#I feel like he wouldn’t know his knees aren’t supposed to hurt like that until after the group gets the body swap fae curse the first time

[zalgoid]

After all why shouldn’t I. Why shouldn’t I give Frost chronic joint pain and knee braces hmmmmm? 🤨

[xcherryerim]

Chocolate Kisses

"Who can love you like I love you? This warm and yet distant sweet dream" - Underwater by Red Velvet

Mike Schmidt x gn!reader | word count: 2.3k

- SMUT ONE SHOT | MDNI | 18+ ONLY! -

Warning: oral sex (to reader, no genital specified), penetration, unprotected sex (wear condoms yall pls) , A lot of teasing, facial, porn with plot (also a bit of fluff)

Disclaimer: This is my first time writing penetration in a gender neutral aspect. If there is any mistakes let me know so I can go back and change it. Thank you!

Summary: After another failed date that makes you feel like you will never find love, you go to your best friend's place (Mike), searching for comfort, but he ends up showing you the love you’ve been craving (and also something big and thick). 

You gripped the steering wheel until your knuckles turned white, tears welling up in your eyes, struggling to keep yourself at bay as you drove through the dark streets. You couldn’t bear the thought of being alone right now and drowning in self-pity. You needed to be with someone who could understand, and that person was Mike.

Once you arrived, you wiped away the tears as if trying to hide your sadness and sorrow. You cried in front of Mike many times, even over small things like watching a sad movie. But he couldn’t handle seeing you cry because of heartbreak. You took a deep breath before ringing the doorbell. The quiet street made you even more nervous as you waited for Mike to answer. After a few moments, the door swung open, and the sight of him struck you in all his glory. His hair dripped with water from a recent shower, and the scent of minty shampoo wafted all over the air. The dreamy sight of him mesmerized you.

“Hey… Aren’t you supposed to be on another date today?” His raspy voice brought you back to your depressive reality. Mike’s head tilted as you tried hiding your puffy eyes behind your hair. You were praying he wouldn’t notice your pain, but your heart sank again when you saw the look of pity that flashed across his face.

“How do you think it went?”

He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his home, and closed the door behind you. “You know I’m always here to listen,” he says, leading you to the living room. “Why don’t you sit, and we can talk about it over hot chocolate?”

He disappeared into the kitchen, returning moments later with two steaming mugs of the comforting drink. As you accepted the mug, he sat down next to you, his arm resting on your knee, as he gave you a reassuring smile.

“Just take your time and tell me what happened.”

You sipped the hot chocolate, the warmth from the drink and Mike’s pats on your knee spreading over you. “It was just like the others, Mike,” you began, tears welling up in your eyes again.

Mike sighs, staring off into space before he speaks. “I hate when you—“ he starts before his tone softens at the sight of your sad eyes. He searches for the right words as they catch in his throat.

“I don’t get why you keep trying,” he says, his voice quivering with concern and exasperation. “That’s all.”

Your eyes were already welling up with tears, but his words hit deep, and you could barely speak. “Mike—“ you choked out.

“No!” He shouted, clenching his fists and tightening his jaw. “I hate seeing you suffer over the same thing!” Mike’s anger flared, but his emotions weren’t directed at you. Instead, fear and frustration fueled him because of your suffering.

Mike can’t stand to see his friend, the person he loves, hurt by failed relationships repeatedly. He’s frustrated and angry, but most of all, he’s tired of seeing you devastated when things go wrong. Mike wants to protect you, but can’t.

“I’m sorry,” you utter, eyes filling with remorse and empathy as you look up at him. “You’re right. Maybe love isn’t for me.”

Mike’s heart broke into a million pieces as he heard those words. He couldn’t help but feel responsible like he had failed you somehow. As he sees you struggling to hold your tears, he whispers, gently cupping your face in the palms of his hands. “Don’t say that. You deserve love and you will find it when you least expect it.” You stare up at him, trying to believe him.

“I’m just so tired of the same thing happening, and I know you hate seeing me like this.” You try to hide your sorrow with a chuckle, but there is so much sadness behind the apology. “I feel so pathetic.”

Wanting nothing more than to relieve your agony, he reached out gently and wiped away the stray tear from your cheek. “You’re not pathetic, and you don’t have to go through this alone,” Mike voices with determination. “I’m here for you. Here for you, no matter what,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly. “And if you ever need a reminder of that,” Mike grins, “just look at me.”

“Mike— “you began, but he cut you off.

“I care about you more than I can express, and I want to be here for you,” he said. “I don’t want you to feel alone in this. And maybe, just maybe, I can be the person who makes you feel alive, happy, and loved.”

Mike pulled you close, his sturdy figure pressing against yours as his hands gripped your hips. The anticipation and tension of years of unspoken feelings and emotions make every touch more severe. As his lips crashed onto yours, you could hardly contain yourself with the rush of pleasure. The intensity of the kiss was almost too much to bear, but you found yourself wanting more when the two of you broke apart.

“Maybe it’s time to stop searching elsewhere and find what we both want,” he murmurs, almost as if he’s asking for permission.

You nodded, unable to form coherent words in response to his passionate kiss. “Yes,” you rasped out. “I want that too.”

Mike couldn’t help the sensual grin that spread across his face as he felt you nod. “Then let’s explore this together,” he whispered, leading you towards his bedroom. As you entered, he carefully undressed you, taking his time to appreciate every inch of your figure. His fingers traced the curves and lines, making you shiver with satisfaction, your moans growing shallow with each brush.

Mike knew exactly how to drive you wild, teasing and pushing all your buttons until you couldn’t help but beg for more. Each caress became increasingly bolder and more assertive, leaving no part of you untouched. His fingers traced the delicate lines from your neck, down to your chest, across your stomach, and finally stopping at your pelvis. “You’re perfect,” he mumbled, his eyes drinking into every inch of you like a thirsty man finding an oasis

He stepped back, taking a moment to admire his handiwork. His gaze lingered on your curves, tracing the lines of his fingertips along your skin as if he were trying to commit them to memory. With a sudden, decisive movement, he pushed you down onto the bed, his weight pinning you in place. The suddenness of it sent a thrill of desire coursing all over you.

His lips traced a path from your collarbone to your breastbone, his teeth gently grazing your smooth skin, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. You arched in response, crying softly as he continued his journey lower. His tongue danced over you, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh, making the ache between your legs grow more insistent, demanding to be satiated.

As the tension built between you, Mike increased the pressure on you, eliciting grunts and pleasured gasps from you. You trembled under his skilled ministrations, and you found yourself lost in the sensual bliss he was creating. Your gasps, heavy and uneven, filled the room as you surrendered to the moment.

“Mike, please just fuck me already,” you implored, your fingers gripping his hair hard, a sign of the intensity of your desire. Mike whimpered softly, his eyes widening as he lifted his head to look at you.

“I know I am taking a long time, but I’ve been wanting this for years,” he whispered, his tone barely audible over your ragged breathing. You could feel the sincerity in his words, the depth of his desire for you. He released his grip on your thighs, his hands now tracing gentle, sensual patterns on you.

“Please, just let me take my time with you,” he pleaded, his eyes never leaving yours. “I want to make this as amazing for you as it is for me.” His words sent a shudder through you, and you nodded, unable to speak, your body asking for him to continue. Mike positioned your frame carefully, supporting your back with his chest and lifting your knees onto the soft mattress. He traced the head of his cock along your slick entrance, taunting and pleasuring you as he edged closer to penetration. His roughened fingertips grazed against your sensitive skin once again, each caress making a delicate dance of anticipation and desire.

As he finally pressed the tip of his erection into your opening, you arched your back instinctively. “Fuck,” you growl under your breath as the pain gave way to fulfillment.

Mike leaned closer, purring into your ear. “You can take it,” he assured you, his cozy voice sending a wave of excitement down your spine. His roughened fingertips traced patterns on you. After exploring your silhouette with delicate touches, Mike brought his hands to your chest, tracing circles around your nipples. His fingers playing around, exploring every inch of you, while his thumb was rubbing your swollen flesh in circular motions.

“If you keep making those sounds, I won’t be able to stop myself,” Mike declared. It seemed you were unaware of the delicate nature of his thrust, considering his massive presence and the way his skilled hands were sending pleasure down your entire being. You couldn’t resist the approaching climax, and yet, you yearned for even more of his touch.

“Harder, Mike, please.” You managed to say it in between whimpers.

His hips rocked forward, pushing his cock deeper into you. The sensation was unlike anything you’ve ever experienced before—hot, thick, and demanding. Your form tensed up, bracing itself for the inevitable pain that followed, but it never came. Instead, a wave of intense gratification washed over you, making your entire being convulse in ecstasy as your bodies melded together like two pieces of a broken puzzle, finally fitting together perfectly.

As you felt yourself getting closer to the edge, you cried out his name. The sensation of him being inside you was overwhelming, making you beg for more. But instead of stopping or slowing down, Mike continued at the same pace.

“Yes, scream my name,” Mike growled, his grip tightening on your hips as he pounded into you relentlessly. The sound of your moans reverberated off the walls of the empty area, filling it with an erotic symphony. His thrusts grew more harsh, matching your rapidly escalating arousal. With each powerful slam, he pushed you to the edge, the air around you thick with the scent of sweat and desire.

Despite your intense climax, Mike persisted, his hips rocking fervently, driving deeper and deeper inside you. Your body convulsed under the overstimulation, your nails digging into the thin fabric of the bed, leaving small indentations behind. Your voice quivered as you implored for release, your form shaking with each plea, but he silenced you with a firm, possessive kiss on your neck.

“Just a bit more, please,” he begged, the scent of his desire intoxicating. His frame glistened with sweat, his muscles flexing with each powerful thrust, creating a symphony of sensations that filled the air. Mike started to mumble incoherent words, his face contorted in ecstasy as he fought to maintain control. It was clear he was nearing his climax. Mike’s words were lost amidst the primal sounds of passion, but you could feel the urgency in his tone, the desperation to find release. His build shook under the intensity of the moment, the muscles in his arms and back tense with exertion.

You could see the struggle in his face, the battle between his body and mind as he pushed himself closer to the edge. Mike’s ragged groans filled the space, while sweat glistened on him. At that moment, you knew he was about to lose himself, his form shaking with the force of his need. You felt his presence twitch inside you, each pulse an indication of his approaching end.

“Get on your knees,” he commanded. Even though your weakened figure struggled to obey he carefully lowered you to the floor, cradling you in his arms before setting you down. Your legs wobbled beneath you, but he held on to you tightly, his hands strong and reassuring.

His figure towered above yours, his arousal still erect and pulsing. He started to stroke himself in front of you, his whimpers soft but urgent as he cried out your name, lost in the haze of his desire. His release approached right after, covering your face and shape in a warm, sticky way. The sensation was overwhelming, a tangible reminder of the satisfaction he had given you.

Mike looked over at you, his eyes admiring the sight of your physique and glistening with his release. His own body trembled as he lowered himself to meet yours, still catching his breath. With a playful grin, he chuckled, “You know,” he utters, his tone low and sultry, “you look better like this.”

His fingers gently moved a piece of hair out of your face, framing it perfectly around your flushed cheeks. The look in his eyes was a mix of admiration and contentment as if he had found the perfect end to the night.

“Asshole,” you responded with a chuckle, returning his playful banter.

��I’m serious,” he insisted, his tone more serious. “I’ve known you for years, and you never looked better than right now.” A gentle kiss accompanied his confession on your forehead, his warm gasp brushing against your cheeks. Despite his teasing earlier, there was genuine admiration and affection in his voice. You couldn’t help but smile, feeling happiness wash over you.

“Let’s shower together,” Mike suggested, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m not responsible if we end up fucking in the shower, though,” he added playfully as he made his way toward the bathroom.

For the first time in years, you felt truly happy and loved, and it was all because of Mike. All those unspoken desires between each other were finally fulfilled. A sense of peace flooded over you, making you realize that this is where you belong—with Mike, who truly understood you on a deeper level.

Fin. Thank you so much for reading!

Should I write a pt.2 on the shower or what? >:)

If you only want to be updated on my smut works consider following @xxxcherryerim, I will be reposting my work there.

[bcolfanfic]

for @magneticghouls for the @hbowardaily summer exchange <3 little rosie pov clegan post war thingy-do ☀️

“So, you know I have to ask, Buck.”

Rosie didn’t look at him when he spoke, picking at a splinter coming up from the wood on the arm of the rocker.

He supposed he didn’t have to ask either. But maybe it would help. Gale seemed like he was walking on eggshells from the moment he opened the door, slight stutter in his voice when he greeted him.

Now, Gale hummed under his breath, chewing on his bottom lip for a moment before he spoke.

“How do I know you aren’t gonna turn us in?”

Rosie stopped his rocker abruptly, the chair squeaking as his back straightened.

“Why the hell would I do that?”

His eyebrows furrowed as the words left his mouth in rapid succession. And his confusion was honest. Sure he didn’t quite understand. But he wouldn’t- couldn’t do that. Not to anyone, he didn’t think.

Least of all to them.

He knew before he decided to swing by- had known since his last late night walk around Thorpe Abbotts after the war.

Since he startled hearing a noise from the patch of trees. And starled again when he did some light investigating, making out what he could surmise was the two of them doing something he knew in some sort of abstract that two men could do together.

Gale didn’t say anything for a long few minutes, tapping his foot against the paneling of the porch, rubbing his hand on his knee.

“Had a close call, a few months ago.” He said quietly- eventually, biting the inside of his cheek.

“Reconnected with a friend I knew growing up. Was nice, until he dropped by once in the morning unexpectedly, and it- it was obvious. We’d just woken up,” He continued. “John- thought it was someone else, answered the door not thinkin’, not wearing a shirt.”

He chuckled under his breath then, but not in a way that made Rosie feel like he should laugh too. His voice trembled, and saw Gale’s throat bob as he swallowed and took a breath before he kept going.

“He panicked- just, just, bolted . I’m standing there in the hallway, trying to think of something to say and this guy flips. Knocked a glass off the table, making all this racket. He said he was going to turn us in and I- I asked if there was anything, anything I could do that would change his mind.”

His grip tightened on the arm of his rocker, and Rosie felt the tension mirroring in his own hand against the wood.

“‘s why we haven’t fixed the downstairs bathroom yet. Had money put away for it, till then.” He continued, looking off.

“John still gets real freaked out about it, tells me I should reach back out to him-, offer him more money. But my theory is that it’s better I don’t go reminding him what happened.”

Gale looked at Rosie then, and he realized he was round about being asked for his opinion on the matter.

“I think,” He started, pausing for a moment, swiping his tongue over his bottom lip. “I agree with you. Best not to poke the bear, I’d say.”

Gale looked satisfied with that at least, letting out a small sigh- and Rosie’s chest hurt.

There was a lot he didn’t understand, questions he knew weren’t his business to ask for answers to.

But he felt as though he understood whatever this was better than he could wrap his head around how someone could ruin someone’s life over something so mundane.

“You had a question didn’t you?”

Gale pulled him out of his head, Rosie opening and closing his mouth twice before he found his voice.

“Think you answered it.” He said. “But another one then. You two are happy- as much as you can be?”

Gale opened his mouth to answer, but they were interrupted by a truck pulling up the driveway.

Tensing for a moment, he squinted- and his shoulders relaxed when he realized it was indeed Bucky. His cheeks lifted when he smiled, eyes softer than they had been during the previous conversation.

