#big hurt comfort
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overachiever
requested by anon
request/synopsis: the reader suffers from self-loathe due to emotionally abusive parents, often seeks validation through achievement, frequently compares themselves, immense guilt & shame for past mistakes and they just feel, undeserving or unworthy. and someday they just fall into this spiral of self hatred and steven or marc sort of reassures them. i'd like the reader to be in a romantic relationship with steven (and only steven).
pairing: steven grant x gn!reader (romantic), marc spector x gn!reader (platonic/acquaintanceship)
warnings: child abuse (mentioned/implied), emotional abuse (mentioned/implied), hurt/comfort, panic attack, y/n not in a great mental mindset, unhealthy coping mechanisms, reader gets triggered
moonknight taglist: @laufeyamp
author’s notes: don’t push yourself to read anything that may be triggering to you, take care of yourself before anything else <3 i hit 350 while on my hiatus thank you everyone so much :) i hope you like this!!!
likes, rbs and comments are always appreciated <3
y/n was certainly not a stranger to overworking themself and that much was obvious to those that were close to them. hell, even those that weren’t - like marc.
recently y/n had been working themself to the bone at their job during the day and at home during the night. it was starting to worry steven, he obviously knew that y/n suffered with their mental health sometimes, it was a topic he often avoided speaking about with y/n. every time he would bring it up, they’d shut down emotionally and mentally checked out of the conversation. but he was getting really worried about about them.
“y/n, love…” steven nervously fidgeted with his hands, looking at the back of y/n’s head. they were hunched over slightly, typing away at their computer, “could we talk?”
y/n tried to play his words off, but their fingers froze on the keyboard, the phrase ‘could we talk?’ shot a spear of insecurity right through their chest, but they tried to get right back to work.
“what’s up, steven? we can talk, i’m just finishing this report for someone at work,” y/n mumbled back to him, “and i have that report to do for mike after, but i could do it tomorrow? no, i’d rather do it tonight and get it done.”
at this point, y/n wasn’t even talking to steven, more to themself if anything.
“okay.. i just, i dunno, gosh how do i do this,” steven gulped taking a deep breath, oblivious to y/n’s hands that had started to shake. is he going to break up with me. was all that y/n could think in that moment, the words on their screen blurring.
“y/n, i think you need a break.. from work i mean,” steven added quickly, not wanting to accidentally break up with his partner, “you’ve been working so hard recently, and i just thought.. maybe you’d like to go for a walk, or maybe watch some telly?”
“a break?” y/n’s eyebrows furrowed together and they turned to look at steven, “from what? i’ve been barely doing anything?”
at this point their demeanour had switched from anxious to confused and angry, not steven, but at themself.
“what?” steven was shocked, “barely doing anything? have you lost your bloody mind? sorry, sorry, i didn’t mean that like that, you’ve just.. you’ve been so busy, you need a break, just come sit with me?”
“i can’t, i have to get this work done, jim, harry, kerri and lisa all expect this done by tomorrow, i can’t let them down, i’m not even working as much as i should, steven!” y/n huffed, frustrated at themself and the fact they weren’t doing as much as they thought they should.
“love, would you just listen? please, just relax for a sec-“ before steven could utter another word, y/n’s head snapped in his direction and they felt something inside them snap.
“relax?!” y/n raised their voice, “i can’t relax, steven! i have to get this work done, i have to keep working, i have to keep taking people’s work to do, i have to keep doing favours for people, i have to keep working! if i don’t, i’ll lose my job, people won’t like me, they would’ve been right all along and i can’t give them the satisfaction!!”
y/n didn’t wait for a reply, before they went back to the chair and sat down, getting right back to work.
“y’know, if people don’t like you if you’re not doing favours for ‘em, they probably aren’t good people,” marc leaned against the doorframe, staring at the back of y/n’s head.
“hi, marc.” y/n ignored his statement and continued to type.
“who’s ‘them’, you said ‘they would’ve been right all along’.” marc questioned, knowing steven probably would’ve ignored their outburst and left them to work themself to death, since steven wasn’t the most confrontational guy.
“the people at work,” y/n scoffed.
“yeah, no, we both know that’s bullshit, so are you gonna be honest with me, or are you gonna keep yelling at steven.” marc crossed his arms over his chest, his back against a wall now.
“hey, listen, i really appreciate it if you want to help, or whatever this is supposed to be, but i have work to do, i don’t care if you think what i said was bullshit, but i am sorry for yelling at steven, i shouldn’t have done that.” y/n sighed, turning around on the chair to look at marc.
“working yourself to death won’t get rid of your problems.”
“yeah? well, it’s been doing a pretty damn good job, thanks.” y/n mirrored his body language, crossing their arms.
“who’s ‘them’?” he asked again, his tone more stern than before.
“i already told you-“
“don’t give me that bullshit, who’s ‘them’.”
“i already told you, marc!” y/n yelled, not liking how easily that the man could see through them, despite only speaking to him very rarely.
“who’s. them.” he repeated slowly, but just as sternly as before. y/n froze and their eyes darted around the room quickly, almost as if checking they were still in the same place as they had been the whole evening, “y/n, you gotta tell me, who’s th-“
“stop!! stop asking! stop asking questions! stop! i can’t tell you! i can’t tell you! they can’t win! they can’t be right!” y/n yelled, their hands wrapping around their body tightly, almost too tightly. they stared at the ground, their breath getting quicker.
“nothing’s ever good enough! i’m not good enough! i’m nothing! i’ll always be nothing! i don’t deserve to have a break! i don’t deserve anything!” y/n yelled, their voice cracking as tears threatened to spill from their eyes.
“hey, hey, you’re safe, you’re okay,” marc rushed over to y/n and sat in front of them on the ground, “they can’t hurt you, you’re safe.”
“i know they are watching me! just laughing at how much of a pathetic disgrace i am to them!” y/n’s hands went up to their face to cover their eyes with the palms of their hands, “everyone else is always lying to me! they are the only ones that have told me the truth!”
“you are not a pathetic disgrace, not one bit, i want to help you, steven wants to help you, but we can’t help you, if you don’t talk to us, okay?” marc had his hands on y/n’s knees, not getting too close that they would freak out, but not too far that y/n would feel alone. he already had a slight idea about who ‘they’ were, but he needed to hear it.
“i- no- i can’t, please- just, please just leave and let me work, i’ve already lost so much time, please.” y/n begged.
“y/n, calm down, okay? i’m sorry, but working is the last thing you need right now.”
“you don’t.. you don’t understand, i need to work,” y/n sobbed.
“explain why then, just tell me why you need to work and i’ll leave you alone, i just want a real reason, no lies.” marc put his hands up to show he was being truthful. y/n’s arms dropped to their lap
“my.. no, i’m sorry- i’m not doing this.”
“take your time, can’t give me a real reason if you don’t think about it first, right?” he raised an eyebrow at them and they sighed.
“my parents, they.. they um, i have- fuck!” y/n leaned their head back to look at the ceiling contemplating whether to open up, or just continue to stare at the ceiling. it took a few minutes for y/n to speak again, but marc understood, “my parents … they um..were never good parents.”
marc hummed, trying to get them to continue.
“they weren’t even good people, i wouldn’t say they abused me, because they didn’t? i mean, they never hurt me… no.. they did, but not like.. it was- y’know.. i deserved it,” y/n paused taking a shaky breath, unsure of what they were saying, “they would just.. always bully me. tell me how awful i am, which fuck, i don’t need someone to tell me that i already know it, i already knew it as a child! i’d be berated about every grade i got, every piece of clothing i wore, every word i fucking said! everything! everything was never good enough for them!”
“y/n..” marc spoke in a low, but calm, tone, not wanting to panic them, or stress them out more than he did already. y/n looked down from the ceiling and looked into his eyes, “i need you to listen to me, okay?”
“.. okay.”
“your parents…” he sighed, “everything that they did, everything they said, that was abuse.”
marc’s words hit them right in the chest.
“i can’t breathe.” y/n spoke abruptly and shakily, their eyes wide with fear and begging for some kind of help.
“hey, you’re okay, you’re with me, look at me, you’re fine,” marc was knelt in front of y/n, his hands on their knees gently, not wanting to suffocate them, “okay we’re going to take some deep breaths together, i’m right here okay, you’re safe, nothing is going to happen to you.”
“okay- okay, okay i can breathe- i can-“ y/n’s speech coming out a lot quicker than they would have liked. every breath they took wasn’t enough. it felt as if the oxygen in the room had decreased and they were suffocating.
“okay, good now breathe with me, okay? in… one two three four, hold one two three four and breathe out, one two three four, that was good, you’re doing good, let’s do it again, in.. one two three four, hold one two three four and breathe out one two three four… okay, isn’t that better and now keep doing that, but i’m going to ask you some questions and you can take as long as you want answering them, is that okay?” marc spoke firmly, yet as gently as he could. there was an unspoken sense of understanding between the two. marc had been in y/n’s one too many times to not know how to deal with a panic attack.
“that’s.. that’s okay..” y/n’s voice had become hoarse and scratchy, but their breathing more even and controlled.
“can you name five things that you can see in the apartment right now?”
y/n chewed on their cheek, a nervous habit, but did their best to look around the flat they shared with steven, “you.. uhm… steven’s poetry books, uh.. the paperweight he stole from work by accident.. uhm..”
“it’s okay, take your time.”
“gus and.. the lights? is that five?”
“good job, you did good,” marc smiled to affirm his words were genuine, “do you need to talk?”
“probably… i don’t want to just.. dump stuff on you like that though, i’ve really ruined your evening, huh?” y/n gave a weak laugh, trying to lighten the mood.
they’re wrong, you’re perfectly capable of ruining the evening by yourself, marc.
“thanks steven.”
“what’d he say?” y/n’s lips twitched into a smile, or at least an attempt to smile at the mention of their boyfriend.
“he said you haven’t ruined anything and that i’m capable of ruining an evening by myself.” marc scoffed lightheartedly, knowing it would put a smile on their face.
“steven… c’mon..” y/n attempted to defend marc, but their laughter overpowered their ability to speak. marc was very easy to spot when he was fronting, a glass of whisky always nearby him and an unamused expression across his face, opposed to steven’s meek smile.
“oh wow, both of you?” marc shook his head, but knew it was all in good nature.
“sorry, sorry,” y/n wiped their eyes and nose, “thank you, both of you.. i really can’t say how grateful i am for your help.”
“you might not be ready to talk about it, that’s fine, but steven and i are always here to listen, no matter how much i ruin evenings.” marc joked, knowing that what y/n needed was for things to be as normal as they could. well, marc making jokes was already a foreign experience, but y/n nevertheless appreciated his effort, seeing as marc wasn’t very present in y/n’s day to day life. y/n laughed again, knowing there was truth behind what he had said.
“steven wants to front now, is that okay?” marc asked softly.
the guilt of yelling at steven rose in y/n’s chest, but they nodded, wanting to apologise to their boyfriend. y/n stayed quiet and still, allowing marc and steven to switch.
“y/n!” steven instantly wrapped his arm’s around y/n’s waist holding them as tightly as he could. well, obviously not too tight.
“steven… i’m so so so sorry for yelling at you, i’m so sorry,” y/n leaned down, pressing kisses against his curls.
“darling, you don’t have to apologise for anything, promise! i’m okay, see!” he leaned away , grinning widely at them, “nothing old steven here can’t handle!”
“i’m still so sorry, i promise i’ll never take my anger out on you again, that was unfair for me to do and i promise i’ll try to not work so much.” y/n started to tear up again.
“love, i promise i’m fine, you did nothing wrong, everyone has their moments, hell if i worked as hard as you did, i’d probably be a full blown nutter by now!” steven laughed, reaching up to wipe away the tears from y/n’s cheeks, “i truly admire you like the stars in the sky, you work so hard and i really admire that about you! but you need to give yourself a break sometimes, yeah?”
“i know, i’ll try, i promise.”
“i know you will,” steven smiled, looking at y/n as if they had hung the stars in the sky and painted the moon across the canvass of indigo, “how about.. i get you some water and you go get changed into some jammies, yeah? that sound good?”
“sounds like a plan.” y/n pressed a kiss against his forehead.
#moonknight#moonknight x reader#steven grant x reader#marc spector x reader#steven grant x reader fluff#steven grant x gn!reader#steven grant#marc spector x reader fluff#marc spector x gn!reader#moonknight x gn!reader#big hurt comfort#this one is a rough one
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Missed drawing these two too
Bonuses
#rendoc#still thinking about them a lot#always#hermitshipping#sorry for the weird empty area in the first one. It was my attempt to make it take up less of people's timelines#this art is so embarrassing lol but man I like when Doc's drawn as a big goat man I have no defense I plead the fifth#or well at least it becomes embarrassing when its. shippy#whatever Tumblr people are usually cool so here goes!!#I am 99% a fluff and hurt/comfort person. Idc how frisky these guys get in fanon all I can ever think of is fluff sorry#Also contemplated implementing Doc's accent into the dialogue but I am forever paranoid of offending someone lol#idk how to write accents etc but you guys will make it sound fine in your heads I'm sure#hermitblr#tubby art
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an eternity, my love
eep! this is a bit longer than the last at just over 6k forgive me... but thank so much for all love on the first piece 🥹 and thank u for all your lovely ideas! i hope this does sum justice to the nonnie who asked for further miscommuncation... <3 part one here but u don’t need to read it to read this :)
How does one even begin to decide what to wear to dinner with a person, the person, who matched your soul perfectly?
