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kneelingshadowsalome · 11 months

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Just Friends (König x F!Reader)

How to Tell Her You Love Her 3/4 (Word count 4.5 k)

Summary: König is a horny, creepy killing machine obsessed with a shy, kind reader who has a raging knife kink.

Tags/warnings: 🔞 Eventual smut, eventual violence, angst, dark romance, canon divergence. Crack treated seriously. Yandere undertones, implied stalking, panty stealing, major character death, size kink, voyeurism, possessive sex, twisted, fluffy feelings. Loner boy/gentle girl dynamic. Protective!Obsessive!Top!König. Reader works as a cleaner at the base. She is described to have hair and prefers to wear dresses off work. Not safe or sane but mostly consensual.

A/N: Finally I can share the rest of this crazy story with you guys! Chapter 4/4 will be posted right after this one. Also if you haven't yet seen @shizukaay0 's amazing fanart for this fic, go take a look, it's steamy!

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She wakes up next morning only to find König gone.

The restless night nearly makes her sleep in, and when she notices that the man has left while she was still sleeping, something twists like a blade inside her stomach. She throws the covers off, scours the room with her stare, and notices a note and a small sunflower on the bedside table.

He has left his knife – or one of them – here too. Another gift.

The steel is dark, nearly black; the handle olive green, with sturdy finger grooves and a heavy guard to protect the fingers. The saw-toothed portion on the back of the blade gives the knife a look that most people would probably deem ugly. The blade is wide and ends in a vicious, fat tip that looks sharp enough to puncture flesh without having to apply much pressure.

She doesn't know what a Glock knife looks like, but this is exactly how she sees König: petrifying, big, and brutal. In her eyes, beautiful… Stunning.

The knife juts from the table and holds a note in place although there is no risk of wind to take it off.

Flower for my Engel

I'll see you tonight

The clumsy, hurried message immediately makes her smile. The disturbing thoughts from last evening are only an odd memory – his offerings make her insides glow with warm milk and honey, she feels silly, like summer – and the promise to come to her every night doesn't feel like a threat anymore, it feels… magical, a secret romantic meeting, something wild, something she has always avoided from fear of trying new things.

The floral dress on the floor doesn't appear as evidence of her ruining anymore. It's fairytale-like: that he leaves flowers and knives wherever he goes. The destroyed bra makes her almost giggle. When has a man ever done something like that to her in the heat of passion?

The night feels like another odd dream: König had barely fit to sleep in her bed, and she had barely fit to curl around him. He had slept like a baby, motionless and peaceful, while she woke up every few hours to admire him: to watch the slow pulse between his collarbones barely revealed by the hood and listen to the faint snore that stopped for the smallest moment when she brushed her fingertips over his stomach.

Her muscles ache from lying half on top of him all night. Changing position was out of the question because he held an arm of steel around her all night. Luckily, it prevented her from falling from the bed. But now her muscles were coated with pains of not getting enough sleep while being held in place by a giant for almost 9 hours. Not to talk of the fresh aches born from their activities before getting those precious few winks of sleep…

She goes to work that day with such an everlasting beam that people notice her. She's not entirely sure what has happened, but she is suddenly wildly alive, and blooming.

No one knows about her secret man, her secret, sturdy weapon. No one knows she is the one he comes to every night: the shy, invisible cleaner who has seduced the man whom everyone fears.

And they can keep their boring normalcy and dull decency. She has found something infinitely better.

He's her most precious secret from now on.

He comes to visit her in the break room in the middle of the day, and she's slightly surprised. She thought they would see each other only at night from now on.

She greets him with a smile, and he answers her delight with an amused twinkle in his eyes. He looks far more normal now that the tension is gone. It's suddenly easy to be in his company because they share a secret nobody else knows about.

"Hi… What are you doing here?"

Her shy smiles and the soft whisper should tell him that she doesn't object at all to this sort of intrusion. She might be a little obsessed now too.

"I had to see you," he says as if she's his priority from now on, and her heart feels lighter and lighter. He's equally as lovestruck as she, then.

"You look so beautiful."

She's walking in a dream again: this man calls her beautiful even when she's hidden in her cleaner uniform, stripped from her dresses and flowers and makeup. The only thing she has is her smile, really, but he's not any less adoring. She's being worshiped during her sleepy coffee break, in broad daylight, when she's dressed in dull, grimy working clothes… Who would've thought?

“Thank you,” she gives him another smile, and he moves to her; so close that she has to crane her neck to look up at him.

The kiss that follows is stolen but thoroughly consensual. She disappears inside his hood and smiles on his lips, which are far gentler now. It's a chaste little kiss that happens in darkness and in secret, like everything else between them.

"Will you come to me tonight…?" She asks as if the note wasn't promise enough that he would. He's far too decent, not even groping her this time, and it drives her crazy.

"Nothing could keep me from you," he answers straight into her mouth. His musk and the soap he uses – something breezy and pungent, tea tree, perhaps – surround her much like the hood.

"You can be on top this time. I want to see how you take it–"

"Shh…" She smiles, almost laughs at his libertine whispers. He's smiling, too.

"Don't worry. I'll do the heavy lifting if you're tired."

He retreats, the hood is taken away and her sight is filled with light and decency, but then his hands go around her waist and lift her from the ground. It's like she's flying, floating through the air before he sets her gently on the coffee table.

"Except that you're not heavy at all," he says, voice dark and thick from arousal. He moves to her neck, the hood-coated face roams up and down her throat as he moves to whisper more suggestions in her ear.

"Or you can take it in your mouth… Have you ever had a man in your mouth?"

Something tells her that if she were to say yes, it would deeply upset him. The hair on the back of her neck starts to tingle, and when she doesn't answer him, he continues.

"I could eat you at the same time. Would you like that?"

His voice is darker still, and it makes her bite her lip and grab his arm for support. Even the idea of a 69 with him is dizzying. She can barely breathe from the joy and wanting.

How is she supposed to continue her day when he pops up out of nowhere and talks such sweet filth in her ear?

"König…"

"And after that… We'll fuck until your legs shake."

"Stop," she laughs a hushed giggle in the fabric of his hood. "This is inappropriate…"

"Oh ja. I'm hard again."

Mmh.

"All your fault, Engel."

"You are incurable," she laughs.

"That's what they say."

Perhaps it's a joke, but the word they makes her briefly wonder if he has had this kind of affairs with other women, too. Perhaps she's not so special after all. The image of him fucking other women with abandon breeds a stale, bitter putrefaction in her stomach.

Has he called them angels too…?

Her hands are about his neck, but she has no memory of throwing them there. She wishes she could just dangle from him the rest of the day until he carries her to bed and does all the things he just promised he would do. Let her do all those things to him while he gets to watch – watch how well she can take him, ride him, suck him.

She makes a silent promise to herself and to him that she will be the special girl, no matter the cost.

"Do you want coffee? I just made some," she asks in hopes that he would stay for a little while longer even if he isn't supposed to be here in the social spaces of the maintenance personnel.

"Sure. I would love that."

The man wants his coffee dark, and it only makes her smile as she pours him that minimalistic, unsweetened beverage. She likes his knives dark, his hood dark, his shirts dark… Perhaps she should start wearing black dresses.

"You left your knife in my room."

"For you," he tilts his head a little, wanting to know if she likes his gift. Has he given knives to other women, too, after he's fucked them…?

"Thank you. It's incredible."

"Good combat knife," he nods. "Doesn't reflect light."

If someone was here with them right now, they would probably roll their eyes at how deranged this conversation is. What rotten lunatics they both were.

She’s completely flushed, and smiling like an idiot from receiving a fat, vile knife as a present after having been fucked into oblivion twice last night.

"Well, it reminds me of you."

He looks at her, searching for deceit or ridicule, but there is none.

"That's how you see me..?"

"Mm-hm," she hums with sudden lightness. "Incredible."

His eyes betray the same look he had when he came inside her last night: brief, fragile, naked hope. Her next smile is sadder because obviously, this guy didn't receive compliments often. She's watering a dry desert plant with a single, simple word, and his eyes light up like he's just received years and years worth of good care.

He steps forward and looks like he is finally about to sit at the table. The obsessed look has melted into pure adoration: it's even more knee-buckling than the possessive stare that has followed her for weeks.

One of the maintenance officers arrives to get a cup of coffee in a hurry; a man whose name she doesn't even care to remember, whose world seems to consist mainly of stress. He’s a typical, middle-aged, burned-out man who doesn't appear to remember how to cherish the little things – such as a good cup of coffee – but rushes by everyone and everything and blames them for his stress. She always feels pity for both people and inanimate objects that get to suffer from this man’s exhaustion.

But she doesn't even see him now: all she sees is the fierce operator who is not supposed to be here. The giant who looks at her equally as mesmerized, like everyone else has ceased to exist in this world.

The air is teeming with naked lust and barely contained, sweet hunger, but the poor officer is blind to all of that. A sudden warmth gushes on her chest as the man bumps into her while rushing by with his overfilled coffee mug. She might as well be invisible again, and the hot liquid burns, but it has no power to make her angry or sad.

“Oh–excuse me,” she chirps with a dreamy smile on her face when it’s all his fault that she has coffee all over her shirt.

Before the man gets to the door, König grabs him by the collar and hurls him against the wall. She doesn’t even catch the knife before it plunges inside a round stomach like the worker is merely a balloon to be punctured.

The blade comes away all red, then disappears into the flesh again, and again and again… She loses count after six; the knife sails inside the same hole like he’s fucking the man with the blade. The slick sounds remind her of their intense love-making last night, they taint the passion in the most twisted way.

More hot coffee ends up splashing on her thighs before the sound of a mug smashing into tiny little pieces on the floor tells her that all innocence is lost.

Her gaze is glued to the black and red mush that used to be a polo shirt and a stomach: the man stays upright only because he is not allowed to collapse to the ground. But after a few seconds that seem to last hours, he is shoved to the floor in a sad heap.

She’s still staring at the now dead man when König takes a small step toward her. It occurs to her that both her palms are over her mouth only after she raises her eyes to his, and sees that he had expected some other reaction than this.

Her hands won’t descend; they try to keep all her horror inside, try to reassure her that this is only a dream, she hasn’t woken up yet, and the relief will be immense once she does.

But that never happens.

It’s real, and she would give anything to go only a few minutes back in time where the man was still alive and König was not everything she always feared he was.

He is looking at her with bewildered confusion, then the corner of his eye twitches, just once. He forces the blade back into its sheath without wiping the blood off: a telltale sign that he is more than thrown off balance.

Her horror and disgust escort him out the door in a tornado-like state, and she is left alone with two spilled coffees and a bleeding corpse, wondering who will clean the mess because she cannot for her life do it.

. . . . . .

The shock leaves her body cold and weak as she sits on a bench in the hallway, too distracted to carry on with her day, too afraid to go into her lonely room. It feels safer to remain in a public space, even if people who pass her by look at her with pity and confusion.

She cried her eyes and heart out after the shaking receded. She understands now why shock is such a dangerous state to be in. She always thought it a lie that people could die from shock, but not anymore.

Other people cleaned the mess, after the investigation. How she was able to stay so calm and collected during the questioning is a miracle on its own. What came after was an empty, bleak abyss.

She’s still staring at the floor after the buzzing around her quiets down. Minutes or hours pass by, the work day is over, steps fade away, doors close, people leave.

“Now now… What's the matter here lass?”

It’s the Scottish dude, unbearably benign, and looking like he’s actually caring about why she looks so devastated.

So, the other operators haven’t yet heard.

She doubts if König will receive much more than a scolding for what he did, high-ranked and fiercely dedicated to his work as he is. The man’s simply too valuable to be thrown away. They will just blow enough money to cover this shit right up.

This is not a regular army, and these are not regular people.

Soap sits down next to her, and she doesn’t even mind. At least he’s normal. At least something in this world is still intact, and smiling kindly.

"König did–König did something terrible."

She snobs and snivels, nose clogged and numb, eyes still burning from the tears. Soap looks at her with unadulterated concern, then pity. His brows knit together and he swallows before sighing profoundly.

"Right. What did he do now?"

When she only continues to stare at the floor, Soap raises a hand and starts to rub her back. Rather forcefully, to make it clear that he's not making a pass at her.

“Did he do something to you?”

She shakes her head slowly, because technically, it’s the truth. He didn’t knife her down.

Soap doesn’t ask any further questions. He must know without telling that König has done something bad, something fucking foul even if she hasn't been at the receiving end of it.

"Wanna hear my advice? Just stay away from that guy. Don't talk to him, don't pay attention to him."

The hand on her back stops as he thinks of more advice to give her while her heart grows cold and lonely.

"Just pretend that he doesn't exist."

It’s another punch in the gut to hear that she, the invisible girl, should simply return to her invisibleness and condemn König to nonexistence, too. To cast him out and send him even further into exile. To pretend that he had never been inside her, never brought her gifts.

The hand disappears, but then she feels padded gloves on her chin. She's too tired to flinch, and the hand gently coaxes her to turn her head and look back at the Scottish sunshine.

"Now… Give me a little smile, lass. It can't be that bad."

He’s not flirting with her.

She’s far too plain for Soap.

Or at least, that’s how she feels: unattractive, to men like him. To twinkling brown eyes, a perfect jawline, good jokes and outgoingness… She's had a few admirers but König is the only man who has looked at her like she’s nothing short of a goddess.

Soap, however, is the only one who came to clumsily cheer her up from the slump that witnessing a violent stabfest has sent her in. Everyone else just rushed by with feigned hurry. Every kindness she receives, she usually returns tenfold… But kindness is also a burden. Under the surface, she mainly wants to get rid of Soap; wants just to be left alone. Finally go back to her room and cry herself to sleep.

So she gives him a smile, shy enough to make him believe it’s genuine.

"There we go," he smiles back like an innocent sun, and behind him, in the darkening hallway, she catches the approaching giant: a black hood and under that, a bone-searing blue gaze.

"Wait–wait, wait!"

She darts from the bench, between Soap and him, like her lithe little body is enough to shield John MacTavish from a murderous titan.

If a man who spills coffee on her deserves to be stabbed more than a dozen times, what will happen to a man who has dared to touch her and make her smile?

"Don't,” her hand meets the steel of König's chest, and the blood drunk Goliath actually stops.

“Don’t, König, please."

The ice-cold gaze drops to her, and there’s such a range of emotion behind those blues that she has a hard time catching even half of the storm raging inside her maniac.

Soap rises from the bench behind her: the rustle of clothes and the squeak of gear tell her as much.

"Caught the girl crying,” he says with poorly disguised trepidation in his voice. “Now I don't know what you have done but maybe you should apologize."

Soap’s bravery is admirable. The flash of rage that is sent behind her could scald flesh from bones.

She presses herself against König, hugs his middle, tries to guide his attention elsewhere.

Just let the him go, please, no more…

Soap could perhaps defend himself for a while, but she doubts if the Austrian war machine would stop even when he’s shot full of holes.

Gargantuan arms go around her like a cage: she’s his, and forever will be. The true cost of being cast out from heaven is heavier than she had ever imagined; the tears that arise are born from a deeper trauma than that of witnessing a homicide in her quiet little break room.

. . . . .

König waits as she goes to have a shower. He follows her like a dark cloud as she goes to throw her work clothes, stained with coffee and the memory of blood, to the washing machine. He waits with statuelike composure as she finally sits on her bed, hair still dripping wet and leaving damp stains on her cute little white dress.

Wearing white seems like an abomination right now.

"I told you I don't want you to hurt people," she says quietly while watching how the water gathers at the tip of the strings of hair and tip-tip-tips on her dress and hands.

The man says nothing to defend himself. All the rage and fury is gone, his shoulders are tense, high up in the sky, almost in his ears. He’s shielding himself, and it makes her confused – clearly, he feels empathy, so why is he like… like this?

"I don't think you understand,” she swallows, heart beating more calmly now. He’s not going to plunge a knife in her, that much is certain. But still…

"I'm afraid of you."

She raises her stare: a powerful accusation, a woman's weapon. His head pulls back – he's surprised at this newfound nerve.

"I'm afraid of you, König," she emphasizes, much louder now. The declaration rings so true that it leaves her breathless and free, even powerful.

He, on the other hand, is a paralyzed beast. A golem stripped of the magical word that makes him a soulless robot. His eyes betray fear of loss for the first time, real, actual fear. He steps toward her, and when she doesn’t stop him, walks slowly to where she’s sitting.

He falls to one knee, slowly, so slowly – like she's a bird about to fly off. It pulls at her heart, it rattles the cage of her ribs. The frigid padding of his gloves touch her cheek, and she surrenders an inch or two. Maybe more than that.

She doesn’t know who lifts the mask, he or she, but her lips meet his desperate ones under all that black.

"I'm afraid of you…"

She whispers it on his lips, in his mouth, although she’s not afraid anymore. She’s pissed, and somewhat in love, and addled, shaken, ruffled to her core.

The kiss turns into a hungry one when he notices she’s not meaning what she says. Before long, she's on her knees too, and he's devouring her until she finds herself in his arms, being gently set on the floor. A trembling hand disappears under the hem of her dress, and the fabric comes up with it as he travels up her thigh.

But the only thing that’s wet right now is her hair, everything else is parched dry, locked up, sealed like the tomb of Tutankhamun, and there are curses in store for the one who will try to enter with force. Hell, even with a trembling, delicate hand.

And it’s not because she can’t get aroused – she could, in mere minutes with him – but because she’s not wet at the very instant he’s in her presence, that makes her grab the hand currently trying to get some solace from her.

"No."

He stops but doesn’t move that hand away. He’s panting in her mouth: needy, and in a whirlpool of despair. The only thing that can make him feel better is her wetness, which she cannot provide him.

The hand probes; it forces its way up just an inch.

"No."

She's relentless, and he finally draws his hand away, only to place it hesitantly and with an immense amount of grief, on her waist. She feels tiny under that giant palm.

"I'm not your plaything," she whispers, even finds the courage to shoot a tiny glare his way.

The hand does not apply pressure. If anything, it grows lighter and lighter with the fear of scaring her away.

"I made a mistake, Engel," he breathes. "You're not a toy."

Her eyes must betray both her hurt and longing because the man ups the stakes immediately.

"I'll give you anything you want," he tries: so desperately, so seriously that it sounds quite ridiculous.

"Can you just go," she whispers while a tear or two push out from the corner of her eyes. They’re hot as hell because they’re born of odd love.

"Engel–"

"Just leave."

