lips quirked up into a faint, sad smile, but you knew his eyes—hidden behind his blindfold—didn’t reflect the usual lightness they held. “Yeah, well,” he said, sitting on the edge of your bed, “you’re not making this easy.”

You let out a small, bitter chuckle, though it quickly turned into another cough, your hand trembling as you held the tissue to your mouth. “Nothing about this is easy,” you muttered.

Gojo’s hand shifted, and for a moment, you thought he might reach out to help, but he didn’t. Instead, he just sat there, his presence oddly quiet, his usual bravado tempered by the reality of what he was seeing.

“You didn’t have to come,” you said after a moment, your voice soft, barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t want you to see me like this.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, and he shook his head slightly. “Too bad,” he replied, his voice firm but gentle. “I’m here, and I’m not leaving.”

You swallowed hard, feeling another wave of exhaustion wash over you. “Why?” you asked, your voice barely audible. “Why do you care so much now?”

Gojo was silent for a moment, as if considering his answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it. “Because I should’ve been paying attention a long time ago,” he admitted. “I should’ve noticed you sooner.”

You blinked, taken aback by the sincerity in his words. For so long, you had convinced yourself that you were invisible to him, that your presence in his class didn’t matter. But now, sitting here in your dark, messy room, it was clear that Gojo had noticed more than you realized.

“I didn’t want to be a burden,” you whispered, your voice shaky. “You have so much on your plate already.”

Gojo’s lips pressed into a thin line, and he leaned forward slightly, his hand finally reaching out to gently touch your arm. “You’re not a burden,” he said, his voice steady, but the emotion behind his words was undeniable. “You’re one of my students. I’m supposed to look out for you.”

You closed your eyes, feeling the weight of his words settle over you like a heavy blanket. For so long, you had felt like an outsider, like your existence didn’t matter. But in this moment, with Gojo sitting beside you, his presence quiet and unwavering, you realized that maybe, just maybe, you weren’t as invisible as you thought.

But even so, the flowers continued to bloom, their roots winding deeper into your lungs, and you knew that Gojo’s attention, his resolve, wouldn’t be enough to stop them.

Gojo’s presence in the room felt like an anchor, grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. But even as his hand rested gently on your arm, his words filled with a kind of determination you hadn’t heard before, a harsh truth settled deep in your bones: no matter what he said, no matter how fiercely he tried to look after you now, it wouldn’t change the course of your imminent death.

You opened your eyes, staring at the ceiling, the familiar ache in your chest pulsing with every shallow breath. The petals inside you weren’t just blooming—they were taking over, suffocating you from the inside out. Gojo’s concern, his guilt, his newfound attention—it didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stop the inevitable.

“It’s too bad,” you muttered, your voice raw, barely more than a breath. “Looking out for me now isn’t going to change anything.”

Gojo froze beside you, his hand still resting on your arm, though the warmth of his touch felt distant. You couldn’t bring yourself to meet his gaze, but you could feel the weight of his silence, the way his usually unshakable confidence faltered in the face of something he couldn’t fight, couldn’t fix.

“Don’t say that,” he murmured, his voice lower now, almost pleading. “I’m not giving up on you.”

You let out a soft, bitter laugh, the sound catching in your throat as another petal forced its way up, followed by a trickle of blood that stained your lips. “It doesn’t matter if you don’t give up,” you rasped, your breath uneven as you wiped the blood away with the back of your hand. “It’s too late, Gojo.”

He was quiet again, the tension in the room thickening as you both sat in the suffocating darkness. You could feel the weight of his frustration, the way his fingers tightened slightly against your arm, as if holding onto you harder could somehow stop what was happening. But nothing could stop the flowers now. Nothing could stop the hanahaki from claiming you, piece by piece.

Gojo finally spoke, his voice strained, like he was fighting to keep his usual bravado from slipping completely. “It’s not too late,” he said, but there was something hollow in the way he said it, like he was trying to convince himself as much as he was trying to convince you. “There has to be something we can do.”

You turned your head slightly to look at him, the exhaustion heavy in your limbs. The sight of Gojo—normally so composed, so sure of himself—looking utterly lost in your tiny, dimly lit room, was almost tragic. His blindfold hid his eyes, but you could see the tension in his face, the way his jaw clenched, his lips pressed tightly together. This was the strongest sorcerer in the world, and yet here, in this moment, even he couldn’t stop the inevitable.

“I appreciate it,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper, “but you can’t fix this.”

His fingers twitched against your arm, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But instead, he let out a slow, controlled breath, his hand slipping from your arm to his lap as he leaned back slightly, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he asked, his voice quiet, almost broken.

You shook your head weakly, the effort taking more out of you than it should have. “Because what would it change?” you replied, your tone resigned. “I’m just another student, Gojo. Telling you wouldn’t have stopped this.”

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, his expression hardening at your words. “You’re not just another student,” he said sharply, his voice thick with frustration. “You never were.”

You closed your eyes again, the heaviness in your chest making it difficult to speak, let alone process his words. “Maybe not to you now,” you muttered, “but you didn’t notice me before. And now that you do… it’s too late.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Gojo didn’t respond right away, and for a moment, you thought he might leave, might give up on this impossible situation. But then, his voice broke through the darkness, softer this time, almost fragile.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

You opened your eyes, surprised at the rawness in his tone. It was rare to hear Gojo like this—stripped of his usual confidence, his playful charm, and his endless bravado. He sounded… human. Vulnerable.

“I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner,” he continued, his voice low, barely audible over the sound of your labored breathing. “I should’ve been paying attention. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” you interrupted, shaking your head as much as your weak body would allow. “Don’t do that. Don’t blame yourself.”

Gojo’s hand tightened into a fist, his knuckles white against the fabric of his pants. “How can I not?” he asked, his voice thick with guilt. “You’re my student. I’m supposed to protect you. And I didn’t.”

The air in the room felt heavy, oppressive, as you lay there in the silence that followed. You understood where his guilt came from, but it didn’t change the reality of the situation. Gojo couldn’t fix this. No one could.

“Maybe… maybe I don’t want to be saved,” you whispered, the truth of your words sinking in even as you said them. “I’ve lived with this for so long, and now… I’m just tired.”

Gojo didn’t respond right away, but the tension in his body told you how much your words affected him. He wasn’t used to losing, especially not like this—helpless, unable to fight back.

“I’m not giving up on you,” he said again, but this time, the desperation in his voice was clear. He wasn’t just saying it for you—he was saying it for himself. Trying to hold on to something, anything, that would make this feel less final.

You closed your eyes again, the exhaustion weighing down on you like a blanket. “You don’t have to give up,” you murmured. “But it doesn’t change the fact that… I’m already slipping away.”

In the darkness of your room, with the scent of blood and petals filling the air, the truth became impossible to ignore. Even Gojo, with all his power and resolve, couldn’t save you from this.

And somehow, in that moment, you were okay with that.

The silence between you and Gojo hung heavy in the room. You could feel the weight of his presence beside you, but it offered no comfort, only a reminder of the widening gap between what could be and what was. You knew he was desperate to help, but even he, the strongest sorcerer, couldn't stop what was happening inside you.

The thought stirred something inside you—curiosity, maybe desperation of your own. You turned your head slowly to look at him, eyes half-lidded, your voice hoarse and broken as you spoke.

"Can you see it?" you asked, your words barely more than a breath, your throat raw from the constant coughing. "With your Six Eyes?"

Gojo's posture stiffened slightly, but you could feel the shift in his energy. The question hung in the air, thick with meaning. You knew that his Six Eyes gave him extraordinary perception, allowed him to see cursed energy and details others couldn't possibly comprehend. But you wondered—could he see the flowers inside of you? Could he see the petals twisting around your lungs, choking the life out of you, piece by piece - if he tried?

For a moment, he didn’t answer. The silence stretched on, and you could feel the weight of his hesitation. Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost fragile. “Yes.”

The word lingered in the air, a confirmation that sent a chill through you.

Gojo didn’t elaborate, but you didn’t need him to. You could picture it now—his Six Eyes, usually so sharp and all-seeing, watching the cursed energy inside of you twist and knot around the blooming flowers. You wondered if it looked as beautiful as it felt tragic. Did he see the delicate petals weaving through your body, tainted with blood and despair? Did the flowers glow in his vision, vibrant but deadly, a curse of unrequited love made visible through the lens of his extraordinary power?

“Tell me what you see,” you whispered, unsure why you even wanted to know. Maybe because it felt like the only way to truly confront the reality of your condition, to hear from him just how deep the curse ran.

Gojo was silent for a long moment, his hand resting loosely on his knee, fingers twitching slightly as though he were struggling with how to answer. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it, almost reverent.

“I see… cursed energy wrapped around you, tightening,” he said slowly, as if each word was pulled from him against his will. “It’s like… roots, tangled and twisting, wrapped around your lungs. They’re… beautiful, but they’re suffocating you.”

Your breath hitched in your chest at his words. Beautiful but suffocating. That was exactly how it felt—both physically and emotionally. This disease, born of your unspoken feelings for him, was devastatingly beautiful in its way. The petals were lovely, but their bloom came at the cost of your life.

Gojo leaned forward, his voice more strained now. “The flowers… they’re cursed energy, too, aren’t they? Your emotions, your love… they’ve turned into something I can see. Something I can’t stop.”

You blinked back tears, the weight of his words pressing down on you. You didn’t need to look at him to know the helplessness that now filled his expression. Gojo was someone who was never helpless, someone who could bend the world to his will, yet here he was, unable to stop the flowers from blooming, unable to stop your slow descent.

“They’re… suffocating me,” you whispered, your voice cracking. “Even you… can’t stop them.”

Gojo was silent, his hand gripping the edge of your bed as if that could steady him. For the first time since you had known him, he seemed lost. There was no easy solution, no power he could wield to fix this. All he could do was watch—watch as the flowers continued to bloom, watch as your life slipped away before his very eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. Again.

You closed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion creep up on you again. “Don’t be,” you muttered, your voice fading as sleep pulled you under. “Just… stay.”

