#i only found this out because i took a bath to try to relieve the pain in my coccyx (which i fell on due to black ice)

[btsficsandsuch]

I'd like to request an OT7 reaction to you being on your period and having cramps<3

Here you go! I hope this is okay.

Reaction to Period Cramps

Jin:

He makes you all of your favorite meals, especially your favorite triple chocolate brownies with caramel frosting and he doesn’t even judge you when you eat three of them within minutes of each other. He knows that you’re going through a lot and if some brownies is what makes you feel better then so be it. Afterwards he’d cuddle in bed and rub your belly trying to trying to ease away the pain (and slight tummy ache from all the sugar but he’d never bring that part up).

Yoongi:

He was never really one for cuddling. He didn’t see how it would help with the pain but he did always make sure he had pain relievers on him in case you needed them and he’d always make sure you were hydrated because he knew dehydration could make the cramps worse. Then one month they were particularly bad. The pain relievers weren’t even making a dent. So when he came home and found you in bed with a heating pad wrapped around your mid section and noticed your tear stained cheeks he couldn’t help it and didn’t think twice before climbing in bed next to you gently pressing the heating pad on you to get more of the heat to your core. He laid there with you for a while until you were able to fall asleep and he realized maybe cuddling did have some healing properties after all.

Namjoon:

You’re surprised with how every month it seems like he’s telling you a new period fact. If you weren’t in so much pain you’d find it adorable. This month he’s going on about different vitamins you could try and then there’s this herbal tea that he read is supposed to be really helpful. Gently you took his phone and placed it on the stand next to him before taking his hand and placing it on your lower abdomen motioning for him to rub circles. He realized that was all you wanted and he happily obliged.

Hoseok:

You had texted him to let him know you were leaving work early due to your cramps. You just couldn’t take it any more. When you finally made it home you were greeted with the heavy aroma of pizza. You found the living room filled with all your favorite junk foods, the tv had your favorite movie ready to hit play, your comfiest hoodie and fuzzy socks were waiting for you on the couch, and he came walking out from the bedroom holding your favorite heated blanket and the teddy bear that you slept with every night.

Jimin:

You didn’t even have to say anything. He knew you were in pain thanks to how quiet you were. He quietly got up and walked towards the bedroom returning several minutes later. He held out his hand to you and then walked you to the bathroom where he had a hot bath waiting with some of your favorite vanilla scented bubble bath. He’d help you undress and get in the tub then he’d bring you a glass of wine and turn on a relaxing playlist for you. When you were done he’d help you into your comfy pajamas and then into bed so you could try and sleep away the pain.

Taehyung:

He’d be kind of lost. He tried buying you nice things but he knew that wouldn’t take away the pain. He’d rub your belly and bring you aspirin but that only helped momentarily. He even tried Jins famous brownie recipe that Jin swears helps his girlfriend but it didn’t seem to make you any happier. One day you found him laying next to you in bed tearing up. After questioning him he broke down and told you how he felt awful that he couldn’t make you feel better. You reassured him that it wasn’t his fault and you appreciated every little thing he did and sometimes just being next to him was all you needed.

Jungkook:

He would take you on walks around the city to get some exercise. He read that exercise can help ease cramps but he knew you wouldn’t want to set foot inside a gym right now so he thought this was a good way idea. Of course he’d stop and buy you some food from the street vendor you came across and then you’d sit down by the river talking for a while. After you told him that you were really tired he’d walk you back to the apartment and help you get in bed ready to cuddle until you both fell asleep for a much needed nap.

[rebelwrites]

Three: He Was Checking You Out

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till The Wheels Fall Off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

“Auntie Nova,” Elenor shouted over the sound of the shower.

“What’s up princess?” I smiled, poking my head around the shower curtain, making sure my body was covered.

“Poppy, called me your name today,” she whispered with an air of sadness in her voice. She was too young to fully understand Pops’ health concerns, but she knew something was wrong with him, there was no way we could hide that from anyone.

Retreating behind the shower curtain I ran my hands over my face. How the fuck was I meant to explain to her that her Poppy’s memory was getting worse? I took a deep breath before speaking. “Poppy just got confused, baby, he was watching the race and when I was your age, I used to sit on his knee watching with him.”

“Okay,” she hummed, slowly nodding her head as she chewed the inside of her mouth. I could tell by her reaction it was not the response she was seeking but I let out a small sigh of relief when she asked no more questions on the subject. For now, I had dodged a bullet, but I needed to warn Jax that at some point we needed to try to find a way to explain everything to Elenor that wouldn’t scare her. She loved her Poppy to bits and the last thing we wanted to do was cause her to worry.

“Have you thought about what you want to wear tonight?” I asked, quickly changing the subject as I shut the water off. Reaching my arm out of the shower I fumbled until I found the towel.

“My Ferrari hoodie,” she giggled, making me smile. I had definitely taught her well when it came to which team to support.

“Good choice, baby,” I grinned to myself as I wrapped the towel around my body. I was so grateful that we made sure the bar had an apartment upstairs and that we all kept a spare change of clothes here. “Has Uncle Bobby made you anything to eat?”

“He made my favorite.” She beamed as I pulled back the shower curtain, stepping out over the edge of the bath. I didn’t need to ask her what she had, her go to was always chicken nuggets and curly fries. It was honestly quite scary how alike Elenor was to not only Jax but to myself as well, especially since I had no blood relation to either of them.

Once we were both back in the small bedroom I quickly dried myself and got dressed. The outfit I had was simple: a ribbed light gray cropped vest top, black high waisted skinny jeans, my oversized long gray cardigan and finishing the outfit off with my black boots. It was the perfect outfit for relieving Chibs for the rest of the night whilst maintaining that edgy look I preferred whilst working at the bar.

Staring at my reflection I let out a small breath, my whole life I had been battling with the demons. It had been a long road, but I was slowly loving the body I was in but some days the voices grew louder making them hard to ignore. Taking one final glance at my appearance I made sure I was satisfied, I had done my makeup in record time but decided to leave my hair as it was because drying it was more effort than I wanted to spare right now. Feeling Elenor take my hand, I tore my gaze from the mirror smiling down at my niece. “Come on then, trouble.” I hummed. “Let’s go find your Dad.”

The two of us ran down the stairs, quickly reaching the small hallway that ran through the entire building, at the end was the main bar area, on the right side was mine and Jax’s shared office which was off limits to everyone and then the kitchen and storage area were towards the back.

Elenor instantly made her way over to Jax who was sitting with some guys from the MC, whilst I dipped in the kitchen to check on Bobby.

“There's my favorite cook,” I hummed, entering the kitchen. “How’s it been tonight?” I asked, leaning against the stainless steel countertop, picking at the batch of curly fries that had just come out of the oven.

“Not too bad, it’s been pretty steady, to be honest,” Bobby nodded, “it’s nice that it’s just the usuals. Lord help me when the summer tourists finally hit. Might have to drag a prospect or two in to help.”

“Whatever you need, you know you’ve got it. All you need to do is say the words,” I smiled, as he passed me a bowl of chicken nuggets, cocking my brow at him he just smirked.

“You won’t eat otherwise, and picking at the fries doesn’t count either,” he said, giving me a knowing look. Leaning over I pressed a kiss against his cheek before pushing myself off the counter to go relieve Chibs from behind the bar.

As I entered the main room, chicken nuggets in hand, I took a moment to scan the area; it was still pretty early in the evening so the place was somewhat quiet, however I knew things would change once the lads finished work piling in the bar. But it was something I loved, this bar was the heart of the town.

As soon as I was behind the counter I abandoned my chicken nuggets on the side before placing a clean mug under the spout of the coffee machine, pressing the green button on the front of the appliance to make Pops a fresh brew. He rarely drank alcohol now, so we always made sure we had a good stock of fresh coffee grounds and soft drinks, not only for him but for Elenor, too.

Looking up from the machine, my heart melted as I watched Jax with his daughter. Elenor brought out a completely different side to him. When he was with her he became softer, watched his language and didn’t drink too much. Initially it was weird seeing Jax completely change, but it always made me smile. She definitely made him a better man.

My mind was spinning with what Elenor had revealed to me upstairs, my worries were getting worse when it came to Pops’ health. Now he was calling Elenor by my name. I had a strong feeling things were only going to get worse. I needed to speak to him; I needed to understand what was going on with him right now even if he wasn’t going to make any sense. Looking over to the booth that Pops was sitting in I saw a bright smile on his face, one I hadn’t seen for a couple of days, it always warmed my heart. But the main thing I noticed was he wasn’t sitting alone, there were two people sitting with him, both with their backs to the bar.

Taking a deep breath, I left them to it not wanting to disrupt the conversation that was causing Pops to be this ecstatic.

“He looks happy,” Chibs whispered, placing his hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah, he does. So anything I should know?” I asked, changing the subject, glancing at Chibs over my shoulder.

“Nope, you are all good to take over, lass,” Chibs winked, leaning against the bar, pulling the beer bottle to his lips. He was hiding something from me, the smirk on his face gave that away, in fact I knew when all the club members were keeping things from me, one of the numerous benefits of being brought up around the MC. Raising my brow at him, he just shook his head quickly changing the conversation. “Tig isn’t joining us tonight, so it's gonna be a quiet one.”

“Tiggy isn’t gracing us with his presence, has hell frozen over?” I chuckled, as I finished the coffee. “I swear he props the bar up most nights.”

“I think one of his kids is in town for a couple of days,” Chibs shrugged.

“Which one?”

“The crazy one.”

“Again which one?” I chuckled, cocking my brow at my favorite Scotsman.

When it came to Tig and his girls we all knew it was best not to interfere, letting him do what he needed to do because the last time one of us got involved it got messy.

It didn’t take long for the coffee to be ready but before I had a chance to take it over to Pops, Chibs had already picked the mug up from the counter. “Oh and lass, you never know who might be in the bar tonight,” he smirked, throwing me a wink as he exited the bar making his way through the room to join Pops and whoever was sharing the booth with him.

Shaking off his words I quickly found myself busy tending the bar along with serving food, even though Tig wasn’t gracing us with his presence tonight the place still had a buzz about it. Scanning the room I was greeted with the familiar faces of people I grew up with, most nights it was filled with members of the MC. This was practically our home, if you couldn’t find one of the guys around town, you knew they would be here.