The fingers on her waist curl, they grab her dainty little dress like it’s his only gateway to heaven. He releases the fabric soon enough, then grabs it again and lets out an agonizing sound.

Just go, go, please just leave me be…

She wants him to understand that there are consequences to his actions, and at the same time, she wants him to just hold her, to fix everything and fix her. It doesn't take the bitter taste of betrayal off her tongue to realize that she always knew what he was. She knew.

He rises to his feet, paces around a few times, more and more confused, distressed like a tortured animal. She sniffs and curls into a fetal position, hoping that he would just leave, and at the same time, hoping that he would brush off her demands and just hug her.

"I can't," he finally wails as if he can hear even her thoughts. "You're crying…”

It breaks her heart into million pieces – how can the same man stress and fuss about her tears when just hours ago, he had murdered some innocent man in cold blood?

He comes to the heap of her again, falls to his knees, then caresses her arm so softly that at first she thinks she’s just imagining the touch.

"Little angel," he tries.

Her following sob is like that of a child's. Why does he have to be so perfect and at the same time, such a–

"I know that I'm a monster."

Her eyes want to fly wide open, but she keeps them shut. He's self-aware, so much so that it hurts. He pets her more neurotically now; it's almost as if he's comforting himself and not her.

"Don't send me away," he begs, then curls behind her in an awkward spooning, holds and rocks her gently as she cries some more. After the catharsis that lasts for good long minutes, he gathers her like a doll in his arms and carries her to the bed so she doesn't have to lie on the cold, hard floor.

"I'll make it better," he says again and again as he caresses her and strokes her hair, "I promise I'll make it better…"

“Just go,” she cuts him off with a whisper.

He leaves eventually, after some more pacing and a few sighs, and she understands that he actually cared for her all this time: otherwise, he would've just taken what he wanted.

She slips into a dream, a soft oblivion where everything is well and summer is at its peak. They hold hands and stroll through the freshly cut grass, birds are singing, and he has no mask.

Taglist:

@ghostinvenus @konigsleftkidney @stillinracooncity @valenspuppy @koionthewalls

#könig x reader #könig x female reader #könig x you #könig fanfiction #könig #mw2 smut #mw2 fanfic #könig smut #konig x reader #call of duty #mw2 x reader #yandere könig #könig imagine #just friends

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 8 months

Text

Unexpected 42

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The baby sleeps in her bassinet. Peaceful. You don’t know the last time you ever felt that. The last time you slept soundly. When you manage to drift off, it’s painful and heavy, and you wake up feeling worse as you face the reality you can’t escape.

Dottie’s flighty tones waft up from the first floor. You can’t make out her words, you don’t care enough to try, but you know by Andy’s deep responses and the subsequent click of the door that she’s sending him off. Good. You can’t face him, not after you ran out covered in bile.

You prop up several pillows behind you and recline against them. You just lay there, staring at the joint of ceiling and wall. You don’t watch anything, you don’t use your phone to scroll, you can’t even listen to music. They’re all just a reminder of what you don’t have and what you’re stuck in. Other people have lives and meaning, you are just an udder to be milked.

Dottie raps on the door but as usual, doesn’t await your permittance. She inches open the door and lets out a long sigh. She disapproves. Of you. She should direct that at her son. You don’t say as much. You tried to before and she was too cowardly to hear you. Must be where he gets it from.

“Andy packed up your leftovers,” she informs you, “such a sweetheart that one.”

“You can have them,” you roll onto your side and cross your arms, “I said, I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, hon–”

“For her or for me? I’m not stupid. The only reason you care is because the baby needs to suck on me like a goddamn juice box. You don’t care how I feel.”

“I know exactly how you feel, dearie, I carried a child too, I fed them, I spent those months with just me and them–”

“Whatever. I don’t fucking want to hear what you went through. It’s not the same.”

“You can’t go on like this. You won’t survive.”

“What do you care?” You snarl. “Because I don’t. I don’t care. Put her on formula and let me die.”

Silence. You hear her near the bassinet and feel her shadow looming near the bed. You almost regret your words. Almost. It would solve a lot of issues if you weren’t here.

You wouldn’t feel like this. That baby wouldn’t have to feel the flagrant resent radiating off of you at every moment. Dottie wouldn’t have to pretend. And Lloyd, whenever he returns, wouldn’t have to throw you out. You’d do him a favour, quite generously, and free him yourself.

“I’ll take Luna for the night. You get some sleep,” the wheel of bassinet unlocks and rolls softly over the hardwood, “I’ll bring up the pump. I sterilised it earlier. You can use that if you feel… uncomfortable.”

“Fine,” you hiss, “get away from me.”

🍑

You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see the date stamped at the bottom corner of the television screen. You sit, blankly, watching the scroll of text across the bottom, doing the math in your head. Another week. The living room is quiet but for the tempoed cadence of the newscaster.

You’re consumed in the indifference of your existence. You barely say a word. You barely feel. You take the baby when she fusses or when she’s handed to her, you relieve the pressure in your chest, and give her back. You sit around, sometimes you lay flat on your back, and other times you find yourself standing in doorways, feeling lost.

That day feels different. Dottie, like a hummingbird, is always moving, but she is in a storm of anxiety, edging on anticipation. She’s brought you a measured cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with milk. You’re not very hungry but you drink the coffee first, eating the oatmeal only at her prompt.

She takes the empty dishes after she hands you the baby again. You let her nurse and Dottie comes back to burp her and put her down. The baby, for all your dissonance, is quiet and calm.

You end up on your side, head on a throw pillow, as the news comes to an end and a home show comes on, giving tips on how to reuse old plant potters and repairs bookshelves. You close your eyes as deja vu sweeps over you. Those days you worked nights but found yourself sleepless in the AM, you would put on some channel or another, let the dullness ease you to sleep.

You drift into the memories and feel the tinge beneath your eyelids. When you open your eyes, you expect to be back in the duplex, you expect Colin to walk in and complain about his job, as you get up to make your coffee and make him dinner. You expect to be who you were before all this.

But you’re not.

“Why don’t you have a shower, sweet?” Dottie appears.

You squint as the sunlight streams yellow between the curtains. It’s around noon, you can tell by the height and hue of the day. You nod and let her help you up. The idea doesn’t sound good until she has you under the faucet, the warmth easing your muscles and washing away the days of sweat and negligence.

You get out and your chest aches. You cup your full tits and see your silhouette in the steamy mirror. You reach forward to wipe away the glaze. You see your body, the scar, the stretch marks, the loose skin, the weight still clinging. You want to puke at the sight of yourself.

You cover yourself with a towel and come out. You go to the guest room where you’ve built your nest. Dottie comes to the doorway as you dry yourself off shamelessly. You can’t change it. You can’t undo it.

“Is she hungry?” You ask.

“She’s still asleep.”

“Mm.”

“You hurtin’?” She asks.

You nod. “I’ll pump.”

“Good,” she enters the room and goes to the closet. She pulls out a purplish pink dress with short sleeves and a bit of ruffle around the elastic cuffs and neckline. Not much to it, light and figureless.

You watch clueless as she lays it out with a pair of panties and a clean nursing bra. You shake your head as you cross your arms around the towel, holding it against your chest as it drapes over your stomach.

“You’ll want to wear something nice for lunch,” she says.

“Lunch?” You scowl.

“Mhmm, a day out of the house, away from the baby, it’ll be nice, won’t it?” She drawls as she turns to you, “Andy will be here soon.”

“Andy?”

“Yep, I told you, hon. Maybe you didn’t hear me, you’ve been a touch distracted,” she touches your shoulder gently, “a mom like you, how can’t you be? Doing so much, giving so much, you deserve a bit of time to get a little, huh?”

You shake your head and give her a frantic look, then glance at the dress.

“Can I wear something else?” You ask, “to hold all this in?”

She seems to sigh in relief. You’re certain she expected an argument but you don’t have that energy. You just do what you’re told, what you have to do. If she wants you out of the house, you’ll gladly leave this prison.

“If you like,” she puts her hand on her hip, “but will you try this on? You don’t like it and we’ll go with your choice. It’s hot out, dear, you don’t want to over do it.”

You sniff and shrug, “fine. Whatever.”

And that’s just how it is. You don’t feel much one way or the other. Dress or no dress. It doesn’t matter to you, but the more you let the idea sink in, the more eager you are to get away. Even if Andy will be there.

#lloyd hansen #dark lloyd hansen #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen x reader #drabble #unexpected #andy barber #series #the gray man #defending jacob

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eluxcastar · 10 months

Note

May I request Arlecchino finding her lover collapsed on the floor in tears from a fever they are suffering from and then taking care of them?

Arlecchino and her poor sick s/o

── ୨୧：arlecchino x reader

୨୧﹑synopsis :: a terrible fever leaves you effectively bedridden for days

୨୧﹑content :: gn reader, mentions reader vomiting but does not happen within it, the reader is a massive simp, oh and also they're married because I said so

୨୧﹑words :: 2.6k

I haven't abandoned you honeys I'm just working on a time-consuming Arlecchino request that's like 8k words long ❤️ so here's a little something to tide you over for a bit in light of the newest teaser from mihoyo

You have spent three days curled up in your bed with a temperature so bad Arlecchino almost considered taking you to Dottore to sort it out, but you were more than happy to wait it out instead.

Those three days had been spent swiftly losing any food you tried to eat and barely keeping down the water you forced yourself to drink so that you wouldn't get dehydrated with how much the heat made you sweat.

Now that days have passed, your throat hurts, and you curse your gag reflex. You don't even want to drink water, and the dizziness that prevents you from getting up has hardly subsided. You've slept through most of it, yet you can't bear to spend another minute glued to your bed, tossing and turning amidst your covers. They're thoroughly a mess, no thanks to hours of indecision as you become hot under them and cold without them for too long.

It's a frustrating thing to be confronted with your weakness.

There is truly nothing worse. This time last week, you would've been by your lovely Arlecchino's side, helping her with her work as she managed the less enjoyable affairs for the House of Hearth. It's always nice to have someone with you to curb your boredom when you have to do menial work.

But since you woke up in the middle of the night overwhelmed by dizziness so horrible you couldn't figure out which way was left, you have been stuck here where you cannot reach her for much of the day. She insisted she should remain with you, but you weren't eager to take up more of her precious time for no reason other than your conscience. You know she would be happy to. You just don't want to trouble her.

While she's gone, you should remember to do the things she made you promise to do: get lots of rest, drink water, don't push yourself.

By what is basically the force of fate, you have been good at resting and not pushing yourself. It's the water you're struggling with. You tried to force yourself to half something earlier, using whatever surface was available to support yourself, but you found yourself with an upset stomach and an awful lingering feeling in your throat.

Your second trip to the kitchen for a glass of water is equally unsuccessful.

She asked only three things of you, and even that is out of your depth? You must be pathetic. Soon, Arlecchino will return home, and she will see the glaring problem that you're dehydrated and be disappointed that you couldn't even listen to her requests.

The floor is the most comfortable spot to sit or kneel awkwardly on your hands and knees after quickly lowering yourself to the floor when you are hit with a dizzy spell to avoid hitting it at a high speed once you inevitably fall over.

Is sickness making you a wreck? Were you always this quick to give up? You never feel this uneasy. Your fever must be messing with your head and making you overemotional, but you feel so useless, whatever the reason. Suddenly you understand those people forced to retire from their work only to become restless and idle all day from an overwhelming absence in their life, if only for a few days.

It hurts, mentally mostly, but the physical pain of it all is hardly helping. Something about fevers is so draining to your body.

Water. You'd just like to drink some water. Is that too much to ask? Surely not.

Water…on the floor underneath you. It's only a drop, but you never even made it to the fridge. Where could it have come from? You place your finger on it, confirming it is most definitely not a product of your fever-driven imagination as it feels very real. Another drop lands on the back of your hand, then on the floor in quick succession, too quick for anything like a hole in the ceiling. Holes in the ceiling can't pass water through your head, either.

Tears? You're not crying-- you reach up to feel your cheek. Oh, you are. You are crying.

When did that happen? You never cry, not in good health anyway. It's completely unlike you. Though not in good health, maybe it's not so unthinkable. Maybe you are weak like this, even mentally. You didn't think a little sickness could bring you down very much; evidently, you were wrong.

You first settle back on your kneels, wiping your eyes clean of the tears that started and won't stop coming, especially now that you realise it. Like a wound that doesn't hurt until you look at it and realise how bad it looks, it hits you all at once that you really are quite miserable in this state. Water is too hard for you to get. Really? Is that how far you've fallen?

This powerless feeling is horrible, like a weakness eating at your bones every moment you spend sick. Conclusively, you really hate being sick.

You must not have noticed the sound of the door opening, possibly because you were distracted by your condition and its inhibition of your simple desire to drink a glass of water so that you could tell Arlecchino that you did it. Maybe that was supposed to prove to her you were getting better or something. You obviously weren't, but it feels nice to lie to yourself sometimes and try to convince yourself that you won't be bearing with this sickness for very long.

On the other hand, you certainly do notice the footsteps encroaching on you and your pathetic state. It doesn't matter who's there. You don't want anyone to see you this way. Not Arlecchino and not any fatuu she may have sent to check on you. Not that you're on the floor, and most definitely not that the reason you're down there is because you're crying. It would be too shameful to handle ever publicly showing your face again. You scramble to try and get back on your feet and wipe your tears, but it only proves your weakness to you as you get up so fast you make yourself dizzy again and stumble to find something to hold onto before you fall again.

The only reason you don't end up flat on your ass is because Arlecchino grabs you by your shoulders and holds you close, so close you feel her poor jacket soak up your tears. You want to pull away so you don't wet her clothes, but you can't. She is your only anchor right now. If you do that, she'll really know you're crying. Of course, she is already aware that you are, but if you at least stay with your face buried in the fur of her overcoat, you don't have to acknowledge that she knows.

Evidently, bed is the best place for you right now, and you are promptly returned there so that you can lay back and rest.

"I didn't even realise I was crying, swear!" Your attempts to save yourself are pointless, as she never cared whether you were crying or not in the first place. It's natural to cry, even if she doesn't want to see you upset.

"It's alright. Covers on or off?" There is a certain gentleness in her voice that makes you look away in embarrassment, though it is undeniably attractive that a hot woman would take care of you while you're sick. The 'in health' part is really sexy too, but the sickness part stirs butterflies in your stomach...

"Off," you respond.

It’s even hotter you get to be married to that woman.

She places a kiss on your forehead, as gentle as the rest of her actions, a degree of care present that she does not usually impart. She is not heartless and cold toward you, but this side of her is a rare one reserved for the moments when you feel especially precious. Sickness, injury...

It is a rarity that you treasure because it means a lot to you.

"I just got overwhelmed I guess." You can't think of a way to explain it to her that actually makes some degree of sense. Any explanation you think of sounds stupid to your brain and probably hers. "I'm fine, I promise."

"I know, I know. Glass of water, and something to eat small enough it won't upset your stomach." Her thumb brushing over your forehead is enough to settle those rampant emotions of yours, though still teary-eyed and moody.

"Just give me a second and I can do it." Again with your insistence to not be helped, you're just spouting off lies at this point, fooling yourself but not her.

She laughs at your stubbornness. "No you can't." She says that so matter-of-factly you can't even be bothered to fight as the words die in your throat at how amused she seems. It's one of your endearing traits, you like to think. The slight smile she walks off with would certainly support that delusion.

You're probably fooling yourself about that part too, but something about her collectedness while your brain is all scrambled up and chaotic calms you, and you fish around the bed for the coat she had discarded and laid out at your feet before she left. It's nice and heavy but not too warm when laid across you so haphazardly that it overheats you. The fur around the collar is uncomfortably wet in one spot.

However could that have happened? Sure hope someone didn't get their tears all over it.

What's best is that it smells like her, covered in her scent from top to bottom, and now you are too. It's like getting a warm hug from your wife in the absence of a hug or your wife

Ok maybe it's impossible to marry you and not know that you're really stubborn when you want to be.

"I'll stay with you like this for the entire week if that's what you want. I don't mind if I catch whatever you managed to get." Her words are so sweet that you get those butterflies again. Could you really handle a week with her like this? Probably not. You might just drop dead, but if nothing else, you'd be dying happy.

"I would definitely mind that." You laugh back, trying to match her responses and diffuse the idea you might want her gone.

"What? Don't want to take care of me?" She's just teasing, but her expression doesn't give that away at a glance.

"Didn't say that!"

You can't help feeling happy. You like this as your medicine a lot, and it has nothing to do with your face being this close to her chest and everything to do with her warmth and her words like everything is normal, and you're both just messing around. If that were the truth, it might be really nice too, but it makes being sick a hell of a lot more enjoyable.

It can't be more than a minute or two before she returns with a glass of water and some dry biscuits. The only two things that you can keep down seem like heaven in her hands despite how bland both of them are. It feels nice to finally be hydrated, and it feels great to have something in your stomach aside from an empty feeling.

Arlecchino takes the time as an opportunity to settle into bed beside you.

As you set the glass of water down on the floor beside your bed, you turn back over to squirm your way into her waiting arms, now receiving a warm hug from your wife in the presence of both a hug and your wife.

You are comfortable with a bit of pillow shifting, some wriggling into place and a slight repositioning of your head. You are not smothered by her and can breathe while remaining in her arms. Your head is not in a position where your neck hurts, and your legs are comfortably intertwined with hers. Dreams do come true, and on that note, you won't be moving from this position for the next few hours if you can help it.

"You can keep the coat if you want. I'll wash it once you're better." Her voice is low, trying not to be too loud when you are so close but audible.

You would shake your head but don't dare, only mumbling back to her. "You need it for work tomorrow."

"I'll take a day off." She says it so off-handedly it sounds suspiciously normal for a moment before the shock of it hits you.

Your eyes open, and you tilt your head up just enough to see her face, completely serious. "Are you sure? You'll have a lot to do--"

She makes a face like she is thinking, though it is an act to emphasise what she says next. "I'll use it to manage files from the House of Hearth if it would make you feel better about getting to steal all my attention at home."

"Accepted." Evidently, you are far too easy to bargain with.

She laughs to herself nonetheless, hand stroking your back. "I don't want to leave for work only to come home to you crying again."

You go dead silent and look away again. "...Sorry."

"I didn't mean it in that way." She tries to reassure you with those words, and it works a little but doesn't take away from your embarrassment. Are you going to remember that for the next five years wondering if she's judging you for it knowing damn well she's not and probably doesn't remember it? Hopefully not. "It worried me, that's all. I want to be here if you need me."