For once, Gojo didn’t argue. He stayed. And for a moment, in the suffocating darkness of your dorm room, with the flowers blooming inside you, it was enough.

You lay there, exhausted, your body worn from the endless cycle of coughing and pain. Gojo sat beside you, quieter than you had ever seen him. His usual boundless energy was gone, replaced by something darker, more solemn. He had seen the flowers—seen them with his Six Eyes—and now, for the first time, he truly understood the depth of what you were facing.

But even his understanding didn’t change the reality. You were dying. Slowly, but surely.

The soft sound of footsteps broke through the silence, and you turned your head slightly as Shoko stepped into the room. Her expression was unreadable, a mix of exhaustion and something else you couldn’t quite place. She carried the air of someone who had been wrestling with a difficult decision, and the moment she walked in, you knew she had something important to say.

Gojo straightened slightly as she entered, but he didn’t say anything. He just watched her, his blindfold still in place, though you could feel the weight of his focus shifting between you and Shoko.

“Hey,” she greeted softly, glancing between the two of you. She moved to the foot of your bed, crossing her arms over her chest as she took in the state of the room—of you.

You tried to sit up, but your body betrayed you, weak and uncooperative. Shoko’s gaze softened as she saw you struggle, and she moved closer, her eyes serious but compassionate.

“I’ve been thinking,” she began, her voice calm and measured. “About your condition. About the hanahaki.”

You felt a tightness in your chest at her words. You knew what she was about to say. You had been avoiding this conversation for as long as you could, but it was inevitable.

“There’s a surgery,” she continued, her voice steady. “We can remove the flowers, the roots, everything. It’s the only way to stop the disease from progressing.”

You glanced at Gojo, but he remained silent, his expression tense. Shoko’s words hung in the air like a lifeline, a glimmer of hope in the darkness that had consumed you. But you knew the cost of that surgery.

Shoko’s eyes flickered to Gojo for a moment before settling back on you. She hesitated, then spoke quietly. “But… the surgery will take away your feelings. Your love for him.”

The room felt impossibly still, the weight of her words crashing down around you. You had known this was coming, but hearing it out loud made it real in a way you weren’t prepared for. The flowers would be gone—the pain, the coughing, the blood—but so would your love for Gojo. That deep, unspoken feeling that had been a part of you for so long, the very thing that had caused this disease, would be erased.

You looked up at Shoko, your throat tight, your voice barely a whisper. “So… I’d stop loving him?”

Shoko nodded, her gaze softening with understanding. “Yes,” she said gently. “The feelings that caused the hanahaki would be removed. It’s the only way to save you.”

Gojo shifted beside you, and you could feel the tension radiating from him, though he still didn’t say anything. His silence was deafening, and it made the decision feel even more impossible.

You turned your head to look at him, searching his face for some kind of answer, some kind of guidance. But all you saw was the same confusion and helplessness that you felt. This wasn’t something his power could fix. This wasn’t something that could be fought or defeated.

The choice was yours.

You felt a tear slip down your cheek, your mind reeling. Could you really give it up? Could you let go of the love you had held onto for so long, even though it had been one-sided? The thought of not loving Gojo anymore, of not feeling the warmth and the ache that came with caring for him, left a hollow ache in your chest. But the alternative—letting the flowers bloom until they consumed you completely—was a death sentence.

“I don’t want to stop loving him,” you whispered, the words trembling as they left your lips.

Gojo’s head snapped toward you, his expression tightening. You couldn’t see his eyes behind the blindfold, but you could feel his shock, his hesitation. He hadn’t known, not fully, just how much you had held inside. But now, with Shoko standing here offering you a chance to live—a chance to erase the very thing that had been killing you—he knew.

“Don’t…” Gojo’s voice was low, strained, as if he was grappling with what to say. “Don’t do this for me.”

You turned your head slightly to meet his gaze, though the blindfold hid his eyes. “It’s not about you,” you said softly, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s about… me. It’s about what I’m willing to lose to keep going.”

Gojo flinched, and you saw the way his fingers tightened into fists, his jaw clenched. He wanted to say something, to stop you, but he knew he couldn’t. This was a decision only you could make.

Shoko stepped closer, her expression compassionate but firm. “It’s your choice,” she said quietly. “But if you don’t do the surgery soon, there won’t be another option.”

Your heart pounded in your chest, the weight of the decision pressing down on you like a heavy fog. If you chose the surgery, you could live—but you would lose the most important part of yourself. If you refused, the flowers would take you, slowly but surely, until there was nothing left.

“I don’t want to lose this,” you said again, your voice trembling. “Even if it hurts. Even if it’s killing me.”

Gojo’s hand finally reached for yours, his fingers brushing against your cold skin. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet, almost pleading. “I don’t want you to die.”

You closed your eyes, the tears falling freely now. The choice was in front of you, clear and unforgiving.

Save yourself, but lose him.

Or love him, and let the flowers take you.

You had never felt so lost.

Shoko had been quiet after your initial resistance, but her eyes were filled with a kind of quiet understanding that unnerved you. She had known all along that this decision would tear you apart. Even now, with Gojo sitting silently at your bedside, his hand gently wrapped around yours, you could feel the weight of the decision looming over all of you.

But in the days that followed, as Gojo was called away on a mission—one he couldn’t refuse—the decision became clearer. The pain was getting worse. You could hardly get out of bed without collapsing into a fit of coughing, petals spilling from your lips more violently than ever before. Every breath felt like a battle, and every time you blinked, the world around you seemed to fade just a little more.

Shoko visited frequently. Each time she came, she brought more supplies, more medications to dull the pain, but her eyes always carried the same question: When will you decide?

And finally, after a particularly brutal day when you could hardly move from bed, your body weak and ravaged by the flowers, Shoko had sat down beside you, her voice firm yet compassionate.

“You’re dying,” she said plainly. “And I know you don’t want to hear that, but it’s the truth. If you keep waiting, if you don’t do something… it’s going to be too late.”

You had closed your eyes, her words echoing in your mind. You didn’t want to stop loving Gojo. You didn’t want to lose that part of yourself, even if it was killing you. But the reality was becoming impossible to ignore.

“I’m scared,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to forget him.”

Shoko placed a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but steady. “I know. But Gojo doesn’t want you to die. You don’t deserve to die for this.”

Her words hit you like a wave, crashing against the walls you had built around yourself. You were so tired—tired of the pain, the suffocation, the slow withering away of your body. Maybe, just maybe, there was a way to survive this. Maybe it was time to let go.

Shoko leaned in closer, her voice soft but insistent. “You deserve to live, even if it means you have to forget.”

The decision, when you finally made it, felt like it wasn’t entirely yours. It felt like giving up. But you agreed. You agreed to the surgery while Gojo was away, telling yourself that it was for the best. He wouldn’t be there to see you go through with it, to watch you lose the love that had been driving you toward death. He would never have to know how hard it had been for you to let go of him.

The surgery came faster than you expected. Shoko was efficient, as always, and her team worked in the clinical, detached way that was necessary for something like this. You felt numb, even before the anesthesia kicked in. The thought of losing the flowers—the flowers that represented your love for Gojo—was a strange, hollow feeling. You had grown accustomed to the weight of them inside you, even as they destroyed you.

When you woke up, the first thing you noticed was the absence of pain. No more tightness in your chest, no more blood, no more petals. Just… silence.

But along with that silence came something else. The overwhelming emptiness where your feelings for Gojo had been. The love you had carried for him, the very thing that had once consumed you, was gone. Erased. You knew it intellectually, but you couldn’t feel it anymore. It was like staring at a memory that had faded beyond recognition. The edges were still there, but the warmth was gone, and the ache that once defined your every waking moment had vanished.

You were free—but at what cost?

It was a few days later when Gojo returned from his mission. You had been resting, trying to adjust to the strange new quietness inside your heart, when the door to your room swung open. Gojo stepped in, his usual lightness dimmed by the weight of the situation.

He had rushed back, that much was clear. His blindfold was slightly askew, his hair disheveled, and there was an urgency in the way he moved as he approached your bed.

“Hey, kid,” he said softly, sitting on the edge of your bed, his voice more tentative than you’d ever heard it. “I came as soon as I could.”

You looked up at him, feeling… disconnected. He was still Gojo. Still the same person who had sat by your side, trying to comfort you, trying to save you. But something was different now. He seemed so far away, like a figure from a dream you couldn’t quite grasp.

“I had the surgery,” you said quietly, your voice steady. You were surprised by how calm you felt.

Gojo blinked, his expression shifting, though it was hard to read behind his blindfold. “I know,” he said softly, his voice laced with something that sounded almost like regret. “Shoko told me.”

There was a pause, a long, uncomfortable silence as the two of you sat there. You knew what he was going to ask. He had to ask, even though you knew the answer.

“Do you… still feel the same?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “About me?”

You looked away, your heart heavy, though not in the way it had been before. There was no pain, no aching love suffocating you. Just the quiet, empty truth.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “I don’t. I don’t feel anything for you anymore.”

Gojo didn’t move for a moment. The weight of your words seemed to hang between you, thick and final. He sat there, staring at you, though you couldn’t see his eyes. You could feel the tension in his body, the realization that something irrevocable had changed.

“I see,” he murmured, his voice tight, though he tried to hide it behind his usual facade. But the cracks were there, small and painful.

You felt like you should have said something more, but there was nothing left to say. You had made your choice, and now you had to live with it. Gojo, too, would have to live with the knowledge that you had loved him once, deeply, but now, it was gone.

He stood slowly, forcing a smile, though it didn’t reach his usual brightness. “Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” he said, his voice light but strained. “That’s what matters.”

You nodded, watching as he turned to leave. But before he walked out the door, he paused, his hand resting on the frame.

“I’ll still be around,” he said, quieter now, almost to himself. “If you need anything.”

And then he was gone.

