#maybe the stranger is the caretaker

[hitlikehammers]

'who did this to you?' established Steddie, post-S4 🖤💙💜

The bruising’s stark, like footprints on new-fallen snow punished through to the long-dead grass. It draws the eye, insistent; screams to be seen:

“Who did this to you?”

Steve’s eyes are bright, voice low even as he delicately moves Eddie’s stretched-low collar to follow the line of broken vessels near the surface, a few stray snags of already rusty red, lines that follow the trails of mottled purple-blue. Steve smoothes barely a touch from the pad of his thumb just below the marks to trace them where they color neck to chin, up to the silver-light scarring on his face.

And honestly: it’s a ritual almost, now. But, like, it’s so different from how it used to be. Or even how it was before that, before them at all.

Before things ever ended like this.

“Names, babydoll,” Steve coaxes, but demands all the same; he’s learned over time not to bring the full weight of his steel to the fore in every moment—the resolute promise in his bones to protect Eddie at all costs doesn’t disappear, maybe does the opposite even, maybe just grows strong as what they have has grown, too; but it doesn’t burn so bright when it’s expressed in Eddie’s vicinity. Maybe to spare him.

Maybe as a strategic move on Steve’s part, who’s maybe finally learned that if he’s going to go beat the shit out of anyone, he should one-hundred-percent not let his boyfriend or his platonic soulmate—or also Wayne—about it in advance. So:

“Sweetness,” he nuzzles carefully, where Eddie’s skin’s not water-colored in burst-blood; “give me names.”

“Mmm,” Eddie hums, so easily softened and lulled by Steve’s careful adoration, the way he rubs his nose, his cheek against Eddie and just breathes—it carries Eddie into a soft, comfortable space always, no matter what’s happened; no matter what’s been done.

“Don’t have to,” Eddie sighs out, kinda pathetically desperate in how he leans into Steve’s…just Steve. Steve-Steve-Steve. So he just kinda sighs, because…Steve.

“You know damn well who it was.”

“Don’t play coy,” Steve warns, though its airy, diaphanous, even though Steve doesn’t stop for a second from nuzzling into Eddie’s skin; even but Eddie knows better than to entangle Steve’s softness for Eddie with his broader intentions, the heat behind his words, and the ultimate question:

“Who,” and Steve’s breathe so hot, so close to Eddie’s ear as he whispers, sends fucking shivers down Eddie’s spine; “did this,” and then he’s leaning to run his mouth back along the bruising, the damning trail of damage: “to you?”

“Steve,” Eddie sighs, can’t help but crane his neck to Steve’s careful attention, almost cataloging of the dark splotching, and Eddie can’t help it, it’s not like it even hurts, not really, Eddie knows hurting—

He’s not weird if he kinda feels like most hurting’s worth the high of Steve’s tender care like this, the buzzing flame-like licking across his skin.

Steve doesn’t even make contact with where it could even possibly sting, but fuck if it doesn’t make Eddie light up wild from the pit of his belly.

And fuck if Steve doesn’t know it.

“Mmm-nope,” Steve pulls himself back when Eddie’s reckless, lets out a full-ass fucking moan. “No distracting me,” Steve bites with a glare before he catches Eddie’s gaze and looks down pointedly, points so only the whisper of his touch follows the trail:

“Who did this,” and Eddie is weak, he’s weak because he shivers and when Steve draws his barely-a-touch back, away, he whines. Fuck, yes: he whines, Jesus.

Weak, you understand?

Also, if you don’t understand: fuck you. Eddie would like to see anyone—man, woman, or otherwise—do any better.

“You know,” Eddie keeps with the whining, Jesus fuck, seriously: “I said”

“I think mostly you’ve made noises.”

“Steve,” Eddie…does not break his whining streak. He’s tight in his thighs, and it’s not…he’s gonna need to address that soon.

He’s gonna need someone to address that for him, really.

“Hmm?” Steve leans in, and for the first time he does touch the bruises, tastes them on the flat of his tongue with barely any pressure like he’s collecting evidence, searing proof into his own flesh.

“What’s that now?”

“Steve.”

And he tilts his head at his name, which is less of a whine now—win—but breathy as fuck, still. It’s a process.

“Who did this to you, baby?” Steve asks, eyes wide, innocent and encouraging now as he pulls back and buries his hands in Eddie’s mess of curls, massages as his temples, his scalp.

Fucking dirty pool, right there.

“Steve,” Eddie bites out. Like literally bites his tongue as his head tips back, inescapable for the perfect circles being traced across his head; “Harrington.”

And yes: soon as he gets the words out, the name in full, he stops fighting how just Steve Harrington’s hands are deciding to undo him, this time.

“Hmm, sounds familiar,” Steve hums a little, clicks his tongue and bites a bit at his lip; “but you say it so soft, sweetheart, like maybe you’re hesitant or somethin’,” Steve shakes his head, and tips Eddie’s face toward him a little more full-on, thumb on Eddie’s subtly swollen lower lip:

“Are you one-hundred-percent sure?”

“Absotively posolutely,” Eddie enunciates carefully, never breaking eye contact as he lets his tongue flick out to Steve’s touch and watches those pupils dilate quick to drown that hazel gaze.

“No doubt in your mind?” Steve pushes, relentless, but leans in, leans to breath open mouthed against each bruise:

“Only one,” Eddie sighs, and maybe it sounds frustrated, over the interrogating but hell if he can be over any single goddamn thing about this man.

And it’s the truth. There’s no evidence but Eddie knows Steve leaves his trusty bat at a different angle against the wall the days after Eddie so much as mentions being hassled, or only just slipping the asshats looking to resurrect Jason’s pursuit—the coincidence of every single threat disappearing, suddenly keeping the eyes on the ground if they pass Eddie by, changing course overnight when the bat shifts ever so slightly?

Eddie’d be more concerned, if there was ever any real damage to Steve in response, but in reality he only ever went to put the fear of god in those assholes, he swears he’s never even let a single one of them move quick enough to even try to pull anything on him in return, and well.

Hop doesn’t condone it but he never works too hard to find evidence, and Steve never does anything the technically breaks any obvious laws, so. Eddie thinks it’s Hopper’s way of showing he cares.

But then there’s…this.

There are mornings, like this, when Eddie wakes with bruises around his neck like a chain, a heavy one in the center of his chest like a pendant, little red dashes here and there, barely visible but particular points of interest for Steve when he wakes Eddie up with gentle but unceasing kisses where the bruising doesn’t survive the night so bright, so tender, sucks the blood back up to Eddie lips and leaves them gorgeously numb before he inspect the purple marks: perfectly shaped to his lips.

The tiny red marks perfectly lined to ?i>his teeth.

All of them sucked and nipped so sweet, never hard enough to mark for force but only through persistence, dedication, painted with the single-minded kind of worship Eddie never even considered having focused on him.

So it’s kind of a wondering way that he reaches, reaches out and thumbs Steve lip in return, marveling a little when he tilts his head and takes Steve in for a breath, just basks in him:

“Only one man alive allowed to mark me up,” Eddie whispers, and there’s love in every syllable. Even that’s not really enough but.

They both know.

And Steve’s grin curve slow and satisfied, leaning in to presses his lips, open-mouthed to Eddie’s that he’d already kissed plump as he woke, long before the breaking light through the windows now, catching in Steve’s gaze, had dared fort with the horizon line; he leans right there and breathes hot into Eddie’s mouth:

“Damn fucking straight.”

For @cranberrymoons, who requested the quote 'Who did this to you?' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson @theheadlessphilosopher

divider credits here

💫 ao3 link here

[whumpitisthen]

"How are you feeling?"

"Every time you open your mouth, I get the deep, primal urge to grab you by the jaw and rip it right off to watch what's left your tongue dangle like a fucking wind chime."

"...

So that's a solid no on going outside today."

[saetoru]

Tee 🥹 so RB Gojo always shows up to YNs house unexpectedly or wants her to come over. What if one day out of the blue, like 2 am she shows up at his house in tears due to stress. And for once he can be the caretaker and dependable one. And then she falls asleep in his arms arms and he gets to be the big spoon for once. I could see her whispering “you’re it for me too” while thinking he’s asleep.- dabitee anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩。BEFORE & AFTER — GOJO SATORU. (rich boy! au)

contents. college au, rich boy! gojo, stressed reader :(, comfort, cheesy banter lol i tried ok, slightly based off of this drabble

notes. dabitee anon. babie u are my biggest rb! gojo inspo u always think of the sweetest lil moments between them sobsss i adore you sm

sometimes, gojo forgets you're not always put together. sometimes, you struggle to get assignments finished, and sometimes you don't wake up for work on the first alarm, and sometimes studying is too much to handle no matter how determined you are for an A.

"thinking about me this late, sweetheart?" he grins as soon as he picks up your call, laying back on one arm as he stares at the ceiling. he doesn't expect to see you call at two am, but you do—and when he hears the short, wet sniffle through the phone, he doesn't waste a moment to sit up. "sweetheart? you good?"

"toru can you let me in?" you ask quietly. gojo feels every crack in your voice pierce into his chest—it's rare for you to need him like this. he thinks he's always needed you more than you've needed him, truthfully. you've always opened doors after he's stormed out on his father, you've always laced your fingers after arguments with suguru, and you've always rubbed his back when he's hunched over toilets after one too many drinks.

when was the last time you've let yourself need gojo? he doesn't have the time to even try and remember, his feet carrying him over to open his front door quietly. and it's you—you with teary eyes and puffy cheeks, you with tired dark circles and wobbly lips. it's you, but it's not the you he knows, the one he's used to.

the one good thing about gojo satoru is he always knows how to talk—he speaks enough for two, knows how to fill the silence when you can't bring yourself to speak. his arms tug you into his chest before you can open your mouth to explain.

"did you drive all the way here with those watery eyes?" he hums, "wanted to see me that bad? it's dangerous driving like that, baby."

"didn't wanna be alone," you mumble, sniffling into his chest. his hands are big—they're good for rubbing slow circles into your back, the warmth of his palm seeping in through your shirt and pressing against your skin.

"i'd have come if you texted me," he hums, "'m always up, anyway. you know i was beating suguru's ass in mortal combat? he owes me a burger."

"you can afford one yourself, idiot," you huff, making him chuckle. something about the low rumble of his chest against your cheek makes the tears flow a little faster—not because you feel worse, but because it's safe enough that you can.

sometimes, you forget gojo isn't that spoiled and whiny handful you love to call him. sometimes, you're reminded that he's used to being alone, that carrying emotions enough for two is his forte. your cheek presses harder against his chest, like you could bury yourself inside of him like that, like hiding away in his ribcage is where you're safest from the rest of the world. maybe it is—maybe all you need is him to make it safe.

"who's got my baby crying the night before an 8 am class?" he asks softly, “i’ll punch ‘em.”

“what if i say you, will you punch yourself?”

“for you, always,” he nods seriously.

he knows how to ask these things like that: like it's not heavy, like you can make a light-hearted joke or two so that you're not drowning in your own vulnerability. sometimes, you forget that gojo is no stranger to hiding his own vulnerability, that he knows how to hide it under a playful grin and a cheeky laugh.

"that group assignment's due soon and no one's done anything yet but me, and i had to pick up an extra shift to cover for someone, and that quiz coming up is apparently super hard, and my electricity bill was high this month and i don't know why, and....and—"

"okay," he hums, "the electricity might've been me," he says with a quiet chuckle, "i always forget to turn the lights off. I'll handle it, yeah?"

"but—"

"it's not paying for you," he cuts you off, "it's paying you back. there's a difference. now c'mon. i make good hot chocolate."

"it's out of a packet," you sniffle, lips curled into a pout as his thumb swipes away at your tears. he traces the swell of your cheek before pinching it lightly, making you huff.

"hey," he gasps, "it's special because i put extra chocolate in it! it's my secret ingredient."

"it's not a secret if it's the main ingredient, toru," you mumble, letting his fingers thread with yours as he tugs you along to follow him.

"do you just live to correct me?" he whines, "can't i have one thing?"

and when he hears that soft, breathy little giggle from you, he smiles to himself, the ache of his chest calming just a little. you think gojo could always do that if he tried—pull a small laugh or two out of you even if the world was crumbling around you, keep your lips curved up even as everything goes wrong.

he's enough to forget about that damn project, and that extra shift, and that absurd quiz, and that distressing bill. maybe it's in the way he makes the whipped cream look like a crooked heart in your mug, or the way he burns his tongue as he takes a sip too fast, or the way he swings your arm as he drags you to his room, or the way he wriggles his brows at you as he takes his shirt off before bed, or the way he presses that delicate, sweet, careful little kiss to your forehead as you lay on his chest.

because he has to be enough, he thinks as he holds you, he has to be good enough for you that he outweighs every bad thing you'll ever deal with. he wonders if you know you're it for him, if you know that no one else could fill the spot you've wormed your way into unknowingly. he realizes it that night you hold him, the same night you didn't scold him for ruining your sleep, the same night he finds his way to you when it feels like every road is blocked.

and when the roads are blocked you find your way to him too. so he lays quietly under your cheek, feeling your fingers trace those slow hearts into his skin as he hears you murmur, "i think you're it for me too, toru."

his brows furrow—and then he realizes you must have heard him that night, just like he's hearing you now. a small part of him wants to laugh at the odds, at the way you both can't bring yourselves to say it when you're sure you'll hear each other. the other part of him thinks maybe you were always supposed to find each other, that you were always meant to stay awake and hear hushed words that are supposed to be secrets.

but then you tilt your head up, meeting his eyes, like you know he's awake. oh, he realizes, you've always known, haven't you?

"oh yeah?" he asks, "what if someone cuter and funnier comes along?"

you giggle—not one trace of stress or fear or defeat on your features, not with him there. "i met suguru and still chose you," you tease, making his gasp in disbelief.

"that's so mean," he whines, "i made you hot chocolate with extra chocolate! you can't say my best friend is cuter. and for the record, i'm way funnier than him."

"i'm kidding," you grin, pinching his cheek. "i love you. thank you," you add quietly.

