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tasteleeknow · 1 year

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BETWEEN

PAIRING: minho + chan x fem!reader GENRE: smut. fluff. f2l. roommates au. threesome/poly. CONTENT: 18+ minors dni. WORD COUNT: 5k

SUMMARY: Your two roommates are your best friends in the world. You’d also love nothing more than to be sandwiched between them. Queue tension and smut with feelings.

do not repost to other sites, including translations.

It’s laundry day, a day you’ve put off a little long. You end up grabbing a shirt from Minho’s clean clothing he’d left in the dryer to throw over your head as you wait for your own load to finish. Neither of them were around. You’re leaning over the counter to grab a paper towel when the front door opens. You peak around the corner just as Chris is throwing his shoes aside. Okay, this is fine. The shirt is just long enough to hang over the tops of your thighs, covering the pale blue underwear you’d slept in.

There’s no escape. You’re going to have to face your friend in your underwear. Be casual about it, you tell yourself. It’s not a big deal. You really needed to stop putting off doing laundry.

You continue with your task, wiping down the kitchen bench as your eggs fry. “Are you hungry?!” you call out. “I’m making breakfast if you want anything.”

He was always up before you and Minho, spending his early mornings at the gym.

“I’m starv…ing….” he trails off from behind you. Alright, so he’d noticed the no pants thing. Act casual.

“Good, I’m making extra. I thought—”

Then he’s behind you, not quite touching, but hovering so close you're forced to pause your cleaning. He leans over you. “You can wear mine, if you like,” he says, tugging a little at the hem of Minho’s t-shirt.

Then he’s gone. The shower starts just as the dryer announces your clothes are ready.

—

You’d hoped your regular nightmares would be left in childhood. But as you’d grown out of your favourite shoes and your allergy to soy, your nightmares had stuck. The first time you’d crept into Minho’s room after a particularly bad one, you’d nudged him awake hesitantly. He’d welcomed you under his covers, unquestioning. They stayed away with him, with Chris too the few times he’d fallen asleep in your bed. It was only when you were alone that your sleep was disturbed.

Minho is curled up on his side when you crawl under his sheets, shuffling as close to him as possible without touching. He still stirs when you roll over to face the edge of the bed. He would always wake up when you joined him. He connects his front to your back, as always. But then, with a small contented noise from his throat, his hand slips up under the hem of your shirt—his warm palm resting against your stomach.

This is new.

“Min?” you whisper.

When he doesn’t respond, you roll over. His hand slips to rest on your back. You reach up to brush his hair behind his ear, tucking the soft strands away from his eyes. His hair was longer than you’d ever seen it. He hadn’t bothered getting it cut. He hums, almost a purr. He’s awake. “Does it bother you when I sleep here?” you whisper.

His brows pull together slightly and then he tugs you a little closer, pressing you right up against his chest. You have a feeling that’s all the answer you’ll be receiving.

You watch as he drifts off. It only takes him a few minutes. His features go slack, lips parting slightly as his breathing evens out. You follow him shortly after.

It’s only a few hours later that you find yourself staring at the ceiling—Minho’s legs tangled with your own. The nightmare that had led you into this room had been particularly bad, startling you awake with a racing heart. You’re usually fine after joining Minho. But not tonight. It’s enough that you find yourself creeping from his bedroom in the early hours of the morning, completely giving up on more sleep. It’s unsurprising when you find Chris awake, lounging on the couch with a book in his hands. He often had a worse time with sleep than you did.

“Nightmare?” he says as you settle into his side, resting your head against his shoulder.

“Mm. Nothing new, it was just… more intense.”

He lifts the woollen blanket off his legs and drapes it over you. “Intense?” he questions.

“He-It… stood right over me. It usually just gets to my door before I wake up but… it walked right up to my bed and just… stood there. It felt like he was going to lunge at me any second… it was—” you cut yourself off as you bury your face in his shoulder, a shiver running up your spine.

“You’re alright,” he soothes. “Promise.”

“I know. I just… I hate sleeping alone.”

Minho chooses that moment to stumble into the room, fluffy socks sliding along the floorboards as he runs his fingers through his hair. He collapses onto the couch beside you seconds later, dropping his head into your lap as he stretches out as much as he can along the cushions.

Chris huffs out a breathy laugh beside you, draping his arm over your shoulder—book forgotten. “Problem solved,” he says.

“Where’d you go?” Minho mumbles from your lap, eyes closed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you answer as you brush his hair from his face, the soft brown strands a pleasant occupation for your hands.

A bolt of lightning lights up the room, drowning out the soft glow from the lamp Chris had been using to read. “The storm?” Minho questions as you play with his hair, stroking some of the strands around his temples.

“My dreams,” you correct.

“You don’t have them with me.”

“I know… but the one I had earlier just lingered, I guess.”

All three of you are quiet as rain starts falling, the type of rain that falls heavy with no build up—creating a curtain between you and the world.

“Stop sleeping alone, then,” Minho says. “Just stay with me.”

You take a moment to process his meaning. Then, “Everynight?”

“Mm.”

The corner of your mouth lifts a little. They were so good to you, both of them. “Love you,” you whisper as your fingers brush the shell of his ear.

He says nothing, his upper lip twitching a little.

You told them both as often as you could. You loved them more than anyone on earth. They had to know. It had morphed though, the type of love. That was always how you knew you’d end up loving someone. You had to know them so completely that you were safe, comfortable. Love them as friends, then as lovers.

It was the way Minho would keep one eye on you in public, when he knew you’d get overwhelmed. He always managed to catch onto when you wanted to leave before you’d even had a chance to voice it. He was quiet with his love, softly spoken words of comfort that you’d absorb without moving a muscle. If you moved, he might startle—shrink back into his comfort zone.

Chris’ attention was a little different. Rambling words, tripping over himself as he told you about his day. A hand on your back as you made your way through the busy weekend market. While Minho kept his eye on you from a distance, Chris was up close—physical contact and direct questioning.

A clap of thunder rumbles through the sky as Chris detangles himself from you. “Hot chocolate?” he asks.

“Mm, thank you.”

“Minho?” he prompts.

The man in question grunts out something that Chris interprets as a yes. “Three hot chocolates,” he says as he disappears into the kitchen, leaving you with a half asleep man in your lap. You continue playing with his hair as the storm intensifies. You’d always liked storms. They formed a protective barrier from the rest of the world. The air was washed clean, the suffocating heat of summer days was quashed, and no one expected anything from you.

You begin tracing over the tiny scars and imperfections that mark Minho’s face, little traces of evidence from his life before you’d met. It was hard to imagine that you’d ever been without him. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it.

“Do you really not mind if I sleep with you?” you ask, hoping he won’t retract his offer. “You won’t get sick of me?”

His eyes flutter open, long dark lashes visible even in the dim light. “I like it,” he says simply. I love you, you hear.

—

It’s an easy routine to fall into. Your room becomes a glorified closet as you spend each night in Minho’s instead. He even puts up with your pillow talk, and on nights where he’s particularly energetic, he offers a few thoughtful comments in addition to his hums of acknowledgement.

The feeling of the mattress dipping as someone sinks into the bed behind you wakes you. It’s the smell of his shampoo that tells you it’s Chris that wraps around you. “You awake?” he whispers.

“Mm, couldn’t sleep?”

“Yeah,” he confirms.

Minho makes a small noise before draping his leg over you, smacking his lips before stilling again. You’re completely enveloped now, two warm bodies sheltering you from the darkness. Chris didn’t join you often. You’d spent a few nights with your back to the dark room wishing he would. Minho’s bed was centred in the room. You preferred having yours pushed against the wall. It felt safer.

Chris makes a small contended noise as he presses up behind you.

“I can’t stop thinking about it,” he whispers after a moment, breath ghosting over your neck. “You bent over the counter… your thighs…” It takes you off guard. You know what he’s talking about, despite it being weeks ago that he caught you in Minho’s shirt. You find yourself unable to breathe, heart thumping so loud you're sure he must hear it. “It’s wrong—dirty to think about you that way,” he continues. “I know. I know I shouldn’t.”

“Why?”

A pause. “What?”

“Why is it wrong?”

He’s quiet. Then, “Because you don’t want it.”

“How do you know?”

His hand rests at your hip, a comforting hold. He’s quiet as you reach down to take his hand in yours and guide it up to your lips. You press a kiss to the side of his hand, just below his thumb. A slow kiss, one you hope conveys all the meaning you intend it to.

When you release him, he doesn’t move. Not apart from brushing his thumb over your lips. He can’t see at all what he’s doing, still behind you in the dark room. He goes by feel, playing with your lower lip until—with a tiny amount of pressure—he pushes inside. Your lips wrap around him, taking his thumb as he presses it to your tongue.

Then he starts whispering, “I wanted to hold you down, press you into the counter and lift the shirt a little higher.”

You hum around his thumb, wrapping your own fingers around his wrist to hold him there. You’re not dreaming, you’re sure of it. You’re awake and sandwiched between the two people you love most. It’s surreal. This was always the way it would have gone. Chris was always going to be the one to bring you all together, finally.

He continues, “How would you sound?” His breathing is heavier now. “If I fucked you against it? Would you make pretty little noises? Would you say my name?” His thumb moves in and out a little as you suck at it. “I can’t stop thinking about it. How warm are you… how would you suck me in…”

Minho makes a small noise and you both still, waiting to see if he’ll wake.

“Have you ever heard him whine your name?” Chris starts again. His low whispers are a little more hushed now. “He tries not to. He tries so hard. He usually does it in the shower, when he knows you aren’t home.”

Your grip tightens on his wrist.

Chris continues, “You know how he is: he’s shy.” Warm lips to your neck, a firm press. “He wants you though.” His nose brushes the skin behind your ear as he nuzzles a little further into you. Then he laughs, quiet and breathy. “He was so casual when he said you should sleep here, like he doesn’t wrap his hand around his cock and imagine he was brave enough to fuck you into the mattress.”

You pull your lips from his thumb, leaving it wet. “Are you—Are you sure?” you whisper, attempting to turn your head to face him. His hand wraps around your throat, holding you in place and preventing you from turning.

“I’d never lie to you, baby.” His fingers are gentle at your neck, his thumb stroking your skin slowly. “I love you.” It’s surreal hearing those words in such a new context. Whispered into your neck as his wet thumb traces patterns against your throat. “Should we wake him up? We’ll have to be gentle,” he murmurs into your hair. “Don’t want him to startle.”

“Chris?” It’s almost a whine.

“Mm?” he hums, hips pressed right up against you now.

“Love you too.”

His fingers press slightly into your neck as he adjusts himself behind you. “Mm, I know.” Then his hand drops from your neck, across your hips, to your lower back. He pushes you a little, moving you across the mattress towards Minho. He still has one leg draped over yours. “Make sure he does. I’m not sure if he knows the same way I do.” He nudges you a little more. “Go on.”

Minho’s lips are parted. You reach to brush his plush upper lip with the tips of your fingers. Then, with far too much gentleness for someone trying to wake a person, you snake your hand around the back of his neck and into his hair. “Min,” you call gently as your fingers caress his scalp. “Minho.”

You watch his brows furrow as he stirs. Then his eyes flutter open. His lashes were visible even in the dim light. As you watch them flutter you’re reminded of a morning you’d awoken to find him half draped over you, his face buried in your neck. As his eyes had blinked open only minutes later, you’d felt them—his lashes tickling your neck like the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

“Mm?” he hums now, still blinking himself awake.

“I love you.”

He frowns, then grumbles something under his breath before rolling over away from you. You suspect he doesn’t understand how you mean it, that you don’t mean it exactly the way you always do. Another tactic then.

“Do you think about me in the shower?”

You feel the bed dip a little, Chris moving behind you. A tiny muffled noise follows. He was laughing into your pillow.

Minho is still.

You attempt to repeat yourself, “I said do you—”

“I heard,” Minho says, still facing away from you. His voice is rough from sleep. “What is he doing here?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” the man in question answers from behind you. “Was kept awake by thoughts of bending our girl over the kitchen counter.”

Our girl. Our girl. Our—

Minho sits up. So quickly it startles you.

“Are you gonna answer her question?” Chris prods.

Minho rubs at his eyes as he turns to face you. You sit up, partly just so you can reach up and smooth down a tuft of stubborn hair that sticks out from his temple. He licks his lips. “What’s happening?” he mumbles.

“I love you,” you repeat. He looks at you now, in that way that clearly betrays the cogs are turning. You press your lips together in poorly suppressed fondness as he processes.

“You… love me?” he says finally.

You press a kiss to his cheek in answer, an innocent peck.

“Answer the question,” Chris says from his reclined position on your pillows, clearly enjoying the show. You don’t turn to him, but you can picture the grin on his face clear as day.

Minho blinks. You decide to help him a little, “In the shower?”

His eyes drop, breaking eye contact.

“I have too,” you offer. “I’ve thought about you.” His eyes are back on yours. You’re half tempted to call a pause so you can flick a light on. The darkness is stealing the depth of his brown eyes from you. “I only ever think about either of you—both of you sometimes. I felt a little guilty… I-I didn’t want you to—”

“Both… of us?” he interrupts.

You can only nod. What do you say to that?

Then he’s looking over your shoulder, engaging in a silent exchange with Chris. They did this often. You wonder if they’re able to communicate without words because they were merely remembering conversations they had when you weren’t around. Had they had a conversation about you? About this?

An arm snakes around your waist. Chris drops a soft kiss to your neck, pressing himself so close behind you you’re practically enveloped by him. Safe. Minho reaches towards you, it’s hesitant and you hold your breath as his fingers brush your cheek. Don’t startle him.

“Me more though, mm?” he asks with a small tilt of his head and a lopsided smirk.

Chris rocks you to the side a little as he laughs, detaching Minho’s palm from your cheek. That’s the way he was: Minho. Layers of wit and charm blanketing a soft interior. You don’t give me a chance to retreat any further, falling forward out of Chris’ arms and forcing Minho to catch you in his own. He helps you settle in his lap, lifting you a little as you rearrange your limbs.

“This doesn’t mean I wanna share with anyone else,” you start as you brush the hair from his face. “Just us, yeah?”

He nods. His eyes flick over your shoulder and then drop to your lips. “Just us,” he agrees. Then his lips are brushing yours, teasing just like his words so often are. You pull him to you properly by the back of his neck, his grown out hair offering you plenty of leverage to hold him where you need. He lets you take from him, lets you guide him. Teasing… and then giving. That’s the way he was.

Chris settles himself behind you. He litters your neck with kisses as you squirm a little in Minho’s lap, attempting to have more, more, more. Your arms are practically wrapped around his head as you lift a little on your knees, grasping at his hair until Chris is pulling you off him. You take in the way you’ve left Minho as you’re tugged back against the other man. His hair is a mess, lips wet and slightly parted as he catches his breath. You’re tempted to reach out and grab at him like a baby reaching for candy.

But then you’re distracted, tipped onto your side and pulled tight against a solid torso. “There’s no rush,” Chris says with a breathy laugh. “He’s not leaving.” You meet Minho’s eyes as Chris returns his thumb to your mouth. “There you go,” he encourages. “Good girl.”

Your breathing settles back into a normal rhythm. He was right. You’d been frantic, desperate. If you rush it’d be over—the last thing you want. You can’t help rolling your hips a little though, not when Minho is looking at you the way he is, watching as you suckle on Chris’ thumb. They were yours. Take your time.

You reach for Chris’ wrist, wrapping your fingers around it as Minho lays his head on his pillow. Chris rolls his hips into you as you pull his finger from your mouth, slowly, right to the tip. He presses his finger back in before you have a chance to do it yourself. You tug him free of your lips. “I thought there was no rush?” you whisper.

His lips ghost over your earlobe as he speaks, “Am I being greedy?”

“You stole her,” Minho answers before you can.

“I saved you,” Chris argues before pressing his lips behind your ear. “She was devouring you.”

“Maybe I wanted to be devoured.”

You reach for Minho’s hand and bring his finger to your lips, pressing a kiss to his fingertip. Chris resumes his grinding as you slip Minho’s finger into your mouth. Devour. It feels like an appropriate description as you lay there sucking on his finger with Chris leaving messy kisses at your neck. “What would you like?” he mutters between kisses. “Tell me what you want.”

It’s a loaded question. You decide to answer as simply as you can, distracted by the way Minho watches you suck on his finger. He licks his lips as you pull him from your mouth. “Fuck me like this. Just like this. Surrounding me.”

“Surrounding you?” Chan questions, his hand at your stomach holding you firm against him.

“Mm. Feels safe.. I-I like being between you.”

He presses his face into the hair behind your ear. “You’re safe, baby.” His hand slips into the waistband of your shorts. “Always.”

Minho shuffles a little closer to you, close enough that he can replace his finger with his lips. You go practically limp as they each prepare you—Chris with his fingers playing with your cunt, and Minho with his tongue in your mouth and his hand up your shirt. Surrounded. It’s so easy to lose yourself like this, to roll your hips and grasp at Minho’s hair, to forget about any shame as you let small whimpers escape into his mouth. Chris is playing, it’s the perfect word to describe the way his fingers prod and swipe at your cunt. He must feel how you drip for him, how his fingers slip easily through your folds, but you’re alone with the desperate pulse—the emptiness that begs to be filled with a dull throb.

Minho makes a small noise as you tug a little too hard at his hair. He squeezes your breast in his hand as punishment, his palm warm and perfectly sized to hold you. “Are you getting desperate again?” Chris mumbles into your neck. “Be gentle with him, baby.”

You whimper a little, nipping at Minho’s lip in defiance. He pulls back a little and a flood of anxiety floods into your chest at the thought he might be leaving, that you’d pushed it too far. But then he’s shuffling down the bed and lifting your shirt up, tugging the fabric up above your tits. He stays there, his breath warm against your nipples as his fingers trace patterns across your skin.

“Listen,” Chris whispers. His fingers speed up without warning, strumming at your entrance—too low to brush your clit. His goal is clear when the wet sounds of your slick fill the room, his fingers stopping their rapid strumming to prod at your hole every few seconds. You should be embarrassed, you would be in any other situation. But not here. Not with them.

You feel Minho’s whispered, “Fuck.” His breath is hot before he latches onto your breast. It’s a wonderful distraction as your shorts and underwear are tugged down your legs and discarded, as Chris aligns himself behind you and slips his cock between your legs. The tip brushes your click as he grinds into you like this. Minho’s head is perfectly placed to entangle your fingers in his hair and hold him to your chest as he continues sucking at you.

It should be overwhelming. It’s all new and so much, so, so much. But it isn’t. You’re home. You’re surrounded. You’re with them. You practically float as you’re pressed between them, as they consume you.

You’re grateful Minho insists on sleeping with the air conditioning going, now more than ever. Heat surrounds you. Minho’s hot mouth at your breast. Chris’ cock hot between your legs and his warm chest pressed to your back. Heat.

“Do you want me now?” Chan says, voice a little strained. His cock nudges your entrance, tip prodding and retreating over and over. “You want me to fuck you into Minho, hm?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Yes.”

His teeth graze your skin as he pushes in, the ghost of a bite—followed by a low moan. You cling to Minho as you’re filled, holding him to your chest as his tongue laves at you—devouring.

You squeak as Chris pulls out and fucks back in suddenly, shoving you slightly up the bed. Minho makes a small sound before reattaching himself, determined not to be disturbed. Chris is a little gentler after that, deep and slow rolls of his hips that have you pressing into Minho each time. Eventually he detaches from you and moves up the bed. You expect him to kiss you. Instead he keeps just fair enough away that you can’t lean forward and capture his lips. He watches your face, traces his eyes across your features as Chris fucks you from behind.

You should feel exposed. But you don’t. You always liked when his eyes were on you. He reaches to lift some hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear as Chris fucks into you. Then he leans in, so close his lips brush yours. Each thrust of Chris’ hips bring you tantalisingly close to joining. Teasing and giving, that was Minho. You wait for him to give. It only takes a minute or so longer. Then he’s pressing right up against you, practically crushing you between their two bodies as he bites into your shoulder.

You cum with Chris’ fingers on your clit and Minho’s teeth on your neck.

“Do you want my cum?” Chris groans. “I’ll make you all messy for him. Do you want that? He can fuck it back inside you for me.”

All you can do is nod, a weak noise accompanying it. Minho’s lips are on yours a second later, wet and messy as you let him take what he needs. He swallows the whimper you release as Chris shoves into you one last time and releases inside you. You’re surrounded by heat, pressed between them tightly.

Chris grinds into you again for a moment, panting into your neck as you lay full of him. “Love you,” he murmurs finally.

Minho leaves a peck at the corner of your mouth. “Okay?” he asks. Your fingers massage his scalp a little as you hum in response.

“Need you though.”

“Now?”

“Mm. Now… in the morning… tomorrow night too.”

He smiles, lopsided and satisfied. “Why?”

“Love you.”

He drapes a leg over you as Chris slips from behind you and disappears into the bathroom. “Sorry?” Minho questions with a smirk. “Couldn’t hear you.”

You tug at his hair. “Don’t be a brat.”

He rolls you onto your back, pressing you into the mattress. “I do think about you,” he says, voice taking on a softer tone. He switched like that often, letting his walls down without warning. “Not just… not just in the shower. I think about you when I’m at work… when something happens and I’m stressed or—” he pauses, lowering himself onto his elbows. “I think about you a lot.”

“About fucking me?”

His nose scrunches as he drops his eyes. “Not just that. Just… in lots of ways.”

“I love you too.”

He drops his face to your neck as Chris reenters the room. You roll Minho back onto his side, allowing Chris to resume his position behind you—how you liked it.

It’s a little slower when Minho presses his body to yours and fills you. Less frenzied than Chris had been. He grinds his cock deep, pressing you into Chris’ chest. You silently curse the years you’d spent in your own bed, all the nights you could have been pressed between them like this. It was only out of ignorance that you’d endured it. If you’d known how it felt to be sandwiched between them, to be full of one’s cum as the other fucks it deep inside—

“How does she feel?” Chris asks as his fingers wrap around your throat, a gentle cradle.

Minho groans in response, reaching to your hip to give him leverage as he sheathes himself right to the hilt. You forget to breathe as he speaks, “Hot… Hot and dripping, fucking sloppy.” Your breath is forced back into your lungs as he suddenly pulls out and fucks back in. “Listen.” He jostles you into Chris as he speeds up, filling the room with the wet sound of his cock fucking the cum into your already wet cunt. He was shy. He was your shy best friend and he was demonstrating how wet you were to the man pressed to your back.