John climbed out when the vehicle pulled to a stop, leaving what he’d gone to the store for in the car in the interest of getting to Gale first. He didn’t seem to see Rosie until he was just about right in front of him, pausing on the last step up the porch, glancing between the two of them.

Rosie figured a smile and nod would answer the question he saw in his eyes. But Bucky just looked between the two men a second time, arms crossed, scratching his thumbnail against his shoulder.

He could see it in his face then, what Gale had said about how he hadn’t shaken off the incident. There was a cloud of wariness in his eyes, bottom lip sucked in between his teeth.

Gale beckoned him to come closer and he did, skittish still when he approached him. He reached forward to uncross his arms, gently grabbing his wrist and rubbing the underside of it with his thumb.

He looked at John in a way that seemed the communicate what he was going for when his features relaxed. Giving him a little nod, John let Gale move the hand on his wrist up his arm, allowing him to tug him a little closer.

Continuing to watch them made Rosie feel like ought to look away- like he was intruding on something just as much as he had that night on base.

But he found it hard, glancing at the field in front of them for only a moment before his eyes fell back to where Bucky had leaned down into Gale’s space, face pressed against the side of his head. Gale was whispering something just quiet enough that Rosie couldn’t make it out, but John laughed softly against his blonde hair, bringing a hand up to ruffle it as he pulled back.

He backtracked to get the shopping from the truck after a minute, and Gale’s eyes didn’t leave him.

When he seemed to notice he was being watched, his cheeks flushed, and Gale scratched the back of his neck with a shy smile at his lap.

Rosie supposed that answered his question.

[ameagrice]

Capsize

chapter twenty-seven | the dam thing

percy jackson x fem reader

Sadness was very, very tiring.

Your skin burned with the heat of the sun beating through the truck window, sitting with your knees to your chest. Percy and Grover had chosen to sit in the tow wench part of the stolen truck Thalia drove, while you sat up front with Zoe and Thalia.

You couldn’t take your eyes off the junkyard as Thalia drove, watching it get further and further away. She didn’t seem as bothered as you or Percy, or even Grover, like the death of Bianca hadn’t affected her even a little bit.

The boys’ voices flowed through the back and into the front, mumbling that you were unable to understand. You looked down at your hands; the tiny figurine that cost Bianca her life lay in your palms. Ironically, the one Nico didn’t have was Hades, the god of death. The dark hair, and the stony face he wore gave away which god he was.

Something settled on your chest. What were you supposed to say to Nico? What were you going to tell Chiron when you went back to camp? You’d made a plan—an awful one—that sent Bianca straight to her death. They’d hate you. Everyone would hate you.

In the back of your mind, you thought maybe it wasn’t your fault. Yes, you had the idea, but it was an idea you’d been intending to put to use yourself. You hadn’t forced Bianca to carry it out. You hadn’t even told her to go ahead with it. In retrospect, it hadn’t been your fault.

But you carried the guilt anyway.

Annabeth was right, Maybe you were claimed by the wrong goddess. You certainly weren’t smart by any means if you’d gotten a friend killed. And it wasn’t the first time you’d put Bianca in danger—your stunt at Westover had nearly sent you all plummeting to your deaths off the edge of a cliff.

“You think too hard,” said Zoe beside you.

You looked up. She was pale in the face, and looking out at the road ahead. “What?”

“It was not your fault. Do not think it was.”

Thalia glanced over. You swallowed hard, throat closing up.

“But it was,” you objected. “I had the plan. I was going to do what Bianca did. If anyone should be dead, it should be me.”

Zoe looked completely outraged. “Don’t say that. What happened to Bianca is terrible, but that does not mean you should have taken her place. It is as the prophecy decided. We could not control her actions or her decisions.”

That doesn’t make it any better, you thought.

The truck ran out of gas just as you approached a dead-end street, much to Thalia’s irritation. You all jumped out, Thalia slamming the door shut. One of the tyres burst immediately and began letting air out.

“Great,” she said. “What now?”

There wasn’t much to see or say about the area. Desert in every direction, barren mountains everywhere. The canyon in the distance was the only interesting thing, and a small river flowing down the middle.

“There’s a path,” Grover said. “We could get to the river.”

You squinted in the light. Very faintly you made out the outline of a small path winding down the cliff side.

“That’s a goat path,” said Percy.

Grover turned to him. “So?”

“So the rest of aren’t goats.”

“We can make it,” goat-boy assured. “I’m sure of it.”

A beat of silence caused you to look at Percy. He looked worn out, and a little tired, but determined. “No,” he said. “We’ll go farther upstream.”

“But—” Grover frowned.

“Come on, a walk won’t hurt us.” He looked at Thalia, and she held his stare for a second. You looked between them both; what was that about?

You shook it off, and let the others go up ahead. The quiet might do you some good, you felt—it gave you time to think things through.

Percy didn’t feel the same, clearly.

He looked back at you, slowing until he was at the back with you. You spared him a glance, focusing on the hills ahead of you. Not too far now.

“You okay?” He asked quietly.

You hummed. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Percy shrugged his shoulders briefly. “I don’t know. You’re just quiet.”

“I’m tired, Percy,” you sighed. “I want to go home, now.”

You turned your head, to find him already looking at you. The blood rushed to your face, and you looked away. But…you couldn’t not look at Percy for too long. So you glanced back. Those bright green eyes flickered across your face and eyes, and you paid attention to the way his hair was a little sweaty and more tamed than it usually would be.

“I was thinking,” he said. “Did you want to stay over this summer? At my place? My mom wants to meet you. And it would be fun. We could get, like, takeout and stuff.”

You blinked. A little bit of sunshine made a hole in the dark, and your mouth quirked. “Sure, it’d be fun.” Was all you could think to say.

Percy’s expression faltered an inch, barely noticeable if you hadn’t grown used to the emotions he wore on his sleeve. He nodded once, and his smile was tight.

You wanted to invite Percy over to your place in return. You imagined running down the beaches with him, entirely in his element, and showing him a cove you had discovered one day, the path memorised. But you had left things unsettled at home, and the very thought of going back was too much at the moment, anxiousness spiking your veins.

The rest of the walk, you trained your eyes on the ground, following the river’s dips and splashes. It made the walk go by faster, and when you looked up, almost walking into Thalia. You were about to voice your question, when you sets your sights on the locked-up cabin with a canoe sale sign up outside the front shutters. The ground gently sloped, and the water ran more fiercely along.

Percy turned to you. In the middle of the desert, his eyes shone like stars. “You got a pen and paper?”

Of course you did.

Percy left a stack of drachmas on the countertop outside, and a ragged note beneath them: I O U 3 canoes.

“We need to go upstream,” Zoe said. She sounded like she was suffering from a terrible cold. “The rapids are too swift.”

“Leave that to me,” Percy decided. Nobody questioned him.

You quickly discussed who had which canoe—Percy and Zoe (you’d nearly argued over that one), Thalia and yourself, and Grover in his own.

Once, you never would have had a clue about canoes or rapids or how to get into one without tipping over. But camp had prepared you well, and there wasn’t much fuss getting in them. You held the canoe to the shore with the ore and…was something moving under it?

“Hey, Percy,” you turned your head, looking to him. But he spoke quietly with Zoe, so you left it.

You all got ready (and by ready, you meant, you argued with Thalia for the front seat, and won).

You found you weren’t actually going stir-crazy.

The canoes were pushed forward so forcefully you almost fell out of it, actually laughing when all you could see of Grover were his hooves in the air. When you recovered, you took a peek over the edge and into the water, looking past your reflection: naiads.

You knew what it was before you even saw it fully. After a while, the large monument before you came into view.

“Hoover Dam,” you voiced. “Built in the 1930’s.”

“It’s huge,” Thalia awed.

The naiads stopped pushing, and everyone climbed out onto the river’s edge. When the naiads swam away, the canoes gently floated back downstream, pushed by the current.

You stood together, looking up.

“Seven hundred feet tall,” Percy commented.

“Five million cubic acres of water,” Thalia hummed.

“Largest construction project in the United States,” Grover sighed.

Zoe looked at you all like you were crazy. “How do you know all that?”

“Annabeth,” Grover tilted his head.

“She was crazy over architecture. Gods, try getting some sleep in the same cabin as her.”

“Spouted facts all the time,” Thalia said. “Annoying as hell.”

“I wish she were here,” Percy said.

You didn’t have it in you to be annoyed. Because you felt the same way. In a sense, it felt like a mean joke from the world—you’d stopped in one of Annabeth’s dream locations, and she wasn’t able to see it.

“We should go up there.” Percy said. “For her sake. Just to say we’ve been.”

“We don’t have a great track record with heights.”

Percy just grinned.

“You are mad,” said Zoe. “But that is where the road is. And so, sightseeing it is.”

—

“It’s cold,” you sang. “It’s cold and windy and why are we just standing here?” You pivoted to Zoe, flaying your hands. You side-eyed Grover; he sniffed the air, shifted uncomfortably. “I mean, clearly monsters are coming.”

“How close are they?” Percy asked.

Grover shook his curly head. “Maybe not close…the wind from the dam, and the desert all around…scent could probably travel for miles. But it’s coming from almost everywhere. I don’t like it.”

“There’s a snack bar in the visitor centre,” said Thalia.

Percy’s eyebrows knit together. “You’ve come here before?”

“Once, to see the guardians,” she pointed across the dam, where carved into the cliff were two big statues. In the back of your mind, something felt familiar, maybe something you’d learned in school. “They were dedicated to Zeus when the dam was built; a gift from Athena.”

Tourists were clustered around the statues, seemingly looking at…their feet?

“What are they doing?” You asked.

“Rubbing the toes.”

You gagged.

“They think it brings good luck,” Thalia said.

“Why?”

She shrugged. “Mortals get crazy ideas. They don’t know the statues are sacred to Zeus, but they know there’s something special about them.”

Percy hummed. “When you were here last, did they talk to you or anything?”

Thalia’s expression darkened. “No. They don’t do anything. They’re just statues.”

Just statues brought a hot flame to your heart. Once again, you were reminded of Bianca. How you wished that one had been just a statue.

“Let us find the dam snack bar,” Zoe interrupted your saddening thoughts. You raised your head, blinking away the cloud cover.

Grover cracked a smile. “The dam snack bar?”

Zoe blinked innocently. “Yes. What is so funny?”

“Nothing,” he tried to keep a straight face. “I could use some dam French fries.”

Even Thalia smiled. “I could use the dam restroom.”

Percy snickered. And you broke, showing a smile. Eye contact with Grover proved to be a bad idea—you both broke out laughing.

Zoe just looked between everyone. “I do not understand.”

“I want to use the dam water fountain,” you wiped your eyes, still laughing.

“And,” Thalia tried catching her breath. “I want to…buy a dam t-shirt.”

Percy burst out laughing, setting you off. Zoe was not amused; her face was stoic, if not a little annoyed. You opened your mouth to make a joke, and then—

“Did anyone else just hear a cow?” Percy had stopped laughing.

You snickered, finding humour in the weird situation.

“A dam cow?” Thalia laughed.

“No,” said Grover, seriously. “I heard it too.”

Zoe listened. “I hear nothing.”

“Percy, are you okay?” You asked. Was it heat stroke? Or maybe he was overtired? “There’s definitely no cows about, man.”

“Yeah. I’m fine. Just…you guys go ahead,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Grover prodded.

“Nothing,” he shook his head. “I just need a minute. I need a minute to think.”

Zoe, Thalia and Grover headed off towards the visitor centre, and you were about to follow after them. But Percy looked…a little too confused for you to be happy leaving him on his own, especially hearing cows that weren’t there.

You trailed after him. Percy leaned on the rail that overlooked the water.

You came up beside him. “Do you want some water?”

Looking down at the water, Percy’s hand reached out and snaked around your arm, pulling you closer. Your eyes widened, but you didn’t resist.

“What—”

You followed his gaze downward, and couldn’t believe what you were seeing.

“Is that—”

Percy nodded. “Bessie.”

“Bessie?”

“Bessie the cow serpent.”

You looked at your friend. Your slightly stir-crazy friend. “That explains it all.”

Percy’s bring eyes practically shone looking at the sea creature. “What are you doing here? How did you get up here?”

A quick glance around showed nobody else could see this Bessie. Either that or they were all hoping it would go away if they avoided eye contact.

Bessie swam in a circle, long tail swishing, before bashing its head on the wall of the dam. “Mooooo!”

It was as if you were in a weird dream, quite frankly. A cow-sea-creature nobody but yourselves could see. But in this whole strange world of demigods and gods and monsters, was anything a real shock anymore?

But after the day you’d had so far, and Bianca’s passing, everyone felt like a big, fat joke on you.

“I can’t!” Percy exclaimed. “I’m with my friends!”

Bessie have an urgent moo, and dove underwater, swimming away.

Percy raised his head, green eyes meeting yours, and you hesitated on saying something. A weird chill settled on your spine, as if to say watch your back. You looked behind Percy, and froze. Two tall men in grey camouflage covered flickering skeletal bodies. And they were heading right for you.

“Gotta go,” you snatched up Percy’s hand. “Let’s go!”

You ran as fast as your legs would take you, lungs burning, toward the visitor’s centre. Percy skidded to a stop beside you as you slowed to fit through the entryway, and you didn’t have the time to pay attention to what it was he was looking at behind you. You bolted down the stairs, security yelling for you to slow down, but you paid them no heed. Your friends had no idea what was going on, and like hell would you let a repeat of what happened to Bianca happen.

Percy called your name behind you. “Wait up!” He yelled. “Slow down!”

“Like we have the time!” You called back, not caring if he heard. The ding of an elevator caught your attention. To your left, a group of tourists waited with a guide, and you took your chance, running across to it.

Just as you slid inside, Percy slid in behind you, and the doors closed with a ding. A few people looked your way, as you heaved for breath.

“We’ll be going down seven hundred feet!” The tour guide said cheerfully. Her dark hair was tied up in a long ponytail, and dark shades covered her eyes. “Don’t worry, ladies and gentlemen! The elevator hardly ever breaks!”

You could have rolled your eyes. Hardly ever—chances were, with your luck, the hardly ever part would happen to you.

“Does this go to the snack bar?” Percy asked behind you. A couple of people laughed. The tour guide looked your way, and shivers ran down your spine; you wished Percy had just kept his mouth shut. Your gut twisted.

“To the turbines, young man. Weren’t you listening to my interesting presentation upstairs?”

“Oh, uh, sure. Is there another way out of the dam?”

“It’s a dead end,” said an irritated-sounding tourist behind. You had half a mind to look them up and down for good measure, but refrained. “The only way out is the other elevator.”

With a ding, the elevator doors opened.

“Go right ahead,” the tour guide said. “Another ranger is waiting for you at the end of the corridor.”

You moved quickly, trying to get out of the small space.

“Young man!” The tour guide called. Percy gripped your arm. You turned back.

She’d taken off her sunglasses, twirling them in her hand, and you blanched. Her eyes were a startling grey. Just like yours. Just like Annabeth’s.

Something tugged in your stomach.

And something felt oddly familiar about this guide.

“There is always a way out for those clever enough to find it.”

She looked at you. She winked, the corner of her mouth curved in a sly smile just the way yours did.

Just the way yours did.

