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My Favorite Albums Released In Every Month Of The Year!!!
JANUARY: 21 - Adele
FEBRUARY: Little Girl Blue - Nina Simone
MARCH: To Pimp a Butterfly - Kendrick Lamar
APRIL: Fetch the Bolt Cutters - Fiona Apple
MAY: How Big, How Blue, How Beautiful - Florence + the Machine
JUNE: Jagged Little Pill - Alanis Morrissette
JULY: The Normal Album - Will Wood
AUGUST: Grace - Jeff Buckley
SEPTEMBER: Guts - Olivia Rodrigo
OCTOBER: The Black Parade - My Chemical Romance
NOVEMBER:The Wall - Pink Floyd
DECEMBER: A Day at the Races - Queen
#albums#music#adele#adele 21#Nina simone#little girl blue#kendrick lamar#to pimp a butterfly#Fiona apple#fetch the bolt cutters#florence + the machine#how big how blue how beautiful#alanis morrissette#jagged little pill#will wood#the normal album#Jeff buckley#grace jeff buckley#Olivia rodrigo#guts#my chemical romance#the black parade#pink floyd#the wall#queen band#a day at the races
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https://www.instagram.com/reel/C2CyUtLrcwv/?igsh=ZHphZnI3d2ZteW45
The way I was blushing in public 😔👎🏻
Meri izzat ka baji palak kr rhe ho
#I'm not sure about the geto part...but satoru definitely treats me like that#damnnn i was FREAKING BLUSHING even after years of out marriage...#mwahtuals#(◍•ᴗ•◍)❤#mai kabhi bol do ki ye nhi kharidna hai to mahasaye yhu bolte hai...kadmo tere lake jag rak dunga 😮💨#my baby
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megalomaniac is an bsd Ango Sakaguchi song send tweet-
#not the most popular song by that name#but the one I listen to lmao#specifically the uhh second verse#'eye to thigh as he sharpens his blade- thick sweat sick salt lead belly ache- I don't know what I've been drinking-#dripping dread as all the lights start screaming- seven inch steal bolt fed to the head- now is then and I am now bond to forget-#-the devil wears a cotton dress over his gun- jagged mumbles wispy warbles blushing in the sun'#I could tie specific lyrics but I think I'd just look silly but like the mention of drinking and dread and being metaphorically cornered#(steal bolt lyric referencing animals lead to the slaughter)#in terms of his inevitable betrayal to the mafia + his friends#the devil line makes me think of d/zai as Ango's negative influence and the cotton dress being like his bandages#idk I have bongo the stray dogs brain rot rn and everything related to it now-#maybe im just a fool but Ango is one of the characters in bsd I am incredibly unnormal about so ajsdhkdjhidk#im bored and at work again guys can u tell#my mindset is like- if I work as early as I can thats lets to do later#so clocking in at midnight means I can sleep in later idk if that makes sense#shhh
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being at a haunted house with your friends only to get separated and end up alone in a random room. it looks empty, except for the usual props and you're just taking a moment to catch your breath, wiping your sweaty palms on your jeans only to spot something in the corner shift, realizing that you're not alone.
a guy as broad as the door behind him is in there with you, costume seemingly lower budget than the others (was he called in at the last minute? his mask makes him look more a criminal than whatever the hell he's supposed to be.)
he's a clean two or three heads above yours, his dark clothing making him hard to see, blending in with the jagged shadows created by the red (because red means scary, right?) flickering lights overhead, and he's standing right in front of the quick exit, neon green sign barely grazing the crown of his head. shit.
a sudden, ear-splitting noise activates your fight or flight response and you're out the way you came in a second flat, uncaring that you're running against the flow of traffic, harshly bumping shoulders into both visitors and actors alike, and instinct takes over- without a second thought, you glance back over your shoulder.
the guy you'd bolted from is moving with unsettling purpose your way. the crowd parts around him, letting him gain on you effortlessly, his hulking stature looming larger with every step.
his eyes lock onto yours and your breath snags in your throat- he's a hunter, staring you down through the scope of a rifle, as if you're nothing other than fresh game for him to take home and devour.
you push on even though it feels like you're swimming upstream, his gaze burning into your back like a brand, the icy fear slithering through your veins alive, coiling around your galloping heart, tightening with every ragged breath.
until you hit a dead end. cornered, every instinct screaming for an escape that doesn't exist. and then he's on you, presence overwhelming, reaching a paw-sized hand toward you-
"i thought you guys aren't allowed to touch us?" you choke out, his fingers curling around your wrist and you wonder if he can feel your racing pulse.
his breath warms the side of your throat. "says who, pet? you're free t'stop me." if you can.
(soap and kyle watch him come out with you in hand, looking like you're about to be sick. kyle gives you a water bottle and soap pats your back, telling you that if yer that scared, he'll go with ye next time.)
#primal kink activated#saw some dewy eyed reader running like the devil is on their heels and he couldn't resist#had to give chase#soap also leaves a 5 star review on yelp#ghosts new bird was about to hurl in the parking lot from the scare#5/5#simon ghost riley x reader#simon ghost riley x you
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a break in the night
pairing: Emperor Geta / Wife! Reader
synopsis: no one knew just how much the emperor cared for his wife, after all, he hid it so well. how could anyone see such a show of anger coming? and over your wellbeing no less…
warnings: cussing, yelling, anger, angst.
Enjoy the story!
No one expected an invasion in the night. No one heard the trespassers skulk about the grounds, enter the halls and find the emperors chamber with ultimate ease.
It raised questions.
How did they get in so easily?
How did they find the chambers?
What made them target you?
Geta was hardly in his personal quarters, mostly, he sat out in his studies— just by the library and planned. His men would be by his side, offering the best advice and protection they possibly could while you would be away wandering the grounds.
At dusk, you would find your dear husband, kiss his cheek and ignore his comments about such a display before heading to retire for the night. “goodnight, my love,” you whispered.
The name was always changing, but it always gravitated towards some loving endearment. It made Geta scowl. Made him want to rip out his own heart for how it seemed to flutter and skip by such simple phrases.
Geta watched you go and tightening his fists before eyeing the map displayed across most of the table in front of him.
—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—-—
He hadn’t meant to stay out so late.
His eyes were heavy, little slits amongst the darkened room. Leaning on his hand, his jewelery began to feel uncomfortable, it itched at his skin a little too much.
Getting angry the emperor ripped off his rings before carelessly throwing them amongst the objects upon the table. “Fucking—"
Furiously getting up, the goblet at his side fell down the ground with a loud clatter. He had to concentrate.
On the plans.
The invasion.
The war he was suppose to be winning.
Screams, horrible fear induced screams erupted, echoing throughout the halls, the corridors that made about the secured building.
Geta’s head snapped back so fast his vision doubled. Usually, he would leave such a predicament to his guards.
But he recognized that pitch, that voice.
It couldn’t be?
“Wife!”
With his hand pushing his figure off the table, he ran. Bolted and turned. Pushing anyone, everyone out of the way until he reached the cracked door of his solitary.
He hasn’t even realized his guards were missing, not at their usual place by his side.
“Wife!” He called, already pushing the door open. This feeling was new. It made his fingers shake, his knees weak and his mind numb.
He couldn’t lose you already. Not when he was so early in his reign. Not when you doted on him so. Not when he barely got to love you in return.
A mumble called out with a voice so light Geta doubted himself upon hearing it. With furrowed brows he craned his neck, to where such a sound emitted.
And there you were.
Clutching your neck with a tight, bloody grip.
His lips, his face, flinched with such a sight. He just stood there, in the middle of the room like some bystander.
“G-Geta,” you felt so cold. It was odd, because usually, this room ran overwhelmingly warm. Especially now, with candles lit in every direction. Your husbands eyes were so wide, the white of his orbs shined bright against the flickering lights as his hand lightly shook at his side. You were trying to be strong, to not pass out, or cry in desperation.
But seeing your husband, who was usually as distant as a stranger, look at you so… scared, made you weak.
Weaker than the blood loss had made you.
Swallowing down the spit that had gathered, Geta rushed forth, descending down to get a better look at you.
“Let me see, let me—,” your hand moved, slumped down against the floor in a solid maroon color.
The wound started at the base of your neck, to the curve of your shoulder. A sloppy, rushed cut. Jagged and oozing with vast amounts of blood.
“I’m scared,” your eyes leaked with a teary wetness. It trailed down your cheeks until it met with the bloody mess upon your body.
Geta shushed you, taking a solid grip of his robe before ripping it with a strong tug. The material gave away easily against the pressure and it found home upon the junction of your neck.
It smelled so comforting that you couldn’t help but close your eyes and whimper at the firm pressure.
“I’m going to carry you, little wife, don’t close your eyes.” No longer wasting time, the man did just that.
He picked up your frame like nothing, but the action let out a pulsing fiery pain from the wound, earning a loud cry to spill from your lips. Geta frowned, mumbled some incoherent apology as his legs skidded across the stone floors.
Your head bobbed as the emperor picked up his pace, his voice sounded as if water blocked your ears. It was muffled—uneven.
Noticing your slackened form and droopy eyes, Geta let out a desperate cry. “Stay with me. We’re almost there.”
“I’m sorry, Geta” his robe scratched against your cheek. So rough, so soft at the same time.
“Don’t be daft, just stay awake!” Geta couldn’t help but keep glancing at you. You and your blinking eyes, that tired, bloody smile.
“Please, forgive me,” sticky fingertips met with the man’s cheek, blood stuck instantly to his pale skin.
“I love you.” The fingers went limp, they dragged down the emperors face leaving a thin line of blood that went towards his chin.
“Stop! Wife, love, please!” His breath grew heavy and his legs shook. Letting out whimpers and moans the man finally had the left wing in sight.
A healer, a healer, a healer—
Bursting through the first door, Geta came to his knees, with you still protectively held in his arms.
Out of breath, the man’s words were chipped and uneven.
“Healer— my wife— now!”
The people in the room dispersed, guards left their post in search for the accuser, the citizens left all together, in fear of seeing such a weakened display, and the healers gathered together, to take the empress from Geta’s hands.
“My lord,” an older white haired gentleman bowed before the orange haired ruler. His hands placed politely before him, he smiled sympathetically at the emperor.
“We will need to remove her from your hold and begin immediately—”
“No.”
Confused expressions emitted through the healers, the elderly man furrowed his brows as he wearily glanced at the bloodied couple.
“No.. my lord?”
“You will do it here. Now.”
“In your.. lap?”
A look of contempt was all that was given, before the white haired man nodded along. Urgently talking amongst his peers. They grabbed sutures, herbs, any medicinals that could possible help, were taken and placed before the two.
“We will begin now, my lord.” A nod was received, Geta’s eyes never strained from your face. He studied each and every freckle, looked upon your tear stained cheeks and down to your grim looking cut.
It would surely scar.
A growl broke out between his lips, startling the helpers in the vicinity.
The fireplace emitted the room in light, graciously allowing the healers to patch up their empress in a lit and warm room.
But such a light had nothing against the burning embers that raged within Geta’s eyes.
For there will be death, that much he was sure.
#gladiator#gladiator ii#gladiator 2#emperor geta x reader#emperor geta x you#emperor geta#geta x reader#angst#angst with a happy ending#kinda#joe quinn#joseph quinn x reader#Joseph Quinn#fluff#x reader#fanfiction
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I have an idea! Reader is a part of the Pouge group, but has never interracted with Rafe. She is the one choosing to run to cut Rafe loose. In the middle of it, the boat takes a dip and Reader hits her head passing out
After the Storm — Rafe Cameron
Summary : After a stormy accident leaves the Ex!Pogue!Reader injured, Rafe helps her to safety, and amidst the other’s mixed reactions, an unspoken connection begins to form between them. (season 4 part 2 spoiler alert⚠️)
Rafe Cameron x Ex!Pogue!Reader
Warnings : language, blood, violence (maybe?), english is not my first language.
A/N : changed the plot a bit, i hope u don't mind anon! 🤍
The boat rocked violently as we cut through the dark, churning waves on our way to Morocco. The storm had rolled in fast, catching us all off guard, and now the sky was a swirling mass of black clouds, illuminated only by the sharp flashes of lightning. Thunder boomed overhead, rattling the boat as if the heavens themselves were trying to tear us apart.
I clung to the railing, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my footing. The wind whipped at my hair, and the cold spray of the sea stung my face. Somewhere behind me, Pope was shouting orders to help stabilize the boat, his voice nearly drowned out by the roaring wind. Cleo and Sarah were struggling to tie down the loose sails, while Kiara and John B worked on keeping the deck clear of debris. Everyone was on edge, moving with a desperate urgency that matched the storm’s fury.
Everyone except Rafe. He was below deck, locked in a small room that JJ had secured with a heavy bolt. After everything Rafe had done, and the chaos he was likely to cause, none of us were willing to take any chances. JJ had tied him up, hands and feet bound tightly, to make sure he couldn’t pull any stunts while we were out here. I couldn’t blame him. Rafe had a way of making bad situations worse, and in the middle of a storm like this, we couldn’t afford even a second of distraction.
Still, the thought of him down there, trapped and furious, sent a shiver down my spine. I could almost hear him yelling, his voice muffled by the thick wooden door, cursing JJ and the rest of us for leaving him in that room. Part of me felt bad for him. But, he brought this on himself, and we all knew it.
“Hold tight!” JJ’s voice cut through the chaos as the boat tilted sharply to one side, nearly throwing me off balance. I grabbed onto the nearest pole, my heart hammering in my chest as the vessel righted itself. The waves were monstrous now, each one slamming into the hull with a deafening crash. The boat groaned under the strain, and I could feel the fear tightening in my gut. If the storm got any worse, there was a real chance we wouldn’t make it to Morocco.
The sudden dip of the boat was enough to send everyone scrambling for a handhold. Below deck, I heard a loud thud. Rafe, probably thrown against the wall in his tiny prison. I imagined him cursing us again, furious and helpless in equal measure.
“JJ!” I called out, my voice barely carrying over the wind. He was near the cabin door, his face set in grim determination. “You sure he’s okay down there?”
JJ shot me a look, water dripping from his soaked hair. “He’s fine,” he said, though his tone wasn’t as confident as I wanted it to be.
The boat lurched again, and I clung to the railing for a moment before steadying myself. My mind was racing, torn between the storm’s fury and the thought of Rafe locked up below deck. The guilt was gnawing at me, despite everything Rafe had done. No one deserved to be tied up and helpless during a storm like this, not even someone as evil as him.
I scrambled across the slippery deck, ducking under ropes and dodging the flying spray of seawater, searching desperately for anything sharp. My eyes scanned the clutter of tools scattered near the supply boxes, knives, a pair of pliers, maybe even a jagged edge on some broken wood. If I could just cut him loose, we could figure out the rest later. Right now, all I could think about was the sheer panic Rafe must be feeling, alone in that small, dark room as the boat tossed like a cork in the waves.
“What are you doing?” Pope’s voice cut through the chaos, sharp and demanding. He was gripping the railing nearby, his soaked shirt plastered to his body. His eyes narrowed when he saw me digging through the tools.
“I’m not letting him drown!” I said firmly, though my voice wavered slightly. “He’s trapped down there, Pope. If this boat capsizes or something, he’ll—”
“No,” Pope snapped, shaking his head. “Are u really thinking about him right now?”
“Are you kidding me?” I shot back, frustration boiling over. “If something happens, he’ll drown! You really want that?”
Pope didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced toward the cabin door, his jaw tight. “We locked him up for a reason,” he muttered.
I could feel the weight of the storm pressing down on us, every second stretching my nerves thinner. Cleo, overhearing us, stepped in, her arms crossed despite the biting wind. “He’ll just cause more trouble if you let him out,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “You know how Rafe is.”
“I don't care,” I said, grabbing a small knife from the pile. “I can handle him.”
The wind howled outside as I pushed open the door and descended the narrow steps to the lower deck. The small room where JJ had locked Rafe was at the far end of the hall, its heavy wooden door bolted shut. My hands were shaking, the knife cold and slick in my grip as I approached.