"love you too," he kisses your temple. sometimes, gojo forgets what it was like before you—and he doesn't really want to remember.

atp rich boy! gojo is just his own character to me sjfjsjfj i’ve just created a whole new dude in my head with the same irritating blue eyes

[enhaven]

romance: untold | masterlist

— this summer holds the potential to spark or conclude countless romances throughout the school year. the warm evenings and carefree atmosphere create an ideal backdrop for chance encounters and spontaneous adventures, where sparks can ignite and lead to new relationships or deepen existing ones. summer experiences may leave lasting memories or fade away, and it’s up to you to choose before the school year resumes again.

genre: college!au, summer!au, romance, fluff, smut (hyung line only)

read here — roommate!au | acquaintances to lovers

summary: rumours about Heeseung made you hesitant to accept his offer initially but he turned out to be the opposite — showing you time and time again how good of a roommate he is. maybe it'll help you decide by the end of the semester if you'll stay for more or not.

read here — neighbour!au | ??? to lovers

summary: your busy schedule this summer has led to unfinished chores piling up at your dorm. fortunately, you have Jay, a very responsible and kind neighbour who offers to help in any way possible. and oh, he's very handsome too and you wonder when he can tolerate how messy you are.

read here — ???!au | classmates turned enemies to lovers

summary: summer's the best time to continue your goal of getting a driver's license since your schedule's finally not hectic. too focused while trying to practice on your own, you didn't notice someone lingering by the dorm complex driveway. it's the cute guy you shared a class with a couple of semesters ago and you wonder if he remembers you at all— surely now when you almost hit him by accident.

read here — summer job!au | strangers to lovers

summary: instead of a research position that you were aiming for the summer, you ended up being the caretaker of the university's greenhouse out of desperation to have a job on campus. eventually, it warmed up to you — thanks to someone who idles by when you're working and eventually becoming a familiar companion that brings comfort to you.

read here — convenience store!au? | ??? to lovers | taglist open!

summary: deciding to work as a night shift cashier at the convenience store near your campus has pros and cons. mainly pros since you're a night owl and would mostly be alone while working. it's an ideal job really until a certain customer frequents your workplace for his favourites - including you apparently.

read here — summer school!au | rivals to lovers | taglist open!

summary: you dread doing school work this summer when you're supposed to use these months to take a break. you have no choice though when you hear that Jungwon, your number one competition in your cohort will take available classes for the semester to make sure he'll be ahead of you.

read here — housemate!au | friends? to lovers | taglist open!

summary: with the rest of your housemates away for the next three to four months, it's just you and Riki left in the shared house for the summer. it's not like he's intolerable; he's considerate and respects your space, only interacting when necessary. but perhaps this extended time together might also change the current standpoint between you two.

.

a/n: ngl this was really unplanned but i'm somehow excited to release these! maybe cuz of the season or that there’s barely college fics around for enha when they’re literally in college age range rn lol. it's a shared universe but they're not gonna be posted in order tho some members will appear in each fic.

© 𝐞𝐧𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐜𝐨𝐩𝐲, 𝐦𝐨𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐲, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[faeriekit]

I feel like you’ll appreciate this flavor of feral brain rot as a true delicacy.

Ghostly Courting 101

1.) When you have someone you like, you politely sneak into their haunt and leave a gift that hints at your identity. If they’re interested, they’ll start hunting for you. If not, it’ll be removed without the other party feeling any societal pressure.

2.) For ghosts who died a violent or wrongful death, one of the most meaningful things you can do is avenge them. Attack their murderer, haunt their negligent doctor, etc. It’s not guaranteed to win their affection, but it’s a hell of a display.

Now, per the laws of unintended consequences, Danny finds Red Hood rearranging his freezer.

It’s 3:00 AM. He just wanted some water. Why is Gotham’s favorite son trying to leave him a fuck off huge casserole?

“Are you trying to propose or something?” Danny asks the liminal.

“Maybe???”

“Ghost weird or fruitloop weird?” Danny snatches his boo-berry ice cream and starts digging for a spoon.

Red Hood takes off his helmet to make sure Danny can see the Eyebrow of Judgment.

“Fruitloop then,” he says between bites. “We haven’t even sparred, and I sure as shit didn’t avenge you or anything.”

Oh. Oh no.

“Hood, why are you blushing?”

He couldn’t make out much from the outraged sputtering, but Danny nearly shat his fucking core out when it clicked.

“Is this about Joker???”

Danny was gonna take the stuttering as a yes.

Cool, cool, cool. He was calm. He was so fucking normal, it was fine, it was fine, it was—

Ancients take him, Danny beat the shit out of this guy’s murderer or something. He basically did a fucking flash mob proposal!

“Why the fuck am I even here?!” Red Hood screamed.

And the other guy’s fucking clueless!

I see, I see.

1: Which casserole. This is important. What casserole could the hindbrain of Jason Peter Todd's ghost instincts think is marriage material?? Is this like a comfort food can-of-cream-of-mushroom based casserole dish or like one of those newfangled sushi bake type things?? What did Jason whip out to prove he's marriage material??

2: What does JASON think is going on?? Did he hunt Danny down?? Did he just wake up in a stranger's apartment with a casserole in his hand?? Did he go to the grocery store with a list in mind or did he get home and realize he (for some reason) had every ingredient to make tuna casserole??

3: Wait. So does this mean that Jason thinks that casseroles are a good enough hint at his identity??? Does some part of Jason think that his most essential and core part of his identity is his tendency towards caretaking?? YO—

4: It's in a vintage pyrex. Look me in the eyes. This is not just Pyrex it's gotta be the old style pyrex that doesn't shatter in the oven without a pan underneath it. I am a connoisseur of white people culture and this is deeply important to me. It could even be one of the patterned ones. This is part of the gesture.

5: Danny is emotionally moved and it sucks considering that this was a complete accident

6: Jason is emotionally moved and has no idea what the fuck is going on. He wakes up at his safehouse one morning with bridal magazines in his hands which he apparently bought himself?? He's going insane. Is he cursed?? Did that twink who kicked the Joker's ass curse him??????? Curse him into...matrimony???????????????????

[cuubism]

a lovely person on ao3 expressed interest in more of this retired Dream chronic pain fic and I said well who knows maybe one day and then proved myself a liar by doing it Now. when it gets in your head it stays there until it's out

--

One of Hob's greatest joys, as boyfriend and caretaker to one retired King of Dreams, is finding new things for Dream to enjoy. Things that Dream didn't have time for, or never got the chance to try, when he was fully occupied by his function. It's so fun seeing Dream's joy. Dream has never allowed himself very much of it.

Of all the things Hob's introduced him to, he hadn't figured Dream would be a video game fan. Always thought he was more one for slower media like books, or maybe he just hadn't been able to imagine his ancient, ponderous stranger gaming.

Hob was wrong. So very wrong that ever since he made the dubious decision to buy Dream an iPad he's been stuck in a perennial competition with Minecraft for Dream's attention, and Minecraft might be winning.

He really should have known better, should have guessed that the once-king of the Dreaming would love the immersive dreamscapes of video games, not to mention that he can create things again in a way that doesn't have the world-shaking consequences of his former role.

When Hob gets home from work, he's unsurprised to once again find Dream twisted up in a complicated pretzel shape in his favorite armchair, headphones on, nose buried in the iPad. Sitting that way isn't going to help his joints much in the long run, but nowadays Dream only ever seems to either sprawl or to crunch up in a tiny ball when he's sitting anywhere--sometimes Hob wonders if, after so many years of carrying every aspect of his life so primly and correctly, Dream simply can't bear to do it ever again.

He's also said that that twisted way of sitting is the only position that helps his hip ache less, so Hob doesn't complain about it too much.

"Hey, love," he calls as he sets his bag down, sitting on the couch beside Dream's armchair. Dream looks up at him, pulling his headphones off so they sit around his neck. Hob can vaguely hear the audio--Christ, on top of working on his crazily elaborate Minecraft world--Hob's seen it, the thing's insane--he's also listening to an audiobook. Yeah, Hob was so wrong about expecting Dream's way of trying to relax to be slow or measured.

Dream looks tired now, though, not relaxed, dark circles along his cheeks and a pinch of weariness at the corners of his eyes. Ah. Tough day, then.

"How's the Minecrafting going?" he asks instead of remarking on it. He probably sounds like an old person when he talks to Dream about it--well, he is an old person--but Hob's never been able to stick to any one thing for too long, and he hasn't actually picked up this game since the first time it came out. Who knows how it works nowadays.

Dream shows him the screen. Predictably, he tends to just play in his own little world instead of interacting with anyone else, and said world has become an elaborate landscape of infinite cityscapes, art pieces, and complex structures Hob can't determine the purpose or design of. If Hob's not wrong, it's significantly more complicated than it was just yesterday. Dream has picked this all up with disturbing ease and gotten very fast at it besides. You can take the dream lord out of the craft but not the craft out of the dream lord, apparently.

"You're getting quick at that," he says. "Pretty soon it will be bigger than London."

"Were it to be made physical in equal dimensions, it would be," Dream says. Maybe Hob should get him involved in city planning, might be entertaining for him.

He tries to imagine Dream at a council meeting and nearly perishes at the thought.

While Dream is still looking at him, Hob cups his jaw in one hand, runs his thumb over the dark circle under his eye. "Not feeling so well today?"

Dream sighs. "No. I did not sleep well."

Hob had noticed that, but he'd hoped the fact that Dream was still in bed when he'd left for work meant he might get some sleep later on. Apparently not.

"I am..." his lips twist. "My joints. Hurt."

"I'm sorry, love." Hob would fix it if he could. God he wishes he could. "Where?"

"Back. Primarily."

Really, Hob should be grateful for Minecraft, no matter that he's been in a pitched battle against it. It's one of the only things that can properly hold Dream's attention and distract him when he's not feeling well. Without his game to occupy him Dream just starts getting sad in addition to being in pain and Hob can hardly stand it.

"I love you, you know?" he says, and the corners of Dream's lips tip up.

"I know."

"You want to do some stretches with me?" Hob offers. "You can laugh at my lack of flexibility as much as you want."

He has, in fact, gotten Dream into some yoga and light strength training. It seems to help, at least a little. Dream's new human body is already very flexible, though. It's actually part of the problem. Maybe that's what happens when you try to put an amorphous conceptual being into a fixed body. Maybe it's just the roll of the dice.

"I would not laugh," Dream says, but sets the iPad aside and starts disentangling the knot of his limbs to climb out of the chair.

"No, but I can always see you thinking about it."

"I would not exchange flexibility for you being strong enough to pick me up," Dream declares.

"It's not a one-off trade," Hob says, laughing. Then, perhaps to prove a point, he scoops Dream up from the chair and into his arms.

Dream shrieks and clutches at him with all of his limbs. He's so good at tangling himself up like that that sometimes it still feels like he's able to manifest twice as many of them.

"Could try something else to flex those muscles too," he teases, and Dream gives him a judgmental look, but Hob can see the smile secretly tugging at his lips.

"Taking perverse advantage of my ailments?" he says.

Hob feigns offense. "I was just going to give you a back rub! Totally innocent."

"Mmmm." Dream tilts his head, studying him. "Perhaps if you are truly committed to doing all of the work. I'm not finding myself inclined towards effort this evening.”

"Taking perverse advantage of my generosity?" Hob echoes.

Dream smirks down at him from his perch in Hob’s arms. “Always.”

It’s fine by Hob. Dream deserves a bit of generosity, in his opinion. And a lot more than that, too.

“You’ve indeed been most generous with me in my indolence,” Dream purrs. “Cared for me in my infirmity. How ought a man repay such a magnanimous patron?”

“Could think of a few things,” Hob says, letting his gaze deliberately track down to Dream’s lips. “I’m more inclined to spoil you, though.”

“I am amenable to that,” Dream says. Haughty little thing. Even dying couldn’t take the king out of him.

Hob doesn’t mind, though. He’s always had a bit of a thing for it. So he obligingly carries his still-smirking lover off to their bedroom to spoil him just as he’s promised.

--

Afterwards, when Dream’s sprawled across him, one leg tossed over Hob’s hips in a way that apparently relieves the strain in his lower back, though Hob can’t imagine how, he says, “Does it bother you that I have become utterly idle?”

“You’re not idle,” Hob says. “You do plenty of stuff. I see you do it.”

“Not with true purpose, though,” Dream says.

“If you mean do I think you should get some sort of career, then no, I don’t.” Hob kind of shudders at the thought. “As far as I’m concerned, you never have to work again if you don't want to. Do what you want. Work on your Minecraft cities. I’m just happy that you’re here.”

“You work,” Dream points out.

“I get bored,” Hob says. “Besides, my job doesn’t involve literally being the job, you know. You have to make up for about a trillion years of no work-life balance.”

Dream just humphs, but settles closer against him.

“Does it make you uncomfortable that I pay for everything, is that it?” Hob asks. Dream has always been so fiercely independent.

“Uncomfortable, not exactly,” Dream says. “I find I still fail to grasp the importance of money.”

Hob chuckles. “Yeah, you would.”

“Rather,” Dream continues, “the issue is equity. Something I am contemplating more as part of human society.”

“Okay, I understand what you’re getting at.” Hob wouldn’t want their relationship to feel inequitable either, but it’s not so much about paying for things, but about Dream not feeling trapped. As much as part of Hob wants to bundle Dream up and never let him leave the flat again after he literally died once already, he doesn’t want Dream to stay because he has to. He wants him to stay because he chooses to. At the same time��� “But, Dream, it’s been only six months.”

“And?”

“For your lifetime— hell, even for mine, it’s a vanishingly small amount of time. And you were so tired.” It still hurts, still feels almost panic-inducing to think about, how Dream had been the last time they’d spoken before he… died. Hob’s never seen such weariness on a person, and he’s seen a lot. It would take a long time for that to lift from a human, and Dream is operating on a much vaster scale. “If I can give you time to rest, then that’s what I want to do.”

Hob could never figure out how to help Dream when he was Endless. At least there’s something he can do to help Dream now.