When your friend had hunted her way through clothing stores of Velaris and stashed away a custom dress — far fancier than anything you owned — for the first date with her mate, you had laughed at her.
Now, staring at your closet in only your undergarments, you were beginning to envy her preparation.
Seriously, how are you supposed to choose?
You pick up your latest addition to your closet, a glossy dress the colour of red wine that reveals the length of your legs and planes of your collarbones— perfect for a night out dancing.
With a grimace, you place it back on the hanger. It was far more scandalous than you would want to be on a first date, even though — well, you’re sure that, being mates, Azriel would like anything you wore.
You heave a sigh. An uneasy prickle beneath your skin has you crossing your arms; it was almost alarming how badly you wanted to impress him. But… mating bonds were rare and powerful.
Almost as if you had summoned it — in fact, maybe you had — there’s a soft shimmer in your chest. Your beautiful glow, the bridge between you and Azriel humming to life. In a way you can’t explain, it’s as though you can feel him soothe across your mind, his soft touch full of assurances.
He’s comforting you. All your emotions must be shooting down the bond without your permission. Gods, that would take some getting used to. You wonder if he can feel your resounding pang of embarrassment as well.
You do your best to push back something less nervous, more of your excitement for the night to come — and you know, without even seeing him, he’s smiling.
After another moment of fussing, you decide on something simpler than your glossy night dress.
Comfortable black slacks with plenty of flow to them and a shirt you thought was one of your nicer ones. With the slightest touch ups to your makeup, you rush yourself out the door before you convince yourself to change all over again.
The Sidra keeps you company, a rush of water beside you as you wind through the streets of Velaris, eyes flicking up to take in the darkening sky. The sun was sinking below the mountain tops, rays tickling across the ridges.
And while you could admit that Velaris was very beautiful in the daytime, you were a true Night court citizen— and believed its true beauty came out at night.
Somehow, despite the lack of concrete plans made as you had ushered the male out of your office, you knew resolutely that you would be able to find him. You weren’t even worried about the timing of it all. It was… what was the word? Absurd. Insane. Utterly, breathtakingly incredible.
Sure enough, as you exit the alley and round the corner, your eyes falling on the sage green building you reside in for work, there he is; waiting for you.
You inhale a sharp breath. A thousand cells in your body fizz, hum, and glow, at the mere sight of him.
It's easy to understand just how he had garnered his dark reputation, the image of him every bit of the Spymaster of the Night Court — a title like Shadowsinger has never been so fitting for him.
He’s blurred at the edges, a thousand tiny wisps that blend him into the shadows of the nighttime. His wings stretch up behind, towering over his already tall frame, black as ink, and beneath his darkened attire, you can spot his tan skin. Your eyes drag up his neck, tracing his adam's apple, along the scruff of his sharp jaw until you reach his hazel eyes.
Your heart burns.
In the depth of it, you know, if he doesn't love you, he will undo you completely.
It's wholly terrifying to come face to face with — the intensity of the mating bond scorching through your mind like a fierce wind, burning embers left in its wake.
It's enough to make you pause, the definitive thought that doing this, offering him your heart and trusting him, could very well lead to your ruin.
Your chest squeezes tightly. You let your eyes drink in the Illyrian, the Male who waited so patiently for all those years and was prepared to wait years more, if you had asked.
Focusing, you pluck up that golden thread in your chest and hold it tightly. It heats and melts, hotter and hotter, and you know that any fear you have, you can conquer to be with him.
Ruination be damned.
—
Azriel notices you the moment your frame exits the alley, notices the moment you pause — has been able to feel you drawing nearer to him this whole time. Your every emotion is transparent to him through the bond between you, whether you’re aware of it or not.
You must not have the tightened mental shields he had come to be so familiar with over all his years. It makes sense; you are no warrior. Mental walls over your mind are not something you have ever had to concern yourself with.
Azriel vows it to be one of the things he teaches you. You deserved the privacy of your emotions, at the very least.
But... for now, Azriel can feel them all. It's why, as you round the corner, Azriel can feel your eyes on him and then, then he feels it.
The wash of fear that spills over your bond like icy water.
An old enemy rises within him. He grits his teeth, even as he feels the fear from you slide away and he tries to ignore the sting from an unhealed wound. But self-deprecation never seems to drown, no matter how much he tries to suffocate it within him.
He shifts his hands, relieved suddenly to have them covered up beneath gloves. His wings tuck in tighter, if possible, and he wills his shadows sternly to contain themselves. Something in the slightest baring of his teeth has them obeying. They shoot to his sides and make themselves scarce.
All this in time to greet you pleasantly as you bounce into view, sidling up before him with a shy grin. It's only been a few hours since he got his proper look at you and yet, you're every bit as breathtaking as you were earlier. More so, in fact.
It feels as though Azriel has never seen the sky before and you before him, are the first sunset of his life. You look so pretty that Azriel could probably gaze at you all evening if you so allowed him to.
And then, he remembers the pang of fear.
He doesn't waste time mulling over which detail of him had made you afraid — only that he would dim or change or hide any part of himself to stop it from happening again.
"Hello, again," You say, your lips pressed together to contain your smile. You have to tilt your head back to look up at his handsome face. His shadows swirl around him and despite his strict instructions, one still slips away to touch you.
You don't notice it circling your ankle, tentative and shy.
"Hello, again." Azriel echoes your words, unable to help his own glimmer of joy.
He wants to offer you his arm, his hand. Can feel it within him, down to the very marrow of his bones, the craving to be closer to you, to touch you, however he can.
Azriel swallows heavily and does what he has done over decades, over centuries; he takes the wanting and pushes it down, down, down.
The two of you begin to walk, side by side, with no destination in mind. Aimless and content at the same time.
Azriel doesn't need the bond to see the flittering of nerves hidden in your expression. The shadow still circulating around your ankle climbs higher, like it wants to comfort you too.
Azriel wills it to still, desperate to not scare you again. He drops his shoulders from his usual warrior posture in hopes of making himself a little smaller.
“You don’t need to be nervous.” He says reassuringly.
You steal a glimpse at him, your smile breaking into a grin. Your nerves are still potent but less so.
“Who says I’m nervous?”
Azriel smiles gently, his eyes dancing across your face as he reads your lie easily. “I do."
There's a scrunch between your eyebrows then, like he had seen during his time in your office earlier. Azriel places a hand on his chest, over the place where the glowing tug is strongest.
"I can feel it.”
Your eyes widen slightly as you stare at his gloved hand, the cogs in your brain spinning and turning at a rapid rate. Still strolling, your hand rises slowly and touches to the same spot on your own chest. Azriel can feel his heart stutter at the sight, you holding the spot that connected you to him undeniably.
"You can?" Your gaze lifts to his face, puzzlement adorning your features. You frown and focus for a moment, staring hard into the distance — and Azriel feels a sudden twinge of disgust through the thread.
"Did you feel that?" You ask, eyes wide and curious.
Azriel nods wordlessly and he can't help but ask. "What is it you were thinking of?"
You look embarrassed for a moment, eyes averting to the ground. You chuckle awkwardly and tuck your hair behind your ears, glancing back up at the Male with a sheepish smile.
"Brussels sprouts."
Azriel blinks once, twice, and then has to turn to hide his smile. He tries to cover his laugh with a cough. It doesn't work, given how you make a small noise of indignation. He turns back, his politest expression on.
"Don't laugh at me!" You whine, reaching out to poke him in the shoulder. Your touch radiates through his body like a drop of golden sun, blazing warm.
"You're right," Azriel hums, his lips twitching as he presses back his smile. "My apologies, my lady. This is important knowledge I should be filing away. I swear on my life I will feed you no brussels sprouts this evening, or any in the future."
He wants to nudge your shoulder with his own, just to touch you, wants to reach out as easily as you had. But his shadows slip before his self-control does, skittering out along onto your shoulder and giving you a small shock and Azriel remembers himself. His fists clench tightly at his sides.
You walk side by side all evening, like two planets in orbit — close, oh so close, but never quite touching.
—
The first date you share is nothing short of… wonderful.
Resolutely and overwhelming good, the entire date you can't help but feel as though your very soul is singing, a thousand particles blithesome at the nearness you get to share with Azriel. He's surprising in a manner of ways.
Firstly, he's terribly quiet.
Next to him, you look quite the blabber-mouth, no matter how much he insists he enjoys it. His dark eyes are intense as they watch you closely, soaking in every word that passes your lips, and yet, beneath it, his dry sense of humour comes out to play. There's the occasional tease, almost as if just to see if he could make you flustered. (He could, easily).
With a Male as beautiful as him, suited to your very being in every way, it's nearly unbearable how much you ache for him. How much his very attention creeps down your neck and makes every nerve along your spine tingle.
You know it will take some time to get used to his unwavering and devoted attention.
There’s… just one small, itty-bitty, tiny problem.
He doesn’t touch you.
Throughout that whole first evening, you had noticed it somewhat— a flex in his gloved hands, a moment where his wing strayed too close only to be pulled back in a flash, even his shadows, darting out to be near you but never quite touching you as they had on that first meeting.
His hands reach out but they do not find you.
At first, you believed it was a first date thing. Azriel was, first and foremost, a gentleman, and you thought perhaps, his skirting touch, like his hand lingering over the small of your back but not touching it, was to be polite. Courteous and gracious.
Then, you had seen him just two days after that date, all bundled up in your giddiness that it had managed to slip your mind.
The two of you had spent the day together, traversing through the market — before you quickly found a quieter space for your mate as it became clear that large bustling areas, such as the Palace of Threads and Jewels, were not so suited to his tastes.
As you had tugged him out of the crowd, laughing over your shoulder at how he fought to keep his broad wings from knocking into anyone else, the thought suddenly snapped back into you.
Though you yearned to link his arm with your own, to interlace your fingers with his, you remembered his hesitance. Remembered the hover of his gloved hand.
And so, you dropped his arm the moment you cleared the crowd.
A hurt warbled deep within you to so do and knowing you were not the deftest at schooling your expressions, you hid your face so you could contain your childish reactions. You huffed at your own upset. What matter is it if your mate has no affinity to touch?
Truly, it was a miracle to have found a mate at all, you tried to scold yourself. You would not take him for granted for a moment, not even if it was not quite the picture of perfection you had envisioned.
Rooted deep in you was a truth; you could abide by this, abstain to his level of comfort for years, for millennia, if it made him happier.
The fabric of the mating bond, connecting the two of you intrinsically, made it so you would not want it any other way.
It's a decidedly Azriel thing.
He always wears the gloves, he never touches you more than he has to, and he's got... this really specific look when you're doing a terrible job of hiding your emotions.
As he had vowed, Azriel had set about teaching you how to build the mental walls up within your mind, brick by brick by brick. While it would help you hold against daemati if that loathsome situation should ever arise, it would also shield you from your mate.
It would protect you from having your emotions ripped out for him to see, no matter how much you held back — if it was in your mind, it would travel down the bond.
So, the wall had to be built. It had been tedious, tricky, and tiring work. Yet every time you would feel yourself ready to throw in the towel, Azriel would lean in closer, his hazel eyes softened, and his hand resting upon your arm, thumb swatching up and down, to encourage you.
"I know it is tiresome," He had mused, that faint smile twitching at his lips as you scowled at the ground. His thumb was still moving, still drawing light circles on your bicep. The skin beneath it blazed with warmth. "But it is worth it, that I can promise. You deserve this privacy, my dear. I would never wish to take it from you."
My dear, my dear, my dear— the words had sunk into your sternum and bloomed, bright and golden.
It's enough to hold onto, his kind affections. The sweet shape of his mouth when it says your name. The way his lashes kiss in the corner when he can't hold back his smile.
It's enough to soothe yourself over. To take the lack of touch on the chin and swallow down your desire for more.
It's why— why you can't help yourself— why you couldn't tear your eyes away from Azriel's hand where it touches Cassian's arm.
You're meeting his family today, which you've quickly realised doesn't mean his mother or father but instead means... the literal Highlord of the Night Court.
There are several warriors crowded around the cramped entrance room to the River House. Each of them is taller than you, and two of them with the very same huge wingspans that you've come to revere on your own mate.
Your usual talkativeness has been dimmed in your shock, though, really, it shouldn't be such a surprise. Azriel is a force to be reckoned with, honed over decades, and the Spymaster of the Night Court. You know these things. The company he keeps makes sense.
Somehow... still, seeing them all together leaves you strikingly speechless. The legion that protects your home — a family.
Rhysand greets you first, dapper in his dark attire, his violet eyes equal parts calculating and welcoming as he steps forward and offers his hand.
Despite the fact you have never bowed to him before, you still have to repress the urge. His power is overwhelming, the very night lapping at his edges and you're suddenly very grateful to be meeting him as a friend and not as a foe.
"It's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand's voice purrs out, soft as silk. When you place your hand in his, he brings it to his lips and presses a polite kiss to the back of your hand.
"Any friend of Azriel's is a friend of mine."
You can feel your own heart thundering in your chest. Azriel hovers behind you, his presence soothing in itself. You can't see it but his wings are outstretched towards you, cocooning around you ever so slightly. A shadow hovers behind your shoulder, just out of sight.
"I— the pleasure is mine, my Highlord." You manage to make yourself speak.