You blinked. Before you could give any thought to what just happened, the elevator doors closed, and the only sound you could focus on was the sound of skeleton chattering.

With Percy still attached to your arm, you ran after the tour group, through a weird-looking tunnel made of jagged stone that seemed to go on forever. The air was humid and hot, and when you came out the other end, fifty-feet below you were enormous wind turbines. It was almost enough to send you dizzy.

By this point, you slowed, and allowed yourself to think. You’d gotten here on spontaneous thoughts, but where did you go from here? Considering your line of bad experiences with your own ideas, maybe it was best to sit this part out, the part full of action, and let Percy take the lead. Playing hero wasn’t going so well, for you.

You looked around in a circle, almost feeling desperately lost, as if your body told you let someone else take over. Preferably, an adult. Someone to take this burden from you all. Because, at last, this quest was wearing you thin, and the lingering question and unease surrounding what happened to Bianca would simply not let up on you.

All you wanted now, was to go back to camp.

Percy, at your side, shoulders slumped, sighed. He span his sword, disguised as a pen, between his fingers. You turned to him.

“Look,” you breathed. “I think—”

Percy’s eyes shifted to behind you, and widened. You barely saw the quick sweep of his arm pushing you out of the way before you felt it, staggering aside.

“H-hey—!”

The gleam of his sword caught your eye, as he swiped it straight down. Almost falling back, you turned to the victim of his harsh death.

Except the girl wasn’t dead.

Just horrified.

And very human.

“What the hell?!” She screeched. “Do you always kill people when they open a packet of Kleenex?”

Both yourself and Percy could only blink at the girl, whose wild red hair danced in her eyes. She blew it away, huffing when it fell back.

“You’re human?” Percy frowned.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” The girl pulled a face. “Of course I’m human. How did you get that sword through security?”

Your jaw almost dropped. “Ohhhh boy.”

“You can see this?”

The girl rolled her eyes. Her nose was red as if she’d been aggressively wiping it like she had a cold, and jeans with holes all over, like she’d gotten bored in class. The inner stylist in you cringed.

“Well, it’s either a sword or the biggest toothpick in the world,” she scoffed. “And why didn’t it hurt me. Not that I’m complaining. And woah, are you wearing lion fur?” She reached her hand out to Percy’s coat.

At Percy’s lack of words, you looked to him, going to prompt him to explain. But he stood like a fish, mouth agape, staring at this girl. Jealousy ran through your body, and your jaw clenched.

“It’s none of your business, really,” you huffed. The girl’s eyes rolled over to you like she was bored. “I mean, we gotta go anyway, so…”

Percy raised his hand suddenly and snapped his fingers in the girl’s face. She went cross-eyed looking at them. “You don’t see a sword,” he said. “It’s a ballpoint pen.”

She scrunched her nose. “Uh, no. I’m pretty sure it’s a sword.”

You almost wanted to sock Percy in the arm. “Bro, what are you doing? We need to go.”

“Who are you?” Percy ignored you.

“Rachel Elizabeth Dare. Now are you going to answer my questions or am I going to call for security?”

“Uh, miss Rachel Elizabeth Dare,” you imitated poorly. Her face was a picture at your words. “We really have places to be. Percy, we need to go.”

“You in a hurry or trouble?” Rachel asked.

“Hurry.”

“None of your business.”

Percy blinked at you, talking over one another. He sighed.

Rachel coughed a little too loudly for your nerves. You slowly turned to her, ready to give this random girl a piece of your mind. She grabbed your arm and pushed you along.

“Bathroom, now!”

You tripped on a wet floor sign, knocking it down on your way in. You landed on the slimy floor, complaining under your breath. Your own voice was too loud at this point, but something else caught your attention in the background.

The chattering of skeletons.

“Oh my god! Did you see those kids! They just ran at me with swords! I think they went that way towards the wind turbines! You better hurry!”

The chattering grew quieter, and then a knock on the door. “You’re good!”

You emerged back into the public. Rachel Elizabeth Dare looked shaken and slightly pale.

“All clear, but you better go.”

Down the way, skeletons were running in the direction Rachel sent them.

“We owe you, Rachel,” Percy breathed.

“What are those things?”

“The skeletons?”

Rachel nodded uneasily.

“Do yourself a favor,” Percy replied grimly. “Forget it all. Forget you ever met us.”

“Forget you tried to kill me?”

“That too,” you quipped. Rachel side-eyed you. You looked her up and down.

“But who are you?” The question was, very obviously pointed at Percy.

“Percy—gotta go.”

Warmth wrapped your wrist, and pulled you along. Behind you both, Rachel Elizabeth Dare was whining. “What sort of name is Percy Gotta-Go?”

The cafe was packed with kids shouting and crying, and your heart felt about to burst from the run down here. You scanned the room. In the middle, at a round table, Thalia, Grover and Zoe sat with their food.

You ran over, a gross and sweaty mess, panting. You slammed your hands on the table so hard their trays shook. “We—gotta—go,” you heaved.

“But we just got our burritos!” Thalia said.

Zoe looked around. “No. She’s right. Let’s go.”

The cafe wrapped around the dam, giving your friends a good view of the skeletons that had come to kill you. And all of them were armed with batons and pistons. The more urgent problem now, though—the skeletons Rachel had spotted were making their way over. They began to advance.

“Elevator!” Grover gasped.

You all ran for your lives, and skidded to a stop as the elevator arrived on your level with a ding! You scrambled back, almost tripping on someone’s toes as more skeletons came out. You were completely surrounded.

And then…Grover’s brilliant mind surfaced a brilliant plan.

“Good fight!” He screamed.

And launched his burrito right at a skeleton’s face. His skull fell off his shoulders with a clatter, like he’d been taken out by a grenade and not a burrito.

It didn’t take very long for Grover’s plan to take off. Kids began throwing their food this way and that, and you couldn’t even be mad at the soda and chips in your hair because the skeletons couldn’t aim their guns, and you were soon just blurry faces in a raging crowd.

“Four against eleven. What now?”

“It’s been nice going with you guys,” Grover trembled.

“Woah, their toes are really bright?”

“Percy, that’s really weird.”

“Thalia, pray to your dad.”

Said girl glared at your best friend. “He never answers.”

“Just this once. Please just try!”

“No! He won’t answer me!”

“This time is different!”

“Says who?!”

Percy hesitated. “Athena—” your head snapped to him. “I think.”

Thalia scowled.

“Try it!” Grover begged.

Thalia closed her eyes, sighing visibly. Her mouth moved in silent prayer, and you gave thought to what Percy said.

The grey eyes. That weird feeling in your stomach. And the same smile…

Things like that couldn’t be just a coincidence, could they? And after how you had felt all day…was it weird to hope your mom might be giving you guidance?

You tried it too.

Mom. Please, if you can hear me, give us some guidance. Show us what to do. I can’t anymore.

The skeletons closed in, and so did your chest. It pulled tight in a way you had never felt before…was this impending doom?

You dug for your dagger and held it tight in your fist. Percy clutched his sword closer.

Just as you thought your heart was giving out, a shadow fell over you. In slight fear, you tilted back your head, mouth agape. Above you, stood the very statues you set your sights on earlier. The bronze angels. Bullets pinged off their wings like rain on a metal roof. Both angels swept their giant arms like bats, and the skeletons went flying.

“Man, it feels good to stand up!” One said. His voice sounded tinny.

“Will ya look at my toes?” The other said. “What we’re those tourists thinkin’?”

“Get us out of here!” Thalia yelled.

Both angels looked down at her. “Zeus’s kid?”

“Yes!”

“Could I get a please, Miss Zeus’s Kid?”

“Please get us out of here!”

The angels shrugged to one another. “Could give my wings a stretch?”

Next thing you knew, one swept up Percy and Thalia, the other Grover and Zoe, and before you could get left behind, you leapt for one’s wing, shoes scuffling as you pulled your way up to its shoulder.

And then you flew straight up, over the dam, away from the river and the trouble.

—

“Tell me when it’s over!” Thalia said from your left. A timid peak behind the angel’s head showed you Thalia with her eyes squeezed shut, holding on for dear life.

Not that you could blame her. This high up, with nothing to properly hold on to, you were feeling a little worried, too. You’d situated yourself just in the crook of the angel’s neck, on his shoulder, holding on to his ear of all things. Your arms were starting to go a little dead, but you weren’t taking any chances.

“Are we…high?” She asked.

Percy kicked his foot off the edge of the mountain below and shook his head. “Nah, not really.”

It depends who you asked. Even this high was enough for you.

“We are in the Sierras!” Zoe yelled from the other angel. “I have hunted here before. At this speed, we should be in San Francisco in a few hours!”

News which both delighted you and twisted your guts. You would either find your sister alive and well in a state you’d never forget.

“Hey, hey, Frisco!” The other angel yelled. “Yo, chuck, we should visit those other guys at the Mechanics Monument again! They know how to party!”

“Oh, man, I am so there!”

“You’ve visited San Francisco?” You raised a brow.

“We automatons gotta have some fun once in a while, right?” Yours said. “Those Mechanics took us over to the de Young Museum and introduced us to these marble ladies, and see—”

“Alright!” You exclaimed. “Feel free to stop there.”

“Hank!” The other angel, Chuck, laughed. “They’re kids, man.”

“Oh, right. Back to flying.”

They sped up. The snowy mountains fell away soon enough and transformed into farmland and roads, and then the city.

It turned quiet after a while. Thalia muttered to herself. Grover played his pipes quietly, and Zoe pegged a bullseye on ever my Target you passed.

“Hey.”

You looked down, with hesitancy. Percy was looking up.

“Sup?”

You pressed your lips together, thinking. “You think that was really my mom back there?”

He didn’t talk for a few seconds. “Maybe. I mean, I just…I had a feeling. But…”

Percy’s unsureness didn’t put yours off. Because the more you thought about it, the more you had a feeling you were right.

The angels landed on a ferry dock, once in San Francisco. You scared a homeless man, who ran off yelling about metal angels from mars.

Only when it was quiet and still, did you wonder what next?

You looked between your friends, all appearing as stuck as you.

What Percy said next struck you.

“Look, guys,” he said almost hesitantly. “I haven’t mentioned this before, but, uh, halfway down here, I had a dream. I talked to Apollo in it, and he said something about finding this monster.”

“What kind of monster?” Thalia eyeballed him.

“I’m not sure.” Percy shrugged. “He just said it would help us find our way. Nereus, I think he was called.”

“Nereus, eh?” Zoe pulled a disgusted face.

“The old man of the sea,” said Percy.

“You know him?” Asked Thalia.

“My mother was a sea goddess. Yes, I know him. Unfortunately he is very hard to find. Just follow the smell.”

You all strolled across the pier to a charity shop hosting cardboard boxes of free clothes for the homeless outside. You were confused as Zoe stopped outside of it and turned to face you all.

“Trust me,” she said, talking to Percy, who instantly pulled a mistrusting face, mouth curved unhappily. “Put these on.”

She dressed him in too-big pants, a ragged flannel shirt and shoes that made him look like an improvising clown, lost from the circus.

You couldn’t help the laugh that fell from your mouth at the sight of him. Even Grover was holding back a smile. Percy was not by any means impressed.

Zoe stepped back and looked him over, and then nodded, impressed. “A typical male vagrant.”

“Thanks a lot,” he grumbled. “Why am I doing this?”

“I told thee; to blend in.”

Zoe led the way down to the water-front. After a long time of her searching for something, she finally stopped, and turned to Percy. She pointed to a group of homeless guys huddled together with blankets.

“He will be down there somewhere,” she said. “He never veers far from the water. He likes to sun himself during the day.”

“How do I know which one is him?” Asked Percy. You nodded, looking at Zoe.

“Sneak up. Act homeless. You will know who he is. He…he smells different.”

“Great. And once I find him?”

“Grab him. And hold on. He will try anything to be rid of thee. Whatever he does, do not let go. Force him to tell thee about the monster.”

Ah. The monster, which nobody had mentioned to you. Just another punch to the chest.

“We’ve got your back,” said Thalia, reaching out and picking something off of Percy’s new—well, reused—shirt. She gagged. “On second thought, I don’t want your back. But we’ll be rooting for you.”

Percy huffed, looking the least happy you’d ever seen him. He turned to you, and offered a tight-mouthed smile. More of a grimace.

“Any advice?”

“I’ve stopped all that. It doesn’t seem to be getting us anywhere good. Just do you.”

The rest of you observed your friend as he wandered down the dock, looking lost and confused. Eventually, Percy left your line of sight, and you found a nice spot on the floor to rest a while.

A ruckus a few yards away caught your attention. You looked at Thalia, who hummed. Then her eyes went wide, and the shouts of anger turned into awe.

“Whoa!”

You turned, mouth agape, as a giant killer whale came burst out of the water and feet into the air. Percy gave you all a little wave, before plunging into the sea.

“Well. At least we know he’s fine.”

It wasn’t long before Percy wrestled the old man to the surface. Thalia tapped your arm. “Let’s go!”

“You got him!” Zoe yelled. The four of you sprinted down to Percy.

“You don’t have to sound so amazed,” he said.

Even from a foot away, the smell of gross seaweed and dried up something filled your nose. You wanted to gag. Nereus groaned. “Oh wonderful, an audience for my humiliation. The normal deal, I suppose? You’ll let me go if I answer your questions.”

“Sure,” you shrugged.

“Only one question per capture!”

Percy’s silence followed with his sigh. “Alright, Nereus. Tell me where to find this terrible monster that could bring an end to the gods. The one Artemis was hunting.”

“Oh, that’s too easy,” Nereus grinned evilly. “He’s right there!” Nereus pointed at the water by Percy’s feet.

“Where?”

“The deal is complete!”

With a plop, he turned into a goldfish and summersaulted into the sea.

“Wait!”

“Stop!” Thalia shoved forward. “What is that?”

“Mooooooo!”

You blinked. Maybe you weren’t insane at all. The serpent-cow swam around in the water, giving Percy the puppy dog eyes.

“Ah,” he grimaced. “Bessie, not now.”

“Moooo!”

“He says his name isn’t Bessie,” Grover said.

“You can understand her…I mean, him?”

Grover nodded. “It’s a very old form of animal language, but he says his name is Ophiotaurus.”

“The what?”

“It means serpent-bull in Greek.” Thalia said. “But what’s it doing here?”

“Moooo!”

“It says Percy is it’s protector.”

You scoffed, playfully. “Percy couldn’t protect a teddy bear.”

“Hey!”

“He’s running from bad people. He says they’re close.”

Thalia’s eyes practically bugged out of her head. “And you somehow forgot to mention this before?”

“Well, yeah.”

“I know this story!” Zoe said suddenly. She snapped her fingers. “From the War of the Titans. My father told me this tale thousands of years ago. This is the beast we are looking for.”

Your gaze dropped to the doe-eyed creature swimming in urgent circles. It mooed sadly. You eyed it sceptically.

“Bessie?” Percy’s tone of voice told you he had the same thought. “But…he’s too cute. He couldn’t destroy the world…”

“This is how we were wrong,” Zoe persuaded. “We had been expecting a great monster of terrible power. But the ophiotaurus can not harm the very way that other creatures do. He must be sacrificed.”

“I don’t think he likes the S-word,” Grover muttered.

Percy knelt, the damp ground around him soaking into his jeans and drying instantly. He reached out a hand, and scratched the creature’s head. “How could anyone hurt him? He’s harmless.”

