#emotional hurt/ comfort

[mild-incompetence]

I like how we don’t see Fizz completely until he has his horns covered and how Fizz also doesn’t wake up Ozzie until he has his horns covered.

That whilst he’s lying on Ozzie he is still almost completely under the cover. You can barely see the tip of his face and his arm.

But then the alarm goes off and he has hidden himself entirely under the sheet.

#helluva boss #helluva boss season 2 #youtube #vivziepop #helluva boss fizzarolli #helluva boss ozzie #helluva Boss - OOPS #I need a fic about this immediately #some emotional hurt/comfort #if it gets written u have to send me a link

[starrystevie]

"what are you doing," eddie mumbles in confusion, hair fanned out on steve's pillow, the moonlight streaming in giving him a hazy halo.

there's a hand on the side of his face and it's cupping his cheek, thumb stroking over his skin. it's soft, so soft, too soft. another hand is trapping his against the mattress, fingers trailing over his forearm before tangling into his own and squeezing tight. it's gentle, so gentle, too gentle.

eddie isn't soft, eddie isn't gentle. eddie isn't making love in a full size bed with wallpaper that matches the drapes. he isn't fluttering kisses in time with fluttering heartbeats and the fluttering wings of butterflies trapped in his stomach like the most lovely cage.

eddie is fucking at 2am when there's enough intoxication to make him look like he's worth it. he's rough and wild, quick and easy. a means to a barely wanted end because he's there and willing and with long enough hair to let people imagine he's someone else.

he should be caged instead of the damn butterflies. he bares his teeth and thrashes his limbs just to fight and see what he can get away with. he laughs loud and brash in the face of sweetness just to see anger, just to see hurt.

he has half a mind to think he's a feral animal that's hardly been trained, performing in some fucked up circus that charges two bucks to see him snarl and hurl insults at anyone who passes by. he bites at the hands that try to touch, try to feed, proving to the onlookers that he's only worth the pocket change they pay to see him.

but steve. he's holding his face like he wants to, holding his hand like it's the most important thing in the world. he's pressing kisses along eddie's jaw without any hurry, without any rush, kissing just to kiss. feeling just to feel. he's like a ray of goddamn sunshine even in the darkness that midnight provides, warming eddie from the inside out.

eddie wants to run. he wants to scream. he wants to feel like he's allowed steve's soft and gentle but he's-

"is this not okay?" and now steve's looking at him with all of whatever he's trying to give him lacing into his face, his eyes and spit slick lips sparkling in the moonlight like a shiny new toy. "do you not like it?"

concern and care are different sides of the same steve shaped coin and if eddie looks hard enough, he can see them blurring together in his frustratingly beautiful sparkling eyes and those damn butterflies start to come back.

"no, it's-" he let's out a sigh, relaxing his tight muscles and sinking into the bed, sinking into whatever steve is willing to give him. "just different, is all. good different, i think."

steve smiles and eddie shakily mirrors it back, before he's ducking his head again and slotting their lips together, fingers still holding tight to eddie's, still cupping his face like it's something precious.

eddie's come to terms with the taste of the metal bars of his cage, teeth wearing down as he tries to bite his way to freedom. maybe this time he'll let himself get used to the taste of soft and gentle smiles if it means loving steve.

#under a read more solely for length! #this post is brought to you by me avoiding my work and feeling emotions about steve canonically holding hands when he has sex! #my writing #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie drabble #steddie fic #steddie hurt/comfort #for some reason i'm currently obsessed with dog imagry and you can pry it from my cold dead hands

[stealingyourbones]

Quick question, has anyone written a fic about Youngblood getting sad and emotional about Danny turning 18 where he’ll never see him again? If not I truly think that would be a wonderful little storyline to explore

#Danny Phantom #can all ghosts see Youngblood? i haven’t watched the show in a hot second #either way I feel like it could be a fun emotional hurt/comfort friendship fic #bones prompts

[drawing-dinos82]

If you have another reason not listed, please comment or reblog with your answer. Also please reblog for a bigger sample size

#whump community #emotional whump #whumblr #whump #whump trope #whumpee #whumper #hurt/comfort #polls #my post

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hey, I love your work so much! Would it be possible to do a "living weapon" in recovery, possibly taken to a rebel base and one of the rebels being nice to the weapon and giving them affection, but the weapon has no idea how to act?

"Hey. You need anything?"

The weapon's head snapped up, sharp gaze fixing on them. They otherwise sat perfectly still where the rebel leader had left them. Lou had watched them, on and off, for the past hour.

"I brought you some tea. If you'd like it. I always find tea soothing when I'm in new, strange places." Lou offered a small smile as he held up the drink, stepping further into the room. "What's your name?"

"Name?"

"Yeah. What do you like to be called?"

"I'm the weapon."

"You like being called that?"

The weapon's head tilted the smallest fraction. "It is what I am called. It's what I've always been called."

Lou didn't let their smile slip, despite the sorrow-horror that notched through their heart at that. Now was hardly the time to push. "Okay," they said. "Well. Tea? I wanted to check in if you need anything?"

The weapon stared at them. It was the sort of stare that stripped a person to their component parts.

Lou cleared their throat. They crossed the room to set the tea mug down on a side table. "You hungry? Thirsty? Tired? You want - I don't know. A book or something? You don't have to just sit there."

"I was told you to stay here."

"Well, yes, but..." They didn't know how to explain that the difference been stay there, okay? and an actual command that had to be 100% followed. Lou took another step closer to the weapon. "You can stay there if you want to, but you're not our prisoner. You can wander around the base, you know? Go to the bathroom or...whatever. Get some sleep."

"You should stay back."

Lou stopped. "Sorry," they said. They held their hand up. "Not trying to scare you or anything. If-"

"-You do not scare me."

"Oh. Well, that's good!"

"I am dangerous."

Lou's brow furrowed slightly, because of course they knew that. They just weren't entirely sure what the weapon meant by the words. They didn't say it like a threat.

"You are kind," the weapon said. "I do not want to hurt you."

"Oh." Heat flooded Lou's face. "Well, then you probably won't, right?"

The weapon blinked.

"I mean," Lou said, after a beat, "you can control your abilities, right?"

"...yes." The weapon still seemed a little confused. "Of course."

"So you won't hurt me."

This seemed to be a new concept, judging by the look on the weapon's face. "I...won't hurt you."

"Yeah," Lou said. "You can choose not to."

"I can choose."

"Uhuh. But, hey. Even if you do hurt me, it's not the end of the world? Accidents happen."

"I can choose," the weapon said to themselves again, quietly. "I don't have to hurt people."

"And no one here is going to make you."

"You need weapons. You are losing."

"Yeah, but that's not why we helped you."

The weapon swallowed, hard. It was the most obviously human reaction that Lou had seen from them so far. As if all of the normal reactions, all of the emotions and pleasures and weaknesses of being human were something they had been forcibly trained out of having. They probably had.

"I don't have to hurt people," the weapon said, as if that idea had never occurred to them before. As if nobody had ever told them that before. They looked down at their hands, curling them in their lap. "Thank you."

"Oh, sure. Any time!" It didn't seem like enough to offer, after everything that the weapon had been through. "And if you need - if you want - anything else, just ask. Okay?"

The weapon stared at them once more. After a long moment, they gave a small nod.

"Would you like me to stay and sit with you for a while?" Lou asked, as gently as they could. "Or would you like me to leave you alone? Either one is fine."

"Stay." It was barely audible. Hoarse.

"Cool. Do you want the tea?"

"I am...very thirsty."

Lou brought the tea over, then took a seat next to the weapon.

The weapon cradled the mug in their hands like they were afraid it would shatter. They swallowed again. Their hands shook the smallest, barely perceptible fraction.

"Careful," Lou said. "It's-" The weapon's gaze snapped to them once more. "It's hot," Lou finished. "I don't want you to get hurt. Scald your tongue."

The weapon took the most careful sip. Then they relaxed, the smallest fraction, at Lou's side. "It's nice." They hesitated, then smiled themselves. Tentative, fragile. "You're nice."

"Well, I certainly try to be," Lou said, with a weak laugh. They rubbed a hand over the back of their head. "We should all try to be."

The weapon drank their tea in silence, watching. Listening, as Lou filled the space with idle chatter about the base and the people there and their favourite kind of tea that their grandma always used to make.

The weapon quietly followed them everywhere around base after that.

#living weapon #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #writing #story #fiction #creative writing #writing snippet #story snippet

[hajihiko]

Trust and belief and trust and belief and trust and belief and-

#Hajime hinata #Fuyuhiko kuzuryu #Sdr2 #Super danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa 2 #Danganronpa #Kuzuhina #God I'm so emotions these past days what is happening #Anyway here's comfort! For all the recent hurt hehe sry #Also I got inspired by my OWN art #From being papanorth. Which was specifically like ... different responses to different traumas #And a recent post about being patient and kind vs being passionate and reaffirming #An art #ANYWAY I have feelings and emotions sometimes! It's good times #It's a bit late but im posting anyway while my mood is high #Oh I forgot to include my own thoughts #Fuyuhiko is suspicious and assumes every unexpected touch is hostile. Except... hes learning not to. #Hajime has moments where he goes away for a bit and cant really engage with people. But... hes finding ways to ground himself as himself.

[spinzolliii]

Caretaker falling apart over what might’ve happened to Whumpee, but deciding to respect Whumpee’s privacy. They have to stop themselves from prying or asking certain questions, knowing full well that there’s a darker, painful, intimate story behind Whumpee’s condition.

Alternatively, Whumpee’s history is eating away at them, and they’re dying to tell Caretaker everything. They decide to repress themselves for one reason or another. Maybe they’re afraid of disturbing Caretaker. Maybe they’re doubting their own recollection of what happened. Maybe they’ve been conditioned to view vulnerability as weakness.

Either way, there’s something preventing these two people from sharing the whole truth about a painful situation.

#physical whump #whump #whump prompt #whump tropes #whumpblr #whumpee #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #angst #injury #injury whump #whump scenario #whump ideas #whumper #caretaker #caretaking

[ddocson]

Hi ranchers community ............... i am thinking about them

#im posting so muchhh cause if i dont post after i finish the drawing ill never post #i loove you angst ranchers i love you uncontrollable emotional outburts and hurt/comfort #i love you jimmy felt so much pain that it doesnt matter #love you tango so crazy but so caring #anyway #team rancher #double life #double life smp #tangotek #tango tek #solidaritygaming #trafficshipping #forgot to tag that srry #i mean it doesnt have to be but to me it is #mine #Wooow ty guys for the notes on this one too ;; wtf #ddocson hits

[klausysworld]

Hello gorgeous!

Sooo I had this idea of Klaus and reader being married (she wants a divorce) but currently separated. She starts seeing Damon. Klaus lets her have her way for a bit as nothing has crossed the line, but then he finds out reader slept with Damon and Klaus goes absolutely feral over it and tells his wife that’s enough of this and drags back reader home and slides her wedding ring back on her finger.