“Rest,” Dream echoes. “You are insistent upon it.”

Hob buries his hand in his hair, scratches at his scalp. “It feels better, though, doesn’t it?”

It takes a long moment for Dream to concede his answer, but finally he says, quietly, “Yes.”

“I love you beyond measure,” Hob says, aching with the words. “I want you to be well. It’s no more complicated than that.”

“I think I am,” Dream says slowly. “Well.”

Hob thinks so, too—at least, more so than he once was. He has his issues with his body. But some of the heaviness on him has eased. And that’s a step.

“I do not think I have been well before,” Dream continues. “At least, not in quite some time.”

This, Hob knows, too.

“Then we’ll have to keep working at it until you’re used to it,” Hob says. “And I’ll spoil you until then. Well, after, too.”

“You seem to take pleasure in it,” Dream agrees.

Hob kisses the top of his head, rubs his hand up and down his back until Dream sinks into him further, boneless and lax. Maybe later he will give Dream an actually innocent back rub, it seems to help with the pain a bit. For now he just lets Dream fall asleep on top of him.

He needs the rest, anyway.

[jenscx]

FACE TO FACE — bang jeemin x f!reader

being stuck in a hello kitty mascot costume isn’t one of jeemin’s proudest moments.

TAGS — fluff, zero angst, jeemin!centric, crackfic, very silly and cute, strangers to lovers, mentions of other izna members

WORDCOUNT — 3.9k

jeemin doesn’t really know how she got here. well, she does, but she doesn’t understand what spiritual being from above deluded her into agreeing to such a situation. the situation being— trapped under the scorching sun, in a humid and dark costume. and not just any costume! a hello kitty mascot costume.

you could blame it on jeemin, say that it was her choice, but it’s all because of koko asking her at three in the morning. she was groggy from waking up in the middle of the night and even more weary when the japanese girl begged for her help. and maybe it was her fault for not clarifying with koko what help she needed. but still!

it’s painful being in the costume. jeemin can feel her clothes sticking to her body grossly, sweat dripping down her skin, and her bangs stuck against her forehead. not to mention she has to hand out balloons and act like the happiest cat alive. honestly, everything made sense now; how koko had the money to constantly treat her to food. she knows it’s because the girl had spent hours in this cat costume. jeemin wants to rip off the bright red bow attached to hello kitty.

(but that would be unsightly. especially when children are around. jeemin thinks she’ll do it in the changing rooms.)

the only thing saving her from insanity is the fact that the kids around her are very cute. the way their eyes light up and they tug on her huge arm to ask for a balloon… it pulls jeemin away from the thoughts of homicide.

also, koko had a good reason to ditch her. she had a dance recital at the end of the month, and she was swarmed with practices to attend and jeemin would always support her friend. hence, jeemin’s stuck spending her weekends as hello kitty. not to mention all the snacks koko has bought for jeemin, so can she really complain?

wrong. she can. being stuck in a ‘friendly’ cat costume apparently meant that she was unable to fight back against angry parents and screaming children. not that she was going to anyway, but she would like the choice. she would just stare at them as they yelled at her for not giving their child a red balloon— which jeemin doesn’t even understand! it’s a balloon, their child won’t suddenly die because she gave them a yellow one!

anyway, jeemin much prefers the blue balloon. its sky blue, her favourite colour. and even through the hazy eyes of hello kitty, jeemin finds the time to admire the colour. it’s wonderful! and maybe it’s crazy, but it’s just a balloon. she wants to use hello kitty’s massive paws to slap the parents who yell at her— okay, maybe that was a bit of a stretch. but jeemin was sweaty, hot and frustrated. maybe if she was in a pochacco costume, she would like it more.

“unnie— it’s hello kitty! hurry up!” jeemin hears a distant squeal and immediately groans. she appreciates the thick costume, knowing that anything she says or any sound she emits can’t be heard from the outside. the moment she turns around in the stupid fat costume, she spots a kid, probably around five to six years old, barreling at her. jeemin braces herself in case the kid crashes into her body.

“ah! kyujin, slow down!”

it’s a rather common scene; children being too excited, forcing their caretaker to sprint after them. but the uncommon part is that this kid’s unnie looks like a freaking angel that descended from the heavens.

jeemin takes back everything she said. this is the best day of her life. she loves this job. maybe everyone should just be a hello kitty mascot.

“unnie!” the girl, kyujin, whines and stomps her feet as her older sister catches up to her. jeemin can’t physically breathe. she’s about to crash out. oh no—

“what did i say about running like that?”

“it’s hello kitty!” kyujin straight up ignores her and heads towards jeemin. she awkwardly lifts up her nub of an arm to wave, but the sight of the pretty girl knocks the wind out of her lungs and she almost topples over.

jeemin tries her best to stabilise herself as kyujin waves back cutely.

the pretty girl stands behind kyujin, her hands resting on the kid’s shoulders and she inches closer to jeemin, who only resists the urge to back away.

“wow, must be hot in there,” the pretty girl frowns.

jeemin nods, or at least, tries her best to.

“can i have a balloon, hello kitty? oh, and a picture too!” kyujin asks. jeemin tries to gesture at the balloons all tied together that’s strapped to the costume. her breath hitches when the pretty girl reaches over and pulls one out, pink coloured, handing it to her sister. jeemin nearly faints.

as kyujin poses next to jeemin, the pretty girl snaps a bunch of photos. some sort of feeling akin to pride bubbles in jeemin’s stomach, knowing that the pretty girl would forever have a photo of her.

(that’s how you know she’s gone crazy.)

when kyujin gushes over the cute overalls of the costume, the pretty girl leans over, almost touching jeemin.

“can i have a balloon? i like hello kitty too,” she says in a hushed whisper. jeemin feels goosebumps rise along her skin just from her voice. and even through the shady eyes of hello kitty, jeemin can evidently tell that the girl was sculpted by the gods themselves. clearly they took their time with her. and when she pulls a balloon out for herself, jeemin gasps.

“the blue balloon’s cute, isn’t it?”

oh my god, jeemin might be falling in love right now.

she has to get married this instant— regardless of the hello kitty costume. hell, if the pretty girl likes hello kitty, jeemin would forever work in this dastardly amusement park. the girl looks so gorgeous and sweet in her cute ralph polo lauren shirt and denim shorts. she looked like she came from heaven. if someone told jeemin that the clouds parted for your arrival, she would believe it wholeheartedly.

“y/n unnie! i’m hungry!”

the pretty girl, who jeemin now knows is called y/n, turns to her sister and smiles adorably at her. jeemin doesn’t know what she would do if that smile was directed at her. it was like a ray of sunlight, shooting into her heart and lighting it on fire.

“okay sweetie, we can go get food,” you say, but before you leave, you hand your phone to kyujin and stand right next to jeemin. “help unnie take some pictures please.”

as kyujin lifts up the phone, jeemin feels your arms wrap around the neck (does hello kitty have a neck?) of her costume. jeemin only stands still, rooted to the ground and staring blankly at the camera. she can feel her heart racing, and she’s grateful for the thick suit that covers her, preventing you from feeling her pulse.

“one, two, three!” kyujin yells.

jeemin thinks she can die happy right now.

“thanks hello kitty,” you smile at her, “see you next time!”

despite the stuffy suit, perspiration dripping down her whole body, her limbs sore, jeemin still feels like the luckiest girl alive.

it’s one in the afternoon. jiyoon watches as jeemin loses her mind. she only wanted to head to the cafe to study. being friends with the employees get her discounts on drinks. and coincidentally her friends were also there. she’s just a bystander, one that accidentally walked in on her friend’s suffering. jeemin’s slumped over the table, incessantly mumbling about an angel, hello kitty and malatang. sarang and koko are right next to her, both frowning.

“are you okay?” jiyoon decides to ask cautiously.

jeemin slowly turns to look at her, “i think i’m in love.”

“uhm,” koko mutters, “i think this is my fault.”

what? was jeemin in love with koko? jiyoon blinks.

“well, you know how i have that performance coming up?” jiyoon nods, recalling koko talking about it previously. “i have a part-time job at this amusement park and i asked jeemin to take over for me just for a while! and i guess…”

jiyoon guffaws, “you fell in love there?!” she’s shocked, because this is bang jeemin. bang jeemin who’s antisocial and introverted, one of the reasons jiyoon likes her company. bang jeemin who has never gotten a crush before, deeming dating as her lowest priority. and that same bang jeemin is admitting that she’s fallen in love.

jeemin straightens up instantly, “love at first sight!”

the japanese girl fails to hide her smile as she confirms jiyoon’s suspicion, “she fell in love while wearing a hello kitty costume.”

“you’re out of your mind, bang jeemin. that’s actually insane.”

this tops anything jeemin has ever done. from falling over while doing a burpee, her voice cracking while giving a presentation, this beats everything. jeemin’s so stupid. jiyoon is so happy she can witness her downfall. it’s downright hilarious.

jeemin was truly the epitome of an oxymoron (place more emphasis on the moron part), a juxtaposition of a charming and beautiful girl, yet still so stupid and silly. jiyoon is usually in awe of how her mind works.

“she was like an angel! a true angel!” jeemin proclaims, “you guys don’t get it.”

sarang pats her back sympathetically, “it’s okay, we understand.”

jiyoon sure as hell doesn’t. but she wishes all the best for jeemin.

she’s in a similar situation like before— trapped under a heavy layer of fabric and her arms heavy. yet, she couldn’t be more excited. she was basically bouncing on feet while waiting around. if anyone saw jeemin, they would think she’s anticipating the queen’s arrival. well, you are a queen to jeemin. ugh, she kind of wishes she didn’t have to be in this stupid suit. then maybe you would see her face and fall in love with her!

jeemin thinks she’s pretty attractive herself. tall, fair skin, big round eyes. but no one has really approached her because of her quiet nature. today will be different though! jeemin will take the initiative in starting a conversation! it’ll be a little weird talking to you in the hello kitty costume but whatever. you said you like hello kitty anyway. that’s a win for jeemin. whatever she previously said about the character, throw it all out the window. only your opinion matters!

she watches eagerly as different people walk by, some stopping to take a photo with her and others just cooing at the mascot’s cuteness. jeemin tries to spot you out of the crowd of people, but it’s a little difficult to see past the netting of hello kitty’s eyes. jeemin’s head bumps uncomfortably against the top of the mascot. she wonders how koko has managed to fit herself in such a tight space while being taller than her. jeemin would proclaim to be quite flexible. she’s weak, but her limbs are really flexible. yet, the costume makes her neck crane unbearably.

just as a crowd of middle schoolers pass by, jeemin hears thundering footsteps again. her head perks up, knocking against the top of the mascot again, and she nearly falls over. both at the momentum and at the sight of kyujin running towards her.

“hello kitty!”

jeemin sports a wide smile, even if kyujin can’t see her. she tries her best to reach down, patting kyujin on her head.

“jang kyujin!” jeemin’s smile grows even bigger when she hears your voice, “what did i say about running?”

she watches as you jog up, panting and sweaty.

“sorry unnie— but it’s hello kitty!”

you have a lopsided grin on your face, clearly amused by your sister’s hyperactive behaviour. “we just saw hello kitty last week.”

“that’s too long!” kyujin whines. jeemin coos internally at the sight of the girl. she was just too cute! cuteness really does run in the family, evident from the silly smile on your face.

jeemin’s grateful for her face being covered. she wouldn’t know what expression’s on her right now.

like before, kyujin takes a balloon, white this time, and you whip out your phone to photograph her again.

when there’s a distant ringing of bells, kyujin perks up and instantly turns to you, eyes pleading.

“that’s the ice cream truck coming— unnie, can we please go?” kyujin begs. you hesitate, a speculating look on your face. your younger sister’s watery eyes and pouty lips always manage to sway your decisions. damnit. jeemin watches, humoured by kyujin’s plea.

“how about we wait here for the truck to come?” you ask, bending down to match kyujin’s height, “unnie’s feeling really hot right now.” jeemin watches the trickle of sweat glide down your neck. she feels seen.

kyujin frowns, “but i want ice cream now. and it’ll cool you up! just wait here, unnie. i can go get it myself!”

you’re a little shocked at her independence. when did your little sister grow up so quickly? and her insistent attitude only worked wonders to your reluctance.

“okay, jinnie. but be careful.” kyujin brightens up and immediately sprints to the ice cream truck. you sigh, keeping a close eye on her as she queues up.

turning your head, you make eye contact with the hello kitty mascot, who’s hellbent on staring at you.

“oh,” you giggle, jeemin thinks she’s ascended to heaven, “they grow up so fast, don’t they?”

jeemin tries her best to nod.

“anyway, isn’t it hot in there?” you ask, “i’m sweating just from looking at you.”

jeemin’s throat drys up as she thinks of a suitable reply. she had hyped herself up in the mirror before coming, claiming to be the one to start the conversation.

“uh, y-yes.” of course her voice cracks.

god, jeemin wishes the ground underneath her would just open up and swallow her whole. your eyes curve and twinkle with amusement.

“you’re a girl?”

“yes.”

you smile, “not fond of talking then?”

jeemin doesn’t mind if it’s you. she doesn’t say that though. it would just mortify her.

“i’m just tired.”

“aw, must be hard,” you coo. if it were anyone else, jeemin would think that those words were meant to mock her. but your sweet tone makes her gulp.

“yeah… i’m just doing this for a friend…”

“like a favour?”

“kind of.”

you redirect your gaze back to kyujin, who’s ordering now. jeemin feels a little saddened that your time with her is ending soon. she wishes kyujin would take a little longer at the counter.

“so is that friend going to come back? you’re not going to work here anymore?” you ask curiously. some deluded part of jeemin thinks you’re asking because you want to see her.

“yeah, she’s coming back.”

you nod, “well, it was nice chatting with you, hello kitty.” jeemin suddenly feels stupid in this suit. “i have to go now. bye!”