The boat groaned under the strain of the storm, tilting sharply to one side. I had to steady myself against the wall to keep from falling. My pulse was racing, fear and determination swirling together in a storm of their own. I reached the door and unbolted it with trembling hands, the loud clack barely audible over the sounds of the raging sea.
Inside, Rafe sat against the wall, his hands and feet bound tightly with ropes. His head snapped up as the door swung open, his wild eyes narrowing when he saw me. “What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his voice rough and laced with anger.
“I’m getting you out,” I said firmly, stepping inside and kneeling down next to him. The room was cramped, the air thick and musty. I could feel the boat lurching beneath us, but I ignored it, focusing on the ropes that dug into his wrists.
“Took u long enough,” Rafe scoffed, though there was a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “Your friends are gonna lose their minds.”
“Let them,” I shot back, sawing at the ropes with the knife. “I’m not leaving you tied up in here while the boat’s about to fall apart.”
Rafe fell silent, watching me closely. His expression was guarded, but there was something else there, something softer, buried beneath the layers of anger and mistrust. For a moment, it felt like the Rafe I used to know, the one who could make me safe when everything else was falling apart, was sitting in front of me again.
The boat suddenly dipped hard, the floor pitching sharply beneath us. I lost my balance, my head slamming against the corner of the counter with a sickening thud. Pain exploded in my skull, and I gasped, dropping the knife as stars danced in my vision.
“Shit!” Rafe’s voice was sharp, panic edging into his tone. “You alright?”
I pressed a hand to my forehead, wincing as I felt a warm, sticky wetness, blood. The room spun, but I shook it off, forcing myself to focus. “I’m fine,” I muttered, though I wasn’t sure I believed it.
Rafe’s expression shifted, the frustration melting into something that almost looked like concern. “Give me the knife,” he said quickly. “You’re useless like this. Let me finish.” I hesitated for half a second, then shoved the knife into his hands, too dazed to argue. He made quick work of the ropes, his movements sharp and precise. The moment he was free, he grabbed my arm, helping me sit up as the boat tilted again.
“You really shouldn’t have come down here,” he muttered, but there was no bite in his words. His hand lingered on my arm, steadying me.
“I couldn’t just leave you here.” I said, managing a weak smile despite the pain pounding in my head.
Rafe stared at me for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then he helped me to my feet, his grip firm and steady. “Come on,” he said, his voice low. “Let’s get out of here.” Rafe’s grip was firm as he helped me to my feet, his fingers steady despite the chaos around us. The boat dipped again, pitching us to the side, but Rafe’s hand stayed locked around my arm, guiding me through the dark, narrow corridor.
My head throbbed with every step, the sharp pain from where I’d hit it blurring my vision. I had to force myself to stay focused, even though the dizziness was relentless.
I barely registered the climb up the stairs as he helped me up to the main deck. As soon as we emerged from the narrow passageway, the cold wind and rain hit me like a wall. Rafe led me toward the back of the deck, guiding me to the nearest chair. My legs felt like jelly, and I was barely aware of the others as they crowded around us, a mix of confusion and anger crossing their faces when they saw Rafe.
They all seemed furious, their eyes narrowing at the sight of him, but as soon as they saw me, slumped and barely conscious, their expressions changed in an instant. The noise on the deck quieted, and the tension in the air shifted, turning into something heavy, like a collective breath held. They all stood frozen for a moment, just staring at me.
Rafe helped me into the chair, his hand on my shoulder, his gaze flicking between me and the others. He was tense, still unsure of how they’d react, but when they didn’t speak, just stood there silently, he let out a breath.
I dropped my forehead to the desk in front of me, trying to steady my spinning head. The dizziness wasn’t letting up, but the cold air helped clear some of the fog in my mind. I was barely aware of the others now, of their whispered voices, of the storm outside. I just needed to focus on not falling apart.
"Hey, easy," Rafe’s voice was softer now, and I felt his hand briefly on my shoulder. He seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether to speak or let me be. “You good?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I let my head rest against the cold wood, the sound of the storm deafening, the boat swaying beneath us. My pulse was loud in my ears, but it was the thudding in my skull that held my attention.
Rafe knelt beside me, his presence a quiet comfort. “You need anything?” His voice was quiet but insistent. “Water? You want me to get—”
“No,” I cut him off, my voice raspy. “Just... just leave me for a minute.” I didn’t want to deal with anyone right now, didn’t want to listen to the others or the mess we were all in. I could barely keep my own head straight.
Rafe didn’t push me. Instead, he sat down beside me, close but not too close, like he was giving me space but didn’t want to leave me. I could feel his unease, his restlessness as he waited for me to gather myself.
The minutes stretched on, the boat dipping and swaying with every wave. The storm outside raged on, but inside my head, the dizziness slowly faded into a dull throb. I sat there, unmoving, barely aware of anything except the steady rhythm of my pulse and the weight of the moment.
Eventually, the storm seemed to quiet, the winds lessening and the rain tapering off. The Pogues, who had stood silently watching, started to break away, but their eyes lingered on me, their concern palpable.
Rafe stayed by my side, his gaze softening slightly when I glanced at him. It was a quiet moment, an unspoken understanding between us, one that neither of us had to say aloud. The tension was still there, but it felt a little less heavy now, like the storm outside had made us all a little raw.
likes & reblogs are appreciated! 🍦
#outer banks#rafe cameron#netflix#drew starkey#rafe cameron imagine#rafe outer banks#rafe obx#rafe cameron fic#rafe cameron outer banks#rafe x reader#rafe cameron obx#rafe cameron x reader#rafe cameron fluff
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Dabi made a deal with himself the second time he held you in his arms.
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Pt2 to this post.
Warnings: angst to comfort, Dabi yells at his daughter, apologizes soon after, Canon typical violence and crime, spoilers, Dabi is a warning of his own. foul language, please inform me if you find more
reader has blue eyes like Dabi's (she's a toddler, 3-4 years old)
Dabi calls reader bunny, Dabi is addressed as "Daddy"
Note: part 3 some time near the end of this month (hopefully)
taglist: @blurryperrtymoonlight @harkenizalone @lostiolite @rllytriedrn @mellyxqz @cupkiki @xxnessinessiellexx @dehlieee
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He made a point to remember it as best he could, to practically live by it in that exact moment.
it was midnight when he made such an oath, it was under the careful eye of the bustling city lights that peeked from a window that he promised himself, with you in his arms for the second time, ever.
well, not exactly the second time, he had been carrying you around town all day, either that or having you sit nearby as he ran to steal diapers and formula and what not. He knew he probably shouldn't be leaving a newborn child alone for too long, especially in an abandoned building such as the one he was stationed in right now. but taking you with him was arguably more dangerous, hence why he would consistently bolt to the nearest store and return, out of breath and sweaty. but it's what one has to do.
so after a long, long, long day of running around with a hangover and a crying baby. it was here as he was leaning against a wall, one with cracks in its paint. that he held you. truly held you. tracing burnt fingers along fragile soft skin and occasionally heating the swaddle up with his fire to keep you warm.
he even lit a tiny, tiny little flame, one as small as you, in the palm of his hand to get a good look at you. it being the only thing illuminating the darkness of the room.
"god, you are ugly."
was his first thought, but he seemed quite fond of you nonetheless. but minds like Touya's tend to wander.
you squirmed a little in his grip, occasionally babbling in his lap. that didn't matter much though as Dabi stared into the darkness of night. little thoughts bounced around in his skull.
you'll be a terrible father
they got louder
just like endeavor
even louder
this place is horrible for a child, she probably'll die from infection
please shut up.
you're failing already
thoughts now buzzed in his mind like wasps, stuffy and pounding, mangled and messy. so many thoughts, yet so little time.
you should leave her with an orphanage. at least someone will care for her there.
she has dad's eyes.
she'll end up hating you.
maybe Natsu or Fuyumi will take her-
NO.
his hands shook as he traced his finger over your cheek and fiddled around with the tiny wisps of your hair.
NO ONE'S GOING TO TAKE HER.
his breath picked up, once okay-ish breaths became jagged. no steady inhale or exhale, only sharp puffs in and out. IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN OUT IN--
I'll take care of her.
I'll be better than dad.
his breathing slowed. and you woke up. grumpy and sleepy. he smiled, he rocked you to sleep that night.
at least, that's the story of how his fate was sealed to be a father. a father with no money, no job, no house, no family. only an extensive criminal record and an infant daughter. and he thought he could make it work.
he ended up staying at a homeless shelter for a few days, living off on that, until he managed to steal make enough money until he was able to afford a motel were he stayed like that for a good year or so. moving from motel to motel until he made himself a reputation in the area. he learned how to be a father like that, taking care of you with only the help of mommy blogs and YouTube videos and all those nights where he'd start off by searching how to make baby formula better, but then 4 hours later he'd catch himself watching videos on how to help your child through their first period and crying about how his baby's going to grow up so soon. he ended up getting a condo not long after, only so you could finally have more stability in your life.
and he thought he could make it work.
he could not.
which is also how he came to regret this awful, awful, day. this horrendous, day. this day. this wretched day.
this day when he broke his promise
he wanted nothing more in that moment than to squeeze you tight to his chest and kiss your little face until you felt all better and forget this ever happened. to say sorry a million times over and dry your tears and hear your sweet laughter as he tells you crappy dad jokes just to see you smile. to forgive him, to know that he didn't mean to hurt you, it was an accident, it was just an accident, and he's sorry.
please. please just open the door. please. let him in.
open that goddamn door that he helped you paint a few months after you two moved in. that door that he painted white and let you finger paint all you wanted, you painted little flowers and bees and simply just smeared all the color you could find on it. it's your hand prints, side by side with some of his, it's that colorful mess that reminds him of you.
he grips the little plate of fruit in his hands harder. the slices of oranges and bananas formed into a smiley face quake in his hold. his breath, shaky as he hears the soft sound of your cries through the door, most certainly stuffing your face into your pillows to bawl your eyes out.
oh how did this happen? how did it come to this point? yes it was a hard week. a very hard week. having been scouted to join the league only recently and already preparing for their first attack on UA. he'd been at meetings all day to discuss their strategy and game plan, it seemed to carry on for years if not decades, yet, it had only been an hour. Shigaraki was just so annoying, yapping on about his hatred for heroes. please sir, shut the fuck up, no body cares, continue with your Canva slide show now how we are going to kidnap that one student from the sports festival.
that little brat Toga wasn't much better, creepy at that. Twice was just as annoying, constantly switching. spinner was bearable. but in no way is that what stain would have wanted to represent him. no. this is not right.
it didn't help much either that his skin was so fucking sensitive, having been brunt over and over again from quirk over usage, the burns growing darker and larger with every time he used his quirk. even his own clothes hurt him at that point, the horribly made jacket that he found in a dumpster worked away at his skin, tearing off each cell with it's thread. not to mention. Endeavor was climbing high, so high, he recently broke his own record of the number of civilians saved in a week and the public was going wild for it. practically every other news channel was covering it.
he clenched his jaw, bright turquoise eyes stared into the screen that flashed with endeavors flames, the bright orange being the only thing to illuminate the barren living room. one leg shook uncontrollably.
and you. you just wanted to help your dear old dad with dinner.
you didn't mean to drop that plate! it's true! all you wanted was to help your dad load up the dishwasher. after all, he's been complaining all day about how awful work has been, and when he wasn't complaining, he was silently grumbling at the news channels on the TV! he didn't even want to play Dolls with you today or ask you if you need help with your homework! it was weird, dad was never like this, no he was silly and sometimes rude, but he talked to you. why?
but with the loud crash of the plate and sound of a million little shards of glass scattering across the room came the yelling.
why was dad yelling at you? dad didn't yell.
he just keep shouting and yelling, calling you names. all his words were now jumbled, and loud, so loud, like those songs he listens to on the radio. the ones with the loud drums and music and words that you can understand. he called it "metal" music. what happened to your dad?! why was he being so mean? he called you a brat, he called you useless, he called you worthless. words that you didn't even understand but understood that he didn't say them with any love at all.
why, why why why why why why why why why why why why why----
everything was too much, you couldn't even focus on what he was saying. he was flailing his arms around making gestures and what not. little blue flames crawled from his hands and onto his shoulders. he- he was angry. very angry.
but wasn't the angry that he'd be when you get lost at the park only to show up 5 minutes later, not the angry when he'd find you accidentally spilled all the glitter into the carpet, it surely wasn't the angry he'd be when you accidentally hurt yourself while trying to do something stupid that he told you a million times over not to.
no! no! no! this was the angry that he'd be when that man would come on screen in the middle of a show.
you've broken plates before, plates, bowls, glasses, windows, beds, his ear drums, all at least once. and every time, he didn't get that angry. he'd just sigh like he was disappointed, before checking you for injuries and patching you up with eh unicorn stickers you picked out. he never yelled, only lectured. why as he yelling now!
nothing made sense anymore, the thoughts in your head jumbled and messy and blurry and weird and murky and sad and mean and everything thoughts should not be. why was he angry at you?
everything was suddenly so blurry as the tears welled up in your eyes, one single droplet made it's way down your cheek and crashed into the ground along with the shattered glass of the plate. it stung, the saltiness of those tears stung, everything hurt, please just. make it stop. make it stop.
I suppose it was the tears that finally brought Dabi out of that haze of anger.
this face dropped. what had he done? to his daughter. he swore he'd never...
everything was quiet all of a sudden, apart from the soft sniffles and the creaking of floor tiles as Dabi tried to move closer to you. an expressionless look on his face and eyes that held all the sorrow in the world as he silently watched you cry. Dabi, no, Touya, had yelled at his daughter, and then mad her cry.
why? why is it that of a sudden, everything was normal again, it was quiet like it was normal, and he was acting like everything was normal? it was normal, and it wasn't okay. oh wow can anything be okay after that t he was so mean it's not okay it will never be okay he isn't sorry he's mean. he's a bully! he hates you and he's mean and and and and and and and and... Dad said he loved you. did he lie?
it's getting hard to think, it's hard to speak now for no reason. what is happening! you should run, you should run and scream and cry and I don't know anymore!
so... so you ran, to your room, and you're there. little tiny cuts littered the soles of your feet, from the glass of the plate.
and he's out here. on the other side of your room. holding that damn plate of fruit, the ceramic heating up in his fiery hold.
this was so stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid. he was just tired, but rather than being... y'know... a good father. he could hear Endeavor's voice in his own. he could feel the sting of blood seeping from the brunt flap of his tear ducts.
he brought up this hand, practically quivering, the staples practically coming undone from how hard he gripped his arms after you left. the dead cells flaking off beneath his finger nails.
knock knock
please open the door before he kills himself.
a tiny fragile little voice erupts
"no! go away! i- hic don't wanna talk to you..."
oh God it's over, it's over he can't. he really can't. he said he'd protect you, bunny, please just... he wanted to be a good dad.
"I... (Y/n). I'm so s-sorry."
why is it that the sniffles and soft whimpers stop now.
"baby, please, I'm sorry, daddy's sorry. I didn't mean to yell at you. can- can we talk?"
silence, then the soft sound of pitter patter on the floorboards make their way closer, and closer. the little jingle of the door handle as you pull at it to get it open.
he's the one that's meant to be helping you open that damn door, you're too short to do it on your own! you, you need him, you need him to help you an you save you and you...
more importantly I guess...
the door creaks open, just a little, he's able to catch a glimpse of your locks of hair, messy, unlike this morning when he did it before you went off to school. have you been pulling at your own hair?
he makes his way through, he tiptoes between the trenches that is your bedroom. pinkish in all the most annoying ways. but, you are seemingly the most annoying of all! a brat, but you're his brat. and you're crying. right there. under your extra fluffy blankets.
the bed creaks softly as he sits down. he doesn't dare look you in the eyes. the plate of fruit securely in his hold.
"(Y/n)."
"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled,
I was angry, not at you, never you,
but you were there.
and I'm sorry."
silence.
"I cleaned up the plate, are you hurt?
well, there's bandages, if you do I'll get some disinfectant."
silence
"um, I cut you up some fruits too,
I know how much you like watermelon."
silence
"I'll leave you alone now."
a peep.
"dad?" the blankets shuffle.
"y-yeah, bunny?"