Not His, Not Yours.

Klaus and I had slowly but surely grown apart.

We had married for decades for now, just over a century actually and to begin with it was all but a dream.

He had hundreds of thousands of gifts and words to express his love. Paintings and poems to show how pure his feelings were.

He was gentle when I needed and only ever rough when I wanted when him to be.

There wasn’t a question of doubt between us both. I loved him with all of my heart and he loved me with all of his soul. So much so that he actually proposed to me. Elijah and Rebekah couldn’t believe it but were unbelievably supportive. I even turned into a vampire so that I could be with him forever.

And for a nearly eighty years, everything was okay.

Of course the gifts were less frequent but I didn’t care about that so much. Not if I still had him. Even if he forgot to tell me he loved me, I didn’t need him to, deep down I knew that he did.

One thing I didn’t like, was when he would get flirty with other women. Especially because of how he behaved when I, heaven forbid, smiled at a man.

But still, with reassurance from his siblings and Elijah’s promise to talk to Klaus about it, I dropped it and didn’t speak of it. So he flirted, it didn’t mean anything. What’s a kiss when I have his heart?

Surprisingly Klaus never slept with anyone else. I suppose it’s unfair to say surprisingly but to be honest I had feared and expected him to have from time to time.

Especially when he became more distant. When he would disappear or return in the early hours of the morning. I would beg to know where he was and after a series of repeated yelling, he would grab me and show me his memories of the night before. Often he just got drunk and would pass out somewhere random or wonder around for inspiration, sometimes he’d attack a village and slaughter hundreds in mere hours. When finished showing me, he would give me that same look and tell me that I shouldn’t look so surprised. He may love me, but he wouldn’t ever be better for me.

And I would just nod and told him I already knew that.

And I’d wait for the next time that would happen.

We went days between sex, then weeks, gradually months and eventually we just didn’t. We slept beside each other mostly out of habit but we wouldn’t touch.

I never stopped loving him, I don’t think I ever could but I wasn’t sure if I loved him the same way anymore. And I certainly didn’t think he loved me that way. But we weren’t exactly friends either. It were as though we were just strangers at this point, strangers who held each others hearts.

And I had accepted that perhaps that’s all we would be. We lived that way for a couple of years, I’d stay with him like a shadow but that’s all I would be.

Until Mystic Falls.

So much happened in not enough time. Klaus became his true self and for some reason part of me thought perhaps that would rekindle something but he showed no more nor less interest so I just went on.

Until one day, his eyes held a spark. But it wasn’t for me. It was for Caroline Forbes.

She was blonde, young and new to vampirism but still bold and confident in herself. I was like that once, before I grew quiet and obedient to Klaus’s will.

So I took another step back and let him chase her a little. I sort of wanted him to sleep with her so that maybe he would just divorce me and I would know that what we had was really over.

But he didn’t. He gave her a present, drawings and spoke poetry to her without her realising but he didn’t kiss her or even lean in.

He still would come back to bed and lay beside me like usual.

I didn’t want him to think I would hate him if he fell for someone else. I’d rather he be happy with another than miserable with me. I knew he craved more, so did I.

And so with a lot of courage, I asked for a divorce but he refused me. That I didn’t understand.

“Why?” I asked, my brows pulling together as he scowled

“Because you’re my wife” he answered as though that meant anything anymore “I have loved you for a century. I will not just be done with you”

“Loved, Klaus. Loved. It’s in the past.” I argued

“I love you now as much as I did then” he told me, his voice raising

“No Klaus…you don’t” I whispered, my eyes glancing to the floor as I let out a small sigh. This was probably one of the reasons he liked Caroline more. I showed weakness and submission too easily to him. The difference was that I knew he wouldn’t kill me if I fought back but I feared it would be worse.

“We’re not getting a divorce. Ever.” He stated calmly, though I could feel his anger.

“I can’t do this Klaus” I mumbled. “I can’t just be known and your wife and hide in the house all the time”

“Then go out” he grumbled

“You don’t let me” I answered, remembering the last time I went out without telling him and he yelled at me for being inconsiderate and stupid. Apparently it wasn’t safe for me without his protection due to being so intimately associated with him.

“Well…now you can” he replied matter of factly.

“You should ask Caroline out” I whispered “She likes you too, Rebekah heard her talking to Bonnie about you”

“I wouldn’t-“

“But maybe you should” I sighed, hesitantly looking him in the eye once again. “You should at least try…you might like to be with someone…” I paused and swallowed dryly “someone else”

“Are you seeing…someone else?” He asked quietly, his eyes flicking between mine.

“No…not yet” I whispered and he nodded

“But?”

“But I think I should” I murmured before falling back into silence.

We stood there for a while, uncomfortable and guilt ridden before his phone went and he reluctantly left.

He didn’t come to bed that night.

To me that seemed like his way of confirming that we wouldn’t be together anymore, or for a while at least.

When I saw he had made up a bed in one of the guest rooms, it was clear that was the case.

So I started to go out a little.

When I saw Klaus with Caroline at the grill, I realised I needed to leave. Leave town, his life so that I didn’t ruin his chances.

But as fate would have it, when I rushed out of the building, I walked straight into Damon Salvatore. He recognised me in an instant and was grinning like a Cheshire Cat.

“What’s Klaus’s wife doing out and about?” He snickered and I sighed

“I’m not” I mumbled and he raised a brow

“Not what? Not his wife or not out?”

“I’m going home” I whispered, walking outside but he followed.

“Oh come on, I didn’t mean to scare you off so quick” he chuckled and I rolled my eyes

“Please. You couldn’t scare me” I muttered “have you seen who I’m supposed to be married to?”

“Supposed to be eh? Things not turning out?” He pressed, walking backwards beside me as I made my way back to the mansion.

“My marriage falling apart won’t benefit your precious Elena. It’s been broken for years.” I grumbled, and he rolled his eyes

“Forgive me for being curious” he muttered, his annoyance shining making my heart sink. I didn’t like it when people were rude and now I was the one doing it.

“Sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to sound so snappy”

I could feel his eyes on me as we neared the manner and before I could get it the door, his hand reached for mine which however pathetic it may seem, made my smile. Nobody had touched my skin for months.

“You should come out more, I’d like to talk with you some more” he told me and I faltered

“I wouldn’t tell you anything- not about him”

“I didn’t think you would” he answered, before leaving.

After that I went out a little more.

Damon would tease me and make me laugh. He would draw out the little confidence I had left and have me use it. I’d taunt back at him and go so far as to flirt once I’d had a few drinks.

After a while he asked to take me out. I thought he was joking.

“Oh will Elena be joining us? Perhaps Stefan to?” I laughed but he didn’t even smile

“I’m serious” he stated, his hand squeezing mine “just us…anywhere you want”

I stared at him “I um…I don’t know” I whispered, nervous and confused.

“I can wait” he answered as he caressed my arm softly.

When I got home Klaus was already there, his eyes on me in an instant. Without a word he placed his wedding band on the table before him and walked out the room. I felt a lump form in my throat as I shakily slid both my wedding and engagement rings off and put them beside his.

I went upstairs and cried. And I felt stupid for it because I was the one who asked for this.

So after a moment I pulled myself together and grabbed my phone. I took a breath before sending Damon a message

I like the Italian the next town over?

He replied quickly

Friday, 7?

I’ll meet you there

I’ll see you soon

I swallowed thickly and closed my messages before searching for apartments near me to rent.

If Klaus and I were actually ending this then I wanted to do it right. That meant I needed to live without him fully, so I sent in some applications to a couple of places.

Before any of them could come back, my date with Damon came around.

It went surprisingly well. We ate, spoke, joked and laughed. He paid, insistent that I shouldn’t. He then drove me back to the mansion and kissed me goodbye.

I refused to look anywhere near Klaus when I went up the stairs. He never said anything either, we spoke only if we absolutely had to and on the occasion that Damon and I would see Klaus out, we would instead go to his house for a while.

I spent a lot of time with Damon, he made me feel more alive. He brought back the spark in me that I thought I had lost and built my confidence back up. He made me feel more things in a couple months than Klaus had in the past fifteen years.

I knew it was wrong to compare them, but when all I had ever known was Klaus…he was all I had to know how a relationship worked to be able to tell if what I had with Damon was really something.

It progressed quickly, it scared me somewhat. I worried that it was a trap to make me help him with everyone else. However when I heard him defending me to both Elena and Stefan, I double guessed myself.

Slowly I felt myself begin to trust Damon, I felt as though I was learning to love and desire once more.

It was because of that feeling that I didn’t stop him when he began to take my clothes off. Or when he trailed his lips down my skin and pressed his mouth between my legs. I cried out for him when his fingers curled inside me and I clung to him when he finally took me as his own.

I stayed beside him for the rest of the night, pressed to his chest with his arms around me. It was a warmth that I wasn’t used to anymore but that I needed and yearned for. I stayed at his house for days after, wearing his clothes and living in his arms. But unfortunately I knew that I couldn’t just move in there so soon, so I had to go back to the mansion.

————————————————————————

(3rd person)

Klaus found out that Y/n had slept with Damon the day after it happened. Stefan had told him so when in the heat of an argument.

To begin with he thought the Salvatore was just trying to piss him off but when Stefan’s face dropped and his heart sped up, Klaus realised it was true.

Immediately he went home and smashed every item in her room. Shredded her clothes and tore up every flower Damon had gifted her and the little photos she had printed of them. It was after he broke apart her bed and found the box of forgotten memories did he calm down. He found all the poems and pieces of artwork he had ever given her, love letters and other tokens of their love kept safe and close to her. It broke him.

Klaus never meant for their marriage to deteriorate so badly. He loved Y/n, truly. But throughout the years he got distracted. Whenever his family got to town, his focus was off her and whenever a threat showed up he made a point of being distanced from her to ensure they wouldn’t attack her. After the first few times he’d done that, she got upset and wouldn’t want to kiss him, not when he would go weeks of ignoring her and then expecting her affection.

So he began to drink some more, to forget her touch and her voice for just a moment. But it made everything worse. She began to worry he was cheating on her and to be honest he couldn’t blame her for thinking that but in the moment when she would accuse him, he would be outraged.

He couldn’t stop himself from yelling, being offended and snapping. But after, when he would hear her cries and see her curled up in their bed, he would push himself further away in hopes that he wouldn’t be able to hurt her as much from a distance.

It only got worse.

And now he was on the floor of a room that was once his aswell, crying for his marriage that would no longer last.

Eventually he dragged himself up from the floor and went back to his own room, or rather the spare room that he had been sleeping in. He dug through his drawers to find their rings that he took after they both removed them and put his wedding band back on, smiling sadly at the fond memories of the first time she had put it on him.