You latch onto his neck, forcing him to slow as you press your teeth into his skin. His hips stutter a little before he resumes, a scattered pattern much less controlled than the one he’d started with. You lick at the bite mark when you’re done. “You’re so good,” you whisper. “You’re mine.”

When he cums it’s with a gasp of your name. You imagine it’s how he sounded in the shower, how he’d sounded all the times he’d thought of you. Had he ever thought of you like that a few hours before you’d crept into his bed to seek comfort.

Chris reaches over you as Minho catches his breath. “Let me feel,” he whispers before his fingers are on you, playing with your dripping entrance and strumming at your clit until you cum with his hand around your throat.

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angelltheninth · 8 months

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BNHA Men when You Have A Near Death Experience During a Mission

Pairing: Izuku Midoriya, Bakugo Katsuki, Shoto Todoroki, Eijiro Kirishima x Reader

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort, nightmares, cuddles, sneaking around, literal sleeping together, life affirming kisses, crying

A/N: Time for some angst! Hope you're ready to get punched in the feels.

Izuku never wanted to see you like that, on the ground and bleeding, broken. You can feel his tears falling onto your face, you can hear his cries, telling you to hold on that you'll be okay, you'll get fixed up in no time just hold on. In the following days he can't let go of the sight, his mind won't let him forget seeing you like in that state. When you get out of the hospital you notice that he's more quiet then usual, still sticking close to you but unsure what to say to you. If he was stronger then maybe you he could have watched your back better. So... will you train with him? Like a date. It's odd to count that as a date but he was always a weird boyfriend, in an adorable way.

"It might be sudden, you just got out of the hospital but I really want to get stronger. I haven't been sleeping well since then, every time I close my eyes the nightmares come rushing in. I want to get stronger, be able to stand by your side. Then, do we have a date?"

Bakugo is the guy who will blame himself for you getting hurt but he will do it in the angriest way possible and actually make it seem like he's blaming everyone else. Needs to carry you to the hospital on his own, even if he himself is badly injured. If anyone so much as tries to touch you he will get aggressively protective, holding you closer to his chest in retaliation. The moment you open your eyes his mouth is on yours, his hands cupping your injured cheeks with the gentleness most doubt he could possess. He can't stay for long but for the time he can he doesn't want his hands to not be on you, he needs to know that you're okay.

"Fucking messed up back there. Don't give me that, you know I did! You could have died you idiot! Look... I'm not the best guy but you... you bring out a better side of me, I don't want to lose you. I can be sappy when I wanna. Keep your mouth shut about it or I'll shut it with mine."

Shoto never wants to know what it feels like to lose a person he loves. There have already been so many close calls in his life, and now it's happening again. You keep telling him you'll be fine but how can you say that when you're loosing so much blood. The hall outside of your room in the hospital is in a constant flux of too hot and too cold because his emotions are all over the damn place right now. Seeing you awake calmed him down a little but it's not until he feels your hand in his pulling him next to you and letting him listen to your heartbeat that he truly calms down. It's a little cramped in the hospital bed but if you don't mind it then he'll stay like this.

"How could it have been worse? You almost died there. I never want to think about a worst outcome. I want to stay by your side forever, I want to go to sleep and wake up while listening to your heartbeat just like I am now. In a bigger bed of course."

Eijiro had never been so angry in his life. At those who almost killed you yes but also at himself. He's your boyfriend, he should have payed more attention to what was going on around the two of you. Now you're bedridden in a hospital, unable to move without it causing pain. You'll heal but what happened will always haunt his mind. Because visiting hours have their limits he thinks it wouldn't be a problem to sneak in through the window, bring you flowers and snacks to make you feel better. You spend many hours talking, kissing, even long periods of silence. He eventually falls asleep in his chair and in the morning has to run right as he hears the door handle turn.

"Brought you flowers and your favorite snacks. I don't want you eating yucky hospital food. Are you doing better? Did you... see me when you... sorry, I don't like being that way, but when I saw you like that I lost it. I will smash through anything and anyone to keep you safe."

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lacedinweb22 · 9 months

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୨୧ Pudge & Cuddles ୨୧ ˚⋆✦ Miguel O’Hara x you Boyfriend Headcanons ˚⋆✦

nsfw 18+

cw: scratching, masochism, scars, body image/descriptions (stretch marks, cellulite, etc.), biting, sex (p in v), pain kink

note: Shit gets a little crazy so don’t act like I didn’t fucking warn ur asses 🤝 I’m planning on making one-shots for these because AWWJJDJE so that’ll be cumming SOON. love u my fellow pudgy simps

♡ Miguel is addicted to squeezing and holding your pudge!!! You lay on your side, Miguel spooning you. The laptop set in front of you plays a horror movie, which Miguel promised he’d stay awake through. He’s an exhausted, bratty liar so naturally he falls asleep halfway through. His arms wrap around you, one hand under your shirt, holding your pudgy, soft under belly for comfort, his hands full of your hot flesh. His grip keeps your body tightly pressed up against him. His face rests in the crook of your neck, breathing softly into your skin. He dreams, his muscles flexing, moving against you suddenly.

♡ Miguel’s nightmares cause his grasp to tighten on your pudge, claws unsheathing into your skin. You usually wake him up, but you’re a masochist, so sometimes you let him, leaving scratches around your hips and lower belly. It feels good and you love seeing evidence of him spread on you. He’ll scold you the next day when he sees them, but he secretly loves marking your soft skin as his.

♡ Miguel uses your thighs and tummy as a pillow. He loves digging his face into your belly, or thighs, anywhere where there is warmth and soft tissue. You’ll sit on the couch reading, or watching a movie, and he’ll make himself more than comfortable on you, losing himself in absolute bliss. Sometimes he’ll just lay in between your legs resting his head on your fluffy thighs, watching a movie on the tv. Other times, he’ll completely dig his face into your warmth, snoring into your soft skin. He wraps his arms around your hips, keeping himself wrapped around you, using you as his own special pillow.

♡ Miguel comforts/whines when you’re insecure. If you don’t let him dig his face into your flesh, he’ll throw a fit. He’ll kiss all along your cellulite, your stretch marks, your pudgy softness, whispering his admiration for you, “Eres tan hermosa, tan perfecta, mi suave ángel. What would I do without my soft girl keeping me warm, keeping me safe,” he’ll murmur against your skin, brushing his lips against you.

♡ Miguel will fixate on your thick thighs. He’ll adore and caress you for hours, lying in between your legs, or beside your thighs, tracing your stretch marks, leaving kisses along your scars of growth, gripping your fat in his muscular hands. He loves when the heavy hot flesh of your thighs wrap around his waist, and how your big thighs suffocate him when you sit on his face. He’ll lift you up effortlessly once you’re done, your soft figure being only craveable, comfortable pressure. He’s huge, strong, and he craves all of you, all of your weight, enveloping him, wrapping around him.

♡ He loves the way your abundant thighs and hips gate your heat, sealing your delicate flesh. He loves prying you open, your strong thighs closing habitually from pleasurable overstimulation.

♡ He marks up your thighs, biting the shit out of you, or digging his claws into you when he’s overstimulated. You have to avoid skirts for the next week or so now that your thighs are covered in bites, scratches, and bruises.

♡ He’ll reach for your skin at night, or when you’re watching tv on the couch, or when you’re cooking in the kitchen. He’ll come from behind you, slipping his hands under your top to fill his hands with the warm comfort your body provides. In public, he’s forced to control himself, not grabbing your ass or belly, or thighs, but when you two are left alone or in a dark restaurant, he’ll slip his hand under the tablecloth and grip your skin. He needs your body in his hands.

♡ Miguel presses his broad hand on your lower belly, feeling his length squeeze into you, pushing all of your insides tightly against your skin. He adds that pressure, squeezing your plush flesh, gripping you down onto him. He watches you squirm, your skin plump, body full with his wide burning, pleasurable invasion. When he reaches his climax, his claws unsheathe, digging into your stomach, leaving marks of desire spread across your belly.

♡ Miguel will tightly grip your under belly while on top of you, getting off looking down at the love bites he’s spread across your wet, sweaty skin. Your flesh beats against his, ripples of his impact visible to him. His thumbs dig into you, holding you in place, as he squeezes himself into you.

my lovely taglist ໒꒰ྀི´ ˘ ` ꒱ྀིა ✧ @wingedturtledream @skaochii @bat-yo-us @lostpirate79 @renn-pumkin-head @princessa-micomicona @waiif-uwu @punpuun @thbidkbutok @acehyacinth @thetoetickler @kaqua @i-live-in-a-fantasy-daydream @inafantasyworld10 @d1lf-loverrr @altheadq @thesilenthill @trash-king18 @imnotyourbcbe @tiffanypooh @ihateuguys @littlemissilovecoconuts @royal-jester @that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main @tbh2idk @gilliantate23 @envyjmoney @qiaipia @ur-fav-ginger @lacook246 @eddiestitmiguelsbigdick @blair6th

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 1 month

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😴😴😴 (to find later) AITA for putting sleeping pills in my boyfriend's drinks without him knowing?

I know this sounds absolutely awful, but please bear with me.

Basically, me (27 m) and my boyfriend (26 m) have been living together for around five years, meaning we usually also sleep together. Or at least we try, since my BF suffers from terrible insomnia and reoccurring nightmares so bad sometimes he wakes up into a full on anxiety attack. He does go to therapy and has prescribed sleeping pills, but he hates taking them because he's always afraid that when he does fall asleep he's just going to have nightmares, (which also just makes him avoid sleeping in general even not including his insomnia).

Usually I try to help him by staying up with him, watching his favorite show while cozied up on the couch under a bunch of blankets and with a hot coco, or we do something else that he likes and helps him relax. I really don't mind, I love him and I love spending time with him. However, it used to be that he would fall asleep at around 3-4 AM, but as time went on he started staying up longer and longer, until at a certain point I literally had to start leaving for work in the morning while he still hadn't gotten any sleep.

This was an issue for two reasons: 1. Obviously, without me there he felt even less comfortable and had an even harder time falling asleep, sometimes staying up for even 48 hours (or maybe more, I'm not sure) just to wait for me to come back home so I could help him unwind again. 2. He actually started lying to me about sleeping while I wasn't home, so that I would go to sleep normally and let him stay awake because "he wasn't tired" even though I could clearly tell he was.

That's when I started getting seriously concerned and questioning him about how much he actually sleeps, especially since I could see it was affecting him more and more both mentally and physically. He was avoidant about the topic but I pleaded with him to talk to his therapist about it, to try and find anything else to help him. Apparently his therapist just told him to keep using his sleeping pills to help with the insomnia, and if they're not working she'll look into prescribing him stronger ones. Yet despite that he still insists on not taking them and just going to bed normally even though it's clearly not working.

To clarify: as far as I'm aware, he has no negative side-effects from these sleeping pills, he's never complained about feeling any pain or feeling worse after taking them or anything like that. Literally he only doesn't want to take them because he's just that afraid of going to sleep.

That's why whenever we stay up nowadays, I always add a small dose to his cup of coco, which thankfully has a strong enough taste to cover the pills (I've tried a small bit myself and couldn't tell a difference). Since I started doing that, he's been regularly falling asleep before 2AM and even though the nightmares still sometimes wake him up or make him feel a bit tired in the morning, overall he's been doing much better.

Still, I do feel bad about putting stuff in his drinks without his knowledge even if it's for his own good. I really wonder if I should stop, but I'm really scared that if I do, he'll start spiralling again. I want to help him and be there for him but I've already tried talking about it and it never worked. So, AITA?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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darkdevasofdestruction · 3 months

Text

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓷𝓮𝓵 𝓝°5 ~ 𝓗𝓾𝓼𝓴𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓡𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻

Oh, to be young and in love, in the most romantic era of the notorious 1950s, with one very magical man who never fail to make you swoon with every suave look who offers.

It isn't very often that Husker reminisces his past life - He knows, if he does, he will remember all of the good times, when his heart was gold and trembling with pure emotion - After all, if he recalls the time he was alive, and very much in love, his frozen heart will just shatter to dust once again, with the same infinite anguish he felt once everything was ripped away from his grasp.

A pain so intolerable, that runs so deep - A pain that no amount of alcohol can mend.

He never truly knows whether he wants to remain asleep forever, so that he will never have to face reality again, or if that would be a nightmare, tormenting him for the remaining abyss of eternity...

Or, perhaps he should stay awake, so that memories will stop toppling him over, beginning with a most beautiful reverie, yet always ending with the same night terror he must face every time.

If this is his way of paying for his irredeemable sins, then he is well aware he deserves it, and even more - Yet every smell reminds him of that sweet Chanel N°5 that she used to wear. Every time he closes his eyes, he dreams of the gracious dances he would share with her. Every song he hears, he recalls that angelic voice of hers, and every time he lays abed and stares up at the ceiling, her seraphic visage flashes before him.

"You are drinking again." Angel slumped in one of the stools by the bar, noticing his best friend looking in a far worse state than usual. "Rough day?"

"Rough life." Husk rasped, chugging down a whole bottle of strong spirits.

"Wanna talk about it?" he tried, in vain, to appear sympathetic - The feline demon was far too gone into his own darkness to even think about slurring away his never-ending sorrows.

"I wanna die, that's what I want." he growled, slamming away the bottle into the nearest wall. "Just like this fucking bottle. That's what I fuckin' wanna do - I wanna die, damn it!"

Angel's eyes widened greatly - Yes, life in hell surely was crazy, and especially for demons like the two of them, who sold their souls away because of their own failures, both in life, and now, in hell - But what in the world could it have caused him to get so hopeless that he was unable to fight back the tears glistening in those tortured eyes?

Even someone like him couldn't dare to make light of the situation, or try and crack a joke, let alone taunt or flirt with him. He felt... Pity, for the poor bartender who always listens to others' woes, yet dares naught speak out his own problems.

"Listen... Husk, ergh... I'm not the best at comforting, okay? But... If I can help, you can tell me... And, if not, then... I'll still be here. And maybe try to keep the others away from you. How's that?" Husk didn't quite seem to compute what his friend said, though he robotically nodded his head, as if remote controlled.

Angel remained in that stool for a few hours, watching the winged demon drink bottle after bottle after bottle, yet his sorrows only washed over him tenfold with each shattered glass against a different wall. He wonders what is going through Husk's mind, what he's ruining himself over with each sigh o grip on his fur.

Who would have thought that, of all things possible, Husker's greatest lament was...

"I fucking hate red. Why the fuck are my wings red? Of all the fucking colours in hell, they just had to be red, yeah?" he stammered angrily, pulling at his feathers. "Y'know what? They can't change colour. Tried dyeing 'em, but nothin'. Got so much fuckin' red on me - I wonder if it's Hell's way of punishin' me forever for my fucking sins."

He hates red...? What an odd statement - He truly seems to have a personal vendetta against that colour - But why? It's just a colour, after all, it can do no wrong. "Why... Do you hate red so much...? Angeldust dared to ask.

At first, he was met with a low growl, hostile, yet inoffensive at its core. Then, he heard a most disturbing answer. "That was the colour of my wife's dress when I last went home." Angel's brain shut down completely. To think someone was trusting him with such a vulnerable piece of himself, the very core of their hopelessness, their weakness; In a way, he felt flattered that Husk trusted him so much, yet in another way... He couldn't help but feel borderless pity for his friend. He wishes such a fate to no one... Well, maybe to Valentino.

Angel forced himself to smile softly, placing his hand gingerly over his own, taking away the alcohol from his hand. "What was her name?" Husk looked up with shock, a little startled, right into his dual coloured eyes - He hasn't ever spoken her name out loud, it almost felt like a blasphemy against her purity. Yet... Maybe... "Y/N." he dared whisper.

"Y/N." Angel repeated after him. "A beautiful name for a beautiful lady." Husk nodded his head.

"She was a Princess." he muttered, his sight blurry with tears.

"A Princess? Really? Nobility and all that?" much to his surprise, Husker chuckled.

"Nah, not quite." he rasped. "At heart, she was. Her family was very rich, so she was pampered up. Huge manor, servants, a personal maid, luxury brands, jewellery and perfumes, indulging in any studies and hobbies she liked..."

"How'd you two meet? I don't suppose you were a Prince or something, were you?" Angel tried to joke friendly, encouraging his friend to open up.

"Ha. Far from it." in his hand, a few dices appeared, and he idly played around with them. "I was an ugly dead beat from a working class broken family. Hardly worthy of her attention." he gritted his teeth bitterly. "Got around to finding work at a young age - Gambling, magic, sax player - If I had money to live, anything worked."

"Did you meet at one of your gigs?" Husk nodded his head affirmatively.

"No clue what she saw in me, Angel. She could do so much better." for a split second, he had a dry smirk on his face, before it disappeared again. "I asked her once, what the hell did she see in me - And she said... I played her favourite song. Silly, innit?"

He didn't receive a mocking laugh, much to his surprise - Instead, Angel cooed. He never imagined the jaded demon before him could be so romantic! "What did you play?" Instead of answering, Husk turned around to his bar, and took out another bottle, yet this time, he hummed a familiar tune as he was doing his bartending for two glasses. "Oh, now I get it - You always hum that song when no one's around! I thought you were just bored out of your mind." he let out an amused exhale. "Fly me to the moon... Refined tastes, alright."

"The stars in the sky never sparkles as brightly as those in her eyes when she looked at me." no wonder he never accepted any flirting from anyone - How could anyone match the love he had for Y/N? "If I were a decent man, I'd have told her not to waste her precious time and love on me. Instead, I was a selfish fuck. I stole years of her life... And in the end, I even stole her life. All because I wasn't even half the fucking man I pretended to be."

The conversation soon turned significantly sour. "I was the man - I was supposed to provide for her. Afford all that fucking expensive Chanel N°5, and the Dior dresses, the Chantelle lingerie, and the damn Cartier and Tiffany's jewellery." even someone more modern like Angel knew all those luxury brands, and was even more impressed and shocked that they could so easily afford such high-end items. "I brought her flowers every day and I took her out on brunches every morning, on dates every afternoon, and to soirees every fucking evening. She loved dancing at parties... But I suppose she preferred the moonlight over the chandeliers."

"You must have overworked yourself a bunch to afford all these things. I'm sure she appreciated it." Angel tried to comfort him, earning a nod of agreement.

"She told me she didn't need any gift, except for my presence. Genuine woman, that one. But how could I, in good conscience, go to her parents and ask for her hand in marriage, when I couldn't even afford a half-decent house with a room for each of her hobbies, a drawer for each month outfit, another for her shoes and three more for her bags, jewels and perfumes; and a large flower garden and a fucking rose gazebo and a swan pond with ten different breeds of pedigree dogs." Angel cringed a little, realising the tremendous gap between their living conditions. "I lost myself on the way to greatness. She was making me so euphoric that I just wanted to see her excited every moment of her life. I didn't need to eat or drink, I just needed to see her smile, and I could work again a few more days without rest."

"But then... You collapsed from overworking?" Husker shook his head.

"Worse. I fooled her parents completely, and we planned our wedding." he replied bitterly.

"How is that a bad thing? Isn't the wedding day the happiest day in a couple's life?" Husk sighed, from the deepest part of his soul.

"It was." he said. "I got greedy. I went to loan sharks, took a shit ton of money to make that wedding the most grand event the country saw in a while. Then went on a month-old honey moon around the world." he cursed in a few different languages that Angel couldn't understand, but was sure were some highly offensive and crude words that he would never utter around Y/N. "I don't need to say more, do I?"

Yeah, he needn't continue speaking the descent into madness, alright. Angeldust didn't want to hear that his friend's love story ended up in his soulmate getting murderer by the loan sharks, only for him to end up killing them, and then himself, out of pure rage and sorrow. He didn't want to hear that an innocent woman like Y/N never knew that her husband was broke and took loans, just to try and mimic the lavish lifestyle she grew up with and deserved. He didn't want to hear the broken shriek of anguish, or the streaming river of tears that befell as Husker saw her dead, on the floor, her pearly pink dress dyed a deep crimson from her own blood, and getting even more stained with each strong embrace he held around her shattered body, just like a precious porcelain doll fallen off the shelf.

They only just recently became something akin to 'best friends' from both sides... Yet Angel couldn't bare to hear the tragic end of the story, and he couldn't even begin to imagine the pain he felt, having to live his afterlife as a Sinner, for as long as he has, without the woman he loves by his side.

"It's better this way, I guess. At least she finally got rid of me. Wherever she is, she must be living far better, than with a lying fuck like me who couldn't keep it together." the spider demon frowned, watching his friend slump on the bar counter.

"I don't think that's the case." he spoke vehemently. "I don't believe there is any person, of any kind, treasuring her as much as you did." Husk's ears perked up immediately, twitching lightly. "At least on an emotional way, I'd say, you and Y/N were lucky. There's so many people who never experience the love you had, let alone get to meet and marry their soulmate."

"What the fuck would you know?!" he growled, throwing a bottle at his head, only for the demon to dodge.

"... I wish I had fallen in love too, you know?" Husk gritted his teeth, realising the sensitive wound that he unwillingly stabbed open - But it wasn't his foult - He is hurt! He is in pain! "As a human, as a demon... I was like you, sort of. I was so shit at managing my life, that I ended up falling prey to my vices... I needed more and more, and I couldn't resist. I had no ration or logic. I gave in to my so-called 'friend group' and got addicted to drugs... Couldn't get rid of that addiction even after death... And I clinged on the only demon who could give me what I wanted... And now, I can't escape Val, even if I wanted to turn my life around and live the life that I never could." Angel had a wry smile on his face. "Do you really think a drug addict or the most famous porn star of hell would be able to meet his soulmate, without destroying their life in the process also?"

The two remained silent, only hanging their head and sighing. No matter how happy life can be for some... It will never have a chance of turning around for them. It just couldn't be. They are in hell, after all. Even Charlie won't be able to save them and bring them on the path of redemption, no matter how insanely enthusiastic and cheerful she can be... They were still sure to drown.

Somehow, this few hours of vulnerability brought Husk and Angel closer, and although they won't be speaking about it again, it was clear to the residents of the Hazbin Hotel that the two were as close as two demons can get, without the inclusion of vice or extortion.

Things were going well enough for them, even with the new addition of Sir Pentious, the villain turned... Something? It was still not too bad around the hotel. Though unsure of whatever Charlie's plan was, to fight against the purge from the Angels, they were still there to sort-of support whatever dream the Princess of the Pride Circle has.