"sorry for dropping the plate. and breaking it." he can see your face now, reddish and teary, your eyes look bloodshot! Jesus, how hard where you crying-
"Oh, it's okay, it's only a plate..."
"do you..."
"do I what, bun?"
"do you not love me anymore?"
he will always love you, more than the moon and the sun and the stars and the sea and green grass of spring and the warmth of summer nights and the sting of alcohol down your throat more than the righteous angels love themselves.
"oh, oh bunny,
I will always, always, love you."
he leaned over scooping you up into his arms, placing your tiny little toddler body into his lap.
"don't forget that, don't you ever forget that, daddy loves you, I will always love you no matter what."
his thumb brushed away all those pesky wisps of hair that float in front of your face, sticking to wet cheeks.
and he smiled, a crooked, but loving smile, a smile.
and you smiled back. even through your pain you smiled. oh. oh Thank God! you forgave him. he'd probably carve out his heart in a fit of insanity if you didn't.
"I love you too, daddy."
-----
I lost my mind halfway through this fic. god it sounds so cringe ugghghghfdhgdgdkjgdjhg[ihga[ieshgtpwiuefhwugot4bvaw6eygsdddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddddjfsfhsfshjsj oh well, block me if you don't like it I guess
my stuff is right here: Bnha master list, rules for requesting, ask box
send me an ask, I fucking love hearing from you guys.
#bnha x reader#bnha#bnha fluff#mha#child reader#bnha x child reader#bnha headcannons#platonic yandere#dabi x daughter reader#dabi x reader#dabi x sister reader#dabi x y/n#dabi x you#mha touya#todoroki touya#touya todoroki#dabi touya#touya x reader#bnha touya#boku no hero academia#bnha angst#mha x reader#mha angst
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My home is with you
A/N: idk i just love nanami so much i had to write some fluff for him, he comes home injured to his wife.
warnings: blood mention/injury mention, pre-established relationship (they're married)
don't repost/copy my work on other websites thx
Masterlist.
The quiet hum of the kettle simmering on the stove filled the dimly lit kitchen. Shadows stretched long across the walls, the soft glow of a lamp casting a golden haze over the room.
You sat at the small dining table, papers sprawled in disarray—essays from your students at Jujutsu High, meticulously penned with their observations on cursed energy theory.
You’d tried to focus, truly you had, but your thoughts wandered incessantly to your husband.
Where is he? He’s never this late. Did something happen?
Nanami Kento. Your husband. Your world.
The clock ticked louder with each passing moment, mocking your growing unease. You’d checked your phone twice already—no missed calls, no messages.
You knew the life he led.
You both did. As a professor at Jujutsu High, you understood the risks better than anyone- yet understanding didn’t make the worry any easier to bear.
Then, at last, the faint sound of the front door creaking open.
Relief and anxiety collided as you bolted from your chair.
“Kento?”
There he stood, framed in the doorway like a ghost returning from battle. His suit was torn, dirt and blood streaked across the fabric. He held one hand pressed tightly to his side, and his glasses sat askew on his face. But his eyes—his eyes softened the moment they met yours.
“I’m home,” he said, voice steady but laden with exhaustion.
Oh, Kento. “You’re hurt,” you whispered, hurrying to his side.
“It’s nothing serious,” he replied, ever the stoic. But the way he swayed on his feet betrayed him.
“Nothing serious? You’re bleeding,” you shot back, wrapping an arm around his non-injured forearm to guide him toward the couch. “Don’t argue with me.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he murmured, and you caught the faintest flicker of a smile.
Once he was seated, you darted to grab the first-aid kit, your thoughts racing. How bad is it? Why didn’t he call me? What if… No, stop. He’s here. He’s okay.
You have to focus.
Returning, you found him leaning back with his eyes closed, his hand still pressed to his side.
“Let me see,” you said gently, kneeling before him.
He opened his eyes, watching you for a moment before relenting, his hand falling away to reveal a jagged tear in his shirt and the angry wound beneath.
Your breath caught.
“What happened?” you asked, your voice horrendously calm.
“A grade-one cursed spirit,” he explained. “Its reach was longer than I anticipated. A mistake I won’t repeat.”
Your hands moved on autopilot, cutting away the ruined fabric.
“You shouldn’t be making mistakes at all,” you muttered, the edge in your voice betraying your worry. “You push yourself too hard, Ken.”
He sighed softly. “It’s my responsibility. But… I’m sorry for making you worry.”
You froze for a moment, meeting his gaze. His sincerity was almost overwhelming.
“Just promise me you’ll be more careful,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I promise,” he said without hesitation, and you believed him.
You cleaned the wound with practised care, each hiss of pain he let slip cutting into you.
“I hate seeing you like this,” you admitted.
“I know,” he said softly. “But it’s worth it, if it means protecting others. Protecting you.”
Your heart ached at his words. You finished cleaning up the wound, then helped him out of his torn suit jacket and into a soft sweater. He grumbled half-heartedly, but you ignored him, too focused on making sure he was comfortable.
Once he was settled- you didn't bandage him up, since you knew you'd force him to shower, you brought him a steaming cup of tea, wrapping a blanket around his shoulders. He looked at you with something like awe, as though he couldn’t quite comprehend how much you cared for him.
“You’re spoiling me,” he said, though his tone was more grateful than teasing.
“You deserve it,” you replied, sitting down beside him. “You work so hard, Kento. Let me take care of you for once.”
The tea had barely cooled when Nanami's hand found yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. The simple gesture, so tender, sent a wave of warmth rushing through your chest. He was always like this after a rough day—quiet, a little raw, but so achingly sincere in his affection that it left you breathless.
“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer than you were used to, like the weight of the day had stripped away his usual reserve.
“For what?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips as you met his gaze.
“For this. For you.” His amber eyes, tired but impossibly warm, held yours. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you.”
Your cheeks flushed, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze.
“Oh, Kento. You make it sound like I’m some miracle. You’re the one who comes home like this and still has the nerve to apologize for worrying me.”
“I mean it,” he said firmly, his hand tightening just slightly over yours. “You’re my home. My solace.”
The sincerity in his words stole your breath, and for a moment, you couldn’t do anything but look at him. How was it possible to love someone this much?
But then you noticed the way he winced as he shifted, his exhaustion pressing heavily against him.
“Alright, enough of that,” you said, standing abruptly. “Come on. You need a shower before you fall asleep on my couch.”
His brow lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Your couch?”
“That’s right,” you replied with mock sternness, grabbing his hand to help him up. “You’re just a guest in this house until you stop making a habit of getting stabbed.”
A small chuckle escaped him as he rose, but the motion made him grimace, his hand briefly going to his side. “You’re ruthless.”
“And you love it,” you teased, guiding him toward the bathroom.
He didn’t deny it. How could he, when the truth was written plainly across his face every time he looked at you?
Once inside, you flicked on the light, illuminating the modest space. Steam quickly filled the air as you turned on the shower, testing the water with your hand until it was just right.
“Alright, off with the rest of it,” you said, motioning to his clothes.
He raised an eyebrow. “Is that an order, Professor?”
“Damn right it is,” you shot back, unable to resist the grin spreading across your face. “Hurry up, or I’ll start charging you for medical care.”
His lips twitched in amusement as he carefully pulled off the remains of his shirt. You tried to keep your eyes on his face—key word: tried—but it was impossible not to notice the defined lines of his chest and shoulders, even marred as they were by bruises and scars.
“Enjoying the view?” he asked, his tone dry but teasing.
You smirked, stepping closer. “Oh, absolutely. It’s not every day my handsome husband lets me ogle him half-naked.”
“You’re shameless.”
“And you married me anyway.” Your grin widened as you helped him step out of his slacks, your hands lingering on his hips for just a moment longer than necessary. “What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”
He gave a soft laugh, the sound low and warm. “The worst, huh? I think you’ve got it backward.”
As he stepped into the shower, you leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, your eyes still on him. He noticed, of course, and the corner of his mouth quirked up in amusement.
“You’re going to stand there the whole time?”
“Maybe,” you replied, shrugging nonchalantly. “Unless you’d rather I join you.”
Partly to ogle, but mostly to make sure he didn't faint and hit his head.
His gaze flicked to you, a spark of something dangerous and teasing in his eyes. “You’re incorrigible.”
“And you love it,” you repeated, winking.
“I do,” he admitted, his voice softer now, the teasing fading into something more earnest.
For a moment, you just watched him, the water running over his broad shoulders, his exhaustion seeming to melt away under the soothing warmth. He was beautiful, even like this—especially like this. Strong, vulnerable, wholly yours.
When he finished, you handed him a towel, your fingers brushing his as he took it. “Let me help you,” you said, your voice gentle as you moved closer.
“I’m fine—” he started, but you silenced him with a look.
“Hush. Let me take care of you.”
You dried him off carefully, your touch light but lingering, and you couldn’t resist pressing a kiss to his Adam's apple when you were done. He shivered under your lips, his breath hitching.
After that, Nanami sat on the edge of the counter, a towel draped loosely around his waist, while you stood beside him with the first-aid kit. The gash on his side looked angry and raw, the edges of the wound still faintly oozing despite the careful cleaning.
“Hold still,” you murmured, your voice soft but firm as you opened a fresh packet of antiseptic wipes.
Nanami winced slightly as the cool disinfectant made contact with his skin. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t flinch away, his gaze fixed on you. “You’ve got a steady hand,” he said, his voice calm despite the discomfort.
“Years of practice patching you up,” you replied, a faint smile tugging at your lips. “If you didn’t come home in pieces so often, I’d probably be out of practice by now.”
“Touché,” he murmured, the faintest flicker of amusement in his eyes.
Once the wound was thoroughly cleaned, you applied a thin layer of antibiotic ointment, your fingers deft but gentle.
“Alright,” you said, reaching for the roll of bandages. “Hold your arm up just a little.”
He complied, the movement causing a slight hitch in his breath. You frowned, but he gave you a small shake of his head, silently reassuring you he was fine. Wrapping the bandage around his torso was methodical but intimate; your hands lingered just slightly as you secured it in place, your fingers brushing against his warm skin.
“Not too tight?” you asked, looking up at him.
“It’s fine,” he replied, his tone soft. “You always do it perfectly.”
You rolled your eyes affectionately but didn’t comment, moving on to his left arm, which bore a nasty scrape from elbow to wrist. “This one’s not as bad,” you said, wiping it clean with care. Still, the tension in his shoulders didn’t escape your notice.
As you worked, he watched you in silence, his eyes tracing the concentration etched into your face. When you finished wrapping his arm, you sat back on your heels, inspecting your work.
“There,” you said, meeting his gaze. “All patched up.”
Nanami reached out, his hand brushing against your cheek. “You didn’t have to do all this.”
You leaned into his touch, your fingers covering his hand. “Of course I did. You’re my husband, Kento. It’s my job to take care of you.”
A small smile broke through his usual stoicism. “And you do it better than anyone else ever could.”
You laughed softly, pressing a kiss to the palm of his hand before standing and offering him your own. “Come on, let’s get you dressed and comfortable before you decide to pass out on me.”
“Still worried about me?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Always,” you admitted, tilting your head to meet his gaze. “But I love you more than I’ll ever be scared for you.”
His hands found your face then, cradling it with a tenderness that made your chest ache.
When his lips met yours, it wasn’t tentative or fleeting—it was full of the kind of depth and longing that left no room for words. Nanami kissed you like a man who had faced death and walked away with the singular thought of you driving him forward. His hands cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheekbones as if to memorize the texture of your skin.
You melted into him, your hands sliding up to tangle in his damp hair, pulling him closer.
He didn’t resist, he never did.
Instead, he deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperate kind of gentleness that made your chest ache. The world outside disappeared, the worry, the fear—it all faded, leaving only the warmth of him.
When you finally broke for air, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing heavily. His hands slid down to your waist, steadying you as if you might slip away.
“Kento,” you whispered, your voice trembling just slightly.
His eyes opened slowly, his gaze soft and unguarded in a way only you ever saw. “What is it?”
“I hate that you keep getting hurt,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hate that you come home like this, bleeding and exhausted, and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
“You do more than you know,” he replied, his voice steady but full of emotion. “You’re the reason I come home. You’re what keeps me going.”
Before you could respond, he kissed you again, slower this time, his lips moving with a deliberate tenderness that unraveled something deep inside you. His hand slid up your back, tracing soothing circles that made your breath hitch. He kissed you as though he had all the time in the world, as though he wanted to make sure you felt every ounce of his devotion.
“Kento,” you murmured again, his name a soft plea on your lips.
“Hmm?” he replied, his lips trailing down to your jaw, then lower, pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck. Each touch was electric, but it wasn’t rushed—it was grounding, comforting, a reaffirmation of the bond between you.
You pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes, and smiled. “You’re lucky you’re charming, you know. It’s hard to stay mad at you.”
His lips quirked upward, the faintest hint of a smile gracing his tired face. “Charming? That’s a first.”
“Don’t act so surprised,” you teased, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “You’ve been my weakness since the moment I met you.”
“Then I’m in good company,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss you again.
This time, it was different—deeper, more insistent. His hands tightened on your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you couldn’t help the soft sound that escaped you. He swallowed it greedily, his lips never leaving yours, his touch both firm and reverent.
You felt the tension in his shoulders slowly ease as the kiss stretched on, his weariness giving way to something softer, something purely you and him. It wasn’t just a kiss—it was a refuge, a reminder that no matter how brutal the world outside became, this was still yours.
He was still yours.
When you finally broke apart, his thumb brushed over your swollen lips, his expression tender. “You’re everything,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.
“So are you,” you replied, your hand sliding up to rest against his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm. “And I’ll remind you of that every day if I have to.”
For a moment, you both simply held each other, the warmth of his body grounding you. Then, as if struck by a sudden thought, you grinned mischievously.
“You know,” you began, your fingers teasing at the hem of his sweater, “if I weren’t your wife, I’d say this whole half-naked, battle-worn thing you’ve got going on is really working for you.”
He gave a soft laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “You’d say that even if you weren’t my wife?”
“Oh, definitely,” you said, your grin widening. “I’d probably make some terribly inappropriate comment about wanting to take care of you and then throw myself at you.”
“Sounds familiar,” he teased, his tone dry but warm.
You laughed, your head falling to his chest as your shoulders shook with mirth. “Touché.”
The laughter softened into something quieter, more intimate, as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head.
“You know,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, “you’re the reason I fight as hard as I do. It’s not just about protecting people—it’s about making sure I get to come home to you.”
Your heart clenched at his words, and you leaned up to kiss him again, slow and lingering.
“And I’ll always be here waiting,” you whispered against his lips.
For a while, you simply stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft kisses and quiet words. It was only when you noticed how his eyelids drooped, exhaustion finally catching up to him, that you pulled back.
“Alright, Mr. Nanami,” you said softly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead. “Time to get you to bed.”
He grumbled but didn’t protest as you helped him up and guided him to your room. Once under the covers, he pulled you close, his arm draping over your waist as if to keep you anchored to him.
“Goodnight, Kento,” you whispered, pressing a kiss to his temple.
“Goodnight,” he murmured, his voice heavy with sleep. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you replied, your heart full and warm as you drifted off, safe in the arms of the man who was your world.
A/N: anyways yeah, hes so babygirl, major slay, i want to like.. eat him or smth (in a nice way)
:)
#fanfic#jjk#jujustu kaisen#nanami kento#nanami x reader#fluff#comfort#jjk comfort#jjk fluff#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jujutsu kaisen fluff#jjk x reader#kento nanami#jjk nanami#jujutsu nanami#nanami fluff#nanami kento x you#nanami kento fluff#nanami x you#kento nanami x reader#aesthetically dying101
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Within the Storms of Giedi Prime: Feyd-Rautha x Reader
A/N: the long awaited part two of upon the sands of the arena is hereeee
tw: 18+, smut (more than last time hehehe), p in v, swearing, Feels™, death, assassination, use of the Voice (not on feyd), less violence but still violence, i lack faith in my sequel writing abilities, blowjobs, SUB FEYDDDD, also DOM FEYDDD, sex Outside, lightning and thunder (it says storms in the title what do you expect)
wc: 4.2k
part 1
Giedi Prime is a miserable planet.