Zoe nodded. “But there is power in killing innocence. Terrible power. The Fates ordained a prophecy eons ago, when this creature was born. They said that whoever killed the Ophiotaurus and sacrificed its entrails to fire would have the power to destroy the gods.”

“MMMMMM!”

“Um,” Grover said. “Maybe we could avoid talking about entrails, too.”

Thalia stared at the cow serpent with wonder. “The power to destroy the gods . . . how? I mean, what would happen?”

“No one knows,” Zoe said. “The first time, during the Titan war, the Ophiotaurus was in fact slain by a giant ally of the Titans, but thy father, Zeus, sent an eagle to snatch the entrails away before they could be tossed into the fire. It was a close call. Now, after three thousand years, the Ophiotaurus is reborn.”

Thalia sat down on the dock. She stretched out her hand. Bessie went right to her. Thalia placed her hand on his head. Bessie shivered.

“We have to protect him. If Luke gets hold of him…”

“Luke wouldn’t hesitate,” you said. You didn’t know him well, not the way Percy or Thalia did, but you knew that much. And, even if you didn’t, you could sense it. “The power to overthrow Olympus? That’s…that’s huge.”

“Yes.”

A hand clapped down on your shoulder. You pulled away, walking backward into Grover. Your heart thudded painfully.

There, before you, stood Dr. Thorn, eyes glinting menacingly.

“And it is a power you shall unleash.”

oh. my. gods. it’s quite literally been months. and I didn’t even finish this chapter. I just needed to get something out.

I’m so sorry for the absence.

taglist: @bl6o6dy @lilyevanswhore @embersparklz @rottenstyx @rory-cakes @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @marshmallow12435 @lantsovheiress @distinguishedmakerpandapatrol @twsssmlmaa @gayandfairycore @padsfirewhisky @emu281 @charlesswife @jessiegerl @crackerphobic20 @mata0-0mata @jccc1000 @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @nothankyou138

[definitelynotstable]

Camomile pt. 7 [Ghost x gn!Reader]

pt. 1, pt. 2, pt. 3, pt. 4, pt. 5, pt. 6, pt. 7, pt. 8, pt. 9, pt. 10

AN: Please lemme know if you are liking this series I'm desperate for reassurance and validation <3

Synopsis: You're no longer in the hands of the enemy but the memories still linger. Ghost helps you through a nightmare. Word Count: 1.5k Warnings: injuries, nightmares, torture, kinda graphic, non-con touching (men are creeps) Ghost x gn!Reader (callsign Rags): Hurt/comfort. Loads of fluff. Nightmare trope!

———

It was pitch black when you woke. You reached up to tug at the eye mask when a warm hand covered yours, pulling it gently over your head. Cobalt eyes met yours.

“Ghost.” You breathe. You missed him.

“The very same.” He replies with a gentle nod. Soap and Gaz have left and the Lieutenant has dragged a chair over to your bedside; barely leaving any room for his legs. He is leaning forwards, tattooed forearm resting on the rail and dangling near your thigh. He’s no longer in uniform or tactical gear; his mask replaced by a simple black balaclava. Suddenly you realise you have no idea where you are. He tilts his head, watching you as though he can see the thoughts running rampant behind your eyes.

“Where are we?” You ask, thankful your voice isn’t as scratchy as it was before. Ghost leans back a little but keeps his arms resting on the rail.

“A base somewhere in Europe, I’ve not really asked to be honest.”

You frown, “That’s unlike you.”

“Yeah well,” he laughs softly, though it isn’t a happy sound, “geography wasn’t quite the priority, was it, love?”

“Suppose not,” you mumble. His eyes soften and he reaches out to pat your knee.

“I’ll ask Price when I see ‘im. It’s somewhere nearby, though. Didn’t have enough time to RTB.”

You nod slowly, fingering one of the wires by your side. Ghost just watches, waiting for you to speak.

“No one’s told me anything.” You feel like a child being left out of adult discussions. “Haven’t even spoken to the doc, Price didn’t properly debrief me – even Soap and Gaz wouldn’t talk about it. What am I missing here?”

The Lieutenant knew it was coming. He’d waited to see you just for this reason. You needed rest, not intel.

Ghost sighs. “How about I get you a cuppa? Let’s start there.”

———

Broken ribs, cigarette burns, slight pneumonia, minor internal bleeding, a handful of lacerations – to name a few. Ghost had brought you your file and held your steaming mug of camomile while you flipped through.

“What’s this?” You ask, pointing to a thick black line, roughly drawn. “Why’s someone redacting my personal medical shit?”

“The same reason Price won’t debrief you yet – you need rest, Rags.” He swipes the file from your hands and before you can argue settles the steaming mug in your grasp instead. You glare at him as you try not to spill it, craning your neck to take a sip. Ghost shakes his head and wraps an arm behind your back, supporting your weight while he readjusts the pillows. You lean back, his hand lingering until it’s pressed between your warmth and the bed. He lowers himself back into the chair, his hands wrapped around his own mug.

“That isn’t fair.” You finally say, too tired to argue but not willing to let the subject drop. “I have the right to know.”

Ghost takes a long sip before replying. “You do.”

“Then why–“

–“Because it’s a lot.” He says, cobalt eyes firm as they hold your gaze. “It’s a lot and you aren’t well yet. You can barely sit up on your own and can’t stay awake for more than a couple of hours. Please trust me, you’ll know in time.”

“But I want to know now,” your mumble, looking down as tears prickle against your will. The Lieutenants eyes soften.

“I know you do.”

“I just don’t like not knowing things.” A tear escapes. You swipe at it angrily.

“I know you don’t.”

“I just –“

–“I know.” He nods, wrapping a hand around your wrist, sliding it up to your forearm and giving it a gentle squeeze.

Your lip is wobbling now but Ghost doesn’t move. His thumb swiping over the soft part of your wrist. Back and forth.

“I know, Rags.”

And you get the feeling that he does. He doesn’t talk much about his past but you can recall a few months ago when a mission went awry and you walked in on Gaz stitching him up – shirt rolled to hang loosely around his neck. Scars weren’t abnormal for soldiers, but the markings were repetitive and consistent. Corporal punishment. Something you were all too familiar with as of late.

The Lieutenant doesn’t stop. Gentle and slow. Letting you know you were with him and you were safe. He watches as you fight the sleep weighing heavily on your eyelids.

And when your eyes fall shut and your breathing deepens he still stays.

———

“Ah, дорогая,” a voice whispers menacingly in your ear. Fingers stroke down your cheek, your chest and down over your navel. Your stomach muscles ripple and flinch away on impulse. The chain rattles as you lean away from his touch. His grin widens, yellow teeth glinting.

“Ready to talk?”

You clench your teeth; jaw locked and tongue pressed to the roof of your mouth.

“Still not talking, дорогая?” He’s rougher now, hand coming to grasp your throat, the squeeze a warning.

“I have nothing to say.” You spit out, swallowing against his hand. He chuckles.

“So feisty.” He shakes his head, patting your cheek roughly. “It won’t last. You’ll be screaming soon. I’ve always found the screams of women far more satisfying than men.”

The smell of burnt flesh wafts up to your nose and you look down. He’s holding a lighter against your bare torso. Why can’t you feel it? You watch as your flesh melts away into a gaping trench; your eyes watering at the stench. Blood bubbles and boils around the edges. The pain hits you in a wave, bursting and overflowing. The damn breaks and a scream rips from your throat. He laughs then, tipping his head back as he watches you writhe.

“Rags!” Hands shake you roughly, wrapping around your shoulders. You try to shake them off but they refuse to let go.

“Rags!”

Your eyes snap oven, hair sticks to your sweat covered face and you fight the hands holding you still.

“No, no, no, please!” You can’t help but cry, twisting in their grip. “Please.”

“Rags.” The voice is soft but firm. “Look at me.”

That voice. Where have you heard that voice?

You wrench your eyes open, tears pool and trickle down your cheeks. Cobalt blue stares back down at you, blond brows creased in concern.

“Rags? Are you with me?”

You’re gasping like a fish out of water. Chest heaving; breath ragged.

“G–Ghost?”

His mask has slipped down, lower than you’ve ever seen it. With a shaking hand you tug it back up. He catches your wrist, a finger circles and tickles your palm.

He nods, his other hand stretches out and gently brushes strand of hair away from your forehead. “S’alright. I’m here. You’re safe.”

You feel so tired. Rung out like a rag and set to dry in the wind. His hand has settled on your cheek. Cautious and gentle. “They took my camomile.” You whisper and Ghost tilts his head, confused.

“What do you mean?”

Your face crumples under his concerned gaze.The thoughts running through your mind are no longer logical. “The camomile I keep in my spare pocket – they took it.”

His thumb swipes under your eye, catching a tear. He frowns, “That’s ok, I’ve got some with me.”

Your chest heaves again and a sob slips from your mouth. “I was worried you wouldn’t have any left and Soap and Gaz only drink coffee – Price too.”

“Oh, darling.” He breathes, eyes sad as he strokes your jaw.

–“and you would have no-one to drink camomile with if I was gone.” You gasp, now clutching at his own wrist was you ramble. Your breathing is picking up again, a machine beeps more rapidly behind you.

Ghost’s face has crumpled completely as he watches you, unsure what to do. Your grip on him tightens, almost grasping the Lieutenant as though he will slip away.

“Would you like a hug?” He asks, throat constricting. He knows how hard it is to accept touch after experiencing the nonconsensual grip of the enemy. You nod frantically. It feels like you are falling apart at the seems and you need him to hold you while you sew yourself back together.

Slowly – making sure his hands are always in your line of sight – Ghost collapses the bedrail and slips in beside you.

“Show me where I can put my hands, love.” He murmurs in your ear and with shaking hands you guide his arms around you. You settle against his broad chest, your breathing slowly syncing with his own.

“Thank you.” The words so quiet he can barely hear it. He tucks you in closer, resting his chin against the top of your head.

“This ok?” He mumbles into your hair. You nod gently against him.

“Stay?”

“No place I’d rather be.”

— — —

Masterlist

Next Part:

[buckwheeler]

he touched the part where the metal was bent

“Hey, are you awake?”

The whisper is a soft, quick thing. It wakes him like a gasp. All at once. He springs to waking. He springs awake so scared that he cannot move. He cannot open his eyes. He doesn’t move a muscle.

He doesn’t have to look to know she’s there. The violence of his waking leaves no room to wonder if he’s dreaming. He knows he’s awake like he knows she’s there. 

He doesn’t speak aloud, so as not to wake Eddie. Sleeping Eddie, who’s lower back he can feel pressed to his own. He’s warm, Eddie. Buck feels the warm press of his skin through both their t shirts. Warm from all that warm blood running under his skin. Warm and living.

“I’m awake.” Buck says, not out loud. 

“Open your eyes,” she says. Buck feels the gentle breath of her against his cheek. 

“Do I have to?” He whispers, with his mouth closed. He feels the soft huff of her laughing.

“Just open them,” she insists. Softly, but insisting. He’s frightened. He hears her mouth tilting in a kind of smirk. And when he opens his eyes, he sees it too.

Her face is lovely. Beautiful and dear. She’s lying right in front of him. Too close to see if she were really there. Nose to nose. She’s got her hands folded over each other underneath her cheek, atop his pillow. Sharing their side of the bed. 

“Hello Shannon,” he sighs. 

“Hello Buck,” she says. 

She’s still got that little smile on her face, so. He supposes she’s not too angry. Still.

“Are you here to haunt me?” He asks. Her nose scrunches, and she twitches with a silent little laugh. She pushes up onto her forearm and tilts her head from side to side. “A little bit?” He guesses.

“We’ll see,” she says. Then she brings a hand up to rub at her neck, a wince. Buck feels it in his own tendon, the twinge. A sharp, pulsing ache. The catch of it. Of something really wrong. 

“It hurts,” He says, gazing up at her now. She turns towards the window opposite the bed. The moon kisses her at an angle. 

“Yep,” she sighs. Turns back to him. She shifts her head slowly. It passes. “Can we sit in the garden?” She asks. Buck is surprised to be asked, not told.

He sits up slowly, carefully. Eddie doesn’t stir, but Buck pauses still, once he’s risen. Checks the tender shape of him. 

“Oh don’t worry about Eddie,” Shannon teases, tilting to nudge their shoulders together, her voice still a whisper. “He sleeps like the dead these days.” 

Buck turns back to her. She raises her eyebrows. He relents, a breathy laugh. “Don’t you want to stop in on Christopher first?” He asks.

Shannon shakes her head gently. Her soft brown hair shakes with it. She’s a total shampoo commercial. “Let’s go to the garden first,” she says. Buck’s in no position to deny her. And wouldn’t. Couldn’t, deny her. So they do. 

“Are you frightened still?” Shannon asks, when they’re settled on the swing bench. Shannon has her knees tucked up under her chin, and Buck has one heel planted on the ground, nudging just slightly, his other foot tucked under his thigh. Buck gets a feeling, a flash, of them sitting just like this, this position, a thousand times. But then it goes away.

“I wasn’t frightened,” Buck defends. They aren’t whispering, anymore, but still hushed. 

“Of course you were,” Shannon teases. “Just a little bit.” She leans her head back until it rests on the ageing wood. Rolls it back and forth lightly and then all the way to face him again, and smirk. 

“A little bit,” Buck concedes. 

“Well, that’s right,” she says. “I’d be worried if you weren’t.”

They smile at each other. The night is quiet, and still. Just this soft breeze. And the light from the kitchen window illuminating the lawn. 

Shannon turns to the little circle of paving at the other end of the garden. “Oh god,” She groans. “I can’t believe you’ve still got those awful patio chairs.” 

Buck snorts. “Well, no one ever sits on them anyway.” 

Shannon bats his shoulder- which, of course, doesn’t feel like anything. “That’s because they’re so terrible! Barely held together. I’m surprised no one’s hurt themself. God, they’re so uncomfortable and so ugly. Take them to the dump!”

“I think I just don’t even see them anymore, they’re such a fixture,” Buck says. 

“I bet you don’t,” Shannon shakes her head. “I bet you never clean them, either.” 

“Nope,” Buck concedes. She shakes her head again, and hits his arm again. She keeps looking around. She looks at every corner. 

“Have you been gardening? Or is that Eddie?” She asks, pointing at the lacklustre vegetable patch. It’s spirited in its variety but unfortunately not thriving. Yet. 

“That’s me and Chris. We over-planted, I think. We’re gonna get back to work on it when vacation starts.” 

Shannon nods. It catches, again, sharp, and she pauses to massage her shoulder. Rolls her head slowly, ear to shoulder on one side and then the next. 

“Does anywhere else hurt?” Buck asks. 

“No,” she says. “I can’t feel anywhere else.” She brings her feet down to the ground and gives them a little push. “Small mercies.” 

Buck matches her rhythm, pushing lightly. Feels the wind whip so slightly by them, just brushing its fingers through his hair. Shannon stops them, a little abruptly. 

“Does he still like dinosaurs?” She asks, whispers it. Buck follows her line of sight to Christopher’s dark bedroom window, the drawn blinds. No glow of a night light. 

“Not really,” Buck says, whispers too.

Shannon nods. She pulls her knees back to her chest and hugs them, rests her cheek against her arm. Buck is struck by how young she looks. He forgets, sometimes. How she was barely twenty six. Had barely even started. 

