#once a symbol of neglect | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

kamaluhkhan · 5 months ago

Text

LONG HOT SUMMER NIGHT

pairing: luke castellan x fem!poseidon!reader word count: 8.4k chapter summary: it's the summer solstice and olympus is throwing a party! thalia notices the tension between you and luke, poseidon gives you some relationship advice and you punch the god of desire in the face. warnings: angst! jealous reader. lots of drinking. complicated relationships. reader dealing with ptsd + survivor's guilt (post-titan war). mention of injuries + blood. creepy guy pushing reader to hook up. ending is a bit steamy but no actual smut. spoilers for the entire pjo (book) series. no betrayal (au where chris was the one who sided w kronos and led the titan army) so slightly ooc luke <3 also reader is in a band called the midnight sirens and is born on the summer solstice! author's note: thank you so much for all the love for part 1!! summer is almost over and this is very much a summer series BUT summer's not over yet !!! hope y'all enjoy this one too and thanks 4 reading 💙

part 1 | series masterlist

♪: long hot summer night by jimi hendrix

mail to:

Luke Castellan Camp Half-Blood, Half-Blood Hill 3.141 Farm Road Long Island, New York 11954

LUKE!

I’m sitting in my kitchen right now, watching Percy make us blue blueberry pancakes and hoping he doesn’t burn down my kitchen while doing so. I caved and agreed to take him to Disneyland while he’s here and breakfast was part of the deal, but I think I might regret it later.

We went surfing yesterday. It was Percy’s first time, but he was (unsurprisingly) amazing at it. I still can’t get over how beautiful the beaches are and the waves — gods, the waves are unreal. You’d seriously love it here. It’s like every day is summer. You have to come visit. PLEASE come visit!!!!

- [your initial]

P.S. The band and I are working on some new music, which means I won’t make it to camp again this summer. I’m sorry ;( Fingers crossed I’ll make it next year.

P.P.S. hi luke! happy to report that i did not burn down my sister’s kitchen. anyways, can’t wait to kick your ass in sword-fighting this summer. xoxo, percy

THREE YEARS LATER

the first time you visited olympus, you had been sent on a quest to retrieve zeus’ stolen lightning bolt, bringing luke and charles beckendorf along with you. you had missed the summer solstice deadline, but still tried to reason with the king of the gods when presenting the symbol of power, maybe calling him out once or twice along the way. before zeus could strike you down for your boldness, poseidon stepped in. the war between them was averted in fear of a much larger, looming threat; an ominous introduction for what was to come in the next chapter of your life.

another time, the gods debated whether or not they should kill you, some seeing you as a threat to their future. that was the day you accepted your destiny, not wanting your brother percy or your cousin nico to deal with the weight of the great prophecy.

your last visit to olympus was on your 18th birthday, after helping to defeat kronos and his army. you made the gods swear to stop neglecting their kids and to allow all demigods, regardless of whether their parent was an olympian or not, to have a home at camp half-blood; to treat their children as children rather than heroes as pawns in their twisted games.

needless to say, it’s quite strange, being back here under very, very different circumstances, where the gods invited camp half-blood’s senior counsellors and staff to join in their summer solstice festivities.

it’s not every day you’ll be invited to a party on olympus; you’re determined to have a good time, to have fun. there’s already an abundance of music, dancing, food, or alcohol, and the night is just getting started.

you’re happy to be there with new and old friends, but you’re ecstatic when you see that thalia grace is there, too.

“immortality looks good on you, t!” you compliment, raising your voice slightly over the music.

thalia preens, and you bask in her silver glow.

“bet you wish you took the gods up on their offer, huh,” she teases. then, her eyes widen. “oh - shit! it’s your birthday! happy birthday!”

thalia tackles you with another hug; even after all these years, she still smells like pine trees. she grabs two goblets of honeyed wine and hands one to you as you catch up. you eagerly gulp the sweet drink, until you’re reaching for another while listening to her stories about adventures she’d been on with the hunters of artemis.

about halfway through her story about fighting off a manticore during a snow storm, a nymph appears with a platter of the ripest of fruit – sweet plums and fresh figs, tantalising pomegranates, succulent grapes and crisp apples.

“oh my gods, this is the best apple i’ve had in my entire life!” thalia exclaims after indulging in a taste, herself giddy from a few goblets of wine. “where’s luke? he’s gotta try this — he’s always reminding us to eat more fruit. luke!”

you hadn’t kept track of luke, at least not on purpose. you assumed he’d been off partying with van or his siblings, and, probably, avoiding you. wherever he was, thalia calls his name twice more and, like a ghost, luke appears.

“i’m here, t.” luke’s voice is a deep, steady rumble floating above the music. his cheeks are slightly flushed, either from the heat or the drinks. likely both. “what’s up?”

“you need to try this.” thalia shoves the apple in his mouth before luke can respond.

luke takes a bite, and some juice drips down his chin. you, in a honey-soaked haze, think about running your tongue over to catch it, but he beats you to it, wiping it away with the back of his hand.

probably for the best.

“holy shit. yeah, it’s good.”

thalia, a sparkle in her eyes, urges you to try it as well. from across the makeshift triangle the three of you had formed, luke tosses the apple your way. you catch it effortlessly, and sink your teeth into it.

you’ve almost overwhelmed by the burst of flavor. the fruit is just the right amount of tart to balance out the sweetness, and it’s damn near the best crunch you’ve ever experienced.

“good is an understatement,” you say after another bite. a distant memory crosses your mind. “i wonder if these are the same ones we almost got killed by a hellhound for.”

thalia shakes her head, laughing in disbelief. “all because luke said we needed more vitamin c.”

“i was just looking out for us!” luke guffaws. “how was i supposed to know that persephone owned an apple orchard in connecticut?”

you pat his shoulder, the three of you smiling at the memory. “let’s call it an honest mistake.”

“well if annabeth had been with us by then, i’m sure that she wouldn’t have made that same honest mistake.”

“okay, but she’s the daughter of athena —”

you let luke and thalia slip back into their playful bickering as if no time has passed. you listen and continue eating that glorious apple, enjoying how the golden glow of your shared past fills whatever distance might have grown between the three of you.

somewhere down memory lane, luke’s amber eyes flick towards you.

“hey, you’ve got some….” without another word, luke suddenly reaches over to brush away a trail of juice with his thumb before sticking the finger in his mouth to savour the taste. he holds your gaze as he does so, and you feel a familiar kind of heat rush through your body — not from alcohol or summer sun, but from luke.

it’s such an intimate gesture that you almost forget that you’re at some extravagant party on mount olympus, where gods and half-bloods and a whole bunch of other mythological creatures are celebrating the start of summer by essentially getting drunk together, until thalia clears her throat.

“okay, well, seems like the two of you might want some alone time.”

luke’s cheeks grow more flushed than before, and his eyes widen as if realizing what he’d done.

“oh, we don’t need —”

“we’re not —”

you and luke both stumble over your words; thalia just smiles knowingly.

“i’m gonna go flirt with that nymph,” she announces, pointing across the grand marble pavilion.

“i thought — doesn’t artemis sort of frown upon that sort of thing?” you ask.

“she makes exceptions on holidays. besides, i’m her favourite. you guys have fun.” thalia winks at you and walks away.

you glance at luke and, gods, there’s so much history between you.

the time you jumped into an ocean full of sirens to save luke from drowning? you have a scar running down your forearm where one of them scratched you as you struggled to get luke towards the surface.

or when you took turns holding up the sky while on a quest to save lady artemis and defeat the titan atlas? it’s evident in the matching streaks of grey that you each have running through your hair. whenever you see your reflection in the mirror, you remember how you couldn’t save your cousin bianca di angelo earlier that day, and how nico has had to grow up without a sister because of a promise you broke.

how about when you, luke, and one of your best friends were sent on a mission to destroy the princess andromeda, the headquarters of kronos’ army? only the two of you survived, and sometimes you can still feel luke squeezing your hand pike he did during charles beckendorf’s burial shroud ceremony while you both cried.

or when luke took a sword between the ribs for you because he, somehow, knew the one spot the curse of achilles left you vulnerable? he can only slouch for so long before the bones there start to ache.

so, yeah. there’s way too much history, and so many tangled threads, and now really isn’t an ideal time to unravel it all.

“i’m gonna go find my dad,” you blurt out and disappear into the crowd with no real intention of finding your father.

the once sweet apple now tastes rotten on your tongue; you rid yourself of it in exchange for some more wine. you’re determined to have fun — no pain or heartache or grief.

you’ve all had enough of that for three lifetimes.

summer — age 14

“sorry your birthday was ruined.”

luke exhaled sharply when you pressed a disinfectant-soaked cloth to the wound on his leg.

“hold still,” was all you mumbled in response, brows knitted together as you wrapped the cut in gauze.

once you were done with his leg, you moved on to luke’s hands, burned by poisonous acid. the four of you had run into a hydra earlier that night. you managed to wound it enough so you could all get away, but not before a few injuries were sustained.

you were uncharacteristically quiet as you worked. you only met luke’s gaze to warn him before pouring some nectar on his wounds. you let luke hold your hand, tightly, as the liquid dripped through his fingers and down to yours, first right, then left. the pain was instant, seering almost as much as the hydra acid, but it was over quickly. the last thing you did was bandage each hand before getting up.

“i’m…i’m gonna check on thalia and annabeth. i’ll take first watch.”

luke caught your hand before you got away.

“wait. you’re bleeding.” he pointed to the cut on your brow. you had been so preoccupied in making sure everyone else was safe that you let crimson liquid drip down your face. it probably stung, too, based on your grimace.

luke wiped away the blood with his sleeve, used nectar to disinfect the wound, and dressed it with a fresh bandage, working silently as you did.

“it’s still your birthday,” luke finally said once he was done. “you get some rest; i’ll take first watch.”

you gave him a small, strained smile before checking on the others.

later that night, you stayed up with luke anyways.

seemingly out of nowhere, you handed him your portable cassette player. luke stared at it for a moment, unwilling to comprehend just what you were offering and, more importantly, why.

you and luke had grown accustomed to sharing things: flannels, socks, makeshift beds and scavenged food. but this —

it was your aunt’s.

you never met your mother, who’d left you as a baby, and of course, poseidon was too busy tending to his underwater kingdom to step in as a parent. your aunt raised you as her own. and then you lost her, too.

you kept her cassette player buried deep in your bag with some mixtapes she had made and ones you’d stolen throughout the years. when it wasn’t your turn to keep watch, luke would sometimes catch you with headphones on, looking up at the stars.

luke liked to think he knew you well; all those subtle elements that made you — the crack of your knuckles, the cadence of your voice, the slope of your nose, the dreams of your childhood. engraved in his own personhood. bones and all.

and, still: he didn’t know you, not entirely.

you’d only allowed luke to listen with you once, maybe twice. he’d never forget what it was like: knees pressed together and heads just as close to keep the wires from stretching too far; you gushing about the magic of jimi hendrix, recounting memories that echoed through gentle guitar riffs; luke yearning for one more song to play, for another a wistful smile of yours to appear. luke, wishing to linger in your private oasis a beat longer before you pushed him out again and closed the door behind him.

the one lock luke couldn’t crack: your grief, and how you carried on so buoyantly despite its weight.

well, there you were, presenting the key to luke as an offering. a sacrifice for something luke would never ask of you.

“this….” luke swallowed the lump in his throat, refusing to look at you. he turned the device over in his bandaged hands, the metal smooth, though well-worn. “you can’t just —”

leave. you can’t just leave. you can’t just —

“hey.”

your hand over his, forcing him to stop spiralling and look at you.

right away, luke regretted it. a small sliver of him, however delusional, had hoped that you were joking.

you weren’t. behind you, there was an empty space where you had previously wedged your sleeping bag. your backpack was already strapped around your shoulders, fully packed.

“i need to leave, luke. we can’t stay together. it’s too dangerous.”

“you don’t need to —”

“there’s more of us, now,” you interrupted, pulling your hand away to rest on your thigh. “four demigods together isn’t ideal. we’ve been attracting more monsters. more deadly monsters.”

“that would happen, anyways. it always has whether it’s the four of us, the two of us, or….”

luke stopped his sentence short, not even wanting to give you the idea to go out on your own, even though you’d probably been thinking about leaving for some time.

you made reckless decisions sometimes, but this didn’t seem to be one of them.

“well, it’s happening more.” your voice was steady, too steady. luke imagined you rehearsing just what to say to counter the inevitable backlash.

luke shook his head. “i’d be dead if it weren’t for you.”

“you almost died because of me,” you clipped. you lifted a hand to touch the bruise on luke’s jaw, but let it drop just as quickly. “you know that children of the big three cause more trouble. maybe we managed it when it was the two of us, but now, there’s more to consider. a child of poseidon and a child of zeus, travelling together. it’s like we’re asking to be killed. it’s too dangerous.”

“that’s our life,” luke snapped. “you can’t just run from it.” from us.

you faltered, looking back to where annabeth and thalia were sleeping peacefully.

oh. he must have said that last part out loud, too.

“you know i’m right,” is all you said.

luke could only shake his head again. because, fine, you weren’t entirely wrong. it was more dangerous — but it was danger luke hoped you’d all face, together.

“i’ve made up my mind,” you added, an anchor in the sand.

“don’t leave.” luke’s words came out as a prayer. if he offered something, maybe you’d stay.

you paused to take a shaky breath. “this isn’t goodbye, luke. i swear to poseidon…fuck, i swear to all the gods that this isn’t goodbye.”

luke couldn’t speak. there were tears bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill.

“so, keep this for me,” you whispered, once again placing your hand on top of luke’s. his fingers gripped your cassette player tightly, like it was the only piece of driftwood leftover from a shipwreck, keeping him from sinking into the cold, dark nothing. “you’ll give it back when we see each other again.”

a promise.

“fine,” luke conceded, though he wanted to scream at you. he wanted to argue like little kids — petty, loud, meaningless, back and forth until tears streamed down cheeks and throats were raw.

but, you were leaving, one way or another. luke didn’t want this shared memory to be tainted if it might be your last.

“you have to take this, then. give it back when we see each other again.”

luke removed the chain from around his neck, the one that held the key to his childhood home. he placed it around yours, instead.

he didn’t need the key now, but his mother had given it to him when he was six. before he knew what it meant to be the son of hermes, god of thieves.

call him sentimental, but luke had kept it. just in case he ever got lost.

“if you’re ever back in connecticut, you have a home.”

“yeah, okay.” you smiled softly.

it fell just as quickly.

“take care of them,” you told him. “of yourself, too. i’ll see you again when it’s safe.”

luke didn’t ask when it would be safe, because the truth is that it might never be.

“because you want your cassette player back?” luke joked, instead trying to lighten the mood, to capture one last moment of brightness.

you laughed softly to not wake the others.

“yeah. that too.”

you pressed your forehead to his, something you hadn’t done since you were kids.

“i’ll see you again,” you repeated.

without another word, you got up and jogged away. luke shut his eyes, refusing to see you become nothing but a shadow.

(you looked back several times, but he couldn’t see through the darkness.)

now

call the gods out on their bullshit (you encourage it), but if they have one thing going for them, it’s that the olympians know how to throw a party.

the night grows darker, yet somehow becomes more lively. demeter and persephone had supplied a generous amount of fresh, decadent fruit, and dionysus an even more generous amount of wine. apollo starts a karaoke corner and you’re just tipsy enough to agree to sing a duet with him in order to break the ice. apparently, he’s a big midnight sirens fan and had seen your band when you headlined at glastonbury festival. you smile to yourself, imagining your bandmates’ faces if you told them that the god of music had watched you perform.

as you hand the microphone to a giggling dryad, the sound of your name washes over like gentle waves on a shore.

“if it isn’t my sweet, summer child!” your father brings you in for a hug and an ocean breeze engulfs you — salt and sand and sun.

“hi dad,” you exhale as you pull away.

you hadn’t seen each other in a while, but poseidon looks the same. he’s dressed in a turquoise hawaiian shirt and birkenstocks with a crown of seashells on his head. there’s a cocktail umbrella in his glass, a slice of pineapple wedged onto the rim. you’re about to ask him how he managed to secure a pina colada and where you might find one, too.