More of the locals joined us when we hosted themed nights, quiz and karaoke evenings were definitely the most popular. I loved it when this place was packed, the sounds of everyone talking, laughing and having a good time with their friends and family.

It also made the hours pass quickly.

However, no matter what I did I couldn’t shake the feeling of worry, I needed to speak to Jax about Pops. We needed to sit down and work out what we were going to tell Elenor but we needed to figure it out sooner rather than later.

Eventually things quietened down, the mad rush of everyone finishing work had passed, giving me a chance to catch my breath, looking over to where Pops was sitting, noticing that his guests had left. Quickly I grabbed the two mugs of fresh coffee before making my way over the booth, sliding into the cherry red leather, automatically resting my head on his shoulder.

“How was your evening?” I asked, letting the familiar smell of coffee and aftershave wash over me.

“Pretty amazing, my sweet Nova,” Pops beamed. Pulling away from him I looked up noticing how wide his smile was, he had that sparkle back in his eyes. “I spent the whole evening talking to Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly.”

I had just taken a large sip of coffee as he spoke, his words caught me off guard causing me to choke on the caffeinated liquid.

The realization finally hit me like a ton of bricks, he had completely lost his mind.

Taking a deep breath, I tried to ignore the feeling of my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I knew there was no way he had spent the evening talking to two drivers that he had spent two hours watching on the TV.

“Of course you did Pops,” I mumbled, trying to mask my worry with a strangled laugh. “Let me go find Jax, he is your ride home tonight.”

Pushing myself to my feet I scurried back behind the bar, bouncing on the balls of my feet whilst I waited for Jax to finish conversation with Chibs. I found myself holding back tears as I tried to calm myself down. I was normally pretty good at holding it together and not showing any emotion to the outside world but right now I was failing.

Suddenly Jax was now standing in front of me, wrapping his arms around me providing a sense of comfort. Yes, me and Jax fought like biological siblings but when it came down to it I knew I could count on him when I felt weak and needed someone to be strong for me for once.

“Where’s your head at Squirt?” Jax hummed, guiding me from behind the bar and out onto the patio terrace.

“Can you take Pops home please?” I sniffled, pulling away from him, leaning against the wall. Automatically I ran my hands over my face before speaking again, Jax extended his hand holding out a smoke which I gratefully took. “I’m worried, Pops is getting worse. Tonight he told me he spent the evening talking to Leclerc and Gasly.”

“As in Charles Leclerc and Pierre Gasly?” Jax mocked, cocking his brow at me. There was something about the look on his face, I couldn't quite place. Normally I was pretty good at reading my brother but right now I was struggling.

“Yuup,” I hummed, popping the ‘p’, ignoring his playful tone. Right now wasn’t the time for him to be joking. “My head is spinning right now, he is getting worse. I don’t know if I have time to focus on Pops, the bar, and the cafe. I feel like I am drowning. I think we need to look at getting outside help.”

The moment the words left my lips I felt the bile rise in my throat. I hated myself for even saying them. Teller’s never quit on family, but saying those words made me feel like I was giving up on him, when in reality I was just struggling to keep my head above water. The look on Jax’s face changed, this look was something I knew all too well, it was a look that told me he felt guilty.

“Nova,” Jax breathed, draping his arm around my shoulder, pressing a kiss against my temple. “You deserve a break more than any of us. I know the last couple of weeks, hell even the past year with the custody hearings, I haven’t been around much and I am so fucking sorry,” his voice was quiet as he spoke. “I will take Pops home, don’t worry about anything else but the bar tonight. Tomorrow we will sit down and work out what we need to do to help him.”

Taking a deep breath, I silently nodded at Jax. “I just hope tomorrow is a better day,” I whispered.

“It will be, Squirt,” Jax hummed, “think positive. We are in this together, till the wheels fall off, remember.”

Hours had passed, the work was steady which I was grateful for however I desperately needed sleep. Over the last month I had been opening up the cafe followed by a closing shift at the bar. Both businesses were short staffed due to people taking vacation time and illness, meaning I had to spread myself thin to make sure both establishments kept bringing in income for the club. I could have asked for help getting some of the prospects in to take some of the pressure off but the truth was I didn’t trust them. They hadn’t been patched yet and a lot of them still had to prove their loyalty to the club.

The moment I had put the lock on the main doors of the bar I let out a huge sigh of relief that was until I looked around the bar seeing the glasses scattered across the tables. The prospects that had been chosen to help around the bar really hadn’t pulled their weight this evening, confirming my decision not to ask for any help. I was definitely going to be having words with Jax about it.

Glancing at the time I groaned knowing that by the time I had finished the clean up it would be well past 2am, so once I had gotten to bed I would only end up having a couple of hours sleep before I had to be up to get the cafe ready for opening.

It made me wonder if it was even worth going to sleep tonight.

“Nova, go home,” Bobby said, appearing from the direction of the kitchen. He already had the large black plastic tub that we used for collecting the glasses tucked under his arms. “I’ve got this, you go get yourself in bed, sweetheart. The last thing we need is you collapsing from exhaustion.”

“You sure?” I asked, trying to hide the yarn that escaped from my lips.

“Absolutely,” he said, flashing me a soft smile.

Right now I was so grateful, I hated abandoning ship but I knew I could never win this fight with Bobby. He was someone that once he had set his mind on something you couldn’t do anything about it.

It didn’t take me long to round my things up, not when it comprised my phone, smokes, car keys and lighter. Slipping everything into my pockets I strolled over to Bobby giving him a hug.

As I was making my way out of the bar Bobby started speaking again. “I’m proud of you sweetheart, you acted better than we all expected tonight.”

“What are you on about?” I laughed, cocking my eyebrow at him in confusion.

“We were graced with the presence of your favorite Formula One driver tonight,” he said with a large smirk firmly planted on his face.

Great first Pops and now Bobby, was everyone losing their mind in this town?

I had two options: play along with it or call him out on him going crazy. After weighing up my options I decided to go along with this crazy story.

“I know right! I can’t believe they chose our small town, let alone our bar,” I squealed over dramatically whilst rolling my eyes. “Maybe they will come back tomorrow, we will fall madly in love before running off into the sunset together!”

“Kiddo with how the boy was checking you out, it wouldn’t surprise me if he became a regular,” Bobby replied, with a large smirk on his face.

“You’ve been reading Elenor too many stories, old man,” I scoffed, once again rolling my eyes at him. There was no way on this earth that two talented formula one drivers were in the bar let alone checking me out. “Maybe I need to send you with Pops to the memory clinic.”

“Sweetheart, he definitely was, I swear Jax was moments away from ripping his throat out with the way Leclerc was running his eyes over your body,” he chuckled, a large smirk gracing his face as he continued to collect glasses.

“Goodnight, you crazy old man, I will text you the details of Pops’ next appointment,” I hollered over my shoulder, making my way to the back exit.

For what felt like the millionth time this evening my mind was spinning.

Was it fuck with Nova day or something?

Clambering in the driver's seat of my old truck I rested my forehead against the steering wheel, I desperately needed sleep. I knew I would be fine in the morning and this would just be a bad dream.

The drive home went by in a blur, a small smile appeared on my face as I noticed Jax had left the porch light on for me. No matter how many times he did this it always warmed my heart.

All I wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep, but there was something playing on my mind. I needed to know if Pops and Bobby were telling the truth because if they were I had made a complete fool of myself from the moment me and Jax got back from dirt biking. I just prayed that if he was in the bar, he wasn’t there when I was reciting Crofty’s commentary from Monza. Because if he was then I could never show my face in the bar again.

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[fleetingcalypso]

Greetings, oh beautifully talented Calypso.

Today I come forward to ask you a quite peculiar request for a fic, if you'd be comfortable writing about it.

If you'd like to humor me, I am definitely a sucker for Francis Abernathy, therefore I present to you a prompt for him, that takes place in the timeline after the end of college.

Since I tremendously like the way you portray the characters psychological traits, I believe you could write a masterpiece out of this.

Could you write about a reunion between Francis and the reader, who has received Francis' goodbye letter and rushed to his side, after they went no contact for years.

Maybe they were occasional lovers while in college, but Francis kept the reader as a side piece for when Charles didn't want him? All while the reader had genuine feelings for him and stayed by his side even though they knew it was extremely toxic?

How would this reunion end? Would it be with or without comfort? If it's okay for you to write this, I'll leave this decision up to you. Thank you for listening and have a good day!

≋ Quite heartbreaking, being used as a replacement for an impossible love.

≋ Francis Abernathy x AMAB!Reader ≋

≋ Word Count: 2259 words.

≋ TW: Mentions of sh, mentions of s*icide, depressive themes, mentions of d*ath, probable manipulation and toxic relationship, one-sided love, lavender marriage.

≋ CW: Angst with no happy ending. Hurt/No Comfort. Reader is AMAB, but it can be read as GN!Reader.

“Mon amant,”

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to. Black ink on white paper laughs in my face and  mocks me, the swirls in his penmanship whirl me into an hallucinogenic land I hadn’t stepped foot in for what felt like ages. The last time I spoke to him was at a funeral in St. Louis, a wretched day, where he promised me, with his gaze fixed on a black casket, that he’d never drift too far from me. After that, I’d only meet him in my dreams, during those nights where I thought my time had come.

Just eight letters perfectly placed, that was all it took for dried flowers to be bathed in holy water and blossom into divine red roses. For years and years I had tried to contact him, but in vain; my efforts in hearing his voice again, feeling his skin, catching a glimpse of his eyes only succeeded in my heart shrivelling up into something unrecognisable, chewed, consumed by worms and larvae. Each letter I sent found its way back to my doorstep, each call was left unanswered, Richard was my only way of knowing Francis was even alive at all.

Casting my feelings aside for just a moment, me and my soul feel no shame in drinking up each and every word on the page, it’s like eating cherries. One word leaves me hungry for the other, a famine coming to an end; after so long with only my memories keeping his memory alive it is difficult to contain my craving for any scrap of him I can get my cursed hands on.

His letter reads like an obituary although written in haste. 

