#'Death comes for almost everybody!!' <- not the comfort he thinks it is

[acecasinova]

Doing a between sessions written rp with our bard and I do NOT think holding up a mysterious holy symbol and hissing "He doesn't discriminate!" will have the effect Ardezo is hoping for

[chahnniesroom]

for richer, for poorer

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: gift giving has always been something you've agonised over. for chan, just having you in his life is enough.

word count: 3.4k

warnings: insecurities (especially related to finances), feeling anxious, hurt/comfort

a/n: i know it’s still a long time until october, but i didn't write it in time to fit as like a holiday related fic.

bonus: minho's reaction to his gift (included as a reblog of this post)

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

Gift giving has always been something that you agonised over. You wanted so desperately to get something meaningful and special that nothing you ended up getting seemed special enough.

So when Felix had proposed throwing both Chan and Minho a party for their birthdays, you were more than happy to help plan. You could see that Chan had hesitated when Felix had told them about it, but he had ultimately agreed when he saw the way Minho had seemed to perk up at the idea.

It wouldn’t be anything too big, Felix promised, just inviting some close friends to have dinner and hang out. It slowly balloons into more than a simple dinner, but the opportunities for the members to have their friends gather are so rare that you swallow your concerns.

The night of, you can’t help feeling a bit nervous. You recognise almost everyone, but that's the part that scares you - you've only seen most of these people through your phone screen before. You know Chan and Minho have a lot of idol friends, but you didn't realise there would be so many at the party. You had discussed the guest list with Felix briefly, but your concern had been about the number of guests and not who they actually were. Now you’re starting to regret it, you aren’t mentally prepared to be face to face with so many celebrities.

The time passes surprisingly quickly with people trickling in as the night goes on. Dinner is casual, you’ve helped to cook a number of dishes and takeout was ordered to fill the rest of the counter. There isn’t enough proper seating so everyone is spread throughout the kitchen and living room.

You spend most of the time just wandering through and making sure that there’s no shortage of drinks, appetizers, and that the empty dishes or cups are cleared away. Of course, you greet everybody as they arrive and thank them for coming, but it’s hard not to be intimidated by all the famous faces.

Eventually Changbin drags the birthday boys to the living room, standing them in front of the TV to open gifts. Everyone else either crams themselves onto the couches, sits on the floor, or loiters closer to the doors.

Chan insists that he open presents at the same time as Minho instead of one at a time like Jisung suggests. Someone pushes a couple of matching boxes into their hands and steps away.

It's almost comical how different they open them. Chan takes his time, carefully pulling apart the ribbon that's wrapped around the box, sliding the lid off and putting it to the side, then slowly peeling aside the tissue paper. Minho on the other hand, manages to pull the ribbon off the box without untying it and flips the box to shake off the lid and reveal the contents.

They're complementary hoodies in the casual and oversized fit that the boys usually go for. You recognize the brand, have seen the members wear it on more than one occasion, and know that they most likely cost the same as your monthly salary.

The next gifts seem fairly innocuous, a beanie for Chan and a baseball cap for Minho, but you know their pieces often go for over a million won, more than you’ve ever spent on a single clothing item.

It continues on like this, the boys receiving items like music equipment, alcohol, and sunglasses. It makes you swallow hard when you think of your own, mostly handmade gift.

Maybe the worst part is that nobody else at the party even blinks an eye at it. You can’t blame them, it’s the nature of their occupation that has gotten them desensitised to being surrounded by luxury and it’s not like they can’t afford to indulge in getting more expensive things.

When you look down, wanting to stop staring at the pile of opened gifts, you see that you've partially crushed the packaging of your own gift. It already looked shabby enough, it was obvious you had wrapped it yourself and the paper you used was from the supermarket, but now it was even worse.

When you try to smooth out the crinkles, your shaky fingers somehow make it ruin it more. You bite your lip, hard, then stop, self conscious about your appearance around all these idols.

It suddenly feels cramped and too warm, sweat starting to gather on your forehead and back. The room starts to spin slightly and you become overly aware of your heart beating in your chest.

A burst of laughter from the crowd spooks you, pulling you out of your head. You use the opportunity to get to your feet and excuse yourself. You slip away as quietly as you can and breathe a sigh of relief when you make it into Chan's room without anyone following you.

You don’t bother to turn on the lights, not wanting anyone to check up on you, and sit on the ground with your back against Chan’s bed. With the door closed, the noise from the party is muffled and it’s significantly colder in this area of the dorm. You press your hands to your face and take a few deep breaths to try and calm your heart rate.

You don’t know what’s wrong with you because you know you shouldn’t feel like his. You had been looking forward to watching Chan and Minho open their gifts, you had spent a lot of time preparing them and you had felt confident that they would enjoy them.

Well, until you saw everything else that they received.

Now your ideas just seemed silly. You feel humiliated at the thought of everybody seeing the obviously cheap gifts and even worse when you consider how ashamed Chan might be for others to know that you were his partner.

Although you were working full-time at the moment, you had only graduated from university last year and your student debt was an ever present weight on your shoulders that you tried your best to hide. Everything you had went to paying it back and checking in bi-weekly to see the number get smaller and smaller was the only thing that made you feel better.

Chan knew that you often worried about money. You had been mortified the first time that he had walked in on you trying to organise your finances for the next few months. He had glanced over your shoulder before you had even realised he was in the room and all the red cells showing where you were in a deficit were hard to miss.

It had been early on in your relationship and the dates that the two of you had been on as well as a couple unforeseen events had meant that you had been spending way more than what you had anticipated. Of course, Chan had treated you on a number of occasions, but you refused sometimes because you felt guilty every time he offered to pay, especially since it had been only a couple years after his debut.

He had been more than understanding, but you had been so embarrassed and caught off guard that you couldn't stop the tears from streaking down your face. Since then, Chan and the members had never done anything to make you feel like they pitied you or thought any less of you for your financial situation, in fact they did the opposite.

When you had first started visiting the dorms, opening the food delivery apps was like a reflex for all of the boys once it was dinnertime. You were always hesitant to choose anything and felt even worse by the nonchalant way that they covered the costs each time. Even though you knew they didn’t think anything of it, you couldn’t help but feel like you were taking advantage of their hospitality.

Somehow they caught on to your reluctance to buy food and now it's tradition that you cook for them when you come over, enough so that they keep the kitchen stocked with more than ramen, chicken breasts, and protein powder.

In particular, Minho absolutely loved your cooking and had needled you many times on sharing how you made it. You had always denied him though, saying that you didn't use exact measurements and came up with things on the fly. That’s why for his gift, you had taken the time to create a recipe book, complete with pictures for each step and modifications that he could make based on the ingredients he had.

You had spent a few months thinking about what to give Chan. He was harder to shop for since you knew he wasn't overly fond of celebrating his birthday and didn’t want you to spend money on him, but was always touched when you got him something. Usually, you tried to do something he was more likely to accept.

Last year, you had organised with the company to give Chan a day off and had taken him out to a movie. It was a pretty standard date, but the two of you rarely had the opportunity to go out together and you knew Chan had resigned himself to watching the movie when it was released online instead of going to the theatres like he had hoped to. Having to spend a few days trying to sort out all the logistics of secretly rearranging Chan’s schedule had been more than worth it with the way that his face had lit up when you had told him about what you had planned.

You don't know how long you sit alone, but every time that you tell yourself to get up and rejoin the party, it feels impossible to move.

“Hey,” Chan's voice is cautious, but you startle anyway, scrambling to stand up. Stuck in your thoughts, you hadn’t even noticed him entering the room. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine, I'm fine. Just needed some air, it was getting kind of stuffy in there,” you explain. “I didn't think you'd notice.”

“Of course I noticed. You were there one second and gone the next, I didn't know what happened.”

“It’s nothing.” You avoid Chan’s gaze, not wanting to see the concern that shines in his eyes.

Chan steps closer, then reaches out and tangles your fingers together, using your connection to pull the two of you to sit on the bed.

“Y/n, baby,” he says softly. “Talk to me. Tell me what’s going on in here.” He leans forward until the side of his head bumps into yours.

“It’s-”

“Don’t say it’s not important,” he warns. “It’s important to you and that makes it important to me, okay?”

“Uhm,” you pause for a moment, unsure of how you want to word your thoughts. You trust Chan, but it still feels scary being vulnerable. “I guess, I was just feeling… Insecure.”

“Insecure?” Chan tilts his head slightly. “About what?”

“Everyone-” you laugh slightly, embarrassed. “Everyone gave you guys such nice gifts, I feel like mine don’t even compare.”

“Y/n, you know I don’t care about that kind of thing. If I had the choice, nobody would be giving me gifts at all. Just having you in my life is enough.” Chan’s voice is painfully sincere.

“I know you don't mind. It just- It feels bad that I can't give you something nice like they can. It's dumb, I know, but I can't help it.”

“I can open it here, away from everyone else if you want,” Chan offers. “Or you don't even have to give it to me today, you can save it until you feel better. Or don't give it to me at all, it's all okay.”

“No no, I want you to have it,” you say immediately. Before you can think better of it, you reach down and retrieve the gift from where you left it on the floor.

“Whatever makes you feel comfortable,” Chan reassures you.

“This is fine,” you decide. “Just the two of us."

“Okay.”

“It’s not designer,” you say suddenly, fiddling with the ribbon that keeps the two packages together. Both of you ignore the fact that you’re just stalling at this point.

“I don’t need any more clothes, I barely wear everything I own now,” Chan jokes.

“Really, you might not like it,” you warn.

“Baby, when have I ever disliked anything that you’ve gotten for me?” Chan drops the teasing tone. You think for a moment.

“When you asked me to order noodles for you and I accidentally got you the spicy version and it made you cry?”

“Did I say that I didn’t like them?”

“No, you ate it all even though I warned you that it would make your stomach hurt for the next couple of days,” you say, smiling faintly at the memory.

You had gotten yourself the same dish and had found it to be bearable, while Chan’s face had turned bright red after the first bite. You had offered a few times to get him a non-spicy version so that he could enjoy himself, but he had been determined to finish, soaking his shirt and beanie with how much he had sweated. He hadn’t even been able to continue carrying a conversation with you, too busy trying to suck in air to cool his mouth.

It had been even funnier for you the next day, receiving multiple texts from Chan about his stomach hurting and having to continually pause dance practice to go to the bathroom.

“The pain was worth it,” Chan insists. “I'm actually convinced that I'll like anything you give me. Now come on, let me open my gifts!”

You hand over the gift and watch as he pulls away the ribbon to separate the boxes and peels away the tape on the first package. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he tries not to rip the wrapping paper.

This gift was more neutral, a set that contained a wallet and cardholder, both in black. Although Chan hadn’t complained at all, the wallet he had been using was from years ago and the synthetic material was starting to crack and flake away at the edges.

He looks delighted, examining it briefly before pulling out his old wallet and transferring all his cards and cash into this new one. Although it’s not a name brand, you had purchased it at a small shop specialising in handcrafted genuine leather goods at a surprisingly affordable price. It was good quality and suited the simplicity that Chan preferred.

“It's just what I needed,” he says, sounding pleased. “You pay so much attention.”

“I'm glad you like it,” you say, feeling relieved even though you had been pretty sure that he would be happy with it.

The unease comes back when he turns his attention to the second gift. Once again, he puts in effort to gently unwrap it, revealing an old chocolate box that you had repurposed from one of your dates.

You’ve always been on the more sentimental side and had saved it, wanting to remember the evening that Chan had taken you out and the two of you had spent 20 minutes in the shop, meticulously picking out the flavours that you wanted to try. The box is made of a surprisingly durable material and is the perfect size for this gift. You’ve painted over it too, concealing the original design.

Chan turns it around in his hands curiously, before sliding the lid up. You turn away to stare at your hands, overwhelmed by nervousness.

You already know what’s inside. It’s a deck of cards that you’ve transformed, with 52 things I love about you inscribed on one of the jokers. On the flip side, you’ve painted a picture of you and Chan smiling widely with your cheeks pressed together. It’s his favourite, one he always tells you would be permanently on his lock screen if he wasn’t an idol.

The rest of the cards are decorated similarly, a small drawing or painting on one side with the things, people, and places that Chan loves on one side, and something that you love about Chan on the other. The last joker is the only one that's different, you've treated it as a card and have a small message written on.

You had been so excited when you had thought of the idea, even though it was almost embarrassingly cheesy. Chan was often hard on himself, overly critical, and sometimes insecure. You tried your best to reassure him that he was doing well, both in his career and personal life, but you weren’t always able to be with him to do it in person.

As time goes by, your dread just continues to build, but you don't dare look up, not wanting to see Chan's reaction. Based on the silence, he’s clearly not thrilled with the silly idea that you had gone with. You can almost imagine his expression, jaw clenched and lips pressed together as he tries to think of what he can say to let you down easy.

Finally, you can't take it any longer and you lean forward, reaching out to grab at the cards that he's still reading though.

“I'm sorry, it's stupid, I know,” you say quickly. “You can tell me that you hate it, it's okay. I don't know what I was thinking, but just- give me more time, I'll get you something else, something nicer-”

It catches Chan off guard, and instead of successfully taking the cards away, you grapple with them for a second before they slip between both of your hands, scattering across the floor like confetti.

You instantly drop to your knees, scrabbling to scoop them up like the most awful game of 52 pick up that you've ever played in your life. To your horror, the task gets even more difficult as tears start to well up in your eyes.

“Y/n-” Chan says gently, reaching out and taking your wrists in his hands to stop your frantic movements. “Come here.”

You resist for a moment, but he pulls you into his arms, cradling your head so your face is resting on his shoulder. The tears leaking from your eyes soak into the fabric and you sniffle softly.

“I'm sorry,” you say, voice partially muffled. “I'm a mess.”

In response, Chan pulls back slightly and when you don't turn towards him, he taps a finger against your cheek until you face him. Your eyes widen when you notice that he also has tear tracks streaking down his face.

“What-”

“It's okay, I'm a mess too. I should have said it sooner,” he says, voice low and gravelly. Still in his embrace, you can feel the rumble of it in his chest. “I love it. I was overwhelmed, I wanted to say something but you left me speechless.”