“that was quite the performance!” poseidon takes an eager sip of his drink, green eyes sparkling like sea glass in the sun. “i must tell you: your newest album is all the rage in atlantis. the nereids and merpeople can’t seem to get enough of it and, truthfully, i find myself playing it on repeat as well. you’re quite talented.”

you try not to let your shock slip through, instead smiling and asking how things are in his underwater kingdom, but you’re….touched at your father’s unexpected praise.

the gods aren’t perfect, and your father is no exception. they’re divine beings who have time to conceive children, but not to raise them. there’s a long history of them abandoning, mistreating, and manipulating their own offspring. of course, being the prophecy child, it became practically impossible for your father to ignore you; you’re sure that being dubbed the saviour of olympus gives him bragging rights with his immortal family. even with their sworn promise to change, it’s impossible not to resent the gods in some ways.

still, you feel comforted by your father's presence at times — when you catch the perfect wave on your surfboard, for example, or when you sit on your fire escape during a storm after a bad day. it’s been like that pretty much all your life: poseidon there in spirit, not in practice. despite everything, he’s watched over you, and percy, throughout the years.

and here poseidon is now, grinning at you like you’re his pride and joy.

“enough about aquatic politics.” he pats your shoulder enthusiastically after telling you about the struggles of keeping humans from overfishing. “i came over to wish you a happy birthday. and to give you this.”

poseidon reaches into the pocket of his shirt and hands you something you’d long thought gone: a leather cord with several clay beads and a silver key.

“i found it off the california coast,” he explains. “i kept meaning to get it to you, but i suppose time has a way of getting away from us, immortal or not.”

a warmth grows in your chest as you run your thumb over your old camp necklace, bright and full. it had fallen off one day when you’d gone surfing, and you assumed it was lost to the ocean. you'd been given a fresh leather cord when you arrived at camp earlier this summer, but it felt empty. hollow.

“thanks, dad.”

you smile at him as you put on the necklace; it feels like coming home. your father then asks you about your summer so far.

you tell him all about your life as of late, until you catch a glimpse of luke with van on a marble bench at the other end of the pavilion. van is sitting in luke’s lap, and they lean over to whisper something in his ear before kissing his cheek.

you freeze mid-way through your sentence.

sensing the shift in mood, poseidon frowns. he turns his head to follow your gaze.

“ah.” poseidon turns back to you and clears his throat. “now, i don’t mean to pry, but i saw you earlier with the castellan boy.”

you flush at the fact that your moment with luke was witnessed by your own father. “dad —”

“did you know in ancient greece, throwing someone an apple and having them catch it is considered a marriage proposal?”

“i’m pretty sure that was disproven,” you scoff.

poseidon raises an eyebrow at you, clearly amused. “which one of us was actually there, hm?” and though you roll your eyes, you can’t argue with that. “i just wanted to know if there was a wedding happening in the near future.”

you almost choke on the last remnants of your wine. “dad.”

“i’m kidding. i’m kidding! mr. castellan seems otherwise occupied.”

“yeah, it does seem that way,” you grumble.

poseidon puts a hand on your shoulder, firm but reassuring. “regardless: if you find someone who would go to tartarus and back with you, someone who would fight alongside you every step of the way, you hold on to them. there’s only so much time you mortals have on this earth.”

you sigh — easier said than done — but your father is trying, so you manage a nod.

“i’ll keep that in mind.”

“now, i better go — ” poseidon looks over your shoulder, where the air behind you starts to feel staticky. “it seems a disagreement is brewing between zeus and hades. they always get into it whenever dionysus makes the wine a bit too strong. brother, put away the lightning bolt —” and he rushes away to prevent another divine conflict from arising.

left to your own devices, you venture over to the food table, finding an array of fresh and dried fruit, breads, cured meat, fresh oysters and, of course, more wine. you grab a goblet and a few dried figs.

“careful, i heard dionysus made the wine extra strong tonight,” someone warns, creeping up beside you. the voice is soft and alluring, and you feel something tug at your heart.

you do a double take when you turn to them; the person is devilishly handsome, a golden aura paired with a golden smile.

(you will soon find out that the god flirting with you is the son of ares and aphrodite, the latter of which takes the appearance of whoever the onlooker loves. as it turns out, her son appears in the same way.

all this to say: it doesn’t mean anything that this god looks like luke castellan to you.

it doesn’t mean anything at all.)

“i’m eros.”

“hey. i’m —”

“i know who you are, savior of olympus.” eros winks at you. “i just never realized you were so beautiful.”

your cheeks heat up as you take a sip of your drink.

oh, shit.

okay. the literal god of desire and pleasure is flirting with you.

you’re flattered, really, and maybe the wine has gotten to your head, but you’re not eager to turn him away.

“well, i’ve definitely heard about you, and the rumors do not do you justice,” you quip, painting on a flirtatious smile.

eros puffs out his chest, clearly pleased.

over the next few minutes, you decide that eros can hold a decent conversation, asking you the classic first date questions about your likes and dislikes, and he’s cute enough that you wouldn’t mind things going further.

(he might be a god, but he’s no luke. you push that thought away, and force yourself to flirt with helios. eros. right, eros.)

eros leans in close, pretends to listen to you, lets his gaze drop every so often to the deep v-neck of your shirt.

“no way! 13 going on 30 is a classic,” you argue. you nudge your shoulder into eros’s playfully, and let the contact between you linger. eros, the inspiration for cupid himself, has angel wings, and you feel them brush softly against your burning skin.

“it’s totally overrated!” eros exclaims. “also, the childhood friends to lovers trope gives people false hope.”

“it’s not false hope. it’s about the buildup to their happily ever after,” you reason, swallowing some wine to dislodge the lump in your throat.

eros shakes his head. “trust me, baby, it’s all about the instant attraction. that’s where the excitement is.”

he’s so close now, you can smell the sharp alcohol on his breath. not wine, but something stronger.

“oh? what do you mean by that?” you lean impossibly closer, trailing a finger down his chest.

eros smirks, placing a hand on your thigh. “want me to demonstrate?”

not even a second after you whisper a yes, eros crashes his lips onto yours, and you will yourself to kiss back. he slides his tongue in your mouth, runs his hands over your body.

you’re making out with the god of desire and passion, so, objectively, it’s a good first kiss: soft around the edges and firm where it needs to be.

sure — you feel nothing, no real spark, but it’s almost enough to fill the hole in your heart in the shape of a certain son of hermes.

the son of hermes who has moved on and is in a loving relationship with a perfect emotionally available partner.

so, it’s fine.

this, this thing with eros, is fine.

you’re fine.

eros pulls away first, but keeps a hand on your cheek.

“let's get out of here.”

he grabs your wrist before you have a chance to answer. you stand up, let him weave you through the crowd towards the stairs of the pavilion. apparently, his room is just through the garden.

as he tugs you along, he looks back at you, smiling. under the glow of the stars, eros looks just like luke, except it’s becoming harder to ignore that he isn’t luke and that makes you feel all sorts of nauseous. your camp necklace weighs on your chest and, in particular, the silver key that you’d kept for all those years burns through your skin.

lightheaded, you pull away from eros’ grip just as you reach the top of the stairs and place a hand on the column next to you to steady yourself.

eros turns around sharply. “what is it?”

“i changed my mind, actually. let’s just…keep talking here.”

eros grabs your wrist again, his grip tighter than before. “don’t be a tease.” his tone is ever-so-gentle, but there’s an edge behind his words.

this time, your voice comes out more assertive. “i just changed my mind. that doesn’t make me a tease.”

“come on, baby, don’t you wanna experience what real passion is? this is a once in a lifetime opportunity that a million girls would kill for. you’d be an idiot to pass it up.” he brags, and you’re this close to breaking this guy’s nose, god or not.

“i don’t care,” you snap, struggling to break free from his grip. “and i’m not your baby.”

“okay, whatever,” eros rolls his eyes, but quickly plasters on an arrogant grin. “we’ll go somewhere private and i’ll call you whatever you want.”

he manages to drag you down two steps as you strain against his iron grip, now almost cutting off your circulation. your heartbeat quickens and you feel dizzy. finally, you grab onto the railing for leverage and use your strength to rip out of his grip, forcing eros to stop in his tracks.

“what is it now?” he snaps, whipping his head around once more.

he looks nothing like luke, now.

“just stop, eros.”

“listen,” he starts, speaking to you almost mockingly, like you’re a naive little kid. so much for being the savior of olympus. “trust me, i know what people want, so you don’t have to be shy. i promise to be the best you’ve ever had —”

“eros, is it?” the rest of the party is in full motion, but here’s percy, giving eros one of the most intense death stares you’ve ever seen. percy, your little brother who talks to lonely fish at the aquarium; who, if you cut open, would bleed blue m&m’s; who would never let anyone, god or otherwise, hurt someone he loves. “i’m gonna have to ask you to let go of my sister.”

“mind your own business, kid,” eros hisses. “we’re kinda in the middle of something.” he tries to move you down another step, but you stand your ground.

annabeth, no longer the scared little seven year old you, luke, and thalia found behind a dumpster, is also glaring at liam from the top of the stairs. one of her hands rests firmly on her belt, where she keeps her dagger.

“i’d back off, if i were you,” she warns. “wouldn’t want to cause a scene.”

“just mind your own business,” eros snarls.

“they said leave her alone,” thalia asserts, walking over once she sees what’s happening. “and you don’t wanna mess with us, trust me.” she clenches her hand into a fist.

“who the fuck are you? her bodyguards?”

“just let her go,” percy orders. “my sister can do a lot better than a minor god with a major god complex.”

eros growls, baring his teeth at percy. “you impertinent little shit.”

as soon as eros lunges for your brother, you tug one of his wings towards you, hard. he whips around and you take the opportunity to punch him in the face. he doubles over, golden ichor gushing from his nose.

“i’d be careful if i were you, baby,” you seethe. “you wouldn’t want to go up against the demigods who led an army against kronos and won. unless, of course, humiliation is a kink of yours.” you laugh humorlessly at the way eros scowls at your words. “to each their own,” you continue. “but i’m not in the mood to fuck an entitled creep with angel wings to compensate for his tiny dick. you better fucking respect that, and leave us alone while you’re at it.”

eros’ flirtatious smile is long gone, replaced with the kind of anger only entitled, self-important jerks have when they don’t get what they want and they’ve taken a few blows to their ego.

call it stupidity or arrogance, but his only response is a punch delivered right back to your face.

you hear a crack upon impact, and pain radiates from your nose. you stumble, but percy manages to reach out and catch you before you fall down the stairs. he holds you as thalia and annabeth create a barrier between you and eros. you hear them shouting at eros over the music, but their exact words don’t register.

you lick your lips, tasting blood. your ears are ringing, and everything is suddenly all fuzzy. percy tries his best, but you slump your body weight into his and he almost topples over.

“i’ve got her.” luke’s calm and measured voice cuts through the chaos. you feel a strong, familiar arm wrap around your waist to steady you. “from what i remember, you were too much of a coward to even step foot on the battlefield, so i’d listen to her if you know what’s good for you.” in a haze, you guess that luke is directing his sharp words towards eros, before turning to the others and instructing: “you guys take care of this — find clarisse if you need back up.”

somehow, you find yourself over in a small secluded temple, sitting on a window bench overlooking the clouds as luke sits next to you.

like most of olympus, the building is made of marble with gold accents; this one has roses engraved on the walls, and the space smells like flowery perfume. it’s much quieter than the pavilion, though you can hear laughter and music in the distance. it’s cooler, too, but not by much; even without all the body heat, you're left with sticky summer air, and luke’s breath on yours, sweet with wine and ripe fruit, as he carefully examines your injury.

you feel your head spinning all over again. maybe it’s the alcohol, or the adrenaline, or the fact that the two of you haven’t been this close in a while — probably a dangerous mix of all three.

you know (from trying not to but ultimately not being able to pull your attention away from him after all) that he’s had a few drinks as well; it seems like the two of you ignore each other best when you’re sober.

“thought the curse of achilles would protect you from nosebleeds.”

“guess it doesn’t protect against —” what did percy call eros? “ — minor gods who have major god complexes,” you recite.

luke looks slightly amused. “that’s a shame,” he hums. “would have been nice to get one birthday without being injured.”

a smile creeps onto your face, despite the dull ache from your nose.

“you remembered.”

“of course i remember,” luke almost scoffs like the mere suggestion of forgetting what day you were born is an insult to his very character. he meets your gaze, and you could melt when he offers you that lopsided smile of his, painfully familiar. “happy birthday, aquagirl,” and it’s the softest he’s spoken to you in a while. just like old times.

he remembers.

somewhere within him, luke holds on to fragments of you.

he wipes the blood off your face, the sleeve of his silk white button-down now stained crimson. “how’s your hand?” he asks.

you flex your fingers. “it’s been better,” you answer, your knuckles slightly aching. “totally worth it.”

“i guess all those years away didn’t change anything. still willing to put a god in their place, huh?”

all those years away.

the reminder feels like a stab to the heart, and you’re worried that it might burst the comfortable bubble you and luke had drunkenly stumbled into.

thankfully, luke continues:

“the kids really take after you.”

he says as a joke, mostly, but there’s a sincerity in those deep brown eyes of his, too. something you also hadn’t seen from him in a while.

the kids, who you’d in some ways raised together when monsters were trying to kill you and the gods didn’t care enough to stop it.

the family you and luke had built together despite being born into the world of greek tragedies.

“as if annabeth wasn’t threatening to pull the dagger you gave her, skywalker,” the nickname rolling off your tongue with ease. “besides, they’re not kids anymore.”

“yeah.” he pauses. “neither are we.”

luke’s fingers trace your camp necklace, brush against your collarbone. the breath hitches in your throat.

here you are again, at the edge of something real and very scary, and you fear luke is going to push the two of you over.

but he doesn’t. instead, luke suggests, jokingly: “maybe we should start a fight club at camp.”

you take that as a good sign: like you, he’s hoping to preserve the playfulness between you before everything else seeps in and ruins it. before you’re brought back to the present, where you’re practically ignoring each other.

where you’re fine, but really.

you snort. “chiron and mr. d would love that.”

“like they’d ever find out!” luke explains. “you know the first rule of fight club —”

“don’t talk about fight club,” you finish together.

luke laughs, even though it’s not that funny. you laugh, too.

and that’s the thing that really, truly gets you.

try as you might to ignore it, some days it’s hard to forget the pain and heartache and grief.

you still feel like your life is a battlefield; you still see the ghosts of everyone you couldn’t save even though people call you a savior; you still have those scars, inside and out, that seemed healed but ache every once and a while.

but that isn’t all.

sometimes it hurts more thinking back to the good times and knowing, deep down, you can never go back.

summer — age 13

“ugh — you think with all their power, the gods could help stop global warming,” you groaned, swatting away a mosquito that tried to land on you. “do you think they have air conditioning on olympus?”

“oh, for sure,” luke quipped. he gave you a lopsided smile, his curls sticking to his forehead, drenched in sweat.

it was the summer solstice, the longest and the hottest day of the year so far. the two of you had found a perfectly good hideout, but luke insisted that this place would be worth the move.

he’d been leading you down side streets for what felt like forever. the sun had already set, and you were very close to passing out from the heat, until luke finally stopped at a door behind an alley, with a sign reading CLOSED FOR RENOVATIONS.

luke knelt down to do whatever son-of-hermes lock magic he had to do to get the door open. he flipped a switch, and you winced at the sudden overwhelming brightness.

the destination was different than the hideouts you usually sprung for: those small, hole-in-the-wall type places. instead, this space was big and bright, filled with arcade games and fun posters and neon colours. the type of place a kid might have a party or where a group of normal teenagers might spend their friday night.

“what…what is this?”

“you thought i forgot, didn’t you?” luke smirked at you. he sat down on the colourful carpet, taking out some snacks, a small plastic bag with coins, a wrapped box, and a plastic blue crown, and gestured for you to join.

you did, in fact, think that luke had forgotten your birthday.

birthdays were bittersweet for children of gods, who were constantly reminded that any year could be their last, their youth cut short by monsters or prophecies or a fatal flaw. all the two of you usually did on either birthday was split any sweet treat you could get your hands on.

it wasn’t a big deal, really, to skip that tradition of yours. there were much more urgent things to worry about, like finding food and water and shelter, and not being devoured by monsters.

you did think it was strange that luke hadn’t so much as said happy birthday to you all day, but you knew that he loved you.