That is, until the Hotel opened its doors to a brand new resident, a gorgeous demoness dressed elegantly in a dress of pearly pink, adorned with high quality jewellery, and with her long hair done stylishly, and smelling like a fresh day of Spring. She walked in guided by the Radio Demon, of all people, and she was smiling so demurely, completely unafraid of the fiend next to her, yet still reserved and soft.

"No way, is that Chanel N°5?! How'd you get it in here?!" Angel squealed, fangirling over the flowery perfume - But then, it clicked for him. Didn't Husker mention his wife loving this scent the most?

"Oh, you noticed! I am so happy that there are more sensible people - Erh - Demons with refined tastes!" the girl unfolded her laced fan and giggled behind it demurely.

Although she looked even more regal than even the Princess of Hell herself, as they stood next to each other, there was one particular detail that made the new-comer stand out from any other netizen.

With her hands clasped together over her chest, a bright white gold ring, with a most brilliant zircon was shining brighter than even the moon herself.

Whilst the other demons gathered around the seraphic beauty, wanting to have her attention, and even going as far as to have Alastor speak out about this new lady, Husker's breath stopped completely; His brain was going into overdrive, and his heart, he wanted to rip out of his chest.

That ring... That ring, he knew all to well - After all, he bought it himself, when he proposed to Y/N. That voice, the fashion, the mannerism... Even with altered looks, she looked the same. Even in hell, she looked the same. Even with demonic eyes, she looked the same.

She was the most beautiful woman in the universe.

"Y/N, this is Husker, our bartender." Charlie's face was split open by her overly-cheerful grin. "Husk, won't you introduce yourself to Y/N?"

"I'm not a fucking child. I don't need to introduce myself." the man hissed aggressively. "This is fucking stupid, I'm out." without even realising, he shattered the glass in his grasp, before stomping away into his room.

How could that be? Was this a nightmare? Surely, this must be some impersonator demon or something - There's no way an innocent being like Y/N could possibly have ended up in Hell, with a bunch of Sinners, of all thing. Was this his fault also? Did he bring her down with him to hell? Was he never going to be forgiven for all of the shit he's done in his previous life? Did Alastor bring her to the Hotel, so that he could blackmail him even more? Was his empty soul worth so little, in the end?

He was so afraid - Will Y/N be angry once she realises who he is? He couldn't blame her, obviously, he's earned her scorn... Yet why is his heart hurting so bad? He wishes so badly to jump on her and wrap her in his arms and wrings, and never again let her go. Ah, but he looks like a stupid flying cat... He looks ridiculous. There's no way...

...

Perhaps... She should stay with Al...

He has the influence, the money, the fashion sense, the looks, the freedom and privilege, the elegance...

Alastor has everything, and embodies everything that he could never be.

In life, he was selfish, and he didn't let go of her. Perhaps, the only way to apologise and make up for his sins was to let her be cherished by a man capable of doing what he never could.

As he lay awake on the bed, curled up and cursing his whole existence, wanting to sob until his body was all dried up and shriek until his throat was bleeding raw; he wanted to claw his face to velvety ribbons and drown his lungs with all of his blood... As he was succumbing to his self-hatred and spiraling down into the depths of despair, Y/N decided to end the day with some delicious pastries and an aromatic cup of tea in the garden, with her friend, Alastor.

Y/N was idly playing with her ring, looking at the inscription inside of it. 'Y/N ♡ Husker'. How absolutely adorable, she thought, a beautiful smile gracing her features. "He looks... Different. Are you sure it is the same person, Alastor?" her voice showed nervousness.

"Y/N, Y/N, would I lie to you?" he grinned, as always, sipping from his tea. "You should hear him purr. He truly resembles a little kitten."

Y/N looked up into he friend's eyes, a look of intense surprise and borderline intrigue taking over. "Are you being truthful? He... Purrs?" she gasped, quickly slipping her ring back on her finger.

"Yes, my darling. Unconsciously, someone strokes his fur, he gets so very adorable~." Alastor hums, watching the lady before him being so romantically melancholic over a life long gone. "What did you think about today's meeting?"

Y/N sighed, looking up into the sky. "I feel guilty for enjoying the moment I ripped Velvette apart, yet I feel no remorse for killing her. Such an uncouth and vulgar person has no right to behave with such disrespect towards me." Alastor's grin widened significantly. "And... I cannot wait for the next purge. I want to burn Heaven to cinders. Those hypocrites have grown far too arrogant for their own good, and I believe they need to be taught a harsh lesson."

"I see we are on the same wavelength as always, my dear." the demon sipped from his tea. "I am quite glad those arrogant hypocrites turned you away, for such a silly thing like - Vanity - They say. Beautiful women should be allowed to feel that-a-way, not ostracised for being such jewels for one's eyes." ever the charmer with poison dripping from his tongue. "Before I turn in for the evening, I have a gift for you - For friendship's sake." Y/N rose a suspicious eyebrow, watching as he took out a carefully folded picture from his blazer's pocket, and handing it to her. "I am going for a new fitting with Rosie tomorrow, should you wish to join us for a lovely day of self-care." the girl smiled, nodding her head at him in appreciation. "Have a pleasant evening."

Y/N muttered her pleasantries, and waited for Alastor to leave her sight, before unfolding the picture and bursting to tears. She cradled the precious memory to her heart, and sobbed for as long as her heart needed.

What have they done so wrong to deserve this? They were so happy while alive, so what went wrong? Was her opulent life, the reason for their downfall? Did her beloved think she wouldn't love him, if he couldn't match her family's wealth? Were all soulmates made to be torn apart while at their most blissful?

Still, she was grateful that she wasn't accepted into Heaven, for she would have had a most awful afterlife, as opposed to the many Overlord friends she made since she's been sent to Hell after her gruesome death, and the many favours she received from the Lords and Royals who went to Earth to retrieve items of importance for her.

Drying her tears, Y/N walked back inside the hotel, ready to turn in for the night, only to stop in her tracks as soon as she heard a soft sob, followed by a few very familiar curses in a variety of languages that she knew all too well. Her heart clenched as she stepped cautiously towards the foreign room, eavesdropping for any other sound, only to be met with more muffled cries.

Biting her lip, the demoness knocked on the door, only to be cursed harshly and told to fuck off. Y/N gulped, feeling taken aback by being talked in such a way - Though she immediately composed herself, reminding herself that he, too, is hurting, most likely far more than she is.

She excused herself before opening the door and entering. "What fucking part of 'FUCK OFF' don't you FUCKING UNDERSTA---" Husk was livid, getting in a sitting position as he growled with incredible hostility at the one who dared barge in his bedroom so rudely, only to remain speechless as he realised it was the demoness herself, standing with a sympathetic smile on her face. She also seemed to have been crying prior to this. "Oh. It is you." he cleared his throat, getting back on the bed, unable to face her.

"I have missed you dearly." her voice was so soft, so beautiful, so endearing... "I... Cannot believe that I am seeing you again. It seems to me that, no matter how far apart, our souls will forever traverse oceans of time and space, just to embrace each other once more."

She could hear him sniffling, his nails digging deep into the blanket. "You have always been so romantic and poetic." he grumbled, hiding his face in the pillow. "You shouldn't be here."

"You will have to be more specific, my love." she hummed, moving to sit on the edge of his bed. "Here - In Hell? Or here - In your room? Either way, I would say, I am right where I need to be."

"I don't understand." as if burning with frustration, Husk shot up, looking with self-hatred at the girl. "You did nothing wrong your entire life. You were nothing but a living sunshine. A fucking flower in human form. What the fuck did those angels not agree with, that they cast you to this shit hole?"

"There was a time when you would beat up any man who would curse in my presence." Y/N's adorable giggle made the demon's face flush red. "I am sorry that you are suffering so much, at my expense. I could never repay you for everything you have done for me, while we were alive."

"What the hell are you apologising for anyway? I got you killed, not the other way around - And even if it were that way, it'd've been a blessing in disguise, getting rid of a dead beat worthless fuck like me." he huffed, looking away. "You always were too good for me." the demon had so much to say, so many regrets to yell, so much love to spill... Alas, he remained quiet. "You seemed happy with Al. I wish I could be that, while we were alive." his voice went to soft, it was barely audible. "You should... Stay with him."

"Yes, I am happy being friends with Alastor. He was the one who introduced me to Rosie and Carmilla and Zestial, and I cherish them all dearly, as my like-minded friends." Y/N spoke calmly, reaching her hand to cup her lover's soft cheek. "He also was the one to tell me of your misdemeanours. How you succumbed to your vices; to gambling and alcohol, to the the point that you lost your soul in a deal with him. How pitiful." he was so confused as to where she was trying to get with her words, yet in spite of the anticipation for blames and reproaches, he couldn't help but lean into her warm and gentle touch. "He is the one who helped me become an Overlord, and I took your place. And it is Alastor, and some other friends of mine, who helped retrieve some objects I thought long lost."

"... You still smell like Chanel N°5." his comment made the girl giggle again.

"One of my friends had his little imps go to the human world and rob an entire Chanel store, to bring me all Chanel N°5 perfume bottles." how incredulous, Husk thought, staring at the girl flabbergast, speaking of a clear crime, committed in her name. And then, he started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of her statement.

"Angel would kill to have a whole room of Chanel N°5." he said, his eyes softening as he put his hand over hers. "Y/N... Knowing that you are doing fine... That you aren't suffering... Or anything that I put you through... It makes me... Content."

"My darling." Y/N called out. "Do you remember the day of our wedding?"

"Of course I do. What's that question?"

With a cheeky grin, she took out the picture from her purse, handing it to her beloved. "Alastor was able to find this. His connections truly are amazing." Husk's eyes were wet with falling tears, and his lips were trembling. "I forgot I had pink roses braided in my hair. I was so busy looking at my handsome husband, that everything around me vanished." Husk's sobbing got even louder. "I wanted to frame this picture first, but I couldn't resist showing it to you first."

"Get out, Y/N! Get out!" his voice was broken and raw, so pained that even her heart shattered. "I am not the man you fell in love with. Why do you think my name is 'Husk'? I am just that - A husk of the man I never was. I am not worth anything. I don't amount to anything. I just gamble money I don't have and drink booze until I pass out. I don't deserve a second chance, and I certainly don't deserve you. I never did. I got you killed, damn it!"

"You think too much, you fool." Y/N cupped his face, bringing him into a gentle kiss - A kiss so loving that it numbed his pain, and hightened his senses, that got his heart pumping again and his lungs screaming for air. "I fell in love with you for good reason, and I intend to remain by your side, loving you." she smiled, wiping his tears with her thumb. "You can try as much as you wish to drive me away, but it will not work. You may succeed in convincing yourself that you are a lesser man, but you cannot do that with me. I know the man before me, and I know I will never leave you."

"Y/N..." the man sniffled, burying his face in her bosom, holding so tightly onto her petite body that he almost feared breaking her.

"There was once a time when you would only call me 'Sweety'." her honeyed giggle sounded so teasing, yet it didn't embarrass him. It served only to make him chuckle.

"There was also a time when I would only call you 'Chanel', if you recall." it almost felt as though they were both alive, and during their honey moon, without a single care in the world, and living a most carefree life.

"That does bring back some very amusing memories." Husk hummed in agreement, feeling melancholic, despite the intense joy surging through his body. Perhaps it was due to the unfamiliarity of this positive feeling, that he felt exhausted, or maybe from his excessive crying and whining. Regardless, he wanted nothing more than to cuddle up in his wife's arms, and never leave this blasted room ever again.

"Can you promise me something?" the man asked. "I am selfish still - Even more so as a demon. I am nothing but filth. I didn't deserve you then, and I deserve you even less now. Still... Now that you're here... I can't let you go again. So..."

Though he found himself eating his words, Y/N only smiled, laying down on the bed and taking him down with her, nestling him comfortably into her loving embrace. "Alastor said you purr like a kitten. I would love to hear that, tonight." she hummed, hearing his annoyed snarl. "And every night going forward, for as long as we may live in this afterlife we have." Husk's body became stiff, frozen with shock. "That is what you wanted me to promise, isn't it? That I will never leave you." he didn't respond. "It is within our wedding vows, silly. There is no way I would walk away, after I have just found my soulmate."

"... Even though I look like... This? And I am irredeemably addicted to gambling and drinking, even more so than before... And I have lost my soul to the Radio Demon? I am stuck doing his bidding for eternity... And..." Y/N only hugged him closer.

"No matter what, in sickness and in death, you and I will still be soulbound." his small body was softly trembling with emotion. "I've got you, my darling. Worry not about anything. I have got you." she remained silent for a little while. "But, Husk..." her voice sounded so distant, so... Melancholic. "Do you... Still like me? The way you did before?"

Startled by her words, Husker jolted up, looking at the pitiful visage of his lover. "What... What do you mean...?"

"My skin is pure white, with no colour, except for my make up. My eyes are black where they should be white, and the worst carmine red, where they should be embodying the aspect of nature. Even my hair looks to be an abnormal colour, and no matter how much I try to dye it, it will not retain its original shade." she gulped, looking away from him. "Any shred of normalcy that I have... Is so tiresome, so much work to keep up, the princessy facade that I used to have, that I used to love... That you used to love..." she sighed softly. "Yet even that completely dissolves as soon as I transform in the monstrous form that I fight so hard to keep veiled from the world."

"Y/N." he caressed her soft face, only to notice small particles of powder latching onto his fur. "I'm a fucking furry mammal with wings. I look like a children's plush toy or somethin'. Meanwhile, you look as doll-like as always, and you're afraid I wouldn't like you anymore? How silly." he sighed, leaning to place a kiss on her forehead. For a few seconds, he stopped to ponder over a rather bold move, and in a split second, he retrieved a wooden box from under his bed. "This is my secret. Nobody has to know about this." he spoke, a rosy tint on his cheeks. "Open it."

Carefully, the girl did as instructed, revealing the content of the box. A bunch of letters were preserved there, all of them neatly placed and handwritten with black ink. "Husk..." Y/N felt the air in her lungs dissipating, as she realised all those letters were recreating the exchange of love words from their time alive. "H-How...?"

"I have all our letters memorised." he chuckled lightly. "I... Needed some way of keeping you close... Of remembering you. I am shit at drawing, but I have a good enough memory... So this was the only way of preserving what we had."

"It's been so long... And yet, you... You still remember... All of it? There must be tens, if not, hundreds of them... How...?" the girl was flabbergast, yet melting completely.

"I read them every night before sleep, when alive, and I read them every night now also." those precious teardrop diamonds caressing her cheeks falling down so gracefully.

𝐼 𝓃𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇 𝓀𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝒾𝓃𝑒𝓈𝓈; 𝐼 𝒹𝒾𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝒸𝒶𝓂𝑒 𝓉𝓇𝓊𝑒; 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹𝓃’𝓉 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝒾𝑒𝓋𝑒 𝒾𝓃 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒, 𝒰𝓃𝓉𝒾𝓁 𝐼 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝒶𝓁𝓁𝓎 𝓂𝑒𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊.

His usual raspy voice sounded so romantic as he recited the love poem he wrote to her. A voice that he only reserved for her. A voice that only she would ever know.

𝐸𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁; 𝒜𝓁𝓁 𝓂𝓎 𝒹𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓂𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓇𝒾𝒸𝒽𝓁𝓎 𝒻𝓊𝓁𝒻𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼'𝓂 𝒶 𝒻𝑜𝑜𝓁 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒸𝒽𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝒴𝑜𝓊 𝒷𝑒𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔 𝒾𝓃 𝓂𝓎 𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈; 𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓂𝑒; 𝓅𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝓈𝒶𝓎 𝓉𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

A love so pure and true, bottomless and without boundaries; Husker himself forgot just how endless his emotions could run. He thought himself jaded and cold, having lost his own heart, the second he lost her... Yet now... Perhaps it wasn't as bad as he first thought. Perhaps... Even someone like himself deserves some kind of redemption.

𝐻𝑜𝓁𝒹𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓂𝓈 𝓂𝓎 𝒽𝑒𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝒸𝑜𝓇𝑒. 𝐼𝓉’𝓈 𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒾𝓂𝒶𝑔𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝐻𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝑒.

Without her, he wasn't whole. Without her, he is not himself. Without her, he is empty. Without her, his whole life falls apart. Without her, he is nothing but a worthless deadbeat.

𝒥𝓊𝓈𝓉 𝓁𝑜𝑜𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒶𝓉 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒢𝒾𝓋𝑒𝓈 𝓂𝑒 𝒶 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝒾𝓁𝓁. 𝐼 𝓁𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓃𝑜𝓌, 𝒜𝓃𝒹 𝐼 𝒶𝓁𝓌𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓁𝓁.

But now, he is not alone anymore - Well, perhaps he never was to begin with, considering he still had Angel and Charlie, to some extent, yet nothing can compare to sweet Y/N's existence by his side. Nothing can heal his aching soul, or revert the damage he did to himself throughout life and afterlife, the way her love for him did.

♡ ~𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾, 𝓶𝔂 𝓼𝔀𝓮𝓮𝓽 𝓟𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓬𝓮𝓼𝓼~♡

#hazbin hotel #hazbin angel dust #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #hazbin hotel husk #hazbin husk #husker #hazbin husker #husker x reader #husker imagine #hazbin hotel husk x reader #hazbin hotel husker imagine #charlotte morningstar #hazbin vaggie #Hazbin hotel alastor #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine

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alexa-fika · 4 months

Text

Midnight Lessons (Mihawk x gn!child!reader)

A/N: Here we go, stoic dad time! Guys please drop by my ask box, wanna get to know my audience!

Dividers by @saradika

Night had fallen in Cross Guild’s headquarters, the members still busing around completing their chores. In the main office, quiet reigned between two of the founders, the only sound echoing in the office being of Crocodile’s exhaling his cigars in a thick mist, sitting at his desk and looking over the current paperwork, and the sound of Mihawk sharpening and polishing Yoru, on the office’s couch, his sharp gaze examines his black blade for any blemishes or imperfections.

A knock rings on the door to the office the two reside in

Crocodile’s eyes narrow slightly as he bellows smoke from his cigar and looks up. He sighed, remembering he had locked the door so he and his co-worker could have a meeting, so he stood up and opened the door, grunting when he saw who was at the door.

“Mihawk, it’s your brat,” he called out, staring at the child in front of him

Mihawk puts down his sword and walks over to the child. He squats down to the child’s level*

“Why are you awake at this hour?” Mihawk asked in a deep, quiet voice

The small child mutters something under their breath, sniffling.

Mihawk raises an eyebrow and nudges their arm with his finger, asking them to look at him instead of hiding their face.

“Do not mumble; speak up.” Mihawk’s voice is like a whisper, but his stare was piercing like a sharp blade

“Can I stay with you, Dad?” They cry out, voices still barely above a whisper

Seeing the child’s sad expression, Mihawk frowns and sighs quietly.

“Yes, you can stay. But not for long; you must return to your room soon. Mihawk’s voice was still quiet, but his tone had an unmistakable gentleness as he easily lifted the child carrying them back to the couch.

The small child hugged his dad tightly, trying to muffle their sobs so as to not bother their father at work.

Reader tightened their arms around their father; in response, Mihawk gently caressed their head and patted their back, silently reassuring the child.

“Why are you awake?” he repeats his previous question.

Crocodile glances at the pair once more before turning his attention back to a stack of paperwork on his desk.

“I had a nightmare,” they cry.

Mihawk’s brow furrows, and he looks down at the child.

“What was it about?”

“Y-you were gone.”

Mihawk’s expression tightens when he hears this. His eyebrows narrow, and his lips pull into a thin line. He stays silent for a moment.

“Do not worry about such things, I will not leave.”

Reader nods, comforted by their father’s short but meaningful words.

He pulls the child close to him until their head is lying on his chest, and their face is buried into his neck. The child can feel Mihawk’s heartbeat in their chest. He wraps an arm around the child, holding them close while they sniffle and sob.

Mihawk’s expression remains blank, and he does not say a word until the child’s crying stops.

Reader nuzzles closer to him as they are slowly lulled to sleep.

Mihawk’s arms enfold the child, gently caressing them and providing comfort. The child soon falls asleep, wrapped tightly in Mihawk’s warm embrace.

“Did they fall asleep?” Crocodile’s deep voice cuts in

Mihawk remains silent. He continues caressing the child, gently ruffling their hair. Then he softly turns his head to peer up at Crocodile, still sitting behind his desk.

“Yes.” Mihawk’s voice is still calm and tranquil despite his expression turning cold and serious

That soon changed, however, as the third founder slammed open the door as he came in, startling the child wide-awake, childish cries echoing through the office.

Mihawk tightened the grip around the child slightly.

Crocodile looks up from his desk, and his eyes narrow as he sees the third officer standing at the door.

“What are you doing, Clown?” he asks coldly.

Buggy’s eyes widen in surprise at his tone. He stumbled back, and then tried to compose himself*

“I…I was just-”

Before Buggy could finish, Mihawk’s gaze pierced through him. His eyes are dark and menacing, looking like he’s about to attack him at any moment. Mihawk’s hand tightened around the child again, and he was clearly agitated.

“Out!…” a low, deadly tone leaves Mihawk’s voice. Buggy’s eyes widened in shock, even he could not ignore the seriousness of Mihawk’s tone and expression. His eyes darted to the child, still sobbing and buried in Mihawk’s arms. Buggy gulped before quickly turning to leave the office. The whole place became silent again, with only the sound of the child’s soba as they cried into Mihawk’s chest.

“I’m going to pulverize him,” grunts Crocodile

Mihawk’s attention goes from the doorway towards the crying child in his chest.

Eventually, and with the help of Mihawk’s warmth and comfort, Reader’s cries recede. They are still snuggled close to Mihawk and can feel themselves surrounded by his warmth and presence. His fingers still brush through their hair while his other arm holds onto the child firmly.

Mihawk gently moves Reader from his chest to between his legs, grabbing his sword and continuing to sharpen it

Reader looks at his actions entranced, his attention captured by Mihawk’s strong but careful sword care.

Mihawk’s hands move gracefully over the blade, which shines brilliantly in the candlelit room. His motions are quick and efficient, and he works accurately and skillfully. His face remains calm and unconcerned as he continues sharpening his sword. From the corner of his eyes, he can see Reader staring at him with a mix of curiosity, fascination, and admiration. The unspoken question lingering in the air.

“No, you cannot work on this sword.”

Reader frowns at the rejection without the child having the chance to ask but makes no comment.

Mihawk notices the expression but does not say anything. He looks at the child and raises an eyebrow before turning his attention back to the sword. He runs his thumb caressingly along the blade but then stops abruptly.