“Don't just say it-”

“I've never had a gift so thoughtful, Y/n,” Chan says earnestly. “How could you think this was stupid? You must have spent hours and hours on it and I really appreciate it. It’s just- is this really what you think of me?”

“What do you mean?” you ask.

“Do you really love that-” Chan picks up the closest card to him and flips it so that he can read the message. “That I snore? Y/n, why do you even have this in the list?”

“Yes, snoring was one thing and it's because with everything, there’s always a reason to love it. It's not that I love that you snore, but with your insomnia, hearing you snore is a relief because it means you're sleeping, that you're resting. Even with your insomnia, I know you're busy thinking of every little way you can make things just right for you and the members. It's because you care so much, how could I not love these parts of you?”

“You- you really love all these little things?”

“Of course I do,” you say in a hushed voice. “Of course. When I was making these, I couldn't fit it all. I love everything about you, Chan.”

This time, it's Chan that breaks eye contact, shaking his head as if in disbelief.

“I don't know what I did to deserve you.”

“It's not about deserving. You didn't have to do anything, that's the whole point. I love you just as you are.”

“You know that's how I feel about you, right?”

“Chan-”

“Even if you never got me anything ever again, I wouldn't love you any less. You being in my life, by my side, that's the greatest gift you could ever give.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

[hana-no-seiiki]

WHY DON’T YOU GIVE ME A SMILE? (ACT 2)

YANDERE! BATFAM x JINX (ARCANE/LEAGUE)-ESQUE! READER

[ ACT ONE HERE ]

cw/tw: mentally ill reader. schizophrenic reader. reader w/ abandonment issues. manipulative reader. crimes. arson.

summary: we dive deeper into Gotham's explosive personality and history with those that took the title of ‘boy wonder’

MORE ON YOUR ORIGINS

“They were right! You’re just a Jinx.”

“Everybody shut up! I need to think!”

“We weren’t . . . “

As much as you scared the crap out of Joker’s goons. Since they saw you grow up first hand. A lot of them tended to be overprotective over you.

I mean, they’re insane enough to follow Joker. What more you?

They see you as his successor. An heir of sorts.

Which is why Jason Todd felt like he had no choice but to either fix you or keep you locked up.

You don’t remember much of him. If you did you would hate him.

He was the one that essentially helped you pull the trigger on your family.

If you haven’t read my other posts about it, here’s the rundown.

Jason had a massive crush on reader when the two of em were kids. Prior to everything. Before he was adopted, before reader set their world ablaze, before shit hit the fan essentially.

He saw how neglected you felt. The rejection you faced from your peers for not being strong enough. For being small and weak.

Him and your sister were pretty popular amongst the kids but it only made the comparisons worse.

It was always how they were “twice the kids at [Y/N]’s age.”

And so he thought of a little gift. Just a little something to show the others how cool you really are.

He didn’t expect you to use it that way. And the worst part of it all, he wasn’t there to comfort you. I mean sure, dozens of people died that day. Many of which he was somewhat fond of. But he was sure they’d want him to comfort you. To say that it wasn’t your fault.

And despite all that, you only knew Jason as that one guy Joker went too far with.

“Hey, [N/N].”

The call of your name almost froze you on the spot. Their screams pushed forward from the back of your mind into the forefront. You didn’t think. Your hands just pulled the trigger of your machine gun on its own.

“Who the hell are you?” You grit your teeth. You’ve heard of this Red Hood going around and ruining your adoptive father’s plans lately.

And what’s worse? The man kept forcing you to stay away. Plying you with all sorts of prostitutes and all the money you could ever need or want.

Despite your hostile disposition, the man in question doesn’t return it. “I’m sorry. This was all my fault. I shouldn’t have left you behind.”

“Leave.” You lowered your machine gun. A sudden wave of drowsiness overwhelmed you. A sense of calm. Weakness. Everything was screaming at you to end the source. But if he kept dodging your bullets them perhaps diplomacy would work.

You breathed out. [Y/N]. That name, that identity — though it fell down a well and was long dead it still had it uses.

Softened voice, doe eyes, and posture loose. If you had no other weapon they you always had your vulnerability.

“You need to leave, Joker is coming soon and I can’t help you if you’re caught.”

“Who was that, Jinx?” Joker asked.

You turned around. Your eyes meeting his chest and then his face, where that wide, freakish grin was stuck unto him.

“Old man, I think you mean what.” The toxic pink glint flashed through your eyes as you once again buried your old self along with the rest of the corpses that have met their demise by your hand.

“Meet Fishbones.”

BACK TO YOUR RIVAL:

Recently Tim had been . . . more agreeable to your demands somewhat?

You could tell he was pulling his punches.

Sometimes he’d even join you in your exploits.

You never trusted him of course. You never trusted anyone but yourself. But he was fun to be around is all. Whether it was you two beating each other to near death or blowing up buildings (he made sure to evacuate its residents before you two went all out).

“You know. I kinda wanna blow up that building. Don’t you think we’ll have a better view of the sky that way, Timmy?” You pointed to the structure with your signature gun shaped hand gesture.

That was one of Bruce’s buildings.

“You . . . “ Tim blinked at you a couple of times. “are so right.”

“Let’s go.” You yanked him the hand.

Tim smiled. Even if he wasn’t making direct contact with your skin, and you with his — he couldn’t help but smile at the intimacy of this moment. What were his worries with you beside him? All the sadness and anger felt so fleeting when he was with you.

His glee almost costed him his life as it took him a couple of moments to realize that you have pushed him off a building after a while of parkour.

He managed to grapple himself back, and with your assistance, he got back up to the ledge you two were on.

He gave you one half hearted glare. You laugh at his face, “You’re such a loser! Always ready to cry! Wah wah wah!” And you set off. Getting within the building with no care for stealth whatsoever.

What was the point of being all sneaky like when you had bombs on you?

"Wait up! Get back here!" Tim ran after you. He didn’t mind that you were essentially destroying all his and Bruce’s hard-work on his industries, but you were being too reckless. He would sure as hell minded if you were caught.

Turns out he wasn’t so far off when it came to his fears and suspicions.

“You. You set me up.” You glared at him. Hands on your blaster. Ready to shoot at a moment’s notice. Your eyes flicking between the men in front of you, wondering who was best to pick off first.

Batman, Nightwing, or the man you stupidly thought was your friend.

“No. No you have to believe me I—“ Tim tried to explain. But Dick cuts him off, “Good job, we couldn’t have done it without you.”

“You traitor. I knew it. I knew it.” Your voice got weaker and weaker.

No, no, no. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. This wasn’t part of the plan. Tim was supposed to be with you for longer.

“I told you, you have no choice.” Bruce finally spoke. His cape moved to his back.

He wasn’t going to let you go. Not without making it bloody.

“Oh, boohoo. You’ve always been no fun!” Your eyes never leave the two dark suited men, but Tim knew you were speaking to him. “Good thing I never trusted you.”

And you take a deep breath, dropping the laughing gas Harley gave you for emergencies. It wasn’t as strong as the original one, hell you’re sure that those people probably expected that move. But it at least blocked their line of sights on you, allowing you to create some distance.

You managed to get far enough to ready your weapons and send a call of help to your adoptive parents before your prediction proved to be true — footsteps behind you; loud and clear.

“Look’s like we’ve got even more company. Huh, boy savior?”

“Don’t move and I won’t cut you down.”

Pow pow in your hand, and desperation in your mind. The last thing you heard is a blade unsheathing before you pull the trigger.

୨ ©️ ୧⸝⸝﹕hana.no.seiiki - yun | 2024﹐⊂☁️⊃ ‹𝟹

AUTHOR’s NOTE: YALL THOUGHT THIS WAS GONE!! WELL THINK AGAIN!! I AM BACK!!! Sorry for the late update!! Man I’m so excited for season 2 of arcane ahahsheudidj

Taglist: @w31rdg1rl @cherry-peach-flavored @ice-cream-writes-stuff @speckle-meow-meow @inejghafawifesblog @sitepathos @mimiissia @rolo-at-midnight @mossyvampire @kawaiimusiccollection @harpy-space @takottai @maddeningmangos @obsessed-with-a-fictional @ihatemylifeuwu @caramelstrikezz @szapizzapanda @vanessa-boo @imbiafandbored @victor-rose @earphonejack09 @rainnyydaysworld @bubbabobabubbles @ksziggy @evan-trand @emo-z0mbiezzz @nyra-42 @h0rr0r-10ver-69 @orangeboulevard @alwayszealousdetective @huhuhhuhh @iwasveronica @imginarygirl @nebuluma @heyitsaloy @mysticalhills

[scatteredskittless]

Silly little Alastor headcanons

A/n: Just something little while I work on requests (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

I love writing for Alastor bro—

Warnings: none !!

Fluff✔️ Comfort❌ Angst❌ Smut❌

📻𖤐 This mf is probably SO fun to gossip with, he somehow knows everything about almost everybody and leaves you with your jaw on the ground

📻𖤐 Also, sleepovers?? He’d be the best person to have there as well. He knows how to keep. Things entertaining

📻𖤐 It takes Alastor a while to get comfortable with the idea of any form of touch from you. It’s funny because he touches you sometimes but you can’t touch him without him getting all staticky and staring at you in an uncomfortable way until you eventually get the hint and stop..

📻𖤐 As time went on and you two got closer, he’d allow you to link your arm with his while walking through the streets of hell.. little touches here and there I think he’d allow from you sometimes too.

📻𖤐 Would 100% dance with you anywhere. Like seriously anywhere. Going on a stroll and there happens to be a little music playing? “Come on darling, let’s dance” Bored? “Dance with me”

📻𖤐 Not like anybody would say anything about it though, he’s the fucking Radio Demon, they’d have to have a death wish to do something like that.

📻𖤐 PEOPLE WATCHER.

📻𖤐 I noticed this in the show so it isn’t much of a headcanon but he bleats !! (A sound fawns make :3)

📻𖤐 It makes me wonder what other dear like tendencies he has, perhaps he sheds his antlers?

📻𖤐 lol imagine finding that lying around in Alastor’s room and just being very confused 💀

📻𖤐 Freaks out whenever he realizes he actually cares for someone, especially someone of lower status than him.. takes poor Alastor a little while to come to terms with lolz

📻𖤐 Doesn’t drink often but a glass of red wine is always a go to for him, usually paired with reading a book

📻𖤐 Is aroace but has no clue that’s the label for it until you two get to talking about it (“oh I’m just kidding, I know you’re an ace in the hole!” … “a what now?”)

📻𖤐 He probably reads a lot

📻𖤐 Adding onto the last one, he seems like the type of guy to read Shakespeare.

📻𖤐 Alastor is very particular about his appearance, needs to make sure everything looks good and will probably drop whatever he’s doing to fix something that alters his appearance in a way he doesn’t like. He has a reputation to keep, doesn’t he?

Please do not repost, translate, or plagarize any of my fanfictions/writing/headcanons without permission ◟( ˃̶͈◡ ˂̶͈ )◞

ᯓ★ Scatteredskittles

[7s3ven]

POPULAR. luke (pjo)

( master list )

IN WHICH… Y/N is tired of being bullied her whole life so she makes a deal with Luke. As long as she does his bidding, he’ll make her popular.

“Beggin' on her knees to be popular. That's her dream, to be popular. Kill anyone to be popular, sell her soul to be popular.”

Warnings : toxic! luke + y/n (but they’re lowkey iconic together), gore, death, manipulation if you squint, dark themes, y/n + luke are both pretty messed up, pretty gruesome near the end, not proof read

A/N : Me when I wanna write toxic one shots to express my feelings but I've been in toxic relationships and writing fluff is how I comfort myself :c

—

Years ago, the young Y/N would’ve scoffed in her face. Maybe even spat at her if she was feeling bratty enough. Why make a deal with Luke? It was like selling your soul to the devil.

Camp Half-Blood loved Luke, adored him even. But under all that courage and glory was a monster. Y/N had seen it first hand when he turned his head for a split second during a duel, his eyes going dark and his lips curling into a cruel sneer.

Nobody except Y/N ever noticed that hidden darkness behind his soft kindness. It wasn’t her fault she made that wretched deal. He approached her first, staring so longingly into her eyes and speaking with a voice so charming that she hung off every word.

The first time he talked to her was when she was eating breakfast, isolated from the rest of her chattering siblings. Ares was her father, which explained all her retrained anger towards the world. She was the lowest of the bunch, never socialising with anyone and avoiding all group activities to the best of her ability.

She was skilled with a spear but did anybody notice? No one did. Except Luke. In a way, he was her saviour in this eat or be eaten world. Y/N was a tough cookie to crack but getting her head shoved into toilets every day could wear down anybody.

Luke wasn’t usually one to take an interest in girls. He had plenty fawning over him for his attention but none of them could catch his eye like Y/N. There was something about her precise aim with the blade of her spear and the way she gulped down her ice cold water without a second thought. Call it creepy, but Luke found solitude in secretly watching Y/N train.

“Y/N.” Was the first thing Luke had ever said to her. She looked up in surprise and Clarisse’s face turned sour at the sight of the Hermes boy. Her beady eyes narrowed as his hand brushed against Y/N’s shoulder.

“You’re pretty good with a spear.” He quietly whispered in Y/N’s ear so none of the other Ares kids could hear him. “If you ever need a sparring partner, I’m right here.”

Y/N lips parted in shock as she watched him slink off towards his own table. Her siblings stared at her in curiosity before turning back do their food, scoffing at her.

Every minute, Y/N would steal small glances at Luke. And every time, he caught her and gave her a knowing smirk. She looked down at her plate after being caught for the fifth time, her cheeks flushing red and turning hot. She no longer felt hungry.

Y/N stood up, scraping the rest of her food into the fire. She felt a presence behind her but she paid no mind to it until they spoke it.

“So, did you think about my offer?” Of course it was Luke. Y/N flinched, almost dropping the porcelain plate into the fire to join her discarded meal.

“Why me?” She asked, her voice nothing but a quiet whisper that barely reached Luke’s ears.

“Why not you?” He replied, cheekily tilting his head.