(like a friend loves a friend. nothing else, no matter how much your stomach fluttered at the thought of him.)

“i wanted to surprise you,” luke explained once you claimed your spot next to him. he reached over to place the crown on your head. “i found this place a few days ago during a food run. it reminds me of where we had your —”

“eighth birthday party, yeah.” you smiled at the memory of running around and feeding quarters to every machine and trying every game, of your classmates singing happy birthday to you off-key before you all stuffed your faces with sickly sweet confetti cake.

truthfully, you never thought about having another celebration like that again.

but, it was five years from that faded childhood memory, and luke was presenting you with something you didn’t even realize you had needed: the chance to be a kid again.

“so,” luke got up, a wide smile on his face. he held the plastic bag in one hand, extending the other to you. “which do you wanna play first?”

you started with space invaders, then moved on to dragon’s lair and pac-man. you took a break before street fighter ii so that luke could ceremoniously light a candle and present a cupcake that had been tossed around in his bag (but you were still very, very grateful for), along with fresh batteries for your portable cassette player. he had made you a mixtape too, though you couldn’t figure out how.

your last stop was a photobooth. you vowed to keep those pictures — a collection of you and luke together, smiling bright and colourful, goofing off and laughing — for the rest of your life.

now

those moments from past summers are like popsicles melting in the sun: tangible for a limited time before leaving you with a sickly sweet mess of what once was.

you think about what happened earlier, how percy, annabeth, and thalia stepped in to protect you, still the brave kids you had once known so well. how luke is here with you now, taking care of you so tenderly even after you’ve silently agreed to give each other the cold shoulder.

maybe luke is right. maybe all those years away didn’t change anything.

except — once you leave this temple and the alcohol leaves your system, it won’t be the same.

none of you are kids anymore, if you ever even were.

“why’d you go for eros, anyway?” luke asks, breaking you away from your thoughts. he removes his sleeve from your nose since the bleeding seems to have finally stopped.

“you really wanna know?”

“yeah. most gods are assholes. and you’re…” luke places a hand close to your leg, pinky finger brushing your thigh. “you.”

“i went for eros because….well, honestly, i don’t think i cared who it was, as long as they made me forget you,” you admit, because what did you have to lose. you probably have a broken nose, you definitely have blood on your shirt, and your time with luke is running out.

luke’s eyes darken. his fingers start to play with the hem of your shorts.

“did it work?” his voice is a whisper, but he’s close enough that he’s crystal clear.

“no.”

it’s hard to determine who leans in first, but soon enough your lips are on luke’s — messy and urgent. noses bumping together, teeth clacking against each other. he cradles your face in his hands, and you move to straddle his waist. you taste wine on his tongue, and maybe a hint of sweet pears, but it’s overwhelmed by the salty, metallic taste of blood stained on your lips. when you run out of air, you pull away. it’s clearer now: you’re not dizzy from the alcohol or adrenaline, but dizzy from him. luke’s gaze is heavy on yours as he traces your top lip with his thumb.

“luke,” you whimper, itching to kiss him again.

“you’re still bleeding.”

luke wipes away the blood with his thumb. before either of you can do or say anything more, there’s an echo of footsteps on the marble floor. a flower nymph, there to leave an offering and let you know that, while aphrodite encourages acts of love, she prefers it doesn’t happen in her place of worship.

you realize that aphrodite also might not look so fondly at you kissing someone else in her place of worship after publicly rebuking her own son.

luke untangles himself from you, and you know that he’s been jolted back to reality, too.

and, just like that, another moment has melted away.

your father was right. time has a way of slipping away for us, immortal or not.

summer — age 18

“hey, you awake?”

“yeah,” you replied softly. sleep hadn’t been easy, in the days and weeks and months leading up to that final battle with kronos and his army.

and once it was all over?

you rested your head on luke’s shoulder, sword discarded at your feet and armour half-removed, as argus, the hundred-eyed security guard of olympus, drove a school bus with a dozen or so demigods back to camp.

“why’d you turn down their offer?” luke whispered.

oh.

"why...why do you ask?"

"i don't know." luke paused. "just curious, i guess."

you closed your eyes and replayed that moment on olympus when you refused the gift of immortality. the look of shock written on the gods’ faces. and on luke’s.

“i don’t care about living forever,” you told him bluntly.

forever seemed too long, especially for someone who was prophesied to die at 18.

you tilted your head up to meet luke’s gaze, and his messy curls brushed against your forehead. evidence of the battle was clear on his face: caked-on dirt and blossoming bruises and dried blood.

behind him, outside the bus window, the world was flying by. a child who had fallen off their bike being comforted by a friend. two people sharing an mp3 player and a pair of earbuds. an elderly couple walking their dog.

“you once told me that this was our life,” you continued, gesturing towards the weapons and battle-worn kids, some quiet, others crying, many injured. “what if it didn’t have to be?”

luke furrowed his brow. “do you mean….are you talking about leaving?”

you shrugged. running from monsters for your entire childhood then being the child of the great prophecy was a lot.

a break might be nice.

there was so much about the world, the one you’d fought and bled to protect, that you wanted to experience.

maybe something closer to a normal life.

“would you ever leave camp?” you wondered, not really answering luke's question.

“no,” luke replied instantly. his fingers started fiddling with the beads on his necklace. “i can’t just walk away, not after everything.”

“yeah, i get that.” and you did; you really, truly, did. the guilt of wanting to leave camp curled in your stomach like a venomous snake. you took a shaky breath. “let’s talk about this later, yeah? i’m tired, and we have the rest of — ”

the rest of the summer slipped away in the blink of an eye. gone, before you even had a real chance to say goodbye.

you closed your eyes and held on to luke, as if gripping his arm would anchor you to something you weren't ready to let go of, but in some ways needed to move on from.

it was no use, though.

by the end of august, you’d be gone too.

now

you learned early on that the curse of achilles doesn’t protect you from hangovers.

you wake up the morning after the celebration on olympus with a deep, throbbing pain lodged in your temple and an uncomfortable swirling in your gut. parties and late nights at bars are common on tour, which means migraines are, too, so you have a routine to make sure you’re not out of commission for too long.

except this time, the aspirin and blue gatorade and dry toast don’t work. the sting in your brain and uneasiness in your stomach doesn’t go away, even after a few days. you haven’t been able to sleep, either.

desperate for a cure, you consult lou ellen, head counsellor of the hecate cabin, who you’d unexpectedly grown close to in the past few weeks. she mixes something for you, while asking if there’s something that’s been weighing on you.

you couldn't keep it in anymore; you tell her about the summer solstice and luke.

later, with nothing but your thoughts and percy’s snoring occupying your time post-curfew, you grab your phone and flip it open, deciding to finally reach out to luke, when you get a text from him.

luke is already on the beach when you arrive, looking out onto the water.

“hey,” you greet as you sit next to him on the sand, but not too close. “i was actually about to text you —”

“did you tell anyone that we kissed?” he interrupts. you can’t quite read his expression as he waits for you to answer.

“no, i didn’t,” you lie. “would it matter if i did?”

“well, i mean, word travels fast around camp, and i don’t want van finding out. it’s not like it meant anything.”

the throbbing in your brain becomes a sharper sting, the uneasiness in your stomach a tidal wave of nausea.

“it didn’t?” you hate how fragile your voice sounds, compared to luke’s stoic demeanor.

luke shrugs. “i mean, we were both drunk and the thing with eros happened…we just got caught up in the heat of the moment.”

“you’re saying there’s nothing between us, then? nothing?” the word tastes bitter in your mouth.

luke turns away before he answers. “no. nothing.”

“then what about last summer?” you demand. you force yourself to keep it together, your tone firmer than before. “i guess that didn’t mean anything, either.”

“y/n…” he sighs. “i don’t know what you want me to say. we’re barely even friends anymore. you come back here, after all this time, after so much shit happened, and expect us all to drop everything to fit you back into our lives. but, you don't. whatever you came here for, it's not here for you. there's nothing to go back to. we moved on. i moved on, and i can’t deal with you —"

“got it,” you snap, already turning to walk away. “loud and fucking clear, luke.”

it’s not like it meant anything. we’re barely even friends anymore.

you replay luke’s words as you crawl into bed, holding back tears so as to not disturb percy. finally, you swallow a generous amount of whatever concoction lou ellen had brewed up for you.

drifting off into your own sleep, you decide that you don’t love luke anymore. not as a friend, not as a.....

nope.

according to luke, there's not even anything to go back to.

nothing.

#feel free to comment + reblog <3 #saf writes #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #percy jackson #pjo fanfic #pjo series #pjo x reader #luke castellan angst

533 notes · View notes

dark-konohagakure2 · 5 months ago

Note

I just read your sexually abusive bf sasuke post and oml that made me feel smth. I was wondering if you could write something like that for Madara, Indra or kawaki. Please feel free to just do one of them, no need to do all unless you want to :) I hope you have a great day loves 🫶🫶

tw: noncon, abusive relationships, misogyny, age difference, breeding, dehumanization, neglect, possessiveness, emotional abuse

All characters depicted are 18+

Madara doesn't have a girlfriend or lover, he has a novelty, a womb with legs, a breeder. Nothing more nothing less. She is so far beneath him that he might as well be a superior species to her, and he treats her accordingly.

He rarely spends any time with her, having a myriad of more important things to attend to aside from humoring the worthless affections of some silly lass, but when he is around her, he isn't very pleasant to say the least, figuratively and literally keeping her at arms length unless he wants a certain something from her, that something being the only thing he ever wants from her, the only reason he keeps her around.

Being the head of the Uchiha clan, he's almost always either out on the battlefield or training himself half to death for his next battle, so Madara gets very worked up and stressed, and when he's pent up, all Madara wants to do is squeeze his favorite stress toy until she pops.

Her consent and feelings are less than irrelevant to Madara, she is his property, and that means he is allowed to do whatever he wants with her, including but not limited to filling her up with his offspring.

"Stop moving so much, you mewling quim. You're just a tool to me, and tools don't cry and struggle against their owners..."

On the rare occasion that he puts aside time for her, that time will be spend either degrading her, trying to impregnate her, or both at the same time. He'll spend hours on top of her and bullying her poor womb with with his cock, not stopping until he is absolutely certain that he's successfully knocked her up.

If Madara ever does take her out on a 'date', it'll only be after much pestering from her and for the sole purpose of showing off his property to the less fortunate men of the village. He'll keep his hands on her to make sure she doesn't wander off like a wayward child, whether it be an arm around her waist or shoulder or even a hand gripping her ass, signalling to everyone that she's Madara's bitch.

Despite his habit of showing her off, Madara doesn't let her around anybody besides himself, not even letting her near people trusted by him such as Izuna and Hashirama, it isn't because he doesn't trust them, it's because he doesn't trust her. She was a lowly stray slut before he so graciously tamed her, and once a slut always a slut.

If she ever dares to try and leave him, be it due to falling out of love or just plain old self preservation, Madara won't physically stop her at first, instead he'll attack her with his words, picking at her insecurities and keeping her in line with his words better than any fist ever could.

"You want to leave me? Fine then, go back to being an unloved little harlot, see if I care. You don't deserve all of my love and care anyway..."

Madara isn't a bad boyfriend to her at all, because he doesn't even consider himself to be her boyfriend at all, he's her handler, and she's just an unruly mutt who needs him far more than he needs her.

tw: noncon, abuse, power imbalance, master/pet, degradation, possessiveness, collars

Indra isn't as cruel as his reincarnation, but he's still very cold, and views herself as being far above a pitiful little human like her, he sees her as a pet, a pet he takes care of, but still a pathetic little kitten regardless.

He doesn't start off too bad, while he's still possessive and forceful, he still dotes on his pet in his own distant way, petting her hair and graciously forcing allowing her to sit on his lap, and he'll even gift her a lovely collar that symbolizes their strange union. Although the peace won't last very long...

When his father unexpectedly makes Asura the head of the clan instead of him like he had anticipated, Indra is enraged, believing that his dimwitted younger brother has stolen his rightful position out from under him, and he is in dire need of someone to take his anger out on.

Indra's sudden turn from coldness to red hot anger is as jarring as it is terrifying, his Sharingan glowing a bright ruby color as he holds her down, his face etched into a scowl as he forces her to bare the brunt of his fury.

"Don't resist me, stupid girl. You're my pet and it's your job to keep me happy, and I am the furthest thing from happy in this moment, so do your job, now."

After that day any semblance of fondness that Indra had for her is seemingly gone. He still keeps her around, but he no longer pats her head or acts affectionately, instead yanking on her leash harshly whenever he wants her close and forcing her to service his erection whenever the urge strikes him.

He doesn't let her out of his sight either, Indra doesn't want her to be around anyone except for him, especially not wanting her near his father or that damn Asura. She's like a consolation prize for him in a way, Asura might have gotten the position of their father's succesor, but Indra got the most perfect toy in the world.

Indra also won't be as forgiving of disobedience from her as he used to be, in the past he would simply lecture her or give her a slap on the wrist if she went against him, but now if she steps out of line his punishments will be much more swift and brutal, be it a slap across the face or a harsh face-fucking.

If she ever tries telling him that she wants to leave him, Indra will show some mirth for the first time in a while by laughing at her, although it's more of a mocking laugh than a happy one, letting her know that leaving him isn't an option for her.

"You're leaving? Oh how funny, but you seem to have forgotten something, little one. I own you, and you are never leaving me unless it's in a casket."

Indra is nothing short of cruel towards her, but the Otsutsuki doesn't see it that way, he truly believes that the way he treats her is justified because he loves her, because he owns her, and that means he can do whatever he wants with her.

tw: noncon, abuse, threats, semi-public sex, possessiveness, jealousy, victim blaming, noncon kissing

Kawaki actually makes a semblance of an effort to be an actual boyfriend, but he doesn't fully understand how to be one, he thinks that being someone's boyfriend just means having someone he can kiss and order around and nothing more, so that's how he approaches it.

He doesn't try to be mean, but she's always pushing his buttons, trying to hang out with other people that aren't him and not putting out for him, so he sees ever instance of her raising his hand or berates her as completely justified, she's being a bad girlfriend.

Despite how he acts, he doesn't hate her, but she's just so annoying and ungrateful, hardly worthy of all the love he's pouring into her, but he does love her quite a bit, but he isn't able to express those feelings without force and violence due to her tumultuous past.

His gruff disposition will give way to anger when he sees her talking to other men, Kawaki is paranoid when it comes to the people he claims to love, and seeing his girlfriend talking to other guys when she already has him just amplifies these feelings. Why does she always have to be such a bitch? Such a bad, bad girlfriend?

"Who the hell was that? Do you like him more than me? Huh?! If you really love me so much then stop being so damn cold to me and prove it for once.

Kawaki will take her right then and there. She doesn't love him enough to put out, he'll just take what he wants. Fucking is what boyfriends and girlfriends who love each other do, and he's going to fuck her extra hard so she can feel the full depth of his feelings for her.

He's incredibly rough out of both anger and inexperience, he'll try to make up for his harshness in a way by kissing her, but Kawaki is a bad kisser too, his teeth slamming against hers as he presses his lips onto her own, nearly choking her when he forces his tongue down her throat, his bad kissing just makes the entire experience worse for her rather than acting as a band aid solution to his harsh thrusts.

After their 'first time', Kawaki takes that as meaning that their relationship is good and healthy again. Couples are supposed to kiss and have sex all the time, that's the entire point, so he has no idea why she's crying. Maybe she's just shy, or maybe she's just trying to play the victim and make him feel like a bad partner.

Kawaki won't take her seriously if she says she wants to break up, dismissing her words as stupid empty threats, but if she persists, he'll get mad, threatening her with a fate worse than death if she talks like that ever again.

"What?! Leaving me?! Pssh, don't be stupid, if you talk that nonsense again then I'll just send you to the same place I sent Lord Seventh..."

Kawaki doesn't try to be a mean boyfriend, but his intentions don't match his actions in the slightest, but he still tries to justify it regardless, he's trying to be nice, but she just makes it so hard for him.