Ok maybe that's really hot too.

"Well, if you're sure, then I'm not going to tell you no." You wouldn't stop her anyway because, secretly, you would really like for her to stay with you. You wanted that from the start and just couldn't swallow your pride to admit it.

The small chuckle she lets out hearing that tells you that she is very aware of that fact. Maybe it's hard to marry you and not know that.

Ok maybe it's impossible to marry you and not know that you're really stubborn when you want to be.

"I would definitely mind that." You laugh back, trying to match her responses and diffuse the idea you might want her gone.

"What? Don't want to take care of me?" She's just teasing, but her expression doesn't give that away at a glance.

"Didn't say that!"

#✦ — scenarios.#✦ — fluff.#♡ — anon visit.#arlecchino #arlecchino x reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader

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emeritusemeritus · 2 months

Note

Hello!! If it isn't too much to ask, could you make a Fred fic with reader on her period? Mine are absolutely excruciating, especially in the first two days, to the point of crying on the floor and stuff :(( it's totally okay if you don't want to, I just like to imagine Fred trying his hardest to pamper his s/o (and probably freak out a bit because honestly, periods are a nightmare men will never understand). Have a nice day ♡

Anon, it would be my pleasure! I’m so sorry you’re suffering, I had an endo flare up last week that nearly sent me to A&E so you have my full sympathy. You know that feeling when you could destroy the world and everyone in it but then your period starts and you realise that it’s been that all along? 🖤

Warnings: mentions of periods, menstural cycle, PMS, blood, pain. Best friend George, Fred is a sweetheart.

Words: 3.4k

You'd had a really terrible day, a horrible, never-ending bore of a day, at least in your mind. It started from the very second you woke up, alone in bed without Fred beside you. You'd slept through your first alarm and had nearly been late for an interview you'd had scheduled for months within the Department of Mysteries. You'd taken the visitors entrance to the Ministry to acquire your required visitors badge and had been held up by some Muggle incident that had rendered London at a near standstill.

The interview, thankfully, had gone well but you couldn't help but fixate on the discomfort you felt in yourself the entire time. Your clothes felt uncomfortable and restrictive and you felt bloated to the point that it was showing through your clothes.

You'd had plans to meet with Arthur after your interview for a cuppa and a catch-up at the small cafeteria whilst he took his break, something you'd been looking forward to all week. You made your way back down to Level two where the department of magical law enforcement was and walked through the mini atrium until you located the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts office, only to be informed by Perkins that Arthur was running a tad late, caught up with something that required his immediate attention. Though this was far from unfamiliar, your temper had flared and you had barely managed to contain it, choosing instead to silently seethe as you waited in one of the uncomfortable plastic chairs near the main desk. You weren't mad at Arthur by any means, you don't think you'd even been mad at him, but having to stay in uncomfortable clothing and wait when you were already having a bad day was just irritating you further and further as time dragged on, not helped by the incessant ticking from the muggle cuckoo clock on the wall that was driving you mad.

Arthur finally emerged twenty minutes later, apologising profusely as he grabbed his coat and ushered you back into the lift, a bright smile on his face as he began asking you about how your interview went and how his son was. You'd spent a nice half an hour together having a cup of tea and a freshly made slice of cake, something he was keeping a secret from Molly, but as you parted and made your way out of the Ministry to travel home, your mood had almost immediately soured again.

The street was still busier than usual, the noise of people shouting and car horns honking were essentially non stop and you couldn't wait to get home and relax away from the chaos. You had to stop by the shop on the way home for some ingredients for dinner that night and found upon entering the shop that they were completely out of what you needed. You huffed out a breath, feeling yourself getting worked up again and tried desperately to think of alternative ideas to work with what you already had at home but your mind was foggy and unable to concentrate, coming up with nothing. You felt like crying, stood in the middle of a crowed aisle in the muggle supermarket, feeling utterly pathetic. You cursed under your breath and moved away from the aisle towards the exit when you passed the small bakery counter, the sight alone of the small chocolate fudge cake on display enough to make you pause. Without hesitation you bought the cake and walked straight to the checkout, feeling defeat at not getting what was needed for dinner but at the same time, feeling a little victory at acquiring the chocolate cake you were so looking forward to.

You were exhausted by the time you opened the door to the apartment, cursing Fred in your mind for placing the anti-apparition jinx upon the store and the flat above and for not fixing the floo function on the fireplace which had forced you to manually travel into central London and back and then walk up four flights of stairs in your business heels. You were in a foul mood, tired and ready to snap from the day filled with complications and irritations.

You walked into the kitchen to place the cake on the side after kicking off your heels and saw a load of dirty pots piled up in the sink and a mess made on nearly every surface of the countertop, clearly from one of the twins on their lunch break.

You let out an aggrieved groan and slammed down the bag containing the cake on the small kitchen table, huffing and cursing under your breath as you chucked down your wand and walked immediately into the bedroom in a huff.

You rolled your eyes seeing the wardrobe doors open and the bed covers strewn everywhere from your rush this morning and groaned again, now in disdain for your own actions. You walked off once again, now annoyed at yourself and stepped into the thankfully rather tidy bathroom. You started the shower, wanting to wash the entire day away and get out of your uncomfortable clothes immediately which you happily threw onto the bathroom floor without a single care.

The shower helped, feeling a little cleansed by the water and familiar scents of your shower gel, though it didn't remove your bad mood entirely; thoughts of the messy kitchen and lack of dinner ingredients were still playing on your mind only winding you up more. You stepped out of the shower, wrapped in a big fluffy towel and walked into the bedroom to put your comfy clothes on, a big T-shirt that used to belong to Fred and your black joggers, aiming for ultimate comfort. You hadn't heard from George or Fred today except for the nice note they'd left on the fridge door wishing you luck for your interview, though it wasn't unusual, the shop was always busy.

You walked to the kitchen, completely ignoring the mess and pits that were not yours to clean and made yourself a cup of tea, almost crying as you looked at the slither of milk left in the fridge. It was enough for one cup of tea but nothing more and you cursed yourself again for not thinking of grabbing milk whilst you were at the shop.

You sat down in the living room with your cup of tea, wet hair thrown up in a lazy bun and had just pulled open the book you were currently reading when Fred burst through the apartment door.

"Ooh there's my princess, how did your interview go?" He says loudly, bombarding you instantly with a kiss to the head and throwing himself down onto the sofa beside you. You closed your eyes in annoyance, just wanting to relax and on the cusp of being able to before he interrupted.

"It was fine," you replied with a shrug, really not feeling up to explaining your day just now. "They said I'd receive an owl by the end of the week."

"Know you'll get it princess, always have been the smart one," he says, apparently thinking nothing of your rather clipped reply.

"Anyway, we're taking you to dinner tonight to celebrate," he says in a sing-song manner, stretching out on the sofa to put his feet up on the coffee table.

"But I haven't gotten the job," you countered, placing down your book, casting one last sad glance at the cover.

"Yet," he replies, stretching out and pulling open his tie just a fraction, eyes closed with a smirk tugging at his lips.

Any other day you'd have jumped at the chance to go out for a meal with your loved ones but upon looking at your comfy yet completely inappropriate outfit to go out in, your face fell. You'd have to put actual clothes back on, do your hair again and reapply your makeup that you'd just scrubbed off in the shower. You couldn't be bothered, at all. You wanted to sit and read with your cup of tea, switch off your brain and eat your weight in chocolate cake. But then you remembered that you had no solid idea or complete ingredient list for any viable meal and maybe going out would be the only way of eating that night.

You felt another wave of annoyance come over you as you considered having to get all done up again. Couldn't they have warned you? Left a note or something so that you didn't shower the minute you got in? You knew you were diverting into unreasonable territory as they were just trying to do something nice but you couldn't help it, you'd rather vomit slugs than have to get ready all over again and out of your comfort clothes.

"Anyway, best get back or George'll curse my eyebrows off, 7pm gorgeous, wear something sexy," he says, straightening his toe as he wiggles his eyebrows at you before leaning down to press a kiss to your lips, "proud of you sweetheart." And then he's gone and you're left reeling.

Wear something sexy? Who the bloody hell was he to request that? Your boyfriend of years, but still.

You looked down at your outfit again and felt a ridiculous but prominent sense of loss, wanting to stay bundled up forever. You check the clock on the wall and feel aggravated once again as you see that it's nearly 5:50pm and you'd have to start getting ready. You begrudgingly dragged yourself into the bedroom and sat at your little table, staring into the mirror and felt no motivation or desire to get ready, looking at the drawers in front of you but not actually wanting to open them.

That's how George found you a little before 7 as he slipped away from the shop, seeing you sitting at your makeup table in tears. He rushed in as soon as he saw your tears and crouched down to try and comfort you, eagerly listening though it must have been hard for him as the crying was affecting your voice and all that came out were a few unintelligible whines.

"I just don't want to," you say with a hiccup, wiping away your fear from your cheek. You didn't think it would actually get this bad but your curls hadn't gone right, the hairbrush you found was not your favourite and sometimes pulled your hair a little as it brushed through and nothing at all would make you look sexy tonight with your bloating. You didn't want to wear uncomfortable heels again, nor walk anywhere in them and by the time you'd gotten to take a sip of your tea, it was cold.

"Shh, it's alright," George says soothingly trying to calm you. He placed his hand on your shoulder but quickly removed it as he saw your little glance at it. It wasn't that you didn't want to be touched per se, but his touch very heavy on your already uncomfortable body. "We don't have to go, it was only an idea."

You sniffled miserably and looked at your best friend, wiping away the tears. "But we don't have anything for tea, they didn't have any-."

"Then we'll order in, get something delivered or we'll nip out and bring something back," he says, not quite interrupting you but just enough to make you stop spiralling. You nodded meekly, feeling utterly pathetic again. "Right, I'll go tell Fred we're staying in, then we'll close up and order something okay? Do you want me to make you a cup of tea?"

You'd seen his eyes flicker to your still full mug and frown as he entered, figuring it was something that had set you off. You shook your head, already feeling like he'd done too much for you.

"Okay, we'll be back as soon as we can," he squeezes your shoulder and walks out.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, makeup sparingly applied but messed up thanks to your tears and your hair curled but not how you wanted it and sighed, feeling overwhelmed with guilt at shooting down your boyfriend and his brother. They'd only tried to do something nice and you'd completely spoiled it, too selfish and caught up in your own feelings that you'd been unreasonable and unkind. You considered wiping the makeup off your face but thought better of it but you reach for a big scrunchie and tie your hair back into a high ponytail, making you feel a little better.

You threw back on your comfy clothes and trudged into the kitchen, retrieving your wand to cast a few spells that had the kitchen cleared in no time. You poured away your cold tea and put the kettle back on, still seeking the comfort as you had before.

The twins closed up the shop in record time and Fred pulled you into the bedroom with him as he undressed, slipping out of his suit and into his own loungewear.

"Princess you should have said," he says gently, reaching for you, his hand cradling your face as he looks into your eyes, "I didn't mean to pressure you."

"No it's not you, I've just been off all day, everything's irritating me and I just want to switch off," you explained, hearing the remorse in your voice.

"Then relax you shall," he says with a smirk, "kiss first though?" His cheeky smile extends to his eyes and you catch his gaze flicker at your lips. You eagerly reach up on your tiptoes to place a sweet kiss onto his lips and you pull away smiling, feeling like it's the first time you'd properly smiled all day.

George ordered food for you all before hopping in the shower and arrived back in the living room wearing his comfiest pyjamas, pulling you into him for a hug as Fred fired up your favourite muggle movie on the TV, also joining you on the large sofa.

It was pitch black when you woke up, your eyes struggling to focus as you came around, confused as to what had woken you up. You could hear Fred breathing deeply and evenly, sound asleep. You looked at the little alarm clock beside the bed, lifting your head up from the place between the pillow and Fred's shoulder where your head rested and saw that it was 2:34am. As your consciousness begins to clear, you frown, feeling a soreness in your abdomen that you couldn't place, feeling as if you needed the toilet but without the urge to go.

You extracted yourself from your boyfriend's side, which never proved to be an easy feat, and walked to the bathroom, dragging your tired body along. You turned on the light and quickly shut the door to stop the light from disturbing your sleeping boyfriend and sat down on the toilet, turning the tap on out of habit. You pulled down your sleep shorts and underwear and immediately understood why you had an ache in your stomach, and why you'd been out of sorts all day.

Your period.

Every month without fail, the moment you discover your period had started, the pain heightens at least ten notches. You winced as you wiped, kicking off your underwear and shorts that were soiled and dragged yourself into the shower. For the second time, you sighed as you entered the shower, your body screaming at you out of exhaustion as you rinsed yourself off. You grabbed a towel and raced into the bedroom to grab a pair of panties from the dresser and ran back into the bathroom to sort your pad out. You then slipped on some new pyjamas and dragged yourself back to the bed, illuminating your wand to check that nothing had gotten onto the sheets, or worse on your boyfriend sleeping beside you. Luckily, it hadn't.

You suddenly didn't feel tired anymore, body wired from your lukewarm shower. You walked to the kitchen, padding through the flat on barefoot and flicked the kettle on, searching through the cupboard above for a jar of hot chocolate you kept in.

You grabbed your hot drink and flicked on a lamp before you pulled a black cushion from the side of the sofa to sit on, not wanting anymore accidents to happen. You didn't turn on the TV right away but instead chose to sit in the partially illuminated room and try and wind down. You couldn't get comfy at all, wiggling your hips to try and ease the ache between them, feeling like your lower abdomen was being constricted from the inside, shooting pains going down your leg and an uncomfortable pressure in your bum. You could sob with the pain, wanting to curl up in a ball and cry but you couldn't, I'm too much pain to even try and move, your entire energy being consumed by simply existing right now.

Your periods had always been bad, starting just before your third year at Hogwarts and though through time they had evened out a little, they were still unpredictable at best and monstrous at worst. You shifted your hips again, trying to relieve the tension you felt and groaned quietly, wishing that you'd filled up your hot water bottle before sitting down.

Medicine in the wizarding world was spectacularly different from the muggle word though a little less advanced as the wizarding community came with added complications such as diseases and ailments that muggles would never know existed. Witches and Wizards often didn't react well to normal muggle remedies nor pharmaceuticals, something you'd learned at Hogwarts from Madame Pomfrey, something about the magical ability burning through modern pharmaceuticals at a rapid rate, rendering them ineffective.

You placed your mug on your stomach to try and gain some heat from it and rested your head back on the sofa, breathing deeply and trying to calm yourself so that you could go back to bed. Feeling yourself getting sleepy, you placed down your mug and pulled a soft blanket over you, trying to get comfy as you settled into the soft material of the plush sofa.

"Princess?" You heard a quiet voice call out, your eyes on the verge of closing. You opened them just a little, sensing Fred's presence behind you and you twisted in position to look at him, wincing as a bolt of pain shot through your groan at the motion.

"What are you doing out here? George snoring too loud again?" You smiled appreciatively for the joke and reached out for him with grabby hands, needing some comfort. He wordlessly slipped in beside you on the sofa and immediately wrapped you around him, blankets and all as he kept you bundled up. You reached for his large hand, feeling the absurd heat he always radiated under your fingers and placed his hand onto your tummy. The heat from his hand spread over your skin instantly and you could feel it penetrating deeper and deeper, soothing your pain.

"That time?" He asks delicately and you nod into his chest, your eyes still heavy as you breathed in the familiar, comforting smell of Fred. "Want your water bottle?" You paused, considering it but slowly shook you head.

"Not right now, got you," you mumbled into his chest, his warmth and presence soothing you further into sleep. You felt him chuckle, chest rumbling with the vibration and he reach down to press a kiss to the top of your head.

"Out of ten?" He asks, keeping his hand placed delicately on your belly.

"Eight at least," you groan, your eyes closing as your toes twitch out of the intensity of the pain.

"Oookay, what can I do?" He asks, clearly a little freaked out by the high level of pain you admitted, knowing that it really must have been bad as you always had a high pain threshold.

"Just sit with me," you say, feeling depleted.

"Wanna go to bed or are you happy here?" He says after a few minutes. The heat from his hand has begun to feel redundant, your skin now the same temperature as his.

"Water bottle first?" You asked innocently, hopeful that he'd accommodate you. He presses another kiss to your head and tells you he'll bring it in before shoo'ing you into the bedroom where you sink down into the soft sheets, finally feeling comforted enough to close your eyes.

#emeritusemeritus #emeritusemerituswrites #harry potter #fred weasley #fred weasley x you #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley masterlist #requests #period fic #Fred Weasley comfort fic #comfort fic

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magics-neptunes-things · 3 months

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Friends?

Hello everyone!

The story is happening in March 2023.

Enjoy ♥

TW : Hungover

PART 2 | PART 3

Feeling like an elephant is sitting on her head, Katie lets go of a little groan of discomfort when she wakes up. The curtains having been closed last night (or rather this morning), the Irish is unable to say what time it is. But she vaguely remembers that today is a day of and that she has plenty of time to stay in her bed, her head under her cushion, promising herself to never touch a single drop of alcohol again.

Inhaling deeply through her nose, Katie puts a hand on her painful skull while keeping her eyes closed, trying to remember the events of last night. She perfectly remembers going out with the girls from Arsenal to celebrate Stina’s birthday, a dance floor and way too many cocktails.

It's while rolling on the back that Katie freezes suddenly, when her body enters in collision with another. Katie’s eyes suddenly open and she gets up on her elbows to see who is next to her. She sees nothing, however, except a back and brown hair.

She brought a girl home last night.

Lifting the sheets, Katie quickly realizes that she is dressed in a sports bra and shorty, her usual outfit when she sleeps. Her night companion is wearing an Irish football shirt with her name and number on it. Releasing the sheets, Katie lets herself fall back on her pillow, her mind walking at a hundred an hour, desperately trying to remember who she brought home last night.

Partly to avoid the humiliation of not remembering the name of her conquest, but also because Caitlin was there last night. Caitlin who almost didn't return from Australia after Christmas and who she is closer than ever. It was only when the Australian thought about not coming back that Katie realized that there was more than friendship in her feelings for her. That she’s slowly but deeply falling in love with her.

Her breakup with Ruesha dates from almost a year ago, almost at the same time as Caitlin and Lia broke up too. If they seem to have managed to remain courteous to each other despite the suffering that a breakup brings, it's far from the same for Katie and Ruesha. There is no longer any exchange between them and Katie happily ignores her ex when she has to meet her in training camps.