Y/N could come up with many reasons to that question. She always took Luke as someone who carefully picked who he interacted with, especially when it came to girls.

“May’s prettier.” She said, nodding over to the bright brown-haired girl tucked in the middle of the Aphrodite table.

“Yeah, she’s pretty but you’re prettier.”

“Vivian’s smarter.”

Luke glanced at the Athena girl with not much interest, shrugging. “Not my type.” Vivian’s was everybody type with her sharp-witted mouth and perfectly cut bob.

“Why are you talking to me, Luke?” After a while, Y/N cut straight to the chase. She furrowed her brows in confusion, a little uneasy with how close Luke was and how girls were glancing over at her.

“I’ve seen you fight.” Luke continued to avoid her questions, much to her annoyance. “Like I said, I’d be happy to be your sparring partner. Today, five pm. Does that work for you?”

Y/N stared at him, hesitating for a moment before she slowly nodded. “Yeah… I’ll see you then.” She briefly smiled before rushing off, dumping her plate somewhere else.

Luke wasn’t expecting much when he showed up at the arena, holding his newly sharpened sword. He figured that if Y/N didn’t end up coming then he could at least get some solo practice in.

But no, she was sitting on a bench inside the arena, fiddling with her spear. She lifted her head, her eyes locking with Luke’s.

“Well, this is a pleasant surprise. I didn’t know you’d actually show up.” He dropped his sword in front of her, grinning.

Y/N shrugged. “It… seemed rude not to.” She muttered, looking down at the ground around.

“I’ll be honest, Y/N. I didn’t just want to spar with you. I’ve come to make you a deal. I’ve noticed that a particular someone keeps shoving your head into a toilet.” Luke smirked when he saw Y/N stiffen. He crouched down in front of her, “What if I told you… that I could make it all go away? Just like that.”

He snapped his fingers.

“I can make you popular, Y/N. So popular that no one, not even Clarisse, will mess with you again.”

Y/N gave Luke that same narrowed glare that Clarisse often sent his way. “What’s the catch?” She asked, causing Luke to chuckle.

“Smart. The catch isn’t that big. All you have to do is whatever I tell you to.”

Y/N’s eyebrows raised slightly as she finally made eye contact with Luke again. He charmingly smiled at her. She thickly gulped, weighing out all her options in her head. She could reject his offer and be the victim of relentless bullying… or she could accept and never get hit by Clarisse again.

Luke frowned at her hesitation. “The choice is your’s.”

Y/N’s eyes flickered to look at everything but him. She slowly nodded. “Okay.” She whispered. “Okay. I’ll do it. Deal.”

It started off small. Steal someone from Clarisse, easy enough. Y/N was almost as cunning as Hermes himself, which slightly impressed Luke. He gave her a nod of approval after she dropped Clarisse’s beloved spear in front of him. As promised, he stopped the bullying, but in a way Y/N never expected.

After yet another failed game of capture the flag, Y/N was walking towards the large crowd of demigods when Luke abruptly picked her up and kissed her. Dating or even being around Luke Castellan was guaranteed to make you popular and Y/N had somehow been roped into it without her knowledge.

Her tasks weren’t too difficult until Luke told her to do the unthinkable. To pick a target and violently murder them as a warning to the camp that bad things were coming.

“Luke… you know I can’t.” She muttered as she hid behind the Hermes cabin with him. She was clutching onto his arm, begging him to give her another task. Luke stared down at her in annoyance.

He rolled his eyes, slightly sneering. “Come on. It’s easy. I’ll even show you.” Y/N peered at him through her lashes, looking like a deer in headlights. But she couldn’t say no. She could never say no to Luke when he had his lips pressed so firmly against her’s and when his fingers traced delicate circles around her waist as he lifted her shirt.

After that short conversation, Y/N’s nights consisted of sneaking out to meet Luke. He taught her how to wield an ax, how to knock someone out, and even explained how to dismember a body. Clearly, he had studied these dark topics.

Y/N lay on the forest floor, staring up at the stars. Luke was nearby, his arm lazily slung around her waist and pulling her closer towards him.

“We have to be careful.” He whispered in her ear, tucking a strand of her hair away. Y/N knew that if Luke went down, she’d be forced with him and vice versa. He pressed a light kiss to her neck, inhaling the smell of her floral perfume.

Luke had a twisted obsession with the idea of murder. It thrilled him. The vivid image in his mind of blood splattered across the floor and limbs bent at awkward angles made his stomach churn but... it was exciting.

"Luke... what are we doing with our lives?" Y/N muttered, turning to face him. When had everything gone downhill? When did they suddenly turn into borderline murders and sadists? Perhaps Luke was always like this and he infected Y/N with his disease. But if she was willing to do anything to become popular, even drive a knife through someone's heart, then it just showed Luke that she might be as abnormal as him. “Princess,” Luke’s voice was barely a whisper as he handed her a cigarette. He often kept them hidden under his mattress, only taking them out when he needed to destress. He lit the tip for her and watched as she slowly took a drag, blowing out a mouthful of smoke.

The pair stared down at the body in front of them. They weren’t dead, merely knocked out. Outside, the wind was relentless. It smashed against the wooden walls of the abandoned cabin, as if warning Y/N and Luke to stop whatever madness they were about to commit.

BORN IN GRIEF,

“Do you ever think it could have been different if the gods gave a fuck about us?” Y/N asked, tilting her head to the side. She took another drawl from the cigarette before passing it over to Luke. “Would we be less… messed up if they actually cared?”

Luke shrugged. “Maybe. But this is who we are, we can’t change that.”

RAISED IN HATE,

Y/N would never admit it out loud but she and Luke were sick. Sick for even thinking of doing this and suddenly, Y/N’s stomach lurched. A tiny morsel of her personal morals held her back from approaching the body but she was also curious. How long would it take until the demigod before them realised their doom?

HELPLESS TO DEFY THEIR FATE.

They stirred but their eyes never fluttered open. Luke and Y/N exchanged a look before he gestured her forward. She held the wooden handle of the ax tightly, dragging it along the floor as she stepped towards the unconscious body.

Y/N was unusually calm when she lifted the ax, the sharp blade glinting in the moonlight. Suddenly, the demigod awoke with a desperate gasp. They scrambled back at the sight of Y/N.

LET THEM RUN,

“Please, don’t… what have I ever done to you? Don’t kill me! I haven’t even completed a quest or been claimed yet!” The demigod clasped their hands together, begging for sweet mercy. Y/N merely gazed at them, wide-eyed and unmoving.

“I’m afraid she won’t listen to you.” Luke made his presence known. The demigod’s eyes flickered over to him and they let out another gasp. They couldn’t beloved that Luke, the son of Hermes, the heartthrob of Camp Half-Blood was sitting idly on the sidelines while his companion was staring at them like they were an experiment. Simply a hypothesis that needed to be tested.

“She works for me. She’d kill her best friend if I told her to.” Luke gestured for Y/N to continue. The ax was raised above her head, ready to pierce the heart. Y/N swiftly swung the blade down. It buried itself in the demigod’s chest and a drowned-out scream slipped past their lips.

LET THEM LIVE,

Y/N’s eyes shook as she stared at the body in what could only be described as desperation. Desperation to land another sick blow.

Y/N lost count of how many times she raised the ax up and swung it down. All she could think about was the euphoria and giddiness rushing to her head. Blood stained her skin but she didn’t stop until the demigod was nothing but a mangled corpse, unable to be identified just by looking at their gruesome face.

Thunder crashed and lightning flickered. Rain poured down, the gods’ way of expressing their grave disappointment.

BUT DO NOT FORGET WHAT WE CANNOT FORGIVE.

Luke blew out another cloud of smoke, gazing at Y/N with his own twisted version of love. “Red looks good on you.” He uttered, spinning her around like she was in a beautiful ball gown and he was her date to prom.

Y/N laughed, the thrill of killing taking over. Luke’s lips curved into a smile. He had never heard the sound of her laugher before. And he was already intoxicated. Her lips tasted like smoke and tangy metal and he pulled her closer.

THEY ARE NOT ONE OF US, NOT OUR KIND.

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[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Hello, hello! Congrats to the milestone! For the festivity may I wish for a fic with 1/A; 2/Canon- adjasond; 3/Hurt/Comfort and 4 is up to you. If it fits your jam, would be an outsider pov be possible? 👀

Thank you so much for the ask, I definitely gave myself some feels writing this one! I've never done a Wayne POV before, but I'm quite happy with how it turned out. 🥲

Your first warden

Words: 999

Rated: T

Tags: POV Wayne Munson; Good uncle Wayne Munson; Child neglect; Child abuse; Alcohol abuse; Drowning; Referenced parental death; Eddie had a shitty childhood; Post-Vecna; Everybody lives; Hurt Eddie Munson; Recovery; Caretaker Steve Harrington; Hurt/comfort

The first time Eddie almost died, he was two years old. 

Al had insisted on bringing him along for that fishing trip. A proper men's day out, he'd said. Of course Al’s idea of a proper men's day out was hitting the booze the second they arrived. By the time Wayne heard him snore, little Ed had already wandered off. 

He found him floating face down between the reeds a few yards away. The water lillies and the pretty lights rippling on the surface must've drawn him in. Wayne thinks he lost five years of his life in the seconds between pulling him out and the kid's first coughs filling the air.

“‘s okay, kiddo,” Wayne murmured as he rocked the both of them, tears and lake water drenching his flannel. “‘s okay. I gotcha.”

The ruckus drew Al, of course. He took one look at them and yanked Eddie away by the arm, slapping him hard across the face. 

“Quit howling, it's your own damn fault for going in the water. And you,” his eyes found Wayne's and his face twisted into something ugly. “Who d'ya think you are, his fucking guard dog? Keep your nose outta things that don't concern ya.” 

And maybe it was because Wayne never liked being told what to do, least of all by his drunk, deadbeat brother - but he promised himself something on that day. 

For as long as Eddie would need him, he'd watch over him. 

He'd often think back on that promise over the years. Teaching Eddie to ride a bike. Letting him sob into his shoulder at his mom's funeral, daring Al to say something about being a man one glare at a time. Taking him in when he showed up on his doorstep, bruised and beaten, hair shorn so short his scalp was bleeding in places. 

Wayne never regretted his decision, and he never broke that promise. 

Until the day Eddie almost died the second time. 

*

The beemer parked by the new trailer is a sight he should be used to by now. Still, Wayne can't help but grumble as he makes his way up the porch steps. 

Don't get him wrong, he'll be forever grateful to the Harrington boy for carrying Eddie out of literal hell, but he isn't sure if this new friendship between the two will ever be anything but bizarre to him. 

Maybe it's because the Harringtons don't mingle with the likes of them, or maybe it's because the lad is the exact type of kid Eddie hates with a passion, usually. 

Maybe it's because Wayne has noticed the way Eddie looks at the boy. He's always had a way of getting in too deep, Eddie has. Drawn to pretty flowers and rippling lights that'll slip through his fingers when grasps at them, luring him in until it's too late. 

The first thing he hears when he steps inside is a thud, followed by a wince. He's just taken the first step when Harrington barrels out of the kitchen and into Eddie’s room, completely unaware of Wayne standing in the door. 

“Eddie? What are you doing?” 

“Nothing,” comes Eddie’s reply, and Wayne knows that tone. The just-got-caught-doing-forbidden-shit one. “Just trying to put up this fucking thing.” 

Toeing off his boots, Wayne hovers closer to the half-open door. A look inside reveals Eddie, sitting on the bed with a sheepish grin on his face and that giant banner he made for his band beside him. Harrington, back turned to the door, huffs and picks up the hammer lying on the ground. 

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he scolds, climbing onto the bed and gesturing for Eddie to hand him the banner. A few swift movements and knocks of the hammer later, it’s hanging. “You could’ve opened a wound. Again. What do I need to do to make you stay in bed, tie you up?” 

Eddie grins toothily. “Okay, one: I am in bed, technically. And two: oooh, kinky.” 

Wayne groans soundlessly. Harrington rakes a hand down his face, plopping down cross-legged on the mattress. 

“Eddie.” 

Their knees bump together. Now that he has turned and he can see him in half-profile, Wayne recognizes the concern on Harrington’s face. Eddie’s grin shifts into something softer. 

“I know,” he says, watching his hand fiddle with a loose thread on his pajama pants. “It’s just … It’s annoying, not being able to do anything on my own. Being such a goddamn burden all the time. To Wayne, to the kids. To you.” 

“Hey.” Harrington’s hand settles on top of Eddie’s. “You're not a burden. We're all glad you're here. I'm glad. You know that, right? 

Eddie flips his hand, tangling their fingers together, and Harrington doesn't pull away. 

“Yeah,” Eddie murmurs. “I know.” 

Harrington smiles, reaching up to cup Eddie’s face with his free hand. 

“You just wait,” he winks. “You'll be back to walking on tables in no time. And in the meantime …” 

Eddie melts into the touch, lashes brushing the other boy's palm as his eyes flutter shut. 

“In the meantime, you got me.” 

“I gotcha,” Harrington confirms, and leans in. 

Wayne is just about to sneak away when the kettle whistles in the kitchen. The boys turn … and then they all just sort of freeze.

“Hiya, boys,” Wayne rumbles when they're still silently gaping at him a few seconds later. 

“Mr. Munson,” Harrington croaks. “I mean … sir. I mean … hi?” 

“Wayne?” Eddie blurts. “H-how long have you been standing there?” 

Wayne considers that question while both boys continue to stare at him with matching scarlet blushes coloring their cheeks. Their hands are still lying entwined on the mattress between them. 

“Long enough, I reckon,” is what he finally says. “I'll take care of the kettle, Steve. You lads stay put.” 

And with that, he closes the door on their confused faces and makes his way into the kitchen. It's been a long day, and he's looking forward to resting his feet. 

More celebration ficlets

[0xstarzx0]

𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐠𝐚𝐦𝐞 | ONE SHOT

Rafe Cameron S2 x Readers

{OPEN COMMAND}

[English is not my native language ❗️❗️]

SYNOPSIS: When a crazy killer runs through the streets of the Outer Banks, it’s better to be well surrounded. But what if the killer is your best friend?