It’s evident in the choking, black smog from the factories in the dense air fused with the anguished cries of overworked slaves and the distant rumble of the still active volcanos. You’re near the Harkonnen’s palace grounds - you’re heading towards them, actually, and the promise of a… pleasant night; to your left, you can just about glimpse the looming silhouette of the great arena, squatting like a hulking beast on the horizon, waiting to swallow any poor soul that gets too close to its gaping maw.
Tonight, roiling storm clouds reign the sky, sending sheets of furious rain pounding down upon anyone who dares to be out at this hour - including you. Harsh bolts of lightning spear down, hurtling towards the ground like incensed, condensed moonlight and casting freakish shadows.
Moonlight: the colour of Feyd’s skin. If it weren’t for him, you’d already be off this sorry planet - alas, you must stay a little longer, your body already a little warm at the memory of his skilled fingers and scorching gaze. You haven’t been back since the encounter with the na-Baron in the arena months ago, and you can’t help but feel the sting of doubt in your chest, wondering if he’ll still want a second time, or if you’ll sneak into his room only to find yourself replaced by a concubine.
Not that you occupy significance to him anyway, you remind yourself. Feyd-Rautha could not replace you, because there would be nothing to replace, just ashes of a once bright fire.
Irked by the weakness of your own mind, you pull the hood of your cloak lower over your face, tightening it across your shoulders. The hem is sullied by browning blood: you disposed of your quarry just this morning, and delivered the decapitated head during the early afternoon.
Conveniently, the Bene Gesserit have left you alone for now, most likely tangled in the politics regarding the Kwisatz Haderach while trying to predict the next movement of Jessica Atreides - word is that she has burrowed her way deeper into the desert, surrounding herself and her son with the more fanatic of the Fremen as she bides her time, ready for her next strike.
It means that you’ve been granted enough time to establish yourself as a bounty hunter. For a highly trained Bene Gesserit, the work is easy, and earns you coin a plenty while keeping you on the move and as in shape as assassinating sloppy idiots attempting to run from debt and petty disagreements can.
Slipping through the palace’s perimeter proves easy enough. You use the Voice on a few guards, preferring it to cutting their throats: instructing them to keep quiet and forget you passed by causes much less of a commotion. The scaling of the ramparts that make up the circumference of the inner palace is the most challenging, due to the stone being slick with moss and rain - your fingers dig into the cracks between the weathered blocks of stone, the wind snapping and tugging at your cloak, fiercer now that you’re higher up.
There’s a narrow battlement ringing one side of Feyd’s room. You land on it silently, padding over to the window sill; curtains made of heavy black fabric layered on a dark, wispy privacy layer shroud most of your view of him. His pale skin is almost luminescent under the jagged flashes of lightning bathing his quarters, the blanket having slipped half off him during the night. He lies with his bare back facing you, although it’s hardly a vulnerability - you doubt anyone would be able to creep up on him easily enough to bury a knife into his exposed back without him tearing their throat out first.
Apart from you - hopefully.
Carefully, you ease the window open. A frigid gust of air rushes in as you climb through, and you witness the exact moment that Feyd awakens and becomes aware of your presence; imperceptibly, the muscles in his back ripple before he settles again - you posticipate the feel of them under your palms, hard, lean, perfect for sinking your nails into.
A thrill rushes through you at the sight of him, a sort of wondrous feeling, keen as a knife and just as cutting. You want him all over you, you want him to consume you until all you can remember is him and his smouldering eyes and sensuous touch.
Shrugging off your cloak, you let it pool to the floor around your feet before toeing off your shoes too; breath caught in your throat, you steal over to his bedside, your hand ghosting over the solid curve of his shoulder blade before you grip his shoulder, turning him so his back is flat against the mattress and straddling him in one fluid motion.
The cold kiss of metal meets your neck.
You almost moan at the look on his face. His lips are pulled back in a snarl, his eyes wild, frenzied almost, glittering with the same danger as before. Running your hands up his hard, sculpted chest, you smirk down at him, watching as ever so slowly, his gelid gaze defrosts with recognition, the ice giving way to those all encompassing flames, flames that you surrender to unequivocally.
‘I wouldn’t do that if I were you,’ you murmur, fingers circling his wrist.
Feyd blinks, watching you as if he’s going to eat you as always. Slowly, the hand not wielding the knife roams waywardly down your spine, grabs a harsh fistful of your ass and lingers before gliding upwards and settling on your waist. He huffs, an abrupt, amused sound, but you don’t miss the way he greedily drinks up your figure with his eyes.
‘I thought I scared you away, little witch. Presumably, it was not too much for you?’
‘For me?’ You muse. ‘We’ll see.’
Knocking the blade from his hand, you ignore the screeching noise it makes as it skitters across the stone floor, instead enjoying the subtle inhale, loaded with expectancy, that Feyd takes as you lean in close to him. You hover above him for a prolonged moment, arms boxing him in, before he lurches upwards, connecting your lips with his.
A growl sounds at the back of his throat when he tastes you, licking into your mouth as his fingers press at the small of your back, bringing your lower body to meet his. Rolling his hips against yours, he tangles his fingers in your hair; you feel giddy with the feel of him against you, solid and warm and wanting, so real beneath you, so fucking insatiable.
You can’t get enough of him.
Slowly, you pull away, ablaze with the ravening craving in his eyes. The muscles in his well shaped chest flex as he tips his face up, following your lips, and you smile disarmingly at him, hooking your fingers in the waistband of his trousers and pulling them down.
Taking his chin in your palm, you tilt his head so you can look him in the eyes before swiping your thumb over his lower lip, savouring the way he’s putty in your hands: a man destined to be the Baron of one of the most influential, powerful Houses in the Imperium, a lethal, strikingly skilled warrior, Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, humbled by your touch.
‘Let me taste you,’ you breathe - it’s almost a command.
‘Please,’ he chokes out, imploring you with his eyes.
Laughing, you press a hand to his sternum and push. He sinks back into the mattress, compliant, and you trail your lips down his neck and sternum, leaving hickeys in your wake. You're seized by the need to make him shake and beg and cry; you want to devour him.
Dragging your nails cruelly down his thighs, branding him with livid red scratches, you tilt your head to the side, a smile playing upon your lips as you listen to the groan that leaves him, the pricks of pain setting him alight with longing. There’s a devout look in his eyes - a fervent, zealous sort of lust that stirs within you with the impulse to make him forget his own name.
Curling your fingers around his hard length and giving him a few pumps, you watch him under your lashes, something akin to a power rush spinning your head around and around. Feyd is wonderfully sensitive, and a sneer pulls at your lips when his fingers scramble for purchase, fisting in his silky sheets as you press a chaste, loitering kiss to his cock head - a pearl of jet precum sits at the apex of it, dark against its rosy, delicate flush.
Dipping your hand into your pants, you collect your slick on your fingers and use it to jerk him - when you glance up, his pupils are blown wide; lips parted, he stares at you, transfixed.
Eyes locked on his, you take him in your mouth: his thighs tighten, every muscle taut as you run your tongue along the veins wrapped around the underside of his cock. His head tips back, displaying the strong lines of his neck as you hollow your cheeks, rubbing your thighs together to ease the increasing ache between them. Jaw slack, you gag when he hits the back of your throat, and he growls at the sight of your hungry eyes growing watery.
You toy with him, teasing him with your tongue and grazing your teeth lightly over his length until he’s gasping your name; the way the syllables leave his tongue is almost pleading, his chest heaving and covered in a sheen of sweat, his thighs shuddering, wracked with tremors.
It’s evident that he’s close, the voracity in his eyes so hot that it melts your bones, sending heat pooling in your core - you’re going to let him wreck your cunt after this; ruin you for any other man. Trembling, his pale fingers hover near your head, splaying over the expanse of your shoulder, his eyes fucking begging for permission, so you pull off him, laughing as his hips jolt forward at the loss, his cock twitching when your fingertips graze his balls.
‘Go on, Feyd,’ you coax. ‘Do as you wish.’
A tender, honeyed noise rips from low in his chest, almost a whimper, a sound you know no one has extracted from him before. It’s the only warning before he fists his hand in your hair, hips bucking as he fucks into your mouth, his eyes rolling back as you gag around him, the debased moan that escapes you sending vibrations down his cock.
You almost black out when he comes down your throat. You’re not sure if it’s the lack of air reaching your lungs or the sweet pain of Feyd’s hand yanking at your hair, but you’re sure that you’ve never taken so much pleasure in someone else’s release. Slowly, you sit up, moving to lie beside Feyd, and he smiles dumbly at you, maybe a little fucked out as he leans in to kiss you, sighing as he tastes his own come on your tongue.
‘I could spend hours exploring you, my little witch,’ he says, pressing his lips to your jaw.
Feyd flips you over with only an echo of ferocity from your previous fight, disrobing you and gripping your thighs, spreading them. Your hands find his shoulders, his back, your fingers resting in the dips of muscle there, trailing down the length of his spine as his own find your slick, yearning cunt.
Outside, the storm blows harder, rain pounding down upon the planet’s surface in sheets, lightning lancing through the thick billows of clouds; it is during one of these strikes that you glimpse that Feyd’s eyes are not as dark as they seem, but the colour of glaciers and blue fire. Within them, just beneath the keenness of his electric gaze, lurks something else - something that makes you hesitate. He senses it immediately, fingers pausing their movement, so you fit your lips to his.
You kiss him to avoid the emotions roiling in his stormy eyes.
He responds immediately, and you easily dismiss the thoughts clouding your mind; he barely knows you, there’s no room for the feelings you just saw in his gaze. You seek his body, not his soul, and it is the same both ways.
‘Fuck me,’ you mumble against his lips.
All coherent sentences leave your mind when he flips you over again, this time with your stomach pressed to his bedsheets as he kneels on the mattress behind you.
‘Ass up, my little witch,’ he commands.
Something within you goes molten at the sound of his voice. You can feel his gaze straying all over your skin, greedy, so you tuck your knees beneath you and arch your back, biting down on your lower lip as his palm presses against your lower vertebrae. He chuckles; it warms your bones.
‘You’re so filthy, little witch, displaying yourself for me.’
Bolts of ecstasy shoot through you as Feyd slides his cock head through your folds, his broad hands gripping your hips so tightly that you’ll be left with bruises. Your breath is punched from your lungs when he sinks himself inside you, balls deep, white hot pleasure rocketing down your spine - it tears a wretched cry from you, more so when he starts a brutal, near sadistic pace, the angle destroying you with vicious bliss.
The drag of his searing, velvet cock on your walls makes your toes curl. You think your body might shatter into a million pieces, the way he plucks the euphoria from it so agonisingly, so beautifully. One of his hands finds its way between your thighs, his thumb rolling endlessly over your clit; you find yourself teetering on the edge, suspended there a moment before you fall.
The way your cunt convulses around his cock as you come doesn’t stop Feyd. Unforgiving, he ploughs into you, his fingers still working on your clit, not breaking his rhythm even as you writhe beneath him, trying to jerk your hips away from his to no avail. It’s too much, the pleasure melting delectably into pain and still he can’t stop, won’t stop, his low snarl a warning in your ear as he pins you to the mattress with a hand between your shoulder blades, leaving you helpless to do nothing but take him.
Tears well up in your eyes, soaking into the sheets beneath you as he rails into you, his fingers speeding up on your clit until you’re begging him, tremors shooting through you from the aftershocks of your orgasm. His grip on your hips is unrelenting, and you sob as his pace increases, the savage friction sending you over again.
For the second time, you come hard around him, pussy clenching and fluttering, ragged cries wracking your body. This time, you bring Feyd with you, the sound he makes sharp and almost pained. He pulls out, and you mewl at the sharp tug of friction, panting as he comes on your back and ass, claiming you with his dark seed.
Breathless, he sits back on his heels as you straighten your legs until you lie full stretch, revelling in the post orgasmic rapture. Dimly, you hear his footsteps on the stone floor, but you pay them no mind, instead letting your eyelids droop as you rest your chin in the crook of your elbow.
Gentle hands encircle your ankles, carefully opening your legs. A second later, you feel a warm cloth at the apex of your thighs, and you whine, flinching away from the overstimulation. You hear Feyd’s chuckle, and the comforting sweep of his thumb against your skin as he cleans you up, pressing soft, open mouthed kisses on your back as he does; barely a moment after, the mattress dips, and strong arms pull you into a warm chest.
‘How are you, my little witch?’
You hum in response, not wanting to use words. Something niggles at your brain, even through the haze of pleasure. It’s got to do with the na-Baron’s gentleness after he fucks you; it unsettles you, the sweetness of him, and now these words, as if you’re a lover, and not… whatever this is.
One of his wide palms runs up and down your ribs, and you shove those thoughts to the side, instead enjoying his touch, the way your body fits into his, his chest pressed against your front as he traces patterns on your skin with his deft fingers; his lips brushing the nape of your neck, leaving soft kisses there. You find yourself curling away from him a little - his hands on you make something deep in your chest stir to life, something that shouldn’t be there. It’s -
A blinding flash of lightning, followed by the deep, throaty growl of thunder illuminates the room. You’re facing the door: in the crack between its solid masonry and the floor, you glimpse a shadow.
Hastily, you turn, one hand meeting Feyd’s chest, fingers falling into the dip his collarbone makes as you search his eyes, urgent. He stares back at you, not quite guarded, but not quite open any more, and you’re filled with the urge to protect.
‘Give me your knife,’ you hiss.
He sits up halfway. ‘What’s - ’
You push him back down, glaring at his resistance. You can sense the change in the air, hear the subtle scrape of someone’s boot across the stone floor and the swish of clothing behind the door - or maybe it’s just the building storm outside, the escalating charge in the sky as another bolt of lightning is generated.
‘Feyd. Give me your knife.’
Eyes quizzical, he produces it from somewhere behind him, handing it to you hilt first. It’s just in time, because the door swings open, a masked figure silhouetted there. You whirl around, covering Feyd’s body with your own.
They’re holding a knife.
It doesn’t take you a moment longer to send your knife hurtling towards them. The blade seethes through the air before embedding itself with a thunk into the assassin’s shoulder, and as they drop to the floor, you’re up in another second, poised in case there’s another. A flash of movement catches your eye - the dropped knife, retrieved and held in blood soaked fingers.
‘Stand down,’ you snap.
The Voice echoes through the room, and you pluck the knife out of the now frozen assassin’s grasp and slit his throat. Turning, you see the glimmer of amusement and awe in Feyd’s eyes; assassination attempts probably occur often, an estranged Bene Gesserit using the Voice in his room less so.
‘So many people seem eager to sneak into my bed chamber tonight,’ he remarks. ‘Although I must admit I preferred the first one.’
You laugh, collecting your clothes off the floor. ‘I’m glad.’
As you pull on your trousers, followed closely by your shirt, Feyd gets up, and you’re struck by the slow manner in which he approaches you, so much like the way he prowled towards you in the arena, but this time his eyes concerningly soft, his deadly, killing machine of a body marked with hickeys and love bites.
‘Why do you always rush to leave so fast, my little witch?’
‘I - I have places to be,’ you stammer.
He tilts his head. ‘At this hour of the night?’
‘...Yes.’
Feyd takes one step closer, close enough to kiss. ‘What are you afraid of?’
You back towards the window. ‘I fear nothing.’
‘Don’t lie to me,’ he warns. ‘I can see it in your eyes.’
Shaking your head, panic rising in your throat, you turn, the glass chilly on your fingers as you open the window. Feyd catches your other hand, but you whirl around and lash out, a blow to the face followed by a blow to the legs, and he staggers backwards, giving you enough time to slip out of the window and onto the battlements.
Outside, the storm has whipped up, the howling wind tearing at your hood and blowing it off, the rain immediately pouring down to soak your hair, sting your eyes, wet your face. You need to run, you need to get away from him, but the weak part of you - the part that you fear - slows your strides, tugging at you as if it’s tied to Feyd somehow.
He catches up to you easily enough.