417 notes · View notes

haechanniessgirl · 8 months ago

Text

memory lane ೄྀ࿐ ˊˎ- {l.h}

summary: when irritated, Haechan may put your feelings aside without intentionally doing so, his actions repeatedly leave you feeling neglected and unimportant, and as time passes, you find yourself growing weary of his attitude. Your patience wears thin, and you reach a breaking point.

pairing ✧˚ · . haechan x gn!reader ft jaemin ( no love triangle soz )

genre ! established relationship, fluff and a bit of angst (comfort!), arguments ( haechan was kinda mean at the beginning) haechan and reader getting sad D: ( also slow burn ) word count: 4617

AUTHORS NOTE:: I finally caved and decided to start writing! please let me know if my first work is okay,, please dont mind the spelling problems if there are ( i've pulled an all nighter ) :/

Amidst the chaos of his demanding schedule, Haechan had surprised you on your anniversary with a heartfelt gesture.

On his rare rest day, he had whisked you away on a romantic outing, the memory still fresh in your mind. The day had been filled with laughter and tender moments, a welcome respite from the relentless pace of life.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the city skyline, Haechan had presented you with a small velvet box. His warm smile filing you up with tremendous warmth, a warmth you wish to never disappear. With trembling hands, you had opened it to reveal a delicate promise ring, its shimmering surface reflecting the love and commitment he felt for you.

"chan..." Tears welled up in your eyes as he carefully slipped the ring onto your finger, the weight of his promise settling like a comforting embrace around your heart. In that moment, amidst the hustle and bustle of the world around you, all that mattered was the love you shared and the promise of a future together.

The memory of that day served as a beacon of hope, a reminder of the deep bond that connected you despite the challenges you faced.

And as you stood before Haechan now, baring your soul and laying your heart on the line, that promise ring served as a symbol of the love and devotion that would guide you through the storms ahead.

That was 2 months ago.

But in this moment in time, you stared into that beacon of hope, that promise ring he gifted to you, promising to be by your side through thick and thin, now realizing its meaning is slowly fading as your relationship that you held onto so dearly for years, is slowly breaking apart.

The clock read 2am, you've been sat in front of the TV, huddled up in a plethora of blankets, to help relieve the weight thats been heavy in your heart. You're tired, so tired, but you're waiting on him. The day passed slowly, and only then you're met with buzzing sounds coming from your front door. In a hurry, you scrambled to your feet, excitement mixed with an uneasy feeling slowly sunk in. Will he greet you like he used to do? with a long comforting hug and a kiss on the forehead?

As the door clicked on, you remained still in your spot, by the couch, waiting for him, like you've been doing for the past month.

The tension in the apartment was palpable as Haechan appeared through the door, the weight of his exhaustion evident in every weary step. You knew he was tired, you knew he spent hours at work, practicing. But your heart sank as he barely acknowledged your presence, offering only a cursory nod in your direction before retreating swiftly to the sanctuary of your shared bedroom.

"haechan..." your words were cut short once you heard the door shut swiftly.

Alone in the dimly lit living room, you couldn't shake the feeling of emptiness that settled over you like a suffocating shroud once again. The distance between you felt insurmountable, a gaping chasm that threatened to swallow you whole. You werent sure what went wrong, was he tired of you? The questions that lingered in your mind were starting to take a toll on you.

Your body felt numb, and you were tired all over again. Picking at the skin around your nails, you needed to talk to him. You looked at that band around your finger, wondering if this was all worth it in the end.

You grew to learn that Haechan's irritation was palpable whenever he was around nowadays, his patience wearing thin like a thread stretched to its limit. He'd always retreat to your shared bedroom, changing out of his work clothes and beelining to his computer, and seeking solace in the virtual realm of video games with the other members. You'd hear their laughter echoing through the apartment, a painful reminder of your own solitude.

With a heavy heart, you approached your shared bedroom, and slowly opened the door.

He didn't notice you at first, too busy in his own world to notice your existence, " haechan we need to talk.."

Only then he looked up from his screen, momentarily startled by your presence. " can we do this later, we're about to start, " he mumbled, as he fondled with the mic attached to his headphones.

" no, chan, we need to talk about this now, you can't keep doing this " you looked and sounded exhausted, your patience growing thin as this conversation has been put aside one too many times in the past month, and he noticed it.

".. i'll call you guys later" and with that he carefully took off his headphones, ending the call, and turned around to finally, for the first time in weeks, look you in the eyes.

" we can't keep doing this, what's happening to us? you haven't talked to me, let alone look at me for a week!, " you huffed, sitting down on haechan's side of the bed, fiddling with your ring ", i feel like you're disappearing from me, hell we live under the same roof yet you can't even spare me a glance! what's going on with you? i feel like i'm constantly walking on eggshells around you!" you feel yourself choking up, fighting the angry tears that's threatening to spill, yet your words fall onto to deaf ears.

You continue your rant, " why have you been acting this way? i get that youre tired, truly i do, but i cant help but feel like a burden, its been weeks since we've been intimate, weeks since you've come home to me before midnight!" your patience is wearing thin, tension in the room is rising, yet haechan still hasnt muttered a single word, his gaze fixed on the floor as if unable to meet your eyes.

The silent stretched on, a suffocating weight that pressed down on you like a leaden blanket.

And slowly, you're getting more and more frustrated " please say something! i dont know what you're thinking if you keep ignoring me, please haechan! " by then your anger slowly dissipating into sheer sadness, overwhelming you with a sense of despair.

" are you done? " he muttered, he remained unmoved, his voice slightly laced with frustration and exhaustion, yet his demeanor remained the same, " have you ever thought about how maybe i just long for peace and quiet after work? , but i cant do that when you're here! always hovering, always being so god damn overbearing clingy!"

The words stung like a slap to the face, the weight of his accusations crushing beneath their weight. You had never intended to be a burden, to suffocated him with your presence, all you had ever wanted was to be there for him, to support him through it all, so you tried to retaliate, to prove to him that no, you're not overbearing and clingy as he claimed, however he beat you to it.

".. and maybe" he continued, his voice remained stoic "maybe this is just the way i like, maybe i just want to come home and be alone." His eyes finally met yours.

You searched his face for answers, and for the first time, in a long time, you notice a hint of regret behind his eyes. He seemed to realize the weight of his words, his gaze softening with a hint of remorse " i didn't mean it like that" he quickly added. But the damage was done.

" please, y/n , you know i didn't mean it like that " but it's too late, tears have seamlessly rolled down your face.

" you cant do this haechan," you breathed out, your eyes fogged with tears, yet in your clouded peripheral, you can see him slowly approach you, you continue " not when i care so much, not when i stay up late every single night, to make sure you make it home safely! not when i make your favorite meals and have them delivered to you every single day to make sure you're eating well and taking good care of your health, because i care! not when despite me also having a life outside of us, i make sure to be by your side no matter what, because i care, so much haechan, you cant put me through all of this and say im overbearing when im only looking out for you. Do you know how much i long for you? how much i've missed you? how much i love you? and despite all of this, i'm still here! you cant push me away when all i've ever done is be by your side! for the love of god, do you even love me? have you thought about me, and my feelings, once?"

Haechan watched you with heavy eyes, his own fogging up with tears, he cant cry, not when he's put you in this position, not when he's the one that is breaking your heart, the one he promised with all his being to protect. His heart is breaking and its his fault, he too knows it, and he knows he's fucked up big time. His mind is realling with possibilities, with what may happen after this conversation, that he forgot to answer you. " do you even love me? "

To you, he's hesitating to answer, the answer that you wished he could've answered without a second thought, but he stood still, staring at you with wide eyes. Your eyes flicker to his hands, noticing they're softly shaking and you chuckle.

You dont know what decision you made right in that moment, but you needed time, and as you crossed the threshold, you could no longer bear to look at him, to see the regret etched on his face as he stood opposite from you.

And without a second glace, your eyes flickered from his hands to yours, and you look down, for the second time that night, at the shimmering band that clutched your finger, and reached for it, and with a heavy heart, you tossed it onto the bed.

"i'm done." you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper, before turning on your heel, and fleeing from the house, leaving Haechan behind with a whirlwind of desperation and regret.

But he never followed you. He watched you leave, and for a moment, you thought it was over.

But Haechan is far from okay, the second you left, he crumbled, he lost you, the person he cherished the most, the person he promised to protect with all his being, the person he loved so much, that at times, its hard to breath. But in this moment, he finally knew what losing you felt like, his heart is aching, he's having trouble to breath as he sank to the floor, and he has no idea what to do. And with each passing moment he stayed in that room, the deeper the realization of what he had done sunk in, leaving him wracked with guilt and remorse, but he knew he deserved it, for acting the way he did when you meant well.

He knew losing you wasnt an option, his world crumbled around him the second you walked through that door. " fuck ".

Meanwhile, you found yourself in a state of turmoil, the vents of the evening replaying in your mind like a broken record " way to go y/n" you muttered, wiping the remaining tears, and quickly pulling out your phone. With Jaemin on the other line, complaining about the time, you asked him for a favor.

" you think i can spend the night? " you sniffled, the line went dead for a moment and you thought he hung up on you " something happened with haechan? "

you hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to put your feelings into words, " just need a break, can i? " you muttered, the words tasting bitter on your tongue. the line stayed quiet, but you hear soft shuffling on the other end and jaemin finally spoke up " of course you can, how are you getting here? "

" i already called an uber, " you mentioned " ah so you were gonna come even if i said no? " jaemin complained on the other end followed by a soft chuckle.

" you know it " with that your uber arrived and you ended the call, and made your way to jaemins place.

The ride was tense, your mind replaying the evening over and over again, and your mind was getting foggy with exhaustion. But you got to your friend's place quickly , and settled in for the night, all while jaemin made sure you were okay before leaving you alone to rest in the comfort of his dimly lit living room. However, you were restless and you couldn't help but wonder if there was still hope for a reconciliation or if the damage done was too great to repair. But a small part of you knew that its possible, and longed for it.

All the while, in the quiet of his room, jaemin dialed haechan's number, he was worried for the both of you. When haechan's voice came through the line, jaemin noted that he too was a mess, and his voice was dim, a stark contrast to the confident and carefree friend he knew.

Haechan knew you went to jaemin's, as he was the reason you two met in the first place. He knew you were in safe hands but he couldnt help but ask, " is she okay ? ", his voice cracked in the process, his fear and uncertainty laid bare for jaemin to hear, in any other circumstances, he wouldnt ever let his long time friend hear this side of him, but he was scared, he was so scared.

" she's safe, don't worry " he assured the boy, his voice gentle yet firm " she needs time you know? i dont know exactly what happened but im sure you two can bounce back" he hummed , " you two love each other , no matter what happens everything'll be okay, all you need to do is make things right."

Haechan remained silent as he listened to his friend's reassuring words and as the conversation came to an end, they both bid each other a good night and ended the call. Jaemin tossed his phone to the side, and turned over his cats " they'll be okay".

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As the morning rolled around, the sunlight softly laid upon haechan's tanned skin, and he groaned in the process. As he opened his eyes, he almost forgot about the other night, but as he looked over to your side of the bed, cold and empty, he knew it happened, of course he knew, he woke up with a heavy heart, tear stained cheeks, and your promise ring was now settled on his pinky finger, and not with you, where it belonged. And he knew what he had to do.

You woke up in the same state, disheveled and miserable.

Looking over, you noticed that no one was home, at least from your point of view, the apartment was dead silent, the only sound came from the cats playing around with their toys laid out on the living room floor. You also made a mental note of the fact that jaemin's bedroom door was wide open, which would be unusual especially if he has guests over.

You slowly got up from the comfort of the couch, and groggily stumbled into his kitchen, the remnants of tears still staining your cheeks, you were greeted by a handwritten note leeft on the countertop for you to find, it read " goodmorning y/n! hope you're feeling somewhat better :( i had to leave for work early this morning, but please make yourself at home since i'll be at work all day ( ps please feed the cats) "

The last part made you giggle as you turn over to the critters standing by you, looking up at you in hopes to get a treat. You quickly got yourself a cup of water, which was the sole reason you left the couch for, all the while looking for cat food.

With a sigh of relief, glass of water in hand, you felt a sense of comfort knowing that you had a safe haven to retreat to in your time of need, and feeling incredibly grateful for having a friend like jaemin. While finding solace with the presence of his kitties, you settled yourself back onto the couch, the warthm of the morning sun filtering throuh the winfow and envelopping you in a cocoon of comfort. However, your mind kept coming back to Haechan, how was he doing? does he miss me? is he already happier with me gone?but your questions remain unanswered for the time being.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Unbeknownst to you, jaemin was busy meeting up with haechan.

As jaemin found haechan slumped over at a nearby park bench, the boy made a mental note to not pester him for his already bad posture. As jaemin approached haechan, he was quickly greeted with a tearful smile, haechan was going through it and this was a side that jaemin never in his life would've thought he'd ever witness. So he made it his mission to help ( to a certain extent ) fix the two of you with his plan.

Jaemin left you alone in his apartment to drag haechan out to buy gifts for you :D, jaemin knew you, he was almost like a brother, and knew that the smallest attention to details would put a smile on your face.

As jaemin and haechan embarked on their mission to make things right, jaemin urged haechan to delve into the memories that had brought you joy. Together, they sifted through the fragments of yours and haechans past, remembering what you loved best, and haechan knew what you loved best, he knew you like the back of his hand.

His mind drifted back to your last anniversay, a bittersweet memory tinged with regret. He remembered the way your eyes lit up with delight when he presented you with a bundle of flowers, each petal a vibrant reminder of his love for you, and each color being your favorite.

" close your eyes my love~" haechan sang, your eyes closed, a soft giggle passing your lips, as the wind soflty blew, you can hear haechan giggling as hes shuffling around to where you're seated.

"open your eyes!" and there he was, sunset in the background as he held up the most beautiful bouquet of flowers, with the flowers you loved, quickly remeniscing on how he has gifted you individual bouquets of each flower on different occasions. Your smile was so bright, haechan's cheeks burned up as up took the bouquet from him, cheerfully thanking him. However he wasnt done, " wait i have another surprise for you!"

as you traced the deliquate petals with trembling hands, your heart heavy with gratitude as the simplest things can make you emotional, you looked over at him, lulled by his voice and away from the beautiful tulips, you noticed the velvet box, your heart pace quickening, as you noticed how nervous he was. you knew he wasnt proposing, you two were far too young for mariage, but you knew you wanted to marry him.

" pretty girl, the most beautiful girl ive ever laid my eyes upon, you are my one and only, and i promise you," he giggled before continuing, "that no matter the hardships we may encounter, my undying love for you will never fade away, this ring, is a symbol of my loyalty, my love, and my entire being, handed over to you, i forever will love you" and with that he slipped the ring onto your finger.

Haechan smiled at that thought, while another memory surfaced haechans mind, one of a random night spent lounging on the couch with you.

" you ever been on a picninc? " you asked lazily, stretched over your boyfriend, reaching for the remote control that laid by his side "no, why? " he asked, pushing you down onto him as you squealed in his embrace, landing a quick kiss on his cheek as you settled into his arms.

" ive always wanted to go on one, mom used to tell me all about the picnic dates my dad used to take her on, i guess i wanna go too" you shrugged, haechan looked over you, fondness evident in his eyes, as he softly smiled at the thought. " then why not go on one now?"

" the weather has been ass lately" you frowned " sucks that its during your break too, we could be going on picnics every day if we wanted to if it werent for the 24/7 rain storms"

" then ill clear out my schedule once the weather gets better" he murmured into your neck, hugging you tighter, melting into you and your scent. You once again squealed, jumping out of his embrace " really? "

" of course, id do anything for you my love"

That was a month ago, the weather cleared up a month ago, and haechan felt his heartstrings tug for the up-tenth time that morning. He promised you so much, yet never kept them. And for that, he swore to be a better man for you, if you'd give him a second chance.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As much as spending time alone felt great, you missed haechan so dearly, despite being alone wasnt any different in your own home for the past month or so, you cant help but long for his presence, even just the sight of him would be enough for you. And thats when you knew, you needed him back.