“That makes sense,” Shannon says. “It’s. A lot of little boys like dinosaurs, don’t they?” 

Buck nods. “We even donated his figurine collection. It was a huge box. Me and Eddie were so emotional but Chris didn’t give a shit,” Buck laughs. Shannon laughs too. 

“What does he like then?” She asks. She’s very still. 

Buck hums. “Video games. His friends. They all play together online. He likes English and Art, at school. And Science. And he’s started getting into movies in a big way. He likes updating his Letterboxed.” 

“What is that?” Shannon asks. “His Letterboxed?”

“Oh, sorry, it’s. A website. It’s like goodreads for movies.”

“Ah,” Shannon nods. “That’s a good idea.” 

“Yeah.” 

Buck shivers a little bit. “You wanna go in yet?” 

“Not yet,” Shannon says. She pats Bucks leg twice and gets to her feet. “Let’s go to the front yard.” 

“Do you hate me, a bit?” Buck asks. When they stop, at the end of the path, at the mailbox. “Or. Resent me? Or-“

“No,” Shannon says. She tilts towards him, arms crossed. Like telling a secret. “The other thing,” she says. 

“Oh,” Buck says. He grins. “Not a vengeful haunting, then?” 

“Not this time. I considered it but. Lot of work, isn’t it?” 

“I see. Well, very generous of you.” 

“No,” Shannon laughs. “I mean it. Even if I’d lived. You’re meant to be part of it.” She gestures at the house. 

It’s too lovely to dwell on. The world without accident. Where the four of them share family dinner. Maybe some faceless future partner of Sharon’s, too. Vacations. Christmas. Meetings with Chris’ teachers. Maybe step-siblings. Extra grandparents and cousins. All front row if Chris tries out for the school play like he’s been considering. His mother, front row. 

“I barely got to know you. When you were alive. Like, only a handful of times.” 

Shannon shrugs. “I liked you.”

“I liked you too.” Buck says. “I feel like I know you a lot better than that. Through them.”

“Of course. But that’s different.” 

“Yeah.” 

The moon hanging. The gutter where it’s bent a bit. The potted plants by the door. The chips in the pots. 

“We would have been friends,” Shannon says, with simple certainty. 

“Is it... Can you see that? All the other versions?” Buck asks. Shannon looks away, down the street.

“Not quite but. Something like that,” she says.

“Do they miss me?” She asks it like she’s trying to ask it plain but. It shakes, the smallest bit. 

“They miss you a lot.” 

“Were they. Did they get angry about me too, though?” She turns back to face him. 

Buck doesn’t hesitate long. “Yeah. They both felt angry. Short-changed, I think and. Angry at you. But Chris’ letter. That was really helpful for him.”

“Oh.” Shannon frowns. “His letter?” 

“The one you wrote before, um, you left. Eddie never gave it to Chris, while you were alive. Because he figured you’d come back. But. After you died. It was really helpful for him. For Chris.” 

“Oh,” Shannon says again. “That’s good.”

She wraps an arm over her chest, clutches her own shoulder. “I didn’t write one for Eddie,” she says.

“No,” Buck agrees. “He was. He really struggled. For a long time but. Therapy has helped a lot. He goes to a grief group.” 

Shannon nods. 

“And you must make him deliriously happy,” she says. 

“Well. Yeah,” Buck agrees. “Yeah. We take care of each other.”

Shannon nods again. 

“They know I loved them.” This isn’t a question. 

“Yeah. They know that.” 

“Is it. Do you guys ever talk about me? Or is it. Is it too…”

“We talk about you all the time. They love you. We. I love you. You’re always here.” He gestures at the house. He looks at Shannon again. Hugging herself.

“Are you?” He asks. “Are you always…” he gestures again. At the house.

She tilts her head from side to side. “Kind of. I mean. Yes, but also I’m…It’s. I couldn’t explain it to you.” 

“Right. Makes sense.” 

They share a smile. 

“What about Mac and Cheese?” She asks. 

“Yeah,” Buck says. “Still his favourite.”

“For his birthday?”

“Yep. All the corner bits.” 

Shannon grins. She takes a deep breath. 

“Okay. Let’s go see him now.” 

Buck opens the door carefully. The back of Chris’ precious head illuminated by the square of light let in from the hall. His hoodie thrown over his desk chair. A Dorito packet that didn’t quite make it to the bin. His slapdash pinboard. His tablet charging on the floor next to the bed. 

Shannon stays behind him for a moment. He feels her clutching the back of his sleep shirt, although he knows it isn’t something he can feel. Her breathing shallows, although he knows she isn't breathing. 

“My baby,” she says. Very simply. Simply true. He’s a quiet sleeper, Chris. He doesn’t snore. He doesn’t fidget. He sleeps like a log. Like his Dad, these days. All energy and action, until he’s out. When he’s out, he’s out. But he’s a bright riser, despite the depth of his sleep. When he wakes, he’s pretty quickly at it again. Alert and on. Like his Dad. 

“Go on,” Buck says. 

“I can’t wake him,” Shannon says. 

“Alright. But-“ he nudges her shoulder with his own. She nudges back. She steps closer. One small step and then all the way to the bed; drawn, inevitable and usntoppable and urgent. But gentle. She sits gently. 

She hesitates with her hand above his head, for a moment, before it lands-Buck knows, without really landing. Not in a way that Chris can feel, that might rouse him.

“My baby,” she says, again. Whispering, again. “Oh, I’m so proud of you.” She strokes his hair. “I love you so much, my baby. I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so proud of you. Oh I love you, my baby, I love you.” 

She runs her hand from his head to his arm, she leans down. She covers his body with her own. Then she holds him. Her beautiful brown hair gets mixed up in his dusty mop. Her hair covers his face. She totally covers him. She holds him. 

Buck steps back from the doorway. He leaves the door ajar. He pads lightly. He goes back to bed.

you can read this also on ao3/leave a comment to let me know what you thought <3 https://archiveofourown.org/works/58174024

[throneofsapphics]

to be held

Manorian x f!Reader 

Summary: “Manon.” Dorian snaps, his voice raising. She whirls around to him, body still stiff, posture still cold. “She’s been through enough.” 

You can tell they’ll fight about this later. “Fine.” Her voice gives slightly, and when she turns back to you her eyes have softened.

Word Count: ~1.3k 

Warnings: character injury, hurt and comfort, suggestiveness 

A/N: I love the two of them

You aren’t supposed to be here. It’s a classic case - wrong time, wrong place. As soon as the male realizes who you are, he flees. Just outside of the castle walls too, in a blind spot. 

That still keeps you slumped on your knees, the knife digging into your side. You know it didn’t hit anywhere fatal. Still, it hurts like a bitch and you, despite the temptation, know better than to yank it out. 

Breathe. In and out. Deep breaths until you gather yourself enough to try and rise to your feet. A few stumbles later and your hand braces the wall. The cool stone cuts into your palm, aggravating the scrapes already there from your fall. 

Manon and Dorian seem to have a sixth sense for when you’re in trouble, and sure enough they both appeared. Even before the castle guards could find you. Part of you thinks you might be hallucinating. 

“Gods,” you hear Dorian first, and he’s then he’s by your side. Real, his touch is real as he carefully holds you upright.  

Manon gets one trace of the scent. You watch as she meets Dorian’s eyes. He gives a short nod and she stalks off. On the hunt, and out for blood. 

“It was a mistake,” you say weakly. That stops Manon in her tracks.

She turns back. “He hurt you.” Her eyes train on the wound. “He’s going to pay for it.” 

You wince, not from pain but from the fate headed for the man. He’s going to wish he’d stabbed himself - or never been born by the time Manon is finished with him. 

“He stabbed you, and you still want mercy for him.” Dorian murmurs, his magic already working to heal the small wound as he examines it. 

“This is going to hurt.” Dorian says, seeming to hesitate as his hand hovers near the knife handle. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to a healer?” Every time you have any kind of injury - which happens often enough considering you’re clumsy - but that’s usually scrapes or cuts - not stab wounds, you always get Dorian to heal you. Anyone else's magic feels strange. He likes it, even if he won’t admit it. 

You deflect, “will you try -” 

“No.” He interrupts, already knowing what you’re going to say. Try and at least make it a quick death for him - the man who hurt you. Maybe you are hallucinating a bit - the pain must be making you delirious. 

You don’t try and argue with him, focusing all of your attention on breathing and staying conscious. “Pull the knife out or I’ll do it.” You say instead, drawing a dark chuckle out of him. 

“Breathe in.” He instructs, and you do, preparing yourself. “Out,” the knife slides against your skin, almost hurting worse than when it went in, now that the adrenaline has worn off. But, his magic is already working and soothing the area, knitting the skin back together. 

“Let’s get you home,” he murmurs, deciding it’s healed enough you can be moved. For once, you don’t protest as he sweeps you into his arms. The guards carefully avert their eyes, ignoring the glare coming from the King. Still, chaos had erupted around you - Dorian didn’t need to say a word for everyone to launch into action. They wouldn’t find him before Manon, that’s for sure. A small group of guards fell into step around the two of you while others head out to scout potential threats. 

“A big fuss.” You mumble, head pressing into his chest. 

“You’ve seen nothing yet.” He says under his breath, ignoring absolutely everyone as he gets you back to your chambers. You hear the underlying message - wait until Manon scares the living daylights out of them. Likely with Abraxos’s aid - and his. By the rage bubbling under his skin, as soon as they both know you’re safe there will be hell to pay. 

-

“How could you be so stupid?” Manon comes in with a roar, three hours later, and you wince. You expected this, but it still doesn’t prepare you for it. “Alone. At dusk..” 

“I was -” 

“I don’t care what you were doing,” she snarled. “You’re supposed to be smarter than this.” 

“Manon.” Dorian says quietly. 

“Idiot.” She snaps, and tears start to well in your eyes, her lips are parted, ready to continue berating you

“Manon.” Dorian snaps, his voice raising. She whirls around to him, body still stiff, posture still cold. “She’s been through enough.” 

"How are you so calm?" Her voice lowered to a dangerous level.

"I'm not." He said through gritted teeth, but jerked his head towards you. Curled up on the couch, a hand still held protectively to your side, tears threatening to fall from your eyes. Maybe part of you wants to be offended that they're only holding it together for your sake, but right now you can’t bring yourself to care. 

You can tell they’ll fight about this later. “Fine.” Her voice gives slightly, and when she turns back to you her eyes have softened. She sits next to you, and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Her hand hovers before fingers run through your hair. You realize how strange this must be to her. She’d admitted once, after plied with plenty of alcohol, that intimacy outside of sex is strange to her. You’d watched with cautious eyes and it felt like she was pouring her heart out to you. 

“I was raised to be a monster.” The words tug at your heart, but before you can counter her, tell her she isn’t, she keeps speaking and your mouth slams shut. “I am still learning what it’s like to hold, and to be held.” In any other context the words might sound awkward but right now it fits, it slides another puzzle piece into place. One you’re cursing yourself for not figuring out earlier. 

“What it’s like without …” Her words trail off, mouth pursing and brow furrowing in an entirely un-Manon like way. 

“Sex.” You offer, and she nods gratefully. 

“Without sex.” 

You lean into the touch, melting against her and she relaxes more, her body loosening. As much as this is for you, this is for her too. Trying to show her love in different ways. You feel rather than see Dorian slide in on your other side. You don’t need to open your eyes to know he’s giving Manon and approving glance and smile. His thumb rubs comforting circles into your thigh as the day catches up with you and your breaths even out, into a welcoming sleep. 

-

You slowly come to consciousness, but fake your sleep as you hear them arguing quietly above you. 

“She needs to train.” Manon hisses. 

“We can’t force her to.” Dorian counters, but you can tell he agrees. 

Sure, you know basic self defense but taking up a blade is something you’ve never had any interest in. But now … now you have motivation to.

“I’ll do it.” You grumble, already knowing you’ll regret the words. 

Especially when Manon says, “Good. We start in the morning.” 

Dorian let out what might be a commiserating sigh, covered quickly by an “I’ll be there too.” 

-

The next morning is hell. Well aware Manon’s visit ends in a few days, she seems determined to teach you as much as she possibly can.

“Again.” She orders, but you cross your arms. 

“It’s been three hours.” 

“I think you can go a little longer,” shadow hands graze your shoulders, down your arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake. When did Dorian get here? His real hands, gently hold your shoulders now as he bends to whisper in your ear. “We’ll make sure you’re rewarded.” 

He straightens, this time speaking to Manon. “Won’t we.” 

“Depends how well she listens.” 

With that reward on the line, you don’t hesitate to raise your arms again. 

[assaily]

I have so many documents that have just little scraps of writing in them. A little while ago i was looking for an old howling draft and found some more random scraps. I cannot tell if i wrote this for howling or not, but it's cute Diego and Five fluff. Five is also baby in this and so a bit out of character, but y'know that's why it's a scrap

-

“Come here.”

Five scowled at Diego, at the peace offering in his tone. “Fuck off,” he snapped. He wasn’t done being annoyed with his brother yet to be swayed by the gentle, off-putting tone Diego just addressed him with.

“Stop being an ass and come here,” Diego groused, something still gentle and apologetic on his face, even as his tone veered back into irritation. “I’m sorry, alright.” He didn’t sound very sorry, but Five suspected that was why he wanted him to come closer. Diego was bad at verbal apologies, and they’d all learned a much more effective way to get under his skin.

Five knew that he could keep snapping, declare he didn’t want them to touch him and that would be that. Surprisingly clear boundaries for a bunch of people who traditionally didn’t have many to begin with. They treated Five a little like he was feral, but he supposed the treatment was earned.

“Five,” Diego said again, even softer in response to Five’s obvious hesitation. “It’s alright, I’m sorry. Let’s just calm down for a second.” He beckoned him over with his hands, and Five finally sighed in resignation.

He actually hated how much he wanted this, and how well it worked. He really was an animal, his siblings working very hard to keep him tamed. He gave in, stepping closer but making Diego close the distance himself with arms open to envelope him.

He knew, cognitively, logically, reasonably that Diego wasn’t going to hurt him, but his body still curled into itself without his permission, arms over his chest like that would protect him from an attack that would never come. Diego knew that was just how Five responded, didn’t hesitate as he wrapped his arms around Five’s shoulders and pressed their bodies together like they’d never been apart for over forty years.

Something lurched in Five’s chest, like it always did when they embraced him, his eyes burning with emotions he couldn’t even really feel anymore, but that swirled inside of him all the same. Churned to life in his brother’s arms. Five forced himself to breath, to feel the body pressed against him, the arms around his shoulders.

It was hard to be mad when he was reminded how much he loved them and needed them. It was hard to be testy when they offered him such blatant love, no strings attached, no work required. A safe place to settle against a heart he had fought for so long to keep beating.

It really wasn’t fair, how easy it was for them once they learned they could just hug him into submission. They definitely took advantage of the weakness, ending arguments before they got out of hand with an offer of open arms. And Five, the deprived creature he was, struggled to say no simply for how deeply he wanted the contact. He didn’t know how to ask, so he took what they offered him, even if it meant conceding an argument. One day, Five promised himself, he wouldn’t be this weak to them.