Of course he does, he is Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, and he is inexplicably bound to your soul in a way you cannot describe, in a way that terrifies you, shakes you to your very core. He catches your with a hand around your upper arm and presses you to his chest, your treacherous body reacting to him the way it always has as he stares down at you with those burning, icy eyes, droplets of rain running in rivulets down the moonlight planes of his chest.
Unease tears through you. You see it in his eyes, that he feels it too, and you dread the way it does not disquiet him. Your soul feels like it’s slowly rending in two - you need to get away from him, from the unguarded way he regards you, dedication clear in his unwavering gaze, but all the same, you need to remain with his arms trapping you to him, in the bewildering magnetism of his psyche.
‘Tell me what you fear, my little witch.’
You answer through clenched teeth. ‘I am not yours.’
‘You evade my question.’
You stare at Feyd, confounded. This man before you is the same man that you duelled in the arena, yet he is different; there is a certainty in his eyes, an acceptance that you yourself flee from. You’re drawn to him, even as the instincts that have kept your hollow heart intact all these years squall for you to break loose - and yet you fear that too, the evasion, because you know that if you run now, a part of you will be lost, snapped under the tension.
‘What do you - ’
You cut Feyd off. ‘Do you know what I fear, Harkonnen? I fear the look in your eyes, because it’s not just desire any more. You do not seek me in order that I inflict pain and pleasure alike upon you, you seek something else. I fear the look in your eyes because it is the same feeling that rises traitorously in my chest when I look at you, and it terrifies me.’
He’s silent.
You grab his shoulder. ‘Tell me you feel nothing, Feyd. Tell me you crave me for the thrill of adrenaline and the feel of my body - tell me and do not lie.’
His eyes bore into yours. ‘I cannot.’
‘Exactly.’
You wrest yourself from his grasp, turning and striding down the battlements. A strange feeling overtakes you, a prickle behind your eyes and a lump in your throat, an aching tug at your heart which you stalwartly ignore. It is over - you’re done. He made it harder than it ever had to be, but you’re going now.
He grabs your hand. ‘You cannot either, my little witch.’
Struggling, you snarl at him, clawing at your chest, but he pins you to the wall, his eyes aflame, searing, calling to something in you that rises up to meet him. This time, it is too strong; you cannot push it down, a part of you not even wanting to. You can feel Feyd all over you, your senses overwhelmed by him, by the way he presses his forehead to yours, forcing you to meet his gaze.
‘You do not have to fear it,’ he whispers. ‘Just let go. You’re holding on too tight.’
He dips his head, claiming your lips. You give in, yield to it, let it wash over you and carry you away on its blissful waves, your heart swelling in your chest at the way he touches you, tenderly, as if you’re the most precious thing he’s ever laid his eyes upon; this is not Feyd, but this is him, irrefutably so.
You think this might be love.
It is a wild, white hot blade in your heart that twists, beauteous, enthralling. You believed that it would weaken you, shackle you, but you blaze with the glorious flare of it, the kiss of Feyd’s hips against yours stoking it further. Truly, it is magnificent.
In the only way you know how, you show him. It’s cataclysmic, the way you’re pulled to him like a comet caught in a planet’s gravity, streaking towards him, fated to collide, your hands roving over him, his over you, the taste of rain blooming on your tongue as you bite down on his shoulder, muffling a moan as he ekes sweet, tender pleasure from you. Your head tips back against the stone, eyes raised to the weeping sky, your lips parted as he fills you with his cock.
Feyd looks at you as if you are a goddess. He worships you, cradles you in his arms, anchoring you, grounding you. You do not know where he ends and you begin, nor do you want to know; you wish for your souls to meld, you wish for the two of you to be alone in the universe, unbothered by time or fate or anything.
‘You are mine, little witch,’ he intones against your rain soaked skin. ‘I am yours.’
#bald freak supremacy#feyd rautha#feyd rautha harkonnen#feyd rautha smut#austin butler#austin butler smut#dune#dune two#dune part two#dune 2#dune part 2#dune ii#dune part ii#feyd smut#feyd rautha fic#feyd rautha fanfiction#feyd-rautha#dune fanfiction#dune smut#atreides#house harkonnen#feyd rautha x reader#feyd x reader#feyd x you#feyd rautha x you#dune x you#feyd oneshot#bene gesserit#feyd x bene gesserit#feyd rautha x bene gesserit reader
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Blue hair—Jinx
Synopsis for Blue hair:
Jinx has always felt like two people trapped in one body—the ghost of Powder lingering beneath the chaos of who she’s become. One night, in the quiet of her workshop, she turns to cutting her iconic blue hair in an attempt to sever ties with the past she can’t escape. When you walk in, you find her mid-breakdown, scissors in hand and surrounded by shattered remnants of herself.
Through raw vulnerability, shared confessions, and careful understanding, you help Jinx confront the pain she’s been burying and the pieces of her identity she’s been trying to destroy. Together, you begin the difficult journey of acceptance and rebuilding, one strand at a time.
A story of hurt, healing, and learning to hold the broken pieces without cutting yourself in the process.
trigger warning- self h@rm themes, mental health struggles , trauma references, emotional vulnerability,
Inspired by “Blue Hair” by TV Girl
The door to her workshop was cracked open, and even from the hallway, you could hear the erratic clinking of metal and the hiss of frustration. Jinx always worked late—her projects were endless—but something about tonight felt different. Wrong.
When you pushed the door open, the first thing you noticed was the mess. Not the usual clutter of tools and blueprints, but chaos—shards of broken glass scattered like jagged confessions, overturned boxes spilling bolts and screws across the floor. And there, sitting in the middle of it all, was Jinx.
Her long blue braids hung loose around her, tangled and frayed. A pair of scissors rested in her hand, their blade trembling as her knuckles whitened around the handle.
“Jinx?” you called softly.
Her head snapped up, and for a moment, her wide eyes were pure panic. She looked at you like you’d caught her mid-crime, like you weren’t supposed to see her like this.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice sharp but fragile, like glass about to shatter.
You stepped inside, careful not to disturb the broken pieces on the ground. “I was looking for you.”
“Well, you found me,” she said, her tone bitter. “Now go.”
You didn’t. Instead, you crouched down in front of her, your eyes flicking between the scissors in her hand and the uneven chunks missing from her hair. “Jinx… what’s going on?”
She laughed, a sound so hollow it made your chest ache. “What’s going on?” she repeated mockingly. “What does it look like? I’m reinventing myself.”
“By cutting your hair?”
“Why not?” she snapped, her grip on the scissors tightening. “It’s stupid, right? But maybe if I chop enough of it off, I’ll stop feeling like—” She cut herself off, her voice cracking.
“Like what?” you pressed gently.
“Like her.”
The word hung heavy in the air, and you didn’t need to ask who she meant. Powder. The girl she used to be, the girl who haunted her every thought.
Jinx dropped the scissors, her hands flying to her head as she tugged at the remaining strands of her hair. “She’s still in there,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “I can feel her. Crying, messing everything up. She won’t shut up, no matter what I do.”
You reached out, your hand hesitating before brushing against hers. “Jinx, stop. Please.”
Her hands stilled, but her chest heaved like she was fighting to keep the storm inside her from spilling out. “I thought if I cut it, I’d feel… different. Less like her. Less like—” She broke off, squeezing her eyes shut.
“Less like you’re falling apart,” you finished for her.
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours. For a moment, she looked so small, so scared. “How do you know?”
“Because I’ve felt it too,” you admitted, your voice soft. “That need to do something, anything, to make the pain feel… real. To make it stop eating you alive from the inside out.”
Jinx stared at you, her usual bravado stripped away. “Did it work?”
You shook your head. “Not the way I thought it would.”
The room fell silent, save for the faint hum of her machines in the background. You reached for the scissors on the floor, setting them aside before gently taking her hands in yours. Her fingers were cold, her grip weak.
“It doesn’t matter how short you cut your hair, Jinx,” you said softly. “You can’t erase her. But maybe… you don’t have to.”
Her brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re not just Powder or Jinx. You’re both. You’re all the pieces, even the broken ones.”
She shook her head, pulling her hands away. “I can’t be her. I can’t.”
“You don’t have to be,” you said. “But you don’t have to destroy her, either.”
Jinx let out a shaky breath, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“You don’t have to do it alone,” you said, your voice steady. “I’m here. For every piece of you, Jinx. The messy ones, the sharp ones, all of it.”
Her gaze softened, and for the first time, her walls seemed to crack. “You don’t know what you’re signing up for,” she said, a weak attempt at humor.
“I do,” you replied, your dimples showing as you smiled gently. “And I’m not going anywhere.”
Jinx’s lips quirked up, just barely, before she looked down at the strands of blue scattered around her. “Guess I really screwed this up, huh?”
You laughed lightly. “Yeah, but we’ll fix it. Together.”
And as you reached for a brush, guiding her to sit still while you worked to even out the jagged edges, Jinx let herself lean into your presence. For the first time in a long while, she felt like maybe—just maybe—she could stop running from the pieces of herself and start putting them back together.
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Me after listening to fetch the bolt cutters by Fiona Apple for the first time (this is The Normal Album levels of brain chemistry altering)
#Fiona apple#fetch the bolt cutters#THE ARTIST THAT YOU ARE. THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE#This could very possibly be my new favorite album by a female artist#Speak now and jagged little pill have such strong personal connections that make them really hard to top#But my mind is absolutely blown
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tending to jj's cuts and bruises after he defends your honour... (based on this post and this request) [0.8k]
"Ow."
Your hands work diligently at the cut etched across his cheekbone from your stance between his legs. For a moment, one wanders off, stroking his non-battered cheek in a silent apology for the added pain.
"You did this to yourself," you state matter-of-factly. "No one told you to turn into the Hulk."
"Well, you don't have to be mean about it."
"I'm not trying to be mean. I just don't understand why you can't let shit go sometimes."
You move on to his split lip. A jagged, dark red line cuts through the mouth that you think about far too often. You ache to kiss it, believing that maybe you occupy the healing powers he so obviously needs, but then you think better of it.
There's no way he feels it too.
You dab a wet towel at his lip, cleaning off the dried blood, and once his mouth is free, he chooses to defend himself, thankfully with his words this go around.
"You didn't hear what he said about you, Y/N/N. I wasn't about to jus' let him get away with that shit."
Your eyes meet his, and you pause your movements. Though you appreciated his loyalty and how he'd always stick up for you no matter the cost, you never enjoy when he actually goes to those great lengths just to protect you.
Simply having him in your corner was more than you could ever ask for.
"Kelce is an idiot. I don't care what he has to say about me, and you shouldn't either."
"Well, I do. He's lucky he didn't leave in a bodybag."
Your eyes narrow at him. "You're impossible."
"'M jus' sayin," he says. His tender and sore hands travel up the sides of your thighs, warmth blossoming through you in their wake. He gives your flesh a squeeze. Funnily enough, he can no longer feel the pain flashing through them like lightning bolts now that he's touching you. "I'll never let anyone say or do anythin' to hurt you, princess. I'll always protect you."
You feel the warmth bloom in your cheeks, and you're eternally glad that he isn't holding your face the way he always does. You'd be busted if he were.
You offer him a small smile, one you can't suppress. How can you be expected to after those sentiments?
"Look, I know I probably sound like a broken record, but you can't keep putting yourself in the position to get in trouble. You're not a kid anymore, and you've had enough run-ins with the law as it is."
"'M not scared of gettin' in shit, Y/N/N."
"I'm serious," you frown down at him.
"So am I. Fuck the opps."
You scoff, wanting to wipe that devilish smirk off his face. "You sound like Pope."
"Who d'you think taught him that?"
You know he thinks this is all just a joke. Not the defending you part, but the getting in trouble with the law part. He'll always do what he feels he needs to, regardless of the possible consequences. It's just how he is. Still, you don't think it's a joke. You hate how Shoupe and the rest of them take all his indiscretions and use it as ammo to remind him that he'll never escape the southside. You'd hate to be the reason that he 'proves them right.'
"J, I mean it." You set the items that occupy your hands down on the marble counter, and grab his face in your hands, careful of his cuts and bruises. "All I'm asking is that you try and keep it together. Please. I don't like watching you get hurt."
He's silent for a moment, analyzing your words and the sincere look on your face. Yeah, you're his best friend, but it's always a nice reminder that someone actually wants to look out for him and care for him.
He likes it even better when it's you who's doing so.
The corners of his lips turn up and his hands migrate to the backs of your thighs. He uses his hold on you to urge you closer. "You're worried about me."
You give him an incredulous look. "Yes, JJ. I worry about you. After all this time, I don't even know why you question that."
"'Cause you're the only one who does."
You melt inside, and you're sure you do so on the outside as well. Your eyes soften, and to distract him from it, you go back to cleaning him up, reaching for some q-tips and the disinfectant.
His eyes flutter closed when you touch him again.
"If you wanted attention, you coulda just said so," you joke, unable to resist poking fun at him.
"Shut up," he says, laughing softly. His eyes are open again, and he looks up at you so tenderly that he wants to tell you what he's been feeling all this time.
I love you.
It's on the tip of his tongue, but when he wills it to leave his mouth, they refuse him.
He goes for the next best thing.
"Look, I'll try to...control myself. No promises, though."
A small smile graces your lips. "Thank you."
concepts ; concepts (ii)
#꒰ — daydreams ꒱#꒰ — jj maybank ꒱#jj maybank x reader#jj maybank x you#jj maybank x y/n#jj maybank imagine#jj maybank prompt#jj maybank blurb#jj maybank brainrot#jj maybank brain rot#jj maybank concepts#jj maybank concept#jj maybank thoughts#jj obx#jj outer banks#jj maybank obx#jj maybank outer banks
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Girl first of all I want to say that I'm OBSESSED with your writing I love it.
Second of all I would like to make a request about Luke so hear me out.
Luke and reader were in a relationship before he betrayed camp and they were head over heals for each other and then he stole the bolt and when Percy discovers he's the thief the reader is there feeling betrayed and specially heartbroken even though Luke ask her to go with him but she doesn't accept it because she's so loyal to camp and her friends.
Time passed and even if she wants to hate Luke she loves him more than anything. And Luke loves her too so instead of asking Annabeth to escape with him he asks reader and she accepts.
I want to see everything in here fluff, angst, everything you think about.
I hope you like this request and make it real for me because I've been having this idea for over a week.
Okay but I feel so bad ‘cause I totally forgot I had this story FULLY WRITTEN and READY to be published (‘cause I LOVED it), I’m so sorry angel, made you wait a lot more than just a week 🥺, but thanks for reading my stories <3
MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader
warnings: luke´s a traitor, betrayal, use of yn, swearing, kinda angst (?, KISSING, lil book spoiler
₊˚⊹♡
The crackle and pop of the bonfire filled the air, a comforting contrast to the vibrant bursts of color exploding overhead. The annual fireworks display was in full swing, casting shadows on the faces of your friends huddled around the warm flames. It was a picture of peace, a moment of respite amidst the constant threat of monsters demigod drama.
You stole a glance at the empty space beside you. Luke, your boyfriend, had told you he'd just be back in a minute. A few minutes had turned into an eternity, but you chalked it up to his usual impulsiveness. He'd be back any minute, with his signature smile and an arm wrapped around you.
You knew it.
From the moment you met, you and Luke had been inseparable. You were his confidante, his anchor in the chaos of being a demigod and his messy life. He was your rock, always there to make you laugh, to understand the weight of your heritage in a way no one else could.
The warmth of the fire danced on your skin, but a shiver snaked down your spine. Something felt off. The chatter of your friends seemed muted, replaced by a dull ache in your chest. You couldn’t deny the way you noticed how Luke has been acting lately. So weird and distant towards you the last couple days. You loved him, fiercely and unconditionally. You'd been there for him through thick and thin, especially after his quest left a jagged scar across his cheek and a hollowness in his eyes.
But then he suddenly just, snapped.
A memory surfaced in you , sharp and unwelcome. It had been months ago, a conversation in the darkness of his cabin in a particular cold night. Luke, his eyes filled with a desperate fervor, had confessed his anger towards the gods, his belief that they were cruel and neglectful parents. He'd spoken of tricking the Olympians, joining forces with the Titans to fight for a better life for all demigods.