TW: NON-CON, DUB-CON, smut, rape, violence, murder, vaginal sex, violent sex, caresses, death threats, lies, dark, victim blame, manipulation, unprotected sex, forced pregnancy, breach of trust, hair pull, insults, penetration, fingering.+18

______________________________________________

The nights of the Outer Banks have been dangerous lately.

A psychopath disguised as ghostface , the famous scream killer was running in the streets, killing Kook and pogue.

Good thing your best friend, Rafe, was there to protect you. When your boyfriend died, he was the first to come to console you. 

That’s normal, because he’s your faithful best friend.

Even though Rafe was the kind of asshole who stabbed everybody in the back with knives, it was different with you.

He’d always been there for you, supporting you when you weren’t sure, or coming in whenever you had to tell him something-even if it wasn’t important.-

But recently, Rafe had been extremely busy. He hardly picked up his phone and rarely responded to your messages. You could understand, as your friends were being brutally murdered one after the other. But there was always that little voice in the back of your mind, whispering that it wasn’t normal, telling you to run.

This evening, Rafe had decided on a whim to spend the evening with you. You hadn’t refused, feeling too unwell to be alone. Rafe and you were seated on the couch, your back pressed against his chest as he played with your hair. You were watching television when your program suddenly cut to instead present a devastating new report.

Three girls that you used to talk to had been found dead on the side of the road. They had been brutally murdered, one of them was missing an eye and another was missing her heart.

"How can someone be so violent…" you say, feeling uneasy. Rafe laughs softly. "Who cares, they were bitches who deserved it." His tone was strange, there was a hint of satisfaction in it. It was like seeing you feeling guilty made him happy.

You begin to move away when he tightens his grip on your hair slightly. You give in, resting your head on his chest. "Rafe... If the police arrest me because they think I’m guilty, you’ll come visit me in prison… right?"

"Do you really think the police would think of you? You're harmless... So pure and too kind. You panic just at the thought of killing a bug." He laughs, moving his hand to your waist, pulling you closer to him. "But if they arrest you, I'll make sure to send you a nail file to help you escape." He laughs again.

You nestle against him. "You say that, but even my mother doesn’t dare look at me anymore…" Your voice becomes weaker and weaker. The urge to cry begins to take over.

Rafe's grip around your waist tightened, his other hand moving to brush gently a strand of hair out of your face. His touch was almost comforting, a stark contrast to the coldness that shone in his eyes.

"Your mother is always the first to judge Y/N. Everyone is going crazy because of some bastard who thinks he's Ghostface, even the mothers are suspecting their own daughters. But don't worry love, I believe in you. I know you're not Ghostface. You can't be."

Rafe kisses your cheek tenderly. You allow him to, feeling safe with him.

Rafe chuckled softly against your cheek, his warm breath tickling your skin. His hand pulled possessively at your waist, pulling you closer, until your body was pressed tightly against his. His touch was gentle, almost affectionate, but that little voice in the back of your head began to scream at you again, telling you to run, to get away as fast as possible.

A small moan escapes you as he kisses passionately your neck. "Rafe, we shouldn't…"

Rafe raises an eyebrow at your words, his smile slowly disappearing. His fingers slowly but dangerously trail down to your shorts, his touch becoming almost too intimate.

"I'm not going to hurt you Y/N, I just want you to feel good."his hand leaning lightly on your shorts, where your clitoris was hidden by the pieces of fabric.

"I know, but I don't want Ghostface to take you, Rafe. I don't want to lose y-"

He lets out a scoff, a hint of irritation in his voice. His hand begins to move, pressing even more on your clit.

"Y/N. You're making me sound like a damsel in distress. I can take care of myself. I'm not a fragile flower, you know. I can handle a masked madman chasing after a bunch of idiots with a knife. Don’t worry, I'm strong and smart enough to take care me, to take care of us both."

"I'm sure, Y/N, I've been waiting for this for... nearly forever" he chuckles slightly before his tone turns serious. "And you? Are you sure you want this?"

Without you realizing it, Rafe has laid you down on your back. he has leaned in and started kissing the top of your chest. His hot breath on your skin.

"Are you sure you trust me? Because once I start, there's no going back..."

You grip his t-shirt lightly. In reality, Rafe wouldn’t have let you tell him no. Not when he knows that he’s the only one who doesn’t believe that you’re Ghostface. "Yes…"

A slow, dangerous smile spreads across Rafe's face at your response. His fingers slide further up, in your shorts.

"Good girl."

He doesn’t give you the chance to respond. His lips crash into yours, the kiss hard and demanding, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth.

He kisses you aggressively, his kisses sloppy, possessive, and voracious. He removes his hand from your shorts and begins to give you little hip thrusts.

You moan, feeling his hard dick against your clit through your layers of clothing. He breaks the kiss to move down into your neck, sucking on your sensitive skin.

You frown in pleasure. "Fuck, it's so good…" You close your eyes, relaxing for the first time in far too long.

He smiles against your now slightly purple neck, his grip on your hip tightening slightly.  

"You don’t know how much I want to ruin you."

One of his hands has moved up to entwine in your hair, pulling your head back to expose more of your neck. His lips nibbling and kissing your collarbone.

As he pulls on your hair, you let out a moan. 

"Y/N, if you keep moaning like that, I'm going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk again. I swear."

The idea excites you but you'll never admit it to yourself. "Sorry..." you bite your lip, trying to hold back.

Rafe knew. He knew you were too weak in this type of situation. And he loved knowing that, at some point, you wouldn’t be able to hold back.

He grins against your neck at the idea of impaling you on his cock excites him so much, that his cock becomes more and more painfully hard.

         ✩✽✩

Sleeping with Rafe has been so good. He had been rough, but you had liked it, as strange as it was.

The young Cameron had left more than three hours ago, his father had called him because of a "huge" emergency.

You sleep when small noises echo in your room, having sensitive sleep you wake up almost immediately.

You wake up and check the time on your phone, 2:30 AM. 

You get up from your bed and immediately stumble back onto it. A sharp, excruciating pain in your legs prevents you from moving.

Rafe hadn't exactly been gentle. You force yourself to stand up and begin to walk, limping.

You make your way into the kitchen, where the noise is coming from.

As soon as you enter, your whole body freezes.

Your mother's lifeless body lay on the floor, blood gushing from her neck. Ghostface stood there, holding a bloodstained knife, looking at you silently. He tilts his head to the side, glancing at you.

He stepped closer to you, the knife still in his hand. Despite the mask obscuring his expression, you could sense the menace in his movements. Your trembling body betrayed your fear, and Ghostface seemed to revel in it.

"What's wrong, baby ? You look like you’ve seen a ghost."

His voice was deep and distorted behind the mask, adding to the creepy factor.

Your eyes fixed on the body, you slowly widen your eyes. Before you can even realize it, Ghostface is right in front of you.

He grabs you by the throat, pinning you against the wall next to you.

You struggle to make him let go, his grip on your throat tightens slightly. You moan, Trying to gasp for air.

He moves his face closer to yours.

"Everything alright? You seem a bit...short of breath." he laughs sinisterly,

He puts his knee between your legs and brings his face to your ear, his voice dropping to a low, threatening whisper.

"No one's going to come save you. You're all alone here. With me...and the dead body of your whore mother." He laughs, but there's no hint of humor in what he says.

You start to cry as you try to remove his hand from your throat. "Please...I don’t want to die..."

He chuckled at your pleading, seeing the despair in your eyes.

"What's the matter, Love? Are you afraid? Afraid to die?"

He pressed even closer to you, his body pressing against yours, giving you chills. His hand moved to your hair, gently twirling a strand between his fingers.

"Don't worry. I'm not going to kill you...yet."

He steps away and lets go of your throat. You collapse, trying to breathe properly. He grabs you by the hair and kneels in front of you. "You know what? We're going to play a game!" he says sinisterly.

"If you answer all my questions correctly, I'll let you live but if you're wrong..." He takes out his knife from behind his back and presses it to your cheek.

"I kill you or something else. I haven't decided yet." he shrugs casually. As if he hadn't just threatened you.

"Who was my first victim?"

You think, there have been 9 people since then. Your lips begin to bleed as you try to find the answer.

"10,9,8..." He laughs and begins to count.

"Kiara Carrera!" You shout in panic. He tilts his head to the side and claps his hands.

"Well done, I thought I'd have to kill you with the first question."

"Okay, second question. What is the name of Elvis Presley’s wife?"

"Priscilla." A tear runs down your cheek, a tear of happiness.

"You’re much stronger than I thought, okay. Third and last question." He points his knife at your neck.

"Who did this to you?"

His head moved to your neck and chest, where the marks left by Rafe were clearly visible. He chuckled under his breath, his fingers tracing gently over one of the bruises.

"Looks like someone got a little wild with you, baby. Who did that to you?, your boyfriend? you know, I'd be happy to open his stomach and make a pretty necklace out of his guts"

"No! No! I don't have a boyfriend! I just had fun with a stranger! I swear!" You lie so that Rafe doesn't get killed, it would be unfair if he had to die because of you.

Ghostface chuckled again, clearly not convinced by what you were saying.

"Is that so? You just...had some "fun" with a stranger, and ended up with these marks all over your body?"

His hand moves down to his belt, he starts unbuckling it.

"You’re a bad liar, baby. Try again."

"A stranger I-" He grabs you by the neck and pushes your head hard against the wall.

Your head hit the wall so hard that it blurred your vision for a moment. Ghostface's grip on your throat was firm, his hand squeezing just enough to make it difficult to breathe.

"Baby, I hate hurting you but I don't like being lied to. I thought I had been clear. I'm going to ask you again, and this time I want the truth. Who did this to you?"

He takes off his belt and pushes it away.

You cry out as tears stream down your porcelain cheeks. "A stranger!"

The masked man tightened his grip on your throat, his patience clearly worn out. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a growl.

"You know what baby? I'm really starting to lose my patience with you. I don't believe you. Not at all. I'm going to give you one last chance to tell me the truth. Who did this to you?"

You cry and look at him. "A stranger."

Ghostface doesn't move for a few seconds. "Stop playing, you're tiring me."

 He grabs your thighs and cuts your shorts and then your underwear.

He grabs your hair and forces you to lie on your stomach. "Stop it!" You cry and struggle. He grabs your wrists and puts them behind your back.

"Don't be afraid, baby. I promise it will be worth it." he whispers in your ear as he presses his body against yours, leaving no room for you to escape.

He slides his pants and underwear down his legs, letting them pool at his feet. He grinds his hips against yours, letting you feel the full weight of his arousal. His breath is hot against your ear as he murmurs: "Do you feel that? That's all the fucking anger you just caused me."

"I'm sorry, I swear!" You cry as you try to move.

"Are you ready to tell me the truth?" he asks.

He positions himself at your entrance, the head of his cock pressed against your sensitive flesh.

You freeze, not knowing what to say. "I told you-" "Shut your fucking mouth then."

He thrusts into you, filling you completely. He begins to rock his hips, setting a rhythm that steals your breath away.

You begin to cry and struggle, but he's much stronger than you. He sets a knife next to your head as a warning, whispering in your ear, "If you keep being disobedient, I swear I'll shove this knife inside your pussy Y/N, I swear." 

"Fuck, Y/N, don't you get it? I love you!" He groans as he hits a spot that makes you clench around him, your body responding to his touch despite your tears.

His thrusts become more urgent, he lets go of your wrists and wraps one hand around your throat, squeezing just enough to make you gasp. "I killed your asshole boyfriend, that son of a bitch who said he didn’t love you just to survive. Do you realize? You’re so lucky to have me, baby."

He grabs your head and forces you to look at your mother’s dead body. while he destroys your pussy. You look away but he grabs your chin. "Look at her Y/N. She never liked you, that bitch deserved it and you know it."

His pace becomes even more brutal, each thrust hitting a spot deep within you that makes stars burst behind your eyelids. He leans down, his little moans going straight into your ear as he whispers. 

"I'm the only one who truly loves you, Y/N. Say it."

His thrusts become even more forceful as he revels in your moans and gasps. His hand is still around your throat, squeezing and releasing in time with his thrusts. "Don't make me force you to say it, baby" 

you don’t answer and try to grab the knife

He chuckles his hand tightens around your throat, choking the air out of you as he reaches for the knife. 

"You're the only one who loves me!" You say, feeling your lungs emptying of air.

You feel him growing around you, his thrusts becoming more urgent and rough. He uses the grip on the knife to drag it along your back, leaving a shallow line of blood in its wake. "Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his vision blurring as the pressure builds.

He stumbles upon a sensitive spot, causing you to moan. He realizes his discovery and smirks, feeling a twisted satisfaction from the sound.

"Is this a sensitive spot? My love?" He presses down on it again, watching with satisfaction as you writhe beneath him. "Maybe we should take advantage of that." 

You whimper as he pounds into you with an incredible, relentless pace. You’re not taking birth control, and he's not using a condom .the raw, unprotected contact only heightens the intensity of his act

"Help…" You cry out, desperation lacing your voice. With each thrust, your body is driven further into the ground, a violent dance of pleasure and pain.

He thrusts faster, the pace becoming almost frenzied. You watch as his mask falls aside, revealing his face inches from yours. He leans in close, his hot breath washing over your shoulder as he grunts with exertion, the sound vibrating through you.

Though you can't see his face, you can feel his lips nibbling and sucking at the tender skin of your shoulder, marking you with his mouth as he continues to claim you with his body.

"I love you, Y/N, I loved you from the instant I saw you." His hand grips at your left breast. "You will become the mother of my children. If you try to leave me, I'll kill you."

Your body freezes at the sound of the name. "Rafe...?" You whisper, a mix of shock and fear coursing through you as the truth hits.

He lets out a guttural growl as he releases his seed deep inside of you, his hips bucking as he empties himself completely. "Mine," He groans, a primal satisfaction filling him at the thought of impregnating you.

He straightens up, pulling on his pants, and retrieves his mask, tucking the knife back into his pocket. "Why?" you ask, lifting your head to gaze up at him. The man you once cherished now looms over you, his expression dark with a possessiveness bordering on madness.