“However, I can find a sword you can work on if you so desire, Blade Child.”

They smile and nod.

“I want to. Can you tell me how to do it?”

“Yes,” Mihawk replies in a low tone as he finishes sharpening his sword. Pulling Kogatana out from its sheath in his pendant and showing it to Reader.

“You may use this sword to practice on,” he says as he puts Kogatana down and hands Reader the sharpening stone, helping them grab it correctly and guiding their hands in the appropriate motion.

The child laughs gleefully, excited to be able to repeat the similar actions they saw their father do minutes prior

Mihawk relaxes slightly at the child’s enthusiasm; he watches as Reader sharpens Kogatana with gentle but firm guidance and hand placements. After a few minutes of instruction, Reader feels comfortable enough to sharpen the sword on their own. The light sound of the sharpening stone against the blade echoes through the office.

“I did it, Dad!” Reader exclaims, showing Mihawk the freshly sharpened Kogatana

Mihawk’s expression softens as he looks at the blade with the sharp edge.

Then he looks over at Reader proudly.

He nods his head.

“Yes, this is much sharper now. Not a bad job for your first time.”

Mihawk places the blade back on the sheath on his pendant.

The child laughs at the praise, knowing it is as strong a compliment as he could pull from their stoic father.

Not sure how to feel about this one; what do you guys think? Please send in requests for what you guys would like to see next!

#one piece x reader #Mihawk x reader #Mihawk #Dracule mihawk #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x child!reader #Dracule mihawk x child!reader #one piece fluff #one piece imagine #one piece x child!reader #one piece x platonic!reader #cross guild #cross guild x reader #cross guild x gender neutral reader #cross guild x gn reader #mihawk x gn reader

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wineauntie · 2 months

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IT ISN’T THE END OF THE WORLD— q.hughes x hughes sister!reader

summary: three times that Quinn comforted you and one of the times you returned the favour.

notes: big brother Quinn is my Roman Empire, I can’t lie! You are five years younger than Quinn.

warnings: literally the fluffiest of fluffs, use of y/n and y/n/n, fem!reader.

word count: 3.5k+

1. being left out – aged six and eleven

You sat on the grass outside of your home, your knees tucked into your chest as tears dripped down your face. Ahead of you, Jack and Luke were skating around in rollerblades with a singular net set up on the tarmac as they played a game of hockey. You'd tried to join them, even going as far as strapping up your purple rollerskates but when you'd asked your two older brothers to join them, they'd outright told you that you weren't allowed.

"Y/n/n, this is boys only game," Jack had explained, half lifting you towards the grass and away from the road. "You can't play!"

"Yeah, you can't play," Luke piped up, fidgeting with his stick, his curls peeking out from beneath his helmet.

"But-" You'd tried to wiggle out of Jack's grasp as you reached the grass.

"Stay on the grass," Jack had urged, patting your head before he skated back towards Luke.

Your bottom lip trembled as you collapsed onto the grass beneath you, being forced to watch rather than partake. You couldn't understand why you couldn't just play with them. And as you cried, neither of the two boys noticed your tears or your splotchy face.

"Mom said dinner will be ready in an hour!"

Quinn's voice called out from the front door, in shock, you turned just in time for him to glance towards you. His face fell at the sight of your miserable eyes and he quickly shut the front door before making his way towards you.

"What's wrong?" His worried voice caused your lower lip to tremble once more. Even at eleven years old, Quinn was your protector. He was the one you ran to with every small problem, the one who'd sit you down and explain things and the one who you secretly favoured the most.

You cast a look over to Luke and Jack who continued their game, before you dropped your head between your knees. Quinn sighed and carefully sat beside you, his legs stretching out far beyond your own.

"What's wrong, y/n/n?"

That was what made you burst into tears again. A very startled Quinn rapidly put his arm around you, hugging you into his side. Your tears began to stain his shirt as he awkwardly patted your head.

"Jack and Luke won't let me play!" You wailed, as a small scowl crossed Quinn's face. "They said I have to stay here...I hate here!"

"C'mon now," Quinn tried to calm you. "We don't need to play with those two stupids." You let out a sniffly laugh as you rested against his shoulder.

"Mom said you can't call them stupid anymore," you croaked out, and now it was Quinn's turn to laugh.

"I know but I'll tell you a secret–they are!"

You smiled and looked towards your two brothers who were now fighting, pushing one another back and forth.

"How about you and me go in and have a tea party?" He suggested, scrunching his nose up as he watched Jack and Luke battle it out. "We can even dress up?" You jumped to your feet excitedly, dragging Quinn up with you.

"Please!" You giggled, pulling Quinn towards the house, your tears long forgotten. "I have a tiara for you!" Quinn painted an excited expression across his face, but very real happiness spread through his body at the sight of your joy.

2. the nightmares – aged eight and thirteen

You shot awake with a startled gasp, your small hands clutching your childhood teddy. You'd been getting nightmares for weeks yet you couldn't pinpoint where they'd begun— in reality, Jack had told you countless ghost stories about a small evil ghost lurking in your room, and you seemed to have taken that story to heart.

Tears welled in your eyes as you glanced around your room in terror, the light of a pink wall flower illuminated the majority of the room...yet the shadows that lingered left your body shaking. The horrors from your nightmares, which couldn't be remembered, haunted you and the thought of going back to sleep was virtually impossible.

Your bottom lip trembled as you clutched your teddy to your chest, and jumped out of the bed towards the hallway, not daring to look behind you. The light from the bathroom down the hall illuminated the darkness, as you stood dead centre with your head tilted slightly.

You didn't know where to go.

You'd already run to your mom and dad multiple times during the night and your little self felt rather guilty. You knew they needed their sleep– everyone did.

You stifled a whimper, your tears dripping down your face as you glanced down the hall, noticing a door slightly open. Without another thought, you rushed down the hall, your bare feet slapping against the wooden flooring as you entered the open door.

You slipped into the dark room, your teddy close to your chest as you approached the lump beneath the covers on the bed by the window. Soft snores echoed through the room as you crept towards the bed as quietly as possible. Your tears were still falling, as you sniffled and carefully tapped the lump's shoulder.

You watched as he stirred, and then a familiar voice broke through the darkness, "What time is it?" The voice was groggy with sleep, but the concern was evident.

"I had a nightmare again, Q," you whispered with bleary eyes, your voice trembling with pure fear and exhaustion. "I can't sleep. I'm sorry..."

Quinn sat up, rubbing his eyes before reaching out to pull you into a comforting embrace. "Shh, it's okay. C'mere," he yawned while reassuring you, his arms enveloping you in warmth and security. He lifted you onto the bed, his half-lidded eyes glancing towards his digital clock that blinked the time 3:45 am.

You buried your face into his chest, clinging to him as if he were your lifeline. His steady heartbeat beneath your ear offered a soothing rhythm, calming your racing thoughts.

"Want me to go tell Mom?" He asked, earning him a rapid shake of the head from you.

"Okay...do you want to stay here?" Quinn hesitantly offered with as soft of a voice as he could muster so early in the morning. He pulled you away from his ever so slightly so that he could look down at you. With a half-nod, you cuddled closer to him, letting him drape half of his blanket over your body.

"Just don't hog the covers," he grumbled, lying back down on the bed, his head burying itself in his pillow. "And don't wake up early."

You smiled and melted into the comfort of Quinn's bed, your head on the edge of the pillow you were being forced to share. The feeling of the weight of exhaustion finally pulled you under and as you drifted off to sleep, the nightmares seemed to fade away, replaced by the comforting presence of your older brother by your side.

The next morning, your mom had woken up, ready to bring you to practice, only to find your bed empty. A flare of panic shot through her body, all those horror stories of child abduction running through her mind as she exited the room with pursed lips.

Ellen peered into Luke's room first, her head sticking around the wooden frame. For a mere second, she allowed herself to stifle a smile at the sight of Luke sprawled across the bed like a starfish, his covers abandoned on the floor as soft breath escaped his mouth. She nodded slowly and closed the door before checking the room beside his.

Jack's room was messy. That was the first thing she noticed. Clothes were strewn across any furniture left in sight, with muddy shoes thrown into the corner. Ellen covered her mouth to stop herself from laughing at the sight of Jack sleeping. Jack, like Luke, was sprawled across his bed, only instead of actually being on the bed– Jack was hanging half off of it. His head was almost touching the rug on his floor — his toes the same. His head was thrown back with snores periodically escaping his mouth.

She shook her head lightly before closing the door quietly and moving towards the last bedroom in the hall. Quinn's door was ajar, allowing Ellen to silently slip in. She paused in her steps at the sight ahead of her. You curled up around Quinn, your teddy snug between you two, as his arm wrapped around your head protectively. The two of you were fast asleep, oblivious to the utter relief Ellen was feeling.

She watched the two of you for a few seconds before taking a quick picture and sending it to Jim with a soft smile. Ellen looked down at you two once more and fixed the cover over the both of you. She backed away slowly and slipped out of the room leaving the two of you to sleep in for the day.

3. sickness – aged 10 and fifteen

"Are you sure you'll be okay looking after her?"

Ellen grabbed a bag from the floor beside the couch Quinn sat on, a bowl of cereal in his hands as he watched a game. You had fallen sick two days prior due to the flu and were currently bed-bound. Your dad was out of state, and your mom had to take Luke and Jack to a hockey match in the next town over.

"Yeah, Mom, don't worry," Quinn answered through muffled words as he swallowed a spoonful of food. "I can take care of her for a few hours, it'll be fine."

Ellen bit her lip in worry glancing towards the stairs before ruffling Quinn's hair. "Don't start a fire or kill either yourself or y/n," she instructed, "she might wake up soon and might want food, only give her toast and water or she'll throw it all up."

"Mom, I got it," Quinn reassured her, standing up and gathering Luke's hockey bag in his arms. "I'll help you bring these out."

Your mom had left ten minutes after with Jack and Luke, leaving Quinn in charge of the house. You had woken up to the sound of Luke yelling and the door slamming behind him. Your throat felt raw from the amount of coughing you were doing combined with the fact you could only breathe from your mouth as your nose was blocked up.

You groaned into your pillow, your clammy hands clutching your uneasy stomach as you buried yourself beneath your covers. Quinn cautiously peeked into your room at the noise of you moving around, his eyes wide and careful as they landed on your paled face and shaking body.

Quinn hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. He had never been in charge of taking care of you while you were sick before. But seeing you there, looking so vulnerable and unwell, he knew he had to step up.

Taking a deep breath, Quinn quietly approached your bed, trying not to startle you. "Hey, it's just me," he said softly, his voice filled with concern. "How are you feeling?"

You managed to croak out a weak response, your voice barely audible. Quinn frowned and his eyebrows furrowed upon seeing how much you were struggling. Without another word, he hurried downstairs to grab a glass of water and a slice of bread for toast, just as your mom had instructed.

Returning to your room, Quinn carefully placed the items on your bedside table, as he helped you sit up, propping pillows behind your back for support. You moaned in discontent at the feeling of sickness that continued to roll through your body as he handed you the glass of water and a piece of toast.

"Drink slowly," he spoke carefully, watching anxiously as you took small sips and nibbled on the food. "You don't feel like getting sick, do you?!"

You shook your head weakly, placing the leftover crusts on your plate. You felt a tickle grow in your throat as another cough wracked through your body. Quinn jumped into action, running your back as he'd seen Mom do countlessly over the past two days. His warm hand lent you comfort as your body contorted.

Once the coughing subsided, you leaned back against the pillows, feeling exhausted but a little better with Quinn by your side. He stayed with you, chatting softly and making sure you were comfortable until you drifted off to sleep again, knowing that you were in good hands.

As you rested, Quinn kept a watchful eye on you, ready to spring into action at any sign of distress. Halfway through your unrestful nap, your body shook violently, yet your forehead was beaded with sweat. Quinn gulped in worry as he covered you with a blanket and wiped your forehead with a cool cloth.

He hated seeing you like this, it made him want to kick whoever had passed the sickness onto you.

Throughout the day, Quinn checked in on you regularly, making sure you were comfortable and had everything you needed. He even brought up some of your favourite books and movies to help pass the time when you woke, staying by your side until you drifted off to sleep again.

When your mom finally returned home with Jack and Luke– both elated from their win, she was relieved to find you resting peacefully, thanks to Quinn's attentive care.

"You did well, Quinn," Your mom smiled, pressing a kiss to his forehead as he scrunched up his nose. "Thank you."

Quinn simply shrugged it off as he looked towards your sleeping figure. Despite his nonchalant expression, deep down, he felt a sense of pride erupt inside of him knowing that he had been there for you when you needed him most.

"Let's hope you don't get sick now," Ellen hummed, brushing a hand through his hair. Quinn pushed a smile onto his face, getting sick would be worth it as long as you were better.

4. moving away – aged 16 and 20

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains, casting a warm glow into Quinn's room, illuminating the chaos of packing strewn across the floor. Hockey jerseys, equipment, and mementoes from his years of playing for the local team adorned his walls, each item holding memories of victories, defeats, and the camaraderie of teammates. But today, there was a sense of bittersweetness in the air, a mixture of excitement and sadness, as Quinn prepared to completely leave Michigan behind and embark on a new chapter of his life in Vancouver. He had been offered the opportunity to play for the Vancouver Canucks, a dream come true for any aspiring hockey player. But with it came the prospect of leaving behind everything he had ever known – our family, our home, our tight-knit community.

You sat on the edge of his bed, watching him carefully fold his clothes, a furrow of worry etched on his brow. "Are you okay, Quinn?" you asked softly, reaching out to place a comforting hand on his shoulder.

He sighed, setting down the hoodie he was folding and meeting your gaze with a mix of apprehension and sadness in his eyes. "I don't know," he eventually admitted, his voice tinged with uncertainty. He ran a hand through his tousled hair. "I mean, Vancouver is such an incredible opportunity, but... I'm going to miss everyone and don't you dare tell that to the idiots out back."

You let a small smile grace your face at the thought of Jack and Luke catching wind of Quinn's unease. You found yourself nodding understandingly, feeling a pang of sadness yourself at the thought of Quinn leaving. He was not only your older brother but also one of your best friends, someone you had always looked up to and relied on for guidance and support. The idea of him being thousands of miles away was daunting, to say the least.

Even when he was in college he was only one measly phone call away and then another forty-minute drive. He was never thousands of miles away in a different country.

You nodded sympathetically, understanding the weight of his dilemma. Quinn had always been fiercely devoted to our family and friends, and the thought of leaving them behind was undoubtedly terrifying. But deep down, You knew he couldn't let this opportunity slip away – not when it was his chance to shine on the ice and pursue his passion for hockey at the highest level.

"Quinn, listen to me," I said, stepping closer to him and placing a reassuring hand on his arm. "I know it's scary to leave, but this is your dream we're talking about. You've worked so hard for this moment, and you can't let fear hold you back."

"You'll do great, Quinn," you continued to reassure him, with a cracked smile. "And we'll still be here for you, no matter how far away you are. Plus, Vancouver should be nice, and I've only been there twice, maybe I can visit with Mom and Dad?"

Quinn managed a small smile at your words, though you could tell the worry still lingered in his eyes. "I know," he said softly. "But it won't be the same without having you all there with me." He looked at you, his eyes searching yours for reassurance. "I don't want to leave you all behind."

I smiled softly, feeling a swell of pride for my big brother. "We'll be okay, Quinn. Mom and Dad are proud of you, and so are Luke, Jack, and I. Hell, before you know it, Jack might be up there playing with you, who knows!"

A sense of calm washed over Quinn as your words sank in, his tense shoulders relaxing ever so slightly. He knew that no matter where his hockey career took him, your family would always be his anchor, his support system through thick and thin. You scooted closer to him, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug.

"We'll always be here for you, Quinn," you whispered, feeling the weight of the impending separation settling over you both. "And we'll be cheering you no matter where you are, no matter what happens, every step of the way."

You sat there in silence for a moment, clinging to each other as if afraid to let go. But eventually, Quinn pulled away, a determined look in his eyes as he resumed packing his belongings.

"You're right," he sighed, his voice steady with newfound resolve.

"As always," you beamed with a laugh, as Quinn elbowed you playfully. You bowed your head glancing at Quinn briefly. "I'm gonna miss you, y'know?"

"I know," he hummed, "but like you said, you can come visit whenever you want and you can call or text me whenever you need to." You nodded silently, swallowing the lump in your throat.

You smiled, feeling a surge of pride welling up inside you. Your brother may be leaving Michigan behind, but you knew that he was destined for great things in Vancouver. And no matter where life took you, you would always be there for each other, bound by the unbreakable bond of family.

#wineauntie #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes fluff #hughes brothers x reader #nhl x reader #quinn hughes x y/n #hughes!sister #platonic!quinn hughes #hughes brothers x y/n #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes fanfic #quinn hughes #jack hughes x reader #luke hughes x reader #i love quinn hughes what a man

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hollowdeath · 4 months

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Thank god, another Harry Potter lover! 👓⚡️He really deserves more love! ❤️ That’s why I imagine him and the reader settling in a cottage by the sea or lake (you decide) to heal from the Wizarding War. They find comfort and solace in each other, and yes that includes countless lovemaking. 🥰 It’s just the two of them, so they’re free to express their love whenever and wherever they want. They especially enjoy making love on the shore under the stars after a swim, by the fireplace on a soft blanket, and in the bathtub surrounded by candles. They just need to feel and hold each other to remind themselves that everything’s okay now. You can do whatever you want with this, I just wanted to put it out there. Take care!

thank you so much for this request, i fell in love with it as soon as you sent it! i hope you enjoy!

pairing: harry james potter x fem!reader (18+)

summary: you & harry have moved away from everything & everyone to a remote cottage where the forest meets the sea. all harry wants after everything he's been through is to find peace, & he finds it in you.

c/w: smut!!! oral sex, penetration, rough sex

word count: 7.3k

harry was up early. he was watching the kettle boil on the gas stove in front of him, enjoying the warmth coming off of it, letting himself relax for just a moment. the steam from the water enveloped his face and felt nice. it was so chilly this morning. the windows were fogged over from the fire raving inside the stove, the wind whistling through the walls of the cottage.

the cottage was beautiful, harry couldn't deny it, though he could do with a bit more insulation. the raw, exposed stone walls were charming, and the moss and vines growing on the outside were something out of a fairy tale, but the fire needed to be fed every hour or so most of the day for at least half of the year or else it dropped below freezing inside. however, luckily, harry came to find wood chopping and trimming to be extremely therapeutic. just him, a sharp ax, and acres of woodlands to explore.

that was another thing harry could never deny about this property: the land was worth every penny. it's not often you find such a stunning cottage sitting on the border between a local forest and, what was essentially, a private beach on the north sea. the beach stretched at least a mile, but was obscured by the trees just behind the cottage. the land wasn't cheap, but harry was ready and extremely eager to spend whatever it took to finally get away from everything, live a simple life, and be alone.

alone with you, that is.

you and harry had gone to school together until the war, but eventually ended up reconnecting and began casually dating just over 2 years ago. since then you and harry had found complete solace in each other, both suffering from the negative side effects of witnessing and experiencing the war firsthand and supporting each other through difficult times. you were mostly struggling with paranoia and anxiety, and were actually the first to suggest getting a place together away from everyone else. you thought it would help if you were out of reach, isolated from the world, practically invisible from all danger.

harry, of course, was utterly haunted by the events of the war, and everything leading up to it. he gets angry at the world, has bouts of depression, deals with monumental grief and guilt, and has chronic, clinical sleep issues caused by nightmares. which is, ironically, the exact reason he's awake so early right now.

as he's pouring the boiling water out of the kettle and over a tea bag, harry can feel his eyelids fighting to stay open. he's barely slept this week, and he's starting to feel the effects of it. he's lightheaded, detached, and just wants to rest.

as he's walking to the front porch, mug in hand, harry takes a moment to pause in the doorway of your master bedroom and admire you. sleeping, surrounded by white cotton comforters, drowning in pillows, your hair wildly framing your peaceful face. he just stays there for a while, leaning against the doorframe, watching. he often watches you sleep when he can't himself. it brings him relief knowing you can get the rest you need.

before he heads outside harry slips on his favorite quarter zip. as he's sitting on the stairs outside, he admires the sound of the waves crashing just a few hundred or so yards away from him. he finishes his hot cup of tea, closes his eyes and lets himself sit in the cold waves of the wind. it's nice. like sleeping without the nightmares.

the moment is short lived as he hears the door creak open behind him. he looks back, and is in disbelief at how beautiful you look just waking up. a nightdress that barely covers anything at all draping around your shoulders, messy bed hair, sleepy eyes and a smile as you stand with the door cracked open, admiring harry in return.

"morning," you say simply, your voice still soft and hoarse from sleeping. harry smiles at you with soft and loving eyes. you walk towards him and let the door close behind you as you cuddle up next to harry on the stairs.

you don't seem to mind the chill in the air. your exposed skin is still hot from the fire burning inside. you lean your head on harry's shoulder, reaching for his mug, seeing there's nothing left, and leaving the mug in his hands. harry's chest hums as he chuckles. "would you like some? kettle's still warm," he asks.

you shake your head. you want to stay right here with harry in this moment.

the sea is so beautiful at this time of the morning. the sun was up, but only just barely above the horizon. no clouds, no birds, just the waves and the wind carrying their breeze.

speaking of breeze, you begin to shiver the longer you're out there in only a sleep dress. you still want to stay with harry, enjoying the view with him, but he notices you shaking.