“Mon amant,

I will not bother you with worthless, dishonest chatter of the likes of ‘How are you, my friend? We haven’t talked in a while!’ because this is most likely the first and last time I will speak to you in more time than I want to admit.

Seeing Henry being lowered into the ground, with none of our friends present, cleared a lot of fog into my mind, honestly I think this was a long time coming. Don’t feel sorry for me. You of all people, I wholeheartedly feel, should be somewhat relieved.

As I’m writing this, I realise - or perhaps I knew it all along - that I have been anything but kind to you, in our youth. I do ask, beg even, that you forgive me for my sins.

Forgive me for the kisses we shared, forgive me for those gasps I breathed against your neck, forgive me for having moulded you into the silhouette of what I was looking for in a lover, without ever actually dipping more than my finger in your waters.

Forgive me for all the promises I didn’t even try to keep.

There are many things we did together that I can still remember: when my eyes are closed and I'm tip-toeing on the fine line between sleep and wakefulness, my mind brings me back to whispers in the dark, to my back being pressed against the wall and to your hand in mine.

I won’t reminisce any longer. It leaves an all too saccharine aftertaste in my mouth.

If it matters any, you are the one thing I can’t bring myself to regret.

If after I fall into eternal sleep I happen to run into Henry, I will not hesitate in speaking my mind and asking him why the hell he was so selfish as to leave us all behind and not cause a bloodbath in that hotel room. 

Again, please don’t feel too anguished over this. It was only a matter of time.

Yours, if only for a fleeting moment in time,

Francis”

I read it, again and again, until it is burned into my retinas. I could repeat it out loud like a litany, like a religious chant forwards and backwards, in my sleep even. I most likely did repeat it in my sleep, as while I was on a plane rushing to his side in Logan, I remember being gently stirred awake by a young girl who thought I was trapped in what she called a nightmare. I assured her I was alright, but my words would soon reveal themselves to be false.

It was indeed a night terror that I was going through, only I wasn’t asleep and this was the cruel reality that fate had written in the cards for me. And terror inhabited my heart when my eyes finally met his once again.

Who was this man? Where had my Francis gone? Had I gotten the wrong room? Of course I hadn’t, he was reserved a private one, his personal nurse guided me to it.

We stared at each other and not a single muscle was moved, not until he was the one to break the spell that had enchanted us into cold statues. He sighed and turned away. I felt it like a slap in my face, still I rushed to the chair next to his bed, almost tripping over my own feet.

“Francis.” I breathe, tasting his name on my tongue, invisible maraschino cherries grazing my taste buds turning sour when my vision focuses on the bandages around his wrists. It’s unreal. The first time I can breathe in the air he exhales after an everlasting apnea, and it’s because he attempted to take his own life.

I want to scream. I want to break something. Hell, I’d strike him, if he wasn’t injured. What right does he have to take away what I hold closest to my chest? I could have lived, knowing he was alive, living his best - or worst- life somewhere in a far away meander of the world. I could have lived without his presence next to me. I could have endured it for a million lifetime, not knowing if my gaze would catch a glimpse of his red curls ever again. 

What I could not live with, was knowing he was not on this Earth anymore. That my affection was being dispersed into the wind, melting into the roots of trees with no way of reaching its recipient.

Silence reigned, I had left my house in a hurry, not even bothering to wash my dishes, fold my laundry or clean the coffee that spilled on my kitchen table when I read the name inked on the back of the letter delivered to me. It dawns on me tragically. I was so eager to finally be able to count the freckles on his cheeks again, that not for one second had I prepared what to say in his presence.

Surprisingly -or maybe not- he is the one to speak first, his words send an ice dagger through me, “How are you? We haven’t talked in a while.” He says not looking at me, just like he did during Henry’s funeral. History repeats itself.

These are the first words I receive from the one man I gifted my best moments to, this time at the very least I can hear his voice as he mocks me with what he quotes as worthless, dishonest chatter.

“Francis.” There’s a masked harshness to my tone that grabs him by the jaw and forces him to look my way once again. “You tried to kill yourself.”

“Wow, I left you as sharp as an arrow and I find you as dull as an unsharpened knife.” It sounds more like a tease than an insult, the slight rising of his eyebrow confirms my doubt. 

Why the hell would you do that? I want to say, why the hell would you promise me to stick by my side and then disappear like a phantom? Why in the world would you eradicate your existence from my life? But the words never come, because they’re not the ones I should say right now and with the way his hollowed eyes gaze into mine, it’s obvious he understands my struggle in not blowing up.

“I’ve been selfish,” He admits, trying to sit up straighter, my hands fists the material of my trousers to hold back from helping him, “I did not expect to see you ever again. That day, when we said goodbye to Henry…” For a blink of an eye he’s back in time, standing at my side, three rows behind our friend’s weeping mother, “Some inconsiderate part of me truly wanted to be with you, I was looking at the future and there wasn’t much I could count as permanent. Not even life itself. But you… You were always there for me.”

“I was.” I’m not ashamed to admit it. Those times where Charles wanted nothing to do with Francis, I was, without fail, the one he seeked comfort in. My body did not hesitate when it was pulled in bathroom stalls, in bedrooms or in a secluded corner of the library back at Hampden. Maybe he liked having me as his paramour because of my gentle touch and the way I’d carefully set his glasses to the side before kissing him, maybe being on the receiving hand of love and care made him feel more alive than his hair being pulled and teeth digging into his neck.

“I was scared.” Unlike me, he is ashamed. “I was scared if I kept you in my life, I would forever be reminded of what we did.” 

“What we did?” I echo him and he nods solemnly. It’s when his teeth begin torturing his bottom lip, that I almost let myself be pulled back in the past. I almost feel like Orpheus and Eurydice together as one, one single look behind me and I will be forever lost in what could have been. His tongue peaks out to alleviate the damage his teeth are guilty of and it is done.

Invisible spirits wrap themselves around my limbs and guide my hand on top of his, I restrained myself as much as humanly possible. His letter sits in the chest pocket of my jacket, it weighs heavy, though it is not the reason my body leans towards him.

Mesmerised by the way his curls bounce when his head shakes it takes a while for me to realise he’s slipped his hand away from mine to reach for a cigarette on his nightstand, jealousy possesses me when such a small object fits perfectly between his lips, nonetheless I light it up for him. The nearby ashtray is already a residence to a dead cigarette, though it looks like it was put out as soon as it was lit.

After breathing out a cloud of smoke Francis decides it’s time to throw my world off its axis, “I’m getting married. I have to, or I can kiss my grandfather’s money goodbye.” If jealousy possessed me earlier, for a simple cigarette, now a pit sits in my stomach, my head tilts in confusion because it’s all I can do while my throat goes dry. “To an impossibly stupid girl, of all people.” He adds, and it doesn’t take long until he shoves in my hands a photo of someone I don’t recognize.

“She’s pretty.”

“Richard said the same. You just missed him, he left a moment before you arrived.” For some reason it irks me that Richard was here before me. He’d always been everywhere and nowhere at once yet somehow still in the way. Too often Francis had confessed to me how interesting it would be if he could have a chance with Richard.

The more I stared at the smiling woman in the picture the more daggers piercing me. While he may not ever truly love her like a man loves a woman, perhaps she could give him a good life. Something he clearly did not want with me. I’m quick to brush that thought away, the same way I set the photo back onto the nightstand. “Nonetheless congra-”

“I had found someone else.” He interrupts and at this point maybe it would have been better if I had just stayed at home, if I had forgotten Francis Abernathy existed and if I had tried to wash his taste out of my mouth with soap. Each and every word he says is a bullet aimed to kill, he probably doesn’t even realise or if he does then the years have made him much more cruel than I could have ever imagined. “His name is Kim, he’s a lawyer, he went to Harward, he was good. But no, instead I have to marry a stupid girl, whose presence sucks the fun out of every room she steps foot into.” 

“I’m sorry.” What else is there to say? “I’m really sorry, Francis.”

“I’m sorry too.” 

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“No, no you shouldn’t have.”

I wonder if I could offer him to run away together. I wonder if he’d agree to let me be his saviour. I wonder if he opened up to Richard in one day more than he ever did with me. I wonder if he’s going to notice that I stole one of his cigarettes. I wonder how much time I’ve spent sitting in silence on a bench a couple streets away from Brigham and Women’s Hospital. I wonder how much time has passed since I last smoked a cigarette. I wonder why it doesn’t hurt as much as I imagined when the letter he wrote me burns at my feet. I wonder when the next flight back home is.

[soursagas]

Frost*ೃ༄

draft from july 28th 2022.  posted now.  mdk what the purpose of this was but here we go.

box boy - He/Him, Cesar - He/They

Content: BBU, pet whump, near hypothermia(?), freezing

Cesar froze.

Waiting at their doorstep was a decently sized box, drenched in rainwater. There might even be some ice on the top.

What did I order?

They would’ve stayed in their thoughts, staring at the box, but it was practically starting to hail now. They rushed to unlock the front door and hastily shoved the box indoors.

He threw his wet coat to the side and frantically began opening the box. Cesar let out a gasp at the sight beneath them.

A shivering-soaked little box boy.

He seemed to be trying to position himself a certain way, but could hardly move. Whether it was because of the tight box, or freezing cold, probably both Cesar thought. His mind kept spewing more questions, but he forced them aside, right now his focus was on the little box boy.

“Uh...I’m going to pick you up now?”

The only response was an increase in shallow breaths. Cesar attempted to wrap his arms rather awkwardly around the boy, then moved his arms in several different ways for a few rather embarrassing moments. He settled for a bridal carry, muttering apologies as he tried to make the boy comfortable in his arms.

He considered running a hot bath, but decided against it as the temperature change would likely be too sudden. They set him down against a fluffy couch, then dashed to the bathroom to grab every clean towel they could find. Cesar didn’t know whether to feel relieved or more worried when he found the box boy hadn’t moved at all. They knelt down near his face, several towels at his side.

“So I need to take off your clothes, they’re drenched….I’ll give you some of my clothes but we need to dry you and warm you up.”

This time, the shivering form glanced up at him before quickly averting his gaze. “Do you need help taking off your shirt?” Cesar figured he would, but better to at least ask first, right?