"Because I love you." he says, and then drops suddenly to his knees, grabbing hold of your chin, his touch almost surprisingly gentle considering the way he looks at you, as if you were a mess he was intent on fixing. "Who gave you those hickeys on your neck?"

You swallow hard, fighting the urge to vomit as you utter your response. "You." His laugh cuts through the air like a dagger, and he moves his face closer to yours. "Good answer, my good girl."

✩✽✩

.

.

.

.

[utahimeow]

swan song — satoru gojo

summary — why work so hard when you could just be free?

pairing — satoru gojo x f!reader

warnings — major jjk spoilers, graphic depictions of violence, hurt/comfort, angst, happy endings, reader has a cursed technique (mentioned once), established relationship

word count — 1.3k

author’s note — based on swan song by lana del rey. this is the most self indulgent selfship coded thing i’ve ever written but i needed to give gojo the happy ending he deserved idc if its cheesy or out of character

He’s dead.

Dead.

The strongest. Dead. 

Satoru Gojo is dead.

A flash, then his body becomes two — legs here, torso there. 

He’s not moving. Scarlet splatters the ground, blooms like a lily. 

The air is disgustingly thick, and it hangs like a noose, and it cuts your throat. Nobody is breathing. Everybody knows. 

This time, he’s not getting back up. 

A scream claws its way out of your throat, vicious as it pierces through the air. 

Someone else is stepping up to replace him already, a sorcerer with hair like seafoam. The King of Curses turns towards him, his stolen face twisting into a demonic grin, dripping with victory.

Right now there’s just one thing on your mind. Like instinct, like it’s your destiny. You don’t care about the politics, the consequences, the implications of his death. None of it matters.

You just want to be with Satoru.

Your feet are moving. They almost take off, but a steady grip pulls you back. 

“You should leave.” Shoko’s voice quivers as she speaks. You’ve seen her composure crack so rarely that when you do it feels like your first time witnessing it.

Your face is hot, and it’s wet now. Your eyes sting. You don’t try to stop the tears, or even wipe them.

If you were to look up, you’d find eyes full of sorrow and shock and pity—you’re the grieving widow. His students have lost a teacher, his friends have lost a friend. At least I’m not her, they all think, I haven’t lost the love of my life. 

Without another word, without even so much as one final glance at Satoru’s corpse, you leave. You can’t bear to be there any longer. 

The taxi driver does not question why you’re crying. He pretends he does not hear the way you sniffle and gasp for air. He drives you to your home and drives away when you’ve paid him.

You breathe out. Your shoulders sag with relief. You will yourself to stop crying.

He’s in the living room, a thick arm thrown over his eyes as he half-naps. As soon as he hears you enter however, he springs up, beaming like the sun. 

Satoru laughs a little at your puffy face and your glimmering eyes. He gathers you into a hug, his body hard and imposing and warm, and you cling to him. His heart pumps blood around his body and it’s loud in your ears.

“That was traumatic,” you say, but it gets muffled when you bury your face into his chest. He smells fresh, like the wind on a warm day. He must have showered since he teleported home. 

Satoru’s laughing again. You wish he’d never stop. “You knew it was fake the whole time, how bad could it be?”

“I had to watch you die, Satoru! It was horrible even if it was fake,” you admit, tightening your arms around his waist, where his torso meets his legs. 

He laughs, and it reverberates in his chest and rumbles through your body. You’re angry. You can’t climb inside of his skin and live there and you’re angry about it. His giant hands draw circles all over your back.

“I’m here, baby. I’m all yours now,” he tells you. For the first time, he means it without any exceptions.

…

“What if you faked your death?”

Satoru’s head whips over to look at you, scanning your face to find something that will tell him you’re not serious. But you are serious.

One word, he asks, “why?”

“So we can give up being sorcerers and leave Japan and never come back.”

Satoru grows quiet. There’s a pit in your stomach. He tells you constantly that he’d give you the world, and you believe him, and he loves you more than anything, yet he can’t bring himself to give up on humanity. Without him, the world doesn’t stand a chance. He’s the strongest, after all.

“Is that what you want?” he asks. It’s sincere.

“Yes,” you tell him, swallowing as you consider your next words. “I just got you back from the Prison Realm and now you have to fight Sukuna, who might actually kill you… You just give and give so much to the Jujutsu world and what do they give you back? Shit all. And I’m tired of watching you be wrung dry.” 

He’s silent again. All the years that you’ve known him make it easy for you to know what he’s thinking. More than likely he’s thinking of Yuuji and Megumi and Yuuta. Maybe he wonders what Nanami would tell him to do, or what Geto would say.

It’ll be selfish. He’ll be abandoning everyone at the worst possible moment. He turns your words over and over in his head. Then he thinks of a life with you, a peaceful one, where you’ve left behind your days of sorcery, where he doesn’t have to be some pseudo-god. 

Where he can grow old with you.

Perhaps, he thinks, it’s necessary for him to disappear. It’ll be a struggle without him, but he has faith. They’ll persevere. 

“What are you thinking?” he asks eventually.

“I’ll use cursed energy to create a clone of you. Since my clones can’t use cursed techniques it’ll have to be right when Sukuna is about to kill you. You switch out and teleport out of there.”

For a moment he stares at you, then he chuckles, shifting sideways so he can lay on his back and stare at the ceiling with resolve.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” he says. 

“I have,” you say. “For as long as I’ve loved you.”

…

He thinks you’ve never looked more beautiful. 

He’s convinced of it, actually. Life has filled your cheeks out and erased your dark circles away. Your eyes shine brighter. Fear no longer lives in them, nor does hopelessness.

Your fingers are gentle as you pluck fresh, plump tomatoes off the vine. Satoru’s heart swells because you’ve been so excited to harvest them.

“It’s just a handful for now,” you tell him, letting him peer inside the basket you have on your arm. There are a few bunches of rocket and basil leaves, and a small squash too. 

He reaches in, takes a tomato and pretends to take a bite out of it until you snatch it from his hand and scold him. 

“They just look too good, baby,” he says between laughs. You roll your eyes, but you don’t manage to bite back the smile that grows on your lips.

“Go finish building my chicken coop,” you tease, calling him by his last name, the one he took from you, then brushing past him to head back inside your home.

“I told you it’s almost finished!” he exclaims, trailing behind you as you make your way to the vintage renovated kitchen of your house. 

Satoru settles on a stool at the island at the centre, observing the way you rinse the vegetables in the sink. To him it’s fascinating—well, you’re fascinating. The way your brow scrunches slightly with concentration. He hopes you never run out of vegetables to harvest and wash. He’ll make sure you don’t.

“By the way, what do you think about getting some mini goats?”

“I don’t care as long as you take care of them,” you tell him. “Do you want salad or roasted vegetables for lunch?”

Satoru’s heart races. He’s transported back to 2006 for a moment, when for some reason he wanted to be around you all the time and thought it was weird that he liked it when you teased him. Before he realised.

“Roasted vegetables, please. I love you.”

Satoru doesn’t look much different now. He’s gotten a little more toned, put on some muscle from some of the heavy work he does on the farm. 

And when he smiles, he’s not pretending anymore. 

[bnhaemporium]

You Getting Injured Headcanons

Characters: All Might, Endeavour, Edgeshot, Aizawa, Hawks

✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    ✧. ┊    

All Might

How Toshinori initially reacts to you being hurt is very dependent on whether or not he is currently working as All Might. He hates it but he knows he cannot show you extra concern while his façade is up. Not if it could bring even more danger to you in the future.

He panics in a way he’s very rarely felt before. His eternal smile becomes incredibly difficult to maintain as he tries to focus on the moment and how he can best help. He struggles not to just pick you up and hold you close.

He worries about the worst-case scenarios for the longest time, even as you begin on the road to recovery. Once you’re healed, the fear still lingers with him as a constant reminder.

You’ll have him at your side almost constantly while you’re getting better and he’s very willing to do whatever you need. He’s at your service and overprotective in the way he makes sure you stay comfortable.

Eraserhead

Aizawa’s seen many of his close friends and allies hurt before. He’s dealt with countless situations just like this one but nothing ever compares to what he feels when he realises you’ve been injured.

There’s a level of logic he forces himself to maintain on the battlefield but this is one of the few moments where he comes very close to losing it. All he can focus on is making sure you’re safe – no matter what it takes.

It surprises everybody but you’re most likely to get into a fight directly after you’ve been stabilized. When he learns that you’re alright and not knocking on death’s door, all those emotions that he’s been suppressing are going to explode out at everybody, including you.

He apologizes about half-way through this argument when he realises that you’re not the one he’s angry at. This is when you see how he truly feels; when he tucks you against his chest and falls asleep like that.

Hawks

As much as Keigo thinks he’s prepared for the day you inevitably get hurt by some villain (your relationship isn’t very secret), none of his previous rationalizations matter when it actually happens.

He’s incredibly professional so he doesn’t show his panic visually but internally, he’s an absolute hurricane of stress. He focuses on getting you to help first before dealing with the rest of the situation because he knows he needs you somewhere safe above everything else.

He holds you close for many days afterwards and, though he doesn’t voice his fears, he makes it obvious in the way his wings are always wrapped around your shoulders like a shield.

As the days pass, you can expect more teasing about the situation but he’s still very helpful if you need him to be. Just be prepared for him asking for some payment in the form of kisses.

Endeavour

Enji is furious about every aspect of the situation. Angry at you for not being careful enough, angry at the villain for daring to do anything to you, but most of all, angry at himself for not being there to protect you.

You can see his temper flare in the heat of his flames and the slight break in his carefully controlled quirk. His focus will be on dealing with the situation first and then getting you to help. He doesn’t want to split his attention and wind up with you worse off because the villain gets around his defenses again.

He’s horribly, awfully silent when you get home from the hospital. The tension around both of you is uncomfortable and he’s not going to do anything to break it for at least a day. Not until he stops feeling strangely guilty.

He’s helpful in ways you wouldn’t even notice at first and helps without being asked to. He won’t baby you though and he’s very dedicated to helping you heal the fastest you can, no matter what it takes.

Edgeshot

Shinya doesn’t react visually or emotionally to you getting injured. He won’t let himself until he knows the situation has been handled and both of you are safe enough to allow for the distraction.

He’s going to move you to a safe spot, make sure that your injuries aren’t fatal, and then turn his full thoughts onto the villain. If his attacks are more vicious than usual… well, nobody would call him out on it.

You can expect to see him at your side every day you wake up for the next two weeks. Even if he normally rises before you, when you’re injured, he’s going to make sure he’s there for whatever you need.

He keeps in contact with at least two doctors to make sure you’re healing in the best way possible and uses his own expertise whenever he can. Even his job can take a slight backseat to you during this time and he’ll take an official break to ensure you’re alright.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Hii love! Can you write ‘’I don’t care we broke up, I still love you.’’ with JJ Maybank?? Thank you❤️

I miss my boy JJ <3 Only three weeks until we see him again!! Who is excited for the new season?

my taglists are here + you can requests here at any time

—

Being stranded on 'Poguelandia' made you realize how you took many things for granted — especially your morning croissant and coffee — and the privilege of a hot shower and a soft pillow.

When you’ve lived your whole life in comfort, it’s hard to suddenly have nothing. When you escaped the boat with the rest of the pogues, you didn’t think you would come across an inhabited island and have to stay there for a while. It’s only been five days and you were starting to feel like the two kids in The Blue lagoon.

Everyone was in survival mode and helping in any way they could. You and Kiara had built a shelter for the night, Sarah and Cleo had gathered wood and some small fruits while the boys made good use of their fishing skills…and a makeshift spear.

It also made you reevaluate things. Like your relationship with JJ.

You had broken up shortly after Sarah and John B. were declared dead, both too emotional and heartbroken to be in a relationship. The ‘death’ of your friends had caused a massive crack in the group. Even the relationship between Kie and Pope had its hard moments, but unlike you and JJ, they were still together.

‘’I still love him. I never stopped,’’ you confessed to Kiara one late night on the beach while everyone was asleep.

Your eyes were on JJ, watching him sleeping soundly after sending your heart into panic earlier that day. Doing stupid shit was typical of JJ, but when he jumped from that cliff and he didn’t come up to the surface immediately, you got really scared. After almost drowning and definitely having a minor undiagnosed concussion, you could barely stand not having your eyes on him.

Kiara laid her head on your shoulder. ‘’I know.’’

Everybody knows.

If JJ had not been there, surviving on the island would’ve been harder. He was the sunshine in your life, always there to turn your grumpy frown into a smile after you had the worst sleep of your life and sand in places where sand should not be.

You’ve spent a lot of time together on Poguelandia, looking for coconuts and cracking them, teaching you how to catch a fish or watching the stars on nights neither of you could find sleep. It was nice to be close to him again.

But it wasn’t close enough.

‘’Can I eat that?’’ you asked, standing by a small bush of wild berries.

‘’If the berries are white, yellow, and green, don’t eat them,’’ JJ said, not even looking at the berries you were talking about. ‘’Some red berries are poisonous too, so be careful. If you eat a harmful berry, there could be great consequences. Red berries are roughly 50% safe to eat. And, if they are in clusters, they’re usually bad.’’

You nodded. Noted. ‘’Can I eat this one?’’

Growing up on the wealthier side of the island, you didn't know a lot of surviving tips. You didn’t even know how to pierce a coconut. Fortunately for you, JJ was there to help you out.

A small chuckle left JJ’s lips and he came over to you, checking the berries and plucking one from the branch. ‘’Open up, milady.’’ He held the small fruit before your mouth and you allowed him to feed it to you. ‘’If it taste weird, spit it out.’’

He was kidding. JJ would never let you eat a poisonous berry. He only said that to mess with you.

A call of your and JJ’s name made you whip your heads around to hear Pope saying the girls were swimming by the rocks and he and John B. were going to fetch more wood to make a fire tonight. You gave him a thumbs up and they left through the tall trees.

You plucked more berries from the branches, trying to calm your screaming stomach. Your body was not used to the small portion of food a deserted island had to offer.

While you were eating, JJ was trying to gather his words together. You hadn’t talked about what happened on the boat when he got knocked over, about when you saved his life. It was a difficult thing to think about and everyone respected your silence, but JJ wanted to thank you. If you had not jumped overboard and kept his head above water, he probably would have drowned.