The room felt emptier than before, and though the flowers were gone from your lungs, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something precious had been lost in their place.

notes: I tried to keep your cursed technique vague so y'all can pick whatever it is - If you'd like to be tagged, just let me know <3

tag list: @lily-of-my-dreams @sunnyx07 @3zae-zae3 @sashisuslover @kingshitonly @bvuckleybby @laviefantasie

©apollogeticx ⋆ all rights reserved.

[claw-deen]

you're sick:

suggested by: anon

(you've just caught a cold, you're not dying or anything)

ngl, miles is a little bit panicked at first, he's the kind of person who types your symptoms on his computer search bar and then freaks out because according to google you're going to die in three days. “I'm fine Miles, I just caught a cold.” you have to reassure him because if you don't he might take you to the hospital just because you sneezed.

gwen may be a little bit overwhelming at first. “are you cold? tell me if you're too hot. does your back hurt? do you need more pillows? are you hungry? what do you need? soup? water? I'll make you an infusion.” she comes back with an ice pack, a hot water bottle, pillows, soup, fresh water and herbal tea, just in case. you pat her hand reassuringly while smiling to her, hoping to calm her down. she'd bring you the moon if you asked.

pavitr can be really calm and reassuring when he needs to be. he'd make sure you rest and take time to heal, especially if you tend to overwork yourself. he'll put you to bed by force don't play with him.

hobie would still be his usual anarchist self, but perhaps gentler and less teasing than usual. if you're the type to hide it when you're feeling sick, good luck, because he'll notice it with just one look. like pavitr, he'd want you to rest and take a nap to let your body recover. he'd bring you tissues and food and maybe even plays a soothing tune on his guitar to make you fall asleep.

miguel is here for you the whole time. oh but it's just a cold? he doesn't care. you're always there for him and he'll be there for you unless you physically kick him out of the room. “Miguel stop worrying so much I'm fine.” he places his big hand on your forehead and he frowns. “your face feels burning hot right now, you need to lay down, corazón.” and how can you say no to him? 😩

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 5

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Further Parts

Johnny recovers slowly.

-

Fifteen minutes? Simon messages you. A flare going up in the darkness, an SOS signal even if you don’t know the accuracy of the analogy. But he doesn’t hear back from you that day.  Maybe what little luck he had left that wasn’t bad luck has run out. Maybe you realized that you had no real reason to be guilty, that Soap had stepped out in front of your car on purpose. You didn’t owe them anything. 

Simon wishes he could swallow that flare back up, eat it whole, let it burn him alive, but he can’t. Johnny needs him. 

Ever since the seizure, it’s been one bad pain day after another. The seizure itself was rough on his body, but so was how hard Soap fought afterwards, dealing himself damage that he didn’t even have the processing yet to tally up. 

Like clockwork he’s requiring those little green pills, choking them down on empty stomachs. Simon even has to break out what’s left of the sublingual morphine which they hadn’t used since Johnny first came home from inpatient rehabilitation. Only then will Johnny manage to fall into fitful sleeps wracked with nightmares and phantom pains from his missing arm. He cancels all therapy that week, hoping Johnny will return to his baseline soon. Hoping for the days he used to wish away. 

It’s hell on earth. Simon lays in bed beside him, ready to wake him from another nightmare, going on three days without sleep and he wishes that he had been the one in the helicopter instead. Wishes that it had killed him, since he can’t ever wish death on Johnny. Not ever. Not even when his boy begs for it. 

His phone buzzes, and it’s you: I’m free in twenty. Still need me?

Badly. Simon can’t remember the last time he showered. All he wants is fifteen minutes to scrub himself clean and feel human again. All he says though is: Yeah.

You appear just past twenty minutes later wearing a diner uniform. It’s cute: tight pants that hug your thighs and hips, a white button-down blouse tucked in, demarcation where your name tag used to rest.

Simon opens the door and ushers you in, somber-faced, like a pallbearer at a funeral. He goes to the bedroom door and glances in to make sure Johnny is out—there should be no waking him for the next two hours, but if there is one thing Simon has learned, it’s that God Laughs. 

“He asleep?” you whisper, lingering a healthy distance away. 

“Out like a light. I just need fifteen minutes in the shower.”

“I’ll watch him,” you whisper. Then you add: “I looked it up, by the way. What a seizure looks like. Just in case.”

Simon’s stomach drops between his knees. It takes him several heartbeats to realize that he isn’t nauseous out of any fear response, but out of sheer fucking gratitude. The feeling cuts through the fog in his mind like a knife through butter, and he feels like he sees you for the first time: your hair back away from your face, your healing bruises (and the new one on your chin), the embarrassed desperation in your eyes. You’ve latched on to Johnny too, he can tell, likely by some misguided guilt from almost hitting him with your car. But it’s there. He has a feeling that if Johnny were to take a dive off the balcony, he’d be taking you with him. 

You are completely unhinged. Borderline mad, even. Exactly what Johnny needs to keep him alive. 

“Fifteen minutes,” says Simon again before slipping into the bathroom, clean clothes tucked under his arm. When he resurfaces, only 11 minutes have passed. The military taught him everything he could need to know about thorough but expeditious showers. 

You are sitting at the dining table, having chosen the seat that gives you the best vantage point of Johnny’s sleeping figure in the next room through the doorway. Simon expected to find you on your phone, scrolling away, but it is nowhere in sight. You have sat perfectly still, watching Johnny. It would almost be eerie if he didn’t appreciate it so goddamn much. 

“We need to talk about this arrangement,” you say, clasping your hands together. You’re shaking. 

“You want out.” 

“What? No!” You both glance toward the bedroom, but Johnny snores on, in the throes of morphine-fueled dreams. When you speak again, it is quieter: “I don’t mind helping, but I can only check my phone at certain times of the day.”

This is the part where Simon asks why. But the question sticks to the back of his tongue like something unsavory. A more important question: can he afford to care why beyond what it means for him and for Johnny? The bottom line is that there will be long stretches of time where you’re unavailable. He can live with that. He’s been living with it, hasn’t he? 

“I’ll only ever need you when he’s asleep. If he knew I was letting you watch over him, he’d blow his top. I mean that literally.” Simon stands. “You want tea?”

“Tea?” You blink at him like the word does not compute. “Yes, please. Thank you, I mean.” 

“Just tea, don’t get worked up over it,” he mutters, going to put the kettle on. He needs a minute to fucking think. 

This goes against everything he was ever taught. The foundation of his personality is self-reliance, and it has been since he was a boy, since he learned that he couldn’t rely on adults for anything resembling stability. Asking for help feels like tossing up the white flag, like admitting he’s in too deep and he can’t take it anymore. It feels like failing Johnny. 

But there’s construction going on inside him. Those pillars of his personality are being torn down, and in their place something more important is being formed: a shrine to the only person who’s ever loved him that wasn’t his mother. If it’s good for Johnny, Simon must do it, even if it feels strange, even if it goes against all the strategies that have kept him alive in the past. 

When he brings tea back to the table, you try to drink it right away, scalding your tongue. 

“Slow,” Simon says. He didn’t even get the chance to offer you any milk or sugar. 

Face warm as the tea, you drink slower, tongue likely numb. The silence between you grows, adds up, and he catches you more than once looking toward the digital clock inlaid on the stove, like you are nervous and counting down the moments until you can escape. Like Simon frightens you. Fifteen minutes pass and more. You drain your cup. 

“I should go,” you say at length.

“Alright.”

“Thank you for the tea.” 

“Don’t thank me.”

You just nod and slip out of the apartment, quietly shutting the door behind you. Simon sits there for a long time after you’re gone, thinking over the arrangement. Thinking over you. 

You’re in trouble. He just can’t decide if he can afford to take on any more trouble right now. 

His tea has cooled by the time Johnny stirs in the other room, calling out for more pills. 

-

It does get easier. Tooth and nail they fight for every peaceful moment until they are able to string two of those moments together, and then two becomes three. Johnny is back to his old self—often angry, still pained, but with glimmers of the man Simon used to know shining beneath it all like diamonds under dirt. 

Therapy starts again, and so do Johnny’s tasks. 

The tasks aren’t therapy. They’re Johnny’s idea: each few days he picks a task that he used to be able to do before the accident and commits himself to relearning it. 

Today that tasks is unlocking the front door. He stands with his forehead against the oak, knowing Simon is somewhere on the other side, having heard him turn the deadbolt. 

The door has three locks. There is the handle which is the only one the apartment building originally supplied them with. There is the sliding lock, which Simon had installed on day two in the new apartment. It is only ever locked at night when both of them are home, and it is easy enough for Johnny to guide the wide end into the slot. Then there is the deadbolt, also installed by Simon, and easily the trickiest lock of all. Usually it requires the strength of two hands to unlock comfortably—but Soap’s down a hand and short on patience. 

“Jesus, get me in this apartment. Amen,” he mutters.

The key shakes in his hand as he guides it to the lock. It takes some fumbling, but he gets it after just a few moments. Then he must twist while pulling outward at the same time. It uses muscles in his arms that have grown weak with disuse. The key catches for a moment but then slides out of the lock uselessly. He pulled too hard; he did not twist hard enough. 

It’s a delicate balance, one he had perfected without even trying months ago when they moved in. Now it seems like a cruel and unusual punishment. If he can’t get this fucking door open, he’ll sleep out here, undeserving of his own bed. In his mind, the voice of encouragement does not sound so much like the calm soothing tones of Andy—his physical rehabilitation therapist—but instead the borderline abusive dialect of his superiors during his time in the military, the ones who had only ever cared about results and not much about the bodies getting those results. 

Footsteps come from the open elevator, and Johnny casts an irritated glance only to see that it is you. You are dressed for exercise, clingy clothes with running shoes and a baggy top thrown on over everything, drooping off of one of your shoulders. At the sight of you, Johnny remembers the lengths you went to to help him light his cigarette and his heart throbs with fondness, some of his anger evaporating like fog burnt off by the morning sun. 

“Afternoon, lass.” 

“Hi, Johnny,” you murmur, voice near a whisper as you cast a glance toward your own door. Maybe you are thinking about running from him. “Are you having trouble?” 