He held her rings in his hand tightly as he heard the front door open and closed quietly before soft footsteps sounded up the stairs.

————————————————————————

(1st person)

I moved as quickly but as quietly as I could up to my room. I was in jeans and one of Damons shirts so I really couldn’t let Klaus see me.

Hurriedly I opened my bedroom door only to come to a standstill. Quite literally everything was on the floor. If I didn’t know what Klaus was like, I’d have thought a hurricane had passed through the room. I stared blankly for a moment before I both heard and sensed his presence from beside me.

“What did you do?” I whisper, staring at all the little things that meant so much to me scattered and broken into pieces.

“I don’t want you seeing him” he told me, his voice firm. My head snapped to his and I felt both anger and sadness swirl inside me.

“You ruined everything I have” I uttered, my voice still barely above a whisper

“You slept with him” he stated his tone cold but his eyes showed hurt and I part of em felt guilt but the other side just wanted to smack him.

“And?” I asked, my volume increasing slightly

“And? And you’re mine. You do not get to sleep around-“

“For crying out loud Klaus! I am not yours!” I yell, pointing my finger at him “And I do not sleep around! I slept with one person”

“I should have stopped you seeing him ages ago, this shouldn’t have happened” he muttered

“You can’t control every aspect of my life Klaus. We are not together anymore. We agreed on this” i whispered, my tone tired.

“We have not agreed on anything! I never wanted this-“

“Klaus we haven’t agreed on something for a good twenty years! It’s why we’re here” I exasperated

“That does not give you the excuse to fuck someone else” he growled and I glared

“Why? Did you plan on fucking me? Because I highly doubt it Klaus. And even if you wanted to, I wouldn’t have your hands anywhere near me now” I retorted.

I knew immediately that he would speed at me and so moved out of the way, he continued to chase me round the house until eventually he had me against the wall. Both of us were panting heavily, my hands pushing at his chest but he kept me caged.

“Get off me!” I cried, kicking my feet at his legs but he only grunted and held me as still as he could. I shoved at his chest with as much strength as I could but it was obvious that I couldn’t overpower a hybrid. He faltered only slightly at the impact before his hands were grabbing my waist to lift me. Without thinking I brought my hand to his face, smacking him as hard as I could manage.

His head cracked to the side and my eyes went wide. Slowly, he turned back to me. His expression was one of surprise as he stared at me. I felt myself grow meek under his gaze and my bottom lip wobbled.

“I’m sorry” I whispered “I didn’t mean to do that- I didn’t…” I felt his hold on me weaken but I didn’t move this time. My hand tingled from where I’d hit him and so did the guilt that pooled in the pit of my stomach.

His arms slipped around me, hugging me to him and I just didn’t know how to react.

I love Klaus. I do, I always will. But I couldn’t just pretend that every bad thing hadn’t happened and fall back into his arms. I wondered if in Klaus’s mind, if he thought that just sleeping with me and telling me that he found me pretty would be enough to fix this marriage. I knew it wasn’t but I worried for what he thought.

Still, I hugged him back gently. By touch reluctant but there. His warmth enveloped me and I felt my eyes water at the once familiar sensation.

“I missed you so dearly” he mumbled, his face lowering to nuzzle the crook of my neck. He pulled away slowly and grabbed my left hand, I looked to him blankly as he slid both rings back onto my finger. “I’m gonna fix everything” he whispered

“Klaus-“ I sighed

“Just let me try” he murmured

“I-“

“Please” he whispered and I sighed softly. Only the lords know whether I was going to make the right decision or not.

#emotional abuse #may be triggering #hurt/comfort #hurt no comfort #klaus mikaelson #the originals #the vampire diaries #klaus mikaelson x reader #klaus mikealson fanfiction #klaus mikaelson one shot #klaus mikaleson imagine #rebekah mikaelson #the vampire diares imagine #niklaus imagines #elijah mikaelson #tvd klaus #kol mikaelson #niklaus mikaelson #klaus m #klaus mikaelson x y/n #klaus michaelson #tvd universe #hope mikaelson #klaus mikaelson headcanon #klaus mikaelson fluff #klaus mikaelson yandere #klaus mikealson smut #klaus mikaelson x yn #klaus mikealson x reader #soft!klaus mikaelson

[jordanstrophe]

"Where have you been?!" Caretaker hollered.

Whumpee walked through the front door a disaster. They blinked like they had just woken up, their hair was disheveled with dark rings under their eyes, their clothes were twisted like they had been sleeping in them.

"Places..." Whumpee grumbled.

Caretaker was about to snap once more, but after giving them a long hard look up and down, they sighed and relaxed their shoulders.

"Do you need a moment?" Caretaker asked lightly. Whumpee nodded and looked to the floor with tears brimming in their eyes.

"Off to bed then, we'll talk tomorrow, alright?"

Whumpee sniffed and nodded again, dropping their bag near the door and went to collapse in bed.

Caretaker took their bag away from the door and put their things away. They poured a glass of water and set it on whumpee's nightstand. Whumpee had fallen asleep in that time, even asleep they looked exhausted. Caretaker ran their fingers through their hair as a way of checking for a fever.

"I don't know if you follow trouble, or if trouble follows you." 

#whump #whumpee #caretaker #caretaking #whump scenario #caretaker scenario #whump drabble #caretaking drabble #comfort #comfort whump #hurt/comfort #whumplr #whump community #whump writing #protective caretaker #defiant whumpee #emotional whumpee #whump angst

[creative-caramel-coffee]

Left Behind and Bleeding

Summary: you’ve been feeling forgotten all week when your period shows up you just want to curl up and hide. Will your girlfriends look after you this time?

TW: Angst, periods, being forgotten, anxiety, feeling left out, abandonment issues, self-doubt, mentions of drug use, teasing

Words: 1.2K

A/n: it’s that time of the month when I hit you with another period fic lol. Sorry it’s a bit short. Also … I may be projecting again … maybe hehe.

It had been a bad few days to say the least. To start off you had plans to hang out with Natasha, but she got given a last-minute mission, so you had to postpone. Which would have been fine on its own, but it seemed yo have sparked a pattern.

All week people had been cancelling on you, having some reason or another that seemed valid at the time but looking back made you overthink.

Wanda had some people she needed to visit, and you understood. But everyone seemed to be prioritising other things. Even your mother wasn’t answering your calls. Leading you to believe she was either dead or ignoring you.

On the fourth day of having nobody to hang out with in the usually very busy tower, you were getting fed up.

Your mind had been trying to spin a story that everyone simply didn’t like you. That they would rather hang out with other people and that you really didn’t have anyone in your corner.

Of course, you had been fighting the notion for days now, but it was getting harder to ignore as people continued to have bigger, better things to do without you.

Nat had gotten back from her mission and had immediately gone to do some training and after you caught her watching a movie with Clint. You had moped around your room all afternoon, feeling like you were a B-list avenger at best.

Your mind had convinced you that nobody cared and so you had spent the afternoon crying alone in your room.

When dinner came, it seemed everyone had returned. Something you had not been counting on, so your eyes were still red and puffy when Jarvis announced dinner.

In a panic you threw on some sunglasses in an attempt to keep the others from finding out.

Yet it had simply orchestrated a point of teasing for the whole meal. Everyone wanted to know why you were wearing them, but you kept your head down and tried to seem cheerful.

Sam was trying to convince people that you must have been high, while wanda could practically hear your loud thoughts from the other end of the table. Her and Nat exchanged expressions when you got up from the meal not even halfway through.

Feeling awful you almost cried when you got back to your room to discover your period had started.

Life seemed to be throwing more than a few curveballs at you, it was throwing the full field.

You stuck in a pad and threw on some warm pjs before crawling under the covers and letting a few tears fall while your breathing evened out.

Wanda had finished her dinner around the same time as Natasha had so, they had met up in the kitchen while washing their dishes.

“Wanda?” Nat asked from where she was drying her plate off.

“Yeah?” Wanda asked, her hands covered in suds.

Nat chewed her lip for a second before carefully selecting her words. “Was there … anyone off with Y/n these last few days?” Nat asked.

“I don’t know why?” Wanda said and Nat frowned.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’ werent you here?” Nat said.

“No? I told you I was visiting friends for a few days.” Wanda said.

“Oh my god.” Nat said feeling bad. “Did we both ditch her for a week?”

“No? I mean surely, she had the others to hang out with. Right?” Wanda said.

“Jarvis?” Nat called to the ceiling.

“Yes, Ms Romanoff what can I do for you?” The AI responded.

“Who in the past week has cancelled plans with Y/n?” Nat asked.

“In the past week I believe each of the avengers have been either ‘too busy’ or had ‘other plans’ to spend time with Ms L/n.” Jarvis said.

“Oh god.” Wanda said. “Jarvis? What has Y/n been doing this past week?”

“Ms L/n has spent most of her time in her room. Either sleeping or crying. She also has been avoiding everyone for the last half of the week.” Jarvis said and Wanda and Natasha’s hearts broke.

“We are the worst girlfriends ever.” Wanda said feeling awful.

“We should go check on her.” Nat agreed and the two of them headed for the lift.

When they stood outside your bedroom door Natasha hesitated for a second.

“What if she doesn’t want to see us?” Nat asked.

“Im sure she will, it’s Y/n. She may be sad but her hearts still twenty-four carat.” Wanda said and Nat nodded and knocked.

When no response came, she gently opened the door. Making out a Y/n shaped lump in the bed she entered and quietly walked over to your side.

Wanda took note of the chocolate wrappers on your bedside table and the hot water bottle you had cuddled up to.

You had seemingly used your powers to heat up the water-bottle and your brow was creased in pain.

“Nat?” Wanda said and Natasha nodded.

“I see.” She said.

Wanda sighed and slipped into bed behind you. Gently playing with your hair as Nat went to search for some pain medicine for you, knowing that you wouldn’t have taken any yet.

Wanda rubbed slow circles on your back and brushed a hand onto your cheek.

“Y/n baby, can you open your eyes for me my love?” Wanda asked softy. You let out a small whimper and Wanda’s heart melted.

“Wands?” You asked in a small voice.

“Yes, baby its me.” She said pressing a featherlight kiss to your cheekbone.

“Hurts.” You said softly and she nodded.

“Natty’s gone to get you some medicine.” Wanda said just as Natasha walked back in with some pills and a glass of water.

“Here you go my sweet girl.” Nat said as wanda helped sit you up, leaning into her side.

Nat passed you the medicine and you took it without protest, telling both girls just how bad you were really feeling.

“I’m sorry we weren’t here my love.” Nat said brushing a curl from your cheek.

“That’s ok. You had important things to do.” You mumbled into Wanda’s chest where you had buried your face.

“Baby girl, nothings more important than you.” Wanda said stroking your hair.

“Why don’t we put on a movie, and you can try and get some sleep ok?” Nat said gently and you nodded, shuffling over to make room for her on the bed.