‘’I…I didn't tell you, but what you did on the boat was brave as fuck,’’ he started, shifting his feet in the sand nervously. ‘’Jumping overboard like that? I wish I could've seen that.’’ A smile curled on his lips, imagining for a moment. ‘’Thanks for saving me.’’

When you saw him in the water, face down and not moving, you didn't hesitate and leaped. You would do again if you had to.

‘’Next time someone swings at you with a machete, you duck. I don’t want to play superhero again.’’ Your eyes welled up with tears and JJ pulled you against him. He didn't smell like weed and teen-boy deodorant anymore, just salt water and sweat, but he embrace still felt like JJ.

‘’I’ll try to remember.’’

‘’I almost gave up,’’ you confessed against his shoulder, ‘’but I wasn't going to abandon you. If you go down, I go down too.’’

JJ tightened his hold around you. He felt so lucky to have you in his shitty life.

You slipped your hands through the haphazardly cut holes of his shirt and spreading your fingers on his back. JJ went soft under your touch, his head falling into the space between his shoulder and neck. 

‘’I don’t care we broke up, I still love you. I always will.’’

—

OBX taglist: @moralina @eudximoniakr @toylewestinnyc @rottenstyx   @sweeterheartxamerica  @jordierama @viridwityy @izzy-laufeyson @kenzi-woycehoski @lilaconner @katsukis1wife @hawkegfs @mommyruuetrue   @acornacreacure  

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17 @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13

[firstfirerebel]

𝕽𝖎𝖉𝖉𝖑𝖊

Sumary: Part 2 of 𝕳𝖎𝖘

Pairing: yandere! adult! Tom Riddle/Voldemort x fem! reader

Warnings: dark content, yandere/toxic behavior, death eaters, kidnapped reader, hints to torture,

Same timeline as in Part 1

A week has passed since you got kidnapped by the dark lord himself, and it hasn't been an easy or calm week. Luckily, he wasn't around you often because he had so many meetings with different death eaters to give them new missions and updates on his plans. Much to his dismay. Every time he had to leave your side, he wasn't in a good mood, and everybody knew that.

Unfortunately, he intended to actually have a romantic relationship with you. Until now, he hasn't forced you to anything, but you knew it was only a matter of time or your behavior.

Even though he wanted to give you some time to get used to everything, he still insisted on sleeping in the same bed as you. It wasn't as bad as you imagined it at first, but it was still uncomfortable. Mostly, he suddenly hugged you from behind, hid his nose in your hair or your neck, and dozed off. Getting free was impossible. He almost clinched to you, and when you tried to escape his arms, he just tightened his grip.

Escaping would be a real problem. You didn't even know where this mansion was. Were you in England? Or was this in Scotland or completely somewhere else?

Was only the mansion surrounded by Death Eaters or the scenery around it, too?! Did Tom think you would try to escape or not?

Lost in your thoughts, you didn't hear the knock on the door. When the person entered, you were relieved that it wasn't Riddle. It was Narcissa.

"I knocked, but you didn't awnser. The Dark Lord wishes to meet you,"

As on your first day, you followed her. She was pretty fast so keeping her pace was a bit difficult. Once you reached his so called 'office', Narcissa immediately walked away and left you alone with him.

When Tom saw you, he basically ran to you and pulled you into his arms. His breath was so loud for you, and you hated his touch to be honest, but at least it wasn't something worse.

"I missed you", he whispered into your ear.

Suddenly you realised that you two weren't alone, the curly head of Bellatrix was behind Tom. He seemed to notice your discomfort.

"Bellatrix, leave. I want to be alone with her", she was obliviously mad at that but still left the room without a word.

He turned his head back to you.

"Better?"

You didn't do anything. Fearing that a wrong awnser would make him mad, you just hugged him again and hid your face in his chest. Hugging him wasn't something you enjoyed, but if you closed your eyes and just felt his warmth, it was a little comfort in this so cold building and every time you hugged him, it made him happy, and a happy Tom was better than an upset one.

His clothes smelled like a library, or just good old books, which calmed you a little. In libraries, you have always felt safe. With no bullies around or other loud students, it felt like heaven.

And a safe place was now all you needed. Since he even talked about having kids, you knew some bad things would come, though it was questionable if he intended to do it with you 'wanting' this or if he didn't care.

"Tom?" You had to ask him, even if it would make him mad...

Instead of saying something, he kissed the top of your head to show you he was paying attention.

"What if I'm not ready for kids? I mean, I would love to start a family with you, but I'm scared", Liar liar pants on fire, was all your brain screamed.

Instead of freaking out, Tom was really calm. He put his hands on your shoulders and looked straight into your eyes.

"It's okay, my love. Y'know I was scared too, I was scared that something would hurt you without me being able to protect you, but after I killed this mudblood. I realised that nothing could take you away from me",

So badly you wanted to scream 'I didn't and still don't want this! Get yourself to therapy, you creep!' But you didn't dare it and your question still had no awnser. Would he dare to harm you for his 'lust' or should you consider it a wish? Again he pulled you close and hid his nose in your hair.

You somehow found comfort in his touch and immediately you knew that you had to run away as soon as you had the chance. Otherwise you might not be able to keep your sanity.

This man kidnapped you! Killed people! Hurts and tortures others every day! He is mad! You mustn't feel this way when he hugs you! Especially if you didn't even want this touch!

But still, you were scared to end this hug. Somehow, Tom couldn't get enough of physical contact with you, and if you pulled away, he might freak out like on your first day.

Flashbacks of how he threw the whole table through the room made you shiver, and you knew if he wanted to harm you, he could easily do it. Obviously, he didn't even fear the ministry. What could you do against him?

Even your wand was taken away from you. You were literally helpless in this situation. Tom wouldn't just hand it over once you asked nicely... most likely giving you your wand back would be the proof of trust towards you.

But every day you had to stay here, increased the possibility of getting mad.

Maybe even the food or the drinks that were served to you had a little bit of love potion in it. Not enough for you to fall for Tom immediately, but enough so you would fall for him over some time.

This couldn't and mustn't happen!

Even one more day here could become dangerous. You had to flee! But you also had to be clever. If you would start to act weird, he might realize that you were up to something. Though some 'making him happy' wouldn't hurt as well...

"Tom, do you have one more meeting with your death eaters today? I don't want to be alone all this time..."Your voice really sounded sad, and you even let out a sigh at the end. Luckily, you have always been a good actress.

"Yes, one late at night. You'll be asleep when I return. And I also don't like being parted from you, but we'll find a solution, okay?" You nodded for a yes and even could fake a small smile towards him.

OK, fleeing when it was night was scary, but also easier. In the dark, you could easily hide from preying eyes and maybe even get a safe distance to this place. It had to be tonight. Another day here would be too risky.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once you were back in your room and Tom was about 10 minutes gone, you changed from your nightgown to a comfortable jeans and a warm hoodie, beneath you also wore a T-shirt just in case and of course a warm jacket.

Silently, you opened the door towards your room. Without a wand, your survival skills wouldn't be the best, so you had to find a wand first. It didn't matter if it was your or not. As long as you could make simple spells like 'Incendio', it was enough.

Luck was once on your side. In the office of Tom, you found your own wand in the first drawer. Back on the corridor, you conjured the disillusionment charm on yourself. It wasn't the safest option but better than nothing.

You kept running the stairs down until you were at the ground floor of this mansion. Out of the front door, you sticked to the walls just in case someone wanted to look outside the window.

Surprisingly this was much easier than you thought...

It was pitch black, which was a blessing and a curse at the same time. You could barely see your own hand, but this also meant that no other person could see you from afar and chase after you the moment they saw you.

Around the mansion was a huge fence, so you had to open the old gate that was rusty and squeaky ! Not good...

When you opened it, it didn't make as much noise as you feared. But still, you had to run now, which was very hard in the dark, but you didn't dare to make any light with 'Lumos'. In the worst case, they already knew that you were gone and made up teams or something to find you. Well, 'they' were 'him' in this case.

You ran until you saw trees around you. You weren't exactly the sportiness in person, but all the fear that built up over the days you were captured started to overcome you and gave you so much adrenalin that you managed to keep running. Fear also from the fear of him finding you again and doing worse things to you than he already did.

You felt your head becoming hot and your legs getting tired. Your vision was almost blurry, so you had to stop. Though you didn't see much, you saw three trees around you, and the floor was covered in dark leaves. You tried to calm your breath so you didn't make too much noise. You also tried to hear as much as possible.

But you didn't hear any steps or any running, nor any speaking. The only thing that was heard was the wind, the chill wind that felt like heaven. Not only because you just ran away as fast as possible, but also because you never heard the wind in the mansion. Neither did you feel it against your cheeks in the past week.

The air also felt much better. It wasn't thick and warm. It was fresh and cold, and you even smelled the forest you were in. The trees had their own smell, just like anything else did.

And finally, you felt happiness again.

You wanted to scream it out, but couldn't. So, instead, you threw yourself into this feeling and started to twirl yourself around in the forest.

Now you knew how hamsters or other small animals felt. In the past week, you were in a different kind of cage, but still a cage. You weren't able to do your own hobbies that became a need to you. No going out to hear the birds or just smell the grass. Cause he didn't want it. Somehow, you felt like a little pet to him. He could do to you whether you liked it or not. You were at his mercy. He could have just let you starve when he thought you didn't act like he wanted you to. Or maybe just lock you in a room cause he thought you were annoying. But also do anything else to of with you.

The thought made you sick to the stomach. No one should live a life like that. Silently, your eyes began to burn, and then the hot tears rolled your face down.

If he would manage to bring you back, you knew you would go crazy. You weren't some kind of thing that he could possess. You were your own person with needs and wishes, but if he would ever realize that was the question.

In fact, now you saw that Tom didn't really love you. In his twisted mind, he did, but he saw himself more as your 'owner'. He 'loved' the idea of you with him but not you as the person you were. In his mind, you weren't even allowed to have any friends that he saw as bad influence, neither would he tolerate you doing something that could hurt you.

He just wanted a real-life doll of you that did whatever he wanted, but still loved and adored him. But conflicts belonged into a relationship. Two people can't always share the same opinion.

In the end, this realization was what got you captured again.

You were so deep into your thoughts that you didn't hear the mad laughter you hated. The craziness in a voice. Bellatrix. Once she saw your silhouette, she started to laugh again. Actually, she didn't want you to return at all. But maybe she could add some bloody scratches before she returned to the dark lord. If she was the one who brought you back, he would definitely praise her! That was something no one would take away from her. And again, a 'stupor' met you, and everything went pitch black. Again...

[keresnotceres]

TF 141: General Headcanons

[sfw] cw: substance use, mention of injury

some of these are so stupid i’m sorry

Has never taken a nap in his life. Literally never. If he says he’s “going to take a nap” no he’s not. He’s going to lay in his bed and talk shit about people to himself.

Is not allowed to watch any war movie whatsoever. Will either complain about how inaccurate the warfare or death scenes are or will pass the fuck out. Head tilted back on the couch, arms crossed, legs spread. Neck pain for DAYS.

Prefers handheld consoles like the DS or Gameboy to any home consoles. Likes to feel that it’s his and if anyone wants to take it away from him, they’ll have to pry it from his strong ass grip.

SPEAKING OF. If you hand him like anything to hold onto he will have the tightest fucking grip on it. Bro it’s not gonna run away from you!!! Be gentle!!!

Casual smoker. Picked up the habit from being around Price too much and now he likes to smoke away stress with a cigarette or two.

Constantly hits his head getting out of cars. Literally cannot catch a break due to underestimating how tall he is compared to any vehicle.

Finds it very difficult to smile, even if he’s happy. Showing emotion in general is really hard for him, usually will only do it around people he trusts the most. Showing emotion to someone makes him feel vulnerable and weak, the complete opposite of how he presents himself.

Finds comfort in making tiny wood trinkets. Likes the motions of carving and having complete control over the little statue. Usually makes them when he’s on leave so that he doesn’t have to go out and that he isn’t distracted on base. He often gives carvings as gifts to his teammates/loved ones.

Shows affection through smaller, less noticeable gesture. Remembers small details about yourself or stories you tell; likes to bring you small trinkets he’s made that resemble things you’ve mentioned you like. Will talk to you about your interests, like what books or movies you like, and will have in depth conversations about your favorite parts of them.

Cracks his knuckles like way too much for it to be normal. He’s gotta have joint pain, because god damn the entire team hears it throughout the day. Just woke up? Cracking his knuckles. Doing paperwork? Cracking his knuckles. Does it on purpose to tick off Soap sometimes.

Absolutely LOVES making playlists/mixtapes for his friends. If you ask him to compile a list of songs that reminds him of you it will be in your hands in less than a day.

Is the friend that you go to when you don’t know what you need, but it’s something. You wanna go out and drink? He’s down. You just want to hang out at home and watch something? Get cozy! You need to gossip about someone? Fuck yeah.

Was probably the kid in school that everybody knew of but nobody was like good friends with. Like everybody liked him, he was cool, but he just didn’t like anyone else.

The only person in the 141 who can somewhat dance. Can he bust a life-altering move if the dance floor? Not really, but he definitely can do a few basic moves and can actually get with the rhythm. Prefers to listen to music than dance to it.

Probably called Price ‘Dad’ accidentally when talking to his civilian friends and had to backtrack so hard he almost choked on a saltine cracker.

Mastered the art of looking like he’s paying attention when he’s really not. Useful when it comes to the boring ass stories some of the COs go off on tangents about.

Terrific at word games, especially Scrabble. Catch him with only vowels and he will be making words you didn’t even know existed. However, he’s not the greatest at Monopoly. He thinks he’s going to win when he doesn’t buy much first round but ends up going bankrupt after having to pay everyone for their properties.

Will not let you live any embarrassing moment down. Never. He is no man’s peace. You tripped over nothing? He’ll remind you of it for the next four days. You misspelled a word in a message or on paper? He’s repeating it until he forgets it. You opened a cabinet and proceeded to whack yourself in the face with the door? He’ll be laughing at the image in his head for WEEKS.