Johnny’s good mood dissipates. “No,” he lies. “Yes. I don’t fucking know.” 

“Can I help?”

“No,” he snaps. “I have to do this myself.”

“Where’s Simon?” 

“Inside.” 

“He’s locked you out?”

“Aye.” 

Your face changes. He knows you so little that it takes a moment for him to identify the expression for what it is: apoplectic rage. Your hands have clenched into fists at your sides, brows drawn low over your eyes as you glare a hole through the door. You reach out and take Johnny’s hand. He’s so fucking surprised that he drops the damn key. 

“Johnny,” you say. “You can tell me. Are you in trouble?”

“What sort o’ trouble?” 

“Simon. Is he good to you?” 

“Bastard eats my cereal and leaves the empty box behind, but aye, he’s good to me. Better than good. What’s all this about, hen? Simon locking me out? I only asked him to, that’s all—let’s me practice with the key, so I can open it on my own again,” says Johnny, stroking his thumb along your knuckles. 

You let go of him like you’ve been burned, face mortified. “Oh, God. I’m sorry Johnny. I misunderstood. Let me just—”

You bend down and retrieve the key, handing it to him. You can barely look him in the eye as you mumble a goodbye and rush past him into your own apartment, shutting the door solidly behind you. 

Johnny stares after you for a long moment, key held limply in his hand, mind far from the door. At last, he puts the key back into the lock. 

Twist, pull. 

[too-much-tma-stuff]

Finally Getting Help (pt 12)

Masterpost

“Ya, I have questions,” Jason confirmed, trying not to shift awkwardly in his seat. “I read the slideshow but I don’t seem to fit in either liminals or ghosts, and I have some issues that I think would have been mentioned if they were common?”

“Alright, what are they?” Danny asked tilting his head a little. 

“Well, it’s been better since meeting you, and I know increased aggression was one of the thing mentioned but mine isn’t like Damian’s, or even yours I think. We’ve been calling it Pit Madness. I’ve gotten better at managing it but especially when I got back it was really bad. I… killed a ton of people and I still have a lot of bloodlust that no one is comfortable with.”

“That is unusual, especially directed towards humans. Aside from revenge against whoever killed them dead usually don’t care very much about the living,” Danny said curiously, considering Jason. 

“And I do read as- as dead?” Jason asked, he had been worried about that.

“Well you’re obviously not Dead dead,” Danny said rolling his eyes before he reached across the table. “Here, with touch I can figure out a bit more.” He said and Jason hesitated for a moment before resting his hand in Danny’s.

A cool feeling quickly washed up his arm and over his chest like intangible water. Danny tilted his head to the other side, his brows coming together slowly as he gazed into the middle distance and considered what he was feeling. He let out a hiss and some sort of chitter that couldn’t come from a human throat, then clicked his tongue and the cool feeling dissipated, sinking under Jason’s skin and cooling heat he hadn’t been aware of feeling. 

“Okay, ya that’s weird,” Danny admitted and Jason’s heart dropped. “Best I can equate it to is, like a bone that healed wrong,” Danny said thoughtfully. “You did die before?” He asked, Jason nodded mutely. “Okay, I won’t ask why or how. But best I can tell your soul was shoved back into your body and not given time to get settled back in it’s proper position before whatever was done to bind it in place. So you’re alive but with some.. Spiritual nerve and brain damage. Would you be comfortable telling me how you were resurrected?”

“Well, I resurrected myself apparently. I don’t really remember it but apparently about six months after my death I dug myself out of my grave. Before I could get anywhere the League of Shadows found me and dunked me in the Lazarus pit which is this glowing green stuff that heals the dying and kills the healthy. I don’t remember any of it, it was almost a year before I recovered enough to be myself at all.”

“That actually makes a lot of sense,” Danny said, nodding thoughtfully. “My guess would be at first you came back as a revenant, which is basically when a ghost possesses their own corpse to get revenge, not truly a living being. But then this Lazarus pit resurrected your body and your soul got stuck in your living body again without being prepared or intending for that to happen. 

“That’s what I’m guessing happened but I can’t be sure, and I’m not a healer so I don’t really know what to do about it. I’m sure my ghost doctor Frostbite would be happy to take a look at you though! Looks like we’ll be making an appointment for you too,” He joked making Jason chuckle nervously. 

“Well that’s.. Totally fucked up,” Jason said and Danny nodded.

“Ya, dying is basically always fucked up, coming back Specifically for revenge and then getting stuck here long after that’s a motivating factor is messy. I mean, for a human that would be fine, but for people like us,” He gestured between the two of them. “Obsessions are everything so that’s hard. You’ve been cultivating more healthy obsessions I know but you’ll never be the same,” Danny said, and Jason nodded.

He knew as much, he could never go back. Not that he hadn’t always had these sorts of thoughts and inclinations. Once of the reasons Bruce had taken on him and Dick was their murderous inclinations needed to be curbed, for Dick it had work, for Jason… Well it was a combination of a lot of things, it wasn’t really Bruce’s fault it had failed. Other than the fact that he’d let the Joker live far longer than he should have, but that was bleeding-heart-Brucie for you. It was funny, to not really be mad at Bruce anymore, understanding there was nothing else he could have done, and still not be able to forgive him.

Danny must have noticed how Jason had gotten lost in his own head because he reached across the table and covered one of Jason’s clenched hands with his own, soft and cool. “You’re doing really well Jason. It’s a messed up situation but I don't think anyone could have handled it better then you are,” Danny said softly.

Jason didn’t believe it but it felt good to hear and it did settle him a little bit. “Thanks Danny, that means a lot,” he said, giving Danny’s hand a squeeze before pulling back. 

There was a natural break in conversation as the waitress brought their appetizers, and when she left again Jason didn’t know what to say. Thankfully Danny spoke. “Why don’t I tell you a bit about my doctor? Frostbite can be a lot, as much as it would probably be funny to spring him on you I should probably give you a heads up.”

“Ya, ya that sounds good,” Jason agreed, glad to let Danny do the talking for a bit. And when telling him about Frostbite turned into talking about the Yetis, to talking about the Infinite Realms, to Danny info-dumping about space. Well Jason really doesn’t mind, especially with the way it makes Danny light up. It was good to see him happy.

---------

The food was good but Jason didn’t taste much of it, and aside from going “Oh wow!” When he took his first bite of his food Danny didn’t seem to either. At a certain point Jason realized he was going to have to do some talking or Danny was going to keep talking and wouldn’t eat. So he took over, but he didn’t know much about space so he started talking about literature and poetry and Danny listened raptly and finally ate his food.

It was very nice to have someone listen to him like that, it was sort of funny, it looked like it was as fun for Danny to listen to him talk then it had been the other way. Jason thought about how supporting obsessions was important for ghosts to have their obsessions supported. Reading wasn’t Really his obsession, he didn’t think, but it sure was an interest and it felt really good to get to share with someone new. 

By the end of the dinner Jason has well and truly decided that this was a date. Danny was cute, good, and passionate, and a good listener, Oh and strong as Fuck which was always a turn on for Jason. Speaking of powerful…

“Can I ask you another sort of serious question?” Jason asked after they got their dessert. Danny looked up, mouth full and a little smear of chocolate on his top lip, Jason resisted the urge to reach across the table and wipe it off. Danny nodded. “When Damian gave me his little shovel talk he mentioned that you’re going to be a god some day?” He said, tilting his head. Maybe that was a third date sort of conversation but it seemed like it would be important to understanding Danny.

Danny choked a little and swallowed, sighing heavily. “That’s what I’ve been told,” Danny grumbled. “There’s a prophecy apparently, and with how my powers have been progressing even just in the first 2 years since I died, I can already go toe to toe with some Ancients and win so… Ya, I guess it’s probably inevitable, especially since I haven’t stagnated yet. I don’t want to be one really, I didn’t ask for this, but whatever. I probably can’t stop it.” He slumped back in the booth, looking tired. 

Shit Jason shouldn’t have brought that up. “Hey you’ve got time right? That won’t be for a while. Also, what’s an Ancient?” 

“Very old, very powerful spirits. They’re essentially their own pantheon, Ancient is basically just what ghosts call gods.” He said with a shrug.

“Makes sense, I mean gods usually are ancient. Even more reason you don’t have to worry about that right now. I mean you’re far from ancient,” Jason pointed out, earning himself a little smile from Danny. 

“Ya, you’re right,” He agreed and went back to eating his dessert, the conversation moved on to the music they liked.

When the bill came Jason put his card down without letting Danny see what the bill came to and passed it back to the waitress. They lingered in the booth for a while still chatting, unwilling to part ways yet. If Jason didn’t know his family would want Danny home before they went out on patrol he might have suggested they just go to a park and walk for a while. Talk, maybe each take one of his wireless earbuds and take turns picking songs. But he had a feeling Damian really would try to kill Jason if he didn’t get to see Danny home safe. 

Eventually they left, wandering back to Jason’s motorbike and Danny snuggled up to Jason’s back again as they drove back to the manor. The silence was companionable until Jason pulled up, propping the bike up to let Danny get off. He took off his helmet and handed it back to Jason, not letting go immediately when Jason took it so their hands were touching. 

“This was nice, I had fun,” Danny said, blushing a little and looking down.

“It was, we should do it again soon,” Jason agreed, “I’ll text you okay?” 

“You’d better,” Danny teased before walking back towards the manor. 

Damian opened the door for him, shooting Jason a glare before slamming it making him laugh. He was still a child no matter how much he pretended he wasn’t. Jason kicked off on his bike and zoomed off, heading home to get ready for patrol.

Next

[lady-ashfade]

Percy Jackson x Apollo's child reader. (Write while imagining platonic)

—£ Request: Can I please request a Percy Jackson xApollo's child reader imagine? Request:Percy gets injured and knocked out while training. Reader is with him, of course. Let's just say that reader is fairly strong and carries Percy to the infirmary where she patches him up?And can she stay with him the whole time he recovers? And maybe he can wake up from a nightmare and the reader is the only one who can comfort him 🥺🥺🥺?