But as Diego secured him a little tighter, rocking him back and forth to loosen the rust in his lungs, Five had doubts. Diego threaded a hand through his hair, the pads of his fingers pressing into the sensitive muscles at the base of his head, bolting bone-deep pleasure down his spine; Five knew he wouldn’t be getting used to this any time soon.

He didn’t remember slumping against Diego, or closing his eyes as his fingers kneaded into the back of his neck, knees getting weaker and weaker until suddenly Diego was scooping an arm under him and pulling him up.

“You gotta tell us when you aren’t sleeping, Five. We want to help you, but we can’t do that if we don’t know what’s going on.”

Once, Five would have groused that he didn’t need help, certainly not their help. He had survived so much on his own, he didn’t need to be doted on like this. But Diego was slow to take him to bed, one arm holding his weight, the other wrapped around his shoulders, and Five’s arms secured around Diego’s neck like a buoy in the ocean. Diego walked slow, each step like a gentle wave, lulling Five down into a place of quiet and rest.

He didn’t say he didn’t need the help, because they both knew that was a lie. The biggest lie Five had ever tried to tell them, or himself. So he tucked his face into his brother’s throat and listened to his heart beating and his body breathing. He was so tired now, without the anger keeping him awake, and the warmth pressing against him, the sway and rock just as much of a comfort.

Like he was a child, a wayward animal in need of soothing. If he still had any pride left, he’d be mortified. But his pride had been long trampled into dust, and he was far, far too small now to take no for an answer when one of his siblings offered him affection like this.

“You’ll stick ‘round?” he asked, hearing the slur in his own words.

“Yeah, bud,” Diego said, voice wavering like it always did when Five asked this question. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Five sighed softly, tightening his hold on his brother and letting his thoughts go to focus on the sensations instead.

-

more snips here and here

[thus-spoke-lo]

writing warm-up || Ace x reader || NSFW-ish wc: 818

Ace sits between your legs on the floor, his arms draped over your knees.

"I wish you'd stop getting yourself hurt," you mumble as you tape another wound shut on his bicep.

"Now why would I do that when you're so good at fixing me up?" The shit-eating grin on his face was evident in every syllable.

You huff a sigh as you tap the back of his head. You were getting better at tending to his wounds—better than you’d like to be. You still hadn’t mastered feeling like you hadn’t been crushed by a battleship every time you saw him come back, covered in bruises and bloody wounds, a half-smile on his face as he took off his hat and offered you some sort of apology for the state you found him in. Still though, there was a part of you that didn’t mind playing doctor—if it meant he’d have to strip down to next to nothing and lean his body into yours while your hands roamed over his sun-kissed body, then you would take what you were offered.

“So are you saying you do it on purpose, then?” Your fingertips dance along the backs of his arms, tracing every vein, making patterns in his freckles. “Do you go out and get yourself stabbed just to have me fix you up?”

He tilts his head back to glance up at you, a glimmer in his dark eyes. “And what if I said I did?”

“Well, then I’d say you’re the greatest liar on the Grand Line,” you grin, as you continue to run your fingers along his arms and shoulders until he wrenches himself away from you

“Hey, be careful, that tickles,” he says through breathless chuckles. He moves in his spot, tilting his head against your hand to stop your movements.

“Oh, does it now?” Clearly, this was a challenge now, and you attack him with agile fingers, reaching down to graze his ribcage.

He scrambles to his feet and stands before you, panting from laughter, his broad chest heaving as he stares you down. He moves quickly now, too fast for you to escape; he climbs onto the couch next to you and digs his fingers into your sides with an urgency in his motions. You’re forced onto your back, your muscles aching with every wheeze and bark that slips out of you as his wide hands graze your sides, sliding up your shirt, groping at your bare skin, until the air feels like it’s been punched out of your lungs.  

You tell yourself through a haze of dizziness to pay no attention to the sudden flood of heat that settles between your thighs; you cannot, however, ignore the hardness you feel brushing against your thigh as Ace rests his weight on you, his body engulfing you. The way he smiles at you as he finally ceases his onslaught, the way he still has you pinned under him, the way his hand is still settled on your bare skin, his thumb making circles on your flesh—well, it would seem he didn’t quite care if you felt the weight of his interest pressing into you.

He tilts his head, examining you with a hungry gaze. “You’re so pretty, you know that?”

“You think so?”

“Oh, I know so,” he asserts, resting his weight on his elbow, bringing his free hand up to your cheek. “I’ve seen a lot faces, none of them as pretty as yours.”

“You’re just saying that ‘cause you have to.”

“Why would I have to?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be nice to your crewmates? Especially the ones who tolerate your bullshit and patch you up whenever you ask?” You can’t help yourself, not when he’s this close, not when he’s taking up every inch of space in the room until there is only you and Ace. You can’t help but bring your arms up to wrap around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, feeling his muscles twitch under your touch.

“Well yeah,” he murmurs, stroking your cheek with the pad of his thumb. “But I wouldn’t lie to you. Not ever.”

“No?”

“Never.” His face hovers closer to yours, his gaze darting between your eyes and your lips.

You don’t stop him. You feel the heat of his breath and the roughness of his lips on yours and you don’t stop him. Your eyes fall shut and you let him kiss you, his mouth warm and wet against yours, a fiery tingling sensation lingering with every touch of his lips. His heated palm slides around to grip the back of your neck, holding you in place, as if there would be anywhere else you’d rather be.

He pulls away and smiles at you—that smile that makes your heart ache and your stomach fill with birds beating their wings. “See? So pretty I could just kiss you.”

[after-witch]

Divulgence [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Divulgence [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You don’t know how much longer you can keep your worries to yourself, and you finally do spill your guts to the only person who can listen: the man who kidnapped you. 

Word count: 653

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

Your arms wrap around your legs, pulling them tighter to you, and you will yourself to disappear into the sofa. As if molding into the cushions might shrink the thoughts that have ballooned inside your head for days now, growing larger and larger until they’re pressing so tight against your skull that you want to scream. 

There’s nothing but awful silence, thick, and then--

“You’ve been awfully quiet. Is something bothering you?” L says it so lightly and casually from his position on the other couch, and doesn’t he know that makes it hurt more? 

“What do you care?”

The words come out fast, irrational. You didn’t mean to say them. Not when you’re so, so afraid that he’ll just confirm your worries if you spill your anxiety-ridden guts. 

“Go on,” he says, calm, mild, as if you didn’t just snap at him. 

The hint of interest you see in his eyes hurts, bringing a stinging sensation to your chest.

It’s the first time he’s looked at you with interest that didn’t feel so surface level. Sure, he stares at you. All the time, in fact. He stares because he thinks you’re pretty.

But looked at you for any other reason? No. You don’t seem to get much of that. Or anything else from him, but the feeling that you’re something ornamental to be stared at until you’re worn out and useless. And what happens when things come useless? 

“What do you want me to say?” you answer, finally, voice shaking. “That I’m feeling sick to my stomach all the time because you only look at me like I’m, a--a trophy or a toy you keep on your shelf? That I’m terrified about what’s going to happen to me when I start getting older, or--” 

You swallow tight. “Or if I get sick and I’m not so nice to look at anymore?” Your arms clench tighter around your knees. “You don’t even seem like you like me, much less…” You can’t bring yourself to say love, considering that he is your stalker-turned-captor and you still don’t know how to process that.

And finally, all your stress balled in your stomach unfurls, slow and slimy, coming out in the tired, shaking question you pose towards your captor. 

“What will happen when you get tired of me?” 

There’s a long silence.

“Well, I admit this is unexpected. I thought you were simply depressed due to the change in your living situation.”

All you can do is stare at him as he continues, ticking off the points as he makes them.

"I wouldn't call you a trophy, because that would mean I had to win you. I took you, and now I have you, and that is that. When you get older, you will be older, and I will be older. That is how time works. If you are sick, I will take care of you. We may need to bring in a team if it’s something serious, but I don’t anticipate that being a problem.” 

"If you aren't aware of my feelings towards you, I apologize." You feel the slap of surprise so suddenly that you feel as if you’ve really been struck. 

"I am aware that physical affection is necessary in relationships.” He shifts on the couch, regarding you with something much deeper than mild interest. “But my estimations led me to believe that increased affection would only drive you further away until you were more acclimated to your situation. I suppose I was incorrect on that count, yes?”

Your cheeks burn. Did you want your kidnapper to show you he loved you? You can’t decide on a response, so you simply let your expression rest, warm and bewildered. 

“I’m more than happy to adjust my behavior earlier than anticipated.” He smiles at you, and there’s something cheeky in it that makes your chest sting in an entirely different way. “Shall we start now?”

[eoieopda]

hello, jade! 👋 congratulations on 2k followers 👏 👏 you deserve it sm!!! I'm so proud of you! 🫶 if it's okay, I would like to request something for your 2k drabblepalooza event, please. it would be a JungKook x reader e2l drabble with the trope "cuddling for warmth", please. :) (it's been hard for me to find some great fluffy fics with jk and I love everything you write, so I know it'll be good if you decide to write it ♡) thank you in advance, take care! 💕

tysm, sweet bean! as i am wont to do, i went a bit left field. hope that’s okay 😵‍💫 tbh, this one was actually really difficult for me to attempt in drabble format because those things feel so opposite to me and would normally justify a lot more backstory, i think?? but i loved the challenge!! i went more with a “life decided we are enemies” kind of thing.

pairing: jeon jungkook x gn!reader type: drabble | wc: 811 | 18+ genre: hurt/comfort, angst au: enemies to lovers(ish), organized crime summary: you didn’t plan this far ahead. you should have. cw: implied gunshot wound & blood (after the fact, not described in detail) / implied criminal enterprise / reference to threats (a hit) / a plot twist? in this economy? / ambiguous ending

Jungkook hisses as he tightens the belt around his bicep. Not far below it, invisible with the deep black of his jacket, is proof that he isn’t invincible after all. In fact, he bleeds much more freely than anyone else you’d ever met — or, more specifically, anyone else you’d ever shot.

Clipped, rather. The bullet barely grazed him.

He sits two meters away, half-slumped and wholly displeased. Between you, there’s a spent shell casing — your last — that had previously been sitting pretty in a magazine, itself nestled in a pistol once strapped snugly against your right thigh. The gun was confiscated and that thigh strap is useless now, just like the black denim underneath it; the turtleneck sweater above it; and the radiator behind you that likely hasn’t worked at any point in your lifetime.

Cold concrete nips at your ass despite your jeans and you shiver. As it saps what’s left of your body heat, makes the back of your thighs tingle until they’re numb, you do your best to squeeze yourself tighter. You can’t reduce your surface area to zero, but if you shrink as much as is physically possible, you can try your best to keep warm.

For the same reason, you can’t lean your exhausted body against the stone wall behind you, but you can crumple forward and rest against the bent knees you clutch to your chest. You can’t stop glancing at him out of the corner of your eye, either, but you can use the fallout from your ponytail as cover and pretend that you aren’t.

Suffice to say, this was not how your night was supposed to go.

“Worst fucking shot I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jungkook mutters through gritted teeth for what you imagine to be the hundredth time. His scoff is visible when it hits the air; his rage doesn’t dissipate the way his breath does. “Kim was right there and you hit me instead? Unbelievable.”

You don’t respond.

If you unclench your jaw to do so, the chattering of your teeth might reduce them to dust in your mouth.

Without your cell phone, you can’t tell how much time passes while you sit in silence. You can’t confirm your suspicion that the temperature outside has, in fact, dipped far below zero. Similarly, you can’t tell if anyone stuck around after locking you in this basement to see how long it would take for the cold to take you out — or to finish the job themselves if you beat the odds.

Jungkook huffs as he shifts in place. Now, with his back resting uncomfortably against the wall, he glares headlong at you. Unfortunately for him, looks can’t kill.

If they could, you wouldn’t be in this mess.

Against your better judgment — again — you give in to the primal part of your brain that begs for self-preservation. Your muscles are stiff after so much time spent in knots, and they ache as you push yourself off the ground. Your joints protest too, clicking uncomfortably as they resettle. Wordlessly, you ignore the confusion knitting Jungkook’s brows together and cross over to him.

When you reach him, you drop into the space at his side — his good side — and lean against the arm that isn’t trying hard to clot. He doesn’t flinch or attempt to move away, either because he doesn’t have the energy or because he wants to live, too. So, you rest your head against his shoulder and your eyes drift shut as your combined warmth starts to soothe. Eventually, his cheek claims the top of your head. You have to glance up at him to confirm that this is a choice and not a sign.

Still breathing.

For now.

“Boss know how bad your aim is?”

He doesn’t because it isn’t.

You’re an expert marksman — the best of the best — and you don’t miss. Because he knows that, he now knows that your failure to take down the target wasn’t an accident; it was an illusion. Worse, it was a blatant refusal to carry out a direct order. One he gave to you because he’d wholeheartedly believed that you, more than anyone else, could be trusted.

Not like Jungkook, who isn’t the surreptitious infiltrator he thinks he is; and who still doesn’t grasp the rules or the stakes of the game he’s playing.

Who doesn’t know that the purpose of this errand wasn’t to kill a member of the Kim family; or that he was never meant to leave this warehouse with you.

Who will likely die regardless of your subtle attempt to dodge that outcome; and who — like you — didn’t plan more than two steps ahead.

Whose hatred for you and all you stood for was predetermined by circumstance; and who doesn’t know that you know.

It’s not a question when you reply.

“Boss knows you’re a badge, agent.”

[forevfangirlwrites]

Hii I love ur writing!! Can u pls write on the prompt " falling to his knees crying into his lovers stomach" for percabeth pls ? It's totally cool of u don't want to. Thank u

It’s scary how sometimes even love isn’t enough. How people can leave even after what feels like a lifetime together, how people can outgrow things they once believed they could never live without.

It’s scary how life can change so drastically.

And maybe it’s scarier how we all adjust to it. How time and perspective can ease feelings that once lived so strongly.

It’s scary how we have the capacity to let go.

Annabeth doesn’t think she wants to let go. Even if it hurts, she wants to hold on to the pain because it means something. It means that it was real. It wouldn’t hurt this much if it wasn’t.

Time, she’s learned, is meaningless when it comes to this. Even after five years of being by your side people can still leave. Even after wading through the trenches and fighting alongside you, people can walk away. Even love can fall short.

There is never a guarantee. She would know. She watched Luke leave.

And it hurt. So much. She didn’t think it would ever go away.

But then it did.

That scared her more than the hurt because wasn’t she supposed to feel this way forever? Didn’t she care deeply? How could the feeling just fade into an occasional throb? This was once her life…

It isn’t her life anymore.

And it scares her now that one day she could look at him and not feel the pang of hurt. She never wants there to be a time she looks at him and feels nothing, she’d rather feel the pain.

She doesn’t want to outgrow Percy.

If only the years they spent together promised something, if only what they went through was a guarantee, if only their love would be enough. But she knows she can’t expect that, knows that despite all of those things, he can leave.

Well…maybe he already has.

And it’s because she let him.

Tears pool in her eyes as she replays the last moments of their fight. Tired and hurt, she had told him if he wants to leave, he should. The one person she wanted to clutch as closely as possible to her chest, she’d loosened her grip…

And then watched him leave.

Her vision blurs again and her chest is painfully tight as she stutters through a breath. She doesn’t hear the door open, but she feels a hand cover her own.

“Annabeth.”

His voice is a lifeboat in her sea of tears, her sole focus becomes that.