The person shuffled himself into a more upright position—or as much as he could, anyway. His movements were slow with his shivering. His lips moved, trying for words, but settling with a few nods.

Cesar carefully took his shirt off and wrapped their fluffiest towel around him.

He seemed to become more anxious, eyes darting around the room in frantic glances. After a moment, the shivering calmed a bit.

By the time Cesar had finished changing him, the shivering had ceased entirely.

The box boy still seemed very anxious, but more exhausted than anything. Cesar left and returned with a blanket, which he draped over the person.

For a few moments, Cesar didn’t know what to do next. Should I just let him rest? Should I introduce myself?

Cesar snapped out of his thoughts at the sound of a whimper.

He knelt down realizing the sound had come from the person, who I changed and then left on the couch while hovering over him.

“Hey..this is probably really scary and confusing…but you should rest now. It’s alright you’re out of the awful weather.”

They didn’t know whether the person was understanding them or not, but worth a try.

“I’m gonna try drying your hair with the towel,…Uh..lemme know if I hurt you by accident?”

With that, they held the towel spread out in their hand and gently moved it to the top of his head. As gently as they could, he split the hair into different sections and rubbed the towel up and down.

At first, the box boy remained with his frightened expression, trying to keep an eye on Cesar. He gradually became calmer and looked exhausted. After a while, his eyelids became heavily lidded.

His exhaustion overtook his fear, and he fell asleep with Cesar’s hand in his hair.

[whumpsmith-participates]

Medwhump May 2024

Day 25 - High fever

Kinda a prequel to Day 11 - Passing out and also Day 13 - "You've been very sick"

TW: minor whumpee (17), illness, fahrenheit, tobacco

@medwhumpmay

Erick was prone to infections. Between frequent injuries, less than ideal living circumstances, not quite adequate diet, and constant stress, it was nearly a miracle that he wasn't sick all the time. It didn't help either that he had the tendency to ignore any early symptoms, powering through so he wouldn't disappoint Fetch, or anger him. He didn't like to be called lazy or ungrateful, because he wasn't, so he avoided being seen as such.

Until his body forced him to stop.

Beep!

Fetch looked at the display on the thermometer, frowning a bit.

"A hundred and three," he said, "how long have you been feeling sore?"

"I think...since yesterday?" Erick said, pulling on his shirt a bit as the sweat was making it stick to his chest.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"It wasn't this bad yesterday," Erick said with a shrug, "I just need a nap..."

"Not so fast," Fetch said, "I want you to drink some water first and take an Advil. Then I'll go out to get you some ice to cool you down."

"Hrm...I'm sorry," Erick said.

"It's okay, I had nothing better to do anyway," Fetch said, "just get into bed, I'll sleep on the couch tonight."

Erick stumbled towards the bedroom while Fetch headed into the kitchen to get a glass of water. He found some b-brand ibuprofen in the drawer and took out a pill before heading towards the bedroom, where Erick was adjusting the pillow in an attempt to get comfortable. He helped the teen take a couple of sips to wash down the pill, before telling him to call if he started feeling worse while he was out.

Luckily it was a short trip to the store, and Erick slept through Fetch's absence. He quietly entered the apartment, putting some of the ice he just bought in a bowl and stuffing the rest in the freezer. He added some water to the ice and let it sit for a bit before finding a clean washcloth in the pile of unfolded laundry that sat on top of the machine.

He carried the bowl into the bedroom, setting it on the nightstand and dunking the cloth into the water, making sure it was nice and cold before squeezing most of the water out before laying the washcloth over Erick's forehead and eyes.

"Oh my god..." he groaned quietly, "thank you."

"You know the drill," Fetch said, "try to flip it or wet it again whenever you wake up."

"Mhm..." Erick just said, seeming to drift off already again.

Fetch just shook his head a bit and headed out, finding something to do to keep him busy, though he still checked on the teen frequent enough, making sure he drank water, or refreshing the wash cloth with a new layer of ice water.

After a couple of hours he checked if his temperature had gone down yet, only to find it had climbed to 104. He sighed, getting up and heading into the bathroom to begin filling up the bathtub. Once he was satisfied with the temperature, he plugged the drain and headed back into the bedroom to wake Erick.

"Hey, come on, sit up. I know you're tired, but we need to get your temperature down, okay?"

"Ow..." Erick groaned while Fetch pulled him into a sitting position.

He tried to lay back down while rubbing his eyes, but Fetch stopped him, grabbing a hold of his jaw to make him look at him.

"Where does it hurt?" he asked.

Erick pulled his head from Fetch's grip, rubbing his eyes again, before pulling his hands through his hair.

"I dunno," he said, "everywhere? My head..."

"It's just fever aches," Fetch said, secretly relieved, "come on, a bath will do you good. Do you need help getting in?"

"No," Erick quickly said, "no, just give me a minute..."

Fetch just nodded, but waited to make sure whether the teen would need a hand at all or not. He managed to make it to the bathroom okay, and then closed the door in his face.

"Don't lock it," Fetch said, "shout if you need me."

"I'm fine," Erick insisted, turning the tap off before the bath would overflow.

He waited until Fetch's footsteps had moved away from the bathroom door, before getting undressed and climbing into the tub. The water wasn't as warm as he'd liked, but the cooling effect was kind of nice too. The fog in his head cleared a bit, and the aches settled a bit as well, allowing him to relax.

When the water got too cold, he got out, draining the tub and finding Fetch had left some clean clothes on the edge of the sink. He dried himself off with a towel before getting dressed, already feeling a lot better. When he left the bathroom Fetch made him sit down and drink some more water, as well as eat some toast, and take his temperature again.

"Did I pick up another flu on the last job?" Erick asked, holding still when Fetch jabbed the thermometer in his ear.

"Something or other," Fetch said, "if it's viral we just gotta wait it out. If you don't improve it can be bacterial instead."

"Hrm..."

Beep!

"Back to a hundred and three," Fetch said, "hopefully it doesn't shoot up again."

"Can I...go lie back down?" Erick asked.

"Finish your water first," Fetch said.

Erick nodded, slowly sipping his water until he'd emptied the glass before going back to bed, leaving behind a half-eaten piece of toast.

Unfortunately his fever spiked again during the night, this time accompanied by delirious babbling, keeping Fetch plenty busy as he had to stop the teen from getting up when he was in no state to move around.

Luckily his temperature dropped a bit again after Fetch finally got him to go back to sleep, but they weren't out of the woods yet. He continued to fluctuate the rest of the day between a high fever and a concerningly high fever. And after another restless night, Fetch was beginning to suspect it might not be a viral infection after all.

He contacted one of his associates to try and get his hands on some broad-spectrum antibiotics, hoping they would be enough. At the end of the morning, he finally heard back, getting a location and a price. With a sigh, Fetch got ready to leave, checking on Erick a last time.

"Kid, wake up," he said, taking the damp washcloth off of his forehead and dunking it in the icewater.

Erick groaned a bit in reply, keeping his eyes closed. Fetch sighed, taking the wash cloth and dabbing a bit around his throat and on his chest before laying it back on his forehead.

"Did you hear me?" he asked.

Erick blinked his eyes open, looking over at Fetch, but not really looking at him. Fetch sighed. He couldn't blame him in his current state.

"I'm going to get you some medicine," Fetch said, trying to keep things simple, "try to remember to drink water. I'll grab you a couple of bottles so you don't have to get up for them, okay? You can just stay in bed."

Erick didn't reply. Fetch just sighed and patted his knee before going back to the kitchen and pulling a six pack of plastic water bottles from the fridge. He placed them on the nightstand in the bedroom, taking the plastic wrapping off so Erick could get to them easier in his state. When he headed out, he stopped by the door and turned back to the teen. He was still peering at him, but there didn't seem to be much thought behind his eyes at all.

"I'll be back before dinner," Fetch said, before heading out.

He wasn't. His contact made him wait, then he changed the location, and then he bitched about not getting paid enough. Fetch had to set he record straight, but the whole ordeal caused him to arrive home much later than he had planned.

He was already cranky about all the effort he had to take, he was hungry because he hadn't had dinner yet, and he really hoped Erick's condition wouldn't have worsened, or he'd have more cleaning up to do. With a sigh, he lit himself a cigarette before unlocking the front door and heading inside.

He could tell right away that something was off. The bedroom door was open, and he could see Erick lying in the doorway. Fetch cursed under his breath, throwing his cigarette on the stairs before rushing inside to check on the teen.

He seemed to have passed out, not responding to Fetch shaking him. His breathing was shallow, and he felt hotter than he had before. Fetch cursed as he dragged him back to bed, checking his temperature. It was over 105 again. He did get antibiotics, but he got the oral kind, and if the teen wasn't conscious, he couldn't take them.

"Fuck," Fetch said, pacing the room a moment before making a decision.

With a grunt, he hoisted the teen over his shoulder and carried him out of the room and outside towards his van. He propped him up in the passenger's seat, covering him with his jacket to keep him warm before putting on his seat belt. Whilst he walked around to the driver's side, he pulled out his phone and looked up a number, pressing his phone to his ear while putting on his own seat belt and starting the engine.

"Hey, is this the emergency room? ... Great. I'm bringing in a young man, late teens, spiking a high fever and unresponsive, I'm turning onto the road now, I can be there in twenty or thirty minutes."

He didn't give them any more details. He could think of a cover story on the road. They could worry about police poking around after Erick had been tested and treated.

I really didn't think I'd serialise any of these, yet here I am

Masterlist Main account

Taglist for the dynamic duo: @lavndvrr

[atopearth]

Scandal in the Spotlight Part 1 - Kyohei Rikudoh Route (up to S3 Give Me Forever)

I really like Scandal in the Spotlight!! I've only played like two stories though hahaha. I'm hoping the sequel stories are just as good so I'm excited~ Lmaoo when Kota called that creep a pig in a wig😂 Anyway, Kyohei is the first guy (which is usually the most popular one) but I've actually never played his story before! It's pretty funny because his looks are definitely my type! Lol when she accidentally sees him half-naked and she stares at him for so long, he's like why don't you take a picture😂😂 HAHAHAH OMG the heroine got a nosebleed😂😂😂 Now he thinks she's a pervert, that is hilarious but so embarrassing!!🤣 Honestly, I understand their desperation and stuff of needing a new lyricist after Ryo left, but I do remember thinking the guys are usually quite harsh with the heroine when it comes to writing lyrics. I mean, yeah they don't have a lot of time blah blah, but still.. Kyohei is an ass with how much he forces the heroine to write and says he'll destroy her screenwriting career if she runs away. Like yeah, he's probably doing it for "her sake" because she's giving up too easily, but really, his attitude and way of expressing it is veryyy unpleasant. I appreciate him for showing her how much people like the lyrics she wrote (that Ryo took) but yeah.