—£ Warnings: Not much, Head trauma, Nighmares. Short.

You saw Percy around camp alot, he always looked confused. You understood what he felt. You spared him a few kind glances and smiles a few times.

At least he knew not everyone was out to get him. He liked that.

So when he was training with Luke he was being pushed to achieve his potential. One thing lead to another and he trip, landing a nasty blow on his head.

You were there and saw this happen, and being one of the medics you quickly rushed to him.

“Let me do it, I’ll get him there.” They handed him off to you because of how talented you were. You were known for many things like the rest of your siblings, and being strong was one of them.

You took care of him quickly. The young boy looked so peaceful when he was knocked out. Not confused, Not worried or stressed. He was just a boy.

Giving him medicine on the cut that healed quickly, tending to any scratches he has. You also feed him and made him drink.

Maybe you shouldn’t have stayed all night but the thought of him waking up alone makes you feel sad. His cabin was empty.

His brows frown and his body twitches slightly, and chest falling rapidly. He looked panicked as he groaned. His peaceful sleep turned into a nightmare, they were familiar to you.

“Shh-” you pulled out a oil you made and rubbed it under his nose and taking his hand quickly. “You’re safe, warm and dry.” You whispered to him.

Your touch and words of affection seemed to calm him down a bit as his face loosened up and slowly stopped moving.

Slowly his eyes open and try to focus. His attention only on you as you clear up in his vision. “Hello.” He whispers, having no clue what was happening.

Smiling you take your hand away from his. “How is your head feeling?” You asked as he cleared his throat. He mentioned it was better as he reached for the cup of water beside him.

“Percy- I know it’s not my place, but I want you too know that we all get them. I had them every night when I first came, and they still come back. But the luckily thing is that it gets easier.”

He just sank into his bed not saying anything but looking at you and you couldn’t quite tell his emotions. He was always sarcastic and never really showed anything.

“Are you wearing lavender?” Of course he changed the subject but it made you laugh a bit. “A ken smell,” you hand him the small bottle.

“Keep it, makes the nightmares easier.”

He was happy for a moment. Soft and appreciative.

“Thanks, now can I go back to sleep? Without being watched?” Nods your head and stand up. “Call if you need anything.”

He watches you walk out of the cabin with a warmth in his chest. A new friend. There was something about you the just made him feel safe and comfort.

[yaksha-lover]

cw: yandere diasomnia x reader, vampire au, horror-esque, blood drinking, captivity, reader is not having a good time and none of them care, minor gore, darker than my usual stuff, so please read at your own discretion!!!

It’s always, always cold in the house.

No matter how many blankets you try to crawl under, the chill never seems to leave you, lurking just to the point of discomfort.

You’ve asked Malleus about it before (he tries to pretend, at least, that he cares about what you want), but he’d only insisted that vampires need the temperature to remain colder. The fact that he’d cooed the words, having you slotted against his chest for warmth, makes it hard to believe him.

Regardless of the truth, the rest of the household would never dare disagree with him.

Sebek is particularly vehement about his distaste for you. Or he had been, until Lilia insisted he have a taste of your blood. Before, he’d pester you, on and on, about your ungratefulness. Like you should be thankful to be forced to stay and be their little human blood bag. He’d turn up his nose at you, insisting that he didn’t know why the others, especially Malleus, took an interest in someone as pathetic as you.

After he’d tasted you, Sebek no longer complained about your lack of specialness. How could he, when he seemed so fixated on getting more of your blood? He still grumbled that you didn’t appreciate Malleus, but any real exasperation was gone. Why argue with you, when he could be sinking his teeth in instead? For how much he insisted he didn’t care for you, Sebek was perhaps even needier than Malleus. He always insisted on sharing a kiss before he took your blood; said he was ‘traditional,’ like that.

Silver was, by far, the kindest, and that only made things worse. It was hard to hate him, with how he took care of you, cleaning you up after a particularly relentless day of having your blood taken. He seemed to be the only one aware that humans had needs, thus he was the one to prepare all your meals and rub salve into the bite marks and bruises that littered your body.

He would also be the one to ask the others to give you time to recover, to let your body heal in between bites. They, of course, listened to Silver, despite the fact that you’d been saying the same thing for weeks before. It didn’t matter; if push came to shove, he would do what his family asked, regardless of what it meant for you.

Perhaps he didn’t partake in the same hedonistic activities as them, but he wasn’t any less complicit in keeping you trapped in the house. You suspected he took a certain kind of pleasure in caring for you, which made it a little less than the noble act you had once believed it to be.

Lilia was, perhaps, the worst of all.

Malleus was driven by his loneliness, Sebek by his desperation, and Silver by his need to care for something small and pitiful. Although they rarely squabbled, it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to say they didn’t particularly enjoy sharing you with each other.

Sometimes, Silver would keep you tucked away in his own bedroom, at the insistence that you needed time to rest from the vampiric attention of Malleus and Sebek.

Malleus, himself, often dismissed Silver and Sebek with an offhanded remark about needing ‘alone time’ with you; they never argued as he’d steal you away to spend hours in his own private chambers.

Sebek, although he denied it, quite enjoyed the days where everyone else had business to attend to and he was left behind to ‘care’ for you; it was nice to be able to keep you tucked away in his arms after he was done having his fill of your blood, instead of having you be taken away at Silver’s insistent need to nurse you back to health. It surprised you, the first time, when Sebek himself had returned with treats and supplies to clean your wound. He put on such an act of disregard when everyone else was around, but he took care of you if Silver wasn’t there.

You had to walk on a tightrope of sorts with Malleus, in order to avoid upsetting him, but he was also pitiable in a way. You understood what he wanted from you. The same could be said for Sebek and Silver. Though you still hated them for it, you did understand them in a way. They were driven by their feelings; of love, of affection, and of loneliness.

You’d been the first human they got to stay, even if it wasn’t by choice.

Lilia ensured that. He wasn’t driven by his feelings, at least not toward you. No, he pushed you into the younger vampires’ arms, like a sacrificial lamb of sorts. He knew what it meant, what they were doing to you. For him, you guessed, it was worth anything, including your freedom, to see them happy.

For Malleus, drinking your blood meant sharing a close act of intimacy in whatever relationship he thought you shared.

For Sebek, drinking your blood meant satiating a temptation, in both senses, which endlessly gnawed at him; like a wolf who finally catches a rabbit.

The only time Lilia ever bit you was in punishment.

He was much more in control of himself than even a mature vampire like Malleus; blood lust never overtook him, even when you knew he hadn’t drank in a few days.

His interest in you seemed purely adjacent to those of his kin; you were simply a means to an end for him, rather than any sort of person worth considering for your own sake. In a way, it was nice to have one person in the house who wasn’t strangely obsessed with clinging to you or taking your blood incessantly.

It wasn’t so nice when you angered him.

Lilia was normally so carefree that the first time you’d seen his stare go cold - when you tried to run away - it rooted you in place. At least when you frustrated Malleus with your lack of reciprocity, his affection for you stopped him from ever truly harming you.

Lilia had no such objections. When he was finally done toying with you, letting you think you had a chance at escaping, he’d pinned you down in the forest outside the house and bit you for the first time.

The pain of it made you realize just how gentle Malleus and Sebek truly were with you. It seared and ached, like your skin was being ripped apart and a venom was decaying your flesh from the inside. Your limbs were sore beneath Lilia’s body pinning you down, and every shift against you was like tweaking a raw nerve.

The pain had gotten too much and at some point, you’d passed out, only to awaken back at the house.

Lilia had only grinned at you, insisting you keep your little discretion between you and him.

You wouldn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, after all.

[auroravictorium]

anti-hero (k.b.)

i wake up screaming from dreaming. one day i'll watch as you're leaving, and life will lose all its meaning (for the last time).

Summary: reader is awake and heads outside for fresh air. kaz questions whether reader still wants to be with him, and reader begins to heal.

Pairing(s): kaz x fem!reader (established relationship) Word Count: ~4.3k (!!!) Warnings: allusions to reader's recent trauma (kidnapping, torture, severe injuries), mentions of injuries (scars, cuts, bruises), mentions of sibling & parent loss/death, mentions of blood, mentions of kaz's haphephobia, mentions of violence (kaz bashing heads and dangling people of rooftops) Genre: fluffier angst? brief angst then fluff? Author's Note: i really gotta stop with these disappearing acts. anyway, i promised you guys the next part, so here is the next part at a whopping 4.3k. pls enjoy <3 masterlist

The next few days passed in a blur as you fought to recover from what you'd been through. Nothing aggravated you more than the stiffness of your muscles and the pain throbbing throughout your body; just a week ago, you'd been able to jump across rooftops and snatch a pouch of kruge from a man's pocket without any issue. Now, damn near everything ached, though the vertigo and throbbing in your head had eased thanks to Nina's work.

On one of the warmer days, where the snow had melted into the ground to form a muddy slush, you woke up feeling much better than when you'd been carried out of the warehouse. While the rest of the house slept, you slowly made your way out of the room you were staying in and down the stairs. You stuck to the edges, using the banister to support yourself as you avoided potential creaky spots. The house was in remarkably good condition, but you didn't want anyone questioning why you were up and about on your own. You needed to move, to feel the fresh air again.

To remind yourself that you were free, despite everything.

You slipped on your battered boots, your body aching as you hunched over to pull them onto your feet, then stepped onto the front porch, looking over the bleak, icy land sprawling before you. Crossing your arms to brace yourself against the cold, you stepped off the porch and stood in the snow. You let the muddy slush soak the material of your boots, chilling your skin even through your thick socks.

The air stung your lungs as you inhaled deeply, burned through your chest, and then you let it out slowly, the air fogging before you. To be standing outside felt like bliss; in the open air, you could forget the griminess of your captivity for a moment, the sensation of blood sliding down your fingers, the ringing of your ears as your friends had arrived in a flurry of action and chaos. 