You knew he didn't mean what he said last night, at least you hoped he didn't, but in this moment, after hours of consideration, being once again left alone with your wandering mind, you knew you needed him in your life, and you would be willing to go through it all over again if it meant having him back in your arms.

You decided that, it was time to go talk to him again, only now noticing the bombarding messages he left you the last night, since you had turned your phone off once you had made it to jaemins.

However, he didnt leave any calls or messages today, sending you back onto your train of thoughts, but if he wasnt gonna come talk to you, you'll be the one doing so. Lazily, you finally left the couch and cleaned up after yourself, folding the blankets and putting the pillows back in place.

You're gonna go home, and face haechan. While cleaning up, you made a mental note to text jaemin and thank him for accomating you before leaving.

you - jaems! i think ill head home soon, thank you for letting me stay over <3

As you sent the message, you noticed he viewed it oddly quickly, seeinf as how he was at work, he swiflty replied not even a second later.

jaems - you're welcome! but do you think you can look after the cats for a while, they get sad when left alone, pretty please :D

You knew there wasnt an easy way out, plus you loved his cats, maybe this'll give you some more time to think about what to say to haechan. You sighed,

you - fine fine

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

As Haechan and Jaemin approached Jaemin's apartment, the weight of the picnic basket filled with delicious treats and the bouquets of your favorite flowers in Haechan's hands felt both comforting and daunting. With each step closer to the door, Haechan's heart raced with nervous anticipation.

Jaemin offered a reassuring pat on Haechan's back before retreating down to the garage in his car, leaving Haechan standing alone at the threshold of his friend's home. With a deep breath to steady his nerves, Haechan squared his shoulders and raised his hand to knock on the door.

As his knuckles rapped gently against the wood, Haechan felt a surge of hope and determination coursing through him. He prayed silently that this gesture, made in the comfort of Jaemin's friendly abode, would be the first step towards healing the wounds that had divided you. With the promise ring tucked safely in his pocket, a tangible symbol of his commitment to you, in which he was ready to once again promise to, Haechan waited with bated breath for the door to open, his heart filled with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation.

Unbeknownst to you, you opened the door and saw Haechan standing there, a wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. Sadness mingled with relief, happiness mixed with apprehension, as you took in the sight of him standing before you, his eyes are sunken, dark circles evident.

With a heavy heart, Haechan stepped forward, his eyes filled with tears already threatening to pour. "I'm so sorry," he began, his voice trembling with emotion. "I should have never pushed you away, especially knowing that you were the only person keeping me sane and happy."

" i should have never ignored you, ignored your efforts, the love you gave to me, cannot and will never be replaced, i love you so much, and i failed to show you my appreciation for even being with me through all of this, i failed to give you the world, to protect you. My stress due to work shouldve never been an excuse for distancing myself from you, i should have never spoken to you the way i did, my love, im so sorry " his words carried the weight of his guilt, the sincerity in his apology evident in every syllable.

"If you give me this second chance," Haechan continued, his voice pleading, "I promise I'll never make you doubt yourself ever again. I'll cherish you and hold you close, never taking your love for granted."

In that moment, as you listened to his heartfelt apology, you couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope stirring within you.

With a trembling voice and tears in your eyes, you nodded. And as you opened your arms to welcome Haechan back into your life, you knew that this second chance gave way for a better future, all relationships have its ups and downs, but you knew everything'll be okay in the end.

As you accepted Haechan's heartfelt apology, a sense of relief washed over both of you, lifting the heavy burden that had weighed on your hearts. With tears still glistening in your eyes, you embraced him tightly, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and all those feelings over heartache, disappeared.

Haechan, for the second time, reached into his pocket and pulled out the promise ring, a sense of deja vu washed over you two, and with a tender smile, he slipped it back onto your finger, a silent promise to be a better man, to cherish and honor you with every beat of his heart.

Haechan's eyes sparkled with determination as he made a silent vow to make things right, to be the partner you deserved. He pulled you into a passionate kiss, sealing that promise he made to you.

"And now," Haechan said, his voice filled with excitement, "I'm finally going to take you on that picnic trip you've been wanting to go to."

Your eyes lit up with joy at the prospect, the thought of spending a day in the sunshine with Haechan filling you with happiness. But before you could reply, he added with a chuckle, "But first, we'll have to drive back home to get ready."

With a nod and a smile, you agreed, giggling for the first time that day, and feeling a sense of anticipation building within you, cause like jaemin said, everything'll be alright.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

#haechan #donghyuck #nct #nctdream #haechan x reader #haechan angst #haechan imagines #haechan scenarios #nct dream x reader #nct dream angst #lee donghyuck #nct dream imagines

600 notes · View notes

autonomousroboticorganism · 20 days ago

Text

Prime and Protector (TF One Sentinel Prime)

Pairing - Sentinel Prime x F!Prime!Reader

summary - you're the smallest Prime, and the nicest to Sentinel. the two of you develop a close bond as the other Primes treat you like any other Cybertronian because of your size, and you fall for the only bot who still puts you on a pedestal

warnings - slight angst but mostly fluff, neglect from the Primes, a bit suggestive?

a/n - sorry not sorry, i am obsessed with this maniac

Primes were known to be massive beings, significantly taller than most Cybertronians. It was a symbol of their power and prestige, as well as their leadership over the citizens of Cybertron.

However, there was one Prime who wasn't quite as big.

You were the same height as Sentinel, who wasn't even a Prime, and you had a very slender frame. So you looked like any other Cybertronian, which is why the other Primes often treated you like such. They often left you out, "forgetting" to call you to meetings and you wouldn't even know about half of them if it hadn't been for Sentinel.

"My lady."

You were in your berthroom prepping your weapon for your next encounter with the Quintessons, when Sentinel appeared at your door. He knocked politely, giving you a smile he reserved only for you.

You couldn't help but smile back, being very fond of the advisor, "Come in, Sentinel. I assume there's another meeting?"

"Yes", he nodded, stepping into your berthroom for the first time.

He considered this progress in his relationship with you. You were the nicest of all the Primes, the one who treated him the best. He liked you the most, and maybe that was transitioning into something more...romantic. So you letting him into your berthroom gave him some hope that you at least liked him, if not felt for him what he felt for you.

Maybe one day.

You ex-vented heavily, "Okay. I'll be there soon."

He noticed your apprehension, "Is something the matter?"

It wasn't any of his business, but recently you'd grown a lot closer to him as you grew distant from your fellow Primes.

"I grow weary of my brethren," you admitted to him. "I am practically invisible to them; they don't ever see me."

He responded with something so bold he would never have thought of uttering it in your presence had it not been for you allowing him into your private space.

"I see you."

You offered him a small smile, "I know you do, my sweet advisor."

His words had a much bigger impact on you than he realised, and this was the start of the road to becoming his sparkmate. This was the point at which you realised you saw him as more than an advisor, more than a friend. And even though you held a higher status, you didn't feel ashamed about it.

"You must be exhausted, my lady."

You returned from another skirmish with the invaders, feeling exactly that, to see Sentinel standing outside your berthroom with a plate of fresh energon.

You smiled, and your faceplates heated up at how attentive he was, "Thank you, Sentinel. But you were there too, you should also get some rest."

None of the other Primes would have thought to suggest that he rest as well. And that only made him want to care for you more.

"I insist," he moved the plate closer to you. "Once you are replenished, I will take my leave to...rest." He said that hesitantly, because you both knew the other Primes would just put him back to work.

You offered him a tired smile and beckoned him into your berthroom once again, "Then at least share the energon with me. That's far too much for me alone."

Sentinel was stunned by the offer, and also flustered. For the first time, it was you making his faceplates heat up rather than the other way around.

"Are you sure, my lady?"

"Mhm," you nodded, then laughed, "Oh and please, stop calling me 'my lady'. You can use my name, you know."

"But that would be-"

"I insist," you settled on your berth. "You've earned it."

The permission to use your name made him buzz with excitement, but also nervousness. That seemed almost too kind of you, but then again he was alone with you...in your berthroom...sharing a plate of energon with you.

"Sentinel," you laughed again, "Relax. Sit down."

He didn't realise how tense he was, but as he sat down across from you he felt himself relax. You being so casual around him was, surprisingly, putting him at ease.

Sentinel admired you a lot. He often found himself unable to look away from you, the most beautiful femme he had ever laid optics on. But now, in the comfort of your berthroom, looking so relaxed, there was a different kind of beauty about you. A beauty that transcended physical appearance, and that was hard to ignore.

He didn't know how to explain it.

Your faceplates burned when you caught sight of him staring. You were speechless for a moment at the look in his optics. Far more than just respect and admiration, there was something deeper in them. Something far more...intimate.

"Power down with me," you found yourself saying, unable to believe those words yourself.

His optics widened, "My lady-"

"(Name)," you corrected, moving closer to him as if possessed.

"My lady," he insisted, struggling to deny your request to call you by name. "I don't think it would be appropriate-"

"Sentinel, please."

And then you were kissing him.

You had surged forward and closed the distance between you two, smashing your dermas against his. Locking you two in a passionate kiss in that awkward position, both of you with your legs hanging over separate sides of the bed but upper bodies turned to face one another.

You kissed him hungrily, like you were starved.

And Sentinel kissed back.

You could have done this forever, it felt so good. But Sentinel seemed to regain his senses midway, and suddenly pulled away from you. Though he found it extremely difficult to do so.

"Sentinel?" You questioned, confused. "Did I misunderstand..?"

"No, Primus no," he vented, "I'll see you tomorrow, my lady."

He got up quickly and left, leaving you confused and slightly hurt. Feeling just a little bit rejected by the one bot you thought wanted you.

The next day you noticed Sentinel doing his best to avoid you. Unlike before, if you didn't need him he wouldn't be with you. And that hurt even more, because you missed his company and you missed his attentiveness.

You closed yourself off, spending your spare time in your berthroom, thinking of various strategies and tactics - distracting yourself the only way you knew how.

"My lady-"

"What do you want, Sentinel?" You grit your dentae, words coming out cold and harsh.

He flinched at your tone, having never heard you speak to him like that before, "I would like to apologise."

"For what? Avoiding me or leading me on?" You laughed coldly.

"I wasn't-" He paused, then, "I just didn't think the other Primes would approve."

"And what do I care for their approval?" You hissed, "All they've ever done is ignore me, so I don't think they would even notice. Even if they did, my choice of sparkmate is my own."

"I apologise," he answered softly. "I didn't realise."

And just like that, you forgave him. Just like that, your anger and hurt disappeared. You looked up at him, standing awkwardly in the doorway and shuffling his weight nervously. He looked so cute, it was just so hard to stay mad.

"Come here."

He followed your gentle command, approaching you slowly. You stood up from your berth, excited at the idea of having him close again.

"Can I..?"

"Please."

His servos ghosted over your hip plating before grabbing your waist and pulling you forward to rest against him.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he admitted, "I want you, (Name) Prime."

"Leave the Prime out," you mumbled bashfully.

He chuckled and stared at you for a moment, "Are you sure?"

You knew he wasn't asking about your name, but you were still certain of your answer, "Yes. I want you too, Sentinel."

That night he spent in your berthroom was intimate, the most intimate and special experience either of you had ever had. Your sparks were laid bare for one another, and you ended up sealing your bond with way more than just a kiss.

#transformers #transformers one #tf one #sentinel prime #sentinel prime x reader #sentinel prime x you

155 notes · View notes

allpiesforourown · 2 months ago

Note

So a bit off topic from hatman but does Luo Binghe have kids already in the harem member Shen Yuan AU? I know you had another post with stepmom Shen Yuan but can you imagine some of Luo Binghe's kids falling for the pretty omega that lives in the secluded part of the palace. Not only is he pretty but he actually works to help out with the problems their families face. Plus he's one of the few people that calls out the emperor for not spending enough time with his kids and ensures they all get a proper education. He also remembers their birthdays and somehow knows their favorite sweets! He's not only a better father to them but a better husband to their moms. At some point some of them realize that Luo Binghe has not touched Shen Yuan and in demon terms, an unmarked omega is fair game. Cue a bunch of kids making plans to bridenap Shen Yuan once they come of age. Because Shen Yuan deserves a lovely mate who will dote on them and give them children. Plus their moms would no doubt be thrilled to have Shen Yuan as family. In the mean time they plan to subtly court the oblivious omega.

Spoiler: Luo Binghe is definitely not supportive of this idea.

So real.. adding onto this: Luo binghe qi deviating into a child like in the return to childhood extra. He's too ashamed to admit what's happened so he's just walking around his palace wondering how he can use his current form to his advantage and bumping into shen yuan.

I think most harem members would be very cold to children from other mothers for obvious reasons.. binghe expecting harem drama, waiting for shen yuan to get angry because "your mother can secure a place in the harem by birthing you, but I can't!"

Instead shen yuan sees this little boy who looks like binghe wandering around unaccompanied and kneels down and asks if he's lost. He carefully says it's dangerous for a child to be alone in the palace (not mentioning envious wives who take their anger out on other people's kids because binghe won't impregnate them) so no one is blamed. He just takes Binghe’s hand and asks "who's your mother? I'll help you find her."

Binghe feeling really emotional for a second and letting it slip that his mother passed away. Shen yuan is confused because how could a wife of the protagonist die? He doesn't want to question it though, he's read enough harem dramas to know some women only have children as a status symbol they neglect... so if this boy is making excuses to avoid seeing his mother, that's okay!

Shen yuan being so sweet and gentle with binghe, patting his head and calling him a good boy... then when binghe returns to normal shen yuan goes back to calling him "lord luo" and maintaining a respectful distance.

When binghe sees his kids hanging around shen yuan instead, getting his smiles..... he's drinking soooo much vinegar

#svsss #harem member shen yuan au #shen yuan #luo bingge #binggeyuan

351 notes · View notes

acid-ixx · 2 months ago

Note

Hi hi I made more fan art hehe

Neglected y/n and non neglected y/n

(They're both born male but they go by any pronouns , they both got their lashes from their mom lol)

— masterlist ! ; brutus fic

I'M CRYING this was buried in my askbox, i feel so bad 😭 I ABSOLUTELY LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS! thank you so much for creating a masterpiece of an illustration.

love the opposing sides where the other one is spoiled to death with fancy clothes whilst the other prefers a more reserved style, bleak colors with only the white streaks as the brightest part about them. the white highlights in the villain mc's hair is so reminiscent of jason todd (and a symbolism of death and rebirth, stunning, 10/10, give me more!)

the softer curls on the right side, whilst spikier, more shaggy hair on the left. the details are insane i'm absolutely crying 😭 also! i love to hc the villain reader as a mentee of gotham's famous sirens (poison ivy, catwoman, and harley quinn), or was once a sidekick to at least two or more of batman's villain gallery. the possibilities are endless.

and the curve of the eyes, the lackluster shine on the other, alongside even the sheer difference between preference of jewelry, piercings on the other whilst the non-neglected side retains expensive earrings... something i know you have put so much thought and love into!

you don't know it, but you pretty much got an almost accurate presentation of how i see the reader's mother on the non-neglected side!

also, the perfect representation of both sides of gotham... the rich, glorified side that speaks of poise, spoiled upper-classes and the well-known underside of it which tells stories of a history criminal activity, hell on earth. everything fits so well, i swear.

thank you so much for sending this in, i love this fanart and i appreciate all the effort you have done for drawing this 😭 you guys are just so creative with your portrayals of your own readers and i'm glad you found inspiration through my fanfics.

#🧁... yael's misc.#series: again & again #a&a: fanart #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere #yandere fanart #fanart #yandere batman #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere x gn reader #yandere x male reader

328 notes · View notes

romanoffsbish · 1 year ago

Text

Carved With Love

Natasha Romanoff x Wife!R

Yelena Belova x Fem!R (The true love story 🥹)

Yelena’s in town for the holiday season, and who would she be if not wreaking havoc? | WC: 1,986

Warnings: Mentions of Neglectful Past | Siblings

Yelena was a menace; you knew that from the insight your wife gave you before she introduced you to her.

“Y/N, she literally blew herself up and said it was fun,” your wife had reiterated her stance, that being: Yelena was a complete and total maniac. “Sounds like she’d fit right in with you and your band of superheroes,” was all you’d said back while adding pasta to your cart.