You almost wish you hadn't when your words inspire a burst of laughter from one of the others behind Rhysand, the other Illyrian. He's tall, his hair dark but longer than your mate's own.
As your hand is dropped, Rhysand turns to scowl at the Male laughing, and you only grow further perplexed when he gives a whack against the other's shoulder. They begin to squabble for a moment — and you don't even hear Azriel move until he's speaking, his lips right by your ear.
"You'll have to forgive Cassian." His voice is low, raspy in a way that sends a zing down your spine. You shiver lightly. "He can be well-mannered at the best of times. But I promise he isn't laughing at you."
The two Males seem to tune back into Azriel's words, even though they had been whispered for you specifically.
"It's true!" The Illyrian, Cassian you now know, pipes up. He brandishes a devilishly handsome grin at you, with his hands held up in defense. "I apologise. It just still makes me laugh to see someone address this one so formally."
You blink. "But... he is the Highlord."
Azriel speaks again, bent over still to talk in your ear, but much less of a whisper this time. "Rhys is our Highlord but he does not bother with such formalities."
"And," Cassian interjects, lugging a punch into Rhy's shoulder, much like the other had done to him not a moment before. "Before he was the o'mighty Highlord, he was our friend."
Cassian says the word o'mighty with such an air of sarcasm that you can't help but glance at Rhys, sure he wouldn't take such disrespect. But around you, there are only easy grins.
"Might we move to somewhere more comfortable than the doorway," Azriel speaks up from behind you, his voice dry. "Unless that is, you're all hoping to do one-on-one greetings with her?"
There it is, the dry sense of humour you've come to adore. The group before you seems to grumble, as if they were quite keen on the one-on-one meetings but begin to move through the house.
One of the group dips back to walk beside you and you do your best not to repeat your past mistakes, even as your eyes widen almost comically. Azriel chuckles silently to himself, feeling your polite astonishment down the bond.
"It's so great to finally meet you.” Feyre, your Highlady greets you, her pretty face rife with glee. She seems genuinely very happy to make your acquaintance. "Azriel has told me all about you."
You stumble in surprise, your eyes casting back to Azriel behind the pair of you. His eyes are fixed on Feyre, narrowed at her blatant betrayal, his shadows swirling around him. She sticks her tongue out at him playfully and you smother a laugh.
When his eyes shift over to you, you're positively delighted at how his cheeks have turned the lightest shade of ruby.
"Feyre is very persuasive when she wants to be." He murmurs, almost grumbling. You turn back to the Highlady and she grins at you, devious and captivating all at once.
It’s a whirlwind once you reach one of the many living rooms, each member of Azriel’s family all very eager to shake your hand.
Cassian grips it firm, his grin still on the side of wicked as he tells you he’s been waiting years to find the woman who could contain Azriel. Nesta, his mate as you find out, is a fierce kind of pretty with a grip as strong as Cassian’s. She tells you welcome to the family with the smile of a shark.
Morrigon is next, breathtakingly gorgeous, and every bit as charismatic as Azriel had described. You don't catch the glimpse between Mor and Cassian, not the beat of relief they both feel at your arrival in their lives— in Azriel's life.
It's swallowed up in her words, going a mile a minute. She jumps about, like popcorn in a pan, overly keen to finally speak to the one whom the Mother deemed worthy of Azriel’s heart. Where are you from? What do you do? How did you meet?
“Mor,” Azriel warns, after her twelfth consecutive question about your life. He hasn’t moved from his protective position behind you, close enough you can feel the heat of his body. His wings had brushed your shoulder just once.
“Yeah, Mor,” Rhys jeers. He nudges his cousin in the side playfully and Cassian snickers behind the group. “Give the girl some time to breathe.”
Even with all of Azriel's masterclass on who you would be meeting, it's still terribly overwhelming just trying to keep track of them all. They're each such strong spirits, each with seemingly a thousand battles in their past and far more years with Azriel.
On top of this is the fact you met both your Highlord and Highlady so casually in one single afternoon. It's difficult to not be daunted by the group that is so clearly intertwined with each other on a deeper level altogether— bonded by devastation and choosing each other through love.
Try as you might, you can feel the seed of doubt, of insecurity, make a home between your ribs.
You clamp down the shields you've spent the last few weeks learning, building the wall up and holding it tight. It's silly to feel dismayed because these Fae, these friends, know your mate better than you do.
Azriel had told you he had been waiting for you for five hundred years. For the first time since you've met him, you wonder if he was ever disappointed.
And then— then, you see it.
Azriel's hand on Cassian's arm. Then the half embrace they share, a hand on each other's neck as Cassian grins, wild and fierce, and presses his forehead against Azriel's own; brothers, sharing a moment of euphoria at the other finding his long-deserved happiness.
You should be soaking in the smile Azriel hides from you too often, showing his teeth and crinkling his eyes. But instead, you can't see past it, can't stop the loop in your own mind as it prints a fact over and over and over.
It isn't an Azriel thing; it's a you thing.
He doesn't touch you.
The mental walls in your mind feel paper-thin as a fresh kind of agony ripples through your chest. The soft rejection of a mate stings, a papercut on your very heart. You can feel it warble through you and know, terribly, the exact moment that Azriel feels it too.
His head whips around, his dark shadows that surround him suddenly spinning and flitting faster than before— a couple dive across the room to you.
You stand up and the chair scrapes noisily beneath you.
"I—" You say before you realise you haven't planned an exit or an excuse in the slightest. Azriel's gaze burns into you. You turn to Feyre instead, who had been talking across from you when you rudely stood up.
"I'm so sorry, I just—" Some excuse, any excuse! "I think I— left the stove on."
It's a lie. A complete utter lie that fools no one in the room as you retreat from it hastily. None of them try to stop you though, which you're thankful for. Each of them watches, every expression slightly concerned as you hurry out of the room, your feet walking backward rapidly until you bump into the door frame.
You pass through it with your eyes on the floor, knowing that all of the eyes are on you. You know the ones you can feel searing into your soul are Azriel's.
You leave the River House. You walk along the Sidra, your steps hurried and your chin tucked low. It hurts. It hurts the feeling inside you. A tear streaks down your cheek, unbidden, and collects on your jaw. You wipe it away meanly.
The sight of your apartment door is an overwhelming comfort, one that has you sighing aloud as you rush up to it, your fingers already digging around in your pockets for your key.
And like always, you never hear him coming.
"What happened?" Azriel asks, his voice almost pained.
You give a little yelp of surprise and whip around, remembering half a second later that there's still evidence on your face of your tears. Azriel grows characteristically still, his hazel eyes fixed on yours as you sniffle for a moment, aggravation beginning to creep in.
He could feel everything from you and you got... what? Whatever he deemed fit to offer? How is that fair?
His usually wispy shadows are inkier than usual, almost tornado-ing around his shoulders. They keep leaping out towards you before being caught in an invisible net, a barrier between you and them.
Even as Azriel remains motionless, his eyes are the opposite—they jump around, searching, hunting, begging to find the cause of your pain. Had it been one of his friends?
"Please," He tries his words again.
His heart throbs painfully when you finally find your key and turn your back on him without a word, unlocking your door and pressing your way inside. He follows quickly, wings tucked in tight, unable to keep his shadows at his side this time. They whiz to you, circling your ankles protectively.
"Please," Azriel says, an anguished growl to his words. "What hurt you? I will— my friends, if they said something— if it was someone, I hunt them down and make it right for you."
You inhale sharply and when you speak, your tone is cold in a way you have never used before with Azriel. You say the words without thinking.
"It would be impossible to hunt yourself, Azriel."
Regret howls through you like a hurricane the moment you say the words. You don't mean to be mean, jealous, or whatever unseemly emotion you can't stop from sprouting in your chest, growing in size, tangling into your heartstrings like twisted gnarled vines. It hurts.
You turn back to him, mouth open. No words come out.
Hurt is slashed across his face, his eyebrows furrowed tightly, his shadows tucked in tight. It's as though he's blended into the very air, the wispy edge of him threatening to retreat into his own shadows.
All his emotions on display just for a moment, before they're schooled away. Tucked away, hidden, not for you to see.
Inside, your hurricane howls again, this time in pain.
You can tell he feels it, even as you mentally gather your bricks. It isn't fair. How can he have every bit of you and you get what he pleases to return?
You want to know him completely, want to see every part of his rugged, weathered soul, and love him anyway. It's an untold type of agony to have him deny you.
"My love," His feet finally move, his wings almost dragging on the floor as he steps forward, slowly, as though he was afraid he might spook you.
"Tell me how to fix this pain." He pleads. His gloved hands are held out, palms up and suddenly, he looks nothing like a warrior. Just a Male, afraid of losing what is most dear to him. You shake your head, like a child, and keep building your brick wall.
"Please don’t keep this from me," He takes another step forward, his shadows sent awry as they dart across to you. You can feel them on your calves, on your arms, feel the tiny kisses they leave. Azriel speaks again, voice low. "My love, I can feel your pain.”
You can't help how you screw your eyes closed, the ache in your chest unbearable— made worse when you know he can feel it too.
"That is my problem." You utter the words quietly, eyes still clenched shut, knowing he can hear you. He takes another step, close enough now that you can feel the heat of his enormous frame, his wings bracketing around you. "I cannot hide anything from you."
Azriel makes a noise, a punched-out wounded sound that reverberates down the bond.
"My love," He murmurs for the third time. Down the bond, you can feel his sweet love, his golden gentle feelings travelling along to assure you. "I would not wish for you to hide anything from me."
“But you hide everything from me." You whine, eyes finally crinkling open. Azriel stares down at you, his eyes softer than they've ever been. You can see the hurt swimming in them, the hurt you've caused. Still, you speak.
"You hide your emotions. You hide your touch, yet you give it willingly to your friends." You share each ugly thought with him, whispered as you gaze into his face to search for your answers.
Lifting your hands, you curl your fingers around his wrists tentatively. Azriel swallows heavily, his eyes dancing down to where you're touching him. You slide your hands forward, dragging the pads of your fingers over his pulse, along his palm, til your hands are holding his gloved ones.
"Is there some test I don't know about?" You ask, your focus on your intertwined hands. "Is there— do I have to earn this?"
"No," Azriel chokes out the word suddenly. You look up at him. He clears his throat and you feel his hands grip yours back, surer and stronger than you had. "No, I'm sorry. There is no test, nothing to prove you deserving of this. I just..."
His words trail off and you watch as he closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, as if gathering his courage. His hands slide from yours, pulled backward and you nearly feel the urge to cry once more— before you realise he's removing his gloves.
The skin of them is warped, you realise acutely with horror. The skin of his hands is swirled and mottled, an injury long healed but scarred for eternity. Azriel is watching your face closely, holding his hands close to his chest as though he was prepared to hide them away at the first flicker of fear.
You're grateful for the link between and all your shoddy attempts at blocking him out. Your love and your unwavering devotion drifts along the bond.
Azriel shudders, his wings giving the tiniest shiver. Slowly, gently, he reaches out towards you. You feel his hands, the unruly scarred feel of his skin sliding along your jaw to hold it tenderly. He has never held you like this before.
He cradles your face gently — like his hands have never held weapons of war, like they aren't twisted and marred with a memory he can't forget, like they're worthy of holding something so precious.
Azriel holds you as if you're holy — and he's come to kneel at your altar.
"I was afraid of what you would think." He admits. His voice is hoarse, gravelly as he fights off the lump in his throat. "I— on the first day we met, I felt your fear along the bond and—"
"It was not of you." You interrupt him, your hands jumping up to cover his own where they hold you. Azriel inhales sharply, eyes darting to watch.
But you pay him no heed, the palm of your hand covering his like a lover would. You let your thumb soothe up at down the ridges of his skin. You let your love ripple along the bond.
"It was not fear of you, Azriel." You repeat, your voice soft. His eyes are still fixed on your joined hands. His wings have begun to pick up, no longer drooping behind his back— you're not sure if he even notices.
"It was fear for how strongly I already felt for you." You lean into his hand and Azriel lets you, lets the length of your nose nuzzle into the touch of his hands — something no one in all his years of living had ever done before.
"It was fear that you already could ruin me," The words are murmured. "And that I would let you."
You whisper his name to pull his wide-eyed gaze from where his hands touch you and his hazel eyes burn into yours. Every whitened scar on his skin, every eyelash, the adorable pinch between his eyebrows; you drink it all in and smile at him. Azriel, your mate.
"Azriel, I chose this despite that fear. I choose you.”
Azriel quivers at the words, at your unflinching tone and suddenly the world seems such a perfect place, time moving around you, untouching, with such a perfect grace.
“I choose you too,” He murmurs, an emotion so strong a fire of possessiveness streaks down the bond. This time, you can feel his wall melt away, allowing you access to all he feels — his mountain of fear and his melting relief.
“Forgive me—” He begins and you laugh without meaning to, cutting him off.
“Stop,” you say, the word light and as pretty as your grin. “We keep doing this to ourselves, tying ourselves in knots over and over.”
Azriel laughs, his lips twitching into a smile as he allows himself to stroke his thumb lovingly over your cheek. The way you melt beneath it, your lashes fluttering and heart burning so brightly he can feel it in his own chest too— Azriel knows this longing will long outlive his body.