The anger in his voice, the glint of rebellion in his eyes, had scared you. The scar on his face, a reminder of his failed quest, seemed to burn brighter that night.
You understood his anger. The gods were far from perfect, their neglect and cruelty evident in countless demigod lives. He'd begged you to join him, his voice filled with a desperate hope. But you'd refused, your loyalty to Camp Half-Blood and your friends unwavering. You had spent hours talking him through it as you held his hand, reminding him of all the good the gods had done, no matter how flawed they might be. He'd looked lost at the time, seeking comfort in your touch. You'd thought you'd reached him, extinguished that spark of rebellion.
You really believed that conversation was long forgotten. But there was a reason why you remembered it.
Some movement at the edge of the woods caught your eye. But it wasn't the boy you were expecting. Percy, his face pale and etched with worry, practically stumbled into the fireplace, his chest heaving and his grip tight on Riptide.
A pang of concern shot through you. "Percy?" you called out, concern lacing your voice. You pushed yourself off the ground, walking towards him. "What happened? Where's Luke?"
Percy hesitated, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. Shit, should he tell you? His silence was a hammer blow to your gut. You knew, with a chilling certainty, that something was terribly wrong.
"What?" you choked out, the question barely a whisper, expecting some kind of answer from the blonde boy, but nothing came from his trembling lips. The air felt dense, with a truth you desperately wanted to deny. You saw Luke getting into the woods with Percy, you saw it. And now, he was nowhere to be seen.
Then, it clicked. A cold, horrifying truth began to dawn on you.
He lied.
Without a word, you pushed Percy aside and started running, towards the woods. Your heart hammered against your ribs, like a trapped bird desperate to escape. You plunged into the darkness of the forest, the path you'd walked countless times with Luke now leading you into the unknown.
"Luke!" you screamed, your voice raw with anger and despair. You wove through the trees, the undergrowth tearing at your camp shirt, but you didn't care. You had to find him, to confront him, to understand why he'd chosen this path, if he chose it, why he'd lied to you.
But with each passing minute, hope crashed over you. The forest grew denser, the silence broken only by the rustle of leaves and the frantic beat of your own heart. There was no sign of Luke, no echo of his footsteps, no smell, no sense of his presence, only the chilling truth hanging heavy in the air.
He was gone.
He had left.
You sank to your knees, the weight of betrayal crushing you as the first tears you ever cried for Luke Castellan, started to fall. The man you loved, the person you'd trusted with your life, had chosen darkness over everything you held dear. He had chosen Kronos over you.
Grief, a cold and relentless serpent, coiled around your heart. And that feeling never seemed to leave.
The year that followed was a blur of sadness and a desperate attempt at normalcy. The silence from Luke was deafening. Not a single Iris-message, not a single sign of the one who once, was your boyfriend.
You knew you wouldn´t be able to return to Camp, at least not for now. Every corner held a ghost of Luke's smile, every sword clang a reminder of his battles and his betrayal. Your friends, the true ones, bless their hearts, tried everything to cheer you up from a distance, but their efforts felt like trying to pick up the pieces of a broken glass in the sea.
You opted to stay home that summer. But even there, away from the prying eyes and hushed whispers, escape from Luke's betrayal seemed impossible. Messages and news found you no matter where you hid. News of Luke leading a rogue army aboard a stolen cruise ship, rumors of him serving as Kronos's right hand while the Titan slumbered – it all reached your ears.
The nights were the worst. The darkness mirrored the hollowness within you. Tears would stain your pillow as you relived the events leading up to his betrayal. You once seemed to dream about seeing him again, and now you only screamed when you saw his face in your nightmares.
The memory of his touch, the warmth of his smile, the nights you spent loving each other with the sheets tangling in your legs, all felt like cruel illusions now. Yet, a part of you, a stubborn, illogical part, still clung to the love you once shared.
And Gods, did you try to keep yourself as busy as possible. You threw yourself into your studies and little courses here and there, seeking solace in facts and logic. You even began working, a boring but well payed summer job. Yet, the pain lingered, a dull ache that refused to subside.
The more you tried to banish these visions, the more vivid they became. You missed him like a starving man craved a feast, a yearning that gnawed at your insides and threatened to consume you. Frustration gnawed at you. How could you still love someone who'd betrayed you so utterly? How could your heart still ache for a man who chose war over you? The questions echoed endlessly within you, a relentless chorus fueling your self-conscious.
How could you be so weak?
These consuming questions were your companions for a whole year. But as the second summer after Luke's betrayal rolled around, a shift occurred within you. The raw, agonizing pain began to dull, replaced by a quiet resolve.
Finally, you decided it was time to take back control again. Camp Half-Blood called, a familiar haven among the storm. You returned a changed person. The vibrant smile that once adorned your face was a ghost, replaced by a guarded expression that spoke about the pain you harbored in silence. The camp's familiar energy felt hollow, a constant reminder of the happiness you'd lost.
Training became your sole solace. You'd disappear into the arena for hours, your celestial bronze sword a blur as you cleaved through training dummies, each swing fueled by a potent cocktail of grief and anger.
Exhaustion became your closest companion too. You pushed yourself to the limits of your endurance, hoping to find oblivion at the bottom of an empty fuel tank. But sleep, when it finally came, offered no escape. You'd dream of him, leading his army of rogue demigods, his eyes filled with a fanatical zeal that chilled you to the bone. And in those dreams, you'd see yourself, standing beside him, not out of loyalty to his cause, but out of a desperate yearning for the boy you once loved, still love.
In the quiet moments, when your friends weren't around, the dam would break. You'd collapse onto your cool and empty bed, tears streaming down your face, a raw, primal sob escaping your lips. The memory of Luke was no joy anymore, it haunted you like a specter.
You hated yourself for the traitorous flicker in your heart, the desperate, illogical yearning for him. It wasn't the war that tempted you; it was him.
You hated how much you missed him.
The scent of rain clung to the humid night air and to you like a second skin as you zipped up your duffel bag. Another summer at Camp Half-Blood loomed, promising a bittersweet mix of nostalgia and pain, but more training. The worst was yet to come, so you needed to be ready.
New York City, with its cacophony of car horns and the anonymity of millions, had become your refuge these past few months. In Manhattan, the memories of Luke seemed to hold less power for some weird reason, their edges dulling with the passage of time. You'd spent the past months in this tiny apartment, the silence deafening compared to the constant hum of life at camp.
Just then, a sharp rap on the door shattered the silence of your apartment. It was past midnight, an unusual time for visitors.
Adrenaline surged through you. Months of living fully alone had honed your senses. You'd become acutely aware of the city's underbelly – the flickering shadows that could hide monsters thanks to the ever-present mist. You'd seen them stalking the streets, stalking you, their true forms hidden to them mortals, an unsettling feeling crawling up your spine whenever their paths crossed yours. They never attacked, but their chilling presence followed you like a phantom.
Grabbing your necklace, you asked, "Yes?"
Silence. You weren't taking any chances. Pulling down at the pendant once, the necklace morphed into your celestial bronze dagger.
You took a step, two. Could it really be a monster? Could it really be some creature trying to get to you, by knocking on the door? With a shaky breath, you cracked the door open just enough to peek through the gap, hiding the dagger behind your back.
The sight that greeted you stole the air from your lungs.
Standing on your doorstep, bathed in the harsh glow of the hallway light, was Luke. His dark hair was windswept, his face etched with a gauntness that hadn't been there before, but his eyes – those were the same eyes that had haunted your dreams for months. They held a desperate plea, a flicker of the boy you once loved struggling to break through the hardened shell of the man he'd become.
“Luke?”
The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and a tangled web of emotions. Time seemed to warp in that hallway, a single moment stretched into an eternity. Luke looked different, yes. The carefree boy you knew had been replaced by a man hardened by experience, his features etched with lines that spoke of battles fought and burdens carried. But his eyes, those brown eyes that had once held a mischievous twinkle, now held a deeper sadness that mirrored your own.
"Hi" Luke finally said, his voice raspy.
You stood speechless, the dagger still clutched tightly in your hand. Years of longing warred with the fresh wounds of betrayal. You wanted to scream at him, to unleash the torrent of hurt and anger that suddenly washed over you. But something held you back, a flicker of curiosity, maybe.
"Um, can I come in?" he continued, his posture pleading despite his attempt at nonchalance.
Jesus. Was that all he had to say? After everything, after what he did, all he could muster was a request to enter your apartment? A tide of anger threatened to drown you. Did he not understand the gravity of what he'd done? Did he not realize the pain he'd caused? But you forced your thoughts down. You weren't a child anymore, throwing tantrums wouldn't solve anything.
"Are you armed?" you asked, your voice flat, devoid of any warmth.
Luke flinched at your question, a flicker of pain crossing his features. "You think I wanna hurt you?" he countered, his tone defensive.
"Last time I saw you," you spat back, your voice laced with bitterness, "was three years ago, and I know your little monsters are keeping an eye on me. The first thing I'm supposed to think about is whether you want to hurt me or not."
He sighed, a long, weary exhale. Unzipping his jacket, he turned slowly, patting down his pockets before turning back to you. His eyes, once alive with mischief and love, were now filled with a desperate sincerity. "See? No weapons. Just me."
You studied him, a battle raging within you. One part of you wanted to slam the door, to let him know that he wasn't welcome. Yet, another part, a smaller, more vulnerable part, couldn't help but cling to the flicker of hope that flickered amongst the ashes of your love.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, you stepped aside, allowing a sliver of space for him to enter. "Fine" you said, your voice devoid of warmth. "But you better have a good reason to come here"
Luke hesitated for a beat before stepping inside. He closed the door softly behind him, the sound echoing through the tense silence. He stood there awkwardly with his hands in his pockets, his eyes scanning the room, landing finally on the packed bags besides the tv.
"You're heading back to camp?" he asked.
You flipped the dagger in your hand, and the celestial bronze morphed back into the golden necklace. "What do you want?" you repeated, your voice still sharp, a shield against the emotions swirling within you.
Luke stood awkwardly in the doorway, the once carefree boy replaced by a man burdened by the weight of his choices. His leather jacket seemed to hang heavy on his broad shoulders.
"I…" he started, then stopped, seemingly unsure how to proceed. He cleared his throat, the sound scratchy and unfamiliar. "You look different" he finally managed, the words tumbling out awkwardly.
You scoffed, a humorless sound that surprised even you.
"Look, yn" he finally managed, his voice barely above a whisper, "I wanna talk, okay? I know what I did was wrong. I know I hurt you."
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest. "You could say that again."
His fingers twitched at your bitterness, but pressed on. "I came here because..." He hesitated again, seemingly wrestling with an inner turmoil. "Because I-"
Frustration bubbled up within you. This cryptic approach, this lack of honesty, it was infuriating. "Because you what, Luke?" you demanded, your voice laced with a sharp edge. "Because you decided to grace me with your presence after leading a rebellion against the gods? Or maybe because you just wanted to see if I'm still waiting for you?"
You watched his face harden, the vulnerability replaced by a familiar defiance.
"Don't twist this" he snapped, his voice firm. "I came here because..." He took a deep breath, his eyes locking with yours. "Because I miss you, yn. I miss us."
The air crackled with a tension so thick you could almost taste it.
You took a slow step towards him, then another. He took notes of yourself as you did. The way you had grown internally was so intense that he could sense it everywhere. He might have betrayed you, but that only helped you get on your feet stronger, grow stronger. Become the warrior he always knew you were.
Then, in a move as instinctive as it was fierce, your hand lashed out. The slap connected with a stinging crack, the sound echoing through the apartment like a thunderclap. Luke's head snapped to the side, a crimson handprint blooming on his cheek. Shame flickered in his eyes as he scoffed, quickly replaced by a dull acceptance.
He deserved it, that much was clear.
"How dare you?” you spat, your voice shaking with barely controlled fury, "How fucking dare you come back here after what you've done? After leading a rebellion against the gods, after putting everyone we care about at risk? After betraying me?"
Luke took a shaky breath, running a hand over the burning mark on his face. "I'm sorry” he said, his voice low and ragged. "I'm so sorry. I know I hurt you, and I know a simple apology won't erase the pain or fix things. But you have to believe me, I never meant for things to get this bad"
He stepped towards you, his hands outstretched in a placating gesture, but you flinched back, the space between you a tangible barrier. "Don't touch me" you warned, your voice laced with ice.
He lowered his hands, his shoulders slumping in defeat.
“I know you hate me for what I´ve done. For joining Kronos, I-“
"You think this is all about Kronos?" you cut him off, your voice shaking with barely contained fury. "You think the reason my heart has been broken these past years is because you joined a fucking Titan?"
Luke remained silent, the weight of your words pressing down on him like a collapsing mountain. He knew better.
"This is about what you did to me, Luke" you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "I was with you, all the time. I was your girlfriend! And you betrayed me. You left me alone” your voice broke so hard that you had to take a second to swallow the big gulp that was forming in your throat. “Everyone at camp looked at me after what you did," you choked out. "They either felt sorry for me, or they insulted me, saying that I was still loyal to you, that I was a traitor."
You closed your eyes for a moment, the pain etched on your face a stark reminder of the devastation he'd wrought. "You were the most important person in my life" you cried, your voice raw and vulnerable. "But you? You let Kronos fill your head with empty promises, and just like that, you forgot about us."
The truth felt like a bitter pill to swallow. He opened his mouth to speak.
"I asked you to come with me" he finally whispered, his voice thick with regret. "I gave you the chance to leave with me."
"And even after I said no," you countered, your voice trembling like the finger that was now pointing at his chest, "you still left. You threw me away like shit. And do you know what the worst part is?" Tears streamed down your face, tracing a path through the dust of old heartache. "That as much as I try, I can't seem to hate you."
A sob escaped your lips, shattering the fragile dam you'd built around your emotions. "I still love you, Luke" you confessed. "Even though it's a love that fills me with pain, it's still there. I hate myself because I dream about you, about the way things used to be. But when I don't, I feel like a piece of me is missing."
You looked up at him, your eyes brimming with tears and a raw vulnerability that left Luke speechless.
What had he done?
"I hate myself because I can't help but pray for your safety, even though you never seemed to care about mine. I hate myself because even after everything, I still love you, Luke."
Your heart felt like a shattered kaleidoscope, a million shards of love, anger, and pain reflecting back at you in a distorted reality. You walked and sank onto the couch, burying your face in your hands as sobs racked your body.
Luke, his heart heavy with a remorse sharper than any weapon, watched you crumble. The carefree girl he fell in love with was gone, replaced by a woman etched with the scars of his own actions. Hesitantly, he reached out, placing a hand on your back as he sat down next to you, a gesture of comfort that felt more like a branding iron on his guilt.
"yn” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "I still love you too."
You didn't respond, the sobs coming in ragged gasps as your body struggled to contain the storm within.
"I know I left you" he continued, his voice cracking slightly. "And you didn't deserve it. But… I was so lost, so angry. Kronos promised me power, a solution to all the problems I saw. He convinced me that Olympus was corrupt, that the gods didn't care about half-bloods like us. And when you said no, he-, he told me to leave you behind, said that it would be easier for everyone…"
His voice trailed off. Easier for who? Easier for him, perhaps, to sever the ties that bound him, to plunge headfirst into a rebellion fueled by manipulated ideals.
"But it wasn't" he choked out, a tear escaping his eye, carving a glistening path down his cheek. "Every day, every step I took… it was a constant reminder of what I'd lost. The guilt was eating me alive, yn, you have to believe me”. His hands desperately reached for yours, trying to get your fingers to intertwine by placing his over yours.
Tears welled up in his own eyes. "I regret everything. I mean it. I don't want to do this anymore."
You finally lifted your head, your eyes red-rimmed and brimming with unshed tears. Luke looked different to you now, the bravado and arrogance gone, replaced by a vulnerability that mirrored your own.
"Don't want to do what?" you asked, your voice hoarse.
"This” he gestured vaguely to himself, but you didn’t quite catch it. "Following Kronos. Helping him rise to power. It's wrong. I can see that now."
“Little late to that, isn’t it?” you blurted out.