Wanda used her magic to open the small mini fridge in the room and floated a pint of your favourite icecream and three spoons over.

“I got this for you before I left my love.” Wanda said with a smile passing you a spoon.

Natasha slipped in beside you and Wanda, passing you the remote you put on an episode of Parks and Recreation as you began to eat some icecream and cuddle.

After a few spoonfuls Nat stole the container, Afterall you have been making a mess. There was even icecream on your nose which wanda softly kissed away, making you giggle as you begun doze in the presence of your two amazing girlfriends.

#sicfic #whump #fluff #comfort #marvel #wanda maximoff #wandanat #fanfic #wandanat x reader #wandanat comfort #period #period fic #menstruation #angst #forgotten reader #period blood #angst with a happy ending #crying #emotional comfort #abandonment issues #sick reader #unhappy reader #sad reader #avengers reader #reader has powers #readers wanda and Natasha girlfriend #lesbians #polyamory #lesbian pride #hurt comfort

[mediumgayitalian]

At around half past one, Nico gets a Feeling.

He gets feelings a lot. Nothing he can quantify, just something telling him that something is up, somethings wrong. Or something’s about to be. At this point, he’s learned to trust his intuition, based purely on the number of times it has saved his life; a number he’s long since given up counting. (He’s only ignored his gut feelings three times in his life: when Bianca went on her quest, when his father promised not to hurt Percy before the Titan War, and when he went looking for the Doors. He has learned his lesson.)

So when something at the bottom of his stomach tells him to get up, to check things out — he does.

He knows it could be nothing. (The last time he had a Feeling, it turned out that he had placed a book precariously on the edge of his desk, and it had been about to fall. Not exactly world-saving stuff.) But regardless, he steps out of bed, shoves his feet into his shoes, and creeps out of his cabin.

Camp is kind of beautiful at night.

There’s an eerie calmness to it without so many human disasters running about, and the quiet reflects that. All Nico can really hear is the hooting of owls in the distance, the chittering of nocturnal animals and monsters alike, the distant screeches of curfew harpies, and the pleasant crashing of the waves. The air is clean, when he inhales, and he takes the time to hold it in his lungs for a bit, imagining the sweet breath is healing his burned lungs, turning the scar tissue back to something flexible and normal. Whether or not it actually works, he doesn’t know, but it feels nice.

Under the light of the brightly shining new moon and billions of stars, he starts his patrol. Around his own cabin first — there’s nothing, as he expected, the warning doesn’t seem overwhelming like threats tend to be — and then he makes his way around the circuit, checking behind gardens and shrines and inside braziers. He hums quietly as he walks, something preppy and bright the Apollo kids have been hollering for days, and waves to Lady Hestia, sword heavy at his waist.

“Come sit,” she calls, patting the seat next to her.

Nico does.

“Haven’t seen you out at night in a while.”

He hums, toneless this time, leaning back on his hands and mirroring her gaze at the sky.

“Been sleeping, for once.”

“I’m glad.”

He smiles, knowing that she means it. He watches out of the corner of his eye as she picks up his sword, sliding it from his belt loop, and uses it to stoke the flames. She doesn’t seem afraid of it, or wary. To her it’s just a stick of metal. It’s nice.

“You have you been, my Lady?”

She pokes at the embers a few more times, scooping a few to balance at the tip of the blade for a while. It glows with the heat, and he knows he’ll have to sharpen it tomorrow, but he doesn’t mind. Maybe he can do it while Will is in the archery range. It’ll give him an excuse to be at the armoury at the same time, anyway.

“I’ve been well.” She breathes deeply, small smile pulling at her face. “It’s calmer, and more people wave to me. I like it.”

“Good.”

She dismisses him a few minutes later, sending him off with a promise to chat again soon. She doesn’t need to worry about him promising — he makes a point to sit with her at least once a week — but it’s nice to know someone wants his company, so he appreciates it. He leaves with a wave, walking towards the eastern half of the cabins.

Nothing’s amiss. He can hear campers snoring, and see the odd reading light. Malcolm catches his eye as he walks past the Athena cabin and winks, sending a cheeky salute when he sees the sword held loosely in his hands. So far, everything seems fine. He’s beginning to think the Feeling might have simply been about Lady Hestia, so he decides to do one last check around the Big House and then head back.

Of course, that’s where the issue is.

The infirmary lights are always on. They’re dimmer in the night, more of a glow than anything, but there’s an extra brightness streaming out from the windows, and when Nico peeks inside, he sees Will, standing with his back turned at the nurse’s station.

He takes a moment to check his strength, making sure he has the energy for it — dinner last night was pho and he had three bowls, he most definitely does — and sinks into the shadows by the door. He materializes back in the little alcove by the bandage & wraps cabinet, lurking silently while he blinks the dizziness away.

The first thing he registers is soft singing.

He’s facing Will, now, and can see the glow coming from his hands, enveloping a bowl of some kind. He has both hands coated in some dusky pink substance, massaging and gently pounding it against the sides of the bowl, working it through with great care. As his voice gets higher, the glow gets brighter, fading as he dips lower. He sings something about hills and meadows and the breeze, about wing-song, about the sound of flower stems bending in the wind. For a while Nico stands, listening to the melodious ancient Greek, swaying with every pitch and hold. It’s captivating.

Will is almost haunting when he heals.

There’s a divinity in him — in all of them — but he glows when he sings. Not just his hands, and sometimes his head if he puts enough power in his words, but there’s an almost shimmer to the air around him, a shining warp. His skin gets clearer, and his hair goes more metallic, almost, like spun gold rather than blonde. His freckles make his skin into an inverse replica of the night sky, dark specks surrounded by bright empty between them. His long fingers pluck through bright strands of light like a harpist strums their chords; lightly, carefully, skillfully; like a braider weaves their hair. There’s an undeniable age to his magic, a practice that’s visibly replicated millions of times over thousands of years, as if every healer who has come before him links their arms with his, breathes their strength in his lungs. Sometimes, when he does something truly unbelievable, amazingly beyond reason, he flickers — his orange camp shirt fades into a white chiton, or long robes, or a white coat, or a blue tunic. Watching him heal is like watching the sunrise — breathtaking and unique, every time, but powerful in its cyclic archaism.

It takes Nico a long time to realise Will is swaying.

Snapped out of his trance, he begins to notice Will’s long, slow blinks, the unsteady way he stands, the weight he has leaned on the counter. Even his face looks plainly exhausted under the glow, face pillow-creased and eyes bruised, hair mussed, limbs leaden. Footsteps as silent as he can manage, Nico creeps over to the schedule posted by the door, scanning through the scrawled pen ink.

He curses quietly. Will is not supposed to be awake.

There are really only three people who can work the infirmary to its fully capacity, barring Chiron. Kayla, Austin, and Will are the only ones who can magically heal, as much as the volunteers are imperative, so when the camp is in full swing one of them must be stationed at all times. That’s how Will sets it up. A bit of a waste of time, he acknowledges, but Nico knows he has memorized every time a camper who should have been saved. He carries far too much guilt to ever let it happen again, as inconvenient as his rules may be.

Night shift, though, is a need-be basis. If the infirmary is as empty as it is right now, then there truly is no need to keep one of the three of them awake outside their circadian rhythm, staring at nothing. Instead, they take shifts in the on-call room — asleep, but prepared should anything go wrong, should a monster chase a new camper at an odd hour. It’s Will’s turn for on-call. It’s two in the morning. He should be asleep.

And, yet.

Nico recognizes the look in his eyes. There’s a — frailty, to them, a deep-seated, animalistic fear, one he recognises from the hours after his own night terrors. A single-minded panic that cannot be unseated in any logical way, cannot be comforted with any gentle hands.

Nico handles his fear with slashing swords and bruised knuckles. Will, he knows, handles his fear with obsessive, endless preparation.

Knowing full well nothing is going to drag him away from his focus bar actual cardiac arrest, Nico walks right by him. Will doesn’t move. He settles behind him in the old, creaky leather office chair, curling his legs under him and resting his head on the soft arm. He watches Will, watches the almost machine-like movement to his kneading arms, and falls back asleep to his humming.

———

“…Nico?”

He wakes up warm and a little cramped, in the same position he fell asleep. Sun is streaming on from the many issues, blocked from burning his eyes by Will’s hunched frame, facing towards him now, hands and shoulders shaking with equal violence.

“What time is it?”

His voice is croaky and wrecked from hours of singing. Nico is willing to bet his throat is burned as badly as his hands, cooked from non-stop, sun-borne glowing. The divinity that had emanated from him before has abandoned him and he looks young, lost.

“Early,” Nico says softly. He unfolds himself from the chair, stretching slightly — gods, he is going to ache today — and wraps a slow, careful hand around Will’s wrists. “Probably around six, if I have to guess.”

“I don’t remember waking up.”

“That’s okay.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s okay.”

His breathing is heavy, laboured.

“I don’t —”

Nico squeezes gently. “It’s okay, Will.”

Will swallows and says nothing.

“Come on.”

Carefully, letting Will’s stiff joints set the pace, Nico guides him out of the infirmary. The sun shines brighter as soon as he steps outside, but he doesn’t seem to notice bar a tiny, almost imperceptible flinch at the change in lighting. Nico switches from holding his wrists to laying a hand on the small of his back, half-worried he’s going to fall over.

Luckily, he makes it to the Apollo Cabin upright, although the stairs take them a while. The hinges of the old screen door creak as Nico pushes it open, and he sees both Kayla and Austin, up and dressed, jump.

“…Will?” Kayla asks softly, eyebrows creased in concern. She walks over to him when he doesn’t answer, frozen still, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”

Will leans — almost hesitantly — into the touch. The same blankness from before clouds his eyes, although this time there’s less of the fear.

“Hey.” Nico walks over to stand in front of him, waiting patiently for him to meet his eyes. In the minutes it takes, he hears Austin pad over, standing opposite to Kayla, hands clenching and unclenching like he can’t decide what to do with them. “You think you can sleep?”

Will doesn’t answer verbally, but drifts after a moment to his bed. Nico follows, helping him out of his shoes and shirt. After a beat of hesitation, Austin hurries over, turning down Will’s sheets and helping him crawl in. Soft guitar music begins to play, and when Nico looks over Kayla is fiddling with the CD player, turning the dials carefully. Without much fanfare, Will’s eyes flutter closed, and his breathing slows to something deep and even. His twitching fingers still.

“I don’t think today’s an activity day,” Nico murmurs. “I checked up on him a while after midnight; he’d been at it for hours. He didn’t stop ‘til sunrise.”

Kayla rubs harshly at her eyes. “Fuck.”

“He’ll be okay,” Austin whispers. He runs a gentle knuckle over Will’s forehead, then turns his careful, imploring gaze to Nico. “You kept an eye on him?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.”