“uh, bye!”

jeemin watches as you hold kyujin’s small hand, thanking her for the ice cream. her dreamy gaze lingers on your back as you walk away, mentally patting herself on the shoulder for managing to carry a conversation with you. an awkward one, yes, but still a conversation. she can’t wait to brag to her friends.

which sane person would go to their job on their day-off, jeemin doesn’t know. but that was what koko had proposed. she gawked as koko brought her and their whole friend group to the amusement park. the girl had professed that she missed the place and it would be a good way to spend time with each other before everyone got swarmed with their own extracurriculars.

but before she could even disagree to come, koko had mentioned offhandedly, “maybe your girl will be there.”

and jeemin had gone in a flash, picking out an outfit and doing her makeup. it was kind of comedic and endearing to see her so eager.

“uhm— unnie,” jungeun says, wide-eyed, “you look pretty today.” jeemin grins brightly, patting the younger girl’s head. her chest flared with pride and anticipation. hope had filled her veins, and she was desperate to see you today, bare without the hello kitty costume.

as their group headed into the park, koko and jeemin, as well-seasoned employees, brought them to the various roller coasters and rides. jeemin was pretty sure she lost most of her hearing sitting next to saebi.

“guys,” sarang whines, “i’m hungry.” jeemin instantly perks up, dragging her friends to the stalls that lined the park, full of snacks and beverages. koko just glances at her knowingly. the sanrio attraction was situated nearby, and jeemin could been seen craning her head to catch a glimpse of anyone that resembled you. like a true mastermind, jeemin forces everyone to sit down at the bench closest to the hello kitty booth, where the familiar mascot was.

as her friends gorge themselves with waffle cones, churros and corndogs, jeemin stays attentive. she doesn’t even indulge in their mindless conversation and instead keeps a watchful eye on the people passing by.

it’s only when her friends are finished and getting ready to leave, she hears a voice.

“—you’re a guy? what happened to the other girl?”

jeemin abruptly stands up, swerving her head. she sees you, awkwardly rubbing your neck as you talk to the hello kitty mascot. kyujin’s by your side, a balloon in her hand.

“go talk to her!” jiyoon shouts quietly, pushing jeemin towards you. collecting all the bravery in her bones, she inhales sharply and strides. she can feel the eyes of all her friends on her back.

“today’s her day-off?” she hears you say, “ah, seriously? okay, sorry for the trouble.” the hello kitty mascot just shakes their hands and walks away to another group of children.

just as you’re about to leave, jeemin feels a surge of desperation, and her hand reaches out to clasp your wrist. her heart races as you turn, an eyebrow raising at her.

“sorry— i’m…” she blurts out, “i’m sorry.”

she can feel her whole face turning red, and a sense of mortification blooms at your stunned expression.

“i’m the… i’m hello kitty,” jeemin says and it’s definitely not the best way to introduce herself. she watches as your face lights up in recognition of her voice.

“oh? hello kitty?”

“y-yeah, like… uhm, the person inside the hello kitty mascot? sorry, i’m bang jeemin.” she feels a little self-conscious the way kyujin is staring at her. damn, these kids always find a way to humiliate her further.

“do you want to sit down and talk? kyujin’s a little restless.”

she glances back at her table of friends, all who look suspiciously joyful. yeah, she’d much rather talk to you somewhere else. that way her friends couldn’t eavesdrop. jeemin thinks you look even prettier today. your face was glowing and bright. and she could admire your smile more closely without the film of plastic in between.

“y/n-ah,” jeemin’s never heard this voice before— feminine and comforting, her eyes land on a girl, shorter than her, approaching.

jeemin’s first thought is that this girl is incredibly pretty. her cat-like visuals next to you only accentuates your beauty even more. her second thought is that this girl is definitely your girlfriend, from the way her hand wraps around your waist so casually.

“mai unnie!” kyujin squeals.

suddenly, she feels way too out of place. her confidence dwindles and she can register the sympathy from her friends. jeemin tries to hide her obvious shock, but she’s certain it fails when kyujin frowns at her.

“hey, silly,” you greet, “do you mind if you take kyujin for a while?”

mai removes her hand from your waist (jeemin sighs, relieved), and takes kyujin’s hand.

as the two walk away, you lead jeemin to a nearby cafe. jeemin’s not even sure she wants to be here now. the dreadful thought of you already being taken looms over her, and it’s strange how she’s never visited that idea before. of course you would have a partner, who wouldn’t want to date you? now she just feels silly. silly, like what you called mai.

you find an empty table facing out the window. jeemin can feel her phone vibrating in her pocket, probably the group chat blowing up with messages. there was no doubt that they had witnessed that interaction.

“so,” you lean over the table, grinning, “hello kitty.”

jeemin nods bashfully.

“yeah, uhm… i wasn’t stalking you or anything… just recognised you.”

a complete lie.

“what a coincidence. i didn’t expect you to be so cute.”

what. pause. are you flirting with her?

jeemin’s heart constricts, both of glee and pain, knowing that you already had someone. she smiles faintly. she doesn’t want your pity flirtatious comments. it feels stifling.

“i thought you’d be working today,” you say when the silence stretches on, “you came here with friends?”

“uh, yeah. what about you?” she asks, trying to camouflage the itching need of knowing who that girl was.

you laugh, “it’s just kyujin, i mean, you know her. and mai, that girl just now.”

“mai?” jeemin repeats, edging you on.

“yeah, kyujin was telling her how fun the park is and she wanted to come too. it’s better having her around. she keeps kyujin in check, making it less stressful for me.”

jeemin feels a sense of hopelessness. mai seemed like a great person, she wouldn’t be able to compete with that. she already had kyujin’s favour!

“uhm…” she had to get out of here now. before she could embarrass herself, “i think my friends are calling me.”

you blink.

“you’re leaving now?”

“yeah,” she croaks out, an onslaught of tears ready to bawl out as she thinks about you and mai together again.

you pout, “can i get your number then? or instagram?”

jeemin wants to shake her head and say no, but denying your pleading eyes, akin to kyujin’s, can only be compared to ripping her heart out.

she shakily inputs her username in your search engine— only to find that it’s been in your history. her lips part slightly, a little appalled. bbangmin. right there. holy shit.

you glance at her unmoving figure. worried, you peek over the screen and gasp.

“oh my god— wait, okay,” you babble, “it’s not what it looks like.”

jeemin swallows harshly.

“i… okay just hear me out.”

“o-okay.”

“after our conversation i asked mai if she had a friend who works here and she said she knew someone,” you explain sheepishly, ”someone called koko? and then mai asked koko about it and we kind of connected the dots that the friend you were talking about was her.”

jeemin can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“and like, god, this is weird to say,” you grimace, “but koko told mai that her friend, jeemin, was helping her out and then i kind of stalked you— i’m sorry! but that’s why your username popped up…”

“you already knew what i looked like?”

you nod, “i’m so sorry…”

“no— it’s, it’s okay,” jeemin says, her heart racing a mile. you looked way too cute right now, blushing and nervous. her hands were trembling as you explained, and your interest could only mean one thing, right?

“i kind of lied just now,” she whispers, “i came here today to see you, like without the costume.”

your own eyes widen.

“oh. well.”

“yeah.”

you suddenly laugh, full of joy, “i can’t believe this.” jeemin feels the same. it’s so unbelievable that you also orchestrated a plan to find her.

“so, can i have your number?” you ask slyly.

jeemin has never typed faster in her life.

(“mai’s really just a friend by the way.”

“i didn’t say anything…!”

“c’mon, jeemin. i saw the way you were glaring at her just now. she’s really just a friend.”

“but kyujin likes her more than me…”

“does it matter when i like you the most?”)

[entomolog-t]

THIS POST from @littlescaryinternetguy gave me some potent brainrot.

Like all I can imagine is a little girl finding a fairy and just being so excited for whatever media version she has in her mind and it's just some gruff scruffy blue collar man who lectures her about talking to strangers, even if they're 3 inches tall (frankly, especially) and how it's rude to stare.

She keeps coming back to bug him with whatever it is he's doing for work, and he begrudgingly allows it, taking the time to teach her little bits and pieces about what it is he does- maybe silently judging her parents for not shower their six year old their fundamental knots or how to hold tools.

Now their caretaker (single parent? Aunt/uncle? Older sibling- you pick!) Is noticing they're acting strange- playing outside a lot, learning things they have no means of knowing- you name it. They ask them about it and the kid says something like "Oh! I'm not supposed to tell." Which like- as a guardian??? Alarm bells sounding off.

They give them the talk about not having secrets with other adults and get the kid to take them to go see this person, to which they meet a very annoyed little fairy who is definitely not going to be getting anymore work done today by the looks of it.

Bonus points if either the fairy or the guardian are immediately smitten with the other.

[yan-randomfandom]

I NEED PART 2 OF THE YANDERE PERI😡😡🔥🔥

Peri x GN!Reader[Pt. 2]

Part 1 — Part 2[You're here!] — Part 3

For the more casual readers. I can't label this as yandere since it's too tame 😭 [not edited]

Peri wanted to stalk— observe! He started to observe your babysitter skills more!!

Dev had just asked you to get his favorite cereal from the cereal bar. You returned with a frown, empty-handed. "Dev, I can't find any of those. I think you're out of them."

"Then get me some from the supermarket! And make it quick!" Granted, he could always make his Au Pairs do his bidding, but where's the fun in that?

You hesitated. "Hmm. I can't exactly leave you alone. Wanna come with me?"

...Honestly, why'd his dad even hire a babysitter? With a loud, annoyed groan, Dev agreed anyway. He hasn't been out of the house for a few days, so he might as well. Hopefully, he'll see Hazel— wHAT? who said that??

Of course, Peri followed you both.

It wasn't until Dev started straying off from you and picking up random snacks that Peri decided to reveal himself again.

"Dev, wait, don't go too far— woah!"

This wasn't in the plan. Peri just changed into a human! Any milisecond earlier, you would have seen him transform!

Good thing you didn't. Now, you stared at him, wide-eyed, in his arms. Peri stared at you back with his lilac eyes. It seemed like it was your turn to trip on him.

"It's you!" You recognized the same purple-haired guy from yesterday. He's holding you up now.

Peri smiled, eventually letting you go when you regain your balance. "Haha, it's me! Sorry again, but I definitely didn't expect you to fall for me next."

You blinked at his confidence. That is certainly unexpected. With a laugh, you retort, "What can I say? You're one pretty boy."

He's mentally freaking out. You think he's pretty? Peri may be smooth and suave to most, but in the inside, he's more than likely prone to losing it.

"[Name]! You better be doing your job and finding my cereal!" Dev called out from multiple aisles away.

Peri snapped his gaze back to you, carefully reading your expression. You sighed with a tired smile. "Whoops. I would love to talk more, but I gotta take care of that kid first."

This is an opportunity to check how you really feel about Dev. Peri cleared his throat, looking away. "That sounds like Dev Dimmadome. I heard that he's a real doozy to handle."

"I won't deny that," you replied, causing his eyes to widen, "but I think he just needs a friend."

Then you left and went straight to the cereal aisle. Peri stood in the same spot, speechless.

Maybe you are fit to be Dev's caretaker. Probably will even do a better job than him.

"Hey."

Peri shrieked, turning around to find Dev standing behind him. The kid raised an eyebrow at the stranger.

"What the? Are you... crying right now?" Dev said with disbelief, judging Peri's entire being.

[PART 3]

[hitlikehammers]

straw poll: How Many Times Can You Sleep In The Same Bed With A Guy Before It Starts To ✨Mean Something✨?

Because Steve's just there to be a good friend hold Eddie close through the night so Eddie knows what his breathing sounds like as he falls asleep help Eddie through the nightmares, right?(!??!)

or: just how many manners of sin does 'trauma' cover, exactly?

I Could Be Your Nurse (or something)

Or: Five Times Eddie Has To Ask For Help, Plus One Time He Doesn’t Need It Anymore (but asks anyway) ✨ for @penny00dreadful 💜

<<< two: wash🚿

💤🪦 three: sleep 🌗 🛌

Eddie shoots up in his bed, less afraid of choking on his own heart for its pounding than he is for gnashing it apart with his teeth, it’s surged so high and he can’t breathe, he doesn’t know if he wants to because it’s dark and he can’t see and last thing he did see was, was—

“Ed,” and it’s murmured so close, and the bed dips quick as warmth envelops Eddie’s frame, as a hand grabs one wrist, both wrists and crushes them between two bodies to feel, feel—

“Eddie, breathe, breathe, shhh,” and oh: that’s what he’d seen, what he always sees now: the images he remembers, and the things he’s been told of his own near-demise, but it’s not his body; it’s never his body and more, and worse, they’re always too late and he’s being told to breathe but he can’t, he can’t breathe because they failed, he failed and Steve’s not breathing, he’ll never breathe again—

“Right here, Eds, I’m right here,” and one hand lets go of him and starts carefully wiping at Eddie’s face, drying his eyes so they can focus and recognize not just the touch and the scent and the heat but the sight of the body wrapped around him.

“I’m with you, you’re okay,” Steve breathes, he breathes and Eddie can feel it, he can feel it and it makes no sense but it’s clear and it’s deep and deliberate and, and—

“Breathe with me, come on, just breathe,” Steve coxes a little like soothing a wounded animal and…that’s apt, Eddie feels small and skittish and he needs the warmth and the dawning truth of Steve’s weight against his bones; “it’s okay, everyone’s okay,” and yes, yes, that’s important, that’s so important but it’s not enough, there’s still blood pumping like it wants to leap from his mouth as he gasps because he cannot fucking breathe until—

“I’m okay.”

Steve says it as just part of an ongoing litany of reassurance, hopes to calm Eddie into, y’know, the basic needs of human survival, heart and lungs remembering how to move right but—

Steve’s okay.

It’s like Eddie heart and lungs had an agenda; like maybe they didn’t want to move right if the dream—a dream, a dream, just a dream, Steve’s chest lifts against him, falls, lifts again, and again, and again, real—but maybe neither was really invested in survival, if it all hadn’t just been a dream.