Wow, I knew Kyohei was harsh on himself and resolved to be at the top for some reason, but I didn't think he felt guilty for causing his father's death when he was only 27 because his father saved him from drowning and basically died in his place. It's something his father wouldn't regret, but I can see why it would hurt Kyohei. His father was so loved by his fans and everyone around the world, so if he's not as big as him, it would feel like his father "wasted" his life saving him, when really, Kyohei being alive and happy would be enough for any parent who loves their child. I'm glad that Kyohei showed such care for the heroine and tried to relieve a bit of the pressure he gave her before by telling her that Revance's success or failure isn't her problem nor is it solely dependent on her. It's silly of the heroine to be so focused on thinking about the lyrics that she ended up fainting in the bath, but the good thing is that at least Kyohei can see how seriously she is taking it. I love how when Shinya found out her real role in Revance and asked her to write songs for him, and she looked at Kyohei, and Kyohei told the heroine to not look at him because this is her life and she should decide for herself. Yeah, honestly his attitude isn't the best, but he's straightforward and honest, and I like that about him. He tells her how much he wants and needs her to be their songwriter and he doesn't hide how he told her more about his dad because he doesn't want her to leave and I admire how honest he is about trying to get her to stay with his own methods.

Honestly, Shinya liking the heroine is so random, but I guess he likes her more because she's interested in Kyohei more than for himself, since he seems obsessed with Kyohei lol. Considering how much experience Kyohei has and everything, I'm sure it's easier for him to deal with Shinya than it is to find a new song, so I definitely think the heroine is silly for giving up her lyrics in exchange for Shinya to keep her secret of being a ghostwriter etc, like lady, he's just going to keep doing this! Shinya is such a...weird guy lol. So creepy but just randomly redeems himself at the end? Naaah I don't think so lol, he's been such an ass. So I guess the romantic ending where the guys save Kyohei from making a scene is much better haha. Personally, I think the dramatic ending was better because it put more emphasis on the song, and I love how Kyohei showcased at the concert his ballad which was a reply to her love song. I just thought it was really sweet. But they do get some sexy time in the romantic ending so I guess you don't want to miss that out😂 Overall, I wasn't too impressed with Kyohei's main story since it definitely felt more like he was using her most of the time than he was in love with her, she was just like a bonus lol. Hopefully the sequels are better! I'm glad we got to see Kyohei's PoV because alot of the time I wasn't too sure how I felt about their relationship, and it felt like he cared but also didn't, so it was nice to see clarification that all along, he really did notice the heroine and care for her haha.

Honestly, even though it was frustrating that the heroine couldn't communicate with Kyohei properly even when he knew something was up and asked her directly about it, I couldn't help but feel for her. She is dating a celebrity that so many people love and want, it's hard for her to not feel like she's "nothing" compared to him and feel lost about whether she can handle seeing him with other women in commercials etc. I'm so glad Kyohei acknowledged her feelings and reassured her that they're valid, that he loves her, that he thinks she's amazing (which she is considering how great her lyrics are lol) and that if he's amazing, then the woman who made him fall for her must be even more amazing haha. I'm so happy that Kyohei got through to her how much he loves and cherishes her. Omg Kyohei getting into the bathtub with the heroine, hugging her from behind and kissing her is so hot, I love it. I agree with Ryo that he really did something unforgivable as a songwriter, which was to steal the heroine's lyrics, but you can tell how desperate and broken he must be if he was driven to do that. It doesn't make it better, but seeing how sad, how jealous he is of the heroine's talent and how he doesn't know how to get out of his slump is just heartbreaking imo.

It was sweet to see how confidently Kyohei answered that even if Ryo comes back, the heroine would still be their lyricist and that her songs are different from Ryo's and that her songs are just as important to Revance as Ryo's are. LMAO when the guys started playing the characters in the heroine's script. Legit died because of how corny the lines were but it was so funny seeing the guys act it out haha! On another note, it was really nice to see how strict Kyohei was in giving his opinion on the heroine's screenplay. He's harsh but direct and honest. Omg Kyohei enacting a wake up call for a show was so hot, I can see why the audience went crazy haha! So cool for the heroine that her script will be used for a play, that's definitely a great achievement! It honestly broke my heart when Kyohei said they should stop seeing each other, my first thought literally was, I don't want to break up! What is he saying! I know and recognise that it's difficult if he plans to expand into the international market while the heroine wants to stay here and focus on screenplays rather than lyrics but still! I am actually so glad Kyohei changed his mind and went back to apologise to the heroine and win her back. I loved how he used the audition to tell her that he wants them both to chase and achieve their dreams together and that he can't do it without her anymore. I think I especially loved the talk on the radio show when he said "even if it took longer to reach the end, I'd want to go with the person I love". Considering how long and how much Kyohei wants to achieve this dream of his, knowing that the heroine is important enough that he feels like delaying it to achieve it alongside her makes me happy. I really enjoyed the Sequel His PoV, I think it's always great to see how the Revance guys support each other, but it was also nice to see Kyohei struggle with his "selfishness" and his desires against what's best for the heroine.

Did the story ever mention Kyohei having a sister because I'm shocked!! I didn't realise he had a mother either hahaha! Anyway, I love how he helped the heroine get acknowledgment for her hard work as a writer on stage after the play, that was very sweet. Surprisingly, Kyohei's teenage years are much more interesting than I thought! Like it's basically what I expected minus the fact I didn't realise he had a sister and mother haha but it's really nice to see how everything fell into place as he gathered up the courage and ambition to live up to his father and surpass him. At least they get along haha, it's nice that the heroine has been accepted too. It's also nice to see that the group once upon a time had another guy that ended up leaving for his respective reasons and then meet him again. I'm quite happy for the heroine that she's getting to pursue her dreams as a writer and focusing on that, just not sure about the new guys lol. It's sweet to see Kyohei supporting her and encouraging her by checking in on her. I loved it when the heroine and Kyohei didn't meet for a week and she was so happy to see him, and he was like why is she just staring longingly when she can leap into his arms like she wants hahahha. Honestly, with how exhausted she must be churning out stories for Fumito to read, she definitely should because I would definitely want to haha! Kyohei's encouragement is honestly the best, it makes me feel touched and motivated too. He's right, our goals aren't something flimsy, just because we haven't been acknowledged yet doesn't mean we're no good! Ritsuto really is the type of guy to be really nice once he acknowledges or likes someone lol. I like his straightforward attitude towards Revance's first LA performance and I enjoyed the heroine giving her honest opinion about them not being able to capture the audience here, which is very understandable imo. They're nervous, it's their first gig, they're not used to the country and they haven't grasped the feel of the audience here even if they've done their research, and honestly, Japan and LA is very different vibes.

It was understandable for Kyohei to feel jealous of Ritsuto in terms of being close to the heroine and as an established celebrity in this country. Especially considering how nice he is to the heroine and how much he helps her when that's what Kyohei used to do for her, but the best thing is that Kyohei didn't hide how bummed he was about it and actually told her. Ritsuto was definitely too much when he did what he did, that was really terrible considering they're not exactly on bad terms and he's trying to steal the heroine from Kyohei when he's down. Anyway, I loved how the answer they both reached was to stay true to themselves when it comes to their work and their life. I think it would have been better if we had a better grasp that the heroine was writing stories that's not her style as well but it's okay, the story focused on Revance and their struggles in adapting to a different country. It was nice to see Kyohei realise that regardless of what country it is, the people watch their performances wherever they are in the world so they'll love who they are and not what they expect them to be. Overall, I wasn't sure how to think of it when I first started but I actually really loved S2 with the heroine and Kyohei separated but in the same country working hard towards their individual goals with their individual struggles. Even though their work was different and they had different aims, they both found it difficult to adapt in a different country catering to the people around them rather than being true to themselves and what they love and want to show to people. Of course, not everyone gets to be like our main characters and get to stay true themselves and still be loved, but at least for this story we can relish in that, and that makes me happy for them. Seeing things from Kyohei's perspective really displays well how dejected he was all this time. Not only was he hit with rejection after rejection but with a lacking fanbase and no clear direction on how he wants the band to be, coupled with Ritsuto being amazing and popular, it's hard to stay cheerful and positive. I'm so glad Kyohei took the heroine out to Las Vegas and spent some quality time together whilst getting to watch a performance there and be inspired. I really feel like Fumito needs to let the heroine have time to experience things outside instead of just holing up at home writing lol.