Nico inclines his head. “Had a feeling.”

“I don’t know what to do,” Kayla admits. “He was —” She trails off, staring at something in the left half of the cabin — the empty half. “He was like this after the Titan War, too. I think he spoke maybe two words for the entirety of September.”

Nico almost can’t imagine it. The very thought of it makes something twinge in his chest, clench in his stomach.

“We’ll figure it out.” He nods, to convince himself as much as Kayla and Austin, who look to him with way more trust than he deserves. “We won’t let it — it won’t get that bad. We’ll help, and if we can’t figure it out we’ll get help. It won’t be as hard as last time.”

It won’t be as hard as last time because there won’t be twelve shrouds, Nico doesn’t say, but he doesn’t need to. Both Kayla and Austin nod, looking at their sleeping brother with firm resolution.

“This time, we’ll be there.”

#yeah let’s talk about mental health. huh #pjo #percy jackson and the olympians #hoo #heroes of olympus #pjo hoo toa #nico di angelo #will solace #nico di angelo & will solace #nico di angelo/will solace #solangelo #nico/will #will/nico #kayla knowles #austin lake #will solace & kayla knowles & austin lake #nico di angelo & kayla knowles & austin lake #angst #hurt/comfort #emotional hurt/comfort #depression #depressive episode #catalonia #anxiety #my writing #fic #longpost #mental health issues

[loganlermanstanaccount]

Rigor Mortis (part 8)

College roommate!Miguel O'Hara x reader

(AO3 Mirror) (Wattpad) Series Masterlist, Main Masterlist,

Part 7, Part 9

summary: You visit your ex. Miguel tags along.

warnings: mentions and description of depression. heavy angst, depictions of a toxic relationship. some suggestive language.

a/n: me when idk shit abt the american school system:

Thank you to my beta readers, @tianyhi and @urgonnaneedabiggership (they also write Miguel fics, I highly recommend! my favourite is this series), I couldn't have done it without you guys <3

Join my taglists here

wc: 5.8k

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

you had forgotten; they were good.

Blank walls. Quiet corridors. The buzz of monitors and dull chatter sandwiched between blue vinyl and exit signs. You're not usually one to wander during your breaks; but you're going crazy looking at the same four walls. 

That hair net itches and the strap of a blue mask digs into skin as you make your way to a little courtyard. You sit out on a paltry bench overlooking concrete. The spindly remnants of a tree provides little cover from harsh elements. Wind whips through its branches, whistling and cool, as you rip off the mask and crumple it up in your pocket. A heavy sigh, and you feel some semblance of peace. Some quiet, before the morning comes. Before a rush of orders and shunting plastic trays up and down the wards. 

You screw your eyes shut to still the pounding at your temples. God. You're grateful for the job, really. And all things considered, it's not particularly taxing: coffee orders until the little cafe closes, meal prep for the morning rush, and sometimes you'd volunteer to take orders to bed bound patients. A whole lot of reheating and chopping and pressing buttons on the little machines. You don't quite get it, of course, but your lone coworker picks up the slack well enough. 

The older woman doesn't do much for company, anyways. Riveting conversation comes in the form of grunts and sharp elbows when you get in the way or round the corner of the kitchen. It has you counting down the seconds until your shift ends. 

And so you are grateful, well and truly. Jamie's not so sappy, anymore; doesn't partake in 'I love you's or grand gestures; but he is dependable. Safe. Willing to stick his neck out for you, at least. He'd gotten you a job at the hospital he has his placement at; with decent pay, and it slots in well with your other ones. He's taking you seriously – taking the news better than your parents. After telling him you wanted to go back to school, you're not met with thinly veiled disbelief, or lips pressed together with pity. He'd nodded, rather simply. Didn't make a fuss. No deep sighs, or heavy frowns. Okay , he had said. How can I help? 

It was the simplicity of his reaction that had bowled you over, almost bringing you to tears. To have someone believe in you, for once – wholeheartedly and without an onslaught of questions – felt like a deep breath of air after almost drowning. It felt like love ; and after desperate breaths, gasping and gulping and clawing at something to hold on to, you think you've found dry land. Something solid, something stable; a rough palm to pull you out of swirling depths. Because, unlike your family, and unlike half-hearted friends: Jamie was there. 

After heading back in to catch the morning rush, you're wiping down surfaces and sorting plastic trays onto a cart. Rote, repetitive, boring; you've settled into a routine that feels familiar. A couple more months, you reckon, and you'll be able to cover the costs for a second go at undergrad. You can shed the skin that seems to follow you at every family gathering, and the job interviews in between. Dropout – and when your Mom says it, it feels like a vile curse. Jamie calls it spiteful, and you opt for the democratic alternative; she's being dramatic - rather than cruel, rather than hurtful, rather than crass. You've heard enough, from all sorts: ‘too much pressure’, and ‘didn't think she had it in her, anyways’, are common phrases whispered in the background of phone calls home. 

Your chest aches with the weight of it – the kind of ache that seeps into skin, and lines a casket. Grief; mourning a person you could've been, and a person you never would be. For a while, it left you paralysed by the what ifs and the maybes; rotting in a quiet corner. Sinking into sofa cushions or caked onto the bed sheets like the mystery mould bloomed onto the plates in your room. But Jamie was there, more than anyone else. 

You'll wait for him in the corridor near the back of the service elevator, like you always do after a shift. You finish when he starts, early in the morning and rubbing away sleep from his eyes for ward rounds. You'll give him a kiss, and he'll give you a soft little smile to send you on your way. It almost makes the whole thing worth it. Almost. 

You give and you give and you give. Your boyfriend isn't quite the same; doesn't pour into you the way you'd like him to. But it works. It works because it has to; a thousand miles away from anything resembling home. You can't ask for more – the right words die in your throat. 

~~~

You've spent the past couple of hours in the library. Procrastinating for at least half of it, but you've managed to draft out a couple of essays and more or less reorganise your life. It's something you've been dreading for the past week or so; letting yourself get swept up in the monsoon that is your roommate. Miguel – sarcastic, saccharine-sweet Miguel – and his stupidly pretty lips, his pretty hands, and the pretty way he scrunches up his face like he's smelt something rotten. 

You're staring at a computer with a slew of books spread out on the adjacent desk. Your half-finished report seems to jumble together on the screen; a tangle of citations and filler words and shitty diagrams. It's not quite clicking , and it's making you want to tear out chunks of your hair in search of relief. A tale as old as time, one you can merely wallow in and fold yourself between its pages. Struggling at school; and this time it's a stats module you thought would be an easy couple of credits, that you definitely can’t afford to fail if you want to graduate early. 

You’ve picked a quiet spot on the third floor; a computer bay tucked into the corner. It overlooks a little window, cramped and claustrophobic and mystery mould in the corners of its grout. You've resorted to scanning the cracks with sharp eyes, light fingers on your neck to trace the leftovers of the morning. You can see it in the slightly mirrored surface of cloudy glass; you look like shit, you feel like shit, but you can still feel him. Lips on your neck, sucking soft hickies into the skin; and you can't help but like the way it looks on you. It's the same under your jeans, blooming like mauve and purple heather on a sprawling field.

You cross your legs, wincing at the dull ache that spreads. Sore, in that way that feels good; sending flashes of a morning with Miguel. Fingers knuckle deep in your cunt and the heat of him – cut and lean-lined – on top of you; it's impossible to ignore. Condensation drips from the panes, pooling in its corner and you swipe a finger in it, lazily. Again, you're reminded of him, for the thousandth time in the past hour: shaking legs, fisting his cock, spraying fat globs of his cum onto your face and chest. 

With another glimpse of your reflection, you sigh. Deep and heavy, with the weight of half a decade of frustration, sexual or otherwise. You've never felt this good or had your needs satiated so wholly, so exorbitantly. It feels odd. You don't know where to put your hands, how to place your feet on the floor. Do you shout, do you scream? How do you tell all the poor bystanders that scatter the third floor: I'm sleeping with Miguel O'Hara! A walking red flag with cheekbones that could cut glass! He wants me, and I want–

Your phone rings. The noise catches you off guard, and has you stumbling to press accept. 

"Hey," Miguel's voice sounds tinny in the speakers, and so you press it to your ears. 

"Y-Yeah?" You steel yourself, batting away daydreams of your legs wrapped around his middle – too horny for your own good, clearly. 

"I'm outside, chula. " He stops talking. The quiet ticking of an indicator becomes the only sign of life, before he says, "In that parking bay by the–" 

"I know, I know. Give me 5 minutes." You rush to pack up, clicking off the monitor and haphazardly shoving your notes into your bag. Not everything fits, and you give up trying to cram that textbook in. 

A beat passes before you realise he's still on the phone. Quiet, but still there. 

"…I brought food, by the way." 

You only just manage to catch it, slotting the phone between your ear and shoulder. That makes you perk up. 

" Seriously? " You give him a small laugh. You think you can hear him smile through the phone. "Thank fucking God, I'm starving. But you weren't rushing, or anything, right? I mean, it's so soon after your session with… Sally, or–" 

You're bounding down two steps at a time, so eager to see him – to get food , actually – that you're careless going down the stairs.

"Sarah . " He breathes, and you make your way downstairs. 

It stops you in your tracks, for some reason. 

"Okay. Sarah ." You say it with finality, voice tight. "What did you end up doing anyways? At her place, you said?" 

"Pressure differentials. Modelling viscosity. It's not very interesting." He hums, shifting in his seat. "What about you? Did you get something done?" 

You take a beat too long to respond, and it comes out half-baked. 

"Loads, Mig."

He snorts. " Sure. "

" Fuck you. " You say it under your breath, ducking past the entrance, and into a side road.

And there Miguel is, car heaped onto part of the sidewalk. He's leaning back, lazy arm sticking out the car window, showing off muscle and pretty tan skin. It's getting cold, but he's cracked the car door ajar; donned in a well-fitting t-shirt and slack trousers. 

You're trying not to drool; and he makes it a little easier by flashing a shit-eating grin. 

Childishly, you stick your tongue out; wrenching the door open and slumping into the passenger side. You tuck your things by your feet, and it lands on the floor with a thump. 

"You can put your stuff in the back.. . " Miguel frowns.

" Can't. We need the space, remember?" 

To pick up the rest of your things left in your ex's apartment. You hope he can parse out the rest of that from a raised eyebrow. 

He sighs, tossing a brown bag of takeout onto your lap. He starts the car. "...I didn't think we were still doing that, to be honest."

He seems disappointed, eyes flitting this way and that as he reverses and pulls out. You must've hit your head at some point, because you're in heat – pressing sore legs together at the way he does it. One arm on the back of your headrest, sharp jaw jutting out as he looks back, and bottom lip hooked under his teeth; he's just concentrating, trying not to hit one of the cat-sized rodents that roam the streets this late at night, and he's still hot . 

"You promised ."

"I had my face between your thighs. Would've said anything if it meant I could have more."

You draw your lips in faux disgust – your heart's not in it, but it's enough to make him chuckle. 

"Fuck you."

He doesn't miss a beat, deadpanning, "...you'd like that."

Lips pursed, you ignore the way it twists your stomach into knots. Steadfast, you stare out at the window, watching the yellow lights of a bustling city pass you by. 

Miguel takes a different turning, one that'll take you across the city and away from your place. To Jamie's, most likely. You soften, taking a moment to look across at him. 

His eyes flit over, intense and almost a deep red in the neon and lights. It's barely a couple of seconds, but he knows, just like that. 

"Are you nervous?" He tests the waters, voice steady and non-committal. It's not an accusation; even though everything feels like one, lately. Not from him, though. Never from him. 

" No ." Your tone is betraying, and you both know it. He seems to pretend not to hear that tremor in your voice. 

"You'll be okay, sweetheart." He says it soft and low, not quite looking at you. 

"It's just… it's the first time I'm going to see him after–" Your voice crackles. "After everything."

"You'll be okay," He starts. It doesn't feel like an empty platitude when he says it: it feels genuine and full-bodied and sonorous, clanging around your head like the chime of church bells. "Probably not right away – it's going to hit you like a semi, first. And you'll feel like shit afterwards. But it won't last. You'll move on, and you'll be okay; because you have to be."

He drifts off somewhere far away when he says that last bit; and you're not too sure what he's talking about anymore. Regardless, you wrap his words around you, holding it to your chest like a little songbird in the cradle of a tree. 

You'll be okay. You have to be. 

It feels less solid when it's not Miguel saying it, you think. You don't tell him that, though, sinking into the seat instead. 

He doesn't let that silence sit for too long. Traffic creates a natural lull, and he reaches over to tap at the book in your lap – one of many different textbooks, the rest of which is lodged in your bag.

"You're taking a stats module, I assume."

You nod. 

"With Dr. Karev?" 

You sit up slightly. "...yeah, actually."

He hums. "You thought it would be an easy A, then." 

He's right, but it doesn't make it sting any less. You were hoping for simple math and data processing, and here you were: drowning in matrices and linear algorithms.

 "I thought it would be."

"Let me help you, then. I took one of his classes and he barely changes the syllabus. I could dig up my old notes, and–" 

"You want to tutor me ?" You splutter – but you don't mean to sound as shocked as you do. " Why? " 

"Why not?" He shrugs. 

"I… I don't have any money, or anything."

"M'not offering because I want money." He's nonchalant, inching towards the car up front. 

You squint. It's not adding up. "What's the catch?" 

"No catch, I swear. Is it so hard to believe I'm being nice?" 

Now, you feel guilty. "Sorry, Mig. I appreciate it, I really do–" 

"Sit on my face and we'll call it even."

He turns to you now, face flat but with a twinkle in his eye. The corners of his mouth are slightly upturned - amused. He thinks this is funny? 

You give him a light shove as the traffic starts to break up. He's riled you up, now, and you're much too annoyed to be nervous. 

"Eyes on the road, asshole." 

It's more bark than bite, and you settle into the seat, finally cracking open the paper bag. You munch on fries and it makes him laugh. Miguel swears he can see it: the hint of a gentle smile on your face. 