So it’s perfectly normal for her to move on, but Katie knows that Caitlin is struggling with her mental health and she doesn't want to impose too much on the Australian. But if Caitlin saw her leaving with another girl last night, there is not a fucking chance left. And Katie suddenly feels nauseous.

"Can you stop fucking moving?"

Katie freezes again when she hears the voice of the person next to her, the accent easily recognizable to her.

"Caitlin?"

"Shut up, god, please" moaned Caitlin, her head on her forehead, apparently also suffering from a pretty hangover.

It's at this precise moment that everything comes back into place in Katie’s mind, each of the memories taking place in the Irish’s head. And it also allows her to shake herself a little, mentally at least.

" ’m coming back" Katie mumbles, Caitlin replies only with a vague grunt.

The Irish girl almost fall in the dress that Caitlin wore last night but nevertheless manages to reach her bathroom in which she locks herself before sitting in her bathtub to call Leah. By Facetime, by habit.

"Hello?" ended up doing Leah’s voice after what feels like an eternity.

The screen is completely black, without Katie knowing if it’s because the screen is hidden or if it’s because Leah is still in bed. Not that it’s what interests her now to be completely honest.

"Leah I’m into deep"

"What’s going on?"

Leah’s voice looks more awake and Katie manages to draw the contours of her friend’s face, certifying that she is in the dark.

"I… I slept with Caitlin last night" the Irish mumbles, glancing at the door, hopping that Caitlin can't hear her.

"Yes and?"

The answer surprises Katie so much that she remains stuck for a few seconds before her emotions regain the upper hand, like a champagne cork that comes out of the bottle when shaken too much.

"What do you mean, and? That’s all you can think of? It’s Caitlin, Leah!"

"Yes well excuse me, but after having surprised you in full makeout session against your car after you went missing for about thirty minutes, I suspected what would follow"

But Katie sighs softly and pinches her nose, hoping to gather her spirits. Which is not an easy thing with a terrible hangover.

"I don’t understand" Leah continues "You are all over her for weeks. How is it a bad thing?"

"I wish it was different. What if she doesn’t remember? What if she regrets? I should never have done that when she was drunk."

"You were drunk too and from what I saw, she was entirely consenting, Kat'. You are my friend and I love you but I would have stepped in if it had been the opposite"

Katie remains silent about this, she knows perfectly that Leah is right. The blonde doesn’t hesitate to tell her friends if she thinks they are wrong. This is something the Irish woman appreciates.

"Listen, get out of your tub, go talk to her. There’s no point in taking it on yourself until you know what it’s like for her."

"She’s wearing my Irish jersey" says Katie randomly

Leah laughs and Katie can’t help but smile when she hears her, a guilty smile displayed on her face.

"But why?" asks Leah between two laughs

"She was cold and at the time I found it sexy"

Katie shrugs and Leah laughs again before smiling teasingly.

"You could have kept her warm though"

"Okay, I’ll hang up now" Katie says rolling her eyes.

"Bye!" chuckles Leah before hanging up.

Katie’s smile remains a few seconds on her face, before she realizes that she really have to leave her bathroom and go to confront the young woman who is in her bed. She nevertheless takes the time to make a passage through the kitchen to recover two bottles of water, after swallowing two paracetamol and taking others for Caitlin.

Katie is a little hesitant when entering her room, wondering if the Australian has fallen asleep again. But this is not the case, still lying on her side, Caitlin has her face turned towards the door when Katie makes her entrance.

"Hey" gently makes the youngest by mechanically pushing the door with her foot.

"If we had been at my house, I would have thought you had gone home" Caitlin mutters, following her with her eyes as she drops a pill and a bottle of water on the nightstand. "Thanks"

Katie sits by her side when Caitlin sits, swallowing in turn the medicine and some water. A little silence sets in, Katie torturing her mind to know how to approach the subject. But it’s finally Caitlin who speaks, mechanically raising Katie’s gaze on her. "So... About what happened last night..." "Yeah" But Caitlin adds nothing, her eyes dipped into Katie’s, as if she were looking for answers to questions. It’s hard for Katie to tell if the striker can find what she was looking for, but Caitlin ends up speaking again a few seconds later. "Look, if you want to act like nothing happened..." "No!" Katie abruptly grabbed Caitlin’s hand. "No. I just... do you remember everything from last night?" It’s strange for Caitlin to see Katie struggling to explain things and talk to her. She is usually known to be outspoken and fearless. Today, she seems almost embarrassed. "Is that what’s got you in such a state?" asks Caitlin, gently frowning. "In part. I know that you are not necessarily at your best moral level and sincerely I would be terribly sorry if you regret this morning" "I don’t regret anything" Caitlin gently smiled, tightening her hand around Katie’s. "Yeah?" Katie smiled back When Caitlin nods and lies on the cushions behind her, Katie goes over her to lie by her side. Warm under her duvet and looking up at the ceiling, Katie is lost in her thoughts when Caitlin resumes speaking. "I lied. I think I have a regret after all" "About what?" Katie turns her head to look at Caitlin. Lying in the same position as her, Caitlin slightly turns her head to look back at Katie. The worry that squeezed Katie’s stomach loosens a little when seeing her smile. Their hands are always in each other and Katie’s thumb mechanically draws circles on Caitlin’s hand.

"These cocktails. I’ve never had such a headache."

_____________________________________________________________

Does anyone want a Part 3 maybe ?

#woso imagine #woso community #woso fanfics #katie mccabe imagine #katie mccabe #caitlin foord #caitlin foord imagine #mcfoord

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blooming-violets · 2 months

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CREATURE LIKE ME || CHAPTER EIGHT: PYRRIHIC VICTORY

[TASM Peter Parker!Werewolf AU]

Story Summary: Kraven and his guild of hunters have been tracking and quelling the werewolf population for centuries. The time has come for Aylin to complete her first solo hunt to prove herself to the guild. It was supposed to be simple. One wolf, one death, one victory. She never expected to end up with a secret hostage on her hands.

[link to chapter index]

A woodchipper.

That’s what her body felt like it had been shoved through.

She had been wrapped up and pushed through the spinning blades until she was nothing more than bloody pulp.

“Fuck me,” she groaned.

Aylin forced her stiff, heavy lids to open. A layer of sleep crusted over her lashes, making it difficult to see. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand to clear them. When they finally came into focus, she was nose to nose with wide, golden eyes staring expectantly back at her. Black, sleek fur rubbed against her forehead as her cat, Kedi, rammed face first into her head with a long, drawn out whine.

“Yes, good morning to you, too,” she grumbled.

“It’s actually evening. You slept almost 16 hours. Thought you might not ever wake up.”

A familiar voice popped up from behind her.

Aylin rolled over, wincing from the shooting pains electrifying her body, to find Peter sitting on the edge of her bed. Except this wasn’t her bed. She glanced around the small room and recognized it as the same motel she brought Peter on the night they met. She could tell because of how cheap and ugly the decor was; like it had been redecorated once in the early 70’s then never touched again. It had the same musty smell of mold and stale cigarette smoke that she remembered so well. The thick, avocado green curtains were drawn closed so the only source of light was the flashing colors from the television. He had kept it on silent, probably so as not to disturb her sleep, and he was sitting as far off the edge of the bed as he could without being on the floor. She noticed the only chair in the room was propped up under the door knob as an added line of defense to keep anyone out.

Peter was wearing one of her brother’s old, navy blue sweatshirts and gray joggers she had brought him to try on a few days ago. A pair of run down work boots lay tossed against the back wall as if he had nonchalantly kicked them off his feet after he got settled. Her brother’s borrowed clothes seemed to fit well enough. It was strange seeing him wear Emir’s things. It had been over five years since anyone had donned them. It was about time they got put to use instead of collecting dust in his bedroom tomb. It was also strange to see Peter wearing a shirt, regardless of who it once belonged to. Since she met him, he had always been shirtless.

She sort of missed the view.

Aylin glanced down at her own self to see what sort of disheveled state she was in. She had been respectfully covered with the hideously floral bedspread but, underneath, she was still in the same attire she’d fled in. Underwear to cover her lower half and tightly wrapped bandages to cover her top half. Nearly naked and covered in blood, dirt, and sweat. Funny how their roles had been reversed since the last time they had taken refuge in this motel.

“Why is Kedi here?” She croaked through dry lips. She was in desperate need of water.

Peter looked between her and the cat perched at her shoulder, “I’m guessing that's Kedi?”

She nodded.

“Before you passed out, you were really upset about not being able to find your mother. You didn’t want to leave anyone behind when we ran,” he gave a sheepish shrug. “I assumed that meant taking the cat, too.”

She raised her brows in surprise, “He let you pick him up and put him in the car?”

Peter gave a weary glance back at Kedi and shook his head, “It didn’t go as smoothly as you’re making it sound…” He raised his arms to show off a myriad of red scratches clawing down his skin and pointed bite marks sunk into his hand. The cat had put up a good fight but it seemed Peter came out victorious.

Aylin gave a soft chuckle of amusement, “Yeah. That sounds more like it.”

She looked over her shoulder to smile fondly at her cat, happy that he was safe with them, then turned back to Peter. “How’d you pay for this room?”

He shrugged again, chewing on the hard bit of calloused skin next to his thumb nail, “You had your wallet in the car. You also had a bunch of stuff packed into the trunk. I brought some of it in after I got you settled in bed.”

She struggled to prop herself up onto her elbows to get into a sitting position but the pain was too much. She collapsed back onto the stiff mattress with a muffled whine.

Peter scooted closer over to her and held out his arm for her to take, “Here. Let me help you.”

He heaved her up with ease and held her steady until she was sitting on her own. His eyes raked over the red stained bandages wrapped around her chest and covering her back. She could tell it wasn’t the first time he had taken in the sight of her injuries but it still made him uncomfortable. He quickly averted his eyes when he noticed her watching him.

“I knew something was wrong,” he whispered, avoiding her gaze. “I don’t know how I knew it but I did. I kept telling myself to give you time to come back. You said it might take a while. But then it got to be past midnight. It’s almost a full moon, you know. In two nights. Everything feels stronger when it gets closer to a full moon. Maybe that’s how I knew. I felt some kind of intuition. It was like I was being pulled to find you. I still waited, though. I told myself it was just in my head. That I promised to wait for you at the camper.” He swallowed, sounding as culpable as she felt. “I should have looked for you sooner. I shouldn’t have let you go back there at all. I knew how dangerous Kraven was. I should have kept you safe. What happened when you went back? What did he do to you?”

Guilt rained down on her as the memories opened from the dark cloud above her head. Murderer. She had killed the Lycan girl. Stabbed her straight through the heart. Ripped her life from her without ever knowing her name. She was a murderous Silver Colt, born and raised, destined to be nothing more than an oven for her leader to stick his seed into. A plaything, perfectly groomed to his liking. Was any part of her real? Or was she entirely constructed to be the person he wanted her to be?

She could feel Kraven’s hands all over her body. They lingered and clung to her skin like an unshakable memory. It made her feel sick. Dirty. She would have gladly taken Calypso with the whip over ever having to be in the same room with that man again. Calypso may have broken her body but Kraven had shattered her soul. Whatever dreamlike bliss she’d felt upon waking in the safety of this motel beside Peter had sizzled out faster than she could blink. He had become a beacon of hope for her to cling onto and a pleasant memory for her to dissociate to.

But he wasn’t real. The Peter she dreamed of in that basement lived only in her labyrinth. The one sitting beside her was someone else. He was his own person. Not a perfect figment of her imagination. He felt liable for her safety only because she had saved him his captive fate. He was in her debt.

She felt a vacant, numbness settle into the depths of her blackened mind as shadows crept around her sharp edges. Her escape from the basement was a pyrrhic victory.

“Nothing happened,” she mumbled, her words sounding mechanical in her ears. “I’m fine.”

Aylin felt constricted in her every move. The dried blood, splattered over her, pinched at her skin. The wraps Calypso had done felt too tight. Her underwear was crusty and hard from the blood that dripped from her back and soaked through the fabric. Her hair was stiff and sticking to everything. She felt suffocated inside her own body. Not even the tall walls of her labyrinth were a safe place to linger for long. It had become polluted with the toxic chemicals Kraven had spilled over every part of her. She didn’t know who she was anymore.

She needed to crawl out of her own skin.

“I need a shower,” she stated.

Peter’s eyes darted between her and the bed spread at his legs like he was afraid to keep her in his gaze for too long but equally afraid to have her out of it. She knew he didn’t believe a word she had said. She obviously wasn’t fine but he was either too shy, or too smart, to confront her on her claims.

He nodded slowly as if every move he made was calculated to keep the peace between them, “What, uhm, what’s under the bandages?” He quickly added, trying to play it off like it was nothing more than a nonchalant question, “Just because it might hurt to put any wounds under running water. Are you sure you don’t want me to check on them first? Just to be safe?”

Aylin ignored him and shoved herself to her unsteady feet with a grunt. Peter stood in sync with her, keeping a hand out to catch her should she fall, but not actually closing the gap to physically touch her. He kept his sights on his bare feet. He looked terrified to disrespect her by staring at her in just her underwear. He still didn’t know where he stood in her allegiance. The last time they spoke she had vacillated between being his friend and cursing him out with little warning. He wasn’t sure what wrong move he could make that would get him in trouble this time.

She gave him a sad smile in the hopes to ease his concern. He didn’t need to be frightened of her. He had saved her life. He had done everything to erase his debt. She no longer considered herself a true Silver Colt. She would never be able to return to her home again which meant that she had no more use for him. No information he could give her would ever erase her knowledge that her entire life was a lie. He was free to leave whenever he wanted.

“You don’t have to stay anymore, Peter,” she muttered under her breath, stopping halfway to the bathroom with him still hovering at her side. “I think we’re even now. I saved you. You saved me. You’re a free man. You’re not a prisoner. I don’t need you for information anymore. I’m not going to kill you. I refuse to. Our deal is over. Nothing matters, anyway. It was all for nothing. You can go.”

Aylin leaned down to collect her duffle bag from the floor beside the television stand. It was sitting next to a case of water bottles and some camping food, her bucket of first aid supplies, and her crossbow. He had brought in everything that she could need for when she awoke, including a weapon to protect herself with if she felt the need too. When she tugged the strap of the bag over her sore shoulder, she straightened up to stare back, forcing herself to make eye contact with him.

Peter had a look that was hard for her to read. Apprehension. Dismay. Melancholy. Rejection. Confusion. They all flashed across his warm, brown eyes while he processed what she was saying. It hurt to see him like that but he deserved to be free. He didn’t need her. She was useless to him.

“No,” his assertion was evident in his tone. “I’m staying.”

Her heart sank with sorrow and an anger rose in her chest. She didn’t want him here. She didn’t want him to look at her with those pity filled eyes. She didn’t want to be responsible for another unnecessary death. Kraven would hunt her down and find her. He would slaughter anyone she was with. She would never be safe from his hold. People don’t get to leave the guild without consequences. She knew that now. Peter was better off on his own.

“No, you aren’t. You’re leaving. Go,” she shot back. “I don’t want you here anymore. Thank you for getting me out and bringing me here but I no longer need you. You repaid your debt. You balanced the scales. You can go.”

He shook his head in defiance, “I don’t care. I’m not going anywhere.” His arms crossed over his chest and he planted his feet firmly against the worn out, red carpet as if daring her to try and move him.

Aylin stomped her foot with annoyance, “There’s no point in you sticking around! You’re only going to get hurt. I bring death wherever I go! I’m the reason they’re all dead.” Her voice cracked but she kept her chin held high. “My father, my brother, probably my mother and Leah and her family, Sierra…that wolf girl…I’m…cursed. I’m not a good person. I’m a murderer. A fraud. I’m not anything you should be around. I only bring pain. It’s not worth it. Just go. You’ll be better off. ‘M gonna go wash up and when I come out, I hope you’re far, far away from here.”

She turned on her heels, refusing to look any longer at his perturbed face stinging with rejection, and slammed the bathroom door behind her. The bag fell from her shoulder to the tiles under foot. Aylin nearly collapsed onto the edge of the sink, holding herself up with the palms of her hands, and hanging her head.

She didn’t want Peter to leave her. Not really. He was the only friend she had in this world. He was the only one who could ever even attempt to understand her but she still felt the need to push him away. She was toxic. Every bit of her was shriveled up and soured. When she lifted her head to stare back at her reflection in the mirror, she didn’t recognize the woman on the other end. A stranger. Dark bags encircled her barren eyes. Red stained up her cheeks and over her lips. She pulled back the corner of her mouth and tilted her head to see the gap in her teeth. The top, second molar from the back on her left side was now nothing more than a bloody hole. She poked her tongue up into the gap, feeling the smoothness of her gums, and pressed it in harder to feel the jolt of pain.

Pain was starting to become the only feeling she could accurately recognize. Everything else couldn’t be trusted.

Aylin pushed away from the sink to strip herself from her soiled underwear. She kicked them into the trash before turning on the shower to heat up and taking a tender seat on the toilet. With the sound of the water pounding against the tub, she could no longer hear Peter standing outside the door. He had been pacing back and forth only moments ago but now there was nothing but silence.

A pang of anxiety settled into her stomach at the thought of him actually leaving. There would be a chance that when she left this bathroom, she would be alone. Truly alone. She wasn’t sure exactly what she was supposed to do then. Try to find her mother? Make sure she was safe? She couldn’t live in a motel forever. If she did end up finding her mom, they’d be homeless. It’s not like either of them had any work experience or life outside of the guild. She didn’t even think she had a social security number or was on any government records. Aylin didn’t exist outside of the Silver Colts.

After she finished up on the toilet, she washed her hands the best she could. Her pinky and ring finger on her right hand were still tightly bound together and held straight by the splint. She was missing three finger nails on the same hand. The soft nail beds stung as she applied soap to them in an attempt to clean the blood. With her hands still dripping with water, she dug her toothbrush and toothpaste out from her bag to brush her teeth, careful to avoid the few in the back that ached with pain whenever the bristles got too close to the missing tooth. She desperately needed to rid the taste of Kraven from her mouth. She gulped down the water flowing from the sink to satiate her thirst and finally turned to the shower.

Before stepping in, she wanted to remove her bandages. Everything needed to be cleaned. It wasn’t like Calypso washed her back before she threw the salve on it and bandaged her. Her body needed to be completely sanitized for her to feel human again. From looking behind her shoulder in the mirror, she could see where the end of the wrap was tucked into the middle of her back. She tried again and again to manipulate her arm around her back to grab at the end piece but it evaded her reach every time. Her shoulders were too sore from holding her body upright for hours. They ached with sharp stabs of pain each time she tried to reach the end of the bandage until tears pricked up in the corners of her eyes.