“We do,” He agrees. He dips his head a little lower, probably the only apology you’ll let him have, and inhales shakily. His hands shift across your face, down to hold your chin, his fingers pressed together tightly to hide the way they quiver.
“Then let me apologise in another way,” He murmurs, his voice closer to playful. “In a way I’ve been selfishly depriving you of.”
And when he kisses you, it’s with a reverence that softens all your corners.
His lips are plush and sweet, and with the way he dedicates himself to your bottom lip, you can’t help how you sigh into his mouth. He finds home in the curve of your mouth.
It’s delirious the way he kisses once, twice, three times like he’s hungry for something found only in your lips.
Your hands stagger forward, leaving his own to wind over around his neck. Your fingers curl up, raking through the hair on the nape of his neck — feeling the shiver that travels up his spine, his wings giving a little flare out.
He kisses you breathless, one hand abandoning your jaw to wrap snugly around your waist, bringing you closer to him.
When he pulls back, something within you glows molten gold at the panting that leaves his lips. He’s gazing at you, his hazel eyes alight in a way you haven’t quite seen before. His wings shift behind his shoulders, curling forward to wrap the two of you together, not quite touching.
Your heart thrills. You grin, your lips still just an inch apart as Azriel nudges forward, his own twitching in that way when he fights his smile. His lips brush yours, his smile barely held back.
“Have you forgiven me yet?” He says, sweet and low, allowing the smile to finally pull his pretty mouth up at the corners.
“Or should I make it up to you a little more?”
He kisses the corner of your mouth, chaste and gentle.
“Mmm,” your eyes are bright as they peer up at him, full of playful mirth and adoring affection. “You're forgiven but... I think you should make it up to me, just a little more.”
Azriel willingly obliges, his smile as sweet as the moonlight.
—
some people i thought might want to be tagged :)
@strangerstilinski @astoriaviviane @lana08 @florence-end @lportes-22 @torrick17 @florencemtrash @sidthedollface2 @seafrost-fangirl @goldenmagnolias @jeweline16 @meshellexplosionmurder @michellexgriffey @susiekern @toobsessedsstuff @fxckmiup @littlebookbengal @elenapril0502 @glitterypirateduck @hnyclover @technoelfie @itsapunklife @coffeecares
#it got very long... i'm sorry!#we can't talk about bad miscommunication and then me not set up valid reasons for miscommunication tho#i can't DO IT#azriel a big softie in this one...#i mean he always is :)#azriel#azriel shadowsinger#azriel x reader#azriel shadowsinger x reader#azriel x you#azriel fanfic#azriel acotar#acotar#acotar fanfiction#azriel hurt/comfort#miscommunication#idiots in luv <3#i need a writing tag.....
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vent/comfort art to keep myself present during ptsd flashing
#actually im not gonna queue im just gonna post it now yahoo eat well#no context to what triggered him bc i didnt want to try going into stuff like that today#maybe leo got a bit hurt/lost and raph was in a sensitive spot#u can make up uir own thing#im tireed im gonna go to bed#this is ok to reblog btw#sunset duo#big comfort... snff...#rise of the tmnt#rottmnt#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#my art#nordidia art
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Series Masterlist - Take Me Home
Pairing: Beau Arlen x F. Reader
Summary: You are another lost soul at Sunny Day Excursions. You’re aiming to settle in Helena, Montana, where Beau Arlen is the new sheriff in town. But you both have a past you’re running from.
AN: Welcome to my first ever Big Sky series! This is set towards the beginning of season 3.
Series Tags/Warnings: (**18+ only!) Angst and grief/trauma, PTSD, canon murder mystery, eventual smut.
🎵 Listen While You Read: The TMH Playlist
Chapters:
Part 1: All of Her Days
Part 2: It's Not Right, But It's Okay
Part 3: Welcome Home
Part 4: A Past & Future Thing
Part 5: Not That Simple
Part 6: A Man or a Coward
Part 7: On the Edge of a Knife
Part 8: Take Me Home
Part 9: A Choice to Make
Series complete!
Bonus One-Shots:
A Good Man Is Hard to Find**
When Beau starts pulling away from you and Emily during a very difficult case, will the pressure make or break your relationship?
A Crime of Passion**
When Beau Arlen decides to “make it up to you,” he’s damn thorough.
Ko-Fi Me ☕
Big Sky Masterlist
Main Masterlist
Series Tag List:
Comment below if you’d like to be tagged in this series!
@kazsrm67 @letheatheodore @agothwithheavysetmakeup @jacklesbrainworms @foxyjwls007 @wincastifer @iamsapphine @simpforbuckyb @roseblue373 @brianochka @branj19 @globetrotter28 @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @ades106
@charmed-asylum @waywardxwords @deanwinchestersgirl87 @this-is-me19 @rachiem4-blog @sweettimelady @leigh70 @clinicallydepresso @emily-winchester @xiphoidbones @skoveu @nyotamalfoy @kmc1989 @deans-baby-momma @tabsluvsu @samanddeaninatrenchcoat @deanwanddamons
@antisocialcorrupt @lacilou @deans-daydream @deans-spinster-witch @agalliasi @venicesem @chriszgirl92 @lyarr24 @iprobablyshipit91 @ladysparkles78 @solariklees @lostin-jensenseyes @deansbbyx @candy-coated-misery0731 @curlycarley @sarahgracej @bagpussjocken @deanfreakingwinchester @chernayawidow
#Take Me Home Masterlist#Beau Arlen series#big sky#beau arlen#beau arlen x reader#beau arlen x female reader#beau arlen x you#Beau Arlen smut#romance#hurt/comfort#fluff#jenny hoyt#denise brisbane#cassie dewell#Emily Arlen#Jensen Ackles characters#big sky season 3#zepskies writes
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When I say I want dabihawks whump, what I mean is I want Hawks to randomly FaceTime Dabi in the following scenario
Hawks: heyyyyyyyy Hot stuff
Dabi: Hawks???
Hawks: s-sorry. But I think- I think I might need some help
Dabi: Hawks??????
Hawks: ‘s jus’ a small scratch. But I can’t-
Dabi: Hawks??
Dabi: Hawks!
Dabi: Shit that’s a lot of blood
Dabi: You know bones are supposed to be inside your fucking body right?
Dabi: I’m on my way birdie, hang in there
#and then they kiss#Dabi is doing his best to fix hawks up#insert#big brother Dabi#dabi x hawks#anime#bnha#bnha hawks#incorrect bnha quotes#incorrect quotes#text post#bnha dabi#dabihawks#dabi is touya#todoroki touya#mha#keigo takami#touya x keigo#whump scenario#hurt/comfort
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this is my naruto oc age 12 and age like 15 lmao she goes through it
#naruto oc#sora#eddy's art#digital art#dont rly wanna tag this too much lmao jst wanted to share it...#i love heeer basically its naruto universe bc i love it but like no naruto characters except like important figures ig#and a war starts jst before she graduates and gets to be put in a team#THIS SPECIFIC concept is . def stolen from still waters by vulpeca_et_anser on ao3 !#amazing sakura centered fic#anyway. going to war at 12 and shes like aw yeah ! i can prove myself ! except that war isnt pretty#jst a big ol hurt no comfort for a while#and then its all about healing once she's like 16 and back and cant do anything else than fight and is put in a shinobi team#i have her two other teammates but not their leader yet...#anyway. green haired girliepop#her name is sora ! her two teammates are masao and kosuke !
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Accidentally coming out as a lesbian to your brother, Mike // Mike Schmidt x sister!reader
**not a ship**
Summary: your afraid to come out to your big brother, Mike
Warnings: fear to come out, crying,
A/N: idk, I just wanted to write abt lesbians 🤷♀️
+•°+*°•++•°+*°•+
You and Mike always had the best relationship. Especially when it came to caring for one another, you both loved each other more then life, and you felt as though you could go to him for anything.
But, you had soon developed a secret, and kept it from him, scared for his reaction.
You had liked a girl for a while now. This girl, was none other then your best friend, gf/n.
You had learned that she liked you too not to long ago. You had agreed to go out with her that evening, but what you did, maayyy have put your plans on pause.
Mike had asked you what you were gonna do this weekend, he was very obviously just lonely and wanted time with his little sister. "So, what are you doing this weekend?" He asked looking up at you from the table he was sitting at.
"I got a date with the girl i like." You gasped and covered your mouth, staring at him. He looked at you in confusion, which you misunderstood as him being upset or angry.
You ran to your room as fast as you could, locking the door behind you. You picked up the phone to call gf/n and inform her that you might have to cancel for a few days.
Once you did that, you hung up and slid down the wall, now sitting on the floor with your hands over your head, you began crying. Which turned into sobbing.
You tried to be quiet with it, but sadly, Mike heard every sob that fell from your mouth. Secretly sitting by your door.
You stayed in there the rest of the night. The next morning, he knocked on your door, you groaned while turning over. You soon realized that it was Mike who was at your door.
You quickly sat up, you stared at the door for a while, before he knocked again "y/n, get dressed. We gotta talk." and walked away.
You were very scared and nervous. You put on the first thing you saw, which was jeans and one of his hoodies that you had stole.
You walked out to see him sitting at the table, fidgeting with a pen. You took a deep breath and sat down across from him.
You eventually looked up at him, he was just looking deep into your chocolate brown eyes, for some reason, for the first time ever, you felt small under his stare.
"Y/n.." you hummed in response, feeling tears come to your eyes. "I-im not mad....i just wanna know, why didn't you tell me?"
"Cause..." you whimpered out, he gripped your hand. "Cause why, you thought id be mad?" He asked and you nodded,
"You and me have always been so close, y/n, baby, did you really think id stop loving and caring for you just because you like girls?" You let out a small sob, Mike didn't immediately go into comfort mode just yet, he wasn't finished.
"Y/n, i love you more then anything, and nothing, nothing could ever change that. I promise you that no matter what happens i will always be here for you. And i will never stop loving you. Always and forever."
You let it all out after that. You leaned into him. You snuggled into his chest, staining his white tee with your tears.
"But i am gonna need my sweatshirt back." He said playing with the loose fabric. You giggled at him, "never."
You went on your date that night, and Mike approved of gf/n, obviously.
+•°+*°•+
Tags
None :(((
#mike schmidt x sister reader#mike schmidt#mike schmidt fnaf#mike schmidt x you#mike schmidt x reader#sister reader#big brother#big brown eyes#x you fluff#hurt/comfort#x you#lesbian pride#lesbian!reader#lgbt pride#yay#josh hutcherson
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It’s been such a long day at work, now I can relax💆🏽♀️
#big t1ts#mommy milkers#sexy content#curvy and cute#daddy's good girl#bisexaul#cnc k!nk#hurt/comfort#fuck doll#use me for your pleasure
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nowhere without you
rating: t ♥️ cw: post-final battle, hurt/comfort ♥️ tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, BIG emotions, even BIGGER love, as in: soul-deep love, softness; happy endings always ♥️
for @steddielovemonth day eight: Love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him
(also probably the humble love-soaked endlessly-devoted beginnings of the rockstar!husbands in je ne regrette rien)
The weirdest part is how, in the aftermath, Eddie doesn’t speak. Like, at all.
Scratch that: it’s the weirdest and the most concerning part. Eddie makes noise, mostly pained kinda moans that make Steve’s chest clench, ache more the admittedly-decently-deep wounds slowly—but reliably, like, consistently—stitching themselves together, and Steve begs him to get looked at again, because something has to be wrong to cause those kinds of sounds but Eddie doesn’t even shake his head, doesn’t really move at all save that sometimes he trembles, and it’s…
It fucking breaks Steve’s heart.
He’s almost gotten used to stroking Eddie’s hair in silence—so wrong; worthy Eddie that’s just so wrong—and working any tangles out so, much as it’s getting a limp and greasy with days of neglect, at least it’s smooth; but he’s almost resigned to this for the long haul because he’ll weather anything he has to for Eddie and they’ll work through this, whatever this is, they’ll worth through it together and—
“How did you stand you it?”
The sound is more a scratch than anything, glass on sandpaper, and it’s down to Eddie lying where he hasn’t left for the last four, going on five days—as in, not once while Steve’s been awake has he existed without Eddie’s weight situated just so against his chest, sinuous and deliberate in where he presses against, careful as a rule of Steve’s worst injuries and delicate about how he rests against Steve’s body, but not…hesitant.
More, kinda…kinda desperate.
So it’s down to him being pressed so close and sure and unwavering that Steve feels him speak more than anything, matches the motion of his lips against Steve’s gown to words rather than the wind, or something outside his door to the halls of the hospital beyond; it’s down to the tension in the whole of him, the all-too-present shaking that Steve matches the scrape of the question to a hurt that’s…that maybe Steve doesn’t wholly understand just yet, but that really and truly does cut him deeper and closer and more critical at the core of him than the Upside Down ever could have clawed in: Eddie lives in him, nothing else can really…ever hope to be deeper.
“How are you,” Eddie rolls gravel across more words, and Steve’s missed his voice so fucking much, he didn’t realize how much until it’s here again for him to hear and hold but, Jesus fuck, it’s like…it’s like it’s drowning; like Eddie is drowning and then his breath is hitching, and oh, god, that voice is cracking around the edge of a sob, watery and wavering as he damn-near close to begs:
“How did you survive it?”