“Annabeth, I’m so sorry.”

He sinks to the floor, wrapping his arms around her hips. “Please,” he stutters out.

His voice is so broken it breaks her heart even more, so she tugs him up. She doesn’t want to see him like that either. His eyes are red, tears freely flowing down his cheeks.

Annabeth can’t trust her voice, so she just pulls him closer and stands in his embrace. It’s all too much but the only thought in her mind is that he’s here. He came back.

They stay like that until the tears dry up and she manages to pull away enough to actually look at him.

“It’s okay.” Her voice is hoarse from the crying and disuse.

He shakes his head. “No, it isn’t. I don’t want to leave. I never did and I never will.”

Words she’s never believed… until this very moment.

It’s scary our capacity to let go, for life to change

And yet the opposite also holds true.

It’s beautiful our capacity to stay, for life to bring back what’s meant to be.

This entire time Annabeth’s been deathly afraid of losing Percy, knowing there isn’t any guarantee that he’ll be there. And yet, she let him go.

And he came back.

She doesn’t need a promise anymore, because even if time and experience aren’t enough, love…

“I know,” she tells him. “I don’t either.”

He doesn’t respond, just pulls her back into the hug as if he too can’t bear to be apart. She nestles back into his arms with the knowledge that everything will be okay.

She won’t outgrow Percy because she chooses not to. He won’t leave because he chooses not to.

Because, if you choose love…

It’s always enough.

A/N: I’ve been thinking a lot about the idea of loosing your grip on things. As someone who clutches tightly, I’m learning to trust that if something is meant to be, meant to happen, it will never leave or come back. We can’t make people stay by holding on, but the right people will stay without that. Ultimately with love it’s a choice. We have to choose it every day. As humans our capacity to change and adapt is fascinating, how we outgrow some things then fall so deeply into others that we never would have expected.

Thank you for the prompt (I hope you liked how it turned out)! I’m going to be using this to kick off my “new” series on ao3 Semantics of Love 3 (the original series is on ffn and will be migrating slowly to ao3 as well)

[let-me-take-your-soul]

How would the Soul Eater Cast reaction to witch baby cursing like a sailor? It's Kid's fault.

Lmaoooo, I love this

Soul Eater Cast reacts to Witch Baby cursing:

Maka: Maka would be shocked the first time she hears them curse. At first she thinks it’s just a mispronunciation- Raven is still very young, so they still mess up on words a lot. After a small incident where Raven falls and scrapes their knee at the park though, that’s when Maka realizes that the cursing isn’t a mistake.

“God fucking dammit that hurt like a bitch!” 

Maka could feel her soul leave her body as she quickly collects Raven, avoiding the horrified gazes of everyone else at the park. Once they were gone, Maka would tend to Raven’s wound and try to talk to them about it.

“Raven, you know you used some pretty adult words back there. Where did you learn to speak like that?” 

“Big brother Kid talks like that all the time!”

“Oh is that right? Well big brother Kiddo isn’t supposed to be speaking like that in front of you! You’re still a little young to be speaking like that, so let’s not use those words, okay?”

Maka will give Kid a very stern talking to the next time she sees him.

Soul: Soul finds it hysterical. The second Barbatos let’s out a tiny “Fuck!” Soul is in hysterics.

“Where’d you learn that word?” he’d ask. 

“Big brother, Kid!” 

“Oh that’s real funny. Okay, just remember, you can’t use that word around everyone, alright? Just me and Kid. Probably Black*Star and Patty too, but don’t go around saying it to everyone, okay?”

He’s super chill about it, but every time he hears them swear, he has to hold back laughter.

Black*Star: Black*Star doesn’t actually notice when Bahamut is swearing. He forgets that children using curse words is typically frowned upon, but once Soul points it out, Black*Star finds it super funny that not only has he not noticed that Bahamut has been cursing up a storm around him constantly, but he finds it especially funny that Kid is the reason this baby is swearing. He’d point it out to Kid and give him a high five for it honestly. 

Tsubaki: Similar to Maka, she’s also surprised to hear this little baby say something as intense as “‘Baki, I gotta shit!”

After she collects herself from the surprise and gets Castra taken care of, she’ll be very mom-like and say something along the lines of,

“Castra, can I talk to you about something you said?”

She’ll have a conversation about what is and isn’t appropriate to say, and once Castra tells her that they learned the word from Kid, Tsubaki would be disappointed in her friend for not watching his mouth around kids. She’d send out a slightly passive aggressive group message saying: 

“Hey guys! Castra just casually said the word “shit”! Please make sure when you are working with the witch babies that you watch what you say! Their little ears pick up everything :)”

Death the Kid: Kid doesn’t realize his mistake until Salem starts rattling off every word in the book. 

“Salem, who taught you to speak that way?” he’d ask.

“You always say those words! I wanted to talk like you too!”

When Kid hears that, he mentally punches himself. Normally he wouldn’t care, but they were at a function for the academy and hearing a small child listing expletives isn’t an amazing look for them.

“You’re right, I do say those words a lot, don’t I? However, those words aren’t the nicest to use, so for now don’t use them, okay? I’ll have a conversation with you later about when it’s okay to use those kinds of words.

Kid won’t force Salem to stop swearing, he just teaches them to not cuss around strangers during important events. Outside of that, Kid finds their use of explicit language hysterical.

Liz: Liz is going to be the most casual about her reaction. She’s known Kid for a long time, so when Phoenix starts swearing, she immediately recognizes the phrasing as the way Kid speaks.

“Hey, Phoenix. I know big bro Kid talks like that, but you can’t, okay? Those are big kid words and you aren’t quite there yet.”

She’d talk to Kid later and tell him he’s gotta stop swearing around the youngins.

Patty: Patty is in hysterics when she hears Willow swear. Unfortunately for everyone around them, Patty will be teaching Willow even more curse words because she finds it incredibly funny. Her friends would have to step in and start teaching Willow that swearing isn’t always appropriate, because there’s no way in hell Patty is gonna do that! She’s having way too much fun with this.

Crona: Crona thinks that Ragnarok must have told Cricket about swear words, but after he admits to “only teaching them the word ‘ass’” Crona calls up Maka to ask her how to deal with a kid who’s now swearing relentlessly. 

Maka has to step in and teach Cricket about curse words, and that’s when they find out Kid has been swearing non-stop around them. Crona isn’t sure how to go about this situation, so they go with Maka to talk to Kid and ask him to stop swearing so much around kids!

[sluttywonwoo]

How would seventeen react to them accidentally blowing your back out after a night of fun 😳?

i’m assuming u mean like ur back hurts after sex?? or like ur sore?

seungcheol: he’d probably chuckle a little, but offer you some ibuprofen or something and encourage you to spend the day resting

jeonghan: he’s the cockiest mf ever, but seeing you in pain turns a switch for him and he’s instantly all over you, apologizing and asking what he can do to make it better. it wouldn’t even be that bad and you’d tell him that you actually liked it, but he’d be so upset with himself

joshua: i think he’d be a little smug ya know? proud that he’s the reason you’re walking funny, and he’d tease you about it, but make it up to you when you got home wink wink

jun: he would feel a little guilty, and be very clingy to you the whole day after…. he’d follow you around the house and make sure you weren’t doing anything strenuous- even going as far as scolding you when you were moving heavy furniture around without him aksjsjs

soonyoung: he’d be so insufferable about it!!! like he wouldn’t tell anyone why you were sore, but he’d imply with that cheeky smirk on his face and everyone would know anyway because the two of you aren’t very quiet.

wonwoo: he probably wouldn’t have meant to go that far, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it when you were a little sore after sex. to him it’s a good sign when you’re complaining the next day, it means he did his job well. but if you were in more pain than usual he’d apologize and make a mental note to be gentler next time.

jihoon: he’d honestly feel really bad snd offer to massage your sore muscles… which would lead to more sex tbh. but what is he supposed to do when you moan his name every time he adds pressure to the knot in your back??

seokmin: would do everything short of getting on his knees and begging for your forgiveness. he’d be near tears, asking you to point at where it hurt and then pressing a gentle kiss to the area. you’d have to reassure him repeatedly that it wasn’t that bad

mingyu: he’d be a cocky little shit let’s be honest. seeing you limp around your apartment after the way he manhandled you the night before would inflate his ego immeasurably, and it’d take everything in him not to drag you to bed for round two then and there.

minghao: he’d make you some tea, which he always does anyway, and then ask you if it had been more painful or pleasurable. and when you answer the latter something in his eyes would darken and as he set his cup down on the coffee table and pulled you onto his lap

seungkwan: can’t bear to see you in any kind of pain, or so he thinks until he hears the way you moan when he accidentally brushed against a bruise he’d given you… and then he changes his tune

vernon: he’d be all “shit, did i really go that hard?” like he didn’t remember getting a noise complaint from the neighbors just a few hours ago

chan: he’d try to hide his disappointment with himself, but you can see right through him and you’d be the one having to comfort him instead of the other way around

[bigfemdomenergy]

Use Your Words

»»-————　♔　————-««

Anime: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Toge Inumaki x Reader

Word Count: 1500+ words.

Summary: You caught Toge masturbating without permission so obviously, if he wanted it so badly, shouldn’t you be nice and give it to him?

Warnings: Edging, masturbation, dacryphilia, handjob. 

Note: This was actual really fun to write! Toge’s so cute

»»-————　♔　————-««

There’s an art to teasing someone. You have to be sure about what exactly makes them flush, but you can’t use it all the time lest they may become immune to it. You have to select the right time to tease them, and you have to say it a certain way. Most importantly, a smug look is a must. You wouldn’t say you had that down to a T, but Toge sure thinks so. Especially when it comes to teasing him, you were an expert because you didn’t even need to touch him. 

You sat on a chair, leg over the other with an arm propping up your head as you looked down on him. Toge would never admit he liked it this way when he was forced to look up at you. There was a smirk curling on your lip, almost like a sneer, and it caused his breath to hitch. He wasn’t quite sure if he could breathe like this, and it’s been almost over an hour. It was torture and it was all because he couldn’t wait until you got back. 

Toge had been edging himself for the past hour. His face was flushed, tears drying on his cheeks only to be replaced with new ones. Breaths hiccuping, Toge was completely at your mercy. He couldn’t take it anymore. Brows furrowing, Toge whined and glared at you.

That’s not to say he wasn’t enjoying his punishment. Oh, no. His back was pressed against the foot of the bed and he was completely naked. It was a little humiliating since you were dressed, but he reckoned what was more humiliating was the fact he enjoyed this too much. The fact that you were watching him jerk off, speaking sweet phrases in a low voice into the quietness of the room—fuck, he needed to cum so badly. 

“What is it?” you asked, swinging your leg. The slick sound of Toge rubbing his cock slowed down as he tried to muster strength to...to what? He couldn’t do anything. He deserved this punishment. If only he hadn’t been so impatient. If only he had obeyed you. 

His mouth formed the word, “Please.” You’ve learned to read his lips since he couldn’t talk, and the two of you shared dozens of ways to communicate without speaking. Like a tap, or signing using your hands, or even a look. 

“Please? Please, what, sweetheart? I can’t understand you if you aren’t specific,” you said. “Am I supposed to guess? Do you want me to touch you? Let you cum? Do you want me to fuck you? Ride you until morning? Want me to suck on your cock? Give you a handjob?”

Toge nodded frantically to every single one of them. Anything! Anything! He’d be happy with anything you did to him. At least do something. At least touched him. At the very least. His mouth was forming the word “please”, over and over again. Please, please, please. Please to all of that. Please to one of them. Please. Anything. As long as you did something! He couldn’t keep this up anymore! He was at his limit, chest heaving, sweat dripping, cock throbbing hard. 

You tilted your head. “Which one, love? Use your words.”

“Ungh!” Toge bursts into more tears. You both knew he couldn’t use his words! He couldn’t! Why were you so mean? “Mmph, haa!”

“You act like you don’t like it when I’m mean,” you said, grinning, pressing your legs together at the sight of him crying as he jerked pathetically at his cock. As much as you wanted him, this was still wonderful. “Okay. Stand up. Come here.”

Stand up? Toge didn’t know if he could! But he does it anyway. With shaky trembling legs, he managed to rip his hand away from his aching cock long enough to stumble over to you. So close. Searching eyes and a tap on the back of your hand. Could he touch you?

“No,” you said and he whined. “Why? I thought you were content without me? You certainly seemed so when I came in and found you masturbating.”

He’s sorry! He’ll behave! Please! Whimpers and whines. Toge was so frustrated. He was a frustrated mess who needed you and only you. He couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t cum. He had been jerking off but it hadn’t been enough. He needed your touch, he needed your eyes on him to be able to cum, he needed you. He wouldn’t be able to cum by himself. You had made sure of it, intoxicating him. 

“Have you no shame, Toge?” you asked, taking a finger and rubbing the slit of his cock. Toge practically keens—he’s so sensitive! It’s been an hour! He’s been touching his cock for an hour or more, but it’s your touch. He’s so sensitive, so aware of your touch. Toge hunched over, knees giving out, and feverishly searched for something to hold on, clutching onto your arms to stable himself. Tears were dripping down his face, drool, sweat. His throat was dry from all the crying, nose red, and you didn’t even look like you'd give in.

“Hng, agh,” Toge groaned. His fingertips pressed into your arm, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to tell you he was desperate. That he wouldn’t last long. He swore that if you were to start fucking him now, he’d honestly cum the moment you put him in. 

“Are you going to fall?” You asked, tone soft. Toge whimpered. You brushed a tear from his face and stood up with a smile. “Okay. You can hold onto me if you’re scared you’ll fall.”

“Ngh,” Toge whined as his arms circled around you. He placed his head into the crook of your neck, nuzzling in, whimpering and whining. His cock is left alone so to remind you, he rubbed it against you, just a little, and that was enough to make him gasp. His hand wasn’t the same as you. He couldn’t cum from his own hand but he bet he’d cum from rubbing anywhere on you. 

“Use your words, love,” you reminded him and Toge’s toes curled in frustration as he groaned into your neck, sobbing. 

He couldn’t take it anymore!

Toge grabbed your hand and guided it to his cock so you could feel how messy you’ve made him. You smirked and nudged your head against his with a hum. “Oh, I see. Why didn’t you tell me sooner, Toge? How was I supposed to know?”

“Aah!” Toge cried out as you began to pump him up and down. His hips bucked and his arms tightened around you, hiccuping and gasping for breath. Oh, fuck. Ohfuckohfuckohfuckohfuck! Close! He was so close already! He was close!

You listened to Toge moan and cry, shuddering against your body. Music to your ears. Toge had the loveliest voice, especially when he was moaning like this. With his head so close to you, you could hear all the little sounds he made, every time he exhaled or took in a sharp breath. He rutted against your hand, wetting your shoulder, but you were perfectly happy with it. 

“Do you want to cum, darling? Do you think you deserve to cum?” you asked, twisting your wrist and making Toge sob. 

He sniffled. It was in situations like these that he was glad he couldn’t answer. He wanted to cum so badly but whether or not he deserved it was a different matter. All he could do was hold onto you and try not to be washed away with your scent, your touch, all the pleasure you were giving and depriving him of. 