You gulped down more air to chase away the prickling hairs on the back of your neck as you considered all that had happened. Not now. 

You realized then why it was easier to close off, to not think of the horrible things those mercenaries had done, that Rollins and his Dime Lions had done in Ketterdam over the years. Denial was easier than wading through the grief of what happened. Preferable, even.

Snow crunched behind you, but you didn't turn, your eyes still fixed on the empty, slush-covered fields before you. A gloved hand carefully wrapped a worn blanket around your shoulders and lingered for a moment before falling away. Kaz stepped beside you, his coat wrapped tightly around himself; there were dark shadows under his eyes, and his face was a touch paler from exhaustion. 

You frowned at him. "You haven't slept."

"Neither have you," he said quietly, sliding his free hand into his coat pocket and looking down at you. He was silent, his icy blue eyes roaming up and down your form as he surveyed you. The look made you shiver, and you turned your gaze away, a blush unrelated to the cold rising to your cheeks.

Out of your periphery, you saw Kaz slide his hand from his pocket, and you felt the brush of his fingers against your arm, loosely wrapping around your wrist. You glanced up at him, and you let him gently turn your arm so that your forearm was to the sky; he pushed your sleeve up carefully, tenderly, and his gaze lifted from the bandages around your arm to your face, waiting.

"Go ahead," you said softly. You didn't want to hide your pain and your scars from Kaz, even though instincts told you to shield it from him. You ached to hide your weakness like when you first arrived on Ketterdam's streets, to settle into denial and rage. But this was Kaz. You trusted him to catch you if you fell.

Kaz undid the bandages with practiced ease, and you wrinkled your nose as cold air hit your wounded tattoo. The flesh was nearly healed thanks to Nina's hard work, but most of the ink itself was destroyed, only a few dark remnants remaining at the edges of what had once been the crow perched on the cup. Shiny scar tissue lined your forearm, and Kaz ran a gloved finger over the skin. The gentlest of touches, but enough to make you hold your breath and look away.

"I'm sorry," Kaz said, breaking the silence with his raspy voice before you could speak. Though he deemed his investigation complete, he didn't release your arm. Instead, he carefully wrapped the bandages again and secured them in place, his leather touches nothing more than a whisper against broken skin. 

You shook your head. "It's not your fault," you said, looking up at him. You were startled to find his gaze already on you, and your breath caught as you saw the raw emotions flickering there. Concern, anguish, guilt. A raw mix of vulnerability he would never let anyone else see.

Kaz looked back down at your bandaged arm, still in his hold. Black leather gloves against pale white bandages, a stark contrast that he hated. He'd caused this. He was at fault, whether you would say it to him or not. The moment he'd crawled out of that harbor, determined to make the city pay for taking his brother, taking his name, taking his dreams, he'd set everyone around him on a path to harm.

"Kaz," you said, turning your arm in his grip so that you could grasp his. Your breath fogged in the cold air between the two of you, a warning of the winter storm brewing above that you elected not to heed. "Tell me what you're thinking. Please."

He let out a breath, and he wanted to turn away. Your gaze was intense, reaching deep into his soul and threatening to pull out every word he'd stashed away where nobody could ever find them. Most believed he didn't have a soul, and he liked it that way; it was his treasured hiding place of all the things he wanted to say but never would, because Dirtyhands wasn't tender. He wasn't kind or caring. He was ruthless, selfish, and brutal. He bashed skulls into stone floors and tortured men on rooftops.

Yet you seemed to break down his walls with only a look, stripping away the layers he'd created to become Kaz Brekker. You saw him, the boy who grew up on this farm, who fell asleep every night with the threadbare blanket currently wrapped around your shoulders, who believed in goodness in the world.

He struggled to reach into that hidden, tucked away part of himself, to find the words he longed to say to you. I love you. I'm sorry. I am not the man you should want. I love you. I thought I'd lost you. I am a liar. I love you.

I love you, and I thought I had lost the chance to say it.

"Do you still want this?" he managed to say, the words nothing more than a rasp, the sound of sandpaper against wood. Even as Kaz Brekker longed to take steps back, to fling up those walls and fall back into the comfort and safety of being ruthless and harsh, the ground beneath his feet had him rooted in place. The Rietveld farm, where the ghosts of his father and brother lurked in the house just feet away. They were watching, begging him to do better. To be better.

He could be.

"Yes," you said without hesitation, your grip on his arm steady and your gaze unwavering. "I made my decision a year ago. I stand by it." Your words were firm but not unkind, leaving no room for argument or misinterpretation.

A lot of horrible things had happened in the past week. Kidnapping, torture, interrogation, and scarring you hoped would one day heal. And despite the urge to collapse, to fall and give in, you wouldn't. Your friends wouldn't let you. Kaz wouldn't let you. And you wouldn't let Kaz wade into the guilt he was feeling. You'd haul him out by his coat collar if you had to. You wouldn't blame anyone for what had happened to you aside from those who deserved it; the guilt lay with the mercenaries and with Pekka, left behind in that warehouse.

Kaz was quiet for a few long moments. He let your words play over and over again in his mind, searching for any whisper of deceit, any hint of blame from you that would reinforce the guilt that pressed down hard enough on his lungs that he felt like they might be crushed beneath the weight. When he found none, he pushed a slow breath past his lips, trying to ease that pressure. "Alright," he said.

Because as much as he did blame himself, it was your choice. Your decision to stay with him, despite his belief that you would only get hurt again. And he wouldn't take that choice from you, even as everything he'd taught himself screamed at him to distance himself from you until you changed your mind.

He would be better.

Kaz swallowed, realizing he still held your arm in his grasp. He looked down at it again, his hand gently cradling your injured arm, and he slowly shifted his hold until your hand was held in both of his, his cane resting against his hip so it didn't fall into the slush. He could feel the coldness of your fingers through his gloves, and he trapped your fingers between his palms to try and warm them up. 

You stepped closer to him, realizing how cold you actually were, even with the tattered blanket around your shoulders. The heat radiated off him in waves, and soon you were nearly chest-to-chest with him. You tilted your head up to look at Kaz, your heart slamming in your chest as you dared to step into his personal space. He smelled like city smoke, like faint remnants of cologne. Home. Comfort.

"I thought I lost you," Kaz rasped, the words almost inaudible, even as you stood mere inches from him. He almost choked on the words, but he owed it to you to say that. To say so much more. "I thought Pekka had won."

"He didn't," you said quietly. 

"I killed him."

"I know."

His breathing turned ragged. "I should have done worse. I should have made him suffer more."

You shook your head, turning your hand in his palms so you could lace your fingers with his. "You did what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less. That's all that matters." You tilted your face up, taking in the emotions in his eyes.

"Before you left, you said..." Kaz's eyes slipped shut. Just say it, you fool. Say it. "You said you loved me."

The words didn't burn on his tongue like he thought they would and didn't taste like salty, bitter seawater. It didn't make his teeth chatter or his clothes feel stuck to his skin. It felt blissfully warm, burning in his chest like it might ignite him from the inside out.

You didn't answer, not wanting to interrupt him as he fought to speak. You had a feeling you knew what he wanted to say, why he looked like he was somewhere between keeling over and taking off across the property to disappear into the treeline. So, you gave his hand a gentle squeeze to encourage him, feeling your heart pound as he spoke again.

"I should have said it back," Kaz said. "I should have told you I..." The words stuck in his mouth like the sticky candy he'd shared with his brother on this very property, the sun beating down on their heads. "I should have..." He faltered again, his brows creasing as he grew increasingly frustrated with his inability to spit the damn words out.

Kaz sighed, the breath rushing out of his lungs and clouding in the air before he managed to force out, "I should have told you that I love you." As the words passed his lips, a feeling of peace came over him. The knot in his chest eased, and the heavy weight within his chest became easier to bear. Taking the chance, he continued, his voice quieter. "You could have died, and all I thought about on the ride here was how I didn't say it back. I just turned away like a fool and sent you into the lion's den."

He was grateful for that temporary moment of relief. At least if you stepped away and changed your mind about wanting this, wanting him, the last thing he would remember of the two of you would be this moment of respite with your hand in his and the knowledge that he'd finally told you what he felt. That would be some consolation before the bitter taste of pain rose.

You stepped closer, cutting off his train of thought by pressing his gloved hand against your racing heart, his palm resting just beneath your collarbone. The words he'd just spoken suddenly seemed far away, and his mind went completely blank as he felt the hammering of your heart against his palm. A stark reminder that you were still alive, and he didn't have to think of the 'what ifs' anymore. You had chosen him. You hadn't changed your mind, after everything.

"Don't torment yourself," you said quietly. Your gaze met his, a simultaneous fierceness and gentleness visible there that almost knocked the breath from Kaz's lungs. "Do you remember what I told you? Your pace?"

The words reminded you of an evening that felt long in the past. The two of you, sitting on Kaz's tiny bed in the Slat and working through his fear when you told him you love him and that he didn't have to say it back until he was ready. Your pace, Kaz.

"I remember," he said, his voice uncharacteristically shaky. He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to regain control of his breathing as he dropped his hand from your heart and twined his gloved fingers with yours once more. Once he was sure he wouldn't hyperventilate or collapse into the icy mud like a fool, he opened his eyes again.

"I love you," you said softly, giving his hand the gentlest of squeezes. The words felt right, just like every time you'd said them, tasting like shots in the Crow Club and snow falling over the city, like a heady bliss you wanted to feel again and again, as though you might never get enough. Though the words felt right, you realized you started trembling after you said them. From the cold? From the vulnerability strung between the two of you? From the anticipation of his response?

Your fingers were cold between Kaz's, and before he realized what he was doing, he caught both of your hands in his this time, clasping them between his gloved palms to warm them up. Only a few inches separated your faces now, and your tangled hands were wedged between your chests. Selfishly, he wanted to close that distance completely, to remind himself of how your lips felt together. It had been six months, and though he thought about that moment in the alley outside the Crow Club every single day, he found that the feeling had begun to drift from his mind.