Steve feels it clench in his ribs, because he thinks he…he thinks he’s putting it together. The strain, the agony in that voice, that voice he loves so fucking much, from this man he loves with everything, but then—the way Eddie presses into him. The force, and the position, and the pattern. The way he’s been quiet, unfailing, but never…never seems distant, seems the opposite: seems focused; intent. The way Dustin had come in and caught him upon the things he’d missed in one of the almost-nonexistent windows where Eddie sleeps, hand lines alongside his sternum and head curled in the most uncomfortable pretzel Steve can imagine, forehead all scrunched and eyes squeezed shut so goddamn hard, looking like any sleep he manages is nothing close to rest by any measure: but Dustin had came in and told him Eddie was the first to him; Eddie ran faster than he’d seen a person run; Eddie’d looked devastated, broken when they’d caught up, and they’d been so afraid, feared the worst, and—
Steve’s starting to fit the pieces together. Maybe.
“No,” Eddie whines, pitchy and fervent and almost ear-splitting, like a wail of sheer gut-wrenching pain that Steve can’t find the reason for in the here and now because it’s just them in a hospital room, they’re okay, and his hand presses heavy, gentle around his wounds still, always gentle and so, so careful and Steve doesn’t know what’s caused the reaction, but then—
Then he can feel his fucking heartbeat for how hard Eddie’s pressing. It’s weird, how it makes him feel…strangely alive, the sensation of it kept and held like that, specifically in Eddie’s hand. And he’s not paying attention to the monitors really, tuned them out as quick as he could but when he listens, okay. Okay, maybe faster than normal, but Steve’s fucking worried, okay, he’s—
“Fuck, no,” Eddie moans and twists his head, no, not just his head, his ear and leans harder into Steve’s chest, his breathing shallow and Steve hates it but he doesn’t know what to do, how to help, what to fix because he’ll fix it if he knows, he’ll climb out of this bed and crawl on the goddamn floors of he has to, but he doesn’t know where to go, what to find, what demon’s left to slay—
“I’m just, I’m grateful you did,” survive, Steve survived…
He survived, like, now?
“But grateful’s such a weak word, it doesn’t,” and Steve takes a breath, and reaches, rests his hand on Eddie’s wrist just to see: his heartbeat’s somuch faster, it’s like a flutter of a flutter felt strong enough to break through skin, it catches in Steve’s heart just to touch—
“You’re so much stronger than I could ever, like,” Eddie’s going on, still breathless and fuck, Steve can see why; “fucking hope to be.”
Shit, but that’s…he wasn’t stronger, fuck, Steve wasn’t stronger than Eddie, Eddie nearly got eaten alive, Steve nearly couldn’t staunch enough of the bleeding, he almost lost—
Eddie keens, horrible and hurting and Steve stills: the monitor. The thundering of his own pulse at the memory.
How did you survive it?
Losing. Almost losing. That’s…that’s what it is.
That’s why Eddie’s pressed against his chest, his his head and his hand have been a fucking frame, goddamn, like, parentheses surrounding Steve’s beating heart, proof of life, Jesus—
“But I need to be,” Eddie’s voice is quiet, but steadier, and his chin dips like a nod to himself; “I need to learn how,” he’s firm with it; “for you.”
Oh, god. Oh…oh Eddie.
“I can’t ever lose you, Steve,” Eddie presses trembling lips to Steve’s chest and then presses close again, so close and oh: he wasn’t just intent where he’s been silent so long.
He was listening.
“Never ever,” he breathes against Steve, hot and damp; almost kinda breathless again, or still: “never ever.”
“Eds,” Steve begins, not even entirely sure where he plans to go, just knows he needs to do something, say something, but Eddie’s turning Steve’s hand in his, where he’d circled Eddie’s wrist; he’s turning it and mirroring the hold, gripping Steve’s wrist in kind.
“I couldn’t find it,” he gasps, and the sound makes the sob clear before Steve feels the wetness soak through to his skin; “I couldn’t feel it at all, you were, it,” he presses his fingers in hard, squeezes so goddamn tight, and Steve can’t…he doesn’t want to imagine what Eddie had to do, what Eddie found and felt, he doesn’t but he can, because he remembers the mirror image so stark, it took him so long because he couldn’t find a pulse either, he’d had to press on Eddie’s heart at the source and even then—
“I couldn’t feel you.”
Oh. Fuck. He—
“Oh, baby,” Steve’s elevated enough at an angle that he can at least kiss Eddie’s hair, barely brush his scalp but it’s enough, for the breath that punches from Eddie against his chest it’s at least something; “that’s…”
“I won’t survive that again, Steve,” Eddie sucks in, unsteady and drenched with tears, with sorrow, but also…also more than anything else, they’re filled up with so much love.
A love big enough to hurt that hard.
“And I can’t…” Eddie gasps, breath catching; “I can’t handle not feeling it,” and his fingers tighten; his hand on Steve’s chest and his cheek across from it press down that extra little bit so Steve knows his own heartbeat in those moments full and deep.
“Have to feel it always,” Eddie whispers like he’s telling himself, and Steve, and Steve’s heart through flesh and bone, some cosmic secret no one else can know: too sacred. Too precious.
“You can feel it any time,” Steve lets his hand fall from Eddie’s to cover the hand Eddie’s got splayed ln his chest, counting time; holds him there almost protectively: “all the time,” and he slips his fingers between Eddie’s and shifts his palm close to the beating, so he can still feel what he needs as he murmurs with his heart literally in Eddie’s hands, with his entire goddamn soul:
“All of me. It’s yours.”
Unshakable fucking fact. He doesn’t even have to will it, or hope for it; his heartbeat knocks that heavier against their hands for those words like it knows.
It knows.
“Don’t leave me,” Eddie bursts out, begging; almost something primal, and Steve can feel the tremoring of his lips where they drag against him; “please. I’ll do anything, I swear it, just don’t—“
“Be you,” Steve braves the whimper that comes from untangling his hand from Eddie so that he can reach for Eddies cheek and cradle him in closer, and oh, fuck, thank god: something in him sighs out and loosens, ever so slightly—finally.
“Everything you are,” Steve presses on, runs his thumb back and forth through Eddie’s drooping curls; “let me love you, past living and dying,” and Eddie’s breath catches, for that, but Steve holds him tighter for it, drowns him as best he’s able in the proof he needs so bad; “don’t leave me,” and Eddie huffs a little for that, like it’s beyond believing, impossible, and Steve smiles to himself for it, tries to lean enough to press the grin to Eddie’s head, hopes he manages as he murmurs there close:
“That’s it, Eddie,” and he lets his fingers spread wider, cradle Eddie all the more: “that’s all I need.”
“That and more baby,” Eddie answers him between the double-beat of his pulse, immediate; “you’re the music and the rhythm,” he nuzzles a little against him, and Steve smiles a little wider for it; “you’re the reason my heart beats,” and Steve finds that heartbeat for himself at Eddie’s jaw, now; a little calmer. Not much. But: something.
It’s a start.
”I don’t have a reason without you,” Eddie exhales, vehement; “I don’t want a reason, without you.”
And Steve should maybe push on it, or be scared by it: but neither seem right, not for this.
Not for them.
Steve just holds Eddie’s pulse under the pressure of his touch, and holds Eddie’s cheek closer still into his chest as he breathes:
“You’re my whole heart, Eds,” and he lets a second pass, and then another, for that heart of Eddie’s to pump evidence unshakable against him, to play the song and rhythm straight into his waiting ear:
“Was never going anywhere without you.”
♥️ ao3 link here
tag list (comment to be added): @pearynice @hbyrde36 @slashify @finntheehumaneater @wxrmland @dreamwatch
♥️
divider credit here
#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#hurt/comfort#established relationship#established steddie#soul-deep love#soft#like: excessive softness#BIG emotions#happy ending#post-final battle with the Upside Down#hurt Steve Harrington#proof-of-life#Eddie’s feeling very fragile and desperate#Steve may be in a hospital bed but hell if that stops him from trying to fix what’s hurting his boy#if that means letting Eddie rest against his chest for all of eternity then that’s what he’s gonna damn well do#steddielovemonth#love is the heartbeat I can feel when I hug him#stranger things
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𝙽𝚘 𝙼𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝…
𝕂. 𝔼𝕚𝕛𝕚𝕣𝕠𝕦 𝕩 𝕋𝕠𝕞𝕓𝕠𝕪!ℝ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕖𝕣
— — —
… I’ll always love you
There are 4 things you know for certain,
Eijirou loves you, no matter what.
Eijirou also loves seeing you in pretty dresses.
You hate wearing dresses with your whole being— you’d rather throw yourself in front of a semi than wear those awful contraptions.
You love Eijirou more than life itself, and you’ll sacrifice your own comfort to keep him.
𝐃𝐢𝐬𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐫: I do not own BNHA or its characters, all credit goes to its creators and actors
𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆: Angst, Angst to fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Insecurities, Emotionally Manipulative/Abusive Mother, Toxic Mom, Mentally Harmful Façade, Reader wears a dress when she doesn’t want to, Fear of Break-up(not gonna happen, babes, Ei loves you too much for that), Use of Y/n, One(1) mention of spicy times, I think that’s it?? Let me know if there’s any I missed
𝔐𝔦𝔫𝔦 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I cannot for the life of me remember who wrote it but this was inspired by headcanons of how BNHA Characters would react seeing their s/o in a dress. If y’all know the author, let me know and I’ll properly credit them!!
Enjoy, Lovelies! ♡
【Ｍａｓｔｅｒｌｉｓｔ】
— — —
Y/n had been a tomboy since she was in 7th grade and just never “grew out of it”. She realized this is how she felt comfortable. Her mother always wanted her to be “more of a girl” so she would give Y/n passive aggressive “gifts” in the form of dresses and makeup and heels and a gazillion hair products. (She did end up using some of the hair products but not many)
Then, she started dating Eijirou. He loves her as she is! He doesn’t mind that she’s a tomboy and would rather jump in front of a semi than wear a dress and heels. But then, she suddenly felt a spark of femininity, as her mother would call it, and she grabbed one of the dresses her mother gave her. She couldn’t get rid of them because every time her mother came over, she would check Y/n’s closet to see if they were still there and she knew it would be way more of a slap in the face for her mother if she were to get rid of them than simply not wearing them. She was beyond frustrated with the woman but that’s still her mom and she couldn’t bring herself to knowingly— and internationally— hurt her like that.
She silently thanked her mother for at least getting a dress in the same shade of red as Eijirou’s hair and eyes, though she’d never admit it. She surprised her boyfriend with it on date night. While he waited by the door, she walked out wearing the red dress and black chunky-heeled kitten pumps(that is the highest heel she is ever willing to wear thank you very much!).
He was stunned to say the least before his face lit up and he spouted compliments at her left and right. The entire date night, he would make sure she knew how beautiful she is.
After that, she tried to wear a dress every now and again, but she wasn’t very comfortable in them. So she just tried to suck it up and stick it out for him.
She knew that he liked seeing her in dresses, he’d made that abundantly clear, so she shifted from once in a blue moon, to once a month, max twice. Though, when they’d go on dates, he’d hope(expect) for her to wear a dress. She wanted to feel comfortable on date nights, though, so she would mostly only wear a dress for special occasions. He’d be disappointed but he tried to hide it.
She noticed.
So she decided, one day, that she’d put on a dress when they got home and have a mini post-date-date. When she saw his face light up again, she suddenly started doubting her usual style and if she can really make him happy as she is or if he’d prefer a girly-girl like her mother wants.
“I, uh.. I know that seeing me in dresses makes you happy… So I’ll try and wear them more.” She fidgeted with a ribbon on the overly lacy dress as she spoke nervously, though she did her best to hide it.
“Really..?” A smile crept up on his lips before he remembered how much more comfortable she is in slightly baggy shirts and pants with spacious leg room, “You don’t have to. If you don’t want to.”
“Well.. It makes you happy so… I’ll wear dresses more.” She gave him her most realistic smile that seemed to fool him well enough.
“Thank you…” He gave her a soft, grateful smile.
So then, it started. She would wear dresses more and more until the only time Eijirou didn’t see her in one was when they went to sleep.
Until she got a nightgown.
He had some passing thoughts that maybe, Y/n wasn’t as happy with the change as she seemed, but he would often forget those thoughts when he would get distracted by how gorgeous she looked in whatever dress she wore for date night. She now wore more simple dresses around the house, not like the frilly, shiny, over the top dresses her mother had forced onto her.
Speaking of, now whenever her mother came over and saw her in a dress and saw the dresses no longer hidden away in a nearly forgotten corner in the closet, she was ecstatic. She praised Eijirou with backhanded jabs at her daughter mixed in, saying that he “fixed” her. That one made him really uncomfortable but he was happy enough with the rest of the praise from his girlfriend’s mother and having her approval.
Her father was less ecstatic about the change and was worried for his daughter at first as he knew how much she detested dresses and would often wear a suit to events in lieu of a frilly skirt— max a skirt suit, which was the only compromise her mother could ever get out of her. But when she reassured him that she chose to wear the dresses herself, he was placated enough that he didn’t place any suspicion or blame on Eijirou.
She had made a routine.
One that worked for her.
She would put on a simple dress in the morning and give Eijirou a kiss goodbye when he left for work. Send her big strong hero off with a smile and he would appreciate the sight of her in a dress as he went off to keep the city safe.