“We’re okay, Eds,” and Eddie doesn’t mean to gasp, to half moan and half whimper in something wreathed in pure relief, doesn’t plan to burrow into Steve like he does as Steve presses closer, closer, so it’s only logical, only the reasonable thing when Steve’s lips move against Eddie’s skin at the hairline, at the temple when he speaks, he’s just that close, y’know—

“Swear,” Steve murmurs, and he crushes their hands a little closer between both their chests, and his face is still so close because of it—no other reason, it can’t be any other reason—that his lips drag when he breathes, when he fucking vows:

“I swear we’re okay.”

Eddie nods, just nods; Steve keeps him tucked under his chin, safe: he lifts with his breathing, his heartbeat’s right there, taunt but true, realand maybe Eddie nuzzles there a little, so fucking sue him.

It’s been like this, though. Lately. More than just lately; it’s been like this for a while. Steve had always been around for the nightmares, and he always came to ease Eddie through them but he ended up back on the couch if Wayne wasn’t there, or in the chair in the corner, or the sleeping bag they’d found and he’d set up on the floor before Eddie could protest—and he never wanted to push too hard because, because…

At least on the floor, Eddie could hear him breathe.

But then, then the nightmares stopped being highlight reels of reality; then they turned, and they’re focused on…variations on a theme.

A theme of losing one Steve Harrington.

And then Eddie grew clingy, without even meaning to, or planning to, and Steve never fought him. It took a couple weeks before Steve didn’t only come to him as soon as Eddie started gasping, screaming and then stayed with him through the night, no: then Steve just started coming with him to bed and opening his arms to roll into, to wake up shaking against.

It didn’t make the nightmares go away but it made them…bearable. Because proof of the lies in them was there waiting to wrap around him, if he wasn’t already buried in that warm, fuzzy, living chest.

Where Eddie’s pressed tight, now. And he…he couldn’t say what tips the scales. What changes things when nothing is different. Steve’s heartbeat’s a little faster, maybe Eddie’s gasping heavier, more of Steve in his lungs than usual. Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Whatever the reason, Eddie lets his open lips drag along Steve’s collarbone. For proximity’s sake.

“Steve?”

And Eddie’s back to feel like his heart’s less a threat like the bat tails choking than it is for the biting in half where it’s caught on his tongue, like an offering, or else damnation.

Maybe both.

“Hmm?” Steve’s hum’s a little sleepy but he’s quick to maneuver them, to face Eddie and rove eyes over Eddie’s face with fully-wakeful care; concern.

Offering. His heart’s a manic wild thing thrashing on his tongue when he makes to speak but it’s…

It’s Steve’s. His heart is Steve’s and Eddie’s lost but in maybe the best most terrifying way imaginable; Eddie is beholden to Steve with all of him, and if the ungainly pulp shaking out of his ribs and up past his throat’s going to fall out with the words he has to whisper, well.

It’s Steve’s, and whether he feels anything at all in return, he’s been more than the word kind knows how to hold; maybe he’ll be gentle with it even in rejecting how it shakes, for him.

Kinda, just for him. Like this: just for him.

“What is this?”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t gesture or look anywhere but in Steve’s eyes but: their hands are still linked, and his fingers twitch without him meaning to move them at all but Steve.

Steve grips tighter. Steadies him with question; immediate.

“Trauma,” Steve huffs a little, humorless, but his breath’s so near, so warm: “or so they tell me.”

“No, I mean,” and Eddie’s shaking his head then because; “yeah, yes, definitely that, but,” and Eddie can be brave, he has to be brave because if he’s not brave this will maybe break him: the middle space without an answer, he needs some kind of answer—

“I mean this,” and now Eddie forces himself to tighten his fingers, and presses into Steve closer: Steve’s heart isn’t wild, but it’s not calm either. It’s not sleep-slow. It’s…untamed.

Eddie doesn’t know what it means.

But Steve looks at their hands, pulls Eddie’s fingertips through the curls on his chest, starts tracing Eddie’s nails from cuticle to tip.

“I’ve never been good with subtle,” Steve barely breathes, and his heart’s faster for it, where Eddie can feel; “or moving slow,” and then he laughs; it’s not humorous now either, more self deprecating, and Eddie…Eddie doesn’t like that.

Eddie loves this man too much.

“Kinda notorious for wearing my heart on my sleeve and all,” and Steve shrugs, only pauses the motions of their hands for half a breath, less than a heartbeat at the going pace. It feels too small for something so…significant.

Something precious like that.

“Easy to get stomped on,” Eddie finds the words tumbling out, almost aggrieved; he heard the rumors, even among their friends, their family but faced with it so stark like this, naked chest to chest, it’s…unthinkable.

It hurts, just to think of.

“Yeah,” Steve exhales; fucking…Eddie thinks that sounds resigned: “I know.”

Eddie doesn’t expect the whine that escapes him, a little jagged on the frantic pulse he can feel all in his teeth; he doesn’t expect it, but it’s not big enough. It’s not deep enough for the ache in him at that…acceptance, that expectation of hurt.

“I didn’t,” Eddie starts, desperate for him to know; however this plays out, Steve cannot ever, ever believe his heart isn’t…isn’t the most invaluable gift in, in—

In any universe. Any dimension. Across any existence at all worth knowing.

He doesn’t think the words he knows could do the sentiment justice, though. And words, shit: he should be good with those but, even if he knew the right ones. Hell just fought up his still-pounding heart with a flail and that’s…

He grabs Steve's hand tighter, fit to break bones: the need unquestionable.

He hopes the want, the devotion in him translates just as clear.

And then, oh holy fuck—then.

Steve holds back just as hard.

“I wanted to try to keep the ball in your court,” Steve exhales, shaky; and Eddie knows, he knows they’re on the same page. Steve’s heart’s so fast. Eddie’s is faster.

“I told you,” Eddie starts, more like he’s trying to figure it all out for himself more than arguing anything but, how could Steve had thought Eddie didn’t, how could—

Why would anyone trust Eddie with any kind of sports-oriented ball—

“With the shower, and—“

“I’m not that guy anymore,” Steve barely whispers; “you might’ve had a crush on me then but now I’m,” Eddie feels Steve swallow; hears his heartbeat maybe skip; “I think, I mean, I hope I’m a different person.”

Eddie has to breathe at the notch in Steve’s throat for a couple seconds, maybe minutes; this…this sounds like…like maybe…

“And just because the ball’s in your court,” Steve’s pulse kicks up, and up, and—

“Didn’t mean my heart wasn’t still held out for the stomping,” and he’s twirling Eddie’s hair, he’s twirling his fingers through Eddie’s hair while he talks about the impossible possibility of, of what: Eddie…not wanting, of Eddie doing the stomping—

Eddie can barely swallow.

“You saying you wouldn’t help bathe all your friends in similar circumstances?” he mostly kinda squeaks; he can barely hear over the rush of his own blood.

“I’m saying not all of them,” there’s a little smile in Steve’s voice, but his pulse is still knocking against where Eddie pressed into his neck; “but I wouldn’t be risking my heart for it either way.”

And Eddie…Eddie thinks he’s maybe dying, for real this time. He thinks maybe he’s never felt alive before this moment, ever.

He blames the confusion, for not thinking through his next words.

“Would it be too not-slow,” Eddie mouths against the pulsepoint jumping at him, fit perfect to his lips; “or unsubtle, if I said I thought I was in love with you?”

He might not think the words through, but hell if he regrets them for a goddamn second.

Not when Steve doesn’t move to pull away, doesn’t let go at all, holds on tight—but the pulse against Eddie’s lips redefines what it means to hammer, to race.

Eddie starts thinking about turning, looking Steve in the eye and hoping to find what he…what he thinks he’ll find but there’s still a part of him that’s scared, that’s not brave, that’s…

But then Steve’s moving, raising up to meet Eddie’s gaze: so bright in the middle of the night, in the pitch dark. Lips open, breathing heavy, their chests still flush but now Steve’s reaching, framing Eddie’s face and just…looking.

Nah, no: staring.

“Steve?” Eddie thinks it’s more a matter of his lips moving than of sound coming out, especially as he tries to follow the pad of Steve’s thumb as it traces the corner of Eddie’s lips, careful, so careful, like Eddie’s glass and wonder all at once and—

“I think I’m in love with you, too.”

And then Steve’s leaning in, then Eddie’s learning that Steve tastes like leftover toothpaste and some kind of spice they hadn’t eaten, that Eddie doesn’t know: thinks, believes is what dawn tastes like, the breaking of day itself in Steve’s mouth, his veins.

They move slow, slick, tongues less exploring and more kinda worshipping; Eddie’s been kissed harder and faster and deeper for the technical definitions of any of the terms but he’s never felt so dizzy, so spun from the axis of his world, the line that splits his heart in halves; never like someone was tongue his soul out gentle to weigh and bathe in, like, adoration.

Eddie doesn’t have a word for how it steals his breath.

“Hey,” he tried to gasp anyway when they break apart for air; “hey, Stevie?”

“Hmm?” Steve hums, running the line of his nose up Eddie’s jaw, and Eddie throws his head back, shivers when Steve licks at the fading scars as he goes. When he makes it to kiss Eddie’s temple—because now he means to, or maybe he always did and, oh, oh shit, what if he always did—then he leans back and looks at Eddie, and there’s…

There’s so much in those eyes. It makes Eddie feel…almost-brave.

“What if I took the ‘think’ out?”

Steve tips his head, fucking adorable.

“Whatcha mean?”

Eddie swallows, and soaks up that gaze some more: almost-brave.

“I said I think I’m in love with you,” Eddie exhales; “what if I said that, but I took out the part where I say ‘think’?”

And oh wow: he’d thought, he’d known Steve was some inexplicable light before.

He’s putting their whole galaxy’s suns, every one of them Eddie doesn’t even know—the way his eyes shine and his smile beams puts every goddamn one of them to shame.

And Eddie doesn’t expect it, exactly, when Steve gathers his hands again and crushes them to his chest just to murmur low:

“Then I’d say this is yours to do with whatever you’d like,” and he moves Eddie’s palms to cup around the beat that’s still so fast and hard but not pulled taut anymore, closer to sugar high, or a rubber ball ricocheting around the ceiling just for the joy in it; “stomping included,” and he smiles for it like a joke but…but Eddie would never so—

He leans in and this time he captures the lips, and he presses hard, dares to nip at Steve’s lower lip and bite out:

“Never,” and he meets Steve’s eyes, watching them dilate impossibly in too little light and he just, he just…

He falls into Steve, presses his cheek close and, and feels him. Somehow all of it’s new.

“You okay?” Steve eventually asks, but doesn’t pull away, just slides a hand up the line of Eddie’s spine to steady, to keep him like there’s a question of Eddie going anywhere but here every again; and then just leans into Eddie’s cheek, magnetic-like.

And okay is such a foolish, insignificant word. Eddie could hold the weight of the earth ten times over, he feels strong enough; Eddie could swallow the stars and it wouldn’t matter because he has his own sun right in front of him.

Eddie doesn’t know if he understood the word happy before this moment, and every synonym for it that means the exact same thing’s a lot like okay: just too fucking small.

“Yeah,” Eddie answers, and breathes Steve in so deep his lungs kinda shake for it before he breathes back out; “yeah, sweetheart,” and fuck, fuck—Eddie Munson’s not just in love.

Eddie Munson is loved in return. Eddie Munson loves, and is loved back. That’s…that’s just…

“I’ve never been better.”

>>> four: play 🎶🎧🎹

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch @perseus-notjackson @estrellami-1 @bookworm0690 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @nerdyglassescheeseychick @swimmingbirdrunningrock @goodolefashionedloverboi @sanctumdemunson

divider credits here & here

👾 title credit here

💫 ao3 link here

[whump-allthe-way]

caretaker wasn’t supposed to be doing this, they weren’t a caretaker, and surely whumpee is capable of taking care of themselves, right? surely they’re old enough, so why does caretaker need to be there? they hate it, waking up every morning to an overly excited whumpee rambling about their dreams, they make breakfast and attempt to tune out of the annoying endless chatter, and they spend their evenings praying to everything above that whumpee would just go to bed-

until one day whumpee’s gone. they dropped them off at school without a word, watched them as they happily waved them off before turning to their friends. but now they’re gone, they’re not waiting in that same spot out of the school, there’s no sight of them or their backpack riddled with dozens of cute keychains and pins. caretaker jumps out of their car, heads towards the friends they pretended not to notice, demanding to know where their charge is. the shrugs tell them nothing, so they go home.

maybe whumpee will show up later, the peace and quiet will be nice after all.

a few hours pass, and caretaker cooks them a meal for when they’re home.

they watch the clock tick by and pass their favourite channel as they scroll through the tv, their show is on.

whumpee never comes home, and soon they’re at the police station. the police call them a few days later, and all caretaker hears is “i’m sorry- kidnapped-“

caretaker waits in the silence, they cook two meals every night in case whumpee comes strolling through that door with their giddy smile and endless stories, they save their show so they can catch up, and they practice their “i don’t care about you, but don’t do that again” lecture.

it’s months before caretaker gets the call, and this time the only word they hear is “hospital”

caretaker isn’t worried, or angry or scared, not by whumpee’s pale, bruised face, the frail form or the scars that peak out from the covers. caretaker doesn’t care- and they’re not crying from relief, they’re not gripping their hand tightly as they thank every god above, because whumpee is nothing more than an inconvenience-

whumpee is so small now, they shake and stutter, and the small smiles they manage don’t reach their eyes. when they’re home, whumpee doesn’t talk, not really, they answer caretakers questions and they mumble a shaky thank you when they’re given food, but they don’t ramble. not like they used to.

and caretaker finds themselves filling in the silence, sat on the couch talking and talking, about what whumpee’s missed, their friends and hell- even caretaker’s friends. they hand them the remote to watch their show and they tuck them in at night, and they pray that one day whumpee will smile again, perhaps wake them with that annoyingly cheerful “morning caretaker!” once more, or even just talk about the meaningless things in their life.

the whumpee they let crawl into their bed after they wake up screaming, the whumpee that hides behind them in front of strangers, the whumpee that quietly asks them questions isn’t their whumpee. and all caretaker can think is that if they’d just listened; payed a little more attention to their endless stream of words, their whumpee would be here.