He took a deep breath, his expression resolute. "yn, there's a reason I came to you. A reason I risked Kronos' trust in me." He paused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Kronos wants me to become his host."
And the world seemed to suddenly stop. You stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. Your mind raced, trying to process what he had just said. Luke, your Luke, becoming a vessel for the monstrous Titan?
"What?" you croaked, fear coating your voice like frost. Your eyes darted around, searching for a way out, a solution, anything. But Luke wouldn't meet your gaze, his jaw clenched tight, a storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. "No. No, he can't. It's not possible."
The thought of him, Luke, being consumed by Kronos, twisted your insides into knots.
Luke, however, seemed to gather his resolve. "Yes, it is" he said, his voice low and strained. "There are things you don't know, yn. Things I've done."
A cold dread gripped your stomach, a physical manifestation of the terror that clawed at your insides. Your mind raced, desperate for answers. "Then tell me" you only managed to say. "Luke, what have you done?"
He hesitated, looking around as if afraid someone might be listening. "There's no time now" he finally said, his voice tight with urgency. "But I promise I will explain everything. That's not why I'm here."
Taking a deep breath, he dared to reach out, his hand gently grasping yours, finally. The warmth of his touch sent a jolt through you, a stark contrast to the chilling fear that gripped you.
He called your name, his voice softening. "Come with me" he said.
You only feel capable of frowning your brows in confusion. "Go where?" you asked, your voice wary.
"Anywhere" he said, like a plea. "Let's run away, together. It can be just you and me again"
He leaned closer, the air around him crackling with a tension that mirrored the storm within you. As his forehead rested against yours, a jolt of electricity shot through you. It was a familiar warmth, a spark that had ignited countless stolen kisses and whispered secrets back when your world wasn't teetering on the brink of war. His other hand cupped your cheek, the touch a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you. His hand, usually warm and comforting, felt cool against your burning skin, a physical reminder of the distance that had grown between you. Yet, despite the chill, a wave of longing washed over you, a yearning for the simple comfort of his touch.
But reason tugged at you, a voice of caution in the midst of the storm. "But Luke," you stammered, pulling away slightly, "If you escape, Kronos will come for you. He'll come for us, and-,"
"I don't care" he interrupted, his voice resolute, yet laced with a tremor that betrayed his bravado. It was as if he was on the precipice, teetering between defiance and the vulnerability of a man on the verge of breaking. "I'll fight everything that comes for us. And if the war happens... I'll fight. I'll fight for everyone, I’ll fight for you. I'm not losing you again, yn."
His words resonated deep within you, a desperate echo of the love you still harbored for him, a love you thought you'd buried beneath layers of anger and sadness. You saw the fear in his eyes, a fear that you sadly shared, but beneath it, a flicker of something else – a raw, desperate hope. And as you looked at him, a wave of relief washed over you.
The relief of knowing he wasn't entirely lost, that a part of the Luke you loved still existed.
"I love you" he confessed again, his voice trembling.
Looking into his eyes, a storm of emotions swirling within them, the truth resonated with you. "I love you too" you whispered, the words tumbling from your lips like a long-awaited confession.
The world did indeed, stop. The rain, a relentless symphony against the window pane, faded into a distant murmur. The thunders became a muffled echo. In that moment, the only reality was the space between you and Luke, charged with the unspoken electricity of your confessions.
He leaned in further, a hesitant question in his eyes. A flicker of fear danced in their depths, a scared boy seeking forgiveness beneath the warrior's facade. You watched him, a bittersweet ache blooming in your chest.
With a sigh that trembled on your lips, you closed the distance. Your lips met in a hesitant touch, a tentative exploration of a forgotten familiarity. Three years of longing, of unspoken words and simmering emotions, poured into that kiss. It was sweeter than you'd dared to imagine, a warmth that spread from your lips and drizzled down your chest.
Unlike the passionate encounters of your past, this felt different; like kissing him for the first time. Luke's lips moved against yours with a reverence that sent shivers down your spine. He held back, his desperate desire tempered with a respect that surprised you. You knew him.
But then, you yielded. Your lips parted, a silent invitation, and his tongue met yours in a dance as old as time. A full, heavy and angry thunderclap erupted outside, a jarring contrast to the intimacy unfolding on the couch. But you paid it no mind, lost in the whirlpool of rediscovered affection.
Your arms encircled his neck, a desperate hold. He, in turn, cupped your waist, his touch lingering on the curve of your hip as he gently lowered you onto the soft cushion. His body hovered above yours. His lips, however, remained glued to yours, a relentless exploration that spoke of a love both fierce and fragile.
The kiss deepened, a slow burn that threatened to consume you both. You felt the familiar rhythm of his heart against yours, a counterpoint to the frantic beat of your own. It was a melody of second chances, of unspoken apologies and nascent hope.
His hand trailed down your back, teasingly brushing under your shirt, sending shivers dancing across your skin. You arched into his touch, a wordless plea for more. But just then, he pulled away, his breath ragged, his eyes a storm of conflicting emotions.
His voice, a husky murmur against your skin, sent shivers down your spine. "I missed this so much," he whispered, his lips trailing down the delicate column of your neck and the dip of your collarbone. His warm breath mingled with your own, a heady mix of emotions swirling around you.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, the familiar texture a stark reminder of the past you both desperately clung to. He reached for your pulse, slowly sucking in before letting it pop.
"I wanted to feel you every night" he confessed. "Every night, I dreamt of you." His words were a stark contrast to the cold, distant Luke you saw in your dreams, the only vivid memory you’ve had of him the past years.
"Luke" you whispered, your voice barely audible as you tried to speak.
He didn't stop. His hand drifted down your torso, his fingers brushing against the exposed skin of your lower tummy. Every touch felt like a brand, a searing reminder of what you had lost and the uncertainty that lay ahead.
"It was a mistake" he said, his voice thick with regret. "A big, fucking mistake. Leaving you, betraying you-, it was the biggest mistake of my life. My life doesn't make any sense without you."
With a strangled sound, Luke deepened the kiss, his lips moving against yours with a desperation that mirrored your own. You clung to him, a drowning sailor grasping at a lifeline. The scent of leather that clung to him was intoxicating, a familiar anchor in this storm of emotions.
"Luke" you managed to gasp between kisses, a flicker of reason breaking through the haze of desire. You needed more than just words, needed a binding promise, something concrete to hold onto if you were to take this leap of faith.
He stared at you, his eyes a storm of emotions – desire, confusion, and a flicker of something that might have been annoyance. But before he could respond, you pressed on.
"Swear on it, Luke" you whispered, your voice trembling slightly. "Swear on the River Styx” you repeat. Luke’s eyes dart back and forth, from your lips, to your eyes, to filling up with confusion. “I’m not-,” you cut yourself off as you feel your eyes filling with tears again. You bit your tongue before speaking, “I’m not letting you hurt me like this again"
You knew it was selfish, a desperate attempt to safeguard your heart. But Luke was here, finally, after all this time. You craved the warmth of his touch, the comfort of his presence. The thought of letting him go again, of enduring another betrayal, was unbearable. Yet, a part of you, still scarred from the past, craved a guarantee, an oath sworn on the most powerful river in the Underworld. It was dangerous, yes, but did you care?
Did he care?
Luke's expression hardened. The River Styx, held a weight that couldn't be ignored. The river he already bathed himself in. It was a binding vow, a promise etched in the very fabric of existence.
He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for a flicker of doubt, a hint of manipulation. But all he saw was the vulnerability, the fear – a vulnerability born from the scars he himself had inflicted.
"I swear on the River Styx" he said, his voice low and solemn, each word heavy with the weight of the oath. "I swear I won’t ever leave you. I swear I love you. I swear I'll fight for you, for us, with every breath in my lungs."
#luke castellan x reader#luke castellan#luke castellan smut#pjo series#pjo#pjo smut#luke castellan x you#luke x reader#luke castellan one shot#luke castellan fic#luke castellan imagine#pjo x you#luke castellan x female reader#luke castellan x fem!reader#luke castellan x y/n#luke castellan imagines#luke castellan fanfic#pjo luke#luke percy jackson
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believe ✦છ
arcane: sevika x gn!reader
contents: cursing [2.5k unedited] @parkersgarage this is heavily inspired by the oneshot they wrote! check out their works <3
IN WHICH: sevika makes you believe
❝ im living on overdrive, all the time ❞
Sevika just had a way of pissing you off.
Perhaps it was her bluntness, her casually dry sarcasm seeping onto the ends of her coiled lips every time she spoke. The way her soft gray eyes would flicker when she managed to briefly get your attention away from your hunched-up tinkering over your cluttered desk.
Maybe it was the way her choppy dark locks softly tickled the ends of her bronzed skin that you were ever so tempted to run across with the back of your thumb during the long nights she was away, lingering with the comforting yet faint scent of cheap booze and swirls of cigar smoke.
Or, more recently, it was the way she was bleeding all over your damn carpet.
"Sevika, what the actual fuck?-"
You seethed out with a hiss, your bottom lip slightly curled as she roughly dropped the prosthetic metal arm on the edge of your busted-up desk with a faint clatter. Your crinkled-up eyes gingerly running over the messy collection of tangled-up wires and bent-up bolts that scattered across the wooden surface.
You lightly pushed up the end of your thinly wired glasses up the bridge of your furrowed nose, dryly inspecting the damage with a soft click of your tongue before turning towards her harrowing presence. Her scarred bottom lip trickled with faint remnants of smeared dried blood, scattered bruises trickling across the edge of her face- her Roman nose looked slightly crooked, most likely getting it bashed in, fresh cuts adorning her rough skin as she smoothly leaned into your work desk with a jagged sigh coating her words.
It was a bit different from her usual bar brawl look though- not the same slightly caught up with light night gambling and the sweet taste of a new win lingering on the edge of her mouth.
She looked tired.
"Just needs a quick fix, dollface." Sevika’s voice was rough, the smooth words sliding off her tongue like a gravelly whisper, the edge of her usual self-assurance still present despite the blood splattered on her calloused skin and the damage to her arm that was dragged on the surface of your desk. "Figured you could patch this up."
You glanced at the mess of wires and metal plating surface- The arm looked like it had been through hell and tossed over the Piltover bridge for shits & giggles—scratches and dents marred it's sleek finish, and a few of the smaller components dangled precariously from frayed connections.
"A quick fix?" you repeated with a soft laugh lingering on your curled lips. You softly adjusted your thinly coiled glasses with a quick shove up the bridge of your nose, your eyes slightly crinkled up. "If that's all you needed, you could have done that your damn self-"
Your dingy apartment barely had enough space to fit the mess you called a workspace. The flickering fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, casting an erratic, sickly yellow glow across the room. Blueprints sprawled chaotically across the floor, pinned haphazardly to the walls, or forgotten in piles atop the desk. Tools, screws, and scraps of metal littered every surface, and the acrid tang of solder and oil clung to the stale air. The window was perpetually cracked open, letting in the faint hum of Zaun’s underbelly.
You turned over to look at her from your desk, a slight tug at your bottom lip.
Instead, you lightly snatched up the battered prosthetic arm, its weight heavier than it looked. Holding it up under the soft hue of the light above you, you gingerly turned it over in your hands, inspecting the sheer extent of the damage.
Her chapped lips pulled into something just shy of a smile, though it wasn’t quite smug— "Didn’t think my favorite little mechanic would mind getting their hands dirty," she murmured out, her voice low, with a subtle warmth that danced on the edge of teasing. It wasn’t the words, though, that got under your skin. It was the way her storm-gray eyes seemed to latch onto you as her fingertips carefully tapped the surface of your wooden desk with a slight hum.
It was the kind of teasing you heard faint whispers between the streets of The Undercity- murmurs calling you Sevika's “Pretty Little Tinkerer”
"Sevika," you bit out finally, your voice tight as your smooth fingertips ran across the surface of the arm with a soft sigh, "this isn’t a ‘quick fix.’ Half the circuits are fried, the frame is bent beyond repair, and these joints? They’re done for." You half haphazardly tossed the arm back onto the desk with a resounding thud, its impact shaking a glass jar of screws precariously close to the edge.
Her expression didn’t waver. The faint bruises on her jaw caught the flickering light, but her eyes stayed locked on yours, calm and unhurried as though she were absorbing every inch of your irritation. There was no cockiness, just a quiet watchfulness that made your pulse flicker unevenly.
"Relax," she said finally, her voice steady but soft in a way that only stoked the fire under your skin. "I know you’ll fix it. You always do."
You clenched your jaw with a slight click of your tongue, forcing your focus back on the scattered mess of your desk, your oiled-up fingers gingerly flexing in frustration before reaching for the tools scattered across the surface.
"You’re impossible," you muttered with a light hiss, letting the tension in your voice bleed into the room as you sorted through the mess. The soldering iron hissed faintly as it heated up, mirroring the simmering heat in your chest.
Behind you, Sevika stayed silent, her gaze still heavy on your back. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was there—a quiet weight you couldn’t ignore, no matter how much you tried to channel your irritation into fucking untangling the mess she’d handed you.
You swallowed hard, your throat tightening as you tore your gaze from her, turning sharply toward the battered prosthetic arm on your desk. The clatter of tools filled the space as you hastily grabbed what you needed. Your voice was lower now, rough while smoothly turning one of the busted-up bolts quietly.
"What kind of trouble are you getting yourself into, Sevika? Every time you come back home to me, you come back, you come back hurt."
You adjusted your leather pants as you crouched to retrieve a roll of bandages from the corner. The thick material creaked softly with the movement, the belt cinched snugly at your waist holding an assortment of small tools and stray bolts you had yet to organize.
“It's nothing.”
“Nothing isn't gonna scrub out the blood dripping on my carpet.”
Sevika had a way of filling the cramped space with her presence, and not just because of her size. Her towering figure seemed to soak up the weak light, making her seem even more imposing against the backdrop of your cluttered home. She leaned heavily against the edge of your desk, her metal arm a battered mess, the prosthetic sparking faintly as it collided with a pile of wrenches. Her usual attitude seemed dimmed, but her faint small smile was still there that she reserved for you was still there, tugging at her curled lips even as fresh bruises marred her skin.
"I have been dealt worse." Sevika’s gaze shifted away, the tension in her jaw easing as she turned toward your cluttered desk. Her gray eyes moved over the chaotic sprawl of blueprints pinned haphazardly to the wall, their edges curling from neglect. Some were smeared with faint fingerprints of grease, the lines of your meticulous designs almost hidden beneath layers of ink corrections and frustrated scribbles.
Her attention dropped lower, taking in the rows of jars crammed along the edge of the desk—each filled with bolts, screws, and mismatched metal scraps. The faint clinking of loose pieces echoed as her metal arm brushed against one, sending a lid rolling off onto the floor. She didn’t flinch, her focus already wandering to the tools scattered across the workbench: screwdrivers, wrenches, and soldering irons, all marked with the stains of your labor.
"The whole situation has been growing dire, our attempts to control everything that has been brewing have been leading to chaos."
Your wired glasses slipped down your nose as you stood, and you shoved them back into place with a grease-stained hand, leaving a faint smudge.
"It doesn't have to be." You finally spoke.
"What?"
“I could be up there, with you, Sevika—helping you.” You set your wrench down with a decisive clink, the sound sharp against the quiet hum of the room. Rising slightly from your chair, you pressed your palms flat against the surface of your desk, leaning forward as your tools and bolts rattled from the sudden motion. Your gaze softened, warm but resolute, as it locked onto hers.
“I know I’m not much of a fighter like you,” you continued with a slight rustle into your locks of hair for a moment, your voice steady despite the faint quaver of emotion before looking back at her with a soft laugh, “But if I could put together a few bolts—really show those topsiders—”
The words hung in the air as you held her gaze. The faint glow of the desk light highlighted the sheen of oil on the palm of your smooth hands and the subtle tension in your posture.
Sevika’s eyes flicked down briefly to your hands, pressed firmly against the scarred wood of the desk, then back up to your face. Her expression shifted, just slightly—the smallest crease at her dark brow, a flicker of something unspoken behind her stormy gray eyes. She took a breath, her broad shoulders rising and falling, but she said nothing yet, her silence heavy in the space between you.