Then, after he had gotten far enough away she would practically race to their bedroom and wrestle out of the cursed contraption. Then, she’d slip into a nice pair of black comfy cargo pants or baggy sweatpants or basketball shorts and a baggy t-shirt, probably with some random movie poster or graphic design, one that she couldn’t bring herself to care much about, on the front.
She’d then do anything she needed to do for the day and revel in her comfy clothes that made her feel safe and sane.
But, 10 minutes before Eijirou returned home, she reluctantly parted with her sweet, dear pants and t-shirt and slid on the blasted dress again for him.
This became her normal. It was the routine she’d formed and she’d appreciate the time she’d get with her precious clothes each day. And she sucked it up for her boyfriend to keep him happy. She’d sacrifice her comfort to keep the man she loves.
Y/n could see how much he adored seeing her in dresses and skirts so she wore them so that he’d still love her. So that he wouldn’t leave her. So that he’d stay happy. The only time aside from when he was at work that she’d get any reprieve was when she would wear one of Eijirou’s shirts— only his shirt, maybe only her panties to accompany it— and he’d get riled up at the sight.
That routine was disrupted one day, though.
Eijirou had a short day at work and came home early. Much earlier than Y/n was expecting him. He had wanted to surprise her.
She was still in her comfy clothes, her pants and shirt and baggy hoodie as she lounged in the family room watching her shows after she’d finished all that needed to be done around the house and had a nice lunch with her sister who lived outside the country with her husband so they only had so many visits.
She was shocked by the sound of keys jingling in the lock and panicked as she looked down at her clothes. She vaulted herself off the couch just as he was opening the door. The distance between the couch, which was in direct line of sight of the front door, and the hall that lead to their bedroom was too far for her to escape unseen. It didn’t help that her foot caught on the back and so she had a rough landing before she could start sprinting.
“Y/n?” She froze, knowing she had been seen and she couldn’t just escape to their room as a vaguely recognizable blur. Her eyes began to water as she turned her body to Eijirou, though she kept her eyes down cast.
“I’m sorry, Eijirou..! I know you like me in dresses, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I-.. I’ll wear dresses. I will, I promise.” She rambled, trying to keep her tears at bay as she continued to ramble out apologies and promises that she’ll wear dresses for him.
Eijirou stood frozen and bewildered in the doorway, heart aching at his precious little girlfriend in tears at being seen by him not wearing a dress. His heart clenched at her making promises to only wear dresses and almost begging him to forgive her and the unspoken, underlying fear that he might leave her for it.
“Y/n, baby, pebble. I’m not upset, I promise.” He spoke gently as he closed the door and approached her, almost feeling like he was approaching a wounded animal. “Pebble, why would you think I’d be mad at you for not wearing a dress?”
“I-I know how happy it makes you when I wear them… And I… I want you to be happy…” She’d now shifted her gaze fully down at her feet as she shuffled them nervously, nearly glaring at the pants she wore.
“Baby, if you don’t want to wear a dress, you don’t have to. If you didn’t want to, you could’ve told me. I’m not gonna force you to wear it… Have you been…. wearing your comfy clothes just when you’re home alone?” She bit her lip in an attempt to stop her tears from spilling as she ashamedly nodded her head.
“I’m sorry…” She whimpered again, the broken sound of her voice broke Eijirou’s heart as he moved forward and wrapped Y/n in a hug.
“Oh, baby shark… You don’t have to be sorry. And you don’t have to wear a dress if you don’t want to. I love you just the way you are. If it makes you uncomfortable, then don’t wear those dresses, okay? I’m not gonna stop loving you if you wear pants and a hoodie.” He spoke softly to her as he cradled her to his chest.
“But-“
“Mm-mm, baby shark. No buts. I want you to be comfy. Why do you think you have to change for me?”
“Cuz.. I can’t.. make you happy if I’m wearing big ugly boy clothes… I don’t want you to leave.. So.. I’ll be more of a girl if you want me to.” He could hear it in her voice that she’s reciting the nasty things her mother had told her. All the jabs and insults and passive aggressive comments and “gifts” had really been drilled into her. It didn’t matter now how much Eijirou had reassured her before how much he loved her and didn’t mind in the slightest what kind of clothes she wore. Her mother had gotten so deep into her head that the moment he expressed any interest in her wearing skirts and dresses and the other shit her mother had gotten her, she became convinced that that’s where her value lie. That he wouldn’t want her anymore if she wasn’t a girly girl.
“Oh, pebble, no… You can make me happy no matter what you wear. And your clothes aren’t ugly, honey. They’re what make you happy. That’s not ugly. Honey, you could wear a potato sack and you’d still make me happy because it’s you who makes me happy not your clothes. I’m not going anywhere, you hear me? I’m not leaving anytime soon. I promise, baby. Hey, look at me,” he lifted her head gently so he could look into her glossy, wet eyes, “you don’t have to be anybody or anything but yourself, okay? It doesn’t matter if you wear a ball gown or a tux or a potato sack. As long as you’re you.” He smiled down at her gently and made her chuckle wetly at his insistence at the potato sack.
“Are you sure..?”
“A hundred- no, A million percent sure.” He leaned down and pressed a kiss to her forehead and smoothed her hair down where it had gotten messy from her tumble.
“Ok.. I love you, Eiji.” She sniffled and leaned into him, relishing in his warmth surrounding her like a protective blanket.
“I love you too, pebble.” He smiled and kissed the top of her head.
“Do you actually wanna see me in a potato sack, though?”
They laughed for a solid 5 minutes before they calmed down and Eijirou could wipe the tears off her face.
“What do you say we get rid of those dresses now?”
“… Can we burn the ridiculously frilly ones?”
“… I’ll call Bakubro.”
#kirishima eijiro x reader#eijirou kirishima x reader#kirishima x reader#tomboy!reader#hurt/comfort#angst to fluff#insecurity#kirishima eijirou is a big teddybear#bnha x reader#mha x reader#boku no hero academia x reader#my hero academia x reader#bnha imagines#mha imagines#spiderlily spells
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Old doodle for the old LJ kink meme, back when dinosaurs roamed the old earth, iirc? A moment of tenderness and bubbles. Don't ask me where they got a claw-footed tub. At a B'nB after "antiquing"? Sure, let's go with that...
#my artifacts#dean winchester#sam winchester#calgon take me away#little hurt/big comfort#caregiver!dean#what i wouldn't give for an old claw-foot tub#hurt!sam#weirdcest
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A scene from something I wrote:
https://archiveofourown.org/works/50389594
#sorry tumblr wouldnt let me post with the usual url thing :cries:#go read my fic!!#*raises gun to head*/jkjk#as usual hurt no comfort <3#also to those who saw my dlt posts#tumblr was just being silly (big mess) as always#my art#saiouma#shuichi saihara#kokichi ouma#kokichi oma#ndrv3 killing harmony#ndrv3#danganronpa v3
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once again thinking about a wilford and dark first meeting scenario where wilford randomly finds dark, completely half deranged and disheveled and obsessed with hunting down actor, who goes a rampage of emotions upon seeing wilford who just pretends to remember who this guy is and why another obsessed dude is yelling at him again
#darkiplier#wilford warfstache#yeah this can go in main tags. as a treat#anyway I’ve been thinking about this all morning#wilford and dark first meeting scenarios MUST be one big custercuck of hurt/comfort like that’s become my rule for this situation#but also I have this funny idea that before wilford came into the picture dark was like super unorganized and totally unhinged#-because of how intensely obsessed he gets with finding actor#and it becomes a situation where wilford intervenes for the better#artag
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How would Beau comfort reader who’s gotten home from work and is feeling overwhelmed and sooky? I’m in need of comfort my the cutie patootie pls and thank you beloved 🫶🥺
Hello, my love!
I know it's been a while since you requested this @chernayawidow, but I’m so sorry you’re feeling down. It’s my pleasure to fulfill this prompt for you! 😘💞
AN: This is sort of a sequel to “Didn’t Mean to Stay,” but can be read as a stand-alone.
Word Count: 3,000
Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Smut, lots of hurt/comfort, fluff, and feels.
Imagine: Beau gives you the support you need.
You heaved a sigh while climbing up the short flight of stairs to your apartment. Why the hell you decided to live on the second floor, you had no idea…
Okay, mainly for the safety aspect of being a single woman living alone, but at least for the past year, you hadn’t been all that single (or alone, for that matter).
Seeing Beau’s truck in the parking lot reminded you that your boyfriend was already home from work. It was rare that you got here after him, but you perked up a little.
I hope he got something for dinner. Your stomach began to rumble at even the first stray thought of food. After the ridiculous day you’d had, you’d happily eat your weight in just about anything.
A hearty sandwich, Chinese lo mien, a whopping burger with fries…hell, you’d eat a whole damn bag of pizza rolls. As long as it was hot and you didn’t have to cook it.
Once you managed to insert your key and unlock the apartment, immediately there was too much sound coming from the living room. Guns and blasting and whoops and hollers. It all grated on your ears and your frayed psyche.
You grimaced as you locked the door behind you.
“Are we being invaded?!” you called.
Mercifully, the cacophony ceased as you walked into the living room and found your boyfriend with a sheepish smile. On the TV was an old western classic, The Magnificent Seven.
Typical, you thought. Your Texan cowboy loved his westerns.
“Sorry. Too loud?” he asked.
“Just a touch,” you replied.
“Well, I’m glad you're home.” Beau nodded at the TV. “Was gonna ask you what your Netflix password is.”
“What, don’t tell me you settled for 1960s cowboys?” you quipped.
You dumped your purse on the coffee table and sunk onto the couch next to him. Beau slid an arm around your waist and pulled you in closer. You obliged by shucking off your shoes and resting against him, with your head on his shoulder. You let out a long sigh.
“Well, that was my fallback plan. See, damn Netflix booted me out and I’m really gearing up for that new season of Cake or Cake,” Beau said, with a somewhat childish smile that almost succeeded in tugging your lips upwards as well. Your brows drew together.
“Cake or…oh my God. You mean Is It Cake?” you asked. You nearly slapped yourself with your own hand as it came up to cover your eyes. Your shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“Ah, yeah. That one.” Beau grinned.
“I just can’t figure out how I keep guessing so wrong," he continued. "It looks like a hat. It should be a hat. How the hell is it actually cake? These guys are just so damn talented, I’ll tell ya. I mean, I’ve eaten my fair share of quality cake, but I ain’t never eaten a hat cake…though that does sound good to me, now that I think about it. Heh, I could finally say, ‘if that ain’t real, I’ll eat my own hat.’ And I’d actually be able to take a bite.”
Now, normally you found boyfriend’s diatribes incredibly endearing. Beau was a talker, and you appreciated having him with you at social gatherings. Not only was he great at connecting with people (something you very much admired), but the man was damn good at filling a silence.
Today, however, he was feeding the headache pulsing behind your eyes. You loved him dearly. Yet you were tempted to dig your nails into your own arm just to stop yourself from snapping at him to please, stop talking.
“Speakin’ of food, that reminds me. My stomach’s damn near ready to eat itself.” He eyed you. “What’s for dinner, baby?”
Your hand slid from your face and slapped onto your leg. Your head slowly turned to him.
“I don’t know, Beau. What’d you cook?” you said tartly.
It was an effort, considering how comfortable you were while tucked against him, but you moved his arm off your hip and lifted your heavy-feeling body off the couch. Shaking your head, you trudged a path over to your room.
You didn’t see it, but Beau frowned. Though you heard him follow after you. You did your best to go about your business, unbuttoning your pants and starting on your blouse. You were just so damn tired, and probably still anxious. Even your hands were trembling and fumbling with the buttons.
Still, you sensed him coming closer, saw his sock-covered feet out of the corner of your eye. The rest of him was comfortably dressed in sweatpants and a wool sweater you bought for him last month; he was getting better, but still acclimating to Montana winters.
“You’ve been here all this time,” you grumbled. “You see how late I’m coming in, and you don’t think, hey, my girl’s gonna be tired. Why don’t I figure out how to work the stove so she doesn’t have to worry about feeding my six-foot-ass, bottomless pit—”
Beau’s hands stilled yours, and he took over unbuttoning your blouse to help you. He bent his head enough to catch your eyes, smiling a little at your grumpy face.
“All right, all right. I see your point,” he said. “You had a bitch of day, huh?”
“The longest of my damn life,” you said. The stress of each moment played behind your eyes. So much that they stung with unshed tears when you raised your gaze to meet his.
Beau’s brows furrowed in sympathy. He paused in what he was doing to stroke your cheek and press a tender kiss to your forehead.
“And I wanna hear about it, but first, you go take a nice long shower,” he said. “What do you feel like eating?”
“Food,” you said petulantly. But he was being too sweet for you to be all that annoyed with him. A reluctant smile was growing across your lips. Beau smirked.
“You in the mood for Italian? Chinese? Maybe feeling a little adventurous and wanna try that Greek place down the street?” he suggested. “I think they deliver.”
By now he’d worked your blouse open. His hands were finding their way along the curve of your waist, smoothly across your skin, then meeting at the small of your back. He pressed the heel of one hand there, where he knew your shitty desk chair often made you ache.
You gripped his strong arms for support and leaned into him. You let out a sigh and rested your cheek against his chest, where he dropped another kiss on the top of your head.
“Greek sounds good, actually,” you confessed.
“Mmm, hell yeah. You want chicken, steak, or lamb on your gyro?” he asked. You felt the reverberation of his hum, and it was weirdly soothing. Though his question reminded you of one of your favorite movies that you too often quoted to him: My Big Fat Greek Wedding.