"darling, let's get you inside,"

harry sits you in front of the stove and opens the small latch, letting the door stay open as you attempt to warm your hands. harry feeds the fire and rearranges the coals to make it burn hotter for you. after a minute or so, he also slips off his quarter zip and pulls it over your torso, smiling to himself at just how big it looks on you.

you find yourself finally starting to warm up, your toes burying themselves into the fur rug you're sitting on. after harry pours you a cup of tea, he joins you next to the fire. "thank you," you tell him with a smile, eagerly taking a sip of the warm drink.

harry's arm wraps around you and he watches the fire as you continue to sip your tea, enjoying the feeling of it warming you up from the inside.

you relish this moment with harry. since moving here barely a month ago, you've grown so fond of these smaller moments throughout the day with him. watching the scenery, watching the fire, sitting in comfortable silence, sharing a kettle of tea in the morning and afternoon, simply enjoying each other's company and the peace you've created for yourselves. it was one of your favorite parts about settling into this little slice of life.

and, of course, there was all the alone time.

while living with harry at grimmauld place was lovely, there was never truly a moment alone with him there. you had your own room with locked doors, but could hear someone walking, talking, cooking, always something in the background.

here, you were completely alone. a lot of people might find this situation to be even more terrifying, being so far away from everything, but you both agreed the isolation made you feel safer. safe from death eaters, safe from drama, safe from other people.

the safety from being so alone out here also meant that you and harry could be vulnerable with each other 24/7. you never had to put on a face or pretend things were okay if they weren't. if harry had nightmares, he could make some tea and enjoy a moment outside alone without anyone trying to psychoanalyze him. if you wanted to lay in bed until it was dark out again, harry wasn't going to judge you for it.

that vulnerability spread into other parts of your life as well.

you set your mug down next to the fire and turned towards harry who's already watching you as you admire his blue eyes, bloodshot from barely sleeping last night, or the night before. you take his face in your hands and just hold him for a moment, feeling him lean into your touch as his eyes flutter close. "i love you, harry," you say just above a whisper, breaking the comfortable silence.

harry looks up at you, but his eyes are now full of lust. you barely have a moment to process what's going on before harry leans in for a gentle, wanting kiss.

harry's always so soft with you despite his clearly strong desire. you've never been with someone who wanted you so bad no matter how many times you've been with them. everything with harry was like the first time all over again; the same desperation and desire to please that just never left.

the kiss quickly gets heated as harry pulls his quarter zip off of you, making you both giggle at the fact that he just put it on you only a few minutes prior. your lips reconnect in a haste, not wanting even a single second away from each other.

harry lays you down on the rug beneath you as his hands make their way to your exposed legs, feeling the heat from the fire on your thighs. his shirt quickly comes off as well from you tugging at it. a moan escapes your lips just watching his body as he pulls the shirt over his head.

harry's suffered from many injuries in these last few years that have left him littered in scars. and while you obviously hate to think about harry in pain, something about his scars drove you crazy with lust. a brave boy who faced death and came back, now healing far away from the cruel world with you as his lover. it was just another reminder that you were safe, that he was finally safe.

harry smiles as he goes in to kiss you again, his hands going right back to your thighs as he pushes your nightdress above your panties. you're holding his face lovingly but harry pulls away from the kiss to look at you. he watches your expression intently as he starts sliding his fingers over your panties, earning a sigh of relief from you. harry's eyes grow darker the longer he teases you. he sits up to use his other hand to hold down your bucking hips, causing you to whine in frustration.

"patience," harry commands from you in a stern voice. you look up at him, jaw lax, breathing uneven, and simply give him a nod.

you love this side of harry. of course you fell in love with the soft, gentle, careful parts of him first, but over time you saw more and more of his angry, controlling, dominant side during sex that you were completely weak for.

living at hogwarts and then grimmauld place right after, most of your intimate moments with harry were kept quiet to avoid being heard. soft whispering, quiet moans, slow movements, and breathless orgasms under a heavy blanket with the lights dimmed. once you moved here, away from everything and everyone, things were different.

of course, you were both still a bit quiet and shy at first, not used to having a place all to your own where no one can hear you for miles. but, slowly, you and harry learned to break old habits and started experimenting together. a lot.

it seemed like neither of you could ever get enough of each other since coming here. you'd always been really attracted to each other, maybe more than the average couple, but something about being alone together in this corner of the world where the forest meets the ocean made you feel so connected, so in tune, and completely and utterly obsessed with each other.

it started with long, drawn-out, foreplay-heavy love making in your new bed to "break it in", sometimes spending hours each day just entangled together on top of the sheets, admiring the other's body and exploring every part. then it would slowly move over to the bath, naturally, after spending so much time sweating together in bed. after a while the sessions would get shorter as you would both be completely exhausted afterwards. instead, they increased in frequency.

either you or harry would find little opportunities to sneak in a quick fuck throughout the day between chores, or would give the other person head as they made dinner in the kitchen. it was thrilling. neither of you had ever been sexual outside of the bedroom/bathroom before, but you found it completely erotic.

you had yet to have sex in front of the fire, oddly enough, but you had thought about it quite a few times before. the warmth of the stove, the soft rug beneath you, the light on harry's skin, the sweat dripping off of him…

"[y/n]," harry said, snapping you out of your daze. "are you even listening to me?" he asks with a smirk.

you blush immediately, so lost in your thoughts about the sex you were just about to have that you couldn't even focus on what was currently happening…

"s-sorry…" you mumble. "you just drive me crazy," you admit shyly.

harry's hand pushes further into your hips, a groan crawling out of his throat as he glares at you. "don't make me cum already, darling," he growls, his voice deep and rumbling in his chest.

you whimper under his pressure, your back arching as your body attempts to find some kind of release from the growing tension inside of you.

"so fucking desperate already," harry says, clearly enjoying watching you struggle under his control. "if i could resist you even a little bit i would sit here and watch you struggle all day," he tells you as he leans into your neck, his teeth sinking into your skin. you wince and squeal, your heart racing from the pain.

harry smirks at your reaction. he sits up and releases the pressure on your hips, causing them to buck upwards instinctively. a pathetic "please," is all you're able to muster as you attempt to catch your breath.

normally harry wants to hear you do a lot more begging than that, but he's just as desperate as you are at this point and he can't resist you much longer.

harry props your legs up for him after helping you take off your panties, throwing them to the side as he lays between your thighs. you prop yourself up on your elbows to look down at harry who's hungrily looking between your eyes and your pussy. your breathing is rapid and shallow as your heart continues to thump in your chest. even after all these years and all the times you've seen harry between your legs you just never get used to the sight. he still gives you butterflies like a nervous girl with a crush.

your head rolls in pleasure as harry starts kissing your thighs; even in both of your desperate states, even when he's at his most dominant, he's still the gentle, loving harry you're so in love with.

harry's hands find your own and intertwine your fingers together as his tongue begins exploring your pussy. you can feel yourself getting even more wet as harry's mouth attaches itself to you, enjoying how you taste. moaning, whining, hips bucking onto harry's tongue, you start to feel yourself sweat from both the fire and harry's intense gaze up at you.

"f-fuck," you cry, your thighs instinctively squeezing around harry's head. he can't help but moan as he sucks on your clit, practically letting you ride his face.

you reach for your silky nightdress and lift it above your chest, exposing your nipples to the warmth of the fire as you continue watching harry make your legs tremble.

harry's eyes droop in pleasure. one of his hands grabs for your tits and the other applies the same pressure to your hips as before. you let out your first real moan above a whimper, your hips still trying to grind against harry's mouth as he continues pushing you further into the rug.

his tongue's now inside of you, teasing you as you clench around him, your thighs still quivering.

"harry, harry, please," you say breathlessly, begging for more. harry ignores you, instead only going slower to drive you mad. you groan in frustration. he looks back up at you for only a second, but you can see the smirk in his eyes.

his hand lets go of your tits before making its way to your thighs, pushing them away from his head as harry takes a moment to breathe. you're blushing, completely flustered, eyes half-open. "sorry," you apologize.

"don't be. give me more." harry demands.

his hand pushes further into your pelvis, his elbow holding down your thigh as you wince at the pressure.

harry's mouth returns to your clit as his fingers feel how wet you are for him. your body jolts at the sensation, but harry just holds you down tighter. starting with one finger, harry pushes inside you slowly as you writhe under his grasp. your hands get tangled in his hair again, desperately pulling his face further into your pussy.

harry just chuckles, looking up at you as he slowly pushes another finger inside you. you gasp, your grip in his hair tightening as your other hand plays with your tits. just the look in harry's eyes watching you chase your high is enough to bring you close to the edge.

harry's fingers were pumping in and out of your pussy, his lips and tongue still teasing your clit. your thighs threatened to close again, but harry kept them spread open for himself. "enough," he states, planting his elbows into your thighs and his hand against your pelvis. he glares up at you as he repositions himself. "stay."

you can feel your body react to the aggression in his voice. this is the hungriest, and hottest, side of harry you've ever seen. you're already brought back to the brink of orgasm as soon as you can see harry's fingers pumping inside you again, his wrist and forearm veins pronounced against the light of the fire as he picks up his speed.

the moans coming out of your mouth are filthy and involuntary, your mind going blank at the sudden rush of pleasure through your body. once harry's tongue begins circling your clit again, you don't have a chance at lasting much longer.

"i-i, harry, stop, i'm–" is all you're able to get out before your legs begin shaking, your head thrown back, crying out in overwhelming pleasure. it feels so good not having to hold back your moans anymore.

harry's lips detach from you, swollen, covered in your wetness. his fingers continue thrusting into you, gently now as you ride out your high. he slowly removes them after a moment, his hand and elbows relieving the pressure that kept you pinned to the ground.

you're still whining, your legs aching from struggling against harry's weight. they feel impossibly heavy as you try to bend your knees up. harry just watches you, enjoying the aftermath of his work.

you're still seeing stars by the time harry's pants have come off, his cock barely peeking through the front of his boxers. he starts rubbing himself through the fabric, his breathing becoming labored as you watched him in a daze.

you look up at him innocently through your eyelashes, your mouth slightly ajar as you lean your weight to one elbow, using the other hand to take his place. he lets you take over, slowly stroking his erection through his boxers, enjoying his gaze down at you from above. his hand goes to your cheek, softly tracing the curve of your smile.

his fingers delicately open your lips before roughly shoving them into your mouth. you make a surprised noise, but quickly begin sucking and licking his fingers. he pulls his boxers down with the other hand, and uses your spit to lube himself up. you lick your own fingers and do the same, helping guide his cock into you with a groan of both pleasure and discomfort.

harry gradually thrusts into you, letting you adjust to him, taking his time with you. he watches your aching pussy welcome his cock eagerly, your legs already starting to tremble from the pressure building inside you again. "oh, fuck," harry's voice cracks, his hands gripping your thighs as they continue to involuntarily shake.

a hand flies to your mouth, barely able to contain yourself already. seeing harry's face of relief as his cock slides all the way inside you only makes you clench around him tighter. he lets out a struggled breath, his grip on your thighs only tightening as he spread them open for himself again.

harry's eyes are closed in bliss, his thrusts slow but deep, forcing a whine from your throat each time he's completely inside you. he's starting to sweat, his hair hanging loosely around his forehead, arms flexed to keep his grip on you, his body leaning down into yours as he starts picking up his pace.

harry looks down at you. one of his hands grabs the hand covering your mouth. "let me hear you, angel," he speaks gently but his voice is hungry, immediately earning a soft moan from your lips. he smiles, leaning down to kiss you sloppily.

harry takes this time to really pick up his speed, adjusting his position to roughly thrust himself into your throbbing pussy. his hands grab for the back of your knees, forcing your legs to bend back as he only pushes himself into you more.

"oh my god," you gasp into harry's kiss, your hands wrapping around his shoulders to steady yourself. harry's forehead rests against yours, looking down, glasses fogged up from the heavy breathing and heat from the fire. he's watching himself from your angle, slowing down his thrusting to a torturous pace. you both groan at the feeling and sight of harry pushing his cock completely inside you and slowly pulling back out before thrusting into you again.

"fuck, baby, you take my cock so well, feel so fucking good," harry says breathlessly into your ear. your nails dig into his shoulders as you try not to cum again already just from harry's voice. you're both sweating, faces pressed together, the fire slightly dying beside you but still creating a warm glow.

"y-you're, mmph, i'm so close, again," you cry, letting yourself rest back on the soft rug. you feel so at peace despite the growing tension in your stomach – watching harry prop himself up with one hand on the ground beside you and the other still holding your leg back, his chest heaving as he continues thrusting inside you with a growing pace.

harry looks at your twisted expression, eyes glossed over and cheeks flushed, your tits bouncing as he roughly uses your body for his pleasure.

"yeah?" harry looks at you, his grip on your leg tightening as he fucks you roughy into the rug. "fucking cum for me," he commands from you.

you barely need his permission before you're already over the edge, legs uncontrollably shaking, eyes rolling back, incoherent words getting lost in your broken moans and cries of pain.

it's all harry needs before he feels himself release inside you, still thrusting into you slowly as his cum spills out of your pussy.

your body is shaking from the sensation, your legs still vibrating as you clench around harry's cock. he struggled to finally pull out of you.

still trying to catch his breath, harry lovingly rubs your thighs as he watches your swollen pussy ache for the feeling of his cock again.

"so fucking beautiful, my love," harry sighs, relaxing his body on top of yours, his head in your neck. "my beautiful, beautiful girl," he repeats, covering you in kisses as he showers you with compliments.

you just giggle at him, exhausted, trying to come back down to earth.

"i can't…move," you mumble between breaths, your eyes drooping closed as your feet touch back down on the rug. you feel even more weak than before.

harry hums, kissing your forehead. "it's okay, i've got you, darling," he says with a warm smile.

he stands up, slowly, but isn't in as much pain as he expected. his knees are sore for sure, but otherwise, he couldn't feel better.

he leans down to help you sit up, guiding your body into his arms as he picks you up bridal style, your head resting in his chest. you giggle again but you're too weak to reject the gesture. he carefully carries you to the bathroom just down the hall from the living room.

harry runs you both a warm bath as you watch from the counter. he's still naked, as are you, but it's not awkward or sexual – it's just natural.

he shuts the water off and reaches for you once again. "i'm okay now," you insist, standing from the counter and steadying yourself with his hands. he still helps you walk to the tub before helping you climb inside. the water's extremely hot, but it feels so nice on your sweaty, aching skin.

"i'll be right back, gotta feed the fire, just wait for me, yeah?" harry says before he dips out of the bathroom.

looking around you as you warm the rest of your body with the water, you notice the candles sitting around the tub from the last time you both took a bath together. just the flash of the memory through your brain is enough to make your stomach twist into knots again. harry had you bent over the side of the tub as water splashed everywhere, the feeling of freedom and carelessness intoxicating you both as you cared about nothing but each other's highs.

with a flick of your wet hand, you light all the candles again, and the room is lit with a warm glow. it's not often you use magic anymore, harry prefers to do things manually now that you're both caring for a piece of land, but the convenience of certain spells are too useful to forget completely.

walking back in, harry smirks at all the candles being lit. he admires you for a moment, naked, sweaty, half submerged in the huge clawfoot bathtub surrounded by the glow of the candles. "trying to insinuate something, love?" harry asks, closing the bathroom door behind him.

you blush, curling your knees into your chest. "just thought it'd be nice to have some light," you say softly.

harry grabs you both towels and sets them next to the tub before climbing in himself. he positions himself behind you, holding your body as he guides you to relax into his chest. once you laid your head back, you and harry sat in comfortable, warm silence for a long while.

it takes a few minutes before harry's hands begin rubbing at your stomach, slowly, making ripples throughout the water as you lower your knees, letting harry comfort you. he's humming softly, your head rumbling in his chest. he rests his head next to your own and watches his hands from your perspective.

his rubbing gets further and further down your stomach, running his hands along your waist and hips before finally grabbing at your inner thighs roughly. you let out a pathetic whimper, watching his hands from above the water.

"is it bad that i already need you again?" harry chuckles, half joking but half already turned on. you shake your head quickly, your hips thrusting up for relief, moaning at his words. "no, need you, please," you respond desperately, looking over at him.

harry's eyes are darker once more, watching as his hands gradually move to your sensitive pussy. you groan in response, but harry quickly kisses you to cover it. "i know, baby, just let me take care of it," he says into your lips.

slowly circling your clit with soft fingers, harry watches as your eyes droop more and more from the building pleasure. eventually his fingers are back inside of you, gently pumping in and out. his head turns back to your body as he watches you react to him. his other hand goes for your tits, grabbing one roughly from just above the surface of the water.

while it feels good being teased you're insanely desperate for harry once again. your hand reaches behind you, feeling harry's growing erection against your back. harry's grip on you tightens as your hand starts stroking his cock slowly under the water.

"fucking dirty girl," he groans under his breath, taking his fingers out of your pussy to continue rubbing your clit. you cry out at the loss of feeling, your hand squeezing around harry as he just enjoys the feeling.

soon, harry's moved your hips to align with his, your arms holding your body up on either side of the tub as you slowly insert harry back inside your pussy once again. the familiar feeling is only enhanced by being underwater, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease as you adjust to the feeling.

"oh my god," you sigh, your stomach already tightening, thighs still a bit shaky. harry's guiding your hips expertly, groaning in pleasure watching your ass dip in and out of the water onto his lap. his head is resting against the edge of the tub, mind blank, solely focused on your pleasure and his.

"fuck, harry," you whimper again, rolling your hips around on his cock before thrusting it inside you again. harry wishes you could see just how sexy you look from this angle, your hair flowing down your back, your skin glistening in the candlelight, the water droplets running down your hips, it's enough to make him resist the urge to finish already.

"you're so perfect," harry groans. he smacks your ass, slapping the water with it, causing you to squeal and quicken your pace. the same filthy moans are still spilling from your mouth, hardly able to contain yourself in this situation. something about using the time meant to help each other clean up to only continue fucking makes you feel so dirty, so used, and it's driving you crazy.

harry suddenly stops you, much to your disappointment, and tells you to trust him. "just get out and stand up," he says.

you do as he says, and eventually harry has you bent over the bathroom counter, barely lit by the candles behind you. he slowly returns his cock inside of you, your bodies dripping water everywhere.

as harry's thrusts become more consistent, one hand grabs for your shoulder and the other for your damp hair. he forces your face to look in the mirror, your eyes barely open from the pleasure. "watch," he commands. your eyes shot open at his voice, tracing the shape of your shadows in the mirror in front of your face.

harry loses himself in you, his head rolling back in pleasure hearing you struggle to take his cock for a second time. you're trying to moan, say anything at all, but your voice is incomprehensible as harry only becomes rougher with you.

"god damn it, [y/n]," harry spits out, his voice clearly exhausted. his hands travel back to your tits, pulling you back up into him as he continues pounding into you from behind. you're a mess in his hands as they roughly grope your tits.

"look at you," harry growls into your neck, looking into the mirror just in front of you as his gaze meets yours. "so fucking sexy,"

your hands desperately grip the edge of the counter for balance, your legs getting more and more weak by the second. harry pushes you further over the counter, his moans becoming urgent.

"i'm gonna fill you up because you're fucking mine, yeah? look at this perfect body of yours," harry's voice strains, his sweaty chest against your back as he forces you to continue watching yourself get pounded in the mirror, one arm over your chest and the other holding your hips. the light of the candles is just enough to let you see harry's dark expression. "fucking perfect, just for me,"

you haven't been able to get a single word out, your mind spinning as harry only gets more and more desperate, his pace getting sloppy.

"fuck, baby, just be good for me and let me cum inside your tight little pussy, hm? let me show you what's mine,"

you're already starting to cum just from harry's words. the overwhelming pleasure racks your body harshly as harry continues to use you for himself. shaking, barely able to stand without his help, your voice is breaking as you cry out in ecstasy for the third time just this morning.

harry's barely able to last much longer. his thrusts have slowed to uneven, jerky motion as he feels his cum spilling deep inside you. breathy moans and aching bodies, harry rests against you with your body limp against the counter. he lifts his head from your neck to kiss your skin softly, everywhere, slowly helping guide you back to the tub for a second time. your legs are weaker than before and you're barely able to contribute as harry leans you into the water, still kissing your damp skin.

"i love you, i love you," he's mumbling between kisses.

you're too weak and dizzy to respond in any way, still trying to catch your breath as harry begins cleaning your skin. he rubs a soft rag along your chest, neck, back, shoulders, and arms. the whole time he's complimenting you lovingly, a gentle touch and warm gaze upon your tired face.

after washing himself, harry also dries you off, carrying you back to bed before getting you both dressed in comfortable, warm pajamas. "just rest for today, my love," he told you as he laid you down. you reach for his hands. "stay?"

harry smiles. you didn't have to ask, it was literally his bed too, but he admires how soft and innocent you are in this moment. though he loves to be rough with you like he just was, there's nothing more special in the world to him than the gentleness between you two. his whole life has been nothing but challenges, setbacks, problems, and you're everything but. he just wants to be soft and gentle with you.

harry climbs under the sheets, his body also succumbing to the ache and exhaustion. he wraps himself around you, already falling asleep against his chest. harry joins not long after, finally getting his much needed sleep without the threat of his nightmares.

a few weeks later it's just a bit warmer out than it has been, so you and harry immediately started the day doing outdoor chores while you could. harry was chopping wood as you cleaned up around the cottage garden. it was too cold most of the year to grow much of anything out of it, but you still liked to keep it manageable for the smaller animals that stopped by to look around.

you also took the time to admire harry, shirtless, sweaty, groaning each time he drops the ax into another cut of firewood. his body had become well built from all the manual labor he's been doing lately, carrying entire trunks or stumps of trees out of the forest, lifting heavy bags of mulch and dirt for you, digging out the flower bed around the cottage, he was more muscular and toned than you'd ever seen him. it never mattered what harry's body looked like to you, you always found him attractive no matter what, but you couldn't deny that his toned back and broad shoulders got you more worked up than usual lately.

it was nice getting to work on the home with each other, a comfortable silence filling the day broken by the occasional question, favor, kiss, or compliment. it was peaceful, this routine you both had, and it felt so natural to work with each other. you hardly had to communicate your ideas because you were often thinking the same things.

tea in the morning, chores once the sun is out, taking a dip in the ocean at sunset, and having a warm home cooked dinner in the dark, the cottage lit from within from candles and the fireplace. it was perfect. for both of you.

and, of course, the sex had never slowed down as well.

you had both joked at the beginning of your move that you didn't think you could ever stop yourselves now that you were isolated from the world, but that's exactly what ended up happening. neither of your desires could be relieved no matter how many times you tried. not that you wanted them to go away by any means, it was just overwhelming, the feral need to spend hours each day pleasuring each other in every way possible. it was always passionate and desperate for more, never becoming repetitive or any less exciting. it was exactly what you both needed and wanted all the time.

as the sun was setting for the day, you and harry sat together and shared an orange you had gotten at the market just a few miles away earlier that week. you were lucky to be close enough to something that offered fresh produce, even in the colder parts of the year. harry watched the waves crashing against the sand, his knees to his chest as you both steady yourself on a large rock between the cottage and the water.