Can braid like a motherfucker. You have no idea how he learned how to braid, but holy shit he’s good at it. Literally just loves playing with your hair regardless of length. The feeling of twirling little pieces between his fingers his just really calming to him.

Was absolutely a Pokémon kid. Has an obnoxious card collection at his parents’ house that he constantly sorts through whenever he goes to visit them. Can and will show off pictures of the rarer, expensive cards he has to anyone who understands.

Likes people-watching because he likes to make up random stories about everyone who walks by. The woman talking aggressively on the phone? Her fiancé is trying to get her to sign a prenup.

Can only cry if he’s watching a really sad scene from a movie or show. Marley and Me had his ass sobbing in the theater.

Likes babysitting his nieces/nephews whenever he’s on leave. He likes having some sense of normalcy and the feeling of having a family of his own, even if they’re just his siblings’ kids.

In his flat, he sleeps with like six blankets year-round. Even in the midst of a heatwave he’s got all six just piled on top of him, sweating his damn ass off.

Likes picking up random bullet casings he finds when on missions. Like a crow.

Hates the beach with a fiery passion. No, he doesn’t wanna go get sand in every crevice of his skin and article of clothing. He also doesn’t want to feel that weird mixture of sticky and smooth for an uncertain amount of time after getting out of the ocean.

Will NEVER be caught lacking when it comes to working out on leave. Rises with the sun and hauls ass to the gym so that he can keep those tasty biceps looking good. Has Ghost’s leg day routine memorized due to being subjected to it for so long.

Likes to be close to you no matter what. Eating? Sat right next to you, eating his own meal. Debriefing? Standing halfway behind you. On a mission? Standing right next to you, gun in hand, just a hair away from physical connection.

Loves going shopping, especially when it’s with you. Will pick out the most obnoxious shirts, put them to his body, and ask “would this look good on me?” Gives constructive criticism on anything you pick out, uses it to comment on how good he thinks you look lmfao.

Almost burned his house down after burning a candle and is now afraid of ever lighting a candle ever again. No, he doesn’t care if it smells good. Do not light that damn thing in his house!!

Had a lighter collection when he was younger, but somehow managed to lose all of them except the most boring, plain white one. Has never bought any other color of lighter since.

Is not allowed to recommend movies because it will either be a boring war movie, a really old movie, or a really old and boring war movie. His music taste is somewhat better than his movie taste.

Can hold his damn liquor but refuses to get involved in drinking games because he doesn’t want to partake in “alcohol poisoning the game.”

Has the dad sneeze. It could be nice and silent and then all of a sudden there’s just an ungodly noise coming from Price’s general area. It encompasses the entire room. It strikes fear into new recruits. It’s not until Soap says ‘bless you’ that anyone realizes it was even a sneeze.

Has gotten drunk in his office with Laswell on more than one occasion and ends up talking about dumb shit he’s done in the past. Gaz walked into Price’s office to scrounge up a pen and instead left with the knowledge that Price split his head open when he was 15 after riding his bike straight into a wall.

Calls you names like “Love” or “Dear” by reflex. You don’t even have to be together for it to happen, it just slips out of his mouth. He apologizes more often than not until you tell him that you’re okay with it.

Literal heater. Exudes heat like no other. Oh, you’re cold? Stand next to him for like five minutes and you’ll be warm in no time. 9 times out of 10 his hands are warmer than yours.

Isn’t really into soccer/football but will always watch a game if it’s on. Is always stood up, hands on his hips, watching intensely and making weird noises at every move made on the field.

Is like, astronomically good at cooking but only when it comes to basic foods. Makes an absolute banger grilled cheese but dear god don’t let him attempt any sort of casserole. His fettuccine alfredo? Fantastic. His steaks? Phenomenal. Any baked goods however… Good luck.

Owns a shirt that just says “Father.” and will wear it out occasionally when he’s on leave. Has never told anyone about this shirt, he doesn’t even know why he has it.

[starfanatic]

Personality Headcanons

(Since the greek male love interests have little to none to go off of)

HYACINTHUS: I think people believe that he acts like very sweet and gentle, but I think that doesn't make a lot of sense for Hyacinthus and it's kind of a easy basic answer. Hyacinthus, to me, seems like more of a military type person. I mean, he's in SPARTA, and everybody knows how Sparta acts like. I'm not saying he can't be a nice person, but I think there is far more to him. He's not necessarily delicate in my opinion, he's very strong and very competitive. He can be protective, even over Apollo, and a amazing fighter. I think that he liked Apollo so much because he didn't have to worry about anything around him. He can be stressfree, and he loved that. I think he was also a direct person with the way he spoke. Essentially the way Patroclus acted like in the Iliad, because I believe they kind of parallel one another, like Achilles parallels Apollo in some ways.

NERITES: Nerites is a fun one, actually. It took a while for me to make up a personality because of what little we have of him. We know Aphrodite and Poseidon both love him, we know that he's Amphitrite's little brother, and we know he's extraordinarily beautiful. Also that he's Poseidon's charioteer. I also heard that he was VERY VERY fast to the point he even challenged Helios (or maybe he didn't and Helios was just jealous tbh). So I'm thinking that maybe he's a daredevil of sorts? Very energetic and very playful kind of like the typical little brother. He's a ride-or-die type of person and doesn't like staying in one place. Also, maybe he can be a little bit bratty at times, giving Poseidon a little bit of sass certain times (Poseidon is way more unbothered then people would typically think). Also I think Nerites is very much aware of HOW pretty he is and uses his pretty privelege to get away with pranks and stuff. I mean how is Poseidon supposed to punish him with those pretty doe eyes? Come on!

Ganymede: He's actually the more simpler ones. He's the only one that I can genuinely see as gentle and delicate. I think he was probably pampered a lot due to his immense beauty, so kind of the opposite of Hyacinthus. When he first came to Olympus I think he was genuinely frightened and Zeus had to comfort him. (Cute little headcanon that he met Nerites and felt a bit more comfortable due to Nerites' company). Even though we all know what PROBABLY happened based on Zeus' behavior, I like to think that Zeus was very patient with Ganymede and refused to touch him until Ganymede initiated first. I think Ganymede also kind of doesn't realize how much privilege he has? He's a bit spoiled but doesn't quite realize it? He knows he's pretty but he doesn't exactly understand HOW pretty he is, and he also doesn't understand how far Zeus would go for him. He's not necessarily insecure, just completely unaware and not too out of touch.

Adonis: Adonis is literally the insane dude who you speak to who constantly talks about and is fascinated by DEATH or the UNIVERSE or how the world is going to collapse any second. If Adonis spoke to the average joe, they would probably only listen because of how beautiful Adonis is. Adonis realizes he's very beautiful, but it's extremely effortless. I think Aphrodite kind of likes that he doesn't try so hard, and it just comes for him. Adonis doesn't like special treatment for his looks either (but he definitely gets it anyway). Adonis is incredibly fearless when it comes to death, and gets excited when he almost dies. Adonis has a great singing voice but will ONLY sing around people he feels deserve it. Not even out of arrogance, but because he only wants people he loves and trusts to hear it.

[julianalvarez9]

hot n cold / rúben dias

summary: being in the will-they-won't-they stage with rúben was confusing, to say the least. maybe a bit of rain during the treble parade can make things clearer for you.

wc: 1.1 words.

author's note: just a lottttt of pinning and tension that doesn't really get addressed, i'm sorry 😮‍💨 but they KNOW!!! 🙏🏻 also, lots of soft rúben for my soul 🙏🏻

rain in manchester. it shouldn't surprise none of you, part of the whole team that organized the parade, but still, it does.

first, the answer is to delay it. but, you all know the achievement is too big to overlook, so cancelling it isn't an option, with the fans and team all ready to celebrate the huge achievement only done once by a previous team. a direct rival, nonetheless. and considering there are already a sea of blue waiting for their home heroes, the answer comes rather easy: do it anyways. under pure, manchester weather.

the rain comes pouring down on all of you, and it almost feels predestined: like there was no other way of doing it. but also, you're freezing cold, rain soaking all your clothes and glueing them to your body. you couldn't care less at the moment, too focused on not missing a thing, which was difficult to do when jack was putting on a show for everyone to see.

your back clashes against somebody's front, and you want to turn desperately to offer your apologies, except, two big arms wrap around your figure, effectively immobilising you. "fuck, you're freezing" is the first thing the person says, and by his mere voice you know who it is.

you're not only dripping water with the sassines that can be perceived coming out of your lips. "i think that's the expected result when you're standing in the rain for one hour, rúben," you deadpan, and try to get out of his hold. you don't really care about prying eyes from fans right now, because the bus just got to its destination, so the coast is clear, one could say. but still, feeling you flush against him feels wrong, just because you know you're enjoying it far more than you should. he's a colleague, after all.

"come on, come here," he insists, and you can't really get out of his grip with the force he's caging you in now. you two are so close together that you can feel the medals hanging from his neck, and resting comfortably on his chest. his voice brings you back, and you feel like you've been caught staring, when in reality, you've not. "i'm hot. i can warm you up" he resonates, and although he doesn't refer to him being hot, but rather, his body temperature, which is notoriously higher than yours currently, you can't hel but laugh at the connotation. "wasn't really a secret that you're hot when you're shirtless, dias".

he tries to stifle a laugh, but still, the smirk painted on his lips, which enhances the little dimple he has in his cheek, betrays him. "anyways, you'll freeze to death," you say, turning a bit to get to see his face when you're speaking to him. you notice now the way that he's looking at you, so lovingly, that you're almost forced to turn around again to avoid getting flustered in his gaze. especially, when he shrugs your statement off. "wouldn't be such a horrible way to die, right?". thankfully, john comes before you can answer anything to the portuguese.

"come on, lovebirds, we have a treble to celebrate!".

you freeze at his words, and rúben is the one to move you forward when he starts walking, still holding you onto him, as if you'd leave his side at the first chance you had. that's what you would be supposed to do; but everybody's too drunk to remember any of the ruled you must follow, so you decide to follow that path too. except, you know that rúben doesn't have a drop of alcohol on his system, and you're not really in for drinking while at work: so you two are completely sober. "don't listen to him," he whispers when john's out of sight, and you realize you two are the only ones still in the bus. "but he's right. we have to get you warmed up. can't have my favorite staff getting sick, can we?".

ruben doesn't leave your side at all. not when you get down the bus, not when you enter the building. you don't see any of your colleagues, and your first instinct is to go out there, and search for them. for sure, they're all in place, doing their job, and you feel guilty not being there.

rúben gets to catch your wrist, just barely. "where are you going?" he asks, his eyes big and questioning. you only get to point with your thumb, signaling back towards where the exit to get to the stage is, but he's clearly not pleased with your answer. "you're not getting back there without a dry shirt" he says, giving you the blue shirt he had in his hold, and the towel a staff member had somehow dumped on him in a hurry. your eyes clearly spoke before you needed to, because ruben answered before you even muttered a word. "don't worry about me. see you out there, yeah?".

you're too focused filming and taking pictures to even see when rúben gets out, but the way the crowd cheers his name alerts you of his presence on the stage. the first thing you notice is the clear contrast between his shirt and the one the rest of his teammates are wearing. he has a nice, white shirt that hugs him just right, at the same time that marks him as a champions league champion. instead, the rest of the guys are wearing a light blue one, with light blue and neon yellow letters accentuating the fact that they're treble winners.

no one seems to notice the slip up, or at least, think it's accidental, but john sees you, and he knows. after all, it's not too complicated to put two and two together. he nods approvingly, like a proud father, only to shift his focus to clap rúben in the back. it seems to be a bit too strong to his liking given how fast he turns around, browns knitted together in confusion.

your focus gets taken out of their little interaction when jack does the next thing that has the crown roaring, and get reminded, again, of what your job here is. not to fool around with rúben, you chastise yourself, but still, can't help but look for him a few minutes after. this time, he's looking at you, and it makes your cheeks grow warm. he tugs his shirt and points at you, making a little thumbs up. rúben seems to mouth "looks good on you", and you playfully roll your eyes at him. "it's because it's yours".

[steviewashere]

Please Don't Go Away (Is This How It's Supposed To Be?)

Rating: General CW: Death of A Pet, Animal Death, Original Animal Character Death, Cancer in a Pet Tags: Post-Canon, Canon Divergence, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Established Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Grieving Steve Harrington, Dog Owner Steve Harrington, Steve Harrington Has a Senior Dog, Grieving Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson is a Sweetheart, Eddie Munson Takes Care of Steve Harrington, The Lord of The Rings References Title from "Upside Down" by Jack Johnson. Something something, you can't save people, you can only love them. For @steddieangstyaugust Day 3: "The sunset looks lovely, don't you think?"

🦮—————🦮 Steve Harrington has a heart too big for this world. It beats with love and passion. He cares too much about any living thing he comes across. Seen in his friendships with everybody in the party, with his platonic soulmate relationship with Robin, his polite kindness to Nancy, and his deep and all-encompassing infatuating love for Eddie.

Then, a newcomer is added to his roster.

A golden retriever. It’s a senior dog, roughly eight years old. Shaggy yellow fur that’s half-white. Dark brown eyes, almost like Eddie’s. He likes to prance around, play fetch from dawn to dusk, swim in the pool, and get cuddles between Steve and Eddie in bed. He loves sitting outside with them as they smoke cigarettes. Loves being a part of their day to day lives. Sitting on the porch of their two bedroom apartment, gazing at the sky, as the sun dips low and lower. He rests his heavy head on Eddie’s bare foot and huffs in his sleep, drools onto the wood of the porch, and when he wakes up from his little nap—he always gazes at the stars, too.

His name is Sammy—Samwise, otherwise. And he’s Steve’s best pet friend. The first pet Steve has ever had. The one that earns all of his love.

——— “Eds?” Steve calls out, voice soft, near empty.

They’re sitting at their dining table. Eating from the same pot of macaroni and cheese. Both their faces the pure definition of melancholy.

Sammy’s got a tumor, the vet had said just a few hours ago. It’s cancerous. It’s aggressive.

It’s terminal.