"We should go inside," he rasped, despite the thoughts warring in his head. You were freezing; that much was obvious. The old blanket he'd brought to you hadn't done much to keep you warm in this bitter weather, especially as a fresh flurry of snow prepared to blanket the ground.

"I'm fine," you responded, though the growing numbness of your nose and ears said otherwise. You were caught in his gaze, trapped by the heated look in his eyes. You'd seen him angry, distant, and vulnerable at times, but the look he wore now was one you hardly recognized. It was one you'd only seen once before, moments before he'd kissed you outside the Crow Club like he'd die if he didn't get the chance.

"That's what most say before dying of exposure," Kaz deadpanned, but even his response couldn't tamp down the burning in his chest. He didn't recognize it, the looseness in his muscles and the burning in his chest. For once, no terror rose in response to your closeness, ready to shove him away with cold, invisible hands.

You rolled your eyes at him. "I can assure you, the cold won't take me out that easily." Still, you shivered just a bit as a slight breeze kicked up to remind you both of the incoming storm, making your words much less reassuring than you wanted them to be. Traitorous nature. But Kaz (and the wind) was right, the two of you should head inside, even if you wanted to bask in the vulnerability and simmering feel of his gaze for a little bit longer.

Taking a step back, you moved as if you might disentangle your hands from his and head back toward the house. Once again acting before he could stop himself, Kaz caught you, his fingers gentle as they wrapped around your wrist. "Wait," he said, his voice almost inaudible. He took a shaky breath as terror sunk its fingers into his flesh again, making his words come out more unsteadily than he intended. "Can I?"

He could win against his fear again, could push himself past the newfound comfort of holding hands with you. He'd done it once, even though it had kicked an unfortunate series of events into motion. But maybe... maybe that wouldn't happen again. It was just the two of you and the cold. No witnesses, no traitors amongst you except the bone-deep terror that threatened to rear its head every time he dared to challenge it.

Confusion briefly flashed across your face, and then your mind went blank with recognition. The memory of the alleyway, a kiss tasting like bitter liquor and snow, flashed through your mind.

Oh. Oh.

You nodded, just as you had before, feeling your cheeks heat up despite the cold.

As he stepped closer, closing the last few inches of distance, you wanted to ask him whether he was sure. He'd opened up to you so much already; you didn't want him to feel obligated to do so further. But he'd initiated it, and you trusted him and his newfound confidence in his ability to heal. 

You were proud of him.

His lips met yours, tentatively at first. They were cold, chapped slightly from the weather, and he waited for the icy terror to yank him to the ground and drown him right there on land. While his legs felt unsteady, pushed and pulled at by his own fear in its twisted form of pale, dead hands in the harbor, he felt like he could keep standing as long as he focused on you.

It no longer felt like the midst of a Kerch winter. As snow fell down and started to kiss your cheeks, you could imagine it was a morning drizzle on a summer day, before the sweltering heat kicked in and was compounded by the smoky air of the city. You felt warm, maybe too warm, and you freed one of your hands to move up and grasp the back of his neck, standing up on your tiptoes to keep the distance between you closed.

Kaz startled at the touch, his hand moving to grab your arm out of instinct as his heartbeat picked up at the feel of your hand on his skin. The touch was foreign, soft, and hesitant, but not unwelcome as he steeled himself against letting his fear take over. He wanted to be able to kiss you, to accept your touch and affection without feeling like he might collapse. 

His determination fueled him to press even closer, his hand releasing your arm in favor of cupping your cheek. He brushed his thumb over your cheekbone, pretending he could feel the softness of your skin beneath his touch. You shivered, and a surge of warmth ran down his spine, making goosebumps rise beneath your hand on his neck.

Distantly, he felt his cane fall from where it had been propped against his hip, thumping against the frozen ground. But his focus was on you. You, your lips, your nose bumping against his as you settled into this still-new feeling, your hand on his neck, your other moving up as if to join the other before chancing it, sliding into the mussed strands of his hair that he hadn't bothered to slick back before joining you out here.

You fought the heat running throughout your body and forced yourself to pull back, gasping a bit and looking up at him. "I'm-" you began, already starting to retract your hands. What if you'd pushed him too far? You'd felt how he tensed beneath your touch for a moment, felt him go somewhere else for just a moment. What were you thinking, Y/N? His pace, remember?

"Don't," Kaz said roughly, knowing precisely what you were thinking. He kissed you again, chasing the euphoria of your lips against his. He surprised himself with how hungrily he kissed you. The feel of your lips was better than any liquor. Better than any drug, or high in the aftermath of a successful heist. He liked the feeling of kruge passing into his hands, but this feeling had quickly surpassed that.

You made a noise of surprise but didn't protest or pull away, sliding your hands back into his hair and through the dark, silky strands. There was a bubble of something in your chest, the urge to chase this and press further, but the burning in your lungs and throbbing of your wounds in response to the worsening cold forced you to pull back far sooner than you wanted to. 

You opened your mouth to speak, ready to ask if he was okay, or what he was thinking. A million emotions were flickering through his eyes, and you were having trouble pinpointing any of them. Just as you recognized one of them as longing, Kaz's face went neutral, the emotions disappearing before you could blink as the front door to the house creaked open. Your head turned, and you saw Nina, who had just woken up judging by the wayward hair framing her face.

"If you two are done frolicking, I figure I should tell you the storm is about to hit," Nina called from the porch, leaning against the doorway with a smugness on her face that made you blush and take several steps back from Kaz. 

Tightening the old blanket around your shoulders, you glanced at Kaz as he grabbed his cane off the ground. His cheekbones were flushed pink, and there was a purse to his lips that gave away his embarrassment at being caught. But as he straightened up, his cane firmly in his hand again, there was a sparkle in his eye as he met your gaze and offered you an elbow to help you back inside.

"Not a word, witch," Kaz said to Nina, eyeing the wicked grin on her face as he tapped his boots against the steps to free the snow and mud from them. He kept his arm extended for you to hold onto as you did the same, noting the winces of pain as the impact sent shocks of pain through the bruises and scrapes on your legs.

Nina gave Kaz an innocent smile. "Of course not." She reached up to pinch his cheek, and he batted her hand away with a sharp glare. "Can't ruin your terrifying reputation, can I?" 

"No bickering before breakfast," Jesper groaned from the couch, pushing the blanket away from his face and yawning. "I can't add any witty commentary on an empty stomach." He sat up and rubbed his eyes before grimacing and hunching his shoulders. "Now, will you please close the damn door? It's freezing out there."

You suppressed another smile, stepping into the house and setting your shoes to the side. As Nina and Jesper bickered, you pulled the blanket tighter around your shoulders, sharing a brief glance with Kaz as you settled next to the fireplace to warm up. A flicker of something soft passed through his eyes before disappearing as he carefully leaned down to add another log to stoke the flames. 

Inej padded down the stairs, putting the finishing touches on her braid as she investigated the commotion. If she noticed the faint blush on your cheeks or Kaz looking anywhere but you, she didn't say anything. Instead, she pushed Jesper's legs off the couch to make room to sit, ignoring his groggy protests.

Though you weren't sure anything other than time could heal what happened, being surrounded by your chosen family was a good start. A warmth unrelated to the fire settled over you, a comfort and security that eased the tension that hadn't lifted since your capture. You would heal. Wounds would scar and fade, memories would become less vivid, and the ink along your arm could be replaced one day. 

In the meantime, you'd bask in that warmth, even when your return to Ketterdam inevitably tried to chase it away. 

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[ghoulie-67-baby]

Don’t want to sleep alone - Poly!BAU team.

Summary: After a hard unsub takedown you and Spencer end up cuddled together on the sofa, being admired by your Polycule.

Warnings: Poly!BAU (I will go down with this ship), typical Criminal minds stuff, fluff, mentions of sub/dom dynamics, subspace, cuddling etc.

Pairing: Poly!BAU x GN!reader. Spencer Reid x GN!reader.

Word count: 968.

My body groaned in protest as I climbed the steps to the jet. The sooner I was in the comfort of my own bed the better I would feel. I set my bag down on the floor beside the sofa before trudging to the kitchenette, shoulders heavy and head thumping.

"Anyone want a drink whilst I'm here?" I called out, mid-yawn, humming at the collective replies. I waited on the kettle boiling, pouring David a scotch and Emily water before pulling out mine and Spencer's matching Doctor Who mugs.

"Thank you, Dolcezza," I shuffled to hand David his drink, grinning as JJ brushed past me, hands brushing my hips gently. My body sang happily when the Italian pressed a kiss to my hand and squeezed it gently. I felt a pat on my butt as I walked past Derek to Emily who pressed a small peck to my lips before settling into her seat.

I finished making our tea in a comfortable silence, handing Spencer his, warning him to be careful. My body sagged in my chair across from the sofa Spencer had claimed and I sipped my drink with a heavy sigh, wincing as my bones seemed to scrape each other.

"You okay Sweetie?" My eyes met JJ's in a soft glance and I smiled reassuringly. "You still hurting?"

"Hmm, I'm okay." I bit my lip, hoping she didn't sense the hesitance.

"Y/N." Aaron's voice was low with warning, so he had cottoned onto my dishonesty. My eyes flickered to his, noticing the softness in them despite his tone.

"Honest, I'm fine, just tired and sore." I flexed my neck, grimacing at the crack that seemed to reverberate through the jet. "That guy was huge, knocked me through that door like I weighed nothing but I'll be fine."

"Awww poor baby, do you want a massage?" I shook my head at Derek's teasing, and stuck my tongue out at him, noticing the flash of darkness in his eyes at my cheekiness.

"You need a long hot bath and those essential oils that Penelope bought you when we get home. I'd be more than happy to wash your hair and pamper you." JJ's voice was sweet and gentle as her motherly instincts kicked in and I couldn't help the warmth that fluttered through my body as I nodded in agreement.

"That and hydration and rest will do you the world of good, it's one of the best ways to recover sore muscles along with active healing like running and other exercise." I sent a small glare to the genius, a small smile slipping onto my face when he shrugged in surrender. "But I have a feeling you don't want to be doing that."