Honestly, I find the heroine's decision to go back to Japan kind of weird? She has such a great opportunity to learn from Fumito aiming to improve her screenwriting, and he tells her what she needs improvement on and gives her opportunities etc and she wants to go back to Japan when she hasn't really learnt that much at all?? People would be dying for this opportunity! Like I understand that she feels like she's relying on others but when you first start out, having someone experienced look over your work and help you improve it is a dream come true. Like it's probably because Kyohei and them are going to go back so she needs an excuse to go back too but seriouslyyyy. It was so sweet how supportive all the guys were when the heroine was down from all the rejections, and it made me so happy for her that they tell her that at least one of them has to be free to hear her out whether it be happy news or good news, she's so lucky haha! It was so great to have Kyohei properly acknowledge the heroine as Revance's lyricist in their comeback concert, it made me so smile so much! Hearing Kyohei say he wants to write the lyrics for the song himself made me so happy for him, he really wants to surpass his father in everything he could do and do it even better. I like how even when the heroine is imagining Kyohei proposing to her, he's still as arrogant (in a cool way) as ever 🤣 I wonder if Kyohei feels like he's limiting the heroine and doesn't want her to be fixated on being Revance's lyricist when she can do so much more if she's not exclusive, and yeah being a lyricist and scriptwriter for her movie would be great and appealing, but more important than that is what the heroine wants to do. She didn't work so hard all this time to do stuff she doesn't want to do just because it gives her more fame or something, otherwise she could have stayed in LA. I'm kinda glad that she was able to feel things when Shinya played the song for her, it is her work after all and if she wants to do it, she should, otherwise she'll regret it. And I'm glad Kyohei knew that and that's why he wanted to push her, I think it was really cute when he called her Little Miss Rival haha, but I'm happy that the heroine finally truly feels like she's stepping into the world. I find it very silly that Shinya made a move that jeopardised the drama and didn't do anything about it and didn't get reprimanded or anything lol, but I admit that seeing Kyohei do that press conference with her really showed how much he cares for the heroine. I don't know how I ended up on the dramatic love ending lmao but I loved it especially when Kyohei used the heroine's rejected lyrics (that sounded too much like a proposal to Kyohei) to make a song and sing it to her at the concert, it was so touching! It also made me really happy that Kyohei achieved his dream and the heroine's song was a success. I loved Kyo's PoV because it was so wonderful to watch over him, Taka and Ryo band together to create the song that will surpass his father, and to see him play it for his mother to hear, that was really beautiful.

Overall, I am smitten with Kyohei. I actually love him and the heroine so much because it was so beautiful to watch them grow together. They both had dreams of creating hits in the industry whether it be for recognition or to surpass his father and I loved how step by step, they both encouraged each other, supported each other and loved each other despite all the setbacks and issues coming at them trying to break their determination. They wouldn't have been able to do it alone, but you could really see how by having each other, even if they were physically apart, just knowing that they respectively were working hard towards their dreams made them both never want to give up and do their best and I think watching over them do that was so touching and sweet. It also helps that Kyohei is charming, exudes confidence but not arrogant and is very loving. You can really feel how much he cherishes the heroine, how much he needs her just as much she needs him and how they really are equals by the end. I really enjoyed their story and their love and I'm not sure who else can top them!

[whumpshaped]

Forced to use an injured limb either out of fear or necessity? Fear of what will happen if they don't finish a task or a need to do something they're not willing to ask for assistance with?

🐐

tw carewhumper, nonsexual nudity, broken bones

Whumpee tried to gently lower themself into the bathtub, relieved when they finally hit the bottom of it. They were in. They were going to be fine now. Even if their likely cracked ribs were sending jolts of pain through their entire body, even if their broken ankle was a throbbing, agonising mess, they were in the tub, and it was all going to be okay.

Because there was no fucking way they were going to ask for assistance from Whumper. That fucking demon was never going to see them naked, not if they could help it.

They reached for the soap, taking it in their hand gingerly. Scrubbing themself off proved to be a much more difficult task than they anticipated, and they found themself grateful that at least their hands and arms were mostly intact. Some muscle soreness and a couple blisters couldn't even compare, honestly.

They were methodical and careful, shifting their weight slowly whenever they absolutely had to, gritting their teeth whenever the pain became almost unbearable. They could do this. They were doing it, and it was fine, and there was nothing to it.

They tried not to cry when they realised all their baths would be like this for at least the next month.

"Fuck," they hissed when they tried to push themself up, their battered body protesting at every turn. They fell right back into the tub as their arms gave out, making the water splash out onto the tiles and hitting their tailbone quite hard. Whumper was going to make them clean that up, they were sure. "Fuck, come on, come on."

They tried to delude themself into thinking it was a matter of willpower. That white-knuckling their way through it was the only possible solution, and that there was no other way to get out of the damn tub.

On their third try, panting with exhaustion, they had to admit that it just wasn't going to work out in their favour. All their aches were only getting worse, and either they would swallow their pride and call for help, or be stuck in a tub of increasingly cold water until Whumper found them. They didn't want to think about the punishment for that.

They wiped the tears from their eyes and took a deep breath. "Master?"

No response.

"Master!"

"What?" came the muffled question, and Whumpee wanted to backtrack at the tone.

"Can you help me? Please?"

The door opened soon enough, and Whumper looked positively pissed. "Can't you even wash yourself on your own?"

"I can't get out by myself," they admitted quietly. "I'm sorry, it just– it hurts too much... I'm sorry."

As if asking for help was their fucking dream scenario.

Whumper let out a heavy sigh and walked over to the tub. They didn't seem concerned with Whumpee's naked body, at the very least. That made them feel less embarrassed about it.

"I'm gonna get you a pack of fucking wet wipes," they grumbled, and even though Whumpee knew that was reasonable, they couldn't help but grieve the lost hours of bathing, one of their only reprieves in this place.

Whumper helped them get out and dry off, even waiting until they were clothed to help them get back to their room. They pushed them down onto the bed quite roughly, but Whumpee didn't dare complain.

"Thank you, Master," they said instead, softly enough so that it wouldn't anger them more than they already had.

"Remind me not to let you up onto the ladder anymore," they said gruffly, leaving the room and slamming the door behind them.

~

general drabbles taglist: @ashh-ed @whumpsday @whump-queen @the-scrapegoat @hidden-dreamland @rosewriteswhump @dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night

[jawritter]

Carry On

Chapter 7

Summary: It was just a simple hunt, found on a pie festival. It was supposed to be easy. Something they’d all done one hundred and one times a million. No one could have told Y/N, Dean, and Sam that nothing from that point on would ever be the same again.

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader x Sam Winchester

Word Count: 2262

Warnings: Pain, Angst, Nudity (But some pretty big stuff too!)

Due to the graphic nature of this fic, and the fact that it will eventually contain Smut. This fic is an 18 + only fic! If you’re under 18 DO NOT read this fic!

A/N: This fic is beta’d by @kazsrm67​ Thanks so much love! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! I hope you all enjoy this ride with me!

My Mastlist        Series Masterlist

The week had been a challenging one. There was no other way to put it. Sure, there were some good things that had happened. For instance, Dean could now sit himself up in the bed, and was able to relieve himself without a catheter's assistance. That was a big step all by itself. But there was also the fact that every time they tried to stand him up, there was a shooting pain that went all the way from his back, down to his feet. 

The doctor had warned him about the nerve pain he might experience, and that there were several things that they were going to try to do to relieve the pain, but it didn’t make him feel any less helpless;  it didn’t make Y/N feel any better either. 

Both of them knew that this was a hurdle that he might just have to learn to deal with, because both of them knew that some of the damage was permanent. That didn’t change the fact that Y/N hated to see him in pain. 

His appetite was also still a struggle. Depression was a constant battle. Even with the little victories, every day seemed to bring a new challenge. Today’s challenge; was keeping Dean in the bed. Y/N had to stop him from trying to swing his legs over the side to try and stand up on his own. 

Once he’d figured out how to hold his back so that he could move without the pain being so extensive it would literally take his breath away; it was becoming a challenge to keep him still. What it really boiled down to, was the fact that Dean was damn tired of being in this room. 

“Dammit Dean!” Y/N yelled at him as she reentered the room that they had been in for the past few weeks to find Dean standing next to the bed, hunched slightly, and gripping the railing on the bed tight enough to break it. “I was gone less than five minutes! You’re going to hurt yourself!”

Dean gave her a dead panned look that just manifested the word ‘done’ so well that any other situation would have been hysterical. 

“I’m tired of being in this Goddamn bed, and I’m tired of taking a piss in a Goddamn bottle. I’m going to shuffle my way to that bathroom, and when I’m done, I’m going to figure out a way to take a proper shower, because I’m just fucking done.”

Y/N quickly put the snacks down that he had sent her to retrieve from the vending machine, and hurried over to brace him as he tried to shuffle a foot forward and grunted as the pain and effort it took to do so radiated through his still weakened state. 

“Dean, I don’t know if you can get your back wet, even if you could make it to the bathroom,” Y/N tried, but Dean just shook his head and took another shaky shuffle forward; it was only a few inches progress, but it was a lot further than he’d moved so far. 

Dean’s hand left the side of the bed where he was bracing himself and he reached to grab both of her arms, choosing to use her for balance. 

“They get it wet every time they give me a sponge bath,” Dean argued, “I just won’t get it soaked.”

Dean gave a heavy growl as he pushed his right foot forward, making a little further progress and forcing her to walk backward towards the bathroom door. 

Y/N’s heart was racing as Dean shoved his left foot forward to match his right. Sure, he wasn’t ‘walking’, but he was on his feet and moving, and if she wasn’t so afraid he’d fall flat on his ass if she lost concentration, she would have started to cry. 

Dean was a warrior, a warrior that had been knocked down and wounded. He might not have taken off at a run, hell he was barely shuffling his feet across the floor, moving an inch at a time, but he was up again. He had a determination to get up, and there was a fight in him she hadn’t seen since the night he closed the trunk on Baby, for what no one knew at the time would be his final hunt. 

“You’re getting there; Dean just a few more steps” Y/N encouraged breathlessly as he paused; his head lulling slightly onto her shoulder as he fought against the pain and the urge to just give up, a light layer of sweat spotting at his hairline. 

Slowly, ever so slowly the pair of them moved together until Dean’s hand reached out over her shoulder to grab hold of the door frame, finally reaching his destination. 

“Oh my God Dean, you did it!” Y/N said, her voice choked with emotion. 

“Yeah, I guess I did,” Dean answered, disbelief in his own voice as he shuffled forward a few more feet, and turned to sit himself down on the toilet. “Get the shower warming up for me sweetheart.”

Y/N turned to the small shower to her left in the tiny bathroom, and thanked whatever God was listening, that a little seat for patients to sit on was attached to the wall, along with a detachable shower head, apparently this was going to work after all. 

“Do you want me to give you a minute to use the bathroom?” Y/N questioned, and Dean chuckled darkly. 

“You’d be too late for that sweetheart. Sorry, I just ain’t in a standing mood right now.”

She turned to make a snide remark in his direction, but was struck dumb by his piercing green eyes and a smirk that would have murdered the entire female population if he so minded to use it as a weapon; a feeling she hadn’t experienced since before he’d been injured.