All she wanted was to be clean.

Aylin let out a frustrated yell and threw herself to the floor with the dramatics of a toddler throwing a tantrum. The tiles were dirty and cold under her bare bottom as she draped herself over the edge of the tub with her head cradled in her arms. She couldn’t do it. Everything she knew, her home, her people, her entire history, was ripped away from her. She had nowhere to go. Her mother was missing. She had no way of knowing if she got her note and escaped. There was no way to contact her. They didn’t have cell phones in the guild. They were cut off from society. Her mother could be anywhere. She could be in trouble and Aylin would never know. There was nothing left.

She was an outcast. Banished from her people. A traitor. A pariah.

She wasn’t part of the Silver Colts. She wasn’t part of the Lycans. She wasn’t part of the normal, human institution. She was no one.

Loud, heavy sobs shook through her chest and blubbered out her mouth. Hot, fat tears poured down her cheeks and splashed to the floor. She had never cried like this before. She had never felt so vulnerable and lost. Even when her father and brother died, she had never been this broken.

Adrift in the void of stray souls with no one to turn to.

The bathroom door creaked open. Peter padded up softly behind her. She couldn’t move to look at him. His presence only made her cry harder. He should be gone. He should have run. His loyalty was misplaced. He was confused.

She felt him quietly kneel down behind her and gently untuck the bandage from its hold. He carefully and silently unwrapped it around her until it lay in a bloody pile at her side. The tips of his warm fingers ghosted over the slashes from the whip as he took in the sight for the first time. She tried to gain back control of her sobs but it was useless. The flood gates had been released.

Her wet eyes squeezed closed at his touch. So soft. So careful. He had no right to be this gentle with her. He should hate her for who she had been associated with.

Peter’s hand landed on her shoulder, giving it a delicate squeeze.

“Get up,” he whispered. “Let’s get you clean. You’ll feel more like yourself then. Trust me.”

Trust him.

Aylin did. She trusted him more than anyone. She wiped the tears from her cheeks and allowed him to grip under her arms to help her stand. He guided her into the tub, keeping his eyes politely averted from her naked form, and waited until he felt she was stable enough before pulling his hands away. Slowly, he pushed the shower curtain closed to give her privacy.

“You okay?” He asked.

A fresh wave of tears hit her and she doubled over with more sobs under the weak stream of water, “Y-yeah.” When she heard him start to leave the bathroom, she called back out, letting the panic take over, “Wait! Peter…can you…can you stay with me? Don’t go…don’t leave me. I-I need you.”

She could practically hear the smile in his voice.

“I was never going to leave. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

He flipped the toilet seat closed and settled down on top of it. His long legs extended out to perch his feet on the edge of the tub. She could see the shower curtain pull tighter where they rested and felt a sense of calm settle in her mind now that she knew he was with her.

Maybe she didn’t have to be alone. Peter was alone. They could be alone together.

The water cascaded down her chest. She placed her face into the stream to scrub at her cheeks with her hands. Brown, dark blood washed from her body and circled around the drain. She was afraid to turn her back to the shower, knowing how badly it would hurt when the water hit her wounds, but she needed to wash the blood from her hair.

“Are you alright?” Peter asked when he heard her muffled wince of pain as she turned around.

Aylin smiled woefully to herself, lathering her scalp with the cheap motel shampoo, “It just hurts. I’ll be okay.” A few more lingering tears slipped down her face to mix in with the steaming water. The water pressure was weak but at least it was hot. Her guilt clung to her tighter than the steam clouding around her face. “Peter?”

“Hmm?”

Her eyes gazed down at the sun seared into her thigh. It was blistering with angry, red lines outlining the rays of the sun. The mark of a Silver Colt, the mark of Kraven, festering with a growing infection. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m sorry I was a bitch to you. I’m sorry I was a part of the group of people who hurt you. I’m sorry I kept you when I should have let you go the day I found you. I’m sorry for promising to kill you and refusing to go through with it. I’m sorry for being a Silver Colt.”

He was silent for a long time. She tenderly washed her body with the soap provided to her as she waited for his response, grazing over her wounds the best she could, and letting the water carry away her filth. With each passing moment under the stream, she cleansed herself further from Kraven.

“I don’t blame you,” Peter finally whispered. She could hardly hear him over the shower. “You acted within the parameters you knew. You saved my life. You showed me that things could be different. I didn’t have to live the way I was. There was still something more out there. Everything was hopeless until I met you.”

Was it no longer hopeless?

She felt hopeless. Directionless. She couldn’t see the same vision he did. They were moving in opposite directions.

“I don’t want to die anymore,” he stated with finality to his tone.

She did.

Aylin turned the knob of the shower to shut it off. The water sputtered to a halt, leaving her wet, dripping, and quickly chilling as the warm droplets cooled on her skin.

Peter shuffled behind the curtain and soon a white towel poked through the side. She gladly took it, gently wiping herself dry.

“I’ll be in the other room,” he said. “I’m going to set up the first aid kit for when you come out. Take your time. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll just be on the other side of this door.”

She listened for the light click to indicate the closing door before she pulled back the shower curtain and stepped out. Condensation clung to the mirror. She whipped it away with the palm of her hand. She looked rough but there was a glimmer of Aylin staring back at her. Underneath all that blood and sweat, she was still human. Her red trimmed, puffy eyes stayed locked onto herself as she scrunched the water out of her long hair with the towel.

There was still softness in the world despite what she had gone through. Peter was proof of that. He had stayed. He didn’t run the first chance he got. He wasn’t helping her because he felt like he was forced to. His compassion was able to extend further than his trauma.

He didn’t want to die anymore.

She wondered what caused that change.

Aylin knelt down to dig through her bag. She grabbed a pair of clean underwear and some loose fitting workout shorts. Anything else would rub against her brand. She was worried about the infection that was beginning to form around the edges and guessed her back was probably looking the same. After quickly getting into the clean bottoms, she held the towel against her bare chest to keep herself somewhat decent before stepping out of the bathroom. Putting on a shirt before she wrapped her back wounds would be pointless.

Peter was standing at the edge of the bed with the bucket of first aid open in front of him. He had laid out some gauze and bandages on the bed spread and was reading the back label of a yellow tube. He casually glanced in her direction with raised brows, “Is Neosporin what you need? It says antibiotic ointment. That’s probably good, right?”

She gave him a quiet nod. He was beautiful. Forgiving. Tender. She had the urge to be held by him, cradled in the safety of his arms, with her face nuzzled into the crook of his neck. There was a newly found desperation growing where all she wanted to was to feel loved by another person. By him. Anything to make the pain go away.

His eyes wandered back over to her, slowly toying down her body then back up to her face. She didn’t mind and found herself blushing under his obvious ogling. He gave her a lopsided grin, “Who knew there was an actual person under all that grime?”

A smile broke out across her face, cracking through her hardened exterior. Her first real smile since she left him at camp. Those were the same words she had spoken to him the night he shuffled out of the shower the last time they were here. Their roles had been completely reversed.

For a fleeting second, they held onto each other’s eyes, finding a common place between them. An appreciation. A care. A yearning.

A love.

He was the first one to break the moment, hoisting the bucket off the bed and patting his hand on the mattress, “Come lay down. Let me look at your back.”

Aylin did as she was told, happy to let someone else, someone she trusted, take control for a little a while. Once she was face first on top of the bed, she pulled the towel out from under her chest and rolled it up to use as a pillow. It was wet and cooling on her cheek as she closed her eyes. Her hair was tossed over her shoulder, away from her back. She could feel Kedi pawing at the dripping ends before he flopped over and dozed off.

She wasn’t alone.

There was life in this room besides her own. Life that she cared about. Life that she wanted to protect.

Peter leaned over to examine the damage then looked back to the small tube of ointment, “I don’t think this will be enough.”

Aylin cracked her eyes open to stare at him through half closed slits, “Does my back look infected? If not then I’ll use it on my thigh instead. That definitely needs it more.”

She watched him glance down to the back of her thighs which were parted in a wider stance to keep her skin from touching. He chewed on the inside of his cheek.

“Yeah, about that,” he spoke with a timid inflection. “What exactly am I looking at? When I brought you in from the car, I could kind of see it. It was all blistered but it looked a bit like it was spider shape or something. I didn’t want to push your legs apart too much to get a better look, not that you’re not nice to look at or anything, you were just sleeping…and I was…I was just…trying to…see…and make sure you were okay…”

Aylin rolled her eyes and cut off his anxious rambling, “It’s a sun. Half of one. Kraven burned it into me to prove I was still a Silver Colt. That I was still one of them. That I was his.”

Peter took a delicate seat on the edge of the bed beside her. He raised one brow with a look of mild intrigue, “Kraven?”

She huffed, her voice dripping with sarcasm, “Yes? You remember him? The guy who ruined your life?”

“I know who you’re talking about.” A smile danced across his lips. “It’s just, well, you’ve always called him Sergei. The last time I brought up Kraven the Hunter you got all pissed off and had a look of death on your face like you’d kill me for disrespecting him by calling him that. Suddenly, he’s no longer Sergei. He’s Kraven. That’s what all the Lycan call him. You flipped sides.”

Aylin let out a long breath, her eyes stared emotionless at the bare wall across from her, not finding the same amusement he clearly did, “That’s me. The traitor.”

Peter flopped down on his stomach next to her. His arms curled up to form a place for his head to rest as he stared, nose to nose, at her. He was becoming more comfortable around her by the second. She enjoyed the change.

“I like Aylin the Traitor better than Aylin the Cult Member,” he muttered with a grin.

He was so close. She wanted to kiss him. She wanted to feel something besides guilt and shame. He was so delicately handsome.

And he was still here despite everything.

“My entire life was a lie,” she whispered back to him, needing to share the burden of her life with someone she trusted. “Everything. He wanted me before I was even born. He wanted me to be his perfect…” She didn’t know what. Wife? Baby mother? Side piece? “He wanted me to have his children.”

Peter’s brow furrowed, his joy fading, “What do you mean?”

“Him and his wife. They couldn’t have children. He wanted an heir. They decided that the best way to do that was to create the perfect person from scratch. Someone loyal and obedient. Someone they could manipulate. Someone who would do whatever they asked,” she felt the tears pressing back up. “Someone as pathetic and naive as me.”’

She let out a dark, humorless laugh, “And the crazy thing is, if I had never met you, I would have done it. Without a second thought. I would have willingly agreed to it because I trusted him. He would have known best. If that’s what he said I needed to do to help our people, then I would have done it. It’s only because of you, I knew better. I’m so fucking stupid.”

Peter’s hand reached up to capture a stray tear rolling down her cheek with his thumb. He gently wiped it away, letting his fingers push back through her hair, and lacing them against her skull.

“You’re not stupid,” he murmured. “You were manipulated by a very bad man. If your life is full of isolation, then how could you ever know anything else? You did what you had to do to survive in the environment you were given. It’s not your fault you were born into a life like that. It’s what you do once you find out the truths that show what kind of person you really are. Look at you, Aylin. You’re not dead. You’re still here. You escaped. There is still more life out there. Don’t be like me. Don’t give up yet. You have no idea what kind of person you’re capable of becoming. Your life is just beginning. Mine is, too. We can still start fresh. They don’t deserve you, anyway.”

“I killed her,” Aylin breathed. If he wanted to start fresh with her then he needed to know the truth. There were already too many lies in her life for her to keep anymore. “Remember that night I came to the camper and you had heard a girl screaming? They had wheeled out a young girl, a Lycan girl, inside a cage. They wanted me to kill her. I couldn’t do it. I ran back to you. I thought…” She swallowed at the lump forming in her throat. “I thought they would have killed her themselves after I ran.”

She buried her face into the towel, breathing in the scent of the motel shampoo, and closing her eyes to block out the memories as she spoke, “When I went back, when Kraven found me, he locked me in his basement. A torture chamber. It was hidden underground behind a secret bookcase. I wasn’t alone. That Lycan girl was there. She was still alive. He-” She took a deep breath. “He made me kill her this time. She was so weak. They had tortured her so badly. It was horrible. Her body was already shutting down. I think she would have died on her own had I just held off a few more hours. But I did it. I killed her. I didn’t even know her name. She wouldn’t tell me. She was young. Couldn’t be any older than 19. It was me who killed her. No one else. Just me.”

He entangled his hand from her wet hair, much to her heartbreak, and went silent. She could feel him breathing softly next to her as he mulled over what she had said. He still had the choice to leave and walk out if he judged her to be too irredeemable.

After a quiet minute ticked by, Peter finally spoke, “I killed Kateri Deseronto’s son. He was only little. Five years old. That’s why she had me locked up when you found me. I’m responsible for his death. She wanted me to give her a new child. It was some sick, fucked up power play fueled by her grief and resentment. She lost herself the night he died. It’s hard for me to hate her, despite everything she did to me, because I felt like I deserved it. Her child is dead because of me. You said earlier that you bring death wherever you go. That you were cursed. That everyone was dead because of you.” He shook his head in disagreement. “I thought that, too, about myself. But it’s not us. I didn’t murder Kat’s son with my own hands. It was Kraven’s men who killed him. They were there because they were hunting me but I didn’t kill her son. If you look close enough, every string of blame leads straight back to Kraven the Hunter. He’s the source of everything.”

Aylin peaked a curious eye out from the safety of her cave. Peter had propped his head up onto his hand, leaning on his side, as he looked down at her with a quiet contemplation. Suddenly, another puzzle piece fell into place.

“Wait,” she said with a realization. She had heard that story before. She quickly sat up, forgetting she was topless, then hastily threw the towel to her chest when she saw Peter’s eyes widen. “When was that? When did the thing with Kat’s son happen?”

Peter thought for a second, his ears reddening from embarrassment, not quite understanding the gravity of what he was about to say, “I don’t know. Five years ago-ish?” He could tell by the paling look of horror on her face that something wasn’t right. “Why?”

Aylin filled her lungs with a gulp of air to try and settle her nerves, “The night my father and brother died, the night Kraven left them to die, the three of them were hunting you. Kraven told me in the basement that they had found you along with a woman and a little boy. He said that you were trying to regrow your pack after he slaughtered your last one.”

Peter’s jaw clenched at that statement but he remained quiet.

“He told me that they found you, he said…oh god…he said Emir ran after the woman and her son while he fought with you. He said that after he stabbed you, he fought with my father. Then he shot Emir. Then he left them both to be killed by a wolf.” Her voice lingered down to nothing but a mere whisper. “By you.”

Peter sat in a stunned silence. His eyes slipped closed and he brought his hands up to massage at his temples. With one hand keeping the towel in place, Aylin reached out with the other to gently caress his knee and drag his attention back to her.

“I don’t blame you, Peter. It’s not your fault,” she muttered. “They were Silver Colts. They attacked you first. Like you said, everything leads back to Kraven.”

He frantically shook his head, “No. That’s not how it happened. I told you. I never killed your family. I didn’t know…I didn’t know that was them…but I didn’t kill them. It wasn’t me. I was bleeding out after Kraven attacked me. I could barely move. Kat killed them.”

Aylin’s eyes widened as ice froze her veins. The memory of running from the pack of wolves with Peter bursts behind her vision. A large, towering black wolf. Hunched over in the middle of the dark, slick wet, rain covered road. Heavy, smokey breaths puffing from her saliva coated jaws. She didn’t chase the car speeding away with her captive. She only stood and watched. Waiting. Plotting.

Kat was the wolf that had killed her family.

“Because Emir killed her son,” Aylin stated.

He gave a solemn nod.

Her stomach sank. She loved her family. She thought the world of them but, in their death and her grief, she had memorialized them as saints. She had stopped seeing them as people with flaws. They were people who could do no wrong. Frozen forever in her mind as the perfect father and big brother.

But, like everything else in her life, that wasn’t always the truth.

The world wasn’t black and white. People were all shades of gray. The people she loved and admired were capable of doing bad things. They were capable of doing wonderful, nobel things, too. They were complex, layered people. Emir could stand up for his little sister and protect her honor down to his last breath and he could also murder someone else’s child because they were associated with a Lycan. He had grown up in the same cult as she did. Generation after generation, the cycle of violence and hate would continue.

It stopped with her.

“Why were you with Kat and her son?” She asked.

Peter gave a small shrug, keeping his sights set to study her face, trying to read her emotions through each little detail he could find, “She found me. She was running from her husband. He was Lycan and had turned her when they got together before she even really knew what that meant. She was young and in love with him so she ignored all the warning signs of him being an abuser. After their son was born, he got worse. Finally she decided to run but she didn’t have the experience of being a Lycan around normal people. She didn’t know how to care for her son as he started going through changes. Her husband had kept them sheltered for years. She didn’t have friends or anyone to go to. I guess she heard that my people-” He cleared his throat, struggling to speak about his pack. “She heard that I was alone. She wanted help. I told her I could help her. I told her I would try to keep them safe. I shouldn’t have done that. I knew Kraven was hunting me. I shouldn’t have had them so close but…I suppose lonely people do stupid things.”

“Were you in love with her?” She wasn’t sure why that was the first question she asked. A strange sting of jealousy poked at her heart at the thought of him loving someone like Kat.

A small, sad smile tugged at his lips, “No. The woman I loved is dead. Her name was Gwen. She would have wanted me to help a lost mother and her child, though. Maybe that’s why I did it. Her voice was in my head begging me to do the right thing.” He gave another shrug. “It only served to get a kid killed and look where I ended up because of it.”

Aylin licked her drying lips, “I think the person I loved is dead, too. I think Kraven killed her and her family. I thought they just left in the middle of the night but…I don’t think anyone leaves the Silver Colts without consequences. I think Kraven did it to punish me. Her name was Leah and she was beautiful. She would have liked you. She was always a bit of a rebel while I was always straight laced. She’d be amazed to know I, of all people, befriended a Lycan.”

Peter smiled at the thought, “We are two very fucked up people with freakishly similar backgrounds.”

Her sweet chimes of laughter filled the space between them. It felt good to laugh. Healing.

“I think I was meant to meet you,” she breathed. “I think-”

She stopped herself from saying what she really wanted to and shook her head to brush away the thought.

I think you were meant to be mine.

She rolled back onto her stomach and balled up the towel into a pillow once more, “I think you should help me put as much Neosporin as you can onto my back and then wrap it back up.”