~~~

He pulls up to the apartment complex. Modest, close to the hospital; and you probably couldn't have afforded to live there without your ex. Jamie was lucky; his parents could foot the bill of moving out, and he had family that lived in the city. 

It feels odd to be on the outside looking in. The building's windows become snapshots into other people's lives. For some, it meant an early night, blinds drawn and lights off. From the parking lot, you can see the dim yellow of lights streaming through other apartments. Silhouettes flit past every now and then; the only sign of life. 

Jamie's apartment is on the top floor, the two windows on the far right. You crane your head out of the car window, to get a better look. The lights are on, with one window left slightly ajar. 

Miguel moves to get out, with shuffling that breaks the silence. You stop him with a hand on his arm. 

"No, no. I'm going up by myself."

He cocks his head to the side, ever so slightly. 

"...you sure? If you need help shifting boxes, I can–" 

"I'm good, Mig. I just needed the car."

It comes out snappier than you meant it to, already irritable. With that, you pop the door open with a thunk . You can't see it, but he frowns, watching you swish and sway towards the entrance. 

You trace familiar steps to Jamie's apartment. The door code hasn't changed, and so you buzz yourself in. This is something you can do quickly and efficiently, you've decided. In and out, and you don't have the energy for much else. Bracing at the door, you get ready to knock, hand curled into a fist. 

The door swings open before you get the chance. He's there; still in light blue scrubs and a name badge pinned to his chest. It's the first thing you see, trying not to look at his face. But it's like pulling teeth, you decide: less painful when it's quick and sharp. 

" Where's my –" 

" Your stuff's in the –" 

In a great clash of words, you finally look up at him. Where you're expecting some form of emotion – a flash of something, even for just a moment – Jamie is steadfast. Blank; blinking back sleep, if anything. You clamp down what feels like bile rising in your throat and push past him into the front room. 

"Is this how it's going to be?"

Head down, you grit a quiet, "Don't . "

It's just as you left it, to the point it's almost comical. The same pillows you'd bury yourself in after work, the patterned tea towel you'd bought on a whim. The bar stools in lieu of a proper dining table, and that great big desk he had insisted on carting to the living room for years . Bits and pieces of you, of your relationship, and he barely bats an eye. He'll use your mugs and sleep on your patterned sheets. 

It makes you sick .

You head to the second room. There's a stack of boxes, hastily stashed in the corner. There's still permanent marker on them from when you first moved in. Now, it houses the things you couldn't take with you the first time – everything you left behind. 

Sick, sick, sick . 

You take a moment to dig through the top box, that's clearly been moved. Knick-knacks, books, clothes and all the clutter you've acquired; and it reminds you of family, it reminds you of friends. 

Jamie leans by the doorway, looking on in silence. 

When you pick up a box, straining to lift it, he doesn't offer to help. He watches as you flounder, dragging it towards the door. 

You're huffing when he finally says something; something that's clearly been on his mind for a while, with the way he says it. 

"Are you seeing someone?" He's looking out of the window, gaze fixed on the car parked outside. Miguel's car. 

Your eyes widen. You don't quite trust yourself to speak.

You leave the box by the door. "Are you?“

He shrugs. "Don't have the time."

It's noncommittal and frustratingly blasé. He's not giving you much, and it's fucking with your head. This whole thing feels like a big joke – he wants to talk, and all he's doing is asking bullshit questions. Once upon a time, you would've stewed in it; sat with that question on your tongue and let it rot. 

"I don't understand." You croak. It hurts to say out loud, but you say it. That's the important part. "I don't know why you're doing this… why are you still doing this?"

"I don't like how we left things." He says it slow, like he's choosing his words carefully. 

You want to scream.

" So? " 

" So , I need some kind of closure. We've got unfinished business."

" Unfinished business? " You roll it around on your tongue, reeling at its bitter taste. It feels clinical and lifeless, yet again. 

And then… oh. It clicks. Looking at him, arms folded and leaning on a wall, he looks antsy and uncomfortable. Now, when forced to face you. 

" Closure. " Another word that tastes like shit. You give a watery laugh. "You feel guilty."

He doesn't say anything but his body language says enough. He shifts his weight side to side, unable to make eye contact. 

You don't bother to stick around for an answer, snatching up the box as best you can. Through the doors, and down the corridor. You stagger down the flight of stairs, gritting your teeth. It's heavy – you've packed as much as you can inside, trying to get this over quickly – and you make it to the first floor before it clatters onto the steps. 

You fold ; knees drawn to your chest and hands tight in your hair. Heart racing, chest pumping: you're trying not to get swept away by heavy emotions. The tide rises. You pump your legs around the swirling mass - barely staying afloat in deep, deep water. 

You'll be okay. 

You remember Miguel's words, gentle and sweet and kind. You remember the way he said it; firmly, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The kind of grace that you don't have to work for and doesn't need a performance. He believes in you, at least; thinks you're stronger than you have any right to be. And you think of him in the car: eager to help and reassure. You brushed him off. You were mean. 

Deep breath. 

Miguel's waiting for you, just outside those doors. Diligent and patient, saccharine-sweet Miguel. Getting up, you make your way down the stairs with that box. 

When he spots you, a pretty little thing in a hoodie and jeans, he leaps out of the car. 

"Hey, hey, easy… " 

"I'm good, Mig – " 

You're struggling with the box, and he eases it out of your hands without breaking a sweat. One hand on the boot of the car, the other holding up the heavy box effortlessly, and he gives you a quick once over. 

"...he didn't offer to help?" His face is scrunched up - disgusted by the looks of it - and all you can manage is a limp shrug. 

It doesn't take him long to figure it out. You're dejected; nervous, down-trodden, blue in every meaning of the word; losing a little bit of that shine you had started the day with. If he had to guess, and he knows you well enough he'd bet money on it, it was that ex of yours – stealing away that light in a burlap sack, a thief in the brilliance of bright sun. 

It makes him grind his teeth, eyes flicking up at the fourth floor window. 

"I could help." He offers, a hand on your shoulder. It's your favourite hoodie, he thinks, as he circles the soft fabric with his thumb. 

You purse your lips, thinking it over. 

"It'll be quicker, chula. "

That pushes you over the edge, and you finally nod. 

It must be a sight, knocking at the door with Miguel hot on your heels. After living with him for so long, you've forgotten how intimidating he can be when you first meet him; taller than Jamie, and mean-mugging the blonde with a deadly look. If you weren't so on edge it would make you laugh: you know your roommate is mostly harmless. 

Jamie doesn't, of course. He visibly bristles, looking you both up and down. 

"I just need some help with the boxes. This is my roommate, Miguel."

You turn to the man beside you.

" Miguel ," You say it softer. "This is Jamie."

Wordlessly, he stretches out a palm,

rough and broad and tan. Hesitant, the man in front of you takes it. 

"Hey, man." Jamie flashes you a strange look when he says it. 

Miguel doesn't answer. 

You lead him to the second room, divvying up the boxes as Jamie hovers at the doorway. It's surprisingly efficient: Miguel insists on taking the heaviest boxes, hauling them up onto his shoulders, before stacking them up at the door. You'll take the smaller stuff, and it seems everything will be done in far fewer trips than before. It's hard to say out loud, but you're grateful for his help – Miguel was right , for once. 

After the first trip, he's bounding back up the stairs for more. You've both made it into a game, with neither one of you having to explain the rules. He pinches your arm whilst you sift through boxes, and you stick your tongue out in response. Elbow deep in crap, and he manages to make it feel a little better. 

Jamie stews. Jamie festers. In a corner of what used to be your shared apartment, he pretends to tap at his phone, uninterested. You know him too well for that facade to stick. 