"thank you," harry says softly. you look over at him, his hands now empty as he's swallowing the last of his orange slices. you finish yours as well. "of course," you respond.

harry shakes his head. "no. really. thank you, [y/n], for everything." he says, still watching the sea. you blush, giving him a soft smile before turning to watch it as well. "i'm finally, really, truly happy. for the first time in my life, i feel at peace." harry explains, still speaking softly just over the crashing waves.

you could cry just from harry's words. all you've ever wanted was for him to feel safe. he's had such a difficult start in life and didn't deserve what happened to him, or what he was forced to do. he deserved simplicity. a normal life in a normal home doing normal chores. he deserved to be happy.

overcome with love, you stand from the rock and grab harry's hand, pulling him with you. he silently follows you down the beach. once you're a few yards away from the shore, you pull down the straps of the dress you had been working in off your shoulders, letting the material slide right off your body and onto the sand as you continue heading towards the water.

you turn to look at harry, and he's stunned at how beautiful you are. the shape of your body against the warm sunset over the water, nothing but a pair of panties covering your sweaty skin. your hair was flowing in the salty breeze of the ocean, hands reaching for his as your feet began to touch the water.

harry's ripped and dirty blue jeans come off as well as his glasses, leaving them behind on the sand as he grabs for your hand. you walk into the water together, slightly shivering from the lingering chill beneath the warm surface, but quickly adjusting to the temperature. harry's only admiring you, like he always does, as you dip your head under the water and come up, pushing the hair out of your face.

harry does the same, wiping his face of the sweat and dirt that's collected over the work day with the salty water. this has become one of his favorite parts of your routine together, cooling off in the ocean after a long day. not just to wash off the sweat and stress of the day, but also to admire you in all your glory under the shining sun.

harry wastes no time reaching for you, pulling you into him as you float in his grasp. he holds you for a moment, mesmerized by the light in your eyes, a smile permanently fixed on his face. "my beautiful girl," he reminds you, his forehead leaning against yours. you hum, reaching your hands to his neck as you pull him in for a heated kiss.

you've had sex in the ocean a few times now, and it's quickly become one of your favorites. it's the ultimate form of freedom being naked together making love in the gentle waves, harry holding you around his waist as he hugs your body into his.

most nights you're both too tired from working to go further than sloppy making out and feeling each other up; but other nights, like tonight, you're both too desperate to care if it hurts.

as harry continues kissing you he carries you back to the shore, your legs still around his waist as he lays you down onto the sand. the water just barely washes over harry's legs as it meets the shoreline. you relax into the warm sand beneath you, harry already pulling your panties off. you giggle at his eagerness. he smirks, his hands gripping your waist hungrily.

you can see harry's erection through his soaking wet boxers barely hanging off his hips. just as eagerly, you pull them down for him as he kicks them to the side.

harry easily slides his cock inside of you, letting out a struggled sigh of relief at the feeling. no matter what's going on around him, harry will always feel perfectly in place when he's inside of you.

your hands are tangled in his wet hair, gripping tighter as he bottoms out. he moans desperately, leaning in for another kiss. his pace evens out to a familiar rhythm, your body wrapping around him as he fucks you into the wet sand. the warm sunset is perfectly met with the chilly breeze of the water that's still waving over both of you gently. each time it gives you shivers, your body arching into harry's from the shocking feeling.

harry's not sure if he's ever wanted to finish this quickly before. it was so perfect, this moment, the sun, the waves, you. he just couldn't believe this was his life. making love to the most beautiful girl in the world where the land meets the sea. he never thought life could be this simple and beautiful, but with you it was effortless.

he pulled away from the kiss to simply look at you, eyes drooping, cheeks blushing, eyebrows pinched together in desperation. he smiled. "i love you," he says so simply, his thrusts beginning to stutter against you. you smile back, eyes still half open. "love you, harry, so much," you manage to say between heavy breaths.

you pull him back in for a kiss, and feel his body weaken on top of you, leaning on his elbows for support in the uneven sand. "baby, baby," he tries to warn you, but you just continue kissing him and wrap your legs back around his waist, pulling him deeper into your pussy.

he completely unravels, pumping his cum inside you as he cries against your lips. "fuck," he keeps groaning in a broken voice. you can feel yourself letting go as well, your thighs squeezing around harry's waist as the water crashes into your body again, making you shake even more.

you both enjoy the moments after your climaxes together, letting the water continue to run over you as the sun's light falls below the horizon. harry, still inside you, his body resting on top of yours, tells you he loves you in the softest, sleepiest voice he can manage.

you kiss his head, reminding him how much you love him.

you both eventually sit up, covered in sand, and chuckle to each other about it. harry invites you back into the water where he washes you off, giving you a loving kiss under the dim sky.

he continues holding you there in the gentle waves, the emerging stars lighting the sky above you. he's a bit cold now, but he couldn't be more warm inside. harry just loves you and the little life you've built with him here on the sea. he feels happy, loved, and completely at peace in the ocean with you in his arms.

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tearsofastraeax · 3 months

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heyy hope u're doin okay! what abt simon having a huge nightmare and we comfort him?

tyyy <3

hi. hope you enjoy the big broody men getting comforted as much as I did ♡

You startled awake, barely aware enough of your surroundings to recognise the familiar silhouette perched on the edge of the bed, his back turned towards you. Desperately clawing at your memories, you tried to remember why in god’s name you woke up in the middle of the night, as the darkness seeping in from outside suggested.

"Si?" You carefully moved towards his large form, as you spoke.

He didn't react, or maybe he didn't even notice you were awake and talking to him. You knew he sometimes had nightmares, most of them thanks to the years and years in active service. Some because of older and more haunting things. But you had never been awake when it had happened, only able to pry the most basic information out of him the morning after, when you awoke to find the bed cold and empty, Simon long gone. It took him over a year to admit to you that he suffered from nightmares, so the fact that you were now conscious enough to be there for him, made you careful in your movements... as if he was a wild animal you didn’t want to startle.

You moved over the mattress, gently sitting next to him. Your hand slowly inched towards him, before you ran your fingers over his back. He didn't flinch away from you, but neither did he acknowledge your presence.

So, you sat there with him, gently running your hand along his back, and listening to the silence in the room; his breathing, the car alarm sounding outside, your neighbour's music softly playing through the thin walls and wrapping you in a soft haze.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when Simon suddenly leaned his body towards you, laying down, his head resting on your lap. You couldn't help the gentle smile that tugged at your lips. Your hand that was slowly drawing circles into Simon's back now moved up toward his head. You gently ran your fingers through his hair and watched as his eyes closed. He looked so sweet then, his face not reflecting any of the hardships that usually cut creases into his skin.

It felt like hours passed, the two of you staying in the same position, his head on your lap. Slowly you felt yourself having a hard time keeping your own eyes open and your body upright. But then you suddenly felt it, gentle kisses pressed into the skin of your thighs, blissfully exposed beneath the shirt you slept in. You dared to glance down at Simon, whose lips were pulled into a sweet smile, but his eyes had a mischievous glint in them as he looked up at you.

You giggled as he sat up slowly, grabbing your waist and rolling you underneath him. He fully surrounded your body like this, the way he leaned over you, his hands on either side of your head to keep himself upright.

"I just need to feel you baby… know that you’re still here," he smiled softly at you, a battle between despair and hunger consuming his expression. And you couldn’t help but melt beneath his gaze, tightly wrapping your arms around him and holding on for dear life.

#simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #simon ghost riley x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost Riley x y/n #ghost x reader #ghost x you #ghost x y/n #ghost #simon ghost riley #simon riley #Simon Riley fluff #✧･ﾟ⊹ astra writes 📖

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winchester-girl67 · 4 months

Text

Imagine... Dean Coming To You For Comfort

Summary: Dean looks for comfort after a nightmare. He enjoys being the little spoon.

Requested by anonymous: “could you write a fic where dean just needs some comfort from the reader? it could be platonic and dean just had a bad day or a nightmare and doesn't want to be alone and wants to be held without asking"

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 902

Warnings: language, nightmares, implied violence (hunting a vamp nest), brief mention of a gun reader keeps under the pillow, a little angst, emotional hurt/comfort, cuddling, fluff

A/N: Found this in my wips, it's a little short but sweet. Enjoy.

_____

“I said, I'm fucking fine, okay?!”

Dean's words echoed in your ears. You'd only asked him the once and he just snapped at you, so when you got back to the bunker you beelined for your room and slammed the door.

You didn't get food, you didn't shower off the motel shower from a few hours earlier like you usually would, and you didn't get any sleep either. ‘Monopoly’ speaking, you did not pass 'GO'. You just pouted in your bed.

The hunt could've gone better; it also could've gone worse.

You stared at the ceiling, still awake and wondering how to reproach Dean. He was clearly not fine but until he was able to admit that, there was no getting through to him. Dean was just too stubborn when he was in these moods and honestly you were a little, too. You wanted to help, but you didn't want to swallow your pride and walk down that hall just to have him yell at you again.

You weren't a masochist. But you still laid there, in bed, overthinking everything that went wrong with the hunt.

First of all, you should've brought Sam with you, or Cas. Dean said it would be simple enough though with the two of you. It wasn't and you almost got killed. Dean, of course, wasn't letting himself forget it. You could see that written all over his face on the ride home.

Stopping your mind from racing wasn't easy. You counted the dots on the ceiling tiles as you listened to the ticking of Dean's wristwatch on your arm. He'd synchronized it to the time on his cell and given it to you before the hunt so you could stay structured in your plan against the vamp nest.

It was smart, until it wasn't. There were more than you expected and you always jumped the gun and went in first. Standing still wasn't the easiest thing for you to do with all that adrenaline pumping in your veins. And you were used to hunting alone. Before the Winchesters came into the picture.

Needless to say, everything that went wrong after that was about ninety-percent your fault. The other ten was simply a miscalculation.

You'd known the Winchesters for quite some time but moving into the bunker with them was fairly new. In the back of your mind, you hoped Dean wouldn't ask you to move out. You kinda liked not being completely alone anymore. The world was tough and they felt like family already. It would break your heart for sure; shatter any trust you had left.

Your bedroom door creaked open slowly on its old hinges and a shadowed figure peaked its head inside your room. You held your breath for a moment and gripped the cool handle of your gun underneath your pillow.

Always on guard. Even if the bunker was the safest place you'd ever been.

"Easy, Y/N, it's just me." Dean said, pushing the door open the rest of the way so the light of the hall revealed his features.

His expression was soft, too soft -broken like a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders and the nightmares to prove it. His hair was disheveled and he rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands.

"Just wanted to check on you, I'll let you get back to sleep. Sorry I woke you, sweetheart." Dean breathed deep and slowly started to shut your door. "And sorry I yelled."

"Wait," you sat up and placed the gun on the night table next to you before switching the light on low. "Come here. Close the door."

You flipped back the covers, shuffled over to make room and patted the mattress beside you. Dean wiped the frown from his face with his hand and did as you said. He shut the door and settled into bed next to you. Tense and unmoving once he rolled onto his side facing away from you.

He couldn't ask, but he didn't need to.

You clicked off the light and tugged up the covers to his chin. Your palm rubbed over his shoulders and half-way down his back, then circled up again until you felt his muscles begin to relax.

"That feels nice," he breathed and sniffled a little.

You continued your motions for a while longer until his breathing evened out, you could tell he was still awake but knew he didn't intend on talking things out. That wasn't Dean. So instead, you rubbed up and down his arm and molded your chest into his back, settling into your position as big spoon. You squeezed him and held his hand against his chest.

"Thank you," he sighed and weaved his fingers through yours.

Dean didn't talk about feelings if he didn't have to. And for someone so 'tough', more often than not, he liked to be the little spoon. Especially to your big spoon.

There was an unspoken understanding that neither of you were ever to bring it up in the light of day. But things were just different at night and being vulnerable and open didn't feel as achy and oozy.

Feelings were allowed to be felt in the dark.

He'd be gone before you woke, starting breakfast and roasting coffee in the kitchen, but for now your pieces could hold his pieces together.

And maybe you could both finally get some sleep.

_________________________ Dean: @akshi8278 @laycblack @thoughts-and-funnies @mrsjenniferwinchester @crustycheeks @kazsrm67 @sexyvixen7 @lyarr24 @suckitands33 @eliwinchester99 @yvonneeeee @igotmajordaddyissues @djs8891 @leigh70 @globetrotter28 @backseat-of-deans-67chevy

SPN: @hobby27

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atlabeth · 3 months

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(they all say that) it gets better | luke castellan

bleedin' me dry for context (this is that reader's origin story!!)

summary: a look into your unclaimed year.

a/n: does it still count as fluff if you already know it doesn’t end well? idk but i’m having fun writing for this pair so it’s okay. i hope you guys are enjoying reading them!! this ended up becoming a hell of a lot longer than i thought it would be but these kind of one shots are my faves to write lol

title from teenage dream by olivia rodrigo bc apparently guts teenage angst works very well for a demigod who feels like they're worthless and unwanted for a good period of time!! shoutout to the gods

wc: 11.4k JESUS

warning(s): fem!child of demeter reader. typical anger at the gods, but luke is actually pretty sweet! crazy. mostly hurt/comfort, reader is going through it at the beginning (mentions of injuries and almost dying), honestly she's going through it the whole time but luke is very nice to her lol. barely proofread bc proofing 34 pages is a nightmare !!

It was your first day as a demigod and you were already off to a bad start.

You didn’t remember much, obviously. There was a lot of stumbling, barely held up by your satyr as you crossed the border, and then full on collapsing. Somehow you managed to stay conscious all the way to the infirmary, enough to hear shocked murmurs from the people-like blobs around you and terrified, whispered affirmations from your satyr as he ran along with whoever was carrying you.

You didn’t remember much. But you do remember thinking what a shameful existence it would be to die at fourteen.

And now you were sitting in an uncomfortable cot, staring at the wall and counting divots. The first half of your visit was only there in flashes as you drifted in and out of consciousness, but now, unfortunately, you were fully awake. You belatedly wondered how many other kids began their camp life with a stay at the infirmary.

The thought was dashed from your head as you jolted and cried out in sudden pain, and you shot daggers with your glare at the boy next to you.

“Sorry.” The boy fixing you up was about your age, and he almost seemed to glow from within. “You dislocated your shoulder—I was popping it back into place.”

“You could have warned me,” you seethed.

“I did,” he said, and when he placed his hands on your shoulder they actually did glow. “You just weren’t listening.”

“...Sorry,” you said after a moment. “I’m having a rough day.”

He shook his head with a slight smile. “It’s expected.”

“It’ll be okay,” your satyr said, and some of the tension left your shoulders as you looked over at Tate. He’d been by your side for the past two weeks of disasters, and you’d saved each other’s lives more times than you could count. You were just thankful he didn’t have to watch you die. “Jace is one of camp’s best healers. You’re in good hands.”

You nodded, not wanting to cause any more problems, so you bit your lip and bit your tongue and let him heal the rest of your injuries in silence. He was done soon enough, and you could feel both their eyes on you as you rifled through your backpack. Thankfully, Tate brought it in as you were dying. Your own blood stained the nylon.

“How do you feel?” Tate asked anxiously.

“Better,” you said, tearing your eyes away from it as you continued making sure all your belongings were still there. “A lot better. Not like there’s much competition.”

Tate chuckled, and Jace picked up a small bag from the bedside table and handed it to you—it looked like there were little pieces of fudge inside. “Here.”

“What’s this?” you asked as you took it.

“Ambrosia,” he said. “Wait a few hours before you have a piece, and only have a little if you feel a lot of pain. I already gave you nectar while you were out, and the last thing we need is you burning up.”

You looked at Tate with raised eyebrows and he smiled a bit. “Ambrosia and nectar are the food of the gods. It heals demigods in small portions, but take too much and you’ll get a fever. Worst case scenario, you’ll literally burn up from the inside.”

“Oh,” you said, and you stuffed the bag into your pack before zipping it up. “I’ll… I’ll wait.”

“Probably a good idea,” Jace said, and he looked over at your satyr as he stood up. “I’ve gotta get back to my sword-fighting lessons. Can you give her a tour?”

He shook his head. “I have to debrief with Chiron and Mr. D. There were some… rough things on the road.” Tate looked at you. “I’ll be back in thirty minutes— are you sure you’ll be okay?”

“It’s fine,” you said with a smile. “Do your thing. I’ll look around some, then we’ll find each other later.”

Tate nodded thankfully and went through an open door opposite your bed, and Jace gave you a tight smile as he started to put away all the medical supplies he used on you. You sighed, slung your bag over your shoulder, and walked out.

You shut the door behind you and blinked rapidly as you tried to adjust to the sunlight. Then, you heard someone sigh.

“Thank the gods you’re okay.”

You turned to see a boy standing up from the wall. Dark curls hung just above his eyes, a contrast to his tanned skin, slightly red from exertion. He was wearing the same bright orange shirt that your healer was—Camp Halfblood, it said in curved text. He was far too pretty for his own good.

“I’m the one who carried you in,” he said, and you realized you were frowning. “Wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“Oh,” you said. “That’s… that’s nice of you.”

“It’s been a while since we’ve gotten someone new,” he said. “Even longer since they’ve had such a dramatic entrance.”

You shrugged. You didn’t exactly know what to say to this boy. “Sorry.”

He paused for a moment, and then he nodded. “Not one for conversation. That’s fine.”

“I did almost just die,” you said wryly. “I’m fresh out of icebreakers at the moment.”

“Maybe I can help with that.” He held out his hand. “Luke Castellan. Head Counselor of the Hermes cabin, and apparent rescuer of damsels.”

You huffed a laugh as you stared at him. “I’m a damsel?”

“I’d say you were in as much distress as someone could be back there,” he said with a shrug. “I practically saved your life. I think that deserves a handshake.”

The slightest bit of tension dissolved from your shoulders and you shook his hand. His smile grew.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, dropping his hand. “You were pretty rough when I found you.”

“Better,” you said, though you grimaced a bit as you tested your shoulder, and you decided to switch your pack to your other side. “Whoever that guy in the infirmary is, he’s good.”

Luke nodded. “Son of Apollo—they’ve got healing abilities. Very useful when we’re all constantly getting injured.”

Your brows knit together. “So it really is all real.”

“You were nearly dead on our doorstep, and from those claw marks I’m guessing it wasn’t just a bad fall.” Luke offered a wry smile. “I’m sure you’ve known it’s all real for a while.”

“Of course,” you said. “It’s just weird to really know that it’s all real. To see all of you, really. Just knowing I’m not alone.”

He nodded. “That’s the best thing about it, knowing you’re not alone.” He looked around at your surroundings—various campers chatting as they walked with each other (some glancing at you as they went by), distant shouts and cheers, and a perfectly blue sky matching the perfectly blue house you just left.

“I’d say the worst thing about it is feeling like I still have no idea what’s going on,” you said. “Unless the gods exist just to be deadbeats. That’d be disappointing.”

Luke actually laughed at that, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and you found yourself smiling a bit. “I can tell we’re gonna get along.”

Your own smile returned—it was like his joy was infectious. “You think so?”

“I know so,” he nodded. “Just… try not to throw the gods’ names around like that. They don’t like to be talked about unless they’re being revered.”

You huffed. “Sounds like an interesting place.”

“Camp Halfblood,” he provided, and he gestured around you with his hand. “Keeping young heroes safe for over three millennia.”

“What,” you said wryly, “are you their PR guy?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “It’s something Chiron likes to say.”

“You’re the second person to mention Chiron,” you said. “Who exactly is he?”

“You haven’t gotten a tour yet?”

You gave him a look. “Come on. You carried me in. You think I could have gotten a tour between then and now?”

“Fair,” he admitted, and he tilted his head. “I can give you one, if you’re so inclined.”

“I said I would wait for Tate,” you said. “He’s my satyr— I figure I owe it to him.”

“C’mon,” Luke said. “He’s meeting Chiron and Mr. D—that’ll take long enough on its own, and if we don’t get out of here soon enough, you’re gonna get dragged into a whole other conversation with them. At least this way, you can get a little bit of downtime before all the lore of this place is dropped on you.”

You bit your lip, and then you sighed and nodded. “Fine. But it can’t take too long.”

Luke smiled and held up three fingers. “Halfblood’s honor.”

You didn’t know where to start.

There were far more people than you expected, not nearly enough beds for all of them, and half were talking and a quarter were fighting and the others were just completely unfazed. All you could do when you walked in was stare.

“You get used to it,” Luke said, glancing over at you. “Everyone’s nice, I promise—just keep a hand on your pockets.”

You frowned. “Why?”

He gave you a crooked smile. “Hermes is the god of thieves. We learn by experience in this cabin.”

Your hands instinctively reached back to the pockets of your jeans, despite the fact that you hardly had anything to your name. “Why do they put the new, naive kids in here again?”

“God of travellers, too—all are welcome.” Luke saw your hand shoot to your pocket and laughed. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone mess with you too much—for now, at least.”

“Oh, good,” you said lightly. “The hazing doesn’t start until later.”

Luke smiled as he continued to guide you through the cabin, nodding to and greeting campers with equal parts names and handshakes as he walked past them. You got just as many stares as Luke did hellos, and your skin crawled at the attention.

“Why are they all looking at me?” you whispered to him.

“Like I said, you’re the first new camper in a while.” Luke glanced at you. “News spreads fast, especially in this wreck of a place.”

“It’s not that bad,” you said , but your grip tightened on your backpack strap. “Just very busy.”

“That’s what happens when they shove everyone in here,” Luke said. “All are welcome means all are welcome—Hermes kids, unclaimed kids, and kids of minor gods.”

You frowned. “Minor gods don’t have cabins?”

“This place is as much for us as it is in honor of the gods,” he said. “Twelve cabins for twelve Olympians. They don’t see it as a problem, therefore we can’t see it as a problem.”

You decided to bite your tongue, but you couldn’t hide your sigh. “I guess I’m gonna be here for the time being.”

He looked you up and down, and all you could think was that you must look like an absolute disaster. “I’m guessing you fall into the unclaimed.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, a sad attempt at a smile. “Yeah, but I just got here—I bet my mom doesn’t even know it yet. Gods are busy.”

“They’re also omniscient,” Luke said wryly. “I’m sure she could have claimed you the second you crossed the border. Your parent could’ve given you a little divine intervention and kept you from nearly dying on the hill.”

“Well, I’m here for now,” you said with a bit too much force, and your nails dug into your palms. “So do you mind showing me around?”

Luke stared at you for a moment before he smiled. “‘Course not. I can also give you a quick tour of camp too, if you haven’t already gotten one.”

You shook your head. “Only the infirmary.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” he said, “you heal up well.”

“I don’t think that’s a credit to me,” you said. “I think it’s whatever magical drink that healer gave me while he was trying to bring me back. Tasted like pecan pie.”