[poisonedjoinery]

Hello beautiful, just wanted to thank for writing stories and giving us reader some of your time. I don't know if you are open for requests but I give it a try. 🤍🙏 I'm in desperate need of a voightx reader fic, angsty hurt and comfort and fluff. Maybe you like my idea or get some inspiration to write something similar.

The reader is working with intelligence and Voight is instantly taken aback by her appearance. She is also attracted to Hank. But they keep their feelings for each other hidden. One night the goes out for drinks and in their tipsy state the reader and Hank make out.... The next day Voight is giving her the silent treatment and is also cold and unfriendly to her, just ignoring the fact they kissed. His unfair behavior goes on for days until she gets him to talk to her, telling her that is was was mistake and she should move on leaves her feeling more hurt and heartbreak than ever. The situation is also taking a physically toll on her, with no appetite and her deathly sick appearance the team instantly worries.

We all know Voight would think he can't give her what she needs or be good enough fir this kind and beautiful girl.

Later on there's a guy hitting on her and Voight pushes her to date the stranger (secretly dying from jealousy, but believing another man can give her all she needs). The date ends catastrophic when she realizes that the guy drugged her, secretly and in panic she calls voight in her dizzy and weakening state and manages to tell him the bar they're currently. Not able to defend herself in her drugged state the guy is able to drag her to his car in the parking lot. She's struggling and fighting for her life, he gets frustrated and beat her up..... Voight comes just in time and keeps the guy from kidnapping her. Nearly conscious and beaten Hank takes her to his house to attend her injuries and to take care of her. Some fluffy end in which he admits his feelings for her... 🤍🙏

Currently I am sucker for caretaker fics, with sick and hurt reader. The intelligence team would be soo cute taking care and at a Hank Voight who hides his feelings and worries for the girl just get me 😍

I am soooo sorry for this long request, but I have this idea in my head since forever and I just needed it to share, in desperate hope a talented writer might create a good story. Don't hesitate to tell me if this sucks.

Lot's of love 🤍

Eat the World Raw

Authors Notes: This is an anon request, of super protective yet jealous Voight. I hope I have done your request justice anon, my apologies for the serious delay on this I have a hideously busy job these days and I find it hard to find writing time.

Summary: Reader is a new starter on the Intelligence Unit, and is instantly taken with Voight. After sharing a drunken moment, Voight pushes reader away. But a panicked phone call changes everything.

Warnings: Mentions of drink spiking and assault. Angst and fluff too. If you feel there should be any other warnings, please do let me know.

Gif by: @shelby-love

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Hey Boss, the new recruit is here." Antonio called out to Voight, as he walked you to your new desk. Dropping your bag to the side, you pulled off your coat.

"Thank you Detective, I appreciate your help." Smiling, Antonio nodded his head,

"Call me Tonio, everyone else does. Come on, we can get you some coffee, you're gonna need it." Nodding, you followed him to the break room. Tonio gave you the rundown of the most recent case the team was working on. A gang was currently running drugs through the city, and the intelligence unit was still unsure of how they were managing to go undetected.

"Wow... that sounds like a lot. You know, I worked a case once where a gang was using the postal service to distribute their drugs. The leaders brother used to work for them, and kept a master mailbox key." Antonio looked surprised,

"Huh... that... could actually be plausible."

"'TONIO!" Whipping his head round, he watched as Voight stalked in, a deep frown on his face.

"I thought you said the new starter was... here..." His voice trailed off as his gaze focused on you. You felt your breath leave you, as though you had been gut punched. You'd been told a lot about Voight, had been told what a hardass he was. Never taking no for an answer, scaring off more teammates and pissing off coworkers more than anyone else in the CPD. What you wasn't prepared for, was for how handsome he was. Yes, he was at least twenty years older than you but you couldn't help yourself, you let your eyes roam over him. From his boots, all the way to the black button down shirt with a black leather jacket over the top.

Clearing his throat, Antonio stepped forward.

"Boss this is (Y/N). I've already brought her up to speed with the case, and she's actually given a decent idea of how the drugs could be being moved around the city." Antonio frowned, looking at Voight, and then to you.

"Boss?"

"Huh... yeah?" Clearing his throat, Voight gave a tight smile and held out his hand.

"Nice to meet you (Y/N), glad you're all caught up." Averting his gaze, he rubbed the back of his neck.

"Uh... Tonio, I need you to run down a lead. It's the one that Ruzek brought us yesterday, take the newbie." Looking back up at you, he gave a small smile and quickly turned around heading back to his office.

"Um... he seems... intense." Your voice sounded shaky. You quickly took a large gulp of coffee, wincing as it scolded your throat.

"Yeah he um... I think he's a bit stressed right now." Tonio frowned, then quickly smiled.

"Okay, let's go." Striding back out, you grabbed your coat and badge. Risking a quick glance behind you, you saw Voight in his office watching you.

--------------------------------------

The case took a nasty turn. The gang that was peddling drugs, seemed to have looped kids into their dealings. Picking the weak and neglected kids whose parents wouldn't give a shit as to their whereabouts. You kept your head down, working hard and not getting underfoot. Learning the ways and methods the team worked, but you could start to feel the pressure of this case sinking into your bones. You felt angry that innocent kids were being used, and made to believe that they were cared for. You rubbed your face, the night had settled around you causing the light from your screen to become harsh to your eyes.

"Hey (Y/N), it's late. Come on, we're all going for a drink." Glancing up, Halstead smiled from his desk as everyone else pulled on their coats, shutting down their computers. huffing out a sigh your stretched.

"Yeah sure... okay sounds good."

You all headed to Molly's, grabbing a booth in the back you sat and powered through a few beers. As the mood lightened, jokes started to fly around along with casual conversation. Soon you found yourself laughing at Ruzek and his ridiculous stories.

"There room for one more?" Glancing behind you, you found Voight staring down at you intently. Swallowing hard, you nodded and shifted your chair over.

"Sure thing Boss." Voight grabbed a chair and sat next to you.

"Thanks, and when we're not on shift, you can call me Hank." Smiling, you took a sip of your drink. Feeling more confident, mainly because of the ten or so beers flowing through you, you leant in closer to Voight.

"Thanks. So... Hank... how has your day been?" Smiling, Hank watched you for a moment, then lent in further.

"Well it has been busy... but I think we are making good progress, and the drinks are certainly helping right now." With that he took a large gulp of bourbon, causing a colour to rise in his cheeks.

The night continued, with the team drinking and laughing. The more you drank, you found yourself relaxing into your seat which incidentally lead to you leaning further into Hank. You enjoyed the warmth that came from him, the smell of his cologne, the deep laugh that vibrated out of his chest. You tried not to squirm as you felt yourself becoming flushed with excitement.

"Okay guys... I need to get to bed. I'd like it to be at least a month before I drunkenly embarrass myself. " The others laughed and jeered, trying to persuade you to stay as you pulled on your coat.

"I'm gonna head off too, (Y/N) I'll walk you out." Waving bye to everyone, you headed to the door, your mind racing at the thought of Hank being so close behind you. Rummaging in your bag you found your phone, pulling up a taxi app.

"How you getting home?" Looking up, you smiled and showed him your phone.

"I was going to get a cab."

"Ah, don't worry about that I'll give you a ride. Come on."

"Oh you don't have to..."

"I know I don't have to, but I want to. It's late and I can at least know you're safe." Dropping your phone back into your bag, you pulled your jacket closer around you.

"Then lead the way Boss." Smirking at him, as he raised an eyebrow, he lead you across the street to his truck. Climbing in, you sank into a soft leather chair. The air was heavy with Hanks smell, and coffee.

"So... where do you live?" Shutting the door behind him, Hank started the truck and turned on the heater. Giving him your address, you pulled your seatbelt on. The drive was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Hank maneuvered the truck smoothly through the light city traffic, occasionally asking you questions about your previous jobs. Before you knew it, you were outside your house. Stopping the truck, he placed his arm behind your chair, quietly watching you.

"Thank you, Voight. I appreciate the lift."

"You're welcome sweethear'." You felt a heat creep over your face at the endearment. You dropped your gaze not wanting him to see.

"Well um... goodnight. I..." Before you could finish your sentence, Hank had tilted your face up, his hand remaining under your jaw.

"Just... a taste." You blinked and felt as his lips pressed against yours. Moaning quietly, you reached your hand up grazing the back of his neck. Pulling him in closer to you. You're not sure at what point it happened, but you ended up pulled into Hanks lap, slowly kissing him for what felt like hours. Humming quietly, he pressed his head against yours.

"I um... I should probably go. I need to be fresh for tomorrow... I don't want my boss to get pissed at me." Smiling, Hank let you shift out of his lap and into the passenger seat again.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Bright and early boss." Climbing out you headed into your house, Hank remaining outside until you had locked your front door. Hank rubbed his face and pulled his truck out onto the main road. What the fuck had he done.

-------------------------------------------

The next morning Hank got to the office bright and early. He didn't want to be disturbed by anyone. This case was starting to piss him off, and he didn't want to fuck around chasing any more dead beat leads. He noticed as the rest of the team trickled in, all of them having a haggard look that suggested they'd all drunk a bit too much last night. He noticed how you watched him through the blinds of his office, like you was waiting for him to call you in for a chat. He probably should talk to you, but he just couldn't do it right now. He was too pissed at himself to even consider having a civilised conversation.

He made sure he kept busy for the rest of the day, he didn't want to speak to anyone unless needed. He chased down lead after lead until he managed to find one that was promising. After ten hours, and a painful conversation with a local informant, Voight managed to track the ring leader down and haul him and his gang into lockup. He left Antonio and Burgess shutting down the lab, and bagging up evidence.

"(Y/N), with me." nodding quickly, you followed Voight out into the stations car park.

"I'm sorry about last night, I shouldn't have... I shouldn't have kissed you."

"I didn't mind Hank, I actually enjoyed..."

"No... it won't be happening again. I am too old for you, and I won't be able to give you anything that you want. So it's best to just... forget about it okay." It killed him to see the pain and hurt in your eyes.

"Hank I..."

"It was a mistake (Y/N), okay?" He didn't meant to raise his voice, but he saw the anger building in you.

"Not a problem Boss, I've already forgotten." Watching you march back into the building, he groaned inwardly, kicking himself for his tactless approach.

For the next few weeks, Voight watched as you worked alongside the team, effortlessly working leads and solving case after case. He couldn't stand how pale you had become, how when everyone else had lunch you seemed to find a reason not to eat with them.

"(Y/N), eat something will you. I don't want you passing out on shift." Whipping your head round, you glared at Voight as he stalked past you. Grinding your teeth, you forced yourself to answer.

"Sir." Grabbing your coat, you nodded to 'Tonio.

"I'm heading out for some food, want anything?" 'Tonio shook his head,

"Na I'm good, thanks (Y/N)." Nodding, you headed out.

You didn't realise how hungry you were until you were half way through a footlong sub from the local deli. Your stomach ached in protest and delight at the amount of food you were consuming. You couldn't help but think about how Voight had kissed you that night, it had felt glorious. You hadn't dated anyone for a few years, hadn't really had the time. You'd enjoyed your job too much. But when Voight had kissed you, you felt a new rush, a new thrill. Then the fucker had ditched you.

"Asshole." Throwing your rubbish in the bin, you headed back into the office. Taking the stairs two at a time, you wasn't focused on the people around you and you slammed into someone.

"Shit... I'm sorry I wasn't watching." Glancing up you found a guy in front of you smiling.

"(Y/N)! Christ I haven't seen you in years." Focusing on the face attached to the voice, you saw it was Jacob. A guy you had gone through the academy with. Huffing out a breath, you gave a wane smile.

"Hey, Jacob. How you doing?" Nodding, he grinned, stepping closer to you.

"Yeah I'm good thanks, I'm working over with homicide now."

"Sweet." You shifted your gaze, looking up to where you wanted to go. He glanced behind you, eyes going wide.

"Are you... you up in Intelligence?"

"uh-huh."

"Holy shit that is amazing, I've heard Voight is a right hardass... is that true?"

"I can be when pushed." Jacobs eyes widened as he spun round.

"Um... sorry Sir, I didn't mean anything by it." Smirking Voight clapped him on the shoulder,

"Don't sweat it. (Y/N), when you're ready we've got a lead to run down." Turning, Voight headed up the stairs to the rest of the team.

"I should head up." Moving to follow Voight, Jacob caught your arm.

"Hey do you fancy grabbing a drink tonight, after work?" Glancing up the stairs you saw Voight had slowed down, probably trying to over hear your conversation.

"Um... yeah I'll uh... I'll let you know. Big case, not sure what time I'll be finished."

"Yeah... yeah okay sounds good." Heading up the stairs, you caught Voights eye.

"Hey... you dating that guy?" Frowning, you glanced up at him.

"I... no I went through the academy with him. He just asked if I wanted to meet for a drink."

"Hmm... you should go. You're a young woman, you should get out from behind the desk." Watching him closely, you leaned in looking for any hint of a joke.

"You... okay sure, why not." Turning on your heel you marched into the office heading straight to your desk to phone Jacob. If Voight insisted you go, then you'll go. If only you'd turned round, you'd have seen the fury burning in his eyes.

-------------------------------------------

Checking your reflection, you smiled. You'd picked your best emerald green dress, it dipped low at the front and hugged at your hips just right. You felt good for the first time in a while.

"Forget Voight." Grabbing your coat and bag, you headed out the door.

You found Jacob at the bar sipping on a beer, spotting you he grinned.

"Wow... you look amazing!" Grinning, you pulled your coat off and placed it over the bar stool.

"Thank you, you scrub up well yourself." Gesturing to the bartender, you ordered a red wine.

"Cheers." Taking a big sip you smiled. You looked around the bar, seeing all the different people chatting and drinking. You felt yourself relax a bit into your seat.

"So... how's your case going?" Looking up, you were stalled for moment.

"Uh... yeah it's going okay. It's a tough case but we're getting there." You didn't overly want to chat about work, as it reminded you of Voight. Jacob seemed to get the hint as you didn't expand any further on the subject. You sat quietly for a moment, just sipping on your drink. After a while, you both seemed to just relax into a conversation, reliving the academy days minutes passing into hours.