Miguel takes the last of the boxes down, and you're straggling behind, picking up the last few bits and pieces. You're left alone with your ex, for a brief moment. 

"You're fucking him." He says it quiet, in a whisper that sounds oh-so loud in that little room. Fucking. He spits it out, and makes the word feel cheap and dirty. 

You look up from across the room. Slowly, he traverses its width, gaze pinning you down like a bug under a microscope. 

He brings a hand to your chin, cupping the flesh tenderly. It's intimate and familiar, reminding you of better days. Something bubbles up in your stomach, sweet and innocent. That feeling doesn't last long. 

"You're fucking him." 

It's accusatory, spat out with a rueful smile pulling at his lips. His fingers brush over your throat and you squirm, pulling up the mouth of your hoodie. 

Those hickies, blossoming like flowers in the spring. They crackle across your skin like fallen leaves in autumn. 

"It's none of your fucking business."

"Of course you are. I can't believe you." He rolls his eyes, half-laughing. "I was going to apologise! I was planning to say sorry for the way I handled things and you had to rub it in my face."

" What ?" You croak. 

"You brought the guy you're fucking to our apartment!" He explodes. 

His lips flatten into a tight line.

" ...now it's our apartment? You kicked me out. You dumped me ." 

"Don't…. fuck , don't do that. Don't make me the bad guy, here. I gave you plenty of time to find a new place."

"Two. Weeks." You grit. "You gave me two weeks, asshole. You left me alone, and told me to fend for myself whilst you fucked off to your sister's." 

That fire dies down as he hesitates. "I… I would've let you stay longer. You know that, baby."

" No. No I don't know, 'cuz you don't tell me shit , anymore." You blink back hot tears. "I don't make as much money as you do, and my family can't support me like yours can."

"I would've–" 

"You didn't. " You swallow roughly. "You didn't. I don't even know what I did wrong ."

"No, no." He cradles your face with his hands, swiping at stray tears. "You didn't do anything wrong."

Now, you look up at him. With glistening eyes, and a heavily furrowed brown, it barely comes out as a whisper; red-raw and strained. 

"Then why don't you love me?"

He doesn't deny it. There isn't a scramble to reassure you; to pat your head and kiss away tears to show you how much he cares. Instead, he steps away guiltily. 

"I care about you, of course I do. Remember when you changed your major?" 

You nod. 

"I was there, wasn't I? I stayed up for hours talking you through it. And when you dropped out, I came over on the weekends and brought you groceries."

"I was there. I helped you through that funk , and helped you get that job for school. Every stupid little question, every depressive episode, all those moments where no-one else would help: I did. Even though I had other things going on in my life, I showed up. For you. It was enough, for a while."

Until it wasn't. He sighs. 

"I'm starting my residency next year… and you're still in school, right?”

“Yes, I am.” You say it simply, not able to say much more without breaking down.

“I'm happy for you, really - proud that you actually got that far. But we're going in different directions, and at different paces. It's easier now that we're not together.”

You bristle at his tone: still in school, actually got that far . It oozes pomp and a quiet kind of superiority. Easier now, like it was difficult before. 

“I didn't make that decision because I hate you, or because I don't care about you. I know you're angry.” He places his hands on your shoulders, and doesn't break eye contact. For the first time since you got here, you think he's finally showing emotion; quiet melancholy just below the surface. Up this close, you can see it: deepening bags under his eyes, sallow skin, and fine lines. Jaime looks tired. In fact, he seems exhausted .  

“I'm sorry that I made you feel that way. But that doesn't excuse the fact that you brought your fuck buddy here, when I just wanted to talk.”

It feels cruel. The way he looks at you, and the way his demeanour switches from the Jamie you knew before, to this .  

"I wanted to talk." You strain. " Months ago. After you broke up with me, and disappeared off the face of the planet. Every time I called, crying and panicking, it went straight to voicemail." 

You shake his hands off of you, stepping back. 

"Miguel's a friend… did you ever think of that? Maybe I just needed some help moving my things, Jamie. Maybe I don't have that many friends since they stopped talking to me because of you, Jamie. Maybe, there's not some devious plot to spite you."

You pick up the rest of your stuff, a little basket of trinkets and books. The very same books that he had told you to pack up; to make some space for his textbooks. 

"Get your head out of your ass. Don't call me. Don't text me. I'm done. "

You're already halfway out of the door. With that, you start to storm off; clattering into Miguel by the stairs. When your things spill out of your hands, you both drop to your knees in a scramble to pick them up. You're chewing the inside of your cheek so hard it draws blood, fumbling around. Miguel is more efficient, scooping up your belongings back into its box. 