“Nectar,” he said as he started walking, and you followed behind him. “Drink of the gods that heals demigods in small portions. It tastes like your favorite food—same as ambrosia.” He stopped in an empty corner and looked at you. “You like pecans?”

You shrugged, suddenly self conscious. “My dad makes it the best.”

“I hope you’ll be able to get the real thing soon,” he said, and then he gestured with a flourish at the same empty corner. “Welcome to your new home.”

You stared at him. “This is the floor.”

“We’re a little overbooked,” Luke said sheepishly. “If it makes you feel better, we’ve got sleeping bags. And this is a top tier corner. Quieter than the others.”

“…Great,” you said. “I feel very welcome.”

“I’m sorry.” To his credit, he sounded like he meant it. “Bunch of unclaimed kids, couple kids of minor gods, couple Hermes kids—it all kinda adds up to a mess.”

“...It’ll be better than camping,” you said, though mostly to yourself as you took your bag off your shoulder and let it thud to the ground.

“Hey,” Luke said, and his voice was softer, “it’ll be okay. With any luck, your parent’ll notice you now that you’re at camp, and you’ll be claimed before you know it.”

“I hope so,” you murmured.

“Luke, who’s the new girl?”

A boy with curls just as good as Luke’s walked up and clapped him on the back, smiling at you in a way that instantly set you at ease. He also wore the orange camp shirt, with long tan sleeves below that he’d pushed up to his forearms. He had kind eyes.

Luke said your name, his own smirk on his lips as he looked back at you. “You’ve probably heard about her dramatic entrance by now, but she’s the newest resident of the Hermes cabin.”

“Unclaimed or your sibling?” he asked.

“...Unclaimed,” you said yourself. You hadn’t even been here for more than two hours and it already felt like your own brand of shame.

He repeated your name with a nod and held out his hand. “I’m Chris,” he said. “Fellow unclaimed kid.”

A little bit less of a scarlet letter, at least. You swallowed your budding insecurity and shook his hand. “Sounds like a shitty club to be in.”

He snorted. “You’re telling me.”

“How— how long has it been?” you asked hesitantly, almost afraid to know the answer.

His lips pressed into a tight smile. “Couple years.”

“Gods,” you murmured. You didn’t know if you’d be able to wait that long. It had been hard enough already growing up without one—if your mother was just out of reach after all this time, you would surely lose your mind.

“Don’t worry,” Chris said, his expression softening a bit. “It won’t take that long for you. I can tell.”

“That’s what Luke said,” you responded wryly. “Do I give off a vibe that says ‘I’m unwanted, but not for too long’?”

Luke laughed and shook his head. “I promise, it’s all gonna be okay. I’ve been the counselor here for a couple months—kids get claimed all the time. I bet you’re next on the list.”

“Maybe,” you said. You didn’t believe it as much as they did—if they did at all.

You heard the door open and your head automatically turned to the noise, and you felt the heat rush to your cheeks in embarrassment as Tate came through, slightly out of breath. You stared at Luke—he said thirty minutes at least. He just shrugged.

“I figured you would be here,” Tate said, his chest rising and falling just so as he walked—trotted?—inside. “You didn’t exactly wait.”

You opened your mouth to speak up, but Luke beat you, already putting on a charming smile. “Sorry. We got to talking, and then I offered to show her around the Hermes cabin. Just so she could put her things down, y’know.”

“‘Course,” Tate nodded. “That— that was probably a good idea. Would have been bad if you got lost or something.”

“I’m sorry,” you said, and you went to pick your bag up. “Luke said you would be talking for a lot longer— I was going to come back after I was done with this.”

Tate shook his head. That nervous energy from the worst parts of the road was back, and you wondered how badly the talk with Chiron and Mr. D went. “No, it was a good idea. Better than you getting lost around camp or caught up with some troublemakers. Thanks, Luke.”

“‘Course,” he said.

“Not sure she’s in much better hands with Luke,” Chris said wryly. “He’s head troublemaker in the cabin of troublemakers.”

Luke just chuckled and shook his head. “It’s her first day. I wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

You were only able to glance at Luke for a moment before your attention was drawn back to Tate as he gestured outside with his head. “Chiron’s waiting outside. He wants to talk to you some before the tour.”

And now you had to deal with it too. “...Great,” you said. You set your bag back on the ground, in your newly coveted corner.

“It’ll be fine,” Tate promised. “You already went through Hades to get here— he’s not gonna pile on you more. That’s why Mr. D is back at the Big House.”

This time, you did look at Luke. Thankfully, he understood.

“Dionysus,” he explained. “He’s our camp director.”

You blinked. “The god?”

“Yep,” he nodded. “Punishment from Zeus. Not the worst gig, but he’s… interesting.”

“Great,” you repeated, because you didn’t feel like processing that at the moment, and you looked back at Tate. “You’ll be with me, right?”

He nodded. “Not for the talk, but for the tour.”

You let out a loose breath, because it was going to be fine. He was just the authority figure of the one safe place in the world for you, and you were just an annoying kid that had no idea what the hell was going on.

“Great,” you said for the third time. You looked back at Luke. “I’ll see you around?”

He smiled and bowed his head. “Definitely. You do kinda live here indefinitely now.”

You nodded, more relieved than you wanted to show, and you started following Tate out.

You heard Chris mutter something to Luke, and you turned your head in time to see Luke jab him in the side. His head perked up when you laughed, and his whole expression changed as his smile returned and he did a little wave.

You couldn’t help but smile back as you did the same, and you left the cabin with a little pep in your step.

—

“You promise you’ll be safe.”

“Yes, Tate,” you said with a slight laugh. “The worst is already over—you got me here, and we’re both alive. I’m gonna be fine.”

“I know,” he said, and he managed his own smile. “I’m just worried about you. You don’t spend two weeks on the road fighting for your life with someone and not get a little attached.”

“You’ll be back here, right?” you asked. “I know your whole thing as a Protector, but you’ve gotta drop the demigods off too, right?”

“Of course I’ll be back,” he promised. “It… just might be a while. You’re the third demigod I’ve gotten to camp safely, now—Chiron’s trusting me with a bigger mission. It might be a couple months, but I’ll be back.”

“And you’re telling me to be safe,” you said wryly.

“I’ve been doing this for a while,” he said. “You just got here.”

“I know,” you said, and you pulled him into a hug. “Just don’t get killed out there.”

Tate laughed and patted you on the back before he pulled away. “So long as you don’t killed out here.”

“Thanks for everything,” you said with a nod.

“Thank you,” he said, and he gestured at the pavilion with his head. “Now get over there and make some friends. I’ll see you around.”

You hugged him one last time before you reluctantly went off, and you looked back to wave him goodbye before you really started on your way.

Your head still spun with all the information Chiron and Tate had imparted on you—so much about Greek mythology (and how it was all real), ADHD and dyslexia (and how they weren’t just there to make your life harder), your godly parent (who would hopefully claim you within the month) and so much more that you knew you would forget in an hour or two.

And Chiron’s talk. God, it felt more like you were in the principal’s office than anything, even though he was nothing but kind. You couldn’t help but be overwhelmed from it all, and though the talk was probably meant to stave some of that anxiety off, it really didn’t.

But you’d always felt out of place all your life. And now you were finally where you were meant to belong—that had to count for something.

Tate had dropped you off at the pavilion—nearly dying had taken a lot out of you, and it just happened to be lunch—and just as you neared the tables and realized you had no idea where to sit, your eyes were drawn to a boy raising his hand and calling your name.

You looked over and saw that it was Luke, the counselor from earlier, and you couldn’t help but smile. True to his word.

You weaved your way through various campers and around tables full of kids to finally stop next to Luke’s table—Chris, the guy from earlier, sat across from him, and they both smiled at you.

“How’d the tour go?” he asked.

“Fine,” you said with a nod. “A little overwhelming, but better than I thought.” You pulled at your new camp shirt, the fabric noticeably brighter than a majority of those around you. “I match now, at least.”

“Orange suits you,” Luke remarked, and he patted the open spot next to him. “Sit down—stay for a while.”

You chuckled as you sat down. You still felt out of place, but at least they weren’t going to hang you out to dry. “Bright orange seems like an odd choice when we’re trying to stay hidden.”

“Probably so Chiron doesn’t lose us,” he joked. “This place is huge, and there’s a lot of us. When the newest camper gets turned around in the woods during capture the flag and nearly dies to a monster, it’s easier to find them.”

You frowned, and you must’ve not been very good at hiding your panic because Chris shook his head.

“Luke, you’re scaring her. She’s already been through enough.”

“Don’t worry,” Luke said, patting you on the shoulder. “Just a little halfblood humor. You’re gonna be fine, I promise.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” you said wryly. “It feels like I nearly died four hours ago and now I have no idea who anyone is or what to do.”

“Not true,” Chris spoke up, and he smiled. “You know us.”

“I’ll look out for you,” Luke promised. “And pretty soon, you’re gonna be good enough to look out for me.”

You let out a long lasting sigh. “God, I hope so.”

—

“You’re not holding it right.”

You adjusted your hold on the hilt, resisting the urge to wipe away the bead of sweat dripping down your forehead and the even stronger urge to hit him.

“You’re still not holding it right.”

Your teeth grinded together as you turned to look at Luke. “Are you gonna actually help me, or just stand there judgmentally?”

“I dunno,” he said. “The weather’s pretty good over here.”

You groaned and moved your non-dominant hand closer to the pommel, shifting your other down as well. “Is this worthy of your approval, Your Majesty?”

Luke chuckled as he walked over to you, and you could feel the calluses on his hands as he adjusted your form with slight touches to your arms. “It is acceptable, my lady, but your posture is not.”

“I don’t know how so many people at this camp like you,” you grumbled. “This is awful, and so are you.”

He smiled. “You’ve been here for two weeks. Give yourself some grace.”

“I’ve spent one of those trying and failing at the most basic basics of sword-fighting,” you said. “I spent the past hour losing to an Ares kid who I’m pretty sure actually wanted to kill me.” You looked over at Luke. “Thanks for that, by the way.”

“Trial by fire,” he supplied. “You’re still alive, so obviously you’re doing something right.”

“Yeah, probably because you’re here,” you said. “You can’t just kill someone when their counselor’s standing right next to them. It’s bad publicity.”

Luke huffed a laugh and shook his head as he crossed his arms. “Stop talking down on yourself. You managed to make it here with a couple monster attacks on the way—what’d you use then?”

“I started off with a screwdriver I stole from the garage before Tate and I left,” you said. “And then I stole a hunting knife from some outdoor store. Not exactly top-tier.”

“Lotta stealing,” Luke chuckled. “Maybe you are a Hermes kid.”

“They nearly caught me,” you said. “Definitely not.”

“Regardless of thievery, you still survived,” he continued. “You’re not a bonafide swordsman, that’s fine. But you’re resourceful, creative—scrappy in a fight is just what we need sometimes.”

“Great,” you mumbled. “I’m ‘scrappy’.”

“It’s a compliment,” he promised. “If we were all sword-fighters, we wouldn’t get far. Someone like you is gonna do us a lot of good.”

“If I don’t die before I even get out to the battlefield.” You knocked the helmet off of one of the straw dummies with your sword and sighed as it clattered to the ground. “This is the only enemy I stand a chance against.”

“You’re thinking too much about it all,” Luke said. “You’re literally wired for battle—didn’t you feel it during your fights on the way to camp?”

You shrugged. You guess you did—you remember not even taking the time to analyze the situation, just knowing your lives were in danger and finally feeling the ever-present jitters in your bones settle for the first time.

“It was rough,” you finally said. “But… it did feel like I knew what I was doing. Like my body understood it all even when my mind was still a couple steps behind.”

“And that was without training, and with,” Luke huffed an incredulous laugh, “a screwdriver. Just imagine what you’ll be able to do with actual Celestial bronze and actual training.”

“…I think I remember why people like you,” you said reluctantly. “And why I liked you.”

Luke grinned as he stood up. “That’s the spirit.” He picked up the fallen helmet and placed it back on the dummy, then looked at you. “I think I’ve put you through enough suffering. Let’s get lunch.”

“So a compliment was all it took for me to get out of this?” you asked in exasperation, gesturing with your sword as you worked to undo the ties on your armor with your other hand.

“Exactly,” he mused, and he took the sword from you to store it away. “I don’t get nearly enough compliments these days, y’know. Sometimes you end up taking that out on campers that don’t know how to swordfight.”

“Luke Castellan,” you grumbled as you finally got your breastplate off, “you are a piece of work.”

He winked. “Thank you.”

—

You didn’t think you were built for this life.

It was the only thought running through your head as you sat at a crowded Hermes table, absentmindedly picking at fruit with your fork as you stared off into the distance.

You’d been at Camp Halfblood for a month now, but it had already felt like a lifetime.

You’d managed to make a few friends—a Demeter girl who grew you a bouquet of your favorite flowers as a consolation prize for fighting dirty during training; an Athena boy who told you whatever interesting fact popped into his head first every time you ran into each other; the Hebe girl who had the misfortune to have the corner opposite you in the Hermes cabin and showed you skincare tips once in a while.

Throw in a smattering of Hermes and unclaimed kids and a counselor that seemed determined to make you smile, and you weren’t as lonely as you thought you’d be.

You were learning how to fight in your own way. Luke was right—you weren’t a swordsman, but you were damn good up close and personal. He’d taken you to the camp armory, you found a Celestial bronze dagger that spoke to you, and from then on you’d actually been doing well in training.

Your corner of the Hermes cabin didn’t feel as sad anymore, either. Luke took you to the camp store for retail therapy after you nearly burned your jeans off on the climbing wall, so now you had an AC/DC poster (courtesy of the little money you had) and an I ❤️ NY keychain to attach to your backpack (courtesy of Luke’s idle hands).

You were starting to come into your own, sure. You were doing better in training and making friends in the cabin you were stuck in and starting to get used to burning part of every meal, but the most glaring issue of all still hadn’t been resolved.

You still hadn’t been claimed.

And maybe it shouldn’t have been such an issue for you, but how could you not feel shitty? How could you see all the different tables and all the different kids talking and smiling and joking with each other that had parents who cared enough to at least claim them, and not feel unworthy?

Because you did. You felt unworthy, and it didn’t matter how many times you took your sparring partner down or bested the climbing wall or actually hit the bullseye at archery practice—your mother didn’t think you were good enough, so neither did you.

“How’re you doin’, Berkeley?”

You frowned. You didn’t have to look up to know it was Luke as he sat down next to you. “What?”

“Did you not hear me?” he asked, but you were already shaking your head.

“Berkeley,” you repeated, finally glancing at him. “That’s not my name.”

Luke shrugged. “I dunno what to tell you. You’re unclaimed. UC. University of California—first one I think of for you is Berkeley.”

You were staring now. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I’ve got tons of UCs. I’ve gotta keep track of them all somehow,” Luke said, and he pointed at campers both at your table and walking around as he talked. “That’s LA, Irvine, Davis—the others aren’t here, but you get the gist.” He looked back at you. “Been savin’ Berkeley for someone special.”

“Oh gods,” you said, horrified. “I’ve got to get claimed.”

One of the girls at the table—Irvine?—rolled her eyes as she stood up and flicked Luke on the head. “Be nice,” she said before walking away. All he did was smile.

“Maybe give it to someone else,” you said. “I don’t feel special.”

Luke’s brows creased. “If you don’t like it—”

“It’s fine,” you said. “The name doesn’t bother me. The reason I have it does.”

His eyes softened as he said your actual name. “It’s only been a month. You’ve still got plenty of time.”

You looked across at the Hebe girl you’d become friends with—Marisol, if you remembered right—and hoped that your eyes didn’t show the desperation you felt. “How long did it take for you?”

She offered a sympathetic smile. “Six months. But it probably won’t be that long for you.”

“That’s what everyone keeps saying,” you mumbled. But it had been a month, and you hadn’t gotten a single sign.

“Because it’s true,” Luke urged. “Whoever your mom is will notice you—you’ve been killing it lately.”

“Really,” you said flatly, “I’ve been killing it.”

“Yes,” he said. “You don’t know it because you’ve only got your own experience—you went from nearly dead on our doorstep to taking down most of your opponents.”

“In training,” you said.

“That still counts!” Luke exclaimed. “Y’know, you’re holding yourself back. You’re incredible, but you’re the only one that seems to not notice it.”

“And my—”

“Do not say your mom,” he said, pointing a finger at you. “We’re not talking about the gods right now, we’re talking about you. And you, Bee, are killing it.”

That gave you pause. “Bee?”

“I’m trying to get you back up and you focus on the nickname?” Luke asked wryly.

“Just explain it,” you said.

“Bee shortened from Berkeley,” he said. “Not fully unclaimed, but still something special.”

God, you hated him. You’d been feeling shitty for a majority of your month here, but he always managed to make you smile.

“Sure,” you said.

“And a little annoying,” he added, earning himself a jab in the side as he laughed, “with a bit of a sting.”

“Aren’t you just so clever?” you mused, though you couldn’t help your smile widening.

“It’s in my genes,” he said proudly.

For the rest of a less than exciting lunch, Luke kept you occupied. Whether it was stories of his life before camp, or the couple of months that earned him counselor before you got here, or getting the other campers at the Hermes table to talk about themselves, he made sure you didn’t get a chance to spiral.

By the end, your face hurt from smiling

As you finished cleaning up, Marisol turned to you. “Me and a couple other girls were gonna go play volleyball—do you wanna come with us?”

“Yeah,” you said, and your smile grew. “Yeah, I’d love to. Thanks.”

“‘Course!” she exclaimed, and she linked arms with you. “I’d be a fool not to get you on my team after you took down Liam yesterday.”

She continued to talk as she pulled you along, and you looked back at Luke. He chuckled and gave you a thumbs up. “Go get ‘em, Bee!”

You gave him one back, and as you turned back to Marisol, you found that you couldn’t stop smiling.

—

It was two in the morning and you couldn’t stop crying.

You finally had a mattress against your back, and however stiff it was, it was better than the floor. A decent amount of kids got claimed over the past month, and half the cabin left after the summer was over, so you finally had the privilege of a bunk—thankfully, Marisol did too, and she was below you.

At least, until the summer-only campers that all the Hermes kids liked more than you returned. Then it was back to the floor.

Unless you got claimed before then. But that was less likely than being able to muster some good will from your cabin mates.

Because it was embarrassing, truly. You’d been at camp for four months now, and you hadn’t even gotten a single goddamn peep from whoever your mother might be. You just woke up every day on the floor, moseyed about a camp that still didn’t feel like home, burned offerings to a god that didn't want you, and went back to sleep on the floor.

And now you were crying in a bed that was barely even yours and it was two in the morning and you were wondering if it would have just been better for you to die on the road to camp the first time, because at least then your mother might have actually paid attention to you.

“Hey.”

And now you were really wishing you’d died because you’d woken someone up and they’re just gonna hate you more—

“Are you okay?”

You finally turned your head from where it had been buried in a pillow, a laissez-faire attempt to suffocate yourself or maybe just muffle the noise, and you saw Luke Castellan. Counselor of a cabin of thieves, vagabonds, and rejects, and maybe the only person that you didn’t want to see you like this. All that good will, the unearned faith you’d accumulated—this was the easiest way to lose it. His eyebrows were creased, and his whisper held what sounded like concern, but he was required to be concerned.

You nodded, still not moving, still not speaking. Tears rolled down your cheeks and stained the bed sheet.

“You’re gonna have to be a little more believable than that, Bee,” Luke murmured.

“No, I don’t,” you whispered back.

You got the tiniest huff of a laugh out of him, and he gestured towards the closed door with his head. “Wanna take a second?”

“It’s past curfew,” you mumbled.

“And you’re miserable,” Luke said. “You can’t feel any worse getting eaten by harpies than you do now.”

Still, you stared at him.

“It’ll be okay,” he promised. “Right outside the cabin. Harpies won’t even know.”

You rubbed a hand across your face, coming away wet with tears, and you realized that he wasn’t just going to leave you like this. So you got up as quietly as you could, careful not to disturb your bunkmates, and followed Luke. He pushed the door open and shut so quietly you wondered how many times he’s snuck out.

The cold air was sobering, and you wiped away more tears before wrapping your arms around yourself. Camp Half-Blood was always supposed to have perfect weather, but you guess not even they were immune to November nights.

“So,” Luke started, and in your peripherals you could see him leaning against the side of the cabin. You could feel his gaze on you, and you just stared off into the distance.

“So,” you repeated.

“You wanna tell me why you’re crying in the middle of the night?” he asked.

“Not really,” you said, because it felt ridiculous that a boy your age was acting like he’s ten years your elder.

Luke chuckled and tipped his head. “Fair. You want to say anything at all?”

“I’m sorry for waking you up.”

He shook his head. “I was already up. I’m a light sleeper.”

“Seems rough in a cabin like this,” you said.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he said. “Did you have a nightmare?”

You frowned, because now it really felt like he was babying you. Luke must have caught on, because he laughed a bit and shook his head.

“Demigods have… extremely vivid dreams,” he said. “Typically horrific nightmares. Sometimes prophetic.”

Your frown deepened. “That’s awful.”

Luke shrugged. “It’s just the way it is. The gods can’t interfere in mortal affairs, so I guess it’s their way of letting us know what’s wrong.”

You shook your head with a sigh. “No nightmares, thankfully. Just… feeling overwhelmed.”

“About what?” he asked. “I told you you’ve been doing great.”

“It doesn’t matter how many times you say it,” you said wryly. “It doesn’t mean I believe it.”

“There’s no reason you shouldn’t,” he asserted.

You huffed a laugh. “It’s been four months, Luke. Four months since I got here after nearly dying in five different states, and I don’t even know who’s responsible for it.”

“Ah,” Luke said. “The unclaimed thing.”

“Yeah,” you said wryly. “I guess you could call it that.”

“Sorry,” he said, and he shook his head. “It’s a bigger deal than that, I know.”

“Maybe it isn’t,” you said. “There’s at least six other kids in there dealing with the same thing as I am, and none of them are waking up their counselor in the middle of the night with their tears.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luke said with surprising conviction. “Like your feelings aren’t valid. Because they are.”

You crossed your arms. “Doesn’t seem like it.”

“They are,” he insisted. “A— and you’re not bothering me. We’re friends, and we help each other. I care about you, y’know.”

“I never said I was bothering you,” you said wryly.

“You thought it,” Luke said. “I know you did.”