Peter stood up to stand at the foot of the bed and clapped his hands together, “I have a better idea! I know exactly what can heal you in no time. Forget about ointments and creams. I’ve got all the cure you need right here in these veins.”

Aylin shook her head and grimaced, “Absolutely not. I’ve drunk enough Lycan blood for one lifetime, thank you very much.”

Peter’s head jerked over to stare at her with an incredulous look, “Drank? Why are you drinking blood?”

She frowned, “That’s how Kraven is getting his superior strength. He’s drinking Lycan blood. I got only a few drops in my mouth when I killed the Lycan girl and it almost gave me a heart attack. I’m not doing that again.”

His nose scrunched up in disgust, “Nasty. You don’t need to drink it. It’s much more effective to go blood to blood. Like, I cut my wrist and let it drip directly into your wounds. Straight to the source. It heals so much faster. I assume drinking it would take more time for it to get absorbed and lose some of its potency. Not to mention, it’s also disgusting and wrong on so many levels.”

A tiny smile crept onto her face.

“So you’re telling me that Kraven and Calypso are gulping down blood when they could actually just be injecting it straight into their veins for better and faster results?”

He shrugged and nodded.

Somehow the thought of their stupidity made it more humorous. The Silver Colts really didn’t know the first thing about Lycans. All that hatred for a species they never cared to research further.

“I still don’t want your blood. I almost died last time and then I slept for 16 hours. It was horrible,” she said. The sleeping part wasn’t actually horrible. She needed it. It was all the other stuff before that, that she’d rather never experience again.

“That’s because you were panicking.” He said this like it should have been obvious to her. When he saw no light bulb go off over her head, he explained further. “When a human is given Lycan blood, it enhances everything. Physically, it makes you heal faster, you’re stronger, you have better eyesight and hearing and smell, your endurance and agility heighten, faster reflexes…you get it. But it also enhances your emotions. Whatever you’re feeling when it’s in your system gets enhanced. Seeing as you were running for your life through the woods, half naked, and covered in blood, your heart was racing. It would have been racing without the blood and then, suddenly, it’s going twice as fast as it ever should. You were scared and panicked. Thus, the blood made those emotions worse, which made your heart beat faster, which made it almost explode.”

Interesting.

She remembered how frantic Kraven’s hands had felt as he lusted after her like he could scarcely control his desires for her. She remembered how each whip from Calypso was harder and more violent than the last, like she was feeding off her own hatred towards Aylin. She remembered how scared she felt when she tumbled into her mother’s bedroom to find her missing and how the panic had felt like it consuming her every pore.

It would make perfect sense that Lycan blood was heighting more than just their physical abilities.

Then she remembered something else.

“Kraven said something strange when we were in the basement. When you were fighting all those years ago, he cut your throat, and your blood landed in his mouth. Once that happened, he felt like he could no longer kill you. He walked away from the fight and left you there. Then, when he was drinking the girl in the basement's blood, he told me that he nor Calypso were able to kill her themselves. They had to wait for me to do it. He said it was like a mental block that happened.”

The Lycan had already been dead once Aylin got a taste of her blood so she hadn’t experienced anything Kraven had described.

Peter nodded, “I’ve heard of that happening. Figured that’s why Kraven walked away that night. I don’t know how or why it happens. It’s not like there are books that study our anatomy. I think it’s probably a last line of defense. If someone is using our blood, we become a part of them while it’s in their system. Killing the wolf that’s living temperarely inside of you would be like suicide, I imagine. I doubt it would literally kill the person but that’s how it would probably feel. You have an instinctive need for self preservation, which now includes the wolf inside of you, so you can’t bring yourself to kill them.”

Peter’s blood is what saved him the night Kraven attacked.

She wouldn’t mind having a part of him flowing inside her veins for a little while.

“Promise it won’t be as bad as last time?” She asked.

He smiled, “We’re in a motel room. You have your cat. It’s just me and you here. There is no danger. No one knows we are here. We can put on the tv and watch something chill while it works its magic. You have no need to be scared or panicked. You’ll feel heightened senses but as long as you keep your emotions calm, you’ll be okay.”

Aylin thought it over then gave a final nod, “Fine. Do it. Whatever can heal me faster, I'll take. You and I have a lot of planning to do.”

[CHAPTER NINE]

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youaremyhome · 2 years

Text

Pieces of the Night: Morning Dew, Sunrays & A Bad Moon Rising

Warnings: Dark!Rafe Cameron x Reader, 18+ NSFW, smut, HEAVY non-con/dub-con, drug use, possessive behavior, DARK. Read at your own risk!

Notes: 4.1k words. part 3 of the series that is slowly taking over my waking thoughts.

You know you aren’t in your own bed when you wake up.

The smell of musk and cologne are dead giveaways without opening your eyes, the body heat radiating at your back another one.

Besides that, you can barely think of anything else except for the painful throbbing at your temples. You groan in the back of your throat, hand covering your eyes and pressing in to ease the pressure. You feel like absolute shit and you vow that you are never drinking tequila again. The memories of last night are blurry at best and totally blank at others.

Glancing over your shoulder, you're greeted with the back of a head, dirty blonde hair ruffled as his bare back rises and falls with light snores. Memories struggle to resurface, just flashes of Rafe kissing you, hands groping you desperate and rough.

Delicately, you slink your body out of bed, but once you do it's a mistake because holy shit your body hurts. It’s an all-over ache, muscles shivering like you have the flu. Legs protesting as you start to move about the room, a twinge of pain zipping up between your thighs.

You almost want to go back under the warm covers, only the thought of facing Rafe sober is not an option for you. So, you gather up your belongings hurriedly.

The top you borrowed from Andi is missing and your panties but you don’t want to run the risk of him waking up, so you pick up a shirt from the floor. You also put on a grey zip-up since it’s chilly now in Chapel Hill and you don’t know how long it’ll take you to get back home, you’re sure he won’t miss it.

You don’t look back when you slip out of the door.

🌙

“I still cannot believe you slept with him!”

“I heard he’s big! Tell me it's big!”

“I’m just happy you finally got some dick.”

You roll your eyes at that last comment made by Louise, sticking your tongue out childishly. You’re all sat around the dining table, nursing hangovers over copious amounts of coffee and junk food at 1 pm.

“Yeah, but by Rafe Cameron?” Daniella tsks. “The guy's a psycho. I saw him punch out a dude for no reason.”

“Who cares?” Andi pipes up. “It’s not like she’s dating him or anything.”

“Still,” Daniella rubs at her eyebrow as she looks over at you. “I don’t trust him.”

“Dan, it was a one-night stand. He’s probably forgotten my name by now anyways.” You smile, patting her hand to pacify her worrying.

The girls hounded you for information about last night when they discovered you in bed, making coffee in exchange for the sordid details. They giggled over your wobbly legs and dark hickeys, listening intently as you told the story of last night. The modified version. How you and Rafe started talking, dancing, doing coke together before leaving with him. You’re nervous about the reactions that would ensue from the truth.

The truth: you don’t remember last night. And the parts you did; you’d rather forget.

Forget the dizzying effect he had on you, the shameless way you had moaned for it.

You don’t remember specifics, just the sensations throughout the night. Being incredibly drunk to let off stress, loose and languid with words and movements. Then the soft head buzz from the cigarette and being so close to Rafe. The shine of a key. An entirely new sensation, one you’ve never felt before. Like��floating, in a sky of warm water. Strong arms buoying through the waves, towing you from a loud living room to a quiet bedroom with a snap of his fingers.

Hushed words shared across your skin, the heavy pleasure of him inside you, fingers molding into your form. You had the bruises to confirm those hazy memories.

Not wanting to concern them, you let them believe you were soberer than you actually were. They fussed over you too much as is, the mistakes you made were wholly your own.

“Are you going to California?” Andi’s question snaps you back into the conversation. Oh, they were talking about winter break.

“Actually, my parents rented a house somewhere called the Outer Banks?” You take a sip of your coffee, trying to remember what your mother had said. “Supposed to be beachy and lowkey, I’m sure it’d be fun.”

Later and alone, you think of Rafe, wondering what he’d say next time you see him. If you see him. It was a large school with too many parties to choose from. He was a frat boy that probably has had countless one-night stands, last night couldn’t have been any different. And you were fine with that. Rafe seemed too intense for you anyways, a dark aura about him that intimidated you when you thought too much about it.

If you’ve managed to not have met him until now, what are the chances of seeing him again so soon?

🌙

Staring out the wide picture windows of the living room, you watch the water lap at the sand before it recedes. It’s impressive that there are so many houses right on the beaches, three to four-story homes stacked on stilts to withstand the tides. Brightly colored siding with wrap-around pouches for each level, sand-dusted stairs leading to the water, cottages on steroids with towers and windows.

It felt like you were dropped in the middle of a Nicholas Sparks book.

A few windows are open to let in the fresh breeze, smelling the salt and hearing the waves ripple. The vaulted ceilings echo the cries of seagulls, the cozy coastal design making you want to melt into the couch.

You’ve been in the Outer Banks for a few days, the view of the ocean so unbelievably close was breathtaking each time you saw it. It was quiet here, warm tranquility that had you lazing around the house. Not doing much other than spending time with your family.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna come with us?” Due to the open floor plan, when you look over your shoulder you can see your sister take water out of the fridge. She throws a teasing smile. “Promise to be patient.”

You snort, remembering the last time you went golfing with them. It ended with the two of you arguing to tears and abandoning the game.

“Oh, Lauren leave her alone.” Your mom tuts as she walks in, followed by your dad.

“What are you going to do today?” Dad asks, smiling gently.

“I don’t know, might walk the beach or something.”

“Well, just be careful. And put on sunscreen, and –”

You don’t really listen as mom continues to talk and gather her things, already heard the same demands being made for the past week. Regardless, you nod along to her words until they’re leaving out the front door, calling out ‘love you’s and ‘good luck'.

Though you love your family dearly, it's nice to have some alone time without your parents hovering over you, or Lauren wanting the latest gossip.

After you change into a sweater and shorts, you head down to the garage where there’s various outdoor equipment for free use. Picking the baby blue bike with a wicker basket will be perfect for a peaceful ride around town.

It’s mild and sunny, the direct hit of the rays warming you while the breeze cools you, admiring all the houses scattered about. After a while, shops begin to pop up, the coastal style similar to the surrounding residences. Passing by cute restaurants and even a sheriff's office that you mistake for a house.

You’re so busy taking in the scenic view that you don’t see the jagged rock that punctures your front wheel, quickly losing control and toppling over.

“Argh!”

It’s too late to catch yourself, your cheek skids across the pavement, kneeing the ground hard as the bike crashes alongside you. Groaning, you hoist yourself up to your butt, waiting for the world to stop spinning. You gingerly touch at your face, hissing and pulling it back to see bits of blood smeared on your fingertips. You mutter as you move your knee around, concluding it’ll be fine, just bruised.

You hear a rumble, and as it gets closer you lift up your head to see what car and its passengers are to witness your terrible fumble. It’s an old Volkswagen van and surprisingly, it’s pulling off the road and stopping.

Two boys hop out, beachy and blonde as they jog over to you.

“You ok?”

“Nah, bro, she just did a 360 with that thing!”

“It’s called being polite, man.”

“Polite my ass, it’s a stupid fucking question. The girl has blood on her face!”

“JJ, don’t be a dick –”

“I’m not, just stating a fact –!”

“I’m ok,” You finally say, breaking their bickering.

Both boys turn their attention back to you, the one with the bandana leaning down to help you up. Once on your feet, you brush yourself off, more scraps along your legs from the gravel.

“That shits ruined,” The one with the red baseball cap states, nodding down to the bike.

You curse as you see the busted tire, toeing at it with your shoe. Totally ruined. You sigh, mind running through what to tell your parents, the cost it would be to fix it.

“Do you need a ride back home?” Bandana suggests with an easy smile.

Maybe you shouldn’t get in a van with two unknown males but they have an open air of friendliest that has you agreeing. They introduce themselves as JJ and John B. The van is comfy and bounces with each little bump, but the ride is made fun by the way they fight like an old married couple, laughing on the way. When you turn up to your road stretched with houses, JJ lets out a low whistle.

“Should’ve known you were a kook,” He utters but gives a quick wink.

“Huh?”

“Oh, never mind, a touron.”

“He means a tourist,” John B clarifies after a smack to JJ’s chest.

“Oh, uh, yeah, I am.” You awkwardly reply, not sure if it's good or bad slang for you.

Parking in front of the house, you all jump out. John B lifts the bike out and carries it to the inside of the garage. JJ follows leisurely, a blunt hanging from his lips as his eyes roam over you.

“There’s a kegger tonight,” He blows a thick cloud out. “You should come.”

You don’t know these boys but they seem completely harmless, so you grin. “Yeah, that sounds great. Can I bring my sister?”

“If she looks anything like you, hell yeah.” His smile is mischievous and cute, that southern accent working like a charm on you.

“See you tonight, then.”

You wave them off after getting their numbers, watching as their van lumbers off on the sandy pavement.

When Lauren and your parents get back home, your mom’s concern over your scrape clouds her mind over the fact that you totaled the bike. Once the pleasantries are over, you excitedly pull Lauren over to a hallway where your parents can’t hear.

Wigging your eyebrows, you whisper:

“You up for a party?”

🌙

The Boneyard, as the guys had called it, is a beach with big pieces of driftwood that surrounds a bonfire. There are plenty of people milling around, the light of the fire sparkling off the sunset waves. You feel like you're a freshman again, going in blind with one companion in a sea of strangers.

Your sandals get heavy with itchy sand as you walk, the bonfire giving little warmth as you tug at your sleeves over your hands. Lauren leads you to the keg on the other side of the circle where John B is sitting with a pretty blonde as he serves others beer. JJ is close by talking adamantly with another boy, a girl laughing at his ridiculous motions.

“Hey John B,” You wave cheerfully and then gesture to your right. “This is Lauren, my sister.”

“Hi,” Lauren smiles as he fills up her cup.

“Hi, Lauren The Sister! This is my girlfriend, Sarah.” John B and Sarah share a knowing smile, his finger tugging at a scrap of fabric tied to her neck.

JJ comes bounding over, breaking their sweet moment, and calling out your name. “You made it! With your hot sister too!”

Your sister bashfully smiles and there are more introductions made, Kiara wigging her fingers in greeting and Pope shaking your hands politely. Kie immediately starts chatting with you and find you both have a great love for the environment. You love her spunky attitude, going off on different tangents together. You can tell that the group is close-knit, making jabs at each other one minute and the next telling the great adventures they had over the summer. They’re a bit younger than you and you wonder how they were able to buy all of this alcohol.

As night settles over, more people crowd the beach, music flowing through the open space. Lauren has moved to a different group, saying she met them earlier at the golf course. They dress differently, with khakis and bright polos like they’re middle-aged men. You stay with John B and the others, liking their rowdy and humorous vibe, snickering with the girls when one of the guys does something stupid.

Sarah convinces you to shotgun a beer together, though you're not good at chugging and end up sputtering, liquid dripping down your chin. They laugh and hoot in comradery, lessening your embarrassment and you holler with them.

“Yo, Sarah, what's your bitch ass brother doing here?” JJ asks, his arms hooking over yours and Sarah’s shoulder.

Sarah sighs annoyed, her eyes darting around until they seem to find her target. “He knew we would be here.”

It's human nature for you to search for her brother though you don’t know what he looks like. But two things happen at once.

1. Sarah scoffs, “Rafe can never leave us alone.”

2. You see Rafe Cameron.

Which can’t be possible, can it?

You're in the middle of a small beachside town you’ve never heard of and he’s here? There has to be a mistake, a doppelgänger of Rafe from afar and your mind is playing tricks on you.

There he is though, hair strands brushing along his eyebrows, pink lips parted and nostrils flared, board shoulders pulled back. He’s wearing a grey Henley and dark jeans and he’s walking straight for you. Foolishly, you freeze in place with wide eyes like watching a car crash. Worse, you're the one about to be hit and all you can do is stare at the unstoppable object coursing to you.

You feel JJ’s lips at your ear, breath tickling it as he asks if you’re alright, arm sliding down so his hand can squeeze your arm comfortingly. He says your name again, and a second voice echoes it.

“What are you doing here?” Rafe looks just as confused as you, but with irritation bleeding in as well. With him up close now, his eyes solely focused on you. His eyebrows slightly furrowed as his tongue rolls down on his bottom lip, eyes darting down to your arm and then back to your face.

You can’t help the heat that builds in your chest remembering that tongue on your skin, those teeth that seemed like they wanted to puncture you.

“You know this kook douche?” JJ’s astonished question has you breaking out of your trance.

“We go to the same school…” You trail off, giving Rafe a shy smile.

“Oh, I know Y/N very well.”

The implication is clear. You're not ashamed of having a sex life but the way Rafe says it has humiliation licking at your face. You can’t unglue your eyes from Rafe’s, willing tears not to come from his leer at you. Grimacing, you cross your arms together, your body reclining back but Rafe follows you like gravity. When JJ feels you shift in discomfort, he stands tall and shoulders his way in front of you and Sarah.

“How about you go back to daddy’s house and stuff your nose with coke, hmm?”

Rafe’s gaze unlocks from yours to sneer at JJ. “At least I have the money to afford it you dirty pogue.”

JJ shoves Rafe and yelling commences as John B and Pope are hasty to join, blocking you as Kie comes to tug at you, whispering furiously what happened? Clearly, your new friends don’t like him, there’s bad blood between them, so quietly you tell the girls, “We slept together. Once.”

More frenzied questions are thrown your way but you’re too overwhelmed to answer. With the shock of seeing Rafe fading away, you frown at the animosity he has for them. You had assumed when John B and JJ talked about it, that it was a hometown rivalry, the old tale of rich versus poor. But with the way Rafe is priming for a fight, it appears to run deeper than that, something you wouldn't be able to understand as an outsider.

Doesn’t make it any less stupid.

Rafe is completely engaged now with JJ and John B now, Pope holding Kie and Sarah back as they’re all shouting. Racking a hand through your hair agitated, you turn and walk away, listening to the words of kook and pogue repeat over themselves.

You walk down to the shore, cold water seeping into your sandals. Arms crossed tightly to your chest, your mind whirls with the pure odds of vacationing in Rafe Cameron’s hometown. The weird coincidence of him being here tonight. This is not the same Rafe you met on Halloween night or the week before, sure he wasn’t the friendliest but he seemed to listen and you liked that. This was the Rafe Daniella warned you about. Your thoughts block out the shouting, so perhaps that’s why you don’t respond to it when it gets closer.