"You feeling okay?" Jacobs voice seemed to pull you out of a blurred moment that you didn't remember going into.

"Hmm? oh... yeah I'm fine, I'm just... gonna head to the bathroom okay?" Smiling, he nodded.

"Okay, well uh... shall we head out after this? Maybe find somewhere to get food?" Standing up, you nodded holding onto your chair for dear life.

"Yeah that's fine." Grabbing your bag, you headed to the bathroom, feeling your legs wobble and your head start to swirl. Pulling in a deep breath, you focused on the toilet door, not wanting to look more drunk than you were.

Pushing open the door, you leant on the sink and stared at your reflection. Your pupils looked blown, but you couldn't tell. You couldn't focus. You tried to remember how many drinks you'd had, tried to remember anything but it was all becoming a hazy dream.

"Shit.." Stumbling into a toilet stall, you locked the door behind you and rummaged in your bag pulling out your phone. You truly hoped you'd punched in the right number.

"(Y/N)?" Hanks voice cut through the phone, relief flooded through you.

"Han..k... I need... come help... been drugged."

"Where are you!" You felt yourself slowly drifting off.

"I... I'm ... bar...South side... bird...bird... Spar..." Your voice drifted off,

"Bird... the Sparrow... you at the Sparrow!"

"Yea... bathro." Your world went black.

Voight drove like a madman, sirens blaring not caring who he cut off in the process. Hold on, please god hold on. The streets were a blur as they flashed past him in a haze of lights and noise. Pulling into the car park, Voight spotted a guy hauling a woman to his car. Stepping out, he recognised it as Jacob. Picking up his pace, he started towards him catching your voice as he got closer.

"No... get off you sick fuck."

"Stop struggling... you know you're going to love it." Hank watched as you swung at him catching him in the mouth, but it didn't stop there. Jacob slapped you, and punched you in the stomach. Hank was at his back within seconds. Grabbing him by the hair, he slammed his face into the side of the car, continuing to punch him as he slid to the ground. He wouldn't have stopped, could have killed him had it not been for your voice calling to him.

"Hank..." Looking behind him, he saw you stirring on the floor blood pouring from your mouth.

"Shit... (Y/N), I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Scooping you up, he carried you to his car putting you in the passenger seat. Peeling out of the car park, he sped away from the bar. Glancing over at you he took your hand,

"Hey, (Y/N) stay awake alright. We're nearly there." You let your head lull to the side, the warm air from the heater and the blow to the head making you sleepy.

"Where's there?" you murmured out.

"Home."

-------------------------------------------

Waking up, your head felt heavy, your vision blurred. Rubbing a hand over your face, you realised you no longer had your dress on but a soft t-shirt with the letter CPD stamped on the chest. Your body ached, and yet you felt content in the soft confines of the duvet.

"Hmm... s'good."

"(Y/N)?" Glancing to the side, you found Voight sitting in a chair next to your bed.

"Hey, um... what am I doing here?" Reaching out, Voight took your hand and held onto it gently.

"You rang me last night, you went out for a drink with the Jacob guy and ah... he um... he spiked your drink." Frowning, you tried to remember but all you could think of was the toilet stall you had sat in.

"I got there just as he was dragging into his car, but you resisted and uh.. he hit you a few times."

"I um... christ I don't remember much I'm sorry Boss. Guess that's why my head hurts hmm?"

"What! No, don't be sorry, that scumbag is the one who should be sorry not you! I'm... I'm just glad I was able to get you out before... well I'm glad I got to you." Smiling you squeezed his hand with yours,

"Thanks Boss."

"'Tonio checked into your boy, and he's not a cop, well not any more at least. He didn't make it passed being a beat cop, he assaulted two women so he got fired." You felt your stomach churn.

"Well... maybe next time I should get you guys to run a background check on whoever I plan on going for a drink with hmm?" Dropping your head back into the pillow you winced as pain flared through your eyes. Looking around the room, you saw that it was rather warm and, oddly enough, cosy.

"We won't need to do that." Voight sounded a little nervous, something you had never thought he could be. Tilting your head, you gazed at him intently,

"And why's that hmm?"

"Because I'm not a creep who preys on women, so you'll be safe."

"Wha..?" Sighing, he shifted out of his chair to sit on the edge of the bed, running his other hand over your hair. It only occured to you now that this was Hanks house, Hanks bedroom, Hanks shirt that you were wearing.

"I shouldn't have encouraged you to go on a date with that guy. What I should have done, was date you myself. But instead I... I got nervous. Nervous that you'd see I wasn't anything but an old, beat up cop too stuck in his ways to make you happy in the ways that matter." Sitting yourself up, you leaned into Voight and kissed him. You wasn't sure how long it lasted, or when he had gently pushed you back leaning into you. Running your hands up his arms, you traced your fingers over his broad back. Breaking away, you pressed your head against his,

"You know, you never even asked what makes me happy. If you'd had just asked, I think we would have saved a lot of time... and spiked drinks." Smirking at him, he shook his head.

"Yeah I know, I'm a dumbass." Laughing at him, you brushed your hand over his jaw.

"I'll let you off, on one condition." Voight raised an eyebrow, and hummed quietly.

" You um... take these jeans off and stay in bed with me for the day hmm?"

"Yes Ma'am, you don't have to ask me twice." Standing he slowly unbuckled his belt, and unbuttoned the jeans. You felt a heat build in your face and stomach. This was going to be... an interesting day.

[deluxewhump]

The Bahkauv: Communication

Fantasy whump, previous torture mentioned, nonhuman whumpee, captivity, multiple caretakers (carewhumpers is a fair definition too because of the captivity element), it/he pronouns intermittently, fear and reassurance

Prev

Masterlist

Stephan’s bandaged hand throbbed in time with his heartbeat. To avoid agitating it, he tried to stay still. Just before full dark, they had been joined by another traveler. Francis was curious, as always, and too friendly. Stephan would have preferred they told the man to be on his way, but the hospitality of his companions won out over his caution. A lone traveler was just as likely to be a fugitive and a cutthroat as anything else, especially in these wilds.

The visitor claimed he’d had a river trout for his dinner, but that it had been stolen by a clever fox that was trailing him as he headed southwest. They’d offered him food.

Stephan prodded their campfire with a stick. At least they were headed in opposite directions, he thought irritably. The flames danced higher, illuminating the stranger’s shadowed and scarred face. He was bigger than all of them, including Stephan, with an axe on his belt and greasy hair that looked like it had not been cut in some years.

“Kind of you to give a stranger food,” he commented, chewing a piece of their carefully packed rations. “I’ve come across naught but unfriendly types in these times. Everyone suspects everyone else of something. I suppose it doesn’t help that someone’s just killed the King.”

None of them responded. Even Francis knew better than to engage an armed stranger in talk of politics. Half the people in these northwestern hinterlands called the old King the usurper, and the other half accused the new King of the same.

“Happy to help a fellow traveler, if we can,” came Francis’s diplomatic reply. It was belated, and the stranger looked up with a chuckle.

“I suppose you don’t have any antivenom among you, do you?”

“What bit you?” asked Francis immediately. He’d probably ask to see the bite, Stephan thought. Take notes in his field journal like an obsessed scry. Always the scientist, even in moments where it was hardly appropriate.

“Not me.” The stranger nodded toward Stephan’s bandaged hand. “The big redhead. You get bit by an adder collecting firewood? Or was it that creature you’ve got there that you’re pretending is a particularly quiet companion?”

Stephan’s gaze flicked to the bahkauv before he could stop himself. It had heard, alright. And Stephan no longer had any doubts it understood. Until a moment ago, it had done nothing but stare sullenly into the fire, a foot farther back than the rest of them, hunched against the evening chill. Despite the fact that none of them had punished it for biting Stephan that afternoon, it was still afraid of them. Now it was downright terrified, chest rising and falling faster, dark eyes wide.

The stranger on the other side of the fire gave a self satisfied smile and took another bite of salt pork. “I thought so. I was almost certain. That mop of hair hides the ears well enough in the dark, but it’s the eyes.” He pointed two fingers up at his own, glinting with firelight. “Not quite right, are they? I can always tell your kind, leech.”

Francis was looking at their captive with open sympathy on his face. Stephan wished he could elbow him without being noticed. Arthur was steadfast, betraying nothing with his expression.

“Antivenom?” Stephan asked as if he were largely disinterested. His bandaged hand throbbed and ached.

“Yes. You’ll be needing it, come the morning. Or maybe afternoon, it’s hard to say. You’re tall, and strong. Maybe it’ll take a while. But a single drop’ll kill a draft horse. Just takes its time.”

“Are you a hunter?”

“No,” replied the traveler. He nodded his head vaguely north. “But I’ve spent time in the far reaches. I know their kind. They’re rare, but still a nuisance. They look human when they’re not feeding. It’s disarming, I know. I see it too. But one of these things will kill you as soon as look at you, and when it’s on you, it looks like a wild animal. They stalk like mountain lions, move like shadows. It prefers to get a man alone, preferably too far into his cups to defend himself. They call it a bahkauv. Did whoever sold it to you tell you that? That bruise is fresh, or it would’ve healed already. Did you hit it?” he asked Stephan. “For the bite it gave you?”

“I’m afraid we’re all exhausted,” Arthur said, standing and brushing campfire ash from his pants. “And if what you say is accurate, we need to pack up before first light and make the city as quickly as we can.”

The stranger rose to his feet, surprisingly agile. “I’ve overstayed. I’ll be on my way. I thank you again for the food, and I wish you safe travels.” He stopped to ponder the bahkauv, as if studying the impressive boy-shaped disguise it embodied.

“Take another piece,” Francis insisted, going into his own pack and drawing out more of their rations. “For the road.”

The stranger took it with a grateful nod and untethered his horse, leading it cautiously into the darkness.

“Stephan,” Arthur said when their visitor was out of earshot. “How is your hand feeling?”

“It’s a bite. It hurts. But not unusually so.”

Was his heart beating faster than it ought to, or was he just alarmed by the idea of venom leaking steadily into his blood?

“The city is more than a morning’s ride,” Francis said. “I doubt any little hamlet we might cross before then will have anything to aid a rare, foreign venom, either.”

“If that man was even telling the truth,” Stephan pointed out, partly to calm his own nerves. “We shouldn’t have mentioned our route. What if he was a scout for some thieves? Or hunters?”

“We’re too far from the main road for that,” Francis reasoned. “That’s just paranoia.”

Arthur was resolute. “We need to leave now.”

“It’s pitch dark.”

“The trail is good enough to follow in the dark. We don’t have much choice. If—“

“No.”

Stephan turned at the same time as his companions like they were all drawn by the same puppet string. The fire crackled. Insects hummed in the trees and on the thick forest floor, and all else was silent. Their captive had spoken. It was looking up at them with wide eyes, its left jaw and cheek dark with a bruise from Stephan’s fist.

Francis climbed to his feet and went closer, crouching to a non-threatening kneel a few feet away from it. “What did you say?”

They’d all heard it. No, it had said, clear as a ringing bell. What Francis meant was— did you really just speak?

It leaned back from Francis like it wanted nothing more than to bolt to the trees. In the firelight, Stephan could see its hands were shaking.

“It’s alright,” Francis urged. “Will you say it again for us? We were arguing, we didn’t hear.”

“No,” it repeated, softer. “You don’t have to leave.”

“Its got a fucking northern accent,” Arthur muttered, barely audible.

Francis was the first to recover from this new revelation. “If Stephan is going to get sick, we need to seek help. That help is far away, in the city.”

The bahkauv shook its head. “He’s not.”

“He’s not going to get sick?”

The bahkauv looked from Francis up to Stephan as if it were on trial. “No.”

“How do you know?” Stephan asked.

“Because…” its eyes shifted among them again, trying to read the situation, like one of them might suddenly decide to hurt it. “Because I didn’t use those teeth.”

Stephan raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t use teeth that have… venom?”

The bahkauv nodded cautiously. “Just these.” It lifted its upper lip to show a row of unremarkable, human-looking white teeth.

“And you have…other teeth?”

The bahkauv took its his hand away from its face, mouth in a somber line now. It didn’t seem to want to answer that. “I didn’t use them,” it said forlornly.

“Are they hidden?” Francis pressed excitedly. “Do they retract, or are they a… a part of that other form you take? Can you use them at will?”

“Francis,” Stephan hissed to shut him up. Though the harsh tone was meant for his friend, the bahkauv flinched.

“Why didn’t you speak before?” Arthur asked. “It would’ve saved us all trouble these past few days.”

“I couldn’t,” it answered apologetically. It tapped its throat.

“You lost your voice,” Francis said. “Screaming?”

“Or burning,” Arthur added darkly.

The bahkauv dropped its gaze to its feet.

“So I’m not going to get sick?” Stephan asked. “No venom, not even on accident? I won’t be angry with you. I won’t hurt you. But I need to know.”

“No,” it whispered without looking up. “I swear it, Sir.”

“I’m not a Knight,” he said, but couldn’t help the gentle tone of his admonition. “I’m no Sir.”

He was not pleased that he only had the warnings of a strange vagabond and the promise of a captive to consider, but the little creature seemed sincere. He’d begun to think of it as such, as a gently pitiable little thing, rather than an threat, even after the bite. It was that disarming face, as the stranger had said.

“Why didn’t you use your venom?” he asked. “If you have it, and it’s so lethal… why not use it in self defense against your captors?”

The bahkauv looked wounded, and more than a little fearful. “You… you’ve been so merciful. I-I didn’t mean to hurt you. I didn’t mean to bite at all. I’m sorry. Please.”

Stephan held his captive’s gaze, both bright and dark and not quite human, like some sprite sent to trick unsuspecting wanderers into a dark wood. Again he was struck by what seemed like desperate sincerity in the bahkauv. Its voice grew thick with the beginning of tears at the end of its last sentence, and its chin quivered for a moment in such a convincing way. It was either more cunning than the fox that took the stranger’s fish, or it was a sensitive, frightened creature that had just had a very unlucky run with man, who was both its prey and predator.