You're drooping, only able to mutter a quiet thanks. On the way to his car, you're dejected. Miguel watches carefully, trailing behind. 

~~~

He doesn't know what to say. 

You've left him speechless before. Many times, in the span of your couple months together. Miguel recalls it in exasperated messages to Lyla; you're something else entirely. Frustrating, sometimes. Quick-witted. Perceptive. Thoughtful. A million and one words to describe you, and yet, it still doesn't paint the full picture. You are multi-faceted and brilliant in a way he's not sure he completely understands. 

[Sent: 22:33]

Can't explain it, Ly. 

[Sent: 22:33]

I'm going fucking crazy. 

[Received: 22:34]

ur being dramatic :p

[Received: 22:34]

think u just need to get laid 

[Sent: 22:34]

Fuck off. 

[Sent: 22:35]

I said I'm taking a break. Meant it. 

[Received: 22:37]

(image attached) 

[Received: 22:37]

got this at the party

[Received: 22:37]

ur staring, mig

[Sent: 22:38]

… 

[Received: 22:38]

that's my dress! told u I have great taste :)) 

[Received: 23:06]

miggyyy

[Received: 23:06]

stop ignoring me! its not fun anymore >:(

That was a while ago. Before anything serious happened between you both. And he's had the privilege of seeing you in many different ways; stressed, angry, beaming with joy. Bouncing off the walls after too much coffee, or crawling out of bed following a late night. He's seen your lips curve to form a delicious O as you writhe underneath him; he's seen you smile. He'd tattoo it onto his skin, if he could. 

Fuck . He's overthinking it. 

You've retired to your spot on the couch, and yes, he's staring. Tracing the slope of your jaw and the tilt of nose outlined by the glow of the TV. After getting back home late, he brushed off limp protests and took most of the boxes up himself. It sits in a pile by the dining table. You'll deal with it tomorrow, he supposes. 

Retreating behind your ratty blanket, you stare blankly at the screen. Glassy eyes, you've curled up to watch reruns late into the night. Can't sleep, you told him, as he hovered by the doorway. 

He should go to bed. It's nothing to do with him, really, and he shouldn't have overheard as much as he did. Miguel is curious but not nosy, and well-versed on the art of minding your business . So he shouldn't feel his heart splintering; creaking like the trunk of a felled tree; hacked into two by the way he sees you drowning. 

He sits by your side. Not too close, of course, he's wary of all the shit you've been through today; not wanting to make you feel more uncomfortable. 

He's reminded of a childhood holiday. Half a summer spent at a campsite, bounding through woodland and creeks somewhere up north. Gabi and him would disappear, forgoing the beaten paths for their own adventure. Miguel couldn't make friends the way his brother could, so he'd straggle behind; watching from afar as the other kids would climb trees or swim in quiet lakes. Reading by the banks, and he remembers a time someone had slipped under the water. Drowning, and it wasn't anything like the movies. It was quick, silent and deadly. Thrashing under choppy water, and then…

…nothing. Just quiet. 

He feels that panic rising now, watching you stay so eerily still. You've slipped under the waves, and he doesn't know what to say to pull you back out. 

Miguel isn't too good with words. He's not known for his warmth, or comforting presence. Sometimes, he thinks he wasn't built with that switch turned on in his head – and he certainly didn't learn the right words from his parents. And so, he gives you comfort the only way he knows how. He shows you. He takes care of you. 

You come to him. Like two parts of a whole, you slot together perfectly: your head on his shoulder, at first. You end up on his chest, curled up like a housecat; matching shaky breaths to his steady ones. He brings a hand to your shoulder, drawing lazy circles in the fabric to soothe you. 

With the dull chatter and gloom of the TV, you fall asleep. It takes Miguel a little longer, but he wraps his arms around you. He listens out for it: the gentle rise and fall of your chest. Steady, like a metronome, and it grounds him – drowning out the creak of gears. 

_

_

_

Rigor Mortis Taglist: @bunnyrose01 @lavenderslemonade @tsukkie-daisuke @malxoxo @thekidscallmebosss @vvitcxen @theyoutubedork @doublevirgogirl @jnghs @taleiak @noblesavagex @cumikering @rebeccawinters @evanpetersrightbigtoe @saucypeanuttt @pix-stuff @maliarenee @truthuntolddd @honeycovered-bandaids @aiyaaayei @aeeliy @amplsblog @sikrettt @opuffmango @spear-bitch @maddielikesmoths @lemonpepsi @sweet-strawberryhoney @lacedinweb22 @bubbsby @jing5uan @ellaandorersoct @hibarbiesblog @valentxi @kittym1ka

@delulu-dia @melovetitties @yohoe-hoe @acollectionofcells1 @froggi-mushroom @thund3rthighs @bonthebunnie @natthernandez @strawberrymiguel @twwcs @mammonispunk @um-well @renn-pumkin-head @ietherealkistar @smallishbook @sonderspider @spear-bitch @cryingintheclubdhmu @mageneire @notdyl4n @slezhara @funkyfoxx0 @smol-beb @iceclaw101 @lixhizy @errorundyne-exe @707xn @beantokki@twentysomethingwereyote

#miguel o'hara x reader #across the spiderverse #rigor mortis 😼 #miguel o'hara #miguel o hara x reader #kat_writes😼 #spiderman 2099 #spiderman 2099 x reader #miguel o'hara angst #angst #emotional hurt/comfort #hurt/comfort

[jump-in-the-whump]

Whumpee, although physically unharmed, had remained silent the entire time. Not a sentence, not a gasp, not a tear. Whumpee had said nothing from the moment Caretaker found them in that little cell, and even now that they were home, Whumpee was quietly wandering around, like a ghost, with sluggish movements and a blank look on their face.

Caretaker knew something was wrong and stayed close to Whumpee the whole time, talking to them and trying to get them to say a few words, but to no avail. Whumpee continued to stay silent and stare into the void, so Caretaker smiled at them and gently patted their shoulder. “How about I get something to drink? I'll be right back…”

But as Caretaker took a step away, Whumpee's eyes widened in terror and their hands trembled as they reached out, grasping desperately for Caretaker's sleeve. “No! Please!” Whumpee pleaded, their voice cracking. “Please, don't leave me alone…I-I can't… I can't bear it.”

Caretaker's smile disappeared as they looked into Whumpee's haunted eyes. The realization of Whumpee's fragile state hit them like a physical blow. “I won't leave you, Whumpee,” Caretaker vowed, their voice unwavering as they wrapped Whumpee in a tight embrace. “I'll never leave you alone again.”

#whump #whump prompt #whump trope #whump scenario #whump drabble #whump community #whumpee #caretaker #whumpee x caretaker #aftermath #emotional whump #hurt/comfort #whumpee caretaker #jump-in-the-writing

[defectivehero]

Please write about a nb hero who is big on "not owing anyone money" and "its my problem and weight, let me carry it" and "please let me pay u back" and "its your money even if you spend it on me"

And a nb snarky millionaire (by evil methods) villain who is obsessed with their hero and is like "let me spoil u bbg" and *casually throws money around for hero* and very big on "I WOULD DO ANYTHING FOR U" but hero is too fucking dense to actually believe rhe villain.

this snippet completely spiraled out of my control (as most things do).

It all started with that damned news article. In hindsight, perhaps the hero shouldn't have been as forthcoming as they were. But, they wanted the world to know that the life of a hero wasn't always glamorous. They just... didn't expect for the journalist to capitalize on the single remark they made, the single huff of laughter they let out when asked about the wages. Days later, when the article released, the hero was stunned.

Heroism: A Thankless Job

The hero remembers the dread coiling in their chest as they opened the newspaper to find the article, apprehension increasing as they digested the information. That picture of their apartment complex... they don't remember consenting to release that information. Granted, the journalist kept them as a nameless, anonymous hero. But, it wouldn't take a huge leap in logic to connect the dots—to find the building's tenants and cross-reference those names with the hero agencies nearby. The hero just hoped an average reader wouldn't take the incentive to do something like that. They spent the rest of that day struggling to keep their paranoia at bay. It took them a while to fall asleep that night.

Fortunately, they slept well and their anxieties seemed to fade. The hero stumbled through their morning routine and opened their front door an hour later, ready to greet the day, only to nearly trip on a package. They had frowned and taken the package inside, unable to shake the recognition that they hadn't ordered anything to be delivered. Upon opening the package, they found a single unmarked envelope. Their jaw had dropped to the floor once they found the bills inside—an amount more than their typical paychecks.

Little did the hero know, this would be far from the last time they received an unmarked package with a far too generous, entirely unexplained gift inside. At first, the gifts were just small things: a collection of medical grade bandages and antiseptic, a new sweater after they spilled coffee on theirs at work, a care package with things like cough medicine and tissues that appeared the day they got sick. The hero was still profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of some mysterious benefactor providing them with these things, but at least the packages were small. The magnitude of the first gift hadn't been matched since, and the hero couldn't help but feel grateful.

Amidst their hero work and their daily life, the hero found their mind quickly returning to the question of their gift-giver's identity. It had to be someone they interacted with fairly often, considering the far too accurate timing of several of the gifts. One time could be dismissed as a mere coincidence; a box of cough medicine a mere hour after they found themself bedridden, however... That is an entirely different story.

The gifts continue, but, thankfully, they are small in scale. The hero still feels horribly guilty about being entirely unable to pay this person back, but there's almost nothing they can do. Their benefactor clearly doesn't want to make themself known, and that's fine. Really, it is.

Until there is another envelope. This time, their mystery patron doesn't bother concealing their gift within a package. Instead, the hero opens their mailbox to find an unmarked burgundy envelope. Dread coiling in their chest, they look around—foolishly hoping that their gift giver would somehow have a change of heart and decide to show themself—before heading back inside. The hero sits on their sofa and takes a deep breath, before opening the envelope with care.

What they see is enough to make their hands tremble and their grip falter, allowing the envelope to slip down to the floor. They hold their present in disbelief.

It's a check—for more money than they could possibly fathom having. This sum is so large that the hero wouldn't have to work another day in their life. They would be able to live comfortably without earning so much as a single penny on their own.

The thought sickens them. "I can't accept this," the hero breathes aloud. They look down at their apartment's hardwood flooring as if it will give them the answers they're looking for.

"I don't recall asking you to." The hero jumps, looking up to find the villain standing before them. How they got there, the hero doesn't have the faintest idea. They blink at them for a moment, wondering how they didn't connect the mysterious gifts to the villain sooner. Their enemy has always had access to extremely high-tech weaponry and state of the art medicine (judging from their utter lack of scars despite their numerous fights); not to mention, they've had an inexplicable disregard for finances for as long as the hero can remember. It's all beginning to make sense now.

The villain takes a step closer and the hero remembers their remark. "I'm serious," they say with a frown. "Why are you doing this? Do you want me to owe you? ...Is that what this is? Want to, I don't know, kick me while I'm down? You're such a good person, helping the needy." The latter statement is spoken with venom.

"No, of course not," The villain argues.

"Then why?" The hero repeats, the volume of their voice rising as they get more frustrated. They take a deep breath and clench their fist at their side. They're still holding the check in their other hand, and despite the fact that it's nearly weightless, they can feel a pressure pushing their hand down. "And, more importantly, how in the hell did you get this much money?" The hero hears themself ask.

"Don't ask questions you don't want the answers to," the villain says lightly. There's a darkness to their eyes that suggests the hero should cease this line of questioning. They take another deep breath.

"You're assuming I'll just... accept this," the hero realizes aloud. That familiar itching feeling is rising to meet their skin, and they're becoming less convinced that they should stop it.

"Perhaps."

The hero blinks at them once, twice. The villain refuses to break eye contact; their gaze almost urging them to do it—to use their powers to turn the check to ash. The hero gives into the flames prickling along their skin and summons their fire in the palm of their hand. It will only take a moment, maybe two, for the bottom of the paper to char. From there, it will only be a matter of time. The hero watches in anticipation.

...But nothing happens.

"Did you really think I'd be foolish enough to give you a check you could just burst into flame?"

The hero stares ahead blankly, their ears ringing. The villain's expression blurs into a twisted smile. A figment of their imagination or reality? The hero hears their breaths, ragged and half-panicked in their ears.

"I don't understand," the hero repeats hollowly. They don't understand anything that's happening—anything that happened that led them to this very moment, standing before the villain and holding a check that their enemy gave them.

"You don't have to understand," the villain says, crossing their arms over their chest. "I'm not asking you to understand. Hell, I'm not asking you to do anything. I'm ordering you to cash this check."

The hero's tongue is ironed to the roof of their mouth. Even if they desired to speak, they don't think they'd be able to.

The villain notices their speechlessness and sighs. "I didn't want things to come to this, but..." They break off. "As I predicted, you're stubborn as hell, and self-sacrificing to a fault." The hero doesn't have the energy to be offended or outraged.

"So," the villain drawls, their arm falling to their side quickly. The hero blinks and they're suddenly being held at gunpoint. "Go to your bank. Now." The hero suspects the weapon is more than a gun—and they don't care to find out just what it can do. It appears they really have no choice. The villain is forcing their hand.

An hour later, the hero is walking out of the bank with sunken shoulders. "There," the villain says, clapping a hand on their shoulder and leading them out of the building. "That wasn't so hard, now, was it?" Upon closer examination, the villain's weapon is nowhere in sight—as if it simply vanished in thin air. The unlikely pair walks down the street and heads back to the hero's car. The hero ignores the domesticity of it all, securing their seatbelt over themself. The villain doesn't seem keen to wear their seatbelt, so the hero reaches across and buckles their rival's seatbelt for them before they can object.

"I'll transfer the money back to you tomorrow," the hero announces as they're driving down the street, back towards their apartment. Their eyes are locked on the road, yet they somehow know that the villain's gaze is fixated on them with frightening focus.

"We both know you won't," the villain hums with certainty. The hero hates that they're right, hates that their rival can read them so damn easily. Their hands tighten around the steering wheel and the rest of the ride is suffocated with a horrible silence.

When the hero arrives back home, they can't shake the realization that the villain seems deeply pleased. They say as much to their enemy, who hums.

"Of course I'm pleased," the villain says, "If I knew this was all it would take to get you to accept a much-needed gift, I would've done it eons ago."

The hero takes a deep breath, struggling not to cry. It's been a long day, and they're reaching their limit. "I think you've humiliated me enough today," they announce. "Can you leave?" Please, the hero thinks to themself.

"I suppose," the villain sighs dramatically. They take one step to the door, then another. Just before their hand can clasp the doorknob, the hero feels one last objection fall from their lips.

"That money could go to far more deserving people and causes," the hero chokes out. They're choking on their own pride, choking on the simultaneous acknowledgment that they need money and the horrible knowledge that almost no one in their situation has an out like the one they were just presented with.

The villain turns around to face them, clearly moments away from rolling their eyes. "Do I look like a philanthropist to you?" The hero shakes their head, their throat burning. Their enemy nods in confirmation and turns back around. They twist the doorknob and tug the door open.

"You deserve nice things, you know." The villain's parting remark is murmured so quietly that the hero convinces themself they imagine it. The hero watches their front door close and waits a few moments before locking it. They turn around, their back to the door, and slide down to the ground with their head in their hands.

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#defectivehero #hero x villain #heroes and villains #millionaire villain #poor hero is going through it #and the villain is there the entire time #yikes #angst #hurt/comfort #sort of but not really #emotional whump #yeah sure we'll call it that #writing #writeblr #short fic #snippet #writers on tumblr #spilled ink

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I'm sorry I let down my guard.

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#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #xue yang #xiao xingchen #God DAMN this scene was brutal. Season 2 episode 2 is almost nothing but misery and anguish #Helena by Nickle Creek does not quite fit the comic's vibe but it is absolutely a Xue Yang song so I linked it. #The change from “Helena don't walk away...(gentle)” to “HELENA. DON'T WALK AWAY (threat)” is fantastic. #And “Don't waste your pretty sympathy - I'll always be just fine”. Xue Yang core. #Okay now for the real meat. Disclaimer first: *I really like XY.* I think he's a great character. I think his actions consistently- #come from a place of deep trauma. While his reactions and actions put him in a villainous role he is still human about his hurt #and what I'm about to say is NOT intended to be a statement of causality or villianize a group of misunderstood people. #So with that said...Man oh man does Xue Yang have a lot of BPD traits. More that just 'character who is chronically manipulative'. #The impulsivity and emotional reactions and seeking stability makes him feel like he needs that control. What other choice is there? #The part that really gets me is how he *wants* to be safe and happy. But his past experiences tell him how thats impossible #He's the kind of person who goes 'if you don't like me then you better hate me for something substantial". All (pos) or All (neg) #''Love me entirely or Hate me. But don't you dare leave me or forget about me.'' #Not at all comfortable saying 'BPD coded'. Im not a psychiatrist. Just that he has TRAITS. Feel free to disagree or add your thoughts. #ppl with bpd also are not a monolith and everyone has very different experiences. Xue yang is very complex. People more so.