“Hey! Hey!”

Fingers wrap around your upper arm, spinning you on the spot and coming face to face with an out-of-breath Rafe.

“Where in the hell are you goin’?” Rafe grounds out through clenched teeth.

“What and stay for that pissing contest?” You ask sarcastically. Pulling your arm down to try and dislodge his grip. Instead, he jerks you closer. “Let go of me.”

“I – what happened to your face?” The switch from anger to worry is unsettling, lowered eyebrows rising up on his forehead. His hand comes up to brush his fingers at your cheek, a ghost of a touch. You push his hand away, glaring up at him.

“A bike.”

He sighs, hard. “Listen, you need to stay away from them. They’re pogues, they –”

“I don’t care! They’re people, Rafe. They’re nice. And you can’t tell me what to do.”

“So, so – what? You're just gonna sneak away like you did that morning?”

For once, a bubble of guilt pops in your stomach for leaving him like that, with no phone number or anything. You give up on moving your arm, it's starting to hurt. Slumping your shoulders, you divert your gaze to the ground.

“It was one night Rafe. We were both drunk and…”

“I wasn’t.”

“And high, so, like –” You stop, scrunching your eyes closed in bewilderment with a shake. “What?” Shooting your eyes back to him, the careless demeanor you find disturbs you.

“I wasn’t drunk. Or high.”

It takes you a slow moment to comprehend his words. You sputter out air, a panic-filled laugh pushing its way out.

“Are you fucking with me right now?”

“No…” He says deliberately, smile creeping up. “…But I’d sure like to fuck you again.”

You ignore that. Letting it go through one ear and out the other. Your mind is too busy running through your database of facts about that night.

You were drunk. Rafe got you high. Took advantage of you. But why then –

“Why are you telling me this?” You breathlessly ask.

“You think your new friends would like you if they knew what a real kook you are?” He hooks a thumb back to indicate to the others, sitting along the driftwood.

You can see JJ waving his hands around, punching at the air with animated faces. John B and Pope are playing along, laughter resonates with the wash of the waves. They’re good people, you knew it within hours of meeting them. You want them to like you, to accept you as one of them, but you’re only here for vacation.

“It doesn’t matter, I’m leaving after New Years and never coming back.”

Especially since you're here, you think it's in your best interest not to vocalize that.

Rafe nods understandingly, tongue in his cheek as he contemplates you. With his grip squeezing more, he pulls out his phone, the artificial light casting a blue tint on his pale skin. Rafe’s smile is mean when he turns the screen to you.

“Then you won’t mind if I show them this?”

The world standstills as you look back at yourself. Except you’re not yourself.

The bright flash from the camera illuminates a warm radiance across your naked skin that’s laid across black sheets. Hair swirled around you like a dark halo, face turned to the side, eyes closed with arms up over your head, and from the loose curl of your fingers, you know you’re asleep. Blackness borders the lines of your body like it's edging to engulf you whole but your skin beams its way through. The angle is above you and tilted back an inch; hickeys on display, nipples softened and legs parted open for a peek between your thighs. Most disturbingly, large amounts of white splotches stain across your chest down to your thighs, though you assume it doesn’t go further because the picture is cut off at your knees.

“Really do look like an angel with all that white on you.”

You don’t think to do it. The palm of your hand just happens to smack him. The sting doesn’t bother you, only fuels your hurtful indignation and you bare your teeth at him. A part of you happy as Rafe works his jaw back and forth, his skin reddening, eyes as dark as the night filled ocean.

“Delete that right now! Right now, Rafe!” You push at his chest, once, twice. “I cannot believe you took that picture you fucking perv –”

“I rather save it as my lock screen.” Rafe spits out. “Show your pogue friends. Think they’ll still like you if I do? Huh?”

Rafe shakes your body, your neck whiplashing from the power behind his hands. Your hair is a mess, strands stick to your face as you breathe out harshly. You let your head rest back as Rafe looms over you, eyes locked in a death stare.

You don’t know what he wants from this. Just the simple pleasure of being a dick? Of thinking he can blackmail you with one picture? It doesn’t make sense, but right now, all you care about is getting away from him.

“They know you better than I do.” You say carefully, heart pounding at your sternum. “I say one word to them and they’ll be on my side.” It’s your turn to smile mean. “In fact…JJ! Pope! John B!”

Crying out their names in anguish, you renew your struggles against Rafe. You're on the outskirts of the party, the open air carrying your voice like wind. Their turns head and in a flash, they’re up and running towards you. Too shocked from your cry for help, Rafe’s hand loosens and that’s all you need. Quickly you dart around him, tears in your eyes as you run to them, feet slipping through the sand, making you stumble a few times.

JJ and Sarah lead the pack, JJ taking the brunt of your force from running straight into him. Your body wouldn’t stop running until it knew you were clear from danger. Leaning into JJ’s side, his arms wrap around you softly as everyone’s voices jumble in alarm, John B and Kie yelling insults at Rafe to go away.

“He – he’s threatening to show you a picture of me…” Your voice is shaky and high, unable to look at them and crushing your face into JJ’s shirt. More tears fall now that you’re away from Rafe, shivering from the adrenaline pumping through you. You don’t elaborate, though you don’t think you have to as multiple voices soothe you, hands rubbing at your hair, your back.

Laying your cheek on JJ’s bicep, your face turned away from the protective circle they’ve created, you watch as Rafe boils in rage from afar, knowing he’s outnumbered. Arms bulging with clenched fists, mouth a thin line, body vibrating with anger. Your eyes meet. With tears running down your face, you smile. Stealthily, you raise your arm and flick him off.

#rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameronxreader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #rafe cameron #outer banks fanfiction #outer banks smut #fanfics #dark fic #dark!rafe cameron #dark #dubcon #obx #jj maybank #john b routledge #pope hayward #kiara carrera #sarah cameron

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a-valourous-choice · 2 months

Text

To Rebuild A Home - Prologue

Next Chapter

Chapter Warnings: Minor character death, blood mention, anxious/negative thoughts, food mention, strained-father son relationship. Summary: After a horrific event rips his family apart, Patton decides to move himself and his children back to his hometown. His youngest son Thomas adjusts quickly but his eldest Virgil, harboring resentment towards his father and full of self loathing, has a much more difficult time. Despite their close proximity, Patton and Virgil have never been more distant from each other but perhaps with some help from friends - both old and new - the Sanders boys will learn that recovery can be a family affair. And just maybe they're not as alone in their grief as they believe. Edited by: @winterwynd Available on Ao3 here. -------

Beep! Beep! Beep! Be-

The shrill tone of Virgil’s alarm clock pierced through the silent morning air.

He didn’t mind though. It was the telltale sign that he and his family had survived through the night.

Unless their throats were slit and I couldn’t hear their screams because they were drowning in their own blood, Virgil thought to himself.

A-CHOO!

Virgil let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding.

His dad was okay then, if that sneeze was any indication. Nobody could make a noise like that if they were dead.

But what about Thomas?

Virgil unfurled his stiff body from the window seat he had been perched on all night; having the bedroom with the bay window had been one of his conditions when they had moved into their new home.

It was the easiest way for him to see if anyone was walking down the driveway.

He tiptoed across the hall to his brother’s room, his heart skipping a beat when he saw that the bed was empty and the blankets had been thrown haphazardly to the floor.

Where is he? What happened to him? Did someone take him?!

Virgil tried to compose himself and think rationally; he hadn’t slept a wink all night so surely he would have heard something if Thomas had been kidnapped.

Unless, of course, he had dozed off… Could he say with the utmost certainty that hadn’t closed his eyes for at least five minutes?

“Virgil, are you awake, bud?”

Patton’s deep voice traveled up through the house, and Virgil ran to the landing, peering down at the first floor. “Is Thomas down there?”

Patton nodded. “He’s in the kitchen.”

“I didn’t hear him get up,” Virgil said, almost hysterically.

“He slept with me last night,” Patton explained, “he had a nightmare.”

“Fuck!”

“Virgil, language.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.” Virgil snapped, and then stormed off into the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind him.

That settled it.

If Thomas had snuck into Patton’s room and Virgil hadn’t heard him then he must have fallen asleep...

…Which meant that he had put his entire family at risk. They could have been killed, just like his mom-

NO!

Virgil dug his nails into his hair, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He couldn’t think about her right now.

He couldn’t think about how they had moved towns because the pain of staying in their old one had been too much for his dad. He couldn’t think about how he was starting to forget things about his mom, like her laugh and the scent of her perfume. He couldn’t think about how if he had just been a better son then she wouldn’t be-

“Virgil?” A knock at the door. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Virgil rolled his eyes, even though nobody could see. “Just give me a minute.”

“Are you sure?” Patton was persistent, a trait that Virgil used to admire but it just irritated him these days. “If you’re sick then-”

“I said I’m fine!”

There was a short pause. “Okay.” Patton sounded hurt. “Come down when you’re ready.”

Virgil heard Patton’s footsteps retreat, and he turned on the tap, splashing his face with cold water.

He thought about his relationship with Patton as he got ready for the day; they hadn’t always been this way, they had actually been rather close for the majority of Virgil’s life.

It was when Patton had announced they were moving so shortly after his wife’s death that the bond between the father and son had become strained. Virgil had never wanted to leave the only life he had known - despite the traumatic events he had suffered through - and Patton had felt that a new beginning was the best thing for them.

His dad had once been his best friend, but nowadays Virgil could hardly stand the sight of him.

With his backpack slung over one shoulder Virgil trudged downstairs, taking great care not to trip over a few of the moving boxes still strewn about the place; his kitten, Sally, peered out from one of them, observing him with interest.

“I have an idea,” Virgil said, stopping to scratch her under the chin. “Why don’t I stay home and hide from the world and you go to school instead, hmm?”

Sally rubbed her head against his hand, and he chuckled. The little black cat had been a gift from Patton - possibly a last-ditch effort to win Virgil’s affection back, and it had almost worked.

Almost.

Virgil picked Sally up and she mewed in protest, but he knew that if he didn’t keep her away from the boxes then someone was bound to accidently throw them out with her still inside.

“How about I smuggle you in my jacket?” he murmured to her. “If I make any enemies then you can bite them for me.”

Sally didn’t seem to think much of this plan, if her wiggling was anything to go by, so Virgil placed her gently on the floor where she immediately curled up in a patch of sunlight and fell asleep.

“-Uh, ten!”

Relief washed over Virgil as heard his brother’s voice; having Patton tell him that Thomas was okay and truly knowing it for himself made a big difference to Virgil’s nerves.

“Ten?” Patton seemed a lot happier than he had several minutes ago. “Gosh, that sure is a lot!”

Virgil stood in the doorway of the kitchen, his dad and brother were sitting at the counter, a stack of pancakes in front of them, and he felt the slightest twinge of jealousy.

He was being stupid, he knew. He was the one who had torn apart the relationship with his dad, but somehow it still hurt to see how well Patton and Thomas got along without him.

Or perhaps, it was how easily they could just move past what had happened to his mother that made Virgil envy them.

They hadn’t been there, they hadn’t seen the things Virgil had, hadn’t felt her blood slipping through their fingers like sand, hadn’t-

“Virge!” Thomas cried, pulling Virgil out of his thoughts. “You were asleep forever!”

“Liar.” Virgil scoffed. “I didn’t sleep at all.” He ruffled Thomas’s hair and grabbed an orange from the fruit bowl.

Thomas giggled, but Patton’s smile faded. “Bad dream?” he asked Virgil.

Virgil shrugged. “My whole life is a bad dream.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say stuff like that, kiddo,” Patton said, “especially in front of Thomas.”

“He can handle it,” Virgil said, idly peeling his orange. “He’s a kindergartener now, after all.”

Thomas puffed his chest out proudly. “Yeah!” he said. “No more pre-school. I’m not a baby no more.”

“You’ll always be my baby.” Patton said, and Virgil glanced away.

God. It was hard to believe that Thomas was five and would be starting kindergarten; it felt like only yesterday that his parents had told him he was going to get a sibling.

He was excited for Thomas, he knew that his brother had been looking forward to this day for a long time, but he really wished his mother was with them.

She should have been able to take a hundred photos of Thomas and gush over him, same as Patton.

“I’m gonna make ten friends!” Thomas informed Virgil.

“Well, that’s ten more than I’m going to make.” Virgil said.

He wasn’t good at making friends, it had taken him years to build up the very few friendships he had made in their old town, and now he would have to start all over again.

Just another thing to blame his father for.

“Aw, don’t say that.” Patton said. “I’m sure you’ll make tons of friends.”

“Oh, well, if my dad says I will then it must be so,” Virgil said sarcastically.

He tossed aside the uneaten orange and grabbed a granola bar from the cupboard, shoving it into his backpack. “Are you sure you don’t want some pancakes? I made plenty,” Patton said.

“Yeah, and I helped!” Thomas held out his hands which were covered in maple syrup.

“They smell delicious,” Virgil smiled at his brother, “but I’ll miss my bus.”

“Do you want me to drive you?” Patton said. “I’m happy to-“

Virgil shook his head. “Dad, it’s bad enough that you’re making me go to a new school,” he said. “The last thing I need is to walk in with you holding my hand.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Have a good day at school, Thomas.” Virgil said. “I hope you make all ten friends and more.”

“Virgil-”

Virgil ignored Patton as he left the house; he knew that Patton would try and make him talk about it later, but for now he could pretend as if he hadn’t heard him.

Virgil walked the short distance to the bus stop - the route didn’t go by his house, which was another way this town sucked more than his old one, and he felt his phone buzz in his pocket once he got there.

He pulled it out, hoping that it was one of his friends; the texts from them had come few and far between since the move, but he was optimistic that they were just busy, and hadn’t given up on him.

Unfortunately though it was just a software update reminder and a text from Patton.

From: Patton

I hope you have a good first day, bud. I know things are tough right now but you’ll be okay. Your mom would be proud and so am I 😻 🐸 🌈 💙 xx

Virgil deleted the message and switched his phone to Do Not Disturb.

He should have replied, he wanted to, but he couldn’t bring himself to.

Despite what most people would think, Virgil didn’t hate Patton.

Things were just complicated…

His whole life was complicated.

---- Taglist, please message me if you wish to be taken off or added: @violets-gay-thoughts @warcats-cat @firefox2215 @shapa-likes-art @oatmeal-stans-the-trash-rat

#sanders sides #cw blood #cw food #patton sanders #virgil sanders

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errantnight · 8 months

Note

Oh my god, hold on! Is it wierd that I'm a girlie who loves angst (probably because I can relate to some e.i panic attacks) - so your whump!Cloud wheel made me feel things! The urge I have to pick one prompt but there's so many... The easiest route for me would be "panic attacks" but I'm craving some "sleep deprivation..." one 'cause I always have been into psyche and dreamlike stuff 🥺

Sorry this took so long, I really liked that prompt too because Cloud almost never sleeps in Remake at all! I think he gets maybe one uninterrupted nights sleep.

You're not weird, I'm a lady who adores whump and hurt/comfort and I'd say more than half of us into it are women!

Here's your story!

Cloud couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a good night’s sleep. Hells, he’d just like to have more than two or three hours of uninterrupted unconsciousness… something twitched uncomfortably in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want that actually, nonsensically insisting he’d slept enough for the rest of his life. He’d fall asleep and inevitably jerk awake an hour later - an hour if he was lucky that is.

Rolling over, he stared at the blank wall his bed was pressed up against, eyes burning and head swimming with exhaustion. His body ached and no position was particularly comfortable as his muscles twitched restlessly. He was tired, he should be tired, he’d barely slept the day before and he’d not stopped going all day - all night he’d spent running, riding, fighting and fighting and fighting. It wasn’t as though he was soft or something, a SOLDIER First had a much more strenuous workload so he should be used to this…right?

There was nothing he could do to fight it as he curled in on himself, a spike of pain flaring at the base of his skull and shivering beneath his scalp in a way that made him cringe. He clutched at his head, the room glitching around him like a faulty television full of static and the green glow of… of…

Cloud swallowed against the nausea as the fit, whatever it was, passed. He wondered how long he’d been lying there, the room still spinning slightly. Bright light leaked in around the edges of the door, casting sickly yellow rays of artificial sunlight across the floor and ceiling. Had it been hours?

He slumped back against the thin mattress, the rickety bed frame creaking as he tried to get comfortable. For a moment, just a few seconds, he winced as the headache returned - this time followed by a sick and heavy feeling in his chest. His eyes slipped closed, a sound nearly getting trapped in his throat - a whimper, as he writhed against the bed. He felt hot, and then cold. So cold. Cold as Mount Nibel in winter.

There was nothing physical trying to weigh him down but he felt heavy regardless, his instinctive struggles weakening until his muscles relaxed. HIs hands clutched at the sweaty sheets beneath him as he arched back against the… whatever it was. Going slowly limp, a soft voice followed the feeling of ghostly hands on his shoulders pressing him deeper into the mattress.

“Sleep,” a deep, dark, voice whispered into him and he couldn’t help but chase after it. Gods, yes, he wanted to sleep.

“Please,” Cloud shuddered, invisible fingers stroking down his face. He let go, sighing, yearning towards the nothingness beckoning him to relax and give in.

“Sleep,” the word was so seductive, the need to obey so powerful, “and dream the sweetest dreams.”

A sensation like falling began to drag him under and he went willingly, desperately, and the sharp gasp of air in his lungs felt like knives as something brushed over him and pulled him awake. Fists pounded on the door, making him roll to his feet to answer. The danger lent him enough adrenaline to get up, to grab his sword, to keep going again. Always again.

He closed his eyes briefly, stumbling down the stairs more on autopilot than deliberately, and through himself into the fight. He’d sleep… sometime… he hoped.

Anyone else want to spin the Cloud Whump Wheel?

#whump #ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #ffvii remake #writing prompts #prompt #angst #sleep deprivation

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v-love · 1 year

Text

It’s Not That Bad

Alex x GN!Reader

Summary: Alex comes over to bother you only to find you sick and in bed. Does he know what he’s doing? No. Is he going try to help? Yes.

this is for my good friend @quicksilversg1rl who is currently sick so me as a good friend, i made this for them. sorry if it bad, in my defense, im half asleep. Enjoy!!

Warnings: None

Not proofread

Images/GIFS are not mine.