The two of you had been together for nearly a decade when they found each other again, and though the blonde was wary of a meeting she quickly agreed after hearing that the two of you were married with kids.

——

You couldn't really blame her for wanting to meet them more, especially your daughter, the eldest, who shared a name with her. They clicked instantly. Then there were your sons that you carried back to back, Andrei and Aleksander, who were bonded like twins. It was like they gained a triplet with their aunt. Then there’s the latest, Flora, who was just turning six months old and who was absolutely in love with the blonde.

The group were nothing but trouble, you adored that.

When you met her, your heart had doubled in size as you realized she was just trying to forget, to be a kid. Something you knew she never got to be, so just like with your own children, you let her get away with it all.

Natasha didn't much appreciate that, well, truthfully she adored just how much you already loved her sister. But, she was a bit jealous that you were so lenient with her, even if she knew you weren’t with her because she needed the structure and redirection you provided her.

As of right now, she thought you were also insane, "Detka, I don't think you thought this through..." Natasha mumbled against your temple from behind, where she stood with you securely in her arms, and you shook your head and softly chuckled. "It's fine baby."

Natasha currently feared for everyone's safety as her sister held one of those little orange carving knives.

"Oh my gosh, Y/N Romanoff, look!" Yelena shrieked, and your wife sighed when she felt your body relax. There was no hope left, you were at her sister's mercy. Yelena held up a stencil and you smiled. "It's cute."

"No, it is badass!" Yelena corrected, only to be met with a glare from her sister. "Watch your language."

"Natasha," you scolded instantaneously, "Lighten up."

"But she —," Natasha went to defend her decisions but quickly cut herself off when you turned with a glare.

Everyone got away with murder, except Natasha. (Well, in this symbolic context that is…)

Yelena smiled smugly at her sister, she even stuck her tongue out to mock her as you weren't looking. The redhead flipped her off, and your daughter gasped. "Mama! That's the bad finger!" Your eyes widened. "Natasha! What are you now? Some sort of hypocrite?"

"Predateli'," Natasha grumbled, making your daughter laugh alongside her aunt who was taping the ghost cat on a zombie dog's head stencil to her large pumpkin.

(Traitors)

"You all behave," you scolded the entire room before leaving to the kitchen to collect the cookies. Natasha tried to follow you, like a hurt puppy, but you made her stay behind to make sure nobody had a carving crisis.

Which was in vain because when you came back in the room you found Yelena had upgraded to your sharp carving knife, and you nearly dropped your plate.

"Yelena honey, that's too dangerous," you practically shrieked, but not really to avoid her hand slipping. Not that you didn't have faith in her trained hands, but you knew accidents could happen regardless of skillsets. The blonde pouted up at you, and Natasha watched you once again melt into her little sister's charm.

"I can't use the little orange one," she pleaded for your understanding, "It is too tiny and ineffective."

"Okay," you folded instantly and your wife's eyes widened with flashes of shock and betrayal. The one time Natasha had done the same thing years back, before your kids, you'd given her a safety lesson.

“This isn’t fair,” she grumbled to herself, but she also let it go when she saw you sitting with her sister, eyes focused in on the way she carved the pumpkin and mouth at the ready to give her advice or a light scold.

Natasha let her festering resentments go, and shortly after joined you all at the table so that the youngest member of the house could play with the guts. It was a perfect moment of domesticated bliss, and the redhead couldn’t help but to feel at peace in current company.

Then the following morning came, and you learned a few things. Yelena had a new favorite holiday, and in turn a hobby, carving, which piggybacked right off of her other, bugging her older sister as if it was her job.

"Natasha," you tried to calm her, your hands on her tense shoulder as you kept her from lunging at the blonde. "You need to calm down my love, I can..."

"No!" Natasha cut you off, "She will do it, not you."

"She's our guest," you reminder her, but she merely rolled her eyes—something she never did towards you. "More like a pest, Y/N/N, make her leave before I do."

Your eyes narrowed fast, and your wife cowered at the sheer intensity. "Apologize to her, right now Natalia."

The redhead held back a scoff. Yelena had carved a face only a mother could love into her favorite fall leather jacket, yet she was the one who had to apologize here.

"I'm sorry, parshivets," she begrudgingly spat at the grinning blonde across the room. "I accept, cyka."

(Brat / Bitch)

You sighed, and regretfully turned to face the smug blonde. This was partially your fault too for having let the girl get away with murder up until this point.

"Yelena, now it's your turn." Yelena frowned, but then she nodded and relaxed her features. "Sorry sestra," her tone was genuine, "I will buy you another one."

"No, you don't have to," you let the girl off the hook. "Yes she does." Natasha rebuked your words in a flash, then she intelligently rephrased, "No you don't."

You smirked and rewarded her with a kiss that she tried to melt into, but once again Yelena interrupted with a rumbling stomach. "Can we make pancakes?"

Natasha's hands harshly gripped your hips, and you smiled at her in understanding, she missed you. "How about you go get the kids up while we make breakfast?"

The redhead reluctantly let you go with a nod, but before she got too far you pulled her in for another kiss. "I'll be all yours soon, just have some patience."

Yelena was leaving after the holiday's event, and the kids were going to Wanda's for a spooky sleepover. You'd planned accordingly, and your wife smirked at the reminder, chastely pecked your lips then ran up the stairs with a reinvigorated pep in her once glum step.

"Get the chocolate chips," you instructed your sous chef, and she did so with a smile. Yelena was learning to cook from you, you never outright said it, but you worried about her eating habits. All she could make was mac and cheese and that was artery clogging if not met with a balance of other things besides takeout.

Yelena appreciated your concern, it was clear to her that you were the perfect match for Natasha, because you were an even better platonic match for her. The way you let her just be who she was, who she was discovering herself to be with her newfound freedom, meant the absolute world to her. You were a light that she found comfort in, and would never let go of.

Once you showed Yelena how to make the batter you let her ladle it onto the griddle. "Don't flip it yet," you instructed, your back was turned but you were aware of her piqued curiosity and she was enamored by your spy like skills. "You're like a super mom or something."

"It's nice to see my skillset is appreciated," you teased the younger girl as you returned to her side and gently bumped her hip. "I appreciate all of you, sestra."

It took you a second to reel in your emotions, you'd only been hoping that she wouldn't hate you, but it turned out that she actually liked you, and you didn't want to cry and make her reevaluate that judgement.

Instead you settled on hugging her shoulders, giving her a gentle shake as you showed her the indicators for flipping before finally letting her flip the pancake.

Just as you settled a pancake on the plate you heard an obnoxious scraping on the glass. "What the—." There before you was a focused blonde, the tip of her tongue rested on her lower lip as she carved your perfectly round pancake into a ghost cat. You shook your head with a fond smile, "You really love knives, don't you?" Yelena mirrored your expression and nodded as she now carved an eye into a pumpkin. "They are so cool."

"Natasha loves her guns the same." Yelena flinched, "Guns are too rigid, and loud. Knives are fun, you can do flip tricks with them and they're just as lethal."

You noted her clear discomfort with firearms, and filed it away in your mind as a later topic of discussion, and fortunately the kids came barreling into the kitchen. Yelena dropped the knife and, just like every morning, she greeted the little boys with the tickle monster.

Then came your daughter’s greeting, “Yelena Belova!"

Yelena then followed her lead, “Yelena Romanoff!"

You shook your head at their antics, then you returned to your task at hand, and began to set the table. You placed the blondes masterpieces in their designated spots, a pumpkin for each boy, the cat for her parrot, and the torn to bits pieces went to the toothless baby.

You were gifted two perfectly sized hearts, topped with fruit and whipped cream. Natasha got zero change to the shape, but instead, she was gifted icing words.

“I’m not eating that,” Natasha growled, and you bit back a laugh as you saw the script. “What’s it say?”

Natasha shook her head at you, and glared in her sister’s direction as you attempted to read the Russian out loud, “Tvoya zhena lyubit menya bol'she.”

(Your wife loves me more)

“Damn right,” Yelena teased as she sat in front of her own pancake, “Don’t worry sestra, she loves you too.”

“You two, knock it off and eat your breakfast,” your mom voice came out, and everyone was suddenly sat. You nibbled on your food while making sure your baby didn’t choke on hers as she gobbled it down like a cat (Liho and Bob) being fed at the normal time everyday.

Once breakfast was finished you sent the kids to the living room with their aunt to watch cartoons while you and your wife cleaned up the mess left behind.

As you were packing up the fruit you felt two arms snake around your waist, and a kiss placed on your neck that you instantly melted into. You felt her smirk but ignored her smugness as you lazily cleaned up.

"You're spoiling her," Natasha groaned, you shrugged and turned around to face her with a genuine smile. "I'm just giving her the same chances I did you."

Natasha frowned, "I hope it's not exactly the same."

"That’s disgusting!" Yelena groaned from the couch and you giggled into your wife's shoulder. Avoiding the question in your kids eyes, and leaving Natasha to answer it. The redhead smirked, throwing her sister a wink before she completely pulled you out of the room.

Two could play at this game…

—

#natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x wife!reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha x reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x you #gxg #yelena belova #yelena belova x you #yelena belova x reader

1K notes · View notes

klemen-tine · 11 months ago

Text

Glass Bones and Paper Skin Part 2

Platonic! Bruce x Model! GN! Reader

First Part

Part 3

Trigger Warnings: Hint at suicide, Body Issues, Eating problems (not a disorder), Child Neglect, stalking

This is more of the family side than it is of Bruce. Next part will be everyone.

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

“Young Master Y/N, what a pleasant surprise.” Y/N smiled at Alfred, opening their arms and sagging in relief once they hugged the butler. The three hour car ride had been tense, with everyone asking questions and Y/N trying their hardest to be polite while not losing it. The fashion show still fresh in their mind, and the clothing Francesca had given them was gently folded and placed in the trunk of the car.

“It is good to see you, Alfred. It’s been too long.” The old man huffed, “Indeed. A year of only phone calls and cards does make it seem like it was a century ago since I last saw your face… in person.” Y/N smiled, giving Alfred a playful look before remembering where they are and how they got here.

The smile on their face became practiced, expression smoothening out as they turned to face the rest of the family who were all waiting patiently. Dick was smiling brightly, unraveling his scarf and walking forward, “Hey Alfie, you should have seen our Y/N walk. They really made the show.”

“I find it insulting they made you walk last,” Damian chimed and crossed his arms. Y/N gave him a small smile, “Being a closer is as much of a compliment as being the opener.” The young boy scrunched his nose, “I preferred the show in Paris.”

“Francesca Gabbana designed the piece, Alfred you’ll have to see it.” Tim was the one carrying the case that had the piece in it. The old man hummed, “I saw it on the television, but perhaps seeing it in person will be better.” Jason shrugged, walking in and gently nudging Y/N with his larger shoulders, “Although, did she have to make the Bat symbol just the front piece? It barely covered anything.” Y/N could see his jaw clench like the very thought of other people seeing Y/N’s stomach.

Bruce was the last to walk in, shrugging off his coat and hanging it over his arm, “Fashion designers do not care about function, only beauty.” Y/N smiled tensely, “It is a form of art.” The older man smiled at Y/N, and the model couldn’t get rid of the image of the Bruce they saw backstage.

“Of course it is. One of the most demanding forms of art as well.” Y/N couldn’t place the tone, but there was a sudden shift in the atmosphere. Alfred shuffled, “Well, dinner is almost ready. Young Master Y/N, if you want you can wash up in one of the guest bathrooms. Your room is currently being used as a trophy room.” Y/N chuckled, “Oh dear, you’re not hanging up my photos are you?”

“I did tell you I would be.” Y/N shook their head, “Thanks Alfred, but I don’t have any clothes here.” An arm swung around their shoulder, and Y/N stiffened under the sudden touch. Jason was smiling at them, “C’mon Y/N, we have some clothes for you.” Y/N felt the sudden spike again in their spine, alerting them that something was amiss and only bad things would happen if they asked questions. From how everyone was looking at them, Y/N specifically, it was like they were waiting for Y/N to ask. Impatiently waiting for that landmine to explode in front of them.

“How kind of you, I wasn’t expecting that.” Y/N jumped over it.

“Of course! How could we not have clothes ready for when our younger sibling comes home. Even though it’s been almost three years, I hope everything still fits right.” Just to land on another landmine. Y/N kept the smile on, years of being talked down to by photographers have helped them create the perfect mask of politeness.

“So, which bathroom in which guest room?” Tim stepped forward and gently guided Y/N out from under Jason’s arm and further into the manor. Y/N stayed half a step behind, taking in the gothic manor and the decorations littering the hallway.

Out of all the siblings, Y/N is closest with Tim. Not really siblings, and not really even friends, but if his relationship could be described as a length rope attached to each person, Tim’s would be the second shortest. Right after Alfred. They are close in age, and Tim was the first one to comment on Y/N’s photo when Y/N had first started modeling.

It was only once, and it may have been in passing, but Y/N had held that interaction close to their heart. The first and last comment from a sibling about their modeling. An acknowledgement of sorts, that made Y/N momentarily believe that they were noticeable, only for that to be squished that same day.

“You’re photo in the Cosmetology magazine, it looks really good. Red suits you.”

The way that color looked on Y/N was the same as how a red rose looked on a green stem; like it was always meant to be. Y/N has seen the comparisons between them and their mother. M/N L/N was a beautiful woman, with large eyes and pouty lips, the very definition of innocence. A puppy-dog look that fit so naturally on her face.

A white rose.

While Y/N had a more sultry tone, a more powerful presence, one that demanded attention.

A red rose. Not so innocent, or pure, but who can be when you see your own mother dead in the bathtub. Drug allegations and the loss of her popularity caused her downfall, and she loved her popularity more than she loved her child. Y/N finds it hard to blame her, because after they have gotten a taste of what beauty can get them, they can see why their mother got addicted to the camera flashes.

The assurance that yes, they are beautiful. They are beautiful and worthy of the cameras.

But with every camera flash, is a terrible comment. A terrible blog, highlighting their faults and insecurities. Someone dissecting every motion they made, every microexpression, ever comment.

“Here you are, Y/N.” Y/N’s attention snapped back and sure enough they were in front of the door. Tim waited patiently for Y/N to enter, “Thank you, Tim.” The young man shrugged, “Sure. Clothes can be found in the dresser and shoes in the closet.” Y/N nodded, waiting for the other to leave. Instead Tim turned around and faced Y/N, waiting for the other with a raised brow, “You’re not going to ask about the clothes?”

Y/N gulped, “I feel like if I ask, I won’t like the answer. I’d rather live in ignorance for now.” They walked past Tim, opening and closing the door, but before they saw Tim grin and a smile played out on his lips, “Smart.”

They locked the door, and when they turned around Y/N nearly collapsed. They pressed their back into the door as they stared at the room in mild terror. Their room from their condo, fully paid off condo, was present in front of Y/N. The same color palette, the same furniture, hell even the bookshelves are the same. Gulping, Y/N walked further in and when they opened the dresser, their jaw clenched and fingers shook.

The exact same clothes.

The bathroom was their saving grace, or so they thought. It didn’t look like their bathroom in the condo, save for the same colored towels. That was until they opened the shower and saw full bottles of the same brand soap, shampoo, conditioner, masks, everything.

“Just like home. It is just like home, Y/N. Only in the Manor.” They mumbled to themselves, stripping in front of the shower stall and jumping in and not even waiting for the water to get hot. They wanted in and out as quickly as possible. Washing their hair, their body, and not even bothering to do the usual masks and scrubs.

Jumping out, they quickly towel dried themselves and threw on the robe that was so familiar.

“Routine… keep to the routine…” Body lotion, while the skin is still damp so it can absorb into the skin better, followed by an oil. For the face it was a double cleanse, first an oil based then water-based, followed by toner, retinol, serums, hyaluronic acid, moisturizer, and face oil. Teeth will be after the meal, but hair…

“Moisturizer, blow dry, and then oil.” Y/N continued to mutter, trying desperately to not go crazy as the familiar brands flashed across their face and they had to use it like normal. They had too. Cause if they don’t, then Y/N knows that they will go crazy.