"And what? So you could get hurt? Get involved in the crossfire of all this shit?" Sevika’s voice cut through with a sharp laugh, though the subtle tremor in her tone betrayed something deeper. Her hand shifted to rest on the desk beside yours, her thick fingers brushing past scattered bolts and oil-stained papers as if grounding herself against the weight of her words. Her gaze bore into you, stormy gray with a soft flicker.
You let out a bitter laugh, the sound raw and uneven as it slipped past your lips. "And what do you want then?" You pushed back from the desk, standing now, your movements sharp while waving your curled-up fingers through the air with a slight sigh. "For me to sit pretty down here and tinker away while others die? While there’s a big fat fucking chance you could die-?"
Your voice cracked on the last word, and you turned away sharply to look at her, your soft hands gripping the edge of the desk until your knuckles stiffened. Tools roughly clattered from the sudden movement, and a lone wrench tumbled to the floor with a dull thud, but you didn’t flinch
She could die.
Before you could stop yourself, your hand rose, trembling slightly.
Your fingertips brushed the edge of a fresh bruise on her cheek, her soothing skin warm beneath your lingering touch. The rough scrape felt raw underneath your soft graze, gingerly tracing the faded scars that still trickled across her face. Slowly, the back of your thumb quietly traced over the darkened patch of skin with a soft breath. Her face, always so sharp and proud, softened under your hand for a moment. The scar running down her cheek caught the faint yellow glow of the overhead light, stark against her bronzed complexion.
Her breath hitched, the tiniest intake of air, as her chin tilted slightly toward the warmth of your palm. For a fleeting second, her usual stoic mask faltered, replaced by a slight softness. Her long lashes, thick and dark, fluttered as she hesitated, her gray eyes flickering towards yours.
"I couldn't-" You whispered quietly, "I-I don’t know what I would do without you."
Sevika's jaw tightened, her plump lips parting as if to respond, but no words came. Instead, she smoothly leaned into your quiet hand, the weight of her head pressing gently against your palm. Her fresh scars and cuts faintly press into the soothing touch of your warm fingertips.
Then, without a word, she turned her face slightly, and her pursed lips brushed softly against your palm for a brief moment. The kiss was warm and deliberate. Her chapped lips smoothly grazed your touch. Her crinkled-up eyes fluttering shut as her lips lingered across your soft skin, and you could feel her light breath ghosting over your fingertips, steady and grounding into your warmth.
"I won't, [y/n]. Y'know that."
"Do I?" you softly asked, your strained voice barely above a whisper, "What if you never come back to me one day, Sevy?"
Your darkened eyes traced her face quietly, lingering on every bruise and faded scar that was carved into her bronze skin. The fresh purpling on her cheekbone, the faded remnants of old battles across her jaw— The space between you warmly lingered with a faint breath.
Sevika’s dark brows furrowed, her expression hardening- Slowly, she reached out, her large, calloused hand enveloping yours. Her grip was firm, almost desperate, as her thick fingers curled tightly around yours, holding on as if you might slip away.
"Hell could try to drag me down into its fucking depths," she whispered into your fingertips as the warmth kissed your flushed skin, her soothing voice low but steady, "but nothing in Zaun—nothing—would keep me from coming back to you."
Her smooth thumb brushed against the back of your quivering hand, the roughness of her touch grounding you even as her words made your chest tighten. She quietly leaned closer to the edge of your fingers, her head dipping slightly, enough to have her choppy locks tickle your face. You could feel the heat of her skin, the tension in her clenched jaw, her gray eyes slightly flickering.
"You have to believe that," she finally murmured, her grip on your hand firm.
"I—" The word faltered on your lips, and you looked down at your joined hands, her grip warm, grounding you in a way that both comforted and overwhelmed.
“Sevika-”
"Do you believe that [y/n]?" Sevika’s voice softened just enough to make the question linger in the space between you.
You took a shaky breath, forcing a small smile to your lips before pressing the edge of your mouth to the edge of her fingertips quietly.
"I’ll try," you murmured quietly, your voice steadier this time.
Sevika let out a low chuckle at the remark, her warm thumb brushing over the back of your hand one last time in a smooth circle before releasing you. "Now, let’s get me cleaned up, huh? I’m pretty sure I look like shit."
"You definitely do," you quipped with a warm hum, already reaching for a clean rag that was tucked away in the wooden drawers of your desk. She raised an eyebrow at your quick response, but the ghost of a smile tugged at her chapped lips.
a/n: i just needed to write a bit for arcane holy moly- let me know if you guys wanna see more arcane stuff? i was thinking of writing for more characters so let me know in my inbox if you have a suggestion, im on a kick right now lol :')
#arcane#arcane s2#arcane s2 spoilers#arcane season two#arcane sevika#sevika#sevika x you#sevika x reader#sevika x y/n#arcane x you#arcane x reader#arcane x y/n#sevika arcane#sevika imagine#blurb#arcane oneshot#oneshot#writing#my writing#lesbian#wlw#author is very gay
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The little fool jumped in front of a spell aimed at Tom. The memory made Tom’s body tremble.
He bent over the bed, his shadow covering the peacefully slumbering wizard. His hand gently brushed the unruly hair strands away from the new scar on the young man’s forehead. Most of the wounds left after the attack were completely healed, but for some reason this particular one had Harry’s magic interfering, leaving a jagged lightning bolt-shaped scratch behind.
Tom carefully traced the scar with his thumb.
Nobody has protected him before. It was a completely novel experience.
He hated this.
"Can't stop confessing"
Found a little prompt I liked and the story is pretty much done, added a little sketch to it
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In the Middle of the Night - Scott Miller
Summary: After a close encounter with a tornado, Scott comforts you through a nightmare.
Pairing: Scott Miller x F!Reader
Word Count: 2.7k
Warnings: Near-death experience, car accident (flashbacks, briefly explained), nightmare, mention of reckless driving
A/N: This might be the nicest I've ever written Scott. Hopefully you all still like him, even if it's a bit further from what we saw in the movie! Thank you to @famfan-1034 and @seeyalaterinnovator for beta reading this story.
The world was thundering around you as you desperately tried to will the truck to drive faster. Despite your foot being pressed flat against the floor, it was as if the vehicle was stuck in an inescapable loop. No matter what you did you could hear the rumbling of the tornado gaining on you, the noise reverberating in your chest.
"Come on, you've got to go faster," Scott yelled at you from the passenger seat.
You glanced over at him, seeing him twist around in his seat to watch the black funnel barreling behind you. You noticed that he didn't have his seat belt on as your foot desperately ground the pedal into the floor, having no effect on the speed of the vehicle. You needed to tell him to put his seat belt on, but it felt as though there was a physical barrier in your throat that prevented sound when you tried to open your mouth.
As the tornado gained on you, you felt as though you were back in your childhood. Standing too close to the train tracks, the freight train overwhelmed every sense. The sound deafened you as everything in your vicinity shook violently, vibrations numbing the feeling of the steering wheel in your hands. The swirling black wedge was all that was visible in your mirrors now, appearing as though to engulf all the light left in the world.
The frame of the truck groaned as you realized that your momentum had slowed even more, beginning to be slowly pulled back towards the spiral behind you. You grabbed at your seat belt in desperation, tugging on it uselessly as it jammed in its buckle. With wide eyes, you looked up at Scott, who was strangely calm. The words in your throat clawed at their cage, seeking any sort of escape.
You tried to get the truck back under control, despite the futility of the attempt, finally giving up just before you heard the crunch of metal. The roof crumpled violently, the frame snapping as the windows imploded. Your hands flew up to protect your face, not even taking notice of the possibility of pain as you wildly looked around.
Scott held your gaze for a brief moment, time seeming to bend around you, before being forcefully pulled from his seat. You were moving in slow motion again as you leaned forward in a desperate attempt to grab him, swearing you could feel the brush of his hand as your seatbelt choked you back in your seat and Scott was ripped from view. You were finally able to gather words from your throat, screaming his name in anguish as the truck's metal continued to collapse around you.
Just before you were crushed by the ever-shrinking vehicle, you bolted up in the pitch black. You looked around in terror for a few moments, eyes taking a few moments to adjust to the dimness. Slowly, you remembered where you were. The thin sheets of the motel scratched annoyingly at your skin, giving you a slight grip on reality. Jagged, acidic breaths burned your lungs, the feeling of fear continuing to crush your chest despite waking up.
You swung your legs over the side, relishing the rough feel of the motel carpet grounding you as you held your head. You fought the tears bubbling in your chest, a mix of slow and broken breaths escaping you.
After the events of the day, you supposed you shouldn't be surprised by the dream. Your encounter with the tornado hadn't been nearly as violent, though the terror in both scenarios had gripped you just the same.
Years of working with storms and you had never feared one, instead finding the thrill of their ferocity captivating, but now you questioned your place amongst them.
Your chasing partner, Jason, and you had been leading the charge in Lion, driving into the path of the tornado to drop your radar. Part of the reason for his assignment to Lion was that his driving allowed him to get ahead of tornadoes easily, though his love of adrenaline had often led him to poor choices.
This time, you had been caught up in it and the results had left the truck mangled and you and Jason barely surviving.
You massaged the stone of anxiety sinking deep into your chest as your body could still feel the reality of hiding in that culvert as the tornado passed nearby, rumbling everything around you like a runaway freight train. You had laid there curled into a ball and struggled to breathe until you heard the rushing sounds of vehicles quickly followed by your co-workers' voices calling your names.
The ringing in your ears had prevented you from hearing most of what went on, though you remember seeing the anxiety bleed out of Javi and Scott when they saw you climbing out of the ditch. Your body evidently had the same reaction to seeing the safety of your team, collapsing into the dirt as you came down from the adrenaline high.
You barely heard the soft knock at the door over your slowly steadying breathing. You steel yourself as you open the door, though there are immediate cracks in that resolve when you see who it is.
Scott stood outside your door with dark hair standing at odd angles, bare chest contrasting with the black sweats hanging low on his hips. He was a mess, by his standards, yet you couldn't help but admire him.
"Are you okay?" He asked, thick brows knitting together in concern. His voice was scratchy, sounding as though he had been in a deep sleep.
Your cheeks heated as you realized that he must have heard your nightmare from his room next to yours, the thin walls of the motel not doing much for privacy. You looked down slightly in a small bubble of embarrassment, noticing that the heels of his shoes were bent down as though he had felt that putting them on properly would slow him too much.
"Yeah," you confirmed, "sorry for bothering you."
This was the part of Scott that was often reserved for you, the part that had drawn you to him in the first place. Yours and Scott's attraction to each other was an open secret amongst the company, resulting in endless teasing after the night a few weeks ago when you two had stumbled into his room after too many drinks at the bar.
You knew that Scott had that meaner side, and had seen just how far he could go when he had practically shoved Jason against Scarecrow after the accident. You hadn't caught his words, the combination of ringing ears and Javi's fretting capturing most of your attention before Javi helped you to your feet. Then you looked at Scott and, noticing that he looked seconds away from punching Jason, called out to him.
The other employees had wondered how you, someone who was known for avoiding conflict at all costs, had captured and returned the attention of your hardass boss. The truth was simply that Scott was different around you, especially when it would just be the two of you working late. Underneath his rough exterior, Scott cared deeply for those close to him, though he hid it from them, and the reason for his demeanor was due to a difficult past with relationships that prevented him from easily trusting. He had confessed this to you one particularly late night at the bar when you two were inebriated to the point of senseless rambling, apologizing for all of the sarcastic jokes he had thrown since you entered the business.
Truth be told, that sarcasm was one of your favourite things about him.
Unfortunately, you had a similar past and this is what led to the stalemate in your relationship, as you both hesitated at the thought of the commitment and vulnerability of a relationship.
Scott nodded sharply, taking a small step back. "Well, if you want me... I'm there."
You were shocked at your body's reaction to his words, a lump forming slightly in your throat. Turns out that near-death experiences really do change you. Your hand moved to close the door, though your body pauses mid-motion. Your gaze returned to Scott, focusing on the earnest look in those blue eyes.
Fuck it.
"Scott, wait," you called as he started turning back to his own room. "Will you stay with me?"
Scott's lips quirked up in a small smile despite himself, nodding as he stepped into your room. You wordlessly shut the door, hearing him kick his shoes off behind you. You leaned back against it when you turned around, second-guessing your decision to invite him for a split second.
But then you turn around and see him standing there looking at you, the soft look in his eyes bringing you back to that night together when you had believed, for however brief of a second, that you could find a way to bypass your hesitations for him.
Before you can hesitate further you step into him, Scott immediately wrapping his strong arms around you without a second thought. His chin rested on the top of your head as you both stood there, a thumb rubbing soothingly at your hip as you relished in his heat.
Your breath shuddered at the gesture, still unused to allowing yourself to be held in this way again. You almost change your mind about letting him in, but then he's pulling you tighter into his body and you close your eyes and let your mind go blank.
You melted further into him, feeling his grip on you tighten in response. Being this close to him, all you could smell was him. All you could feel was the softness of his skin as he held you, patiently waiting for what you decided would be the next move. For the first time since you had gotten into the truck that morning, you felt the anxiety in you begin to dissipate. Your senses were enveloped by him, slowly backing you from the ledge of panic you had been balancing on.
Scott didn't loosen his grip on you until you leaned back in his arms to look up at him. "Thank you for checking on me."
He smiled at you softly, cupping your jaw as he pressed a feather-light kiss to your forehead. Despite your glimpses of the softer parts of himself that Scott kept hidden from the world, you were surprised at the gesture. It was so unlike him, outwardly showing as gentle an emotion as this, yet the affection that soared through your body for him rivaled that of the night that he had kissed you against his motel room door.
"C'mon," he whispered into your hair, "let's get you back to bed."
The last of the residual panic from your nightmare seeped away as you curled into Scott's body, the steady beat of his heart settling yours. "You're unnaturally warm."
Scott let out a short laugh at your comment, his hand cascading down the small of your back and over your curves to hook your knee over his hip. "Maybe you're just weirdly cold."
You hummed in response, pretending to consider that possibility for a moment. You looked up at him, the soft look in his eyes taking you aback. You had refused to ask him earlier, but the look in his eyes now compelled you to bring it up.
"Did you fire him?" You asked, looking down as you began tracing swirls into the soft skin of his chest.
"Of course," he answered, beginning to move his thumb in comforting circles on your hip. "I should have fired him sooner."
"Scott," you said, "there's no way you could have known what was going to happen."
"I did know, though." He interjected, the abruptness of his answer stalling your movement. "Javi and I had considered firing him a few weeks ago, but I fought for him to stay because he's the fastest driver on the team. I knew it was a ticking time bomb for him to cause an accident."
"If we..." Scott trailed off, swallowing nervously before he continued. "If I had lost you because I chose efficiency over safety, I don't think I could live with myself. Hearing the truck flip and not being able to do anything for you... All I could think of was all the wrong choices I'd made. Especially with you, I should have never let you walk out of my room after that night."
You slowly raised your head to look back at him. His blue eyes were steady in their gaze, showing no trace of deception behind his words as he finished. "I need you to know how much you mean to me."
Tears stung your eyes at his words, the years of not receiving this type of care and attention from other men catching up with you. You cupped the back of his head as you pulled him down to your lips, losing yourself in the taste of him. Your fingers curled in his hair as you both desperately grasped at each other, trying to get impossibly closer.
You let out a shaky breath when you finally separated. "You were in my dream." You said before you could lose your nerve. "I couldn't outrun the tornado and save you. That's what woke me up."
Scott grabbed your hand, placing it on top of his heart so you could feel the beat in his chest. "I'm right here, with you... I've got you, baby," he said, a small smile on his face. "Now that I've got you, you'd have to actually sacrifice me to a tornado to get rid of me."
You let out a soft laugh at his words, finally feeling your exhaustion catching up with you again. "I'll keep that in mind if you ever start annoying me." You told him, readjusting yourself to lay against his chest.
"You're riding with me if you want to come back, by the way. At least until we find someone I know I can trust with you." You smiled at him, placing a light kiss on his chest as you finally let peaceful sleep overtake you again.
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