"Yeah maybe not baby, think I'll go for the hot bath." I smiled at Spencer, relaxing in my seat as much as my muscles would allow and observing my team as they settled down. Derek's headphones were on, Emily was reading over the case files with Aaron, David was nursing his scotch, JJ was texting and Spencer was slouched on the sofa with his book, eyes drooping as he attempted to read. I watched in amusement for a few seconds until he jerked himself awake.

"Spence, you're going to end up hurting your neck sat like that." I chuckled to myself softly and stood, grabbing one of the big blankets kept on board for situations like this. My scolding was soft, feeling myself slipping into exhaustion too but ignoring it in favour of looking after my genius. "Lay down properly baby, get some rest." I didn't realise the attention I'd brought to us both as I draped the blanket across the sweet, sleepy doctor.

"M' not tired, honest, m'just having a minute" he tried to fight it, the glassy look in his eyes proved it to be a blatant lie and I cooed at him, brushing his curls from his eyes.

"Don't you lie to me," I whispered, "Don't let Aaron hear you telling fibs." I shook my head as I slipped a little into my head. When I got tired it was so easy to slip into subspace, so easy to feel small and in need of love and comfort, in need of a cuddle and sleep and after the case we'd had I wasn't surprised I was slipping fast.

"Don't wanna sleep on m'own." Spencer's voice was small and vulnerable, bringing tears to my eyes at how sad he sounded. His arms snaked amount my thigh as he pulled me closer to him "Stay with me, please." I hesitated for a moment before letting myself slip a little further with a nod. Sliding off my shoes and jacket, I motioned for him to scoot back before pulling back the blanket and crawling onto the sofa. Arms instantly wrapped around me, pulling me by the waist back against his chest as he spooned me. I winced as he pressed against my bruised ribs but held back any noise so he didn't think he'd hurt me. After a little shuffling, we finally got comfortable, his hand clasped in mine, draped over my waist and bodies pressed together sweetly. I suppressed a little moan of happiness as his warmth seeped into my sore body, soothing me and making me drowsier.

My eyes felt heavier and heavier by the second as Spence's heartbeat slowed against my back and his breathing evened out. Soft breaths puffed against the back of my neck where he'd nestled his face, pressing a last kiss to my nape as he nodded off. My eyes did one last swoop of the jet, comforted by all the soft smiles and admiring eyes I saw until I finally succumbed to sleep, comfortable in the company of my family and the arms of our baby boy.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Heart II

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You try to recover

You stay in the hospital for nearly two weeks as your new heart gets used to its new home in your body.

Ingrid and Mapi are with you the entire time.

Sometimes, one of them even skips training to come and see you. You're in a special hospital room and they have to wear silly facemasks when they come to visit that makes them look all weird.

They bring you lots of things to play with while you're stuck in bed and all of their friends send you flowers and food to keep you happy. Your caseworker comes in sometimes and she gets Mapi and Ingrid to sign lots of documents and helps them to sign you out of the hospital to take you home.

"Okay," Ingrid says as you all come up in the elevator together," You ready?"

You're wearing a special party hat because Mapi said that you were going to have a little party to celebrate your new heart. You don't really know why getting your new heart means a party but you also know that a party means lots of food and fun so you're happy to go back inside.

A few of Ingrid and Mapi's friends are already in there but you head straight for Patri and Pina because they're holding Bagheera, who's wearing a party hat too.

"Whoa, there," Ingrid says softly, still holding your hand tight like she's scared you're going to wink out of existence," Let's take it slow, alright?"

You frown and shrug. "Okay."

She keeps hold of your hand as you move to greet Bagheera. She mews at you softly, bumping her head against your chest.

"I know," You say," I've got my Santa heart." You look up at Pina and Patri. "Santa got me a new heart for Christmas. It goes boom-boom properly."

"Really?" Patri asks," That's cool. Do you feel better now?"

"Little tired sometimes," You reply, rocking back and forth on your feet," But still good!"

"She's been healing up very well." Ingrid's fingers run through your hair like yours run through Bagheera's. "The doctors are going to do another check next week and then we get to take her out again."

Even though you're out of the hospital now, you're not allowed out of the house for another week just so you can adjust to everything back home again.

"It'll be good to see you at training again," Pina says," We've been missing our little cheerleader."

"And you can join in now!" Patri exclaims and you whip your head over to Ingrid.

"Can I?"

She thinks for a moment. "We'll see," She says," Let's get through next week and then we'll see if you're strong enough to run around."

"Okay." You go back to stroking over Bagheera's fur and adjusting her party hat when she gets annoyed with it. You like Bagheera. You'd never seen a cat in real life before you came to live with Ingrid and Mapi so it's nice to have Bagheera with you now.

You yawn when you're about halfway through the movie Paredes put on and you climb up into Mapi's lap to lay on her. Her big hands rest on your back, gently stroking up and down until you're head feels too heavy for your body and it flops against her.

"She looks much better," Alexia says as she notices that you're out like a light.

"Yeah," Mapi says as she reaches for a blanket to drape around your body," They had her on a ventilator those first few hours after surgery and she looked so bad when they took her in. But...But she's better now, just a little sleepier."

"She just had major surgery," Alexia says," I think she's allowed to be a bit tired. I'm surprised she lasted as long as she did."

Mapi laughs, gently rocking you. "I should put her to bed. I can't imagine those hospital ones were comfy."

Your weeks dissolve into a steady routine after you get your Santa heart. You still have to go to the doctor every week and they do tests on your new heart and they take out the little staples they put in your chest.

Ingrid still sticks to your side and she's always giving you cuddles and kisses. She lets you run around more now that the doctor says it's okay but she still wraps you up nice and warm because you still sometimes have issues with being cold.

A few months after you're declared fully fit, your caseworker comes to visit.

Ingrid lets her in while you've opened your mouth so Mapi can give you your medication. The doctor says that even though your Santa heart is working very well, you'll have to take medicine every day to make sure that your body wants to keep it.

Well, he said lots of big words and complicated stuff but Mapi explained it to you like that when you went to get ice cream after your appointment.

You case worker says hello to you before briefly looking around the house ago and then making you sit down in front of the tv with her. That makes you a bit nervous and you hang on Mapi's hand.

"With Mapi and Ingrid?"

"In a minute," Your caseworker says," I just want to have a little talk with you without them."

Your brow wrinkles. "And Bagheera has to go too?"

"Bagheera can stay," Ingrid promises you, kissing the top of your head and steering Mapi into their bedroom.

You stroke Bagheera's fur rhythmically as you sit in front of your caseworker.

"How are you feeling now?" She asks," With your new heart?"

"Santa got me a good one," You reply," But I've still got to take special medicine."

She writes something down. "And you always take your medicine?"

"Ingrid reminds me," You answer, getting a bit distracted by the way a single ray of sunlight is peaking through the blinds," And Mapi hides it in icing sometimes for when I don't want to take it."

She writes down something more. "That's good. And you like it here, with Ingrid and Mapi?"

The topic of your favourite girls makes you perk up. "They're my most favourite! Mapi is so cool! She's got lots of tattoos. She says that one day, she'll let me draw her one to put on her body."

Your caseworker nods along, her pen moving along the paper. "And what about Ingrid?"

"Ingrid gives me cuddles all the time," You say," And she lets me help make dinner and cookies and she takes me to the park and we go down the slide together."

Your caseworker stops writing and flips her notepad shut. "Do you remember what it means to have a caseworker like me?"

You nod.

"What does it mean?"

"It means that you find adults to look after me because I don't have parents."

Your caseworker nods. "Adults like Ingrid and Mapi," She says," They're fostering you."

You give her a little look. "I know." You don't know why she's talking about that. It makes you feel all weird inside and briefly, you wonder if your Santa heart is going boom-boom wrong like your old one.

"Sometimes," She says," Fostering is more temporary."

You don't like her words. It makes you feel all icky and bad inside. You shake your head. "No," You say," No! Stay here!"

Your caseworker hands you a picture. It's got a little family on it, a mummy and a daddy and two boys who have the same hair colour as you.

"This family doesn't want to foster you," Your caseworker says when you throw the picture on the floor and hold Bagheera close. "They want to adopt you. They think you'd fit in well with them. Like a forever home instead of a foster home."

You shake your head, your bottom lip wobbling. "No...No! Forever home with Ingrid and Mapi!"

Your caseworker sighs deeply, shuffling the picture of the little family back into her folder. "You want to stay here?" She checks," With Ingrid and Mapi?"

"And Bagheera," You say stubbornly," Because this is forever home. Mapi and Ingrid are forever with me and my Santa heart."

"And you don't want to live with this family?" She reaches for the picture again and you turn away.

"Ingrid and Mapi," You say firmly.

"Okay. Let's get Ingrid and Mapi in here."

You're near to tears when they finally come back in and Ingrid pulls you into her arms immediately. You wipe your cheeks dry on her shirt and blindly reach for Mapi.

"Stay," You beg," Stay here. With you."

Mapi whips her head to your caseworker. "We've already begun to file the paperwork!" She hisses," Why would you bring them up to her?"

"I'm just doing my job. I couldn't let her stay here if she didn't want to!"

"Want to stay!" You say, hiding yourself away in Ingrid's neck," Want to stay!"

"You're stressing her out," Ingrid cuts in plainly when it looks like Mapi and your caseworker are going to start yelling," I understand you're doing your checks and you have to get her opinion but she's barely been out of the hospital for a few months and the doctors said that undue stress isn't good for her Santa heart." She strokes a hand over the back of your head. "We've filed the paperwork. She wants to live with us over the other family that expressed interest. We want her here with us."

Your caseworker sighs. She does that a lot. "I can't promise this will stay private. You're public figures. Your papers will be rushed through as soon as possible."

When she leaves, you finally peak out from your hiding place. With big, wet eyes, you look between Ingrid and Mapi. "Stay here?"

"Yes," Mapi says with an air of finality," You're staying here."