Word Count: 527

It wasn’t like you to not respond to any texts from anyone. The only time it happened was when you were either annoyed or sick. Alex was perplexed when he noticed you just leaving him on read. “The fuck did I do? I haven’t even said anything to make them annoyed.” He says to himself as he brushes his teeth, staring at his phone. There was no way you were annoyed by him so why you were acting like this, he didn’t know. Alex couldn’t just leave it as is and talk to you later, no. He had to actually do something to make you mad. Getting in his car with a plan in mind, he heads over to your apartment.

Sitting up quickly as you hear the door open to your bedroom, you groan from the light shining through. The sound of shoes being hit together registered in your brain, making you whine a bit. “Wake up!! We’re gonna party!!!” Alex says in a singsong voice, blowing into a plastic kazoo. You frown deeply at him, covering your ears as he starts to walk around the room making noise. “Alex please, I don’t feel good-“ your sentence was cut short from being hot with a pillow. “Pillow fight? Hell yeah.” He says under his breath as he almost goes ballistic with how many times he hit you with the pillow. “Alex, cmon man!” Shielding yourself from the assault, you get out of bed and groan. You don’t even feel when you fall back onto the floor until you suddenly see Alex holding the back of your head. “Holy shit are you okay?” He says, his voice soft now and laced with concern. You nod slightly and Alex helps you back into bed.

Feeling hands gently place your head onto your soft pillow, your eyes open again to see your sweet boy tucking you in. His fees your gaze on him and smiles softly, not reaching his eyes though. Frowning when you see this, you move your hand to reach out for him. “Are you mad?” You whisper to him. “No, I just wished you told me…” he whispers back, leaning in so you could touch his face. Alex felt your hands slightly tremble as you held his face, sighing softly as you caress him. “Could you just stay with me? It’s cold and I missed you.” You hadn’t really seen each other too much last week because of work so you needed him.

Sliding into bed with you, Alex sighs as watches as you drift to sleep. He kisses your forehead gently and hums, aiding your mind to drift off into a blissful sleep. When you wake up, your head is laying on his chest, hearing the soft beat of his heart as he slept. It was night now and it was surprisingly warm. Your headache was now just a pain that was so dull that you could barely feel it. Smiling to yourself as you watch Alex sleep. Hearing his heartbeat made you sleepy once again, snuggling into him as you drift back to sleep, dreaming of clouds and Him.

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it and if you have any questions or just wanna chat with me, send something in!!

Taglist: @yes-divine-ruler @evanpetersfav @lcnelyghost @quicksilversg1rl

If you’d like to be in the taglist, send something in!

#adult world #evan peters #adult world alex #alex adult world #adult world alex fic #alex adult world fic

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warmblanketwhump · 1 year

Note

Could you maybe write something for like, a bad tummy ache? Not emeto or anything, it just hurts pretty bad

i’ll give it a shot—here you go! and just a heads up to anyone concerned, there’s no emeto or related content in this! just a lot of fluffy caretaking for a whumpee with recurring stomach pain :)

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

“B, you’ve been quiet all night. What’s wrong?” A lays down their silverware, eyebrows furrowed in concern.

B tries to respond, but the pain in their stomach pulses angrily, and they drop their forehead on the table. “Nothing. My stomach just hurts again.” Another sharp pain twists in their gut—it’s nothing they haven’t experienced before, but that doesn’t make it feel any better.

B suddenly feels a hand on their shoulder, squeezing gently as they ride through the wave of pain. When the sharp pain passes, B lifts their eyes to look at A, whose eyes are filled with concern.

B hates that look—hates that they’d ever be a cause for worry for A, that A would stress at all over something that’s just a normal part of B’s life. But it is what it is, and B doesn’t want A to have to trouble themselves over helping them.

“I can take care of–” B starts, at the same time A says “How can I help?”

B’s about to protest, to say that they can take care of it, when another wave of pain surges through their gut, and they cinch their arms tighter around the middle with a gasp of pain.

“B,” A kneels down, gently laying a hand on B’s arm. “If you’ve got it, I’ll let you handle it. But if I can help with anything, I will.” They rub B’s arm gently, glancing down and then back up at them. “So how can I help? Do you need help?”

Technically, B could do it alone. They’ve crawled to the bathroom before, gotten their medicine and heating pad, curled up and slept on the bedroom floor because it hurt too much to stand up and get in bed.

But oh how nice it would be to have help.

So in a moment of weakness, they accept. “If you would, please.”

A nods, and that’s that. “What’s first?”

B walks them through each step. First, the medicine, which A brings with a glass of water and a few crackers. Then, the harder part—summiting the stairs. At first, B insists they can walk on their own, that they just need a little help walking.. But halfway up the stairs, the pain is so bad that they surrender to A carrying them the rest of the way, all the way to their soft bed and fluffy quilts and blessedly warm heating pad.

Once A tucks them in, they curl up again and squeeze the heating pad to their core. It's still an especially bad episode, but thanks to A, getting more comfortable was far less work—and far less painful.

"Thank you, A." B's eyes slip shut for a moment. "You really helped a lot."

"It was no trouble." A flicks off B's bright bedside lamp in favor of some soft white string lights, which provide a calming glow throughout the room. "Anything else I can do to make it better?"

B shakes their head. "Not really. I just have to wait it out for a few hours. Although–" They swallow hard—god, they don't want to ask, but it just hurts so bad this time around...

"What can I do, B?"

B takes another short, shallow breath. "Sometimes it helps if someone's....doing something else. Playing with my hair, rubbing my back. Then I can focus on that and not—ah!" The pain seizes their insides, and B can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but clutch their heating pad tight and pray it ends soon—

And then they feel firm pressure between their shoulder blades, slowly rubbing circles in their tensed muscles.

"Just breathe, B. I'm right here." A's voice is soft, almost a whisper, gently shushing in rhythm with their movements. "Breathe through it."

The pain lasts for a few minutes, and when it's done, B releases a shaky sigh, one that's threaded with exhaustion and overwhelm and gratitude for A all blended into one. A's behind them on the bed now, fingers tracing B's scalp in lazy circles, and B doesn't ever want them to stop.

"Feeling a little better?"

B nods. Gingerly, they ease themselves over so they're facing A, meeting their eyes. They know their own are shining with tears, but they don't even bother to hide them. "Thanks to you."

A just smiles softly, their hand flexing to cup B's head. "I mean it. Whatever you need. I'm there."

It feels like far too big of a promise, too good to be true. But for now, curled up next to someone who's been nothing but too good to be true, B's willing to believe that A means it. And they don't have the words to say all that now, so they just tilt their head onto A's shoulder in a gesture that they hope captures it all.

And from the way A squeezes B's shoulder, B thinks they get the message.

#hurt comfort #whump prompt #this was a new one #but it turned out very soft 🥺#my writing

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shroomsandstrobs · 2 years

Text

A New Perspective

Joshua x fem!reader

Genre: Paris AU, angst if you squint, fluff, mentions of smut

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: swearing, mentions of smut, there' a LOT of fluff i'm so sorry, mentions of reader's body, also food, PETNAMES

(chapters : 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Chapter 6

Your eyes fluttered open. Someone was cooking. The scent of eggs and bacon traveled through the bedroom door, that lay ajar. You reached for the nightstand, coincidentally your glasses were on it. Shua must have put them there. Out of a habit you hand flew to your chest, finding the pendant resting gently below your collarbone.

You sat up in the large bed and stared at the wall, where a mirror stood propped against it. You could see that your neck was covered in multiple marks. The darkest one lay right below your collarbone. You brushed it curiously and you swore you could still feel the tingle of his lips where they were placed.

Your cheeks flushed indistinctly. Memories of last night came crashing down on you in an avalanche. Shua's breathing rigid and filled with pleasure, the pace of his thrusts quickening as your own breathe began to catch in gasps of bliss-

You forced your eyes shut and got up from the silk covered bed. Out of the corner of your eye you saw a robe hanging by the door. You briskly took it off the hook and walked into what you assumed to be the bathroom to wash up.

Minutes later you were standing in an extravagant kitchen with a breakfast nook that had a balcony looking out onto the city. The countertops and cabinets were a polished white and the quartz island gleamed like a diamond. Amid the sea of white stood Shua. A tightfitting black t-shirt made him stand out like a sore thumb against the background. The artist in you itched to draw the scene, but you were too distracted by the pain of hunger in your stomach.

Shua finally noticed your presence and quickly lowered the flame on the stove. He dropped a fork on the dark wood floor whilst trying to take an egg out of the pan and put an avocado on wheat toast. You stifled a laugh as he bent down to pick it up from the ground. You could see he was trying to mask a smile. He spoke with an airy tone, "Why don't you sit down in the nook? I'm almost done your plate anyway."

You plopped yourself down on the cushioned bench and stared out the window and looked down into the busy street below filled with fashionable pedestrians and cars. You suddenly wondered what time it was. Elly and Norma were probably at the shop already wondering where you were. You just shrugged it off.

Shua placed your plate of food in front of you while you were looking away, snapping you out of your thoughts. You were silently grateful for it though as he made his way to sit next to you, placing a smell kiss on your temple.

"I hope you slept well, you were curled up into a ball of blankets this morning."

Your cheeks flushed again, but this time out of embarrassment. It was a secret habit of yours to bunch up any blanket near you and snuggle with them, you've done it ever since you could remember. You retorted a response through a mouthful of avocado toast and bacon. "Did a take all of the blankets-? It's kinda a habit of mine, I'm sorry.."

Shua let out a goodhearted laugh that illuminated his face. "Oh don't be sorry, silly. It was cute."

You gently punched him in the shoulder at his teasing and continued to munch on your toast. Shua was still laughing.

You mind began to wander at a lingering thought. You wondered if Shua would look at you different. Act differently. At the moment, he was being so breezy as if nothing happened. He took a sip of his black coffee. You gazed at the muscles in his neck work, the bob of his adam's-apple. You blushed inwardly. You were definitely acting differently toward him.

Shua must have noticed how you were staring at him, because he was now facing you, putting his strong and slender hand on your cheek. "Hey, ____. Look at me."

Your eyes met his. He had a look on his face that he was searching for something. Something wrong. He spoke in an almost whisper, barely audible. "If you're thinking about last night, I wanna let you know I don't regret a minute of it."

You leaned into his hand and closed your eyes. Your hands fiddled with the pendant at your throat silently, it gave you a sense of comfort and sensibility. He spoke again, but more urgently.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have rushed into things...I don't want to make you uncomfor-"

You opened your eyes and pressed a finger to his fingers mid-sentence. "Stop talking. Don't fret so much for once."

He smiled wryly as his confused eyes turned to moon crescents. You leaned forward so that your foreheads touched. You uttered softly, "Kiss me."

And he did. It wasn't filled with passion like of last night, but with true and honest love and carefulness, as if your heart were a fine piece of china. If not handled right it would shatter right under his touch.

You felt him smile against your lips as he took the pendant between his fingers. "Do you like the necklace?"

"Oh, Shua I love it." You breathed out a sigh as he pulled away and began stacking the plates and cups. He brought them over to a large sink and began rinsing. He spoke abruptly. "Hey, can I ask you something?

You looked up curiously from your lap. "Yeah, of course." He turned towards you, leaned his body onto the countertop. "So I've been invited to this party for a sponsorship with his perfume company and they seem pretty serious about me bringing someone with me-."

You stopped him mid-sentence, a ghost of a laugh in your voice. "So you want to ask me to this party of yours? I feel like I'm being asked out to prom all over again." He smiled at his hands and replied shyly, "Yeah, I guess am."

Your eyes lit up with new found anticipation. "I would love to go, but I don't have any fancy dresses. Or shoes at that matter."

"I'll buy you both, just tell me your size and I'll find something worthy for you."

You opened your mouth to retort an excuse that you were perfectly capable of buying a dress and shoes yourself but nothing came out. You let out a groan of defeat and wrote down your size and got up from the table. Shua smiled mischievously and called after you. "The party is this Friday, by the way."

---

You arrived at the shop nearly an hour late because Shua wouldn't let you go out of his bear hugs. You walked through the door in one of his shirts, which nearly reached your knees, and the pair of pants you wore last night, now washed and cleansed from the rain.

The store wasn't as busy as you expected it to be, but Nora and Elly were both occupied with customers so you could dash right by them and dodge their questions. Nora peered at you curiously as you sat yourself at the front desk and began looking through a stack of files and projects to be signed and done. You rubbed your eyes out of frustration.

It was going to be a long week for you.

The whole week had been filled with answering questions of why you were acting so unusual from Nora and stares from Elly, who looked like he was about to go mad if he didn't figure out what was going on.

You were now walking towards Shua's apartment that Friday afternoon. He insisted that you'd come over to try on the dress he had bought and get your hair done by one of his stylists. You felt jittery all over at the thought of all the cameras and paparazzi that would be expected at the party. You could almost see the headlines. "Paris's best artist spotted at party with..."

That's where your mind stopped. With who? Sure, Shua had hinted he was an artist part of a group now focusing on solo work but you had expected a small artist. Not one who had paid sponsorships with a perfume company?! You were also still on the fence if he was Joshua from Seventeen, they did look alike but you couldn't quite place it.

You waved off the thoughts as you came to the entrance of Shua's building, still glamorous as ever. You quickly texted Shua you were here and walked into the main lobby and into the elevator, pressing the button where Shua's bedroom was.

The elevator doors opened to Shua looking like he was half-way ready to go to a fancy dinner. He wore black dress pants and a white under shirt that was slightly see-through. He smiled when you caught his eye and hugged you so hard that your feet were dangling off the ground.

"SHUAAAAAAAAAAA, PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW. FOR FUCK'S SAKE STOP SMOTHERING ME."

Shua laughed as he placed multiple butterfly kisses all over your face. He protested between kisses. "I'm just excited to see my darling, is all." Color rose into your cheeks at the pet name. Shua finally let you down as he led you into this room where they were multiple women with makeup and hair vanities at the ready.

Shua ran over to his bed and picked up a dress that was covered with plastic, obviously brand new. He beamed as he presented it. "Here's the dress, you can put it on in the bathroom." He then pointed to one of the stylists standing by the bathroom door. She waved politely at you. "That's Lily. She'll be helping you out with the dress and jewelry and your hair." You stood on your tiptoes to place a small on the corner of his mouth before walking into the bathroom with Lily who was very enthusiastic about how to style your hair.

After a few moments of doing the zipper at the back Lily finally let you look at yourself in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly and hugged your body. It was a beautiful satin black. The exposed corset flattered your middle. It wasn't too hard to move around in since the material was not as stiff as you'd expected. You did a little twirl in the mirror at which Lily clapped merrily, complimenting how stunning you looked. She then handed you an opened box where a set of matching black platform heels. At least the heels were thick so you wouldn't fall like an idiot.

You began to put on the shoes but Lilly made a tut tut noise and said she needed to do your hair first. You sat silently at the vanity while Lilly worked away at the wild wisps of your hair, transforming them into careful and gentle curls. The finished product was a very done up half up-half down style with two curls in the front to frame your face. She then pulled out a few small boxes which contained a gold bracelet, small gold hoop earring, and a gold chain necklace. She began to take off the pendant that was already around your throat but you stopped her. "I want to keep it on."

Lily sighed and muttered something about how the silver would throw off the gold but she just shrugged it off and finished her work.

Lily patted your shoulder to let you know you could put your shoes on and walk out to get your make up done.

You walked out of the bathroom a little wobbly at first. The feeling of the heels foreign to your feet, but you quickly became accustomed to them. You smiled shyly as everyone turned around and showered you compliments. Shua was the last to turn around from his make up vanity. He had put on a black button-up shirt with a small gold chain at his throat.

He gawked at the sight of you. His eyes wide with adoration as they traveled down your body, taking in every detail. He rose from his chair and stood only a few feet from you. With the heels, your head was almost level with his. "___, you look beautiful."

You looked down and whispered a thank you. "Come on let's get your makeup done, darling."

Your fingers thrummed nervously at your collarbone watching the buildings go by in a blur. The makeup artist had covered the fading bruises with concealer and had looked at you suspiciously on how you got them. You had laughed it off but you swore you could feel Shua's eyes on you the whole time you came up with some stupid excuse of hitting your neck while organizing a closet.

You passed a glance at Shua, who was on his phone texting someone. You cleared your throat as a signal to look at you. "So, where exactly is this party?"

He smiled. "The Eiffel Tower."

Your mouth obviously was gaping open because he laughed it. You rolled your eyes and stared out the window, the Tower coming closer into view. From where you were you could see flashing cameras and sophisticated people stepping out of cars onto a red carpet. You gulped. Shua placed a careful hand on your shoulder, startling you. "It's going to be okay, just smile and hold on to my hand."

You plastered a reassuring smile as the car pulled up to the red carpet. Nosey stares trying to figure out who it was. Shua stepped out of the car first the camera flashes illuminated his figure. You scooted yourself over to the next seat over as he reached his hand inside for you hold. You rose to your feet as gracefully as you could. You smiled at the cameras and wide eyes. You waved shyly and bent your head still smiling.

Shua whispered a small "come on" and hooked his arm in yours and began walking. As you took quick strides to keep up with Shua's long ones you picked up bits and pieces of conversation of photographers.

"Is that that one artist...I cant believe he's with her!?"

"It's the girl from A New Perspective...get the shot!"

"He actually showed up with a date!"

"____, over here!"

You turned in the direction of the shout and flashed a smile before your replaced your focus on not busting your ass on a red carpet.

Shua and you stepped into an elevator, closing off the noise of the paparazzi. You let out a sigh and leaned your head on his shoulder, resting your eyes from the blare of lights. He placed a peck on your forehead. Eyes fluttering open, you saw Shua stare ahead of him, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

The elevator came to a halting stop and revealed a ballroom-like floor with scattered tables at the edges and a bar. People mingled everywhere, black and gold models and designers posing and laughing heartedly. You felt so out of place with your short artist nails, not at all like the long and slender ones of the people there.

Shua placed a hand on the small of your back and bent toward your ear, his breath sending goosebumps all over your skin.

"Let's go, darling."

A/N: YES I KNOW I HAVE BEEN DEAD FOR THE PASS 2 MONTHS I WAS HAVING A WRITING BLOCK OMG. I'LL GET THE NEXT CHAPTERS AS SOON AS POSSIBLE (and thank you thank you for the amount of likes on chapter 5!!!)

-also reblog the fic, i love seeing your thoughts on it!-

#joshua hong #svt fanfic #joshua x reader #kpop fanfic #seventeen #svt joshua #kpop fluff #kpop ff #joshua fanfic #joshua fluff #kpop smut

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