“You just gonna stare at me, or are you gonna help me get in there,” Dean asked  with a nod toward the shower, before gripping the sink tightly and standing with a loud groan. 

Y/N shook herself, and pulled the seat down for him to sit on before helping to guide him into the small walk-in shower and sat him down on the seat. 

“I got it honey, just stay here for me in case I need you,” Dean instructed before pulling the shower door closed, and Y/N sat on the seat of the toilet with a huff before she noticed a dumb struck nurse standing in the doorway of the bathroom. 

“Did… did he walk in there?” she questioned; Y/N nodded her head slightly in disbelief of her own. 

“Well, kinda,” she admitted with an amused chuckle, “It was more like an old man shuffle.”

“Fuck you,” Dean retorted from inside the shower, and Y/N snorted a laugh at the nurses shocked face. 

“Oh, wow, well, I uh, I’ll let the doctor know he’s moving around some now! That’s great news! But I will bring a wheelchair to the room to make it easier for you to get him back to the bed and leave it by the door once he’s done, and if I’m not bothering you guys while he’s showering, I’ll go ahead and give him some fresh sheets and pillows.”

“Thanks,” Y/N said, and the nurse closed the door to the bathroom to give them both some privacy. 

Y/N was no idiot. Dean probably shouldn’t have gotten up and did what he was doing, but no one wanted to discourage any progress he was willing to make, so the nurse was using the bedding as an excuse to keep an eye on him. 

“Fuuuck,” Dean groaned loudly. “I think I’m going to stay in here until I’m 90.”

She shook her head and smiled to herself, glad that for the first time in a long time, he was starting to sound a little more like Dean. 

“Don’t hurt yourself,” Y/N warned, and Dean chuckled before shooting back a “yes mom,” in a mocking voice. 

“You know, you keep this up, and you won’t need my help at all pretty soon,” Y/N said, suddenly voicing her silent fears aloud as the smell of body wash filled the small space. 

“That’s not true,” Dean answered back quickly. “Y/N I’m gonna need you around for a long time. So, I shuffled to the shower. I’m still gonna need help drying off when I’m done, and I still need you for almost everything else… That is… unless you're sick of being here with me—”

“NO,” Y/N cut in probably a little too quickly. “No, I just, I just figured you were getting sick of me hovering over you, and would probably prefer Sam over me anyway.”

Dean cut the water off himself before sliding the shower door open, pouting and looking much like an abnormally attractive drowned rat. Y/N snorted; holding back her comment; she stood with the towel in her hand and started to slowly dry him off, careful not to jostle him around and hurt him. 

Suddenly, he reached up and grabbed her arm, stopping her from patting at his shoulders and chest as she worked her way down his body. 

“Hey,” he voiced, drawing her attention back up at his candy apple green eyes. “I hope I didn’t do anything to make you think that, because I really am grateful, you’re here, Y/N/N. I probably wouldn’t be doing as well as I am if you weren’t here with me. I love my brother, but he’s not exactly good at these sorts of things. That’s probably my fault, because I always took care of things like this, he never really has had to take care of me, but I’m so fucking sorry If I have done anything to seem ungrateful, or like I don’t want you here, because that’s not true. My biggest fear is that you will get tired of taking care of a fucking cripple and leave me.”

She helped Dean stand up, and he towered over her as she looked up at him, making sure he was well braced on the shower bar before she finally let him support himself. 

“And I’ve told you, over and over again, you will literally have to run me off Dean, I’m never gonna get tired of taking care of you. Ever.”

The air hung thickly between the pair of them as he reached out with his free hand and brushed the loose hair that had fallen around her face behind her ear. Neither really could look away from the other if they wanted too. It was as if there was an invisible pull between the pair of them. Like magnets. It wasn’t something they could control, they just naturally gravitated to stare at one another. So many unspoken feelings were bubbling in her chest, and she was pretty sure that for a moment, she’d stopped breathing all together, until the knock on the bathroom door made her nearly jump out of her skin. 

“Mr. Clearwater, the doctor is on his way up, he wants to examine you and talk to you. I’ve also got your bedding changed and ready for you!” the nurse called through the door, and Y/N quickly began to work on drying off the rest of Dean’s body before helping him step into a pair of clean boxers, as well as a clean hospital gown. 

“Be right out,” Dean yelled, grumbling incoherently to himself as he turned and looked at his reflection in the small bathroom mirror. 

“Think he wants to chew my ass out for getting out of bed?” Dean questioned, and Y/N shrugged as she opened the door and moved to help him start to shuffle his way back up to the hospital bed that lay in wait for him in the center of the room. 

“You never know, maybe since you’re moving around now he might let you go home,” Y/N offered, and Dean nodded slightly before shifting his feet forward with a wince as he moved. 

“That would be great, if I could actually go home. I don’t want to go to some apartment Y/N, I wanna go home. I wanna be miserable in my own bed with Miracle and you. I don’t want to have to stay here for months.”

Y/N understood. She figured when and if the time came, he wasn’t going to want to stay here, but what she was worried about was whether or not, no matter how stubborn he was, would he be able to travel all the way back to Kansas with a big whole in his back, and cracked ribs. 

“Let’s just see what he has to say, and we will take the rest as it comes, one day at a time remember?” she tried, and Dean just nodded as he gently lowered himself onto the bed to await whatever might be to come from the doctor. 

If Y/N was being honest, she wanted to go back to the bunker with him too. She wanted to get him home where she and Sam could take care of him. She wanted him to be out of the fucking hospital bed, but she was also afraid the more independent he became, that their time together was limited. She wanted nothing more than to get Dean back on his feet, she just didn’t want him to run away once he was able. 

Forever:

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[hargrove-mayfields]

It’s Disabled Billy and Steve Week

Day 2- Family

My prompt: A family reunion with Billy

Quick content warning, there is discussion of child abuse against a baby and abusive head trauma.

-•-•-•-•-

“Watch out, big bump in the sand.” Argyle warns, in his signature slow drawl.

He’s pushing Billy in his wheelchair, across a beach, heading towards a reunion for Argyle's family, the first since the couple had moved back to California.

The Gaspar family isn’t the biggest, just Argyle's mom, her two sisters, and their kids, the oldest of which have a few babies of their own. It’s still a lot bigger than any family affair of Billy’s, but those became obsolete when Billy was still just a couple of months on this earth.

Everything fell apart around then, the family split into bitter chaos and hatred. See, back then Neil had done something that couldn’t be hidden or ignored. He shook Billy.

All it took was a few seconds, but to this day he’s never regained function of the right half of his body. It’s cerebral palsy, hemiplegic. Along with the paralysis he’s got to worry about seizures and a whole list of cognitive problems, memory loss the most prominent.

Billy’s mom is his full time carer. Now that Max and Will are all grown and leading educations of their own, Ima Joyce can stay home with Billy and help him do all the things he either can’t do anymore, or never learned how to.

Argyle is a big help too, always bringing over giant casserole dishes of food for Billy and his adoptive family, or lifting Billy into the bath. It’s sweet, and fills a void that his childhood had left.

Billy wants to repay some of that with the simple things, tasks he can manage- giving cuddles, trying his specialty pizzas, visiting his family. Still makes him nervous, to be faced with his boyfriend's entire family.

Argyle tells him that’s normal, that he’d been terrified the first time he sat around a table with Max, Jane, and his secondary caregiver, Murray, at the same time, but it seems different. Billy’s terrified of not just making a bad impression, he’s worried about something like having a seizure on the beach in front of Argyle's baby cousins.

And, at the moment, he’s scared of being dumped on his face into the sand because of these bumps Argyle is pushing him over.

“Told you the power chair would’ve been better.”

“I tried my best, dude. It died before I even got it to your room. Like, tires locked, beeping sounds kinda dead, man.” Argyle doesn’t even sound defensive, he just laughs about the absolute train wreck that was their morning.

“Just tell me this thing is close..” Billy keeps complaining, only to be reassured right away by Argyle.

“Right around the corner, blue sky. Just follow the smell of tia Evelyn’s carnitas.”

Another thing that Billy really enjoys doing with his boyfriend is exploring his culture. Argyle hadn’t really been too open about his Mexican roots, since when they met Billy was in the midst of a custody battle between Hargroves and Byers. He said it felt wrong to talk about family when Billy hadn’t really found his own yet.

Now that it’s been a few years, and things are a lot better, Argyle likes to share certain dishes and songs passed down by his family that Billy just loves. It’s his favorite part about living in California instead of Hawkins.

In the same way that Mrs Byers taught her boys to speak the language of their Tanakh, and Billy loves to listen, he loves to hear Argyle and his family speaking Spanish, although he can usually only mentally translate a few words or less.

Argyle's mom is the first to spot them now, calling as they make their slow approach to the perfect spot between the trees, where they’re all set up on a few picnic tables pushed close together, “¡Hola cariños! ¡Finalmente lo lograste y mira, trajiste a tu novio!”

Billy catches that she’s relieved they both made it, but that mostly comes from Argyle's next words, where he restates what she says. That’s they’re tactic, to make sure Billy is never left out.

“Yeah, we’re here mami. Me and my boyfriend. And not just that, but we brought my super delicious world famous brownies!” Argyle sounds excited.

His mom, however, does not. She puts her hands on her hips and raises her eyebrow, “¿Las normales, cariño?”

“Uh, Billy these are plain brownies.. right?” Argyle leans forward, looking at the tray of brownies Billy’s been steadying for him in his lap, a look of sudden worry on his face.

Now Billy’s just confused, but he goes along with it, answering, “Yeah? What else would they be?”

“Well…” Argyle looks sheepish, and Billy realizes just what other kinds of brownies Argyle would be making.

Howling with laughter, he exclaims, “Argyle, you did not!”

Bring pot brownies to a family gathering that is. But by the looks of it…

“It was a mistake, my guy! And uh, I ate the whole tray myself ‘fore anybody else could get messed up.” Argyle defends, face flushed a subtle but deep red, but somehow that just makes it worse.

Accidentally mixing up the trays is one thing, but eating all the evidence? Billy is stumped. Shocked. Almost in awe.

“How?”

Starting to regain a little humor about it, Argyle asks, “How what, sunshine?”

“How are you alive?” Billy clarifies, genuinely curious.