“What you mean he don’t eat no meat?” you said with a giggle. Beau’s lips moved to your forehead, and you felt the shape of his smile.
“It’s okay, I make lamb,” you both said together.
He chuckled and held you a bit tighter, secure and comforting. “All right. Lamb it is…you think they got cake on the menu?”
When you laughed, it was muffled by his sweater.
After a hot shower, good food, and three episodes of Is It Cake later, you were falling asleep on your corner of the couch.
All through dinner, Beau had listened to you vent about your day. About the problems your coworkers had hoisted on you to solve in the midst of a massive project you were already tackling. How your boss then blamed you for not coming to her first before you overloaded yourself, and how you’d very seriously contemplated going to HR before you figured just dealing with it would cause you less grief in the end.
Your boyfriend listened and gave his two cents, both supportive and fair. That was another thing you liked about him; he was always fair.
Now, he roused you out of your drowsy state when his arms wrapped around your frame and lifted you up.
You whined in protest. “Whaaat? Don’t move me.”
“Nope, you’re goin’ to bed,” he said, in his sheriff’s voice that boded no argument. You grumbled, but you still snuggled closer to his chest and pressed your sleepy face into his neck.
Smirking, he walked you into the bedroom and laid you down on your side of the bed. He came to your place often enough that he now had his own side, complete with his own nightstand and a couple of drawers of your dresser, even a bit of closet space.
You really should’ve just told him to move the hell in already, but you weren’t like Beau. He was a man of action. He processed things quickly and made decisions just as fast. His job demanded him to be that way.
You tended to drag your feet. You also tended to worry, and weigh pros and cons, and you were cautious by nature. Even dating this man had been a slow process, for which he’d been very patient with you. (And you with him, especially in the beginning as he learned to open up to you.)
The evidence was plain to see, as he raised the blankets and helped you roll underneath them. You just took him by surprise when you grabbed the front of his sweater and pulled him down with you.
“Hey!” he laughed. He had to brace himself against the mattress before he crushed you. His knees fell on either side of your hips while your arms twined around his neck.
“You’re a wily one, even half-asleep,” he remarked. You smiled and threaded your fingers through his soft brown hair.
“Like a rattlesnake in the tall grass,” you teased. In fairness, the two of you had gotten into watching David Attenborough's nature documentaries.
Beau’s brows raised, his smile deepening.
“Oh yeah? Better not mess around then,” he chuckled. “I might just get bit.”
You snorted. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
You leaned up until your lips were nearly brushing his. Beau’s eyes lowered to your face, taking in all the things that felt more like home than his little trailer near the woods.
Just before you would’ve closed the small breadth of distance, you veered away from his mouth and went for his neck instead. He even flinched at the tease of your teeth playfully biting him.
"You little vixen!" He laughed deeply as he unwound your arms from his neck. He pinned you down to the bed and pressed his hips down into yours over the sheets. But it was his claiming lips that stopped you from fighting back.
Your shoulders trembled with giggles that he swallowed up, kiss after kiss. Your eyes closed as he dragged the sheets down away from your body. His hands caressed you through your thin tank top, brushing over a hardened nipple with the back of his hand, then squeezing your breast through the fabric.
You sighed into his mouth. “I know I kind of started this, but I’m really tired, baby…”
“Who says you gotta do anything?” rumbled his rich voice.
A tremor of heat ran through you. Even with your eyes closed, your exhausted body responded to his touch. His lips drew a hot, wet path down your neck, all while his hands did sinfully good things, sliding under your tank top and gliding against your skin. You let him take it all the way off, followed by your pajama pants and cotton panties, though he paused to squeeze your ass in appreciation.
“Someone’s been doing squats,” he noted, grinning down at you.
“Nah, just an extra slice of that honey cake,” you retorted. Apparently, the Greeks liked honey on everything.
Beau’s head tilted. “Huh. Well, I do like me some cake.”
You laughed, then jolted with a yelp when he slapped a bare cheek.
But you couldn’t just lay idle when he started on his own clothes. You sat up and helped him raise the sweater up and over his shoulders, but he stopped you.
“I mean it. You just lie back and relax,” he said, giving you a charming grin. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes; he was just too damn good to you.
While he finished taking off the sweater, your hands drifted down to the waistband of his pants. You caressed the hardening length of him, earning a hiss and a groan from him.
“Can’t I just…” you tried.
With difficulty, Beau grabbed your wrist. He raised a brow at you and guided you back down.
“For once, I’m ‘a need you to listen to me,” he said, kissing your cheek and then the other side of your neck.
You breathed a laugh, but it caught on a moan as his fingers brushed through your wet folds. He made a sound of approval. And those nimble fingers gathered some of your wetness and began circling slowly over your clit.
You sucked in a breath and arched against him. You even whimpered a little as his free hand wound through your hair, giving him further access to your neck. He hummed against your skin and grazed his teeth under your ear.
“I gotcha, baby. Whenever you need it,” he said, low and steady. You gripped his arms for dear life as two of his fingers slipped deep inside you. You panted into his neck, rocked your hips mostly in time with his fingers as they twisted and pulsed around your tightening walls. His thumb rubbed against your throbbing clit.
“Please,” you whispered into his neck, squeezing your eyes shut. “Want you inside me.”
“We’re gettin’ there,” Beau nodded. He was breathing harder too, just from anticipation. The sounds you were making, the way you were squeezing his hand from the inside had him painfully hard.
“Now,” you insisted. Your hands moved to grip his hair, and your lips met his in a devouring kiss.
Beau matched your passion with closed eyes and furrowed brows. He’d had a plan for you at the start of this, but what kind of man would he be if he didn’t abide by your wishes?
So he withdrew his fingers from your slick pussy, even though you uttered a shuddering breath. It took everything you had within you to remain still and resting against the pillows as you caught your breath. You wanted to wrestle down his sweatpants yourself and show your boyfriend how appreciative you could be.
But you also appreciated what he was trying to do. You watched him with tired, but still hungry eyes as he kicked off the pants and the boxer briefs and returned to you, bracing a forearm above your head after he spread your legs and raised up your knees.
He lowered himself between the warm cradle of your thighs and kissed down your chest, licked between the valley of your breasts.
You arched up again when his tongue found your nipple, swirling around it, and finally taking it between his teeth. His hips rolled against yours, making his cock press against your core teasingly.
“Beau, for the love of God,” you moaned.
He chuckled. “Maybe you oughta learn how to be patient.”
You grabbed his bearded face between both hands and raised him up to you. He noted your challenging brow, but also your smile.
“Maybe you shouldn’t tease the rattlesnake,” you replied.
Beau laughed and ducked his forehead against yours. “Okay, darlin’. I’m sorry.”
He nosed at your cheek, angling for a kiss. You tipped your head back and welcomed his lips, especially when his tongue slipped past to tangle with yours. His forearm was braced above your head, but his free hand left your hip to line himself up to your entrance.
Another shudder went through your body as he finally slid home inside you. The shape and feeling of his cock was familiar as it stretched your inner walls, and you caught his moan in your mouth.
Your legs wrapped around his hips and squeezed, forcing him in deeper. His eyes screwed shut as he lost focus for a moment. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of the feeling of you, or the sound of your voice, or the way you trusted him, but still tried to give as much as you took.
He pulled out nearly all the way, slowly sliding back in so you’d feel every inch. You clenched on him as a tremble ran through your body.
You uttered a broken gasp of his name that spearheaded goosebumps across his skin. And his next movements were faster, though just as deep.
He followed the encouragements of your voice, especially when he shifted his hips at an angle he knew would make you writhe. His fingers stroking your already sensitive clit, in time with his last wild thrusts, had you threatening to rip out a chunk of his hair. Instead, you gasped in his ear and dug your fingers into his hips.
His own release followed yours shortly after; he could only resist you squeezing the life out of him from the inside out for so long. And you held him afterwards, even though he still had a trembling arm braced above you.
Your hands smoothed up and down his back, trailing lightly with your nails. His breath was hot, but not uncomfortable against your neck.
You felt absolutely boneless as your legs slid from his hips. He pulled out of you soon after, but your embrace kept him from moving very far. He rested on his side, and you turned towards him. You both knew you’d have to deal with the sheets and the cleanup, but not just yet.
You carded your fingers more soothingly through his hair and drew his face back to yours.
“Thank you for taking care of me,” you whispered. And you didn’t just mean in this bed. “I haven’t had that in a long time.”
Beau’s smile crinkled the corners of his eyes. “You don’t gotta thank me for that.”
“Yeah, I do,” you nodded. Your lips formed a tired smile before they pressed softly to his. “I love you.”
Beau took a moment to brush a sweaty strand of hair away from your face. He’d believed in second chances before he met you…just not for himself. Meeting you made him swear by them.
“Love you too,” he said.
And the warmth of that bone-deep knowledge was more satisfying than even the heftiest slice of cake.
AN: God, I love Beau. I miss Big Sky. 😭 But feel free to let me know what you think of this one! It's only my second time, but I really do love writing this guy. ❤️
And tell me...are you team cake 🍰 or team pie 🥧?
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Keeping It Close To The Chest Pt. 3
TW/CW: Medical Trauma/ torture, medical experimentation, ptsd and flashback type stuff, vivisection wound, Brief suicide attempt with a blade, (If you wanna skip that part it's bordered by '~~'), child abuse, emotional distress, more Danny whump, hurt/comfort- just a lil comfort at the end lol
As always if I missed a tag please let me know! I want anyone who wants to read my writing be informed so they can make the best decisions for themselves. Be kind to yourselves and be safe.
Hey! Here's part three! I'm considering posting this to Ao3! If I do I'll probably edit each part a bit. I hope you all enjoy my humble offering! I'll let ya all know if I do! If you missed them, Part one Part Two
Much love to you all
~Ren
Danny didn't recognize where he woke up. He could smell antiseptic in the air in combination with the white walls and sheets made him uneasy. Last time he could bare to look they hadn't bothered to clean up his splattered ectoplasm, all the white was abnormal. Bandages, sheets, walls, floor, ceiling they all looked eerily familiar. He could still feel their hands digging inside him. Panic thrummed through his core- the lab, they have him back in the lab-he wrenches at the restraints the scientists had put on him, only for them to be missing.
With no resistance his body crashes to the ground next to the bed he was on with his legs twisted into the sheets. Danny flails his legs to free himself. The deep ache of his wounds pulls him forcefully from the swirling green noxious clouds that fill his head. His parents had never left him without something holding him exactly as they left him. Ready and waiting for their next experiment. His core sinks somewhere around his guts from the thought. Unrestrained. They left him unrestrained; he looks at his bare arms in reluctant wonder.
The knowledge doesn't soothe him at all, they'd return soon. One look at him would make it obvious to them that he was in no shape to run again. Run he has to run. Anxiety and uncertainty made his powers spike and the lights blow above him. The temperature drops around him and he settles for a moment. At least he had access to his powers even if he feels like he'd have to use far much more energy than normal to use even his invisibility.
His par- Maddie and Jack had made the table out of antighost material that kept him from phasing out of the straps, but it was the dried blood blossoms in the vents that had weakened him, his powers slipped through his fingers, out of reach until the hail Mary last ditch effort explosion from his core that had frozen them where they stood. Danny swung his head to look at the.. simple comfy looking bed he had been resting on. Why would they-
Footsteps pound towards where he is, a shadow in the doorway. Fuck, they were back. Whenever they visited it hurt. Jack and Maddie were creative in their experiments, each one brought Danny more agony. Brought Danny closer to a full death. If he couldn't keep them from finding his core again, he really would be dead. His core pulsed, memories pushed themselves to the forefront of his mind.
They touched it, a glove shouldn't hurt like it did, what did they do what did they do to him did they not see they were killing him. He's alive, he's here, he's their son whywhywhy. Jack's comforting bulk turned to cheerful aggression and brute strength used to hurt him; Danny misses his firm embrace, the hate on Maddie's face tore Danny up inside, to see how her face went from deep love to the equally strong opposite was heartbreaking. She once threw herself at Vlad's experiments in that damned forest, her marital arts training had amazed him. She frightens him now, they frighten him now. To use such brutality against their son, she had broken bones, flung him so easily once she had gotten ahold of him. How awful it was to have not one reaction to his pleas- mom please you're hurting me, please it hurtsithurtsyourehurtingmeYOUREGONNAKILLME!
Danny can still hear his own screams playing in his head.
Tension fills Danny's frame sending more shockwaves across his injuries, the brain fog making it harder to figure out who was on the doorstep. He struggled to get to his knees in preparation. If the Drs Fenton were gonna do Frog Dissection 2: Ghostboy Edition he wasn't going to be compliant, even if Danny felt like he wouldn't be able to fight them off for very long at all. Hope that they would come to their senses would cost him dearly. A light flicked on outside the doorway, illuminating... his older brother. Damian Al Ghul, stared back at him.
Danny jolted, he vaguely remembered he popped out of a portal basically on top of his twin, right? His memories are all jumbled. Danny raised a shaky hand to his head, the beginnings of a migraine building. Did he lose his bags? His dagger? Danny didn't dare turn away from the predator in front of him to look. That was how many foolish people during the twin's training lost their lives. How weak was he that he let himself be caught when he could've at least tried to fly away? In some ways this was worse than being caught by his adoptive parents again. Damian was an unknown after all these years, even if part of him wants to cling to his cape and beg for just a days rest before they send him wherever they were planning to.