They don’t bother to look in the dresser again, already on the verge of having a nervous breakdown, and instead they opted to flop onto the bed. Y/N buried their face in the pillow, and tried to not think about anything. They tried to force their mind blank, just how they did on the runway.

“Y/N, are you ready?” Only it wasn’t working. Sitting up, Y/N stared at the door and contemplated answering. The carefully crafted facade was cracking and Y/N doesn’t know if they can keep the mask on any longer. From the multiple shows this week, to the shows earlier today, then this, the mask had outworn its use and now it is slowly begging to be taken off.

“One minute please.” Only they can’t. Not here. Definitely not here.

Peeling themselves off of the bed, Y/N stripped out of the robe and grabbed the first shirt they saw, underwear, and jeans. Their house slippers were right next to the dresser, and Y/N wanted to cry. All of it was getting too much and they're not sure how much longer they can be doing this.

Opening the door, Dick and Jason were the ones waiting for them. Dick grinned, “How insulting of you to look so great in only jeans and a crew neck, making the rest of us look like toads.” Y/N chuckled, closing the door behind them, “I am a model, its my job to look good in every style of clothing.”

Dick laughed, wrapping an arm around Y/N’s shoulder he pulled the other close. Close enough that Y/N could smell the detergent used on Dick’s clothes, and body heat radiating off of the other. They started walking, Jason keeping silent while Dick chatted to Y/N, catching the other up on the past year.

“There are more to the family now, but they won’t be at dinner today. Cass is with Steph, Duke is studying, and Barbara has dinner with her own family to join.” Y/N nodded, ignoring the small sting that others can be welcomed in while they couldn’t be. Instead, they kept the conversation polite, “How nice! It must be worthwhile to have so many people here.” Dick grinned, and there was a type of sharpness to it that had Y/N squirming.

“Yeah, but it was never really a full house because not everyone was here.” A jab at Y/N, who muscled through it, “Well, modeling is a travel-heavy job. There was no time to come back.” The brothers stayed quiet, leading Y/N to the dining room table where everything and everyone was sitting and waiting patiently.

Bruce caught their eyes, and motioned for them to sit at the empty seat next to him, Tim on the other side. Y/N walked over, and took the seat graciously, trying to ignore the weight in their stomach that was making their throat close. Alfred emerged, and like the true butler he was, he began setting their plates in front of them. Perfectly made and being presented beautifully on the white ceramic plates with gold leaf designs.

Their favorite meal, one that always had Y/N running down the stairs when Alfred would announce his plans to make it, sat perfectly in the center of the plate. Its been so long since Y/N had it, no one quite makes it like Alfred does, and plus its just not really in Y/N’s diet.

But Alfred made it. Alfred put his time and effort into making it, and Y/N is not going to spit on that. Once everyone had their plate, the dinner table became loud with chatter. Just like hoow it used to be. Dick would carry the conversation for the entire table, Jason would make sarcastic remarks, Tim intelligent ones, Damian’s would be snide, and Bruce would look exhausted the entire time. However, he still partook in them, letting his kids have the family moment of conversing with their parental figure. Smiling and chuckling as he did so, Bruce tried to be that good father figure.

And Y/N just sits there. They eat quietly and think about their next photo shoot, the next trends that they need to hop on, the workout routine they need to adhere by. Questions do not get thrown their way–

“Now that fashion season is over, what are your plans Y/N?” E/C eyes blink owlishly, staring at Dick in wonder as all eyes focus on them.

“Oh, uh, um, well its normally rest season for us, but I have plans to schedule a few photoshoots, commercials, and I know Maya has been talking about me becoming a brand ambassador.” Y/N wants to keep the momentum. Y/N wants to be kept busy to get and stay away from here.

“You’re not going to rest?” Jason questioned, raising a brow and Y/N shrugged, “I plan to take a few weeks off, but modeling doesn’t really have a set time.” It isn’t a 9-5 job, or vigilante job. Y/N will have to make public appearances, showing up to Galas, grand openings, other fashion shows, fashion shoots, and a lot of traveling.

Bruce hummed, “Sounds like you’re running yourself thin.” Y/N gulped, “It sounds like a lot, but most of it is traveling and getting ready. Besides, I like being busy.” In high school, Y/N would go from school the the modeling agency where they would schedule photo shoots and commercials. Then it would be meeting with dieticians, personal trainers, estheticians, and then more meeting for future goals. The next steps.

Y/N was always busy, but so was their mother and she managed. She was a single mother and a high end fashion model. If she can do it, then there is no reason Y/N can’t.

“But there are other stuff right? Like you need to get facials to make sure your skin looks nice, and working out,” Damian chimed in, and Y/N blinked in surprise at the youngest contributing to the conversation. They smiled, “That’s not really tiring, it’s just time consuming.”

Alfred walked back into the dining room, a dessert platter in his hands, “Then it is good you will be resting here. Take a few days to enjoy being free.” A cheesecake was set down in front of Y/N, and Alfred pointedly stared at the half eaten meal. He gave Y/N a raised brow, and while the model would normally smile and reassure the man that they would eat later, their face was full of shock, “What do you mean a ‘few days?’”

Bruce wiped the corner of his lips with a napkin, “A few days. Rest here for a few days, it’ll be good for you and for everyone else.” Y/N gulped, “Why is it good for everyone else if I stay?”

“Of course it’s good for us. Family sticks together obviously, and with you running off, it really sent things haywire.” There it was again. The phrase ‘running off’ as if it was something Y/N actually did. They smiled, “You’re sounding like Tim. I did not run off, I moved out.” Bruce’s brow furrowed, “ ‘Moved out,’ huh. I didn’t realize moving out meant leaving without so much as a goodbye.”

“The things you left behind, you scheduled people to grab them and throw them out. Alfred was the one to stop them from touching your room,” Dick stated. Those blue eyes keep Y/N locked in their seat. The smile on the oldest sibling’s face was anything but kind, “It’s like you wanted to erase yourself from this manor. You left behind almost nothing that would trace you to us.”

“Not a number to call. We had to get it from Alfred,” Jason chimed, taking a bite of the chocolate mousse cake.

“Or a letter explaining where you went.” Damian took a sip of the tea.

“Or an address.” Tim gulped his cup of coffee, all of them watching Y/N. They way their sibling’s shoulders tensed and that fake smile became more and more downturned. Bruce spoke once more, “It seems like you don’t even want to be a Wayne. Taking your mother’s last name despite the controversies.”

Y/N’s smile turned bitter, “I took her last name because Wayne is more influential and I wanted to start with as little influence as possible. Plus, legally my last name is still L/N.” Bruce met Y/N’s gaze, “And look how many speculations you got for drug use.”

“...Since when did you read gossip?”

“The moment my kid’s photo is attached to that piece of gossip.” Y/N is still aware of all the blogs accusing them of drug-use, the same blogs that accused M/N. People using her photos to compare their features and just cause more drama.

Y/N took a bite of the cheesecake, and the tension at the table was thick. Usually it was between Dick and Bruce, or Jason and Bruce. Never between Y/N though. Although, Y/N never spoke at the table so maybe that is why they were arguing? Can this even be considered an argument?

Alfred cleared his throat, “While talking is appreciated, arguments stay away from the dinner table.” So it was an argument. Y/N apologized to the man and took another bite of the cheesecake. Their mind filled with the workout they are going to have to do to burn this off.

++++

Alfred watched the child he considered a grandchild drink their tea, brewed in the darkness of the kitchen and now sitting at the dinner table again. While a year may not seem long, for Alfred it was. Y/N, who had been there for half a decade, had been glued to Alfred’s side. The man always taking the teen to and from school, and then sometimes to their gigs.

It was Alfred that took Y/N to their first audition to be a model, and it seems like it was only a few days before he received a call from a woman claiming to be M/N L/N’s manager, and while she may not be Y/N’s manager, her daughter will be. Alfred liked Maya. The young woman always let him know of Y/N’s gigs, she would pick the young teen up and drop him off, and she tried to be as helpful as she could. Maya was a woman born to manage models and their busy and demanding schedules.

What Alfred didn’t like, was that Maya still had the old school model critiques. Alfred gaped at the woman when she handed him a list of diets for Y/N to ‘lose weight.’ A 15 year old Y/N, who was already slender, now being told they had to be skinny but toned. A child being told that ice cream was no longer an option, and their favorite burgers were banned.

He furrowed at the training regime, wondering how agencies can expect a teenager to be toned like their already full adult models. Nonstop cardio, ab workouts, and toning exercises. Then strut practice, because if Y/N was M/N’s child, then they were made for the runway. Born to walk in front of cameras and audiences.

“If Y/N wants to be a model, then sacrifices have to be made,” Was Maya’s response to Alfred's inquiries. She assured him that Y/N would still be eating, and she encouraged Y/N to eat, but now those meals were restricted to certain foods.

Alfred watched as Y/N struggled at first, their own plate different from the others, and how the blisters on their toes and heels bled through their socks and bandaids. The old man watched as the training and strut practice became an everyday routine. Y/N walked on the wobbling plyboard, barely wide enough for one foot, and the amount of times they fell off of it. The books stacked on their head for good posture and balance, followed by walking on an incline in those uncomfortable shoes, then training the muscles to the point of exhaustion.

He had watched the child-like baby fat on Y/N’s cheeks melt off and expose cheekbones that looked tight against the skin. Y/N still looked beautiful, not more or less, but Alfred could see the exhaustion in those young eyes and how Y/N juggles modeling and being a student.

Y/N didn’t even go to their high school graduation, choosing instead to head to Paris for their first ever abroad photoshoot. That kickstarted the traveling and runway model career. Once Y/N got their highschool diploma, they were out the door and becoming busier and busier.

“I see you still drink onion skin tea so late at night.” Y/N smiled up at Alfred, “Of course. I was shocked to see that you still keep the skins.” The older man sat across from Y/N, nursing his own cup of tea “Of course. In case you ever visited, I thought it would be great to have some in stock.” Y/N gave Alfred a ‘really?’ look, continuing to sip on the still hot tea.

“I saw the piece you wore today,” Alfred started the conversation.

“It truly is a beautiful piece of work.” Y/N’s jaw clenched, “Did you know about-” Y/N waved a hand in the air, “- about Bruce calling to commission a piece?” The old man took a sip of the earl gray. Y/N shook their head, unable to be upset, “Alfred, a call about that would have been appreciated.”

“An address would also be appreciated but seeing as you have withheld that information, I saw no harm in sharing Master Bruce’s commission.” Y/N deflated, rubbing their forehead with their fingers, “Alfie-”

“You only use that name when you know you’re about to be in trouble, so you might as well just say it, Young Master Y/N.” Y/N’s cheeks blushed and their lips pouted, “Alfie, I told you that the reason I didn’t tell you my address is because I am always traveling. I’d feel awful if you showed up and I wasn’t there.”

“There’s a wonderful contraption called a cellphone, Young Master Y/N. I would call before making that trek over.” Y/N groaned, setting his cup down and trying not to crumble in front of the grandfather figure. Answering to Alfred was always harder than answering to Bruce.

“Alfie–”

“Young Master Y/N, I understand your hesitancy is sharing in your life with others. Life was lonely here, and I understand wanting to forget that. However, having only a number to call you is terrifying. What if something happens and I cannot help you?” Y/N gazed sadly at Alfred, “Life wasn’t lonely, Alfie. I had you, right?”

Alfred Pennyworth, Y/N’s saving grace and lifeline. The person who is proof that Y/N was not alone in the Wayne Manor. The butler always willing to lend an ear when Y/N vented their frustrations, and when tears escaped their E/C eyes. He is Y/N’s biggest supporter. Always buying a magazine that had Y/N in it, and he would listen to Y/N critique the pose and the facial expression. Then he would give Y/N a slice of cheesecake and compliment Y/N, in both the photo and in person.

Always reassuring the other that a cheat day will not set him back, and rest is what the body needs the most. Reassuring Y/N that their mother would be proud, that Bruce notices them, and that Y/N’s siblings do in fact love them.

“Besides, why would you even want to visit? My place wouldn’t be as grand as this–”

“It would be to make sure your fridge is stocked and that you are eating. You have always been the worst when it comes to eating, and I worry that your fridge and pantry are empty.” Alfred doesn’t have to guess that Y/N’s fridge is empty, because he knows it is.

He knows that Y/N’s fridge is empty besides some drinks, and that the pantry is only snacks. While Y/N may have the excuse of being gone for so long, traveling and whatnot, Alfred knows that Y/N does not spend a lot of money on food. Y/N spends more money on clothes, jewlery, facial and hair care products, than they do on groceries.

Y/N doesn’t even look ashamed. Nervous, yeah, but not ashamed. They sip their tea without making eye contact. Time to change the subject.

“Why is Bruce, and all the boys, all of a sudden interested in what I do?” Alfred didn’t Y/N out on the obvious change in conversation, but he let it slide. The old man sighed, “Why would a parent not be interested in what their child is doing?”

“Alfred.”

“Young Master Y/N, you have worked tirelessly to get to the position you are now. With no help from the family, you had spent your late mother’s money to audition, then to pay your managers, and now you are making it big within the industry. Is it wrong for a parent to congratulate their child?” Y/N bit their lip, “So its because I’m finally someone now? Was I not worth attention because I chose not to be Robin?”

“Young Master Y/N–”

“I don’t care about that. Like I told Bruce, it wasn’t abuse or anything, he just simply didn’t have time for me and that’s fine. I’m not mad about that.” Alfred watched Y/N get worked up, and E/C begin to shift in nervousness, “What I am talking about is why did Bruce pay off my Condo, and why does he have access to my bank account?”

Silence fell across the table. Y/N staring at Alfred expectantly, while the butler finished his tea. Once done, he grabbed his and Y/N’s tea cup and headed towards the kitchen.

“Perhaps, that is a Master Bruce question.” Y/N made a sound of annoyance, throwing themselves back into the chair and scrunching their nose. Standing up from the table, Y/N said goodnight to Alfred, and proceeded up that stairs and into dark hallways. Y/N wasn’t ready to go back to the guest room, feeling their heart rate spike whenever they thought of the replicated room.

Instead, they walked down familiar halls towards a room-now-turned-trophy room. They reached for the doorknob, but found themselves unable to open it. Y/N didn’t want to see all the photos Alfred had kept throughout the years. Rather, what caught Y/N’s attention was the lacking of doors in the hallway. There used to be two more doors on their left, but instead there was now one. The area where the second door was, was perfectly sealed and now blended into the wall.

Y/N took a deep breath, and opened the door. They used to be guest rooms as well. The two rooms had queen-sized beds and armoires for the unexpected guests that popped up. Y/N’s room used to be a guest-room, but they ended up liking the privacy because no one else’s room was around their’s. In fact, it was the guest room across from Y/N’s room that they had turned into the practice room, seeing that no one came down this hallway.

However, clearly people were not because of the renovation done.

When the door opened, Y/N sought out the light switch. The room was pitch black, and the last thing Y/N wanted to do was trip over something. Feeling around the wall, Y/N rejoiced when they felt the familiar switch and flicked it on. Once the bright light filled the room, Y/N took a deep breath. They were expecting a game room, or an indoor swimming people because that seems like something a rich person would do. Turning two guest rooms into a pool despite it being on the second floor.

Something not exactly normal, but expected.

Y/N didn’t expect this. Gone was the wall that separated the two bedrooms, making it one long room, and all the furniture was absent. No more beds, armoires, and it looks like even the bathrooms were gutted and turned into part of the room. All the tables, rugs, sofas, everything that was once in those rooms, were now gone besides the chandeliers that hung on the ceiling. Filling the room with a bright light, that didn’t fit the manor aesthetic at all, and illuminating everything that was in the room.

While the furniture was gone, the room was not empty. Mannequins lined the walls, on their own podiums and glass cases. While seeing them bare would have been scary, seeing them dressed in the clothes that Y/N had worn on the runways was more terrifying. Y/N, in the runway season alone, walked 86 shows. That is the runways season alone, not including the other smaller shows they have done since graduating high school almost a year ago.

These weren’t all of the clothes they have worn, there was still a large amount and they were the most iconic pieces. Pieces that a designer would never want to give someone.