“Yes, sweetheart?” Eddie speaks just as quietly. His throat hurts from the cigarettes he just suckled down not too long ago. Pinched inside from the little amount of talking he’s done today. He was driving the car back home, Steve in the passenger seat crying, and himself holding back tears—he had to see the road.

Steve sniffles. His fork is stirring around in the macaroni. He hasn’t had a bite of it yet. “Do you think…” He stops moving his fork. Eyes clouding, glistening as they look down at the dinged up surface of the table. Swallows, the saliva clicking. “Should I just give him one more good day and then…send him home?”

Eddie reaches for him at that. Taking Steve’s right hand in his. The skin he touches is cold, rough, and clammy. His thumb scoots to the pulse point on Steve’s wrist, it beats slow against him. “That’s up to you, baby. He’s more your dog than mine. I can’t make that decision.”

“But I…Eds, I love him so much,” Steve states, warbling, “he’s my baby. I don’t want him to suffer, but I don’t want to let him go.”

He quickly drops his own fork in the pot of food. Slower, though, he rakes his hand over the top of Steve’s head, fingers idly tangling in his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Sweetheart,” he whispers, “look at me.” Steve does, raising his heavy head, eyes miserable and dark and red, shoulders hunched to his ears, and that frown of his low to his chin. Eddie hates this. “I’ve lost plenty of pets before,” he explains, voice low in his chest, “some of them passed with old age. Some of them escaped through the door and I never saw them again. But I’ve had two that died because they were sick; one of them I had put to sleep.

“And let me tell you, honey, in a case like Sammy’s, he’s only going to break your heart everyday. Sometimes you’ll think your Samwise is better and ready to play. Then, the next morning, he’ll be back to laying down all day, barely eating, mostly sleeping.

“I love him, too; to bits and pieces, to crumbs, to atoms. But you love him more, Stevie. You love him so much, I see that. I know you do. Listen to me, though.

“You can only love him, Steve. He’s terminal, sweetheart. You can’t save him from this. I think, in this case, it’s best to love him as hard as you can, give him the paradise of his dreams, and then let him…send him home.”

Steve’s face isn’t dark anymore. Just morose. Eyes heavy and exhausted. Tears glistening down his cheeks. Face splotchy red and warm when Eddie brushes his knuckles over it. His lips and chin are wobbling. Eddie hates this.

He cups the back of Steve’s head and brings it to his shoulder. And feels more than sees the way Steve weeps and sobs and gags into his neck. His back is bouncing up and down, choppy with each of his shaking breaths. And on the bare skin of his shin, Eddie feels Sammy brush against him. He blearily reaches down and pets the dog’s back, grounding himself for the last few days to come.

——— They’ve got the van set up for the day. Sammy’s dog bed set up in the back, where the seats usually would be. Pillows upon pillows, the comforter from their bed, and a few of their sweatshirts cushioning Sammy on all sides. There’s a greasy paper bag from the diner in the front seat, a cheeseburger without all the fixings, and a small French fry waiting for their buddy. Windows rolled down for fresh air to hit Sammy’s fur. His face is of pure contentment, eyes wide and giddy, panting heavily. Eddie wonders if this is what he’d look like as a puppy, without the grey fur.

Steve’s quiet in the passenger seat. Head looking over his left shoulder, between the seats. His hands twisted in his lap. Smile small and wobbling and deeply remorseful. Eddie offered to let him pick music; packed up several of Steve’s cassettes, but he didn’t even look at them, didn’t even care. They’re his favorite albums, too. Which makes it worse.

The silence has been one of the worst parts of all this.

After the other day, Eddie had been the one to schedule the euthanasia appointment. For just after sundown. One more sunset before their boy goes.

He drives through backroads, between long stretches of nothing but field, and after some time, he parks at the base of a steep hill. And when he gets out, Steve is already scooting out of the back of the van, Sammy in his arms, curled up tight in a ball, clearly too heavy to be moved like this—if the awkward ambling in Steve’s legs says anything—but he just carries on. One slow step at a time until their little hike ends at the top.

Eddie brought up the dog bed and their comforter, the bag of diner food, and the sweatshirts. He lays it all out. Lets Sammy curl up in the bed, covers him with the blanket, stuffs the hoodies on either of his sides, and then hands the food over to Steve to unwrap and feed. He does it slowly. Tears little chunks off of the cheeseburger. Holds the fries two at a time between his clenched fingers. And when it’s gone, he settles his upper body on Sammy’s back, lays his arm between the dog’s legs, and rubs his cheek atop Sammy’s head.

Then, they watch.

The sky shifts from baby blue. To yellow, like Sammy’s young fur. A muted pink, the color of Steve’s cheeks when he laughs—when he cries. And then a mirage of all of the colors, blending and mixing into one saturated thing. The sun dipping low, just the upper third of it still visible. Stars already poking from their hiding spots.

It’s the best sunset Eddie thinks he’s ever seen. But he looks over to Steve anyway. Watches him pet fur under his hand, twirl it between his fingers into tight twists. His eyes spilling fast, fat tears. Barely making a sound, just the stuttering of his breath. Nasally and sharp through his nose. Lips pinched tight, rolled into his teeth. Eyelashes clumped together and darker than Eddie’s ever seen them. He lays his right hand on the back of Steve’s head and pets him, too.

Steve clears his throat. Rough and raw and probably painful. “The sunset looks lovely, don’t you think, Sammy?” He asks quietly, burrowing his head further into the fur. The only response he gets is a snuffle, to which he chuckles at. It’s short lived and terribly bittersweet. “What about you, Eds?” Steve whispers.

He digs his fingers deeper into Steve’s hair, running them all the way down to the ends and then back up. It’s all sorts of tangled from not brushing it this morning, all in his haste to make this a good day. Eddie heaves a small sigh through his nose. “I think it’s the best one I’ve seen,” he answers honestly, the words crackling.

A dissonate grunt.

Steve shifts his head again, his fingers making circles over Sammy’s heart. “How much time do we have?”

His watch is three minutes behind, 8pm, it reads.

“Roughly fifty-seven minutes. But they told me as long as it’s before ten, they’ll be able to do it.”

“And we can be there with him?”

“They said we can be there if we want. From the moment they do it to the moment he closes his eyes. Told me we could stay for a little while after, too. For us to really say…y’know.”

His fingers shift as Steve nods. Heart breaking at the sound of Steve’s stifled small cries. In a strained, quiet voice, Steve admits, “I don’t want another one after him, I think.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.”

Another, though less stifled, sniffle. “You’ll cuddle me tonight, right?”

“Don’t even have to ask,” Eddie breathes.

“I’m gonna miss him.”

“I know,” he whispers, “I will, too.”

Sammy snuffles deeper again. The sky dark and stars endless. It’s quiet, really.

Until, Steve half-sobs, turns his head, and looks up to Eddie. His eyes wide and deep like abysses. Shiny. Blurry with the tears. “Will you read The Fellowship of The Ring tonight?” He asks in this heartbreaking, tiny, wet voice.

“‘Course, sweetheart,” Eddie agrees immediately. Because he can’t take this, but he isn’t running.

“Okay,” Steve murmurs, tears spilling over again, “I wanna know what Samwise does next. Where he goes.”

Eddie gives a soft smile. A small one. “I think you’ll like where he ends up.”

Steve mirrors his expression, however miserable he is. “Good,” he whispers. He closes his eyes, swallows deep. “I think I’m ready to go. Are you okay to leave?”

“Yeah,” he whispers, “and Steve?” He traces his fingers on Steve’s hairline, down the side of his face, mapping carefully over his cheek, brushing under his eye. Taking in this calmer moment before the true storm tonight.

“Hm?”

He clears his throat, it’s tight and aching. Then, quietly, “Sammy understands, okay? He loves you. And I love you. And whatever comes of this tonight, just know that it’s not your fault tomorrow. You loved him, you’ll always love him, and that’s all you can do.”

Steve exhales slow through his nose and swallows hard again. His eyebrows furrow very briefly before he relaxes. “I love you so much,” he breathes, “thank you.”

“None of that. Now…” He stands up from his spot, knees aching and back pinched, he offers a hand down for Steve to take and hefts him up, too when he grabs on. “Let’s go, love. I’ll be right here the entire time.”

And he is. Holds Steve’s hand. Pets Sammy’s head.

And he wraps his arms around Steve when he breaks down in their bed later, holding the tagged collar to his chest, wailing straight into Eddie’s heart. But Eddie’s got him, he loves him. It’s all he can do.

🦮—————🦮

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Are we human, still? (have we become something more?)

This is how it feels to take a fall - series masterlist here

pairing: takami keigo x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.3k

genre: hurt/comfort

warnings: allusions to death in that it's abt being a pro hero and not being able to save everybody, how are you supposed to save other people when you can't even save yourself

a/n: you all have to suffer more hawks from me forever and ever I'm so sorry it never goes away

"You can't save everyone," Keigo's voice feels louder than it should, pushing past the rushing of blood in your ears as you stand and stare at the scene in front of you.

"Fuck you," is all you respond with. It was supposed to be harsh, but there's a tired breathiness to your voice that you can't shake. He doesn't hold it against you.

"Dove? Hey - look at me. It wasn't your fault," Keigo says firmly, tearing one of his gloves off to gently cup your face in his hand, trying to ground you and get you to listen.

The lights of the police cars bathe his face in blue, then red, then blue again, and the sirens wail loudly enough that they almost drown out the voice of a woman crying - a woman who just lost someone she loved because you couldn't get to them in time.

"The press is waiting for me," you say in lieu of addressing anything real. Keiog's eyes flit over your face wildly.

"I'll make a statement for you."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"It is today." He doesn't give you much time to argue it, leaving you in the hands of the paramedics who need to check you over while he makes his way over to the swarming press. He's worried about you - desperately so. He's never seen you like this - not in the short time that you've been together and certainly not before that, when the two of you were merely rivals, competitors on a public stage.

There's a thrumming under Keigo's skin, a burning sort of itch that ignites him as he waves down the swarm of press, angling it all away from you. It's this need he has to take care of you, to use his hands for something good. He wonders, in a sort of panic, if this is what love feels like. Fortunately, he doesn't really have the time to think about it. 

By the time he gets back to you, you're sitting in the back of the ambulance, a never-ending back and forth of the paramedic laying a shock blanket over your shoulders and you shrugging it off playing before his eyes. An assistant from your agency is talking to you, frowning and shifting on her feet as she types away on her tablet and you stare vaguely past her.

"Hey, you," Keigo says gently when he gets to you. He almost feels bad about pushing past your assistant, about moving in front of her so that he can lean down to look at you - but the way you look at him, through him, changes his mind. "You all cleared?"

"They couldn't find anything wrong with me," is how you answer, and Keigo finds himself relieved to know you so well, to be able to parse the jumble of words that have your assistant humming in confusion and tapping her nails against her tablet. 

They couldn't find anything wrong with me, and Keigo can almost hear the part that you didn't say. The problem is just me. There's nothing to explain it, nothing to justify it. It's just me.

"It wasn't your fault," he says again, like it'll make some kind of difference. Somewhere in the background, a police officer pushes the crowd back and your hands twitch in your lap. "You did everything you could."

"I don't think that matters," you shake your head, moving it like it'll rattle out the memories of today. "It wasn't enough."

"It has to be," Keigo says, and he surprises himself with the earnest tilt to his voice. It has to be, because it's all we're capable of. Because I can't lose you to this the way that I've lost myself.  

"And what happens when it's not?" You fire back, and Keigo would be relieved at the light that's starting to come back to your eyes if the question didn't catch him so off guard, if he had some kind of answer to give you - to give himself.

"That's…" he starts, and when he catches his reflection in the ambulance window, he has to stop himself from flinching. "That's something that we have to figure out, I guess," he finishes haltingly. Something in you softens, brings you back to where you should be as you watch his wild eyes flit around, the way his wings twitch nervously against his back as he shifts and stands taller. 

He's never dealt with this, you remind yourself. It's not that he's never been here, been the one to fail, but he's never really dealt with it before. Maybe you can't expect him to be able to deal with it for you when you can't.

"It's ok, Hawks," you say gently, and a pointed look at the assistant still hovering has her stepping back, clearing her throat and announcing that she has to make a call before she disappears around the side of the ambulance. You reach forward, letting your fingers brush against Keigo's clenched fist while he stares at you.

How am I supposed to look at you, he thinks. How am I supposed to be anything to you when I can't even be anything for myself? Your hand brushes against his and he wills his fist to unfurl, lets you tug off his glove so that you can intertwine your fingers with his and feel skin on skin. 

It's almost like I'm human, his brain supplies weakly. It's almost like I'm something real and worth touching.

"Love -" he starts, his voice lurching as he looks at you. You, sitting in the back of an ambulance with a blanket draped over your shoulders, another fight that you couldn't win today, and he's panicking and spiralling and pulling away. The police lights flash around you, blue and then red and then blue again - but Keigo's frame blocks the light from you, lets you look up at him in the unwavering white light of the back of the ambulance. He wonders, in a panicked sort of way, what else he's sheltered you from. As you pull his arm forward to plant a delicate kiss to the inside of his wrist, he wonders if this shield of his is really such a good thing.

What sort of light am I keeping from you, he thinks. What sort of love am I hiding in the dark?

"Keigo," the name is whispered so softly against the soft skin of his inner wrist - so quietly that he can feel your lips moving more than he can hear it. Any other time, he'd be tempted to chide you for using his name where others could hear. Now, though, it feels like too much of a blessing to be known for him to want to complain.

He says your name in return and a police siren wails loudly. He almost feels like he's human. You almost look like you are, too.

"I think it's time to go home," you say gently, and the weariness in your voice has him wiggling his wrist out of your grip to step closer to you and hold your face in his palms, eyeing the fatigue in your eyes and the slump of your shoulders. 

Home, he thinks, hears the word with a rattling sort of clarity as you reach up to cup your hands over his where they hold your face. There is somewhere to call home for us, after all.

Maybe you need to be reminded of it, too. Maybe that's where that layer of desperation in your voice comes from. Keigo tugs you up, pulling the blanket off your shoulders and tucking you under his wing, instead, and you find yourself a bit closer to home already.