“...Maybe.” You sighed and shook your head as you looked out at the stars. They really were beautiful here. “I just can’t help but be bitter about all this, and I feel so shitty about it.”

“Would it make you feel better to know you’re not the only one that thinks that?” he asked.

“A little, yeah.” You glanced at him. “No one else seems too bothered that their parents are never around.”

“Most of them have accepted that it’s just the way it is,” he said. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“Have you?”

Luke sighed after a moment of reluctance. “I… I have a complicated relationship with my dad because he was around. It was almost… worse to know him, and then to have him leave.”

“It’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all,” you quoted.

“I don’t know about that,” Luke murmured. “But it certainly helps to talk about it.”

You glanced over to see him gazing off into the distance, a look in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. This was the most he’d ever talked about his past to you, you realized—and it still wasn’t much.

“When were you claimed?” you asked after a moment of contemplation.

Luke shrugged. “I never really had to be. Hermes stayed with my mom for a year after I was born, and she told me who he was when I was a little older. I’ve known basically my whole life—he had no reason not to claim me as soon as I got to camp.”

“So you’re saying my dad could be keeping secrets from me too,” you said.

“He might not know,” Luke said. “A lot of times, they don’t talk about it. Sometimes, we don’t find out until a monster’s trying to kill us on a field trip.”

You huffed. “What a great existence we’ve been blessed with.”

Luke smiled, though it was tighter than usual. He let out a deep breath, then fully turned to you.

“Do you have your dagger with you?”

You frowned. “It’s under my pillow. Why?”

“Under your—” Luke stared for a moment before he laughed and shook his head. “A little paranoid?”

You shrugged. “You said it yourself. You’re a cabin of thieves.”

“True,” he admitted. “How’d you like to get some of this emotion out?”

“We’re sneaking out even more?”

“It’ll be fine,” Luke promised.

“You always say that,” you said. “Eventually, it’s not gonna be true.”

He laughed and gestured at the door. “Get your dagger. We’re gonna make this a very bad night for some mannequins.”

“Maybe this wasn’t a good idea.”

You huffed as you ripped your dagger out of the dummy, a few strands of straw coming out of the new hole you’d torn in its forehead, and wiped the sweat off your forehead. “Are you kidding? This was a great idea.”

“Not this part,” he said. “The ‘being alone with you during a rage’ part.”

“I’m not in a rage,” you muttered as you slashed at the breastplate, “I’m blowing off steam.”

Luke hummed. “And you thought you weren’t a good fighter.”

You stabbed at the armor again then rammed your fist into its head, and you took a step back as the mannequin thudded to the ground. “I guess I just need to think about my mom before I go into battle.”

“Y’know, Bee,” Luke said, “you scare me sometimes.”

You shook your head, wiping your blade on your night shirt to get any debris off as you turned around. “You’re really gonna stick with that?”

“I told you I’d stop if you didn’t like it.”

“It’s not that. I just…” You sighed and shook your head again. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it does.” Luke crossed his arms. “Everything you have to say matters.”

“Not if I say it doesn’t,” you countered, and you looked at him. “Who do you think it could be?”

“Your parent?” he asked. You nodded.

“Definitely not Apollo,” Luke said. “You’re way too dreary to be a kid of the god of the sun.”

“Gee,” you said dryly, “thanks.”

Luke shrugged. “You asked.”

“Well— who else?” You picked the dummy back up and dusted the armor off. “Athena, maybe? I’m smart.”

“Not smart enough to not be out past curfew with me,” he said.

“You suggested this,” you scoffed. “And I definitely needed it. If we get caught, I’m blaming you.”

“And why do you think that would work?” he asked, amused.

“You’re the camp’s golden boy,” you said. “I doubt you’d get in much trouble.”

“Sure, sure,” he said, nodding. “Or you just think I’m good enough to talk my way out of it.”

You tilted your head. “That too.”

“I never thought Ares before,” Luke chuckled, “but after all this, I think you might have it in you.”

“God, I hope not. Priya hates me.”

“She doesn’t hate you,” Luke said. “She just tried to kill you that one time.”

“And that other time during capture the flag,” you said. “She’s out for blood, Luke.”

He chuckled and shook his head. “She always is. She’s probably already moved onto her next victim.”

“I hope so.”

��Maybe Aphrodite?” he suggested. “You’re awfully pretty.”

You rolled your eyes. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

“It’s not flattery if it’s true,” Luke corrected.

You huffed a laugh but couldn’t help the slightest smile as you shook your head. “It’s not Tyche, at least. I have the worst luck.”

“Maybe you’re a Big Three kid,” he said. “How do you feel about the sky?”

“I like it,” you said.

“The ocean?”

“Not so much.”

“And the darkness?”

You huffed a dry laugh. “I’m not a Big Three kid, Luke. Even I know that.”

“No, you don’t,” he said. “You can never know for sure until you’re claimed.”

“If I was, I would be the biggest disappointment,” you said, looking at your reflection in your dagger. “Breaking their pact for a kid that can barely fight.”

“Why do you always do that?”

Luke’s voice had lost the joking edge from before, and when you glanced over at him, he was frowning.

“Do what?”

“You always put yourself down,” he said. “You don’t even give yourself a chance to believe that you’ll be great, or that you’ll succeed—you’re just a coward, or a failure, or worthless at the first bump in the road.”

“Luke—”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “I need you to understand that you are so, so much more than whatever that shitty voice in your head says.”

You went silent. Any words you could have even said stuck in your throat.

“This is not an easy life,” Luke asserted. “We’re thrown into an ocean before we know how to swim, and we have to find the shore all on our own or die trying. We—” he laughed, but there was no heart in it— “we’ve got our parents above us that could guide us, could save us, but most of the time they refuse to even acknowledge us. And we’ve got every single goddamn obstacle in the way trying to kill us.”

He inclined his head towards you. “But in spite of all that, you’re alive. You’re still here. You’re pushing through everything in your path, and you are still fucking here. Do you get that?”

“…I’m still here,” you repeated, and your hands clenched into fists. It had never felt more right to have your dagger in your hand.

Luke nodded resolutely. “And you’ve got a couple lifeboats to help along the way.”

“You mean it?” Your voice came out softer than you thought, in stark contrast to the stiffness of your bones, but you felt like a kid all over again.

“With all my heart,” he promised. “For as long as you’re here, I’ll be here.”

Your throat tightened, and the telltale beginnings of tears pricked behind your eyes. This time, when you spoke, your voice was little more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always,” he said. “And I mean that.”

You nodded, maybe a few too many times, and cleared your throat as you looked back at your dagger. “It’s late. We should get back before we actually get in trouble.”

Luke nodded too, and he helped you move the dummy back into place. You hated how your heart jumped into your throat when your hands brushed for the barest moment, but thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice.

“Thank you for this.” You played with your hands as Luke finished putting everything else away—extra insurance to make sure no one knew you were here—and only managed to make eye contact just as he looked at you. “It… it really helped.” More than he knew, you were sure.

Luke smiled, and he offered you his arm. “Always.”

You took it, ignoring the heat in your cheeks. “Just… don’t tell anyone about the crying.”

He chuckled as you started walking together. “After the way you’ve been handling that dagger? I’d be a fool.“

“Luke,” you groaned, “this is awful.”

“You were the one who said you wanted to spend time with me,” he said, giving you a crooked smile. “Spending time with me after the worst cabin inspection ever means cleaning the place head to toe for our next one.”

“Is skipping dinner really worth it though?” you asked as you scooped up a pile of dirty clothes and tossed it into the basket between you two.

“It’s the only time this place is completely empty,” he said. “I told you I could handle it alone—you’re the one that insisted on helping.”

“Maybe I do want to be a Big Three kid,” you grumbled. “At least I’d only be cleaning up my own mess.”

“You’d also have the wrath of the gods and every monster in the world to deal with,” he said.

You shook your head. “A small price to pay for a clean cabin.”

“And then you wouldn’t get to see me when you wake up every day,” he mused. “A much bigger price to pay.”

You huffed as you dropped to your knees, reaching under a bed to grab a stray camp tee. “Keep talking, pretty boy. It won’t clean the floors.”

Luke grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

“I think you’ve got the messiest cabin in the world,” you said. “We’ve gotten the lowest rating every day for the past two weeks. I’ve been here for seven months now, and I don’t think we’ve ever gotten a full five.”

“Which is why you’re helping me!” he said. “Because you’re as sick of scrubbing the pegasi stables as I am.”

“You’re the counselor here!” you exclaimed. “You’ve gotta whip your siblings into shape.”

Luke gestured at you. “You’re basically my co-counselor. It’s just as much your responsibility.”

“And just what makes you think that?” you marveled.

“You’re the person in the cabin I like the most,” he said, “and we spend a lot of time together. That’s enough to make you my partner.”

“My stuff is always clean,” you said. “It’s you and the rest of the Hermes kids that’ve gotten us stuck in the stables and the kitchens every afternoon. Not me.”

You started remaking the unmade bed—would it kill any of the Hermes kids to make theirs right after they got up?—and shook your head. “It’s just not fair. Aphrodite’s cabin is basically Barbie’s Dreamhouse, and Demeter kids can grow plants to make it all pretty. We’ve just got a cabin of slobs.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, but when you glanced at him, you saw he was smiling. “It’ll all be fine.”

“You always say that.” You got the fitted sheet into all the corners then looked at him full-on. “Even when it’s not about something as stupid as laundry. How do you know?”

Luke shrugged as he nudged a ladder to a top bunk back into place. “I don’t. I just hope for the best.”

“How do you do that?” you asked. “How does anyone here do that? I feel like I’m the most pessimistic person here.”

“Every single one of us is an anomaly,” Luke said. “Freaks of nature. By all accounts of logic, we shouldn’t exist. But we do. All of mythology does. And when we have to literally fight for our lives for every single day, it doesn’t do much good to sweat the small stuff.”

“All I do is sweat the small stuff,” you grumbled, and you stretched your back out before you continued. “D’you think they’ll get annoyed that we just pooled all their laundry together again?”

“Nah,” Luke said. “If they didn’t want to have to pick all their stuff out after we so graciously do the laundry for them, they would keep their things clean in the first place.”

You chuckled and shook your head as you finished laying out the sorry excuse for a comforter—it would end up on the floor five seconds into the night, but Sisyphus and the boulder and all that—and sat down on the fruits of your labor. “I think this mess is the one thing I won’t miss when I get claimed.”

“You’re not as down about that as you used to be,” Luke noted.

“You know how they say a watched pot never boils?”

He actually laughed at that as he leaned against a bed post. “If you don’t care, you’ll get claimed faster?”

You shrugged. “Nothing else has worked. And like you said—don’t sweat the small stuff, right?”

“Like you said— all you do is sweat the small stuff.”

“Maybe I’m gonna try and turn over a new leaf,” you mused.

“I think that would be good for you,” he said. “You’ve been happier lately. It’s good to see you happy.”

“You’ve been watching?” you asked wryly.

Luke smiled. “You know I always am.”

You ignored the warmth stirring in your chest as you shrugged. “I’ve spent way too much time this year being sad over things I can’t control. Might as well start focusing on the things I can.”

“And to think,” he mused, “this is the same girl that wanted nothing to do with me when we first talked.”

“Oh, please,” you said dryly, “I’ve always wanted something to do with you.”

“And you still understand that flattery gets you everywhere,” Luke said with a grin. He pushed himself up and held out his hand. “C’mon—this place is clean enough. I think if we run, we can still make dinner.”

“Think we’ll get in trouble for partially skipping?” you asked as you stood up and took his hand, swinging your intertwined hands a bit as you walked together.

Luke chuckled as he pushed the door open and you walked out. “After the work we did here? We should be hailed as saints.”

“Luke,” you whispered.

His eyes shot wide open as he jolted up, and you had to stifle your laugh at his bewildered expression before he realized it was you.

He said your name groggily, rubbing his eyes as he kept himself propped up with his other arm. “What d’you need?”

“The stars,” you said. “They’re beautiful tonight.”

“So are you,” he mumbled. “You don’t see me waking you up in the middle of the night to tell you that.”

“Luke,” you said, but you couldn’t help your smile. “On topic.”

“The stars,” he said, barely nodding in his addled state. “Good for them. I’m going back to sleep now.”

“No, Luke—” you laughed softly and took his hand. “Come stargazing with me.”

He closed his eyes, but he didn’t take his hand away. “You’re insane.”

“Please,” you said. “I could never see the stars at home, not like this. They’re brighter than I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s so late,” he complained. “Can we do it in the morning?”

“Do you know what stargazing is?” you asked, amused.

“Hey, lovebirds.” The annoyed, tired voice of a camper rang out as they hit the wall. “Take it outside so we can sleep.”

Again, you had to bite back a laugh. Luke looked like he was holding back a groan, but he got up anyway, rubbing the grogginess out of his eyes. You moved to the door as quietly as possible, and you waited until he joined you on the small porch.

“Thank you,” you said, hearing the door close, “and sorry.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Luke covered up his yawn as he held a jacket out for you. “Put this on. I’m not gonna be responsible for you getting a cold because you want to stargaze in February.”

Your eyebrows rose as you took it. “Is this yours?”

“Don’t think too much into it,” he said, but he had the slightest smile on his lips. “You wanna see the stars, right? Let’s see ‘em.”

“Not here,” you said, shaking your head as you zipped up the maroon hoodie. You held out your hand once you finished. “Do you trust me?”

“Oh, gods,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair. “We’re doing a trust exercise too?”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” you remarked. You took his hand and started dragging him along, a clear spot in mind.

“You’re kidding me,” he said in exasperation. “I thought we were just gonna look at the sky for a couple minutes— you’re taking me to a second destination?”

“Hey,” you said, “don’t sweat the small stuff.”

“Oh, I can’t wait to use that on the harpies when they catch us and eat us,” Luke said offhandedly. “‘I’m sorry, ma’am—we’re really trying not to sweat the small stuff.’”

You laughed as you continued on your way, and out of the corner of your eye you could see Luke smiling too, despite himself. Suddenly, though, his grip tightened on your hand and he pulled you behind one of the thicker columns of the pavilion.

“Wh—”

He shook his head then gestured with it to the other side of the pavilion. One of the harpies—Aello, if you remembered correctly from Chris’s rant the past week about cleaning dishes—was walking past, muttering things to herself.

“Speak of the devil,” you marveled. You definitely weren’t a child of Tyche.

Luke gave you a look that quite clearly said be quiet, and for some reason that only made you want to laugh more. He must have seen that glint in your eye that he’d grown used to, because he placed his hand over your mouth right before the dam was about to burst.

You squeezed his hand tight as you tried to keep yourself from blowing your cover while Luke occupied himself with actually watching to make sure your path would clear. You were pressed right up against each other, and even through the jacket, even in the cold, you could feel his body warmth. He did say he ran hot.

Eventually, Luke let out a labored sigh and let his hand drop, and you wheezed, nearly doubling over.

“There is something wrong with you,” he said. He was barely able to hold back his own amusement.

“Oh my god,” you breathed, “that was awful.”

“That was your fault!” he exclaimed.

“How was it my fault?” you argued. “You’re the counselor here—you’re meant to be the responsible one!”

“I was being responsible!” Luke laughed again as he ran his hand through his hair then used it to gesture at you. “You were the one that nearly got us caught—you were the one who wanted to be out here in the first place!”

“Right,” you said, pointing your finger, “we gotta get to the beach.”

“Stargazing on the beach,” Luke marveled. “Definitely worth nearly getting eaten.”

“Oh, shut up,” you said as you continued to pull him along. “You could’ve said no.”

He squeezed your hand for a moment. “We both know I can never say no to you.”

Once you got to the beach you let go of his hand and laid down, taking care not to get sand in your sneakers. Luke sat down next to you but stayed up, watching the tide go in and out.

At night, without a hundred campers running around making all the noise they can, you actually felt like you could breathe.

“It’s nice, isn’t it?” It almost felt wrong to break the sacred silence, to insert yourself in the ambiance of nature working together in all its glory.

“Yeah.” Luke’s voice was softer than usual, that rough edge you’d grown used to absent in the face of calmer seas. “Yeah. It’s…”

“Serene,” you suggested.

“Beautiful,” he said. When you glanced at him, he was already looking at you.

“Very smooth,” you said wryly. “Now stop flirting and look at the stars.”

Luke chuckled lightly as he let himself fall back. His hand bumped yours as he adjusted his position, and your breath caught in your throat for the barest moment. You moved it away.

The two of you laid there together in silence gazing at the stars for what felt like forever. The gentle waves coming to shore then leaving, the scattering of sand from quiet winds, and not a single angry car horn or police siren.

You missed home, the city. You were headstrong in your belief that Detroit was better than New York. But gods—sometimes, you just couldn’t beat camp.

You didn’t know what possessed you to break the silence. But something had been tugging at you since the moment you laid down on the beach, and so you did.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

Luke didn’t miss a beat. “Always.”

“I…” you trailed off for a moment, but you bolstered yourself. “I’m scared of what comes next.”

You heard Luke shift in the sand and felt his eyes on you. “What do you mean?”

“After this,” you said. “The honeymoon phase of being a demigod.”

He huffed a laugh. “I wouldn’t say we have a honeymoon phase.”

“You know what I mean.” A shiver went down your spine and you put your arms on your chest. Like a coffin. “I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.”

“I think you need to stop getting up in the middle of the night,” he said. “It seems you have all your existential crises then.”

You exhaled out your nose, a sorry excuse for a laugh. “I’ve heard about quests—how they can happen for no reason except a god’s will, to— to prove that you’re worthy. And all I can think about is that my mother will never claim me until I prove I’m worthy or die trying.”

Luke was silent. You could feel your throat closing up, the threatened onslaught of tears. You blinked them back.

“All my life, I have never felt seen,” you murmured. “And I’m terrified that the only way I will be seen is when I die.”

“Look at me.”

You turned your head—Luke’s eyes were piercing in the moonlight.

“I don’t care what anyone says, especially that voice in your head—you’re worth everything and more,” he said. “And you are worth so much more than becoming a martyr for a god’s approval.”

“I wish you could tell my mom that,” you mumbled.

“I would march right up to Olympus and say it to her face,” he said. “And if it bothers her that much, she can smite me right now.”

That got a breathy laugh out of you from the pure absurdity. Luke’s eyes flicked to the sky as he waited, and when he didn’t instantly die a horrific death, his gaze went back to you.

“I see you,” Luke promised, his voice low. “And I’ll make everyone see you the way I do. I swear it.”

You were starstruck. You couldn’t look away from him, from the determination etched into each detail of his face, the softness in his eyes directed wholly at you—the fact that he was here at all in the first place at an unholy hour just because you asked.

Oh gods. You were in trouble.

“It’s late.” You finally managed to break the spell that held you under. “We should go.”

“Yeah.” Luke made no motion to move, still focused wholly on you.

“Luke,” you whispered.

You could have sworn his eyes moved down to your lips, but he was sitting up so quickly that you knew you must have imagined it. You cleared your throat as you followed suit, brushing the sand off your—his— jacket.

“This was nice,” he said after a moment. “...Thanks for waking me up.”

“Of course,” you said. “There’s… there’s no one else I would’ve wanted to share it with.”

Luke smiled, and you didn’t think he’d ever looked more beautiful than he did now, awash in the silver moonlight. If you were braver, you would have taken his hand again. You would’ve done what the voice in your head desperately wanted to do—had wanted to do for the past two months.

But you didn’t.

“I guess it was worth nearly getting eaten, huh?”

“Yeah,” he said, and he shrugged. “But most things are worth it when it comes to you.”

You nearly melted right there, and it was a credit to your strength that you didn’t say anything horrifically stupid. Instead, you put on a smile, hoped he couldn’t see how much he was killing you, and started back up on the path.

“C’mon,” you said. “Before we end up having to clean the entire camp for breaking curfew.”

“Whatever you say,” he mused.

You groaned as you slumped into your usual spot at the Hermes table. You heard Luke laugh, and you felt his eyes on you as you put your head in your arms.

“What’s got you so down?”

“I’ve been fifteen for three days and I already feel like an old woman,” you said. “Everything still hurts.”

“Capture the flag was meant to be a birthday gift,” Luke said wryly. “And we did win.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” you grumbled. “I swear, some people went after me on purpose just because it was my birthday. I’ve got bruises all over.”

“You know, we have an infirmary for a reason.”

“They’re battle wounds,” you said. You picked up your head just to take your goblet. “Lemonade. Actually, pink lemonade.” You took a sip, but even that didn’t make you feel better. You buried your head back in your arms with a rough sigh. “Signs of our victory.”

Luke huffed a laugh. “Sometimes I really don’t…”

He trailed off suddenly, and you heard a collective gasp go up at the table.

“What?” you asked halfheartedly.

“You— you’re—”

You didn’t know why he couldn’t finish his sentence. You picked your head up to see Luke’s face awash in golden light, his eyes wide. Everyone else at the Hermes cabin was just as awestruck, and Marisol fumbled around in her purse until she pulled out her compact. She opened her foundation, the mirror pointing at you, and you realized why.

A glowing, golden, translucent sickle with a few sheaths of wheat floated above your head. You frowned.

Before you had the chance to say anything, Luke was yelling your name and tackling you in a hug. You let out a grunt of surprise as you barely managed to brace yourself, and when he pulled away he was smiling wider than you’d ever seen.

“You’re claimed!” he exclaimed, his hands gripping your shoulders. “You— you’re finally claimed!”

“Demeter,” you said, almost absentmindedly. It still hadn’t quite hit you.

“Demeter,” he repeated, nodding rapidly, that gigantic smile seeming like a permanent feature at this point. “I told you everyone would see you— I told you we would make them see you the way I do!”

The rest of the table was chattering away, and you could feel Chris patting you on the back and saying words that went in one ear and out the other. The rest of the pavilion was starting to catch word, and you could see a couple kids from a table on the opposite end standing up and craning to see. Maybe your new siblings.

(You should be happy.)

Your new siblings.

…Your new cabin.

You could still barely think, like there was static in your brain. Luke’s hands on your shoulders were the only thing grounding you.

(You should be ecstatic.)

A year of tears, silent prayers, and apathetic resolution had finally come to a close, just days after your fifteenth.

(Why are you not smiling?)

You’d been claimed. But you didn’t think you’d ever felt more lost.

#also you may notice. that these include the flashbacks mentioned at the end of bleedin me dry. bc i enjoy hurting people #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fic #luke castellan angst #percy jackson and the olympians x reader #pjo x reader #x reader #sadie writes

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