And then there’s another blow to every assumption Billy had made about life ever, in the form of Argyle proudly declaring, “Back in the day, I could eat two trays.”

All Billy can do is stare and look horrified, somewhat unsure if Argyle was joking or not. He’s too bad at social cues to distinguish.

But Argyle moves on, turning back to his mom to explain to her and promise that no, this is not a repeat of last time.

“Si, mami. Sin marihuana esta vez. Prometo.”

“Esto es un alivio. Quiero que te comportes lo mejor posible para tu novio hoy.” She seems to be satisfied with that answer, kissing Argyle's cheek and stepping aside so they can enter the imaginary boundary line of the party space.

Billy’s Spanish skills aren’t good enough to pick anything out this time, leaving him to wonder, “What did she say?”

Argyle shrugs, “Just something about making good impressions.”

That’s confusing. Billy’s actually a little worried he’d imagined last year's picnic while in a hospital fever dream or something. He doesn’t sound very confident as he says, “I’ve met your family though.”

Argyle tells the whole truth now, probably sensing Billy is getting stressed, “Right. She meant me though. That whole tray of hashies fucked me up pretty bad. Mama doesn't want me ruining the party in front of you.”

Billy is understanding, but also, he’s kind of surprised. He didn’t expect her to think Argyle was the problem.

After all, he’s not the one in a wheelchair, who can’t even hold a plate of food for himself, or sit through the whole family party without falling asleep. Maybe it’s leftover fear from being shoved around the house in an uncomfortable hospital lent wheelchair and never let out of the house by his biological family, but Billy is sort of used to being the one people don’t like.

For some reason, maybe because he hasn’t felt this way in a long time, Billy doesn’t hold back in expressing that.

“She’s scared about you ruining it. I’m scared about myself ruining it.”

Argyle shifts the dynamic from standing next to Billy, to crouching in front of him, a gesture that Billy only feels comfortable with when it’s someone he’s really close to. It brings them to an intimate space to talk about this problem neither of them really realized was a thing until now,

“Wait, what? You don’t got nothing to worry about, babes.”

Invited to talk about it, Billy spirals, “What if I get sick or somethin in the middle of everything and we have to go home, and everyone’s upset at me, and-“

“Baby. Mi angel. That’s not gonna happen.” Argyle declares passionately and confidently, holding the hand Billy has feeling in, “They love you. They’ll understand.”

Billy wants so badly to believe it, in spite of whatever irrational part of his brain flared up today, “Promise?”

“From the bottom of my heart, dude.” Argyle promises, impossibly romantic and heartfelt.

Feeling better, and ready to socialize in the way Argyle's family does best- food -Billy smiles, “Could you wheel me to the food table?”

“‘Atta boy!” Argyle kisses his hand, and stands back up to push Billy over. On his way, he calls, “Mami! Pass me a plate?”

“¿Qué dices, mijo?” His mother playfully purses her lips and waits for his answer to her demands about his manners.

“Por favor?” Argyle corrects himself.

The smile she wears is unmistakably full of love and joy for her boy, getting him a paper plate and waving him over, “Of course. Come, come.”

By the end of the day, Billy doesn’t even remember why he was worried. He leaves the beach full of love and good food, and with an invitation to the next one. The little cousins all loved him, one even crawling into his lap to play shark watcher with him.

They accepted him. All of him, abled or not. And one day, when he and Argyle decide they’re ready to take things to the next stage, these folks will be his family too, as William Reuben Ocean Byers-Gaspar.

~~~~~

Thanks for reading! It’s time for todays charity highlight!

This time I’ve chosen The Arc.

The Arc is a US based organization specifically designed to advocate for individuals with intellectual disabilities. Their board protects the civil rights of those with IDD and is working to break down the societal barriers that intellectually and developmentally disabled individuals face.

These include areas like criminal justice, healthcare, employment and education, and travel. The Arc works to provide resources directly to disabled folks so they may advocate for themselves, self-identify issues with language easy for them, access care, and feel safe and protected.

Most importantly, they work directly with disabled individuals to set their standards and align their goals with what disabled people actually want and need. This allows disabled members of their board and staff to be heard, not talked over or told what to do or say.

Fighting against inaccessibility and advocating for the legal and social rights of disabled people is something I’m really passionate about. The Arc is one of my favorite organizations and I’d appreciate if anyone would like to check them out.

So, if you’re interested in supporting The Arc, there are several ways. You can donate money, sign up for their news updates, share your story about programs in your life as a person with IDD, or access and utilize the resources on their site!

For more information or a place to donate (not required of course, I just want to give the option), click here for a link to the site.

[slightlyunconventional]

ack this wouldn't post the first five times but (hopefully) i solved the problem

here's some extremely self-indulgent k/az x kink!i/nej ramblings that started as simply an Idea in my notes but turned into whatever this is, enjoy:

kaz inducing himself to indulge kink!inej,,,,, intimacy without the touch type beat omg. she'll either just sit and watch in awe or command him around and force him to hold back and stuff depending on how she feels. she definitely especially loves watching him hold back because she loves his loss of control and his FACE while he does it is just so gorgeously desperate, and she practically bathes in the way his breaths slowly get more rapid and his chest heaves more and more until he takes one final, deep gasp and pitches forward with sneeze after sneeze after sneeze. inej probably also induces Him sometimes and she likes to experiment with different allergens,,, she'll start tame with some flowers since she knows he's allergic to those,, then she'll progress onto further irritants that are sure to leave him sneezing uncontrollably, like blends of particularly potent suli spices, or a strongly scented perfume or air freshener that she'll spray practically everywhere until it's the only thing he can smell.

also thinking about the classic inducing method of Something In There like a q tip or rolled up tissue or feather,,,,, they'd try that one day and probably not expect much result but to both of their surprise (even though it took quite a while to actually tease a sneeze out of him) it's very effective and also ends up producing some very itchy fits littered with those little half-sneezes,,,, this method also allows inej to find kaz's sensitive spot - right on the wall of his left nostril, not too far in, and right as her inducing tool even slightly brushes that spot, his breath hitches rapidly in tiny vocal inhales, too irritated to form a full gasp, she just *knows* she's found the spot. he doesn't sneeze yet, though, he's holding off to at least try and avoid sneezing all over inej's hand,,, so naturally she guides the tool back over to his newly discovered sensitive spot and drags it over the area on the inner wall of his nostril, ever so gently, and his breath stutters again, this time much more desperately, in those tiny staggered gasps.

she leaves the tool where it is, allowing herself to gaze at kaz's face as it gradually slackens against the building irritation. she can tell he's trying his best not to sneeze - either that or the sensation just isn't *quite* enough to push him over the edge,,,, so she gently pulls the tool from his nose, deliberately tracing the inside of his nostril as she removes it. almost instantly he gasps in utter desperation, notes of his voice catching on the intake of breath making it vocal and somewhat akin to a moan. he doesn't even try to hold it off anymore since he just craves the relief of release so he lifts a hand, weak and shaky, and lets it hover an inch or two from his face as his expression truly crumbles and he gives in to his twitching, sensitive nose. he folds in on himself with a fittish burst of itchy sneezes; "hihh'hhishhu! 'ihschh!-hh'ishhsh! 'ihshhuh!-sshhu!-heh'kissh! hhaahh'hiih-?" those tiny, ticklish expulsions are doing nothing to relieve his nose (even though inej stopped inducing him, that sensitive spot in his left nostril still burns with a sharp tickle that makes his eyes well up), so he pushes a gloved knuckle up to his nose in order to hold off the next fit of itchy half-sneezes so as to let his nose gear up for something a little more... full. his head is tipped back, his eyes flutter, and his nostrils flare with deep irritation.

"hh'hihh-haAH-hhaAHDt-!!" three deep, staggered gasps escape him, his chest stutters. his nose is practically twitching against his hand now, just begging for release, nostrils flared to their widest but still straining to flare even more. once kaz's satisfied that his nose won't retaliate with any more of those itchy, kittenish sneezes, he tentatively removes his knuckle from his nose and allows the burning tickle to take over him. the result is instantaneous - he pitches forward with a harsh pair of sneezes, exactly the relief he needs from that dreadful itch settled in his nose. "hhAH'ESCHHh! 'hhk-haAH'EHSCHHhiew!" he slumps back in his chair, winded. inej is staring at him in fascination. she breathes out a quiet laugh. "wow," she says quietly, "bless you." she's never seen him more disheveled - hair fallen out of place, the dark strands hanging over his forehead, eyes watering, nose flushed scarlet - she thinks it's gorgeous. she watches as he closes his eyes, still panting as he recovers from the two vicious sneezes, and shifts slightly in her seat. part of what she feels, she knows, is the raw excitement of seeing someone so put-together lose control so quickly, and in a scenario like this, it's all the better. she wants nothing more than to restart the cycle, teasing his nose once more, maybe even bringing in that perfume she knows he's dreadfully allergic to, just to watch him fall apart again and explode with sneeze after desperate sneeze before her very eyes - and she might do just that.

[savagecowboy]

𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐄𝐒

A rough hand passes over fresh, new leather. It feels wrong. He would never complain about the gift she gave him ( probably to relieve herself of the eyesore of his ravaged old coat ), but the barren landscape of textured black bothers him. There was only one thing for it.

Severen had vacillated frequently about what his little collections should be of— what they should represent— making rules for himself, and breaking them when they served his own purposes. For a time he collected prizes from those he found worthy contenders, it slowly changed to him snatching up items that simply caught his eye; reminded him of his roots, good memories, the like. During the wars he’d been trying to complete a set, but it was hard to get whole pieces while dodging mortars and catching bullets. His old garment had become a tapestry of his life, from his own assemblage of memorabilia, to the doodles and designs of his clan members; all contributing to the vestment and making it a collection of them as a whole. He wasn’t sure what to establish his new jacket with, an affirmation of a life begun anew, and decided to leave the decision to exterior guidance— what was meant for display would come. Or something like that.

Outside on the main strip he could taste the liquor bathing the streets. Ever present music hummed along the cobblestones as the inebriated masses caroused. It was easy to blend in amongst them, even with a look of ostentatious hunger on his face. None were the wiser as to what traveled beside them, giving him all the time he wanted to