Toge tapped you twice. Close. You thought about it and decided to speed up your hand. Toge gasped loudly, throwing his head back, eyes wide. You watched as he came undone by your hands, trembling, cum shooting out of his cock. It splattered onto your clothes and his stomach, thick and hot, all over your hand. Toge wobbled and his legs gave out. Surprised, you caught him before he hit the ground. You gently placed him down and he sat there, dazed.

“Hnn?” He looked up at you, blinking blurrily, completely fucked out. You giggled and bent down, taking him by the chin and forcing his mouth open. Toge’s tongue lolled out, the circle catching your attention. You pressed your thumb on top of it and Toge’s tongue wrapped around your digit. 

“How do you feel?” you asked. 

“Mmph.” Toge closed his eyes blissfully, sucking and licking your thumb as if it was a lollipop. 

“How lewd,” you commented and he moaned. You removed your thumb. “Are you going to be a good boy for me from now on?”

“Uh-huh.” Toge opened his eyes, watching you through slits, sleepy, exhausted. 

You pressed a kiss to his mouth, unable to resist. Your tongues clashed, but you pulled away all too soon, leaving Toge to follow after you, hands coming out to hold on to you as if he was afraid you’d leave him. He had a confused expression on his face but groaned when you traced his lips. 

“Liar,” you said and he made a noise of protest. “How can I believe you when you can’t even use your words, darling?”

Toge whined.

[muffindaddystyles]

OMG I LOVE DOM H THATS INLY SOFT FOR HIS SUB BUT WHEN THEIR BRATTY HE GOES FULL DOM MODE

MELTS AND BOILS OUT OF HORNINESS

Y/N was more of cuddly and clingy tonight.

Wanting nothing but to hide herself in Harry’s chest pawing at his well-built hips with a huff through her nose to be more closer to him, all of it because of his sweet praising for her's while he took her pictures in his phone before leaving for this party he wanted her to be his date— maybe a simple companion she doesn’t know yet where they stand.

She looked too angelic in a baby pink satin slip dress for him not to smother her face in careful dotting kisses and grumbled in feign offend when she pushed him away with her small hand and giggled shyly.

“Y'gonna say no to daddy, Angel?” His daunting tut, blew her pupils into surprise and she rolled her eyes and went to swat his bicep, while her lower abdomen sparkled and tingled with excitement and delight. He likes to play all sweet and precious, but underneath that tentative and “’M putty in my Angels palm,” gooey exterior’s a wicked, mischievous little sneak and satan who likes to see her suffer, basking in the sputtery and fiddly reactions of hers.

Especially in public. Oh he loves it, when he’s intentionally grazing his warm lips against her earlobe to whisper how she’s so good for daddy, darting his tongue out to wet his lips and tease her. He liked taking her out on expensive fancy restaurants and be a filthy prat with his words without a shame making her knees knock into tables, gets her all warm and pink with his little plays like kissing her fingertips one by one and slipping them slowly into his mouth, kissing the dribbles of ice-cream from her chin and murmur hotly against her cupid bow, “Hmm. Your peach’s sweeter, moppet.” to feel her squeeze onto his hand that holds her all the time, always having a hand on the small of her back and raking it impossibly low only to get her all squirmy and bashful for him, barking out a laugh when she squeals for he slip it inside her bottoms and snapped them playfully.

He loves to rouse her and make her dip into the haziness, then has an audacity to sharpen a finger at her and grunt at her, “Behave.” When she copied his vicious actions back.

Saying this, he was back to chatting his friends and call Y/N bratty how much you want but the impulsive yearn that was bubbling in her tummy skunked over with jealousy, so she chose the better option. To infuriate and arouse him with her risky little play-tactics, in hope he might drag her away and push her into the nearest washroom and tell her to suck onto daddy’s cock— then swat her hands away harshly and fuck her little watery mouth himself.

So. When she tried to be as sly as possible pretending to drop something on the ground and then bent to have her ass, clad in silk lacies peeking for him teasingly. Harry noticeably gets a bit disgruntled, adjusting himself in trousers and shifting to yank her back to pull her against his chest with a displeased frown.

This time he didn’t tell her to behave making her pout awfully whiny up at him and getting her even more frustrated by smiling down at her as if nothing happened.

Though, the smile’s one of the sinister pressed jaw bbreakin-ly to stop him from gritting his teeth and land a hard stingy slap to her bum right infront of everyone.

Y/N stomps her feet which indeed gains his attention but he chooses to ignore it, wrapping his arm around her waist to keep her closer to his side without even sparing a glance down at her.

Alas. Y/N has waved white flags of defeat considering no-amount of teasing and battiness would break his resolve – one the many things she’s envious of him in their little escapade of naughtiness, is Harry got a hellish of self-control, no wonder that’s one of the reasons he’s her dom.

“Where y'going?” He asks through a smile that was gleamed at his childhood bestfriend and not Y/N, she gulps down the lump of bitterness down her throat–- tone high-pitched in her mumble from the unbelievable achiness between her thighs and all she wants to do’s claim him hers, with deep red bites at his sweet pulse and the front of his throat’s bump.

She has no-idea in the flying fuck, what she’s stammering about, “Ni. Ma–. . . maybe he’ll be a better dom than you.” Ouch. Harry’s veins boils with spleen and indescribable outrage, his face sculptures into a fierce indignation–- out of his realization staring down at her blankly.

For a moment though Y/N feels an immense guilt pour down her head like cold icy water, cause all he’s been to her is sweet and caring telling her how precious she’s for him and how he’s gonna make love to her once they come back home.

She tends to say rubbish in her floatiness but never she has ever doubted him and her eyes gets all swimy, hands rushing up to cradle his face not caring if there’s a gathering around them – though she retreats when he doesn’t let her and to play nice with him has become a none to never option, atleast for tonight when he sets his eyes back on his friend, Y/N’s shoulders slump and shrugs; her head perks up immediately after when he’s bidding them byes and her inners fill with excitement and anticipation to just go home.

. . .

Her panties pools with arousal when he spreads his thighs apart, patting his meaty flesh with a skewered annoyance, “On daddy’s lap, bum out,” With gleeful little nod she’s stumbling her way towards him and he’s not pawing at her hips to lay her down and shove her face into the mattress, keeping his hands to himself quite for a moment before pondering if it’s the right punishment seeing how her panties are already twisted, she shrinks into herself at his cold demeanour wiggling a little to adjust.

Don’t get her wrong. She loves having him gentle and sweet and tentative, pressed so tight she could feel each lull and thump of his heart. Feeling him crush her under his weight with each thrust of his’s overwhelming each of her pores with so much love for him—- sometimes she imagines him to be rough with her, when he grabs and holds and bite her to leave her sore and whiny next day. Pinning her thighs roughly and fucks into her so fast and hard and deep .. god so deep she feels him in her tummy and her pussy swallows down onto him wetly.

He bunches her dress up her spine, strokes her cheek lovingly, plucking at her waistband and touches the soft supple skin then realizes how and why they ended up here.

Her body relaxes into him, nuzzling her nose into his knee and thinks he changed his mind and is out of fumes, will now fuck her nice and warm until a very, disrupting startling swat to her bum makes her gasp and she jerks against his bicep that’s holding her place in now, “Tha’ hurt!” She whined, pouting even though he couldn’t see it because his hold’s firm on her and if it stung didn’t mean she wants to stop him – it’s sparking the tingles in her pit wanting for more.

“’S supposed to,” He grabs onto her hand that tries to reach behind and rub the sting away, “Knows why you’re gettin’ punished right?” He doesn’t wait for her short nod and gives another firm slap to her right cheek and she feels it jiggling under his calloused palm.

“Words!” He growls, she feels small and little in his lap and she’s loving it – knowing he’d immediately stop if she’d accentuate any discomfort, “Was mean. Teased daddy and ...” She mewls when he kneads her blushed skin and clucks his tongue at her, something so dominating and domineering about him in a way she wants to obey him and listen to him quite oddly now after so much wreck havoc—- her noise strangling inside herself out of embarrassment and utter shyness; that she hurt him.

“...and daddy doesn’t likes to be teased.” He says derisively, blunt nails scratching her thighs to raise goosebumps on her skin.

“Ought to teach ya a lesson, didn’t I? You’d be still a filthy brat if it wouldn’t hurt.” He slithers his long fingers under her chin and grabs it, makes her look up at him– giving a light slap to her parted lips when she refuses to look him in eyes.

She's puckering her spit coated lips to suck his digits in her mouth and shallow her cheeks around them, grousing when he removes them out of her reach and she melts into his palm when he gives her two more spanks one after another between her asscheeks quick and hard and rolls his thumb painfully closer to where her little hole is clenching.

Might, in other cases, he'd have cooed at her and caressed her bottom, murmuring, “Such a soft little thing,” and “Moppet y'did so good for daddy,”

“Turn over.” He elevates her with his knee, rocking her on his bulge teasingly and loops his arm around her waist to finally help her up.

The sea foam glazed eyes peering down at her with such intensity makes Y/N chase for his lips eagerly and she cries out when he backs away, “Daddy no ...” Her complain is dropping to a low whimper as Harry strokes his thumb over her bottom pouty lip, creaming her panties and pricking the balloon of exhilaration in her tummy -- she’s a bit upset he hasn’t called her pet names at all and he still thinks she’s bad and hasn’t learned her lesson.

She did! She’s good!

“Maybe if you weren’t so mean,” He cups her bum, breath hitching for a moment when she hisses, lifts her up and glides her panties down, “I would’ve eat your cute pussy out earlier.” He utters, nose burrowing in her neck when she tries to get rid of the panties to be good for him, “Perhaps only really good girls gets their peach eaten . . ‘cos they really deserve it, dunno?”

Her head bows against his chest, feeling unexpectedly too small and disheartened as she murmurs kittenishly clutching his sides and blinking up at him in desperation with glossy lashes, “’M good daddy. Aren’t I?” He let a small smile tick his dimples which went unnoticed by her, of how much haziness and subbiness she has gone under.

He sponges his lips to her collarbones, a whimper scrapes from her throat from where her hands are pressed to the seam of his slacks, while he leans back undoing his buttons.

His cock twitches and akin to it his face warm pink and happy at the noises she creates once he’s out and he grasps her wrists and tugs her forward, “I’m your good girl.” She takes a huge weepy sigh leaning herself to get his cock inside her without seeming bad— because she wants to be good and she’s needy and achy at the same time.

“Your sore and stingy bum would say otherwise, Bunny.” He grins, and a groan rattles in his chest when he swipes his fingers up her folds to inspect her and she’s dripping thickly.

“Fuck. Sucha tight pretty hole f'me.” He murmurs. Helps himself ease inside wet, tight hole and holds himself from making both of them flop back into sheets when she fits around him velvety and snug, his balls pressed to her bum.

She goes to loop her elbows around his neck to smush herself into him and to muffle any inhumane noises she’ll create-- too afraid she’d sob out for being in such a vulnerable state, rather, he hooks his fingers around her wrists securely and holds them behind her spine.

“Bounce on my cock, Bunny.” He orders and she mewls, realizing he isn’t done with her and knows she tires herself too early whilst ridding him and ends up grouching and huffing.

She complies. Feeling herself stuffier and stuffier, she soaks his cock utterly slick with each of his throb inside her and she always loves how he gets more stiff once inside her like it’s the best place he wants to be in and she gazes with hooded eyes to where she has created the slide for him easier, as her pussy squelches around him with his each buck and rough thrust.

“Aah! Ah!” She cries, nibbling onto the fading love-mark on his neck when he slips his hand between their bodies to roll her clit, “Yes, yes. Right there daddy!” He tips her chin to wrap his mouth around her swollen bitten lip and suckles on it murmuring.

“Here yeah? Is daddy’s cock nice and big, hitting your spot good, fuckin’ my baby’s spots good.”

She pouts up at him, chest heaving from all her work and he brushes her hair behind, “Apologise fo’ being naughty and you might get to cum,” She wastes no time, body stretching in arched bow with his slam of hips into her.

“I’m sorry, for being naughty and misbehaving!” She blubbers slumping onto his chest.

He pats her bum, groping it to help her fuck her cunt down his heavy prick and he whispers gutturally in her ear, “Keep going bunny. I could feel ye' pussy squeezin' me s'bloody tight.” He fucks her sloppily circling her sensitive nub twice, thrice until she’s gushing all over him in a heavenly manner thrashing in his arms and not able to screw down any moans and noises.

His own orgasm follows her. Pouring her hole with a heavy cum-load and his grip from around her wrists loosens up, falling on his sides and crinkling the sheets while he stuffs his nose into her shoulder hill thighs jerking under her.

They stay, like that for some seconds, covered in sheen and possibly eachother’s sweat— his recovery was too livid he didn’t heard soft sniffles against his cheek and his chest immediately suffocates up when he draws Y/N away to be met by her glassy drunk pink eyes, lower lip wobbling awfully sad.

“Daddy I’m sorry, I’m bad, I’m so sorry daddy —...” Her jumbled apologies gets lost into her violent sob that knocks her chest and she gasps, bursting wide pupils locked to Harry’s panicked ones and he quickly cradles her face shaking his head furiously, “No baby. You’re my good girl, me best girl.” His tone honest and loving and adoring.

“No! I hurt you ....” She trembles, hiding her face into her elbow and Harry pulls it away, he moulds both of his palms against her teary warm cheeks and lulls her face with all of the endearment he holds for her in his heart.

“I didn’t mean it daddy, promise.” She sulks, fear swimming in her eyes shattering Harry’s heart into infinite pieces and he scolds himself for it, terrified he went too harsh with her, “I know bunny. I know."

“Now come back to me, Angel. Harry misses you. Wanna have me Angel bac—...” Her babbling takes over his coaxing and she hiccups, head a mess of vivid thoughts and doubts, “I got jealous, don’t like it when you look at your friends the same way y'do to me,” He wasn’t. He could never see someone in the same light and same affection and adoration he sees his lovie, since, she was gone under the foam of dizziness too much and neglected of his attention it seemed like that to her and Harry’s beating himself for making her feel like it.

“I...I know, shouldn’t. ‘M sorry, but I love you so much daddy . . .” More tears springs and falls from her eyes. Her crying confession leaves Harry appalled and shocked, butterflies swarming in his tummy and his hands stays limp on her side before he ponders that’d make her over-think he doesn’t wants to touch her so he instantly rubs his hands up and down her arms, mouth guppies many time to stutter out something.

They hadn’t exchanged ‘I love yous' yet. He knew they’d. He wanted it be when they’d be all cuddled and he’s pecking her all where and making love to her, not when she barely knows about her presence and is too floaty to have her feet on ground.

“I love you too. I love you too, so much baby, fuck.” He presses his forehead to hers, nosing her softly and gently and then smashes his lips against hers in a deep humming kiss instead of answering when she blinks up at him startled asking, “You do,” So innocently that Harry had to kiss his love and feel the taste of sex on her mouth and suckle on her tongue to drive her mind away from deprecating herself.

“Wanna have my Angel, back. Please? Pretty please?”

“No more mad?”

“Could never be, you my baby.”

“Can I keep you inside me for sometime? I’ll be good.” She murmurs sleepily, Harry wraps his arms around her and snuggles her into his chest, “My cock’s all yours pretty girl.” He soothes her back. Waiting patiently for her breathing pattern to go back to normal.

“Thank you.” Her voice sobering up, cracking the cocoon of fog where his Y/N rests and the moment she’d be out, he’s gonna kiss her love for him out of her lips.