Y/N walked further in, taking in the first mannequin on the right, and they noted that the mannequin looked eerily similar to Y/N. Only missing the facial features and hair, but it looked like the proportions were almost spot on.

The plastic doll had on the outfit from a runway show earlier in the year, when Y/N walked for Versace. A simple long blazer with deep V cut, stopping mid-thighs where only an inch of skin was shown before thigh boots bedazzled in gold, diamonds, emeralds, and other precious jewels took over the rest of the legs. The earrings they wore were poked into the mannequin's own ears and the bracelets hung off the dainty wrists. In the glass case, next to the mannequin, was the photo taken of Y/N when they were walking.

The next case was a piece they wore when walking for a newer fashion-designer, one that Y/N did for free just to get to their name out there, and the piece was a gorgeous suit, dyed a beautiful vermillion red that had the slighted shimmer of gold in it. Y/N’s runway photo was once again next to the mannequin.

The entire room was full of these iconic runway looks, with Y/N’s photo right next to them, and they surrounded all sides of the room and some of them in the middle. Almost like an art gallery of sorts, and Y/N looked at every single one of them. Not in amazement or judgment, but more of horror.

Y/N knows some of these fashion designers. They have known some of them since they were a child and watching their mom get fitted by these exact same designers. No matter how much she begged, they would never let her take one of their creations home. These clothes were meant to be either safe-guarded in a museum, in their own collection, or in some cases bought by a celebrity and worn to an award ceremony as advertisement.

In other words, Y/N knows that some of these designers would rather gnaw off an arm then give away their precious creations. Yet, here some of those precious creations were, hanging on the mannequin shaped like the model.

In the center of the room, like it was the main show, was the Batman-inspired piece. All that was missing was the photo, which wouldn’t be published for another few weeks.

Taking a deep breath, they stared at the reflection in the gold-plated bat. They were trying to process all of this. It’s one thing to have photos, because Y/N is a model and photos are expected, but to have the actual clothes they wore. Clothes that Y/N knows the designers would kill for, dressed on mannequins that looked almost exactly like Y/N was another thing.

Y/N backed out of the room, turning the lights off and shutting the door silently. They stared at their own door, sweat beginning to break out on their forehead, and they went against their instincts and opened that door.

A trophy room, Alfred had said. The walls are decorated in their photos, and the bed is still as immaculate as the day they left. Turning the lights on, Y/N couldn’t help but to smile as the time capsule in front of them. From their very first photoshoot, when Y/N was a gangly 15-year-old with still chubby cheeks, to the most recent photoshoot of a now 18 almost 19-year-old Y/N. Their confidence can be seen in their pose and gaze, something their younger self lacked.

Y/N walked closer to the walls and looked at all the different photos. Some candid, some posed, some in the water, and there’s one where they are in Greece. Some had Y/N fully clothed with barely and inch of skin, and some were of Y/N with barely an inch of clothes. From makeup, to shoes, to perfume, to clothes, Y/N’s photo was pinned on the wall or framed.

A photo caught their attention though. It wasn’t one from a website, or a magazine, but an actual photo. Y/N looked closer, and they recognized the set from when they were 16-years-old posing for an editorial magazine.

However, the angle in which this photo was taken from, Y/N knows there were no cameras there. All the cameras were in front or on the side, not behind. Another photo caught their eyes, and it was the same thing. A photo from behind.

Once they started looking for them, Y/N could begin to spot them all. Photos that they know no photographer took. There was one that had their blood chilling and fear rising in their chest. It was a photo, taken at night and through one of the windows in Y/N’s condo. Y/N had one wall in the living room that was basically all windows, letting in the morning sun and led out onto the gated terrace. It was high enough that they had no neighbors that could look through those windows.

In the photo, Y/N was wearing their pajamas and their hair still looked wet. They were sitting on the counter of the island in their kitchen, eating raspberries and watching Youtube on their TV. It was such a close photo, close enough that the reflection can be seen in the glass.

Y/N recognizes the blue and black, and when Y/N’s eyes drifted to another photo of them in their home, bile rose into their throats. The morning sun illuminated the warm neutral color palette in the living room, and Y/N was out on the terrace sitting at the patio table they had set up out there drinking a cup of coffee and reading a book. They had their shirt off, exposing ribs pulled tightly against skin and abs that remained toned even when Y/N wasn’t flexing. The shorts they had on exposing soft skin and pedicured feet, their slipped laid forgotten under the chair they were sitting in.

They recognize that book. It was a book they read in the height of summer, meaning that this photo was taken half a year ago, when it was okay to sit outside in the warm summer mornings and let the skin begin to circulate.

What chilled Y/N even more was that whoever took this photo was on their terrace with them. They were on Y/N’s terrace, and Y/N didn’t even know. The Wayne family has known Y/N’s address the entire time. They knew where Y/N was staying, they knew Y/N’s photoshoot schedules, and they knew Y/N better than Y/N thought they did.

“I didn’t think you’d come in here.” Y/N’s head whipped around and there was Dick, or Nightwing, still in costume and smiling at them.

“The hell is this?” Y/N held up the photo of them on the terrace, and Dick shrugged, “I’ll admit, those photos we took. But we didn’t take the other ones.”

“What other ones?” “The ones of you at the photoshoots. I know you saw them, but we didn’t take those.” Y/N glared at Dick, and pushed themselves close to the wall as Dick walked in. Damian was right behind him. The oldest brother walked to the photo that originally caught Y/N’s attention, “You had a stalker, can you believe that? He took hundreds of photos of you, and all we did was make him stop.”

Y/N’s lips pursed, “How do I know you’re not lying?” Dick unpinned the photo, and with Damian’s help, trapped Y/N against the wall next to the photo of them outside. He held up the photo, “Because, Y/N, as you can see we prefer more… candid photos then staged.”

Y/N snapped, “There is nothing candid about that photo! That is an invasion of privacy! Trespassing! So is that one!” They pointed to one of them sitting on the counter. Damian grabbed their arm, and Y/N wanted nothing more than to shove the kid off.

“And so is that one.” Dick pointed to one of Y/N wearing only a large shirt, a towel around their shoulders as they walked into their kitchen.

“And that one.”

“That one there.”

“There’s that one too.” Y/N looked at all the photos, hidden next to the magazine photos, and they were all of them in their home. Horror morphed on Y/N’s face when there was one photo of Y/N in the bedroom, in the midst of taking their shirt off.

Dick continued to smile, and Y/N could see Jason and Tim peeking in from the doorway.

“You did a lot on your own, Y/N. You built a name for yourself, became a highly sought after model, it really is amazing.” Dick walked closer, “But you know what all of those photos have in common?” Y/N stared into blue eyes, terror swimming in those E/C eyes of theirs.

“You aren’t even aware of your photo being taken.” The truth unsettled Y/N enough to try and squirm out of Damian’s grip and to get away from Dick. They didn’t need to be pointed out. Y/N is aware that in every photo taken without their permission, they were not once aware of it. Even when they looked like they would be only a few feet away, Y/N not once looked bothered. Y/N doesn’t even remember that feeling of being watched.

Tim and Jason stepped in the room, making it seem crowded and even if Y/N got out of Damian’s grip, there was no way they were getting past all of them.

Large hands gripped Y/N’s forearms, feeling like they would bruise the skin if Y/N struggled.

“So tell your big brother Y/N, how do you expect us to trust you on your own when you can’t even notice someone on your terrace?”

________________________________________________________

Part 3 is coming soon....

#batfam x reader #yandere dc #yandere batfam #platonic yandere #batfam #batman x reader #bruce wayne #platonic batman #platonic batfam #yandere imagines #gender neautral reader #batman x gn reader #Yandere batman #batfam x male reader #Batfamily x female reader #Batfamily x gender neutral reader

1K notes · View notes

charleslee-valentine · 2 months ago

Text

I wanna talk about this scene.

A head kiss is *so* significant as a choice. Obviously he can’t kiss her lips unless he wants to have his face superglued to hers, but to waste time getting upstairs to have kissed her at all is sorta what I get caught on. There’s got to be *something* going through his head to make that decision over damage control.

We know the abuse of these women, tying them up in a medical chair, is because of what he went through in his childhood. The duct tape bindings in his high chair, the experimental surgical procedures from his father, the neglect; it’s all mirrored in the leather straps, the chair itself and the identical one up at the house. But we also know Bo, despite probably killing at least Victor, has undying devotion to his mother and her legacy. Trudy slaps her child no older than three across his face without hesitation. What affection might look like or have once looked like in the Sinclair house is curious.

The forehead kiss, in the context of the abuse, can read of both possessiveness and distance. Something like staking a claim, less intimate and affectionate than, say, one on the cheek. A heavily controlled sort of relationship. But back to actual affection.

With the Sinclairs, it’s very skewed what that might be like. When Vincent and Bo interact on screen for the first time, Bo is critically injured and angry. He snaps at his brother, but his remorse is immediate and he uses words as a form of affection. Promises as apologies. Almost like begging, a kind of worship on its own.

Which itself ties into his relationship with their mother too.

Trudy is kept down at the church, having her perpetual funeral service. Bo is seen on screen for the very first time kneeling at her coffin in a probable prayer. But that kind of devotion I think is the Sinclair way of affection. As in religion, which has a recurring symbolism in House of Wax, and as such in the characters lives. Prayer drawing parallels to love isn’t surprising.

Something interesting is that in numerous religions, head kisses can be the passing on of a blessing. Bo forces Carly into the same bindings he suffered in for years, but he grants her a blessing before he leaves her there. It doesn’t seem affectionate at first, if anything it’s just kind of condescending, but knowing how Bo works is what makes it much more interesting.

The question is why?

Bo consoles Vincent after he hurts his feelings by talking about their mother’s blessing and legacy. All of Ambrose is a gift from a woman who treated them horribly, and they accept it. The killings are literally for her. In that way, I think Bo is apologizing. He’s inflicting on this woman something that destroyed his life, and he isn't some zombified, all magical slasher; he’s still very much a human being who feels pain and emotions. A lot more emotions than either of his brothers seem to show on screen, actually.

His role as the leader -or the preacher of this church they’ve built, hence why he finds Carly hiding under the robes in the church- isn’t without remorse. It’s do what’s got to be done. Which started with his parents. Victor says in the cold open, “I’m doing the best I can,” while wrestling a toddler. They call little Bo the monster while they’re actively hurting him. These excuses are pre-programmed into his complex.

In regard to further biblical imagery and the Sinclair parents, is the theater. Whatever Happened to Baby Jane? plays nonstop, with the specific scene with Carly being hunted in the theater taking place during Jane’s song. The first two lines of that say, “I’ve written a letter to daddy, His address is Heaven above.” There’s this idea of communicating with a dead parent again, just like Bo speaking out loud to Trudy’s corpse, but now it’s outwardly tying it in with religious beliefs. If Bo is the preacher, he’s simply passing along the holy message instilled in him by his parents above. Bo *is* Baby Jane in that way, but not for the most obvious reason. While yes, he is harsh to his brother, as Baby Jane treated her sister Blanche badly, there’s also the fact that he’s a washed up, desperate, abused child who craves love and validation and normalcy again. Using his communication with the divine up in Heaven above to spread a blessing is a way of getting approval. With a detached kiss to Carly, his crimes are the gospel.

A consistent theme here is not only his relationship with being abused, but also with Vincent. Biblically, conjoined twins are considered a mistake of nature. God creates two human souls, but it is the fault of nature that their bodies combine. However, because of the risks, it is also considered mostly immoral in the church to separate them if one or both will have their lives risked. For the Sinclair twins, their father did this surgery himself, at home, which is obviously wildly illegal and dangerous. That makes him a sinner and an obstacle to a perfect Ambrose, on top of being an abusive asshole. So he’s killed, implied to be shot by Bo directly. That bullet was his punishment as much as the highchair was Bo’s punishment. Vincent may not have gotten the highchair, but he does have the marks on his face to show for what Victor chose. The surgery, the sin of going against the new plan, left Vincent scarred and missing not just tissue but parts of the bones in his face. Having to wear the masks and being disallowed from leaving Ambrose is his punishment for Victor’s moral crime. God took from them both unfairly and I think, despite his devotion, Bo doesn’t quite believe in the faith fully because of that.

Again, he’s human. He has his doubts and fears. His reassurance to Vincent in the form of “Ma would be proud” goes for himself too. And his subsequent “She always said that your talent would make up for what God took away from you.” Vincent doesn’t need convincing though, he needs an apology. That’s what Bo’s speech about Trudy is, is an apology, but that doubles for both him and Vincent. And the head kiss too. Because again, he’s operating on what he’s supposed to do. It’s a routine.

At that point, I think Bo doesn’t get satisfaction from fulfilling God’s (ahem, Trudy’s) plan anymore. Carly, and by extension every other girl who was down in that cellar at one point or another, is a sacrifice to it. She’s duct taped in that chair because someone has to be suffering in order for the Sinclairs to thrive. That’s the way it’s been before. Someone has to be hurting to need God’s grace so badly as to keep up what they’re doing, rather than just forgetting Ambrose. But what makes me think Bo specifically has stopped deriving anything positive from that order, is that he also tells Vincent “We almost finished what Mama started.” Based on the number of empty seats in the theater alone, they could theoretically kill a lot more than just the six kids that night. Why stop there? Because of the sacrificial lamb down in his cellar. I think Bo thinks that his actions will trigger be some fateful event that’ll free them all of Ambrose. Some great flood or some such. And when it doesn’t come for an entire decade after Trudy’s death, I think his desperation is growing more and more over those ten years to where his faith is now slipping. Back around to the head kiss, the silent promises he makes to Carly is to reassure himself that she’ll be special and it’ll end with her.

Choosing Carly specifically, could come from a biblical Madonna-Whore complex. Bo saw the whole group the night before, only two of which were girls obviously. Between them, Paige is pregnant. The Bible states directly that she should be burned for that (as she is out of wedlock.) Ambrose is, to him, a Holy place, but bringing Paige in and keeping her alive, no matter for how short a time, would technically be making the entire land impure. So Carly it was. I do think he has an attraction to her, since whoever has the video camera that night takes special care to record her lips, and then he makes a comment about them after supergluing them. It’s just the fact he could’ve kissed her at any point before the glue came out, and chose not to. Just that little head kiss. Because as much as he’s preached, he has to resist temptation himself or it’s all for naught. Does that mean I think he doesn’t assault any of the women? No, absolutely not. There’s a sex swing in that cellar. It’s just a matter of repenting. The first time we ever see Bo’s face, he’s on his knees in the church. Out of all the empty buildings in Ambrose he chose to go pray at church before the group showed up. He knows what he’s gonna do and knows he shouldn’t. Hence the other meaning of the kiss again, the apologetic side combined with the resistance.

Bo is such a deeply, deeply complex character. He went through so much only to turn around and inflict so much. Going back to their father’s choice to do the surgery on his own, the impacts of having a whole person removed from the back of Bo’s head is so unknown.

From the way they were conjoined, their skulls may have very well been attached. Seeing as Vincent has impacts to the development of his brow bone, cheek bone, lower jaw, and nasal bridge, those bones would have to go somewhere, and the realistic answer is that they would’ve been fused to Bo, or at least the parts of those would’ve been there. All in the back of Bo’s head, directly against his skull. To me, it’s incredibly, incredibly unlikely that no impacts would’ve been made on Bo’s brain development. How much of his violent impulses are even his own, and how much comes from a traumatic brain injury, inflicted by their father himself. Certainly blaming that baby for being a monster, when it’s a consequence of his own behavior, seems about fitting with the rest of the manipulation processes that go on in that family. Which Bo had to learn from somewhere. Trudy was likely his biggest abuser, but I think Bo modeled a lot of himself, unconsciously, after their father. Killing him was just taking on that role, and the religious filtering of it all, is Bo’s way of processing that. The father, the son, and mama’s Holy Spirit.

#house of wax 2005 #how 2005 #house of wax #bo sinclair #vincent sinclair #trudy sinclair #carly jones #analysis #this is a lot of rambling but like. there’s so much in this movie and it gets written off as like ‘crazy hillbilly creeps’ way too often #like yes but also no. guys the curtains aren’t just blue there’s details and nuance please please please #on a very related note #i do view Bo as having religious ocd as well

133 notes · View notes