Damian may be here on a mission, or if he truly did escape the League maybe he wanted to send Danny back in his place so he could remain away from Grandfather's clutches. Danny knows just how persistent the Demon Head could be. Damian had always been the superior heir, but if Mother had been sending... clones? That's what he had said earlier, if Danny could remember correctly. Clones sent to Damian. It was a last resort to claim him and bring him home. Or replace him with the clone that won, he shivers thinking of Vlad.
Would Vlad go for the superior twin if he knew of Damian? That was a meeting Danny wanted to avoid, not that Damian would comply with any of the Fruitloop's plans. Danny paled at the thought, Damian surely would kill Vlad if he tried, then only Plasimus would remain. As of now his human half was the only reason the older halfa wasn't more than a nuisance. What a nightmare a fully ghost Vlad would be. Danny never would've stayed in Amity if he knew the trouble he'd get himself into. Danny was always just the spare. There to take orders, nothing more. His life and death was up to Grandfather. Not even lazarus water was allowed to someone worthless. No need for him beyond the worst case scenario, but held onto until the heir could claim his place.
The domino mask was gone revealing those emerald eyes he's missed for so long, but he still was wearing what he was earlier, Danny can see his blood smears from here. Danny tried to guess what Damian was thinking so hard about but other than his furrowed brows, his twin gave nothing away. In a sick way it made him proud his elder brother hadn't lost his edge.
Danny remained silent as his brother panted into the dark between them. He had to wait to be acknowledged. If he broke this tentative peace there is no telling when the orders would start. Slipping so easily into his League training made Danny bite his cheek to avoid the frown that would take place. Emotion will do him no favors here, even if truly hiding what he was feeling was next to impossible under Damian's gaze. Danny watched as Damian watched him. Damian telegraphed his movements slowly so Danny could see his hands and what they were doing. He had started palming his hidden blades and dropping them carelessly to the floor. Danny's eyes grew wide at the sight.
Damian... he didn't do careless, his every move deliberate and well thought out. This must be something meant to throw him off, make him lower his guard. His elder brother would also never just throw his weapons around unless it was at a target. Perhaps he doesn't need them. Perhaps he wants to kill Danny with his own hands or perhaps he thinks Danny won't resist his order to return. (In this moment Danny couldn't resist anything Damian wanted to do to him, even if he wanted to. He could be shipped back to Grandfather in Damian's stead.) Danny clenched the disheveled sheets in his hands, if he had to take on his twin every advantage he could get. Danny would need.
Looking back to the door, Damian has a small but impressive pile scattered behind him, one last dagger is carefully held in his hands. They're trembling slightly, Danny would have missed it, should have missed it, but he remembered far much more of his past than he ever let on with the Fentons. Danny figured amnesia is a great excuse to not answer their questions on how he got to be alone in Amity Park or where his family was, how he got left behind. The Damian here confused him. Disarming himself, openly trembling- nothing like the brother he remembers.
(They were the same size, but Damian always seemed bigger, his shoulders meant to hold more, the League, Grandfather's expectations and Mother's indifference, Danny and his string of failures, he only ended up holding the heir back. Damian's arms always open to curl up in after Danyal's frequent punishments. A weakness, Mother had said when she caught them, she had ripped Danny from his brother's arms and had mercilessly beaten him until he couldn't move for his audacity, all while Damian watched blank faced. When they were once again alone Damian had whispered apologies while helping the younger clean and bandage himself. Danny had insisted on doing the same for Damian- he had clenched his hands so tightly into fights behind his back that he had a perfect set of bloody nail marks from holding himself back from intervening as he stood at attention nearby- before they slipped into their beds. There would be no sharing tonight, not when Mother would surely check on them to make sure Danny didn't continue to tear Dami down. His elder brother had hummed a soft tune though that Danny fell asleep to. But no, Danny can't be sure that part of Damian still exists, he can't risk the world for his selfish desire to stay by his brother's side. Ra's Al Ghul could never find out just what kind of power Danyal gained via the portal and Phantom in his absence from Ra's watchful eye.)
Damian looks awfully small to Danny now, curled into himself by the door. He sheaths the dagger and gently sets this one on the ground in front of him before he sends it straight to Danny with a perfect kick. Danny snatches it up quickly, he won't look a gift horse in the mouth.
"Danyal..." Damian seems to crumple under the weight of his name, he looks... lost. He clears his throat, goes to say something but clears it again instead. His brother has always been confident. This uncertainty Danny feels zipping between them keeps him on edge. "Ahki please you are hurt, can I help you back to bed?"
Tears. Those are tears falling down his brother's face. Danyal can only stare. Damian had only cried with Danyal a few times in the League, on that rooftop with the stars. Something about how since Damian was older he had to be strong, strong for Danyal, strong in the face of Grandfather.
"I won't go back." Danny rasps painfully slipping into their mother tongue, "I'm sorry Dami I won't go back. Not even for you." Danny thinks he popped some of the stitches holding his chest together under the bandages when he dove to the floor. His shirt feels wet, his blood would quickly eat at the stitches now that he's actively bleeding again. Better to die here, this way, then go back to-
Danny raises his hand.
~~
"Ahki! No!" Damian cries out desperately, he feels his face twist in horror as dim lights blink into existence under the cabinets. Damian had thought a blade in hand would make Danny feel safer, less vulnerable for their second meeting if he had something to defend himself with. The image his brother makes on the floor was something he never could've imagined happening.
Damian was going to be sick. Danny had always been a joyful and stubborn presence by his side. Not even in the throws of their harsh childhood did he ever give up, ever give in.
Fear almost stops his heart from beating before it stubbornly restarts hard enough for his chest to ache. The dagger Damian had relinquished to Danny was pressed lightly to his own throat by a shaky hand. Damian's exclamation caused Danyal's hand to press a bit too hard, red blood dripped down the side of his neck. Danny looked at him almost hypnotized by Damian's extreme distress at what the light revealed, he didn't recognize the blur of movement towards him in time to react. Damian's hand covers his own wrenching the blade away.
When he found out who broke down his baby brother to such a degree that he felt he had to turn his blade on himself, well, Father's rules be damned, Damian would make them beg for death before claiming their pathetic life. It would be good to remind others of what the Demon Heir was capable of if he deemed it worth his time. Worth crossing Batman and his no killing rule. Danyal was worth everything to Damian.
~~
Danyal is shaking like a leaf in front of him and Damian aches to reach out to his baby brother, yet he doesn't want to force contact. If Danny felt cornered he could spook and hurt himself more trying to get away from Damian and that is the last thing he wants. "There is no need for that here Danyal. I'm sorry Danny, I'm so sorry you've been alone," He chokes out, the Arabic heavy in his mouth, "it will be alright you're- you're Ahki won't let anyone force you to do anything. I'll protect you, I promise."
Damian can see comprehension spread across that scary blank face his twin had been making. It trembles and breaks as tears gather in the corner of Danny's eyes. Danny's hands grip his arm harshly, Damian doesn't correct him. A bruise is a small price to pay for his twin's comfort. Even back in the League Damian never lied to Danny, had always, always, kept his promises. Those tears fall.
Danny wails as Damian pulls him tightly to his chest, he can't hide how he pats Danyal down to check for more weapons. Richard hovers outside the room but Damian knows he's hesitant to insert himself into the situation and have the potential for Danny to act unpredictably again. How astute of him, Damian is relieved at his brother's emotional intelligence. Damian keeps repeating his words over and over while rocking them. Danny obviously doesn't want to settle into it but can't seem to help it. Twins together for the first time in almost a decade, Damian doesn't hide his hitching breaths as they cry together. Damain never wants him to let go.
"I can't stay Ahki, I can't!" Danny sobs, pulling back until his brother can see his face, "Grandfather will- he'll- I'm a walking weapon!" Danny blubbers and tries to get a breath to explain because his brother had always at least let Danny say his argument in the past but ends up coughing until it turns into a whine. His body hurts. His Y incision burns like his- Maddie and Jack- are freshly cutting into him and he just wants this moment to last but knowing they're on borrowed time makes Danny curl closer. His face is pressed to Damian's chest, somehow Damian had moved them, Damian's back rested against the bed while Danny was cradled in his lap. Soothing circles were traced onto his back, something had changed in Damian's demeaner but without looking at his face Danny could only guess what that meant.
His cries slowly petered out in the face of his brother's steady comfort and Danny could feel his body go boneless in Dami's hold. His elder brother's murmurs weren't hidden by his cries so he could finally hear what was being said,
"I've been with Father for five years, I, too will never go back to the League. Ra's is dead, I promise you. Dead and locked away so he can not get revived in the Pits. He will never darken our doorstep, he's dead and Talia knows if she comes here, she will meet a similar fate, Danyal it's going to be okay. We're okay now. We have family who will help. I won't leave you alone again."
Over and over again, Damian's voice full of confidence and vitriol but he keeps his hold loose. Damian had always respected Grandfather and his influence, Danny wasn't sure what to think hearing his brother speak Grandfather's name. Danny had known that awful day the twins were pitted against each other that once the spare died there would be no escape from the League for Damian. If what he says is true... Damian did escape, has been safe with their Father for years.
Exhaustion slams into him, Danny feels... safe. The safety he so desperately needed is here in his grasp and he's terrified of it disappearing, being false. "Dami-"
"Hush Ahki, just breathe, we will talk later." Damian uses his sleeve to clean Danny's face, the gentle swipes make more tears sprint to his eyes, but his brother is patient, content to clean him up. Danny opens his mouth to protest, but Damian gently shushes him. Damian shifts their bodies to move them back to the bed, but Danny reacts like Damian is getting ready to leave, leave him here in this strange new place, scared and alone. (Some part of Danny snaps back at the thought, Damian never had gone back on his word before. Not once, that was a miracle considering their childhood.) Danny's hand snaps out to grab his twin's wrist on instinct. Don't go please. Don't go, I don't want to be alone.
Damian's face softens out of it's natural neutrality, his mouth twisting into a small smile. His real smile, the one reserved only for Danny. "The floor is dirty Danyal and I need to check your stitches, let's get you back in bed." Damian chuckles quietly at the apprehensive look shot his way. Danny was always an open book, at least to Damian. "I'll stay with you, come."
Damian shifts them as carefully as he can only to abruptly stop when Danyal's hand flies to his chest on a gasp. Danny can see Damian biting his cheek and glancing from him to the door out of the corner of his eye before he straightens a bit decision made.
"Richard, I know you are still there," It's said with a sigh but he knows that tone, his brother is grateful. A black-haired man pokes his head warily into the room to look at them.
"Little D! Can I help with anything?" Despite his caution Richard is beaming at them from his spot by the door. Danny grew tense in Damian's arms at the new arrival, but thankfully, luckily, he didn't try to run.
"Tt. Tell Pennyworth I may need his assistance, Danyal potentially pulled his stitches." Richard's face rapidly paled, his gaze swinging to his youngest brother trying to see if blood was leaking through his bandages. Damian was certain Richard would be grateful for Superman's x-ray vision right now by how hard he was staring at Danyal.
Though Richard meant well Damian felt his irritation rise when he feels Danyal curl further into him, trembling hands gripping the life out of his suit. As he resumes rubbing Danyal's back he starts whispering again in Arabic, careful to keep his words between them. Damian is sure an audience isn't helping Danny relax. Damian draws his focus the best he can away from their buffoon of an eldest brother.
Richard lingers in the doorway so without turning to look Damian flicks his wrist and the blade Danyal was ready to use against himself sails true, embedding itself a hair's width away from Richard's hand on the doorframe. "Now Grayson." He growls. Then they are alone. Damian hides a smirk in his twin's hair, before frowning. Danyal would feel better if he was clean, if his hair is anything to go by Danyal hasn't had a bath in a long time. That is where Damian could start. Until he could have a talk with his twin and figure out what he was so terrified of he'd threaten his own life... this would have to do. He's sure that Alfred has some supplies stored in the recovery room. Damian put a tub in the sink to fill with warm water while he grabbed what he needed.
With a brief explanation Danny pouted but hesitantly let Damian lower him so his head was mostly hanging off the foot of the bed. He pulled a chair over and got to work. The first wash was to get the majority of the dirt, blood, and sweat out. After he rinsed the first shampoo out Damian took his time with the rest. Fingers worked through knots and a bit of pressure here and there had Danyal melting in his hands. Truly relaxing for the first time in what was probably a long time. Damian smiled softly. The boy looked to be dozing now, both content to remain like this for a while longer.
From the door Alfred waved Dick off, it had been a long night and Bruce's eldest certainly needed rest. Looking back at the two blood siblings Alfred was sure the immediate danger had passed. He was content to leave them to bask in eachother's presence for a little while longer before he checked on the youngest master's stitches.
Part four
#Keeping it Close To The Chest#medical trauma#vivisection#danny and damian are twins#danny phantom#danny fenton#Attempted suicide#Child abuse#dick grayson#alfred pennyworth#damain wayne#Damian would do anything for Danny#Big brother Damian wayne#Baby brother Danny#Danny fenton whump#I want him to hurt sorry#emotional whump#emotional hurt/comfort#lil comfort at the end#trust issues#Are we surprised that danny is distrustful? no#part 3#medical experimentation#ptsd#medical torture
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