“Now that I am certain you can understand me, I’ll tell you again. I didn’t mean to hurt you, either. I’m sorry I hit you. I reacted in fear just as you did. I hope there’ll be no more of it between us.”

The bahkauv’s face colored and it turned its delicate head. A few kind words of apology had made it shy, Stephan thought incredulously. After all he’d seen at that hunters camp, the fact that it could communicate not only in basic ways but in sophisticated sentences, and feel something as simple yet profoundly human as shyness made him feel suddenly queasy. How long had the creature begged with words for his tormentors to stop? Did they punish it for speaking, or was begging just so utterly useless it had given up?

“Thank you for telling us,” Francis said. “You’ve saved us a lot of trouble.”

“Now I feel bad putting that muzzle back on him,” Arthur mumbled with an air of disgust. He looked to Francis, and Francis looked to Stephan. Stephan held up his hands, bandaged and unbandaged. “You three work it out.”

“You’re the one he bit,” Francis pointed out. “I didn’t want to muzzle him in the first place, but I conceded for your benefit.”

Stephan sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Just the rope on the ankles is fine with me. I think we’re all sufficiently taken in with this… apology. Maybe we’re fools, maybe not.” He turned to their captive. “Do you have a name? What can we call you?”

It seemed taken aback by the question, and swallowed before giving an answer in that small, clear voice. “Rune.”

“Roon,” Arthur repeated. It sounded different in his Muirish accent. The bahkauv said it with a far-north R, the tongue lower in the mouth, like Hrune. “Do you want us to leave that muzzle off your face for the night?”

“What-whatever you wish. Sir.”

The bahkauv’s answer was intended to be deferential, probably informed by its time spent trying to appease hunters. In effect, it was just hauntingly true. They would do as they wished.

Taglist:

@paperprinxe @whumpsday @i-eat-worlds @handsinmotion @stormchaser819 @annablogsposts

@clickerflight @daffyduckcommittedtaxfraud @scoundrelwithboba, @blood-and-regrets @morning-star-whump

@pumpkin-spice-whump @why-not-ask-me-a-better-question @shiningstarofwinter @vampiresprite @thealchemistal @risk606

@alextries @distinctlywhumpthing @gr8butnotstr8 @a-formless-whumper @valravnthefrenchie @jumpywhumpywriter

@sordayciega @wollemi-whump @fleur-a-whump @tundra-tiger

[written-by-jayy]

Prompt #4

Masterlist

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Whumpees misinterpreting or taking too literally something caretaker says always gets me, but there's one specific scenario that I don't ever see, but it's been on my mind a lot lately;

Whumpee was kidnapped and has been held in a basement/prison/etc. for quite some time now. Months or maybe even years at this point. They've been severely injured (maybe by torture, failed escape, etc.) and finally they're being rescued. Only, the person rescuing them is a stranger (Caretaker). Not that Whumpee minds, at this point they just can't care. Anything is better than this, anywhere is better than here.

As their bindings are being undone, Whumpee's eyes begin to flutter as a wave of exhaustion comes over them. Caretaker notices this and they lightly tap Whumpee's face, "c'mon, I need you to keep those eyes open for me, alright? Stay awake, you can't go to sleep yet."

Whumpee, to the best of their ability, listens.

Infact, they listen so well that a few days into recovery, Caretaker notices how tired they seem.

"You alright there? You can take a nap if you need."

Whumpee looks at them in surprise as their eyes begin to well up, a slight, grateful smile creeping its way to their face. They begin thanking Caretaker profusely.

Confused, Caretaker questions them on their reaction and as they piece everything together, they ask Whumpee if they've not been sleeping.

"When you came for me, you said I have to stay awake. And I think I was good, I did good right?" They ask, proudly and excited to finally sleep.

Or they feel guilty and admit that they think they passed out a few times but they're so sorry and they didn't mean to, and they'll be good from now on, they promise!

Either way, Caretaker feels a combination of concern and guilt. They hadn't specified when Whumpee would be allowed to sleep, becuase they didn't think they had to.

They apologize to Whumpee and explain that that's not necessary and that it was a misunderstanding and miscommunication.

Idrk where it goes from here, so if you have any ideas, or you want to write something based on this, lmk or tag me! I'd love to hear some ideas!

[lilacxquartz]

Don’t Make Me Feel Alive | Chapter 1

kenjaku x f!reader

plot: diagnosed at an early age with an illness that slowly deteriorated your body; you went from being a promising sorcerer to a retired husk of your once former self until he found you, offering you an opportunity to live instead—not that you had a choice to refuse.

chapter summary: you used to be so powerful before your illness claimed you and right on your deathbed, rather than finally meeting your end, you met your salvation instead. or did you?

themes: yandere, chronically ill reader, forced dynamic, non-con, dub-con, violence, caretaking, unrequited feelings, sorcerer reader, dead-dove, mixed pov, potential interpretations of dubious sorcery, spoilers

AO3 Link • Chapter Directory • Next Chapter >

1. Beginning

You were born with a disease; a terrible one too.

At first, you didn’t really notice it in your youth as the progression was initially subtle, the signs not really quite there just yet and for that duration, you were bustling with potential, a promising sorcerer with a powerful technique—a future so bright and aglow with promise.

However, all good things must come to an end and that’s exactly where you were headed.

Even if you were once sculpted with such strength and vibrancy—the illness drained away all the colour from your once saturated existence, replacing your present day life with a film of bleak monochrome, anchoring away at your body, soul and mind.

Not even your cursed technique known for its electrifying power was capable of reigniting the spark lost within you; your body relented against you, forcing you to succumb and deteriorate with not a single thing you could do.

It was a little humiliating in a way—like a bitter pill that you weren’t quite ready to swallow and yet here you were, forced to face reality whether you wanted to or not.

It felt strange being on your deathbed in your mid twenties, but it wasn’t all too bad.

The doctor who oversaw you did her best to offer comfort, assuring you that it likely wasn’t your time just yet, but she didn’t feel what you did, she didn’t understand your body the same way that you did. It was close, almost time for you to go, but strangely you didn’t quite mind. Whether it was your final week or your final day, you felt excited; you wanted to rest.

This was a sickness that made you feel weak after all, so tired and terribly sore.

So when you felt that strangely alluring pull invite you to a place you probably shouldn’t quite tempt going to just yet, you found yourself unable to resist the promise of a good sleep. Maybe even, with some luck, it could last forever and you would never have to live out your days in pain again.

To finally be devoid of suffering.

To drift off into oblivion, lost in an eternal void.

And yet, as you succumbed to the total darkness that otherwise awaited you, there was a strange sensation that manifested in the waking world—an interference of some kind? It felt as though unseen hands reached out to grab you, interrupting you from going under a final time and pulling you back to the surface, forcing you to live another day.

Your eyes reluctantly opened, feeling that something was off.

You were being monitored—watched by something, someone.

Your eyes focused on the person who stood before you, meeting with his chilling gaze from a stare so vacant and devoid of humanity, that he could have been the devil himself.

The stranger greeted you with cold indifference, bordering contempt as he continued to guide his gaze, the palms that he had initially planted firm against your chest now slowly moving away, having successfully done something that you couldn’t quite understand; your body still felt sore and yet, the pull of the void wasn’t so strong anymore.

Did he just give you life?

“It would be such a waste of a good technique if you were to die right now, you know,” the stranger spoke, his voice calm and deliberate, laced with a threat that he kept hidden well.

“What good is it if I can’t use it?” you croaked in response.

His lips curled into an amused smile as he heard your question, those soulless eyes finally ablaze with life, a flicker of something almost human.

“You can. Or, at least, I can make it so that you will be able to again.”

“Impossible,” you denied, knowing fully well that your body didn’t work the way you wanted it to, no matter how many times you have tried before.

“Don’t be so sure,” he persisted, his voice ringing almost melodic as he continued to fill your mind with ideas you couldn’t quite believe, “don’t you want to live your life again?”

You sighed into a nod, however not trusting the stranger just yet. There was something incredibly off-putting about him, seeming just a little too calculated and methodic, as if danger lurked behind his promising words.

“I mean, I want to, but…” you began.

“Sleep on it,” he told you, seeming to tease you as his widening grin revealed his teeth, “you were about to anyway, weren’t you?”

“Y-yeah, but-”

“Then do so,” he said, taking a step forward, “dream.”

The strange man’s words felt strangely hypnotic as you found yourself exhausted once again. A part of you wondered if this was some sort of hallucination already, perhaps one of those dreams that people could have as their bodies closed up shop, even if you did clock it as unfortunately real.

You closed your eyes as you let the pull of the void take you under once more, feeling the strangely familiar touch of unseen hands tugging away at your body once again, pulling your soul back up to the surface, preventing you from fading away. It was again that you felt haunted by a looming danger, your eyes blurring to focus awake.

When you finally properly awoke, you took immediate note that you weren’t in the hospital anymore despite being hooked up to similar machinery.

Where exactly were you?

As you sat up to make sense of your surroundings, your eyes scrolled around the room in a surge of desperation—your gaze begging for a clue, only for your stomach to drop as your body froze. Right by the door, he stood there, that same man from before with his creepy, unsettling smile.

“I will be honest with you though, you might not like what you’ll have to do,” the strange man spoke, his words flowing as smoothly as they did before.

“Which is…?” you asked, sounding a little resigned. Of course there was a catch, there always was.

“You’re going to be helping me with something.”

You blinked, “And that’s bad?”

“Given your prior alignment, I’d say so,” he smiled as he took a step closer, his fingertips brushing against your cheek, “but worry not, you will live should you accept.”

“But what if I refuse?” you dared to ask, your voice barely a whisper as his touch seemed to dampen your ability to speak.

“Don’t be silly,” he replied with a softer tone, his black eyes boring into yours as he intensified his unrelenting gaze—his smile falling flat, “I wouldn’t let you.”

(Not even if you tried to do so again and again.)

[bedtimescenarios]

Hii! You asked for prompts to stay motivated, so I thought I'd share my all time favorite as a possible request?

I'm a SUCKER for an injured whumpee who's incredibly scared of the caretaker, not understanding that they just want to help them! Maybe they lash out or try to run away and have to be held down to receive the medical care they desperately need, with the caretaker trying to comfort them as best as they possibly can... You know?

/nf of course!! Have a great day!!

This is my first time requesting whump stuff, I hope I'm doing everything right aaa

hey there, anon!! thank you so much for the prompt:) it's actually helped me get to writing, and it's even a bit different from my usual stories, so i had an opportunity to diversify my writing!!

i hope you like this and that it fits the prompt well enough, and thanks again!

p.s i am supposed to be sleeping and have written this at 2 am. if there's any mistakes in there or something that needs to be re-done please let me know😭

. . .

As the door swings open with a squeak, Whumpee instinctively presses their back into the wall and lowers their head. Whumper must have had a bad day, otherwise he would've let them heal before another session. They're not getting that luxury now, they think, as the wounds on their body throb and sting with the reminder of their situation. They prepare themselves. They unclench their jaw so they won't bite down on their tongue, shifting so their knees are facing outwards,- they'd rather endure another leg fracture than be nauseous all week- and they tightly shut their eyes.

"Whumpee?"

The voice that rings out is different.

They don't raise their head, but they hear the person's next footstep resound closer. Another one is their cue to cower, pressing an arm against their bleeding abdomen. Did Whumper send someone else to hurt them? Oh, God, he sent someone to finish them off. He got bored, they're finally going to die, or worse-

"Whumpee, I'm not here to hurt you." The voice says, as if reading their mind, and Whumpee takes note of the apparent gentleness of it. A trick.

They look up through the fallen strands of hair stuck to their forehead, trying to assess the amount of danger- no, pain- they're about to be in. A man stands a few feet away, and they quickly identify him as the owner of the voice. Fuck, he's strong, Whumpee thinks as they notice his buff, tall build. He could break their wrist bare handedly, without much effort. Their eyes slowly trail up to his face, noting the short, dark dreads pulled back into a ponytail that ensures an unperturbed view of his surroundings. Increased efficiency and a boost in fun. I can pair your screams with clear images, Whumper used to say.

Caretaker's obsidian eyes meet Whumpee's, and they imagine him saying that same thing to them. They ignore his manipulative attempt at an empathetic, pitying glance. Having been through this too many times already, they can recognize it from a mile away. They just want their break, at least until their wounds close. And they won't let this random stranger take it away from them. Their gaze hardens slightly, yet it's still tinged with raw fear.

"I'm Caretaker. I won't hurt you, I swear- Just- Whumpee, we need to get you to a hospital."

Another lie. But... taking them to another location? No, no no no. Whumpee's hand clenches around their wounds. Another lonely gathering of walls where their screams will echo for eternity. Whumper is giving them away for good. They're so, so tired. Death suddenly doesn't sound as bad.

Alarms blare inside Whumpee's mind, turning their world to hues of red. They feel their veins burn with adrenaline, and before they know it, they're on their feet, scratching at Caretaker's face. They use all their strength, a final attempt at freedom- one way or another. Like a wounded rabbit scratching at the fox whose jaw is clenched upon its ears.

They expect a hard blow to their temple. Or the sharp prick of a syringe. But nothing comes, except for pressure pulling their hands away from the man's face. As they're pulled away, writhing in the grip, they internally swear at themselves for omitting the possibility of backup. Only when their arms are held firmly to their sides is it that they notice themselves trembling, and only when the two people next to them lower them to their ground do they realize how much of an effort each move is. How much pain each shift brings.

As the people behind them hold them still, hands quickly shuffling through a first aid kit, they can finally make out Caretaker's expression. Beyond bloody streaks, his face is painted with genuine shock- or simply incredible acting. He doesn't step forward again as Whumpee sobs in terror, their eyes glassy and breathing labored. Though, if they look closely enough, they can distinguish tears at the corners of his eyes too. He tilts his head, and the corners of his mouth turn upwards softly.

"Shh...It's okay. We'll make you all better, and you'll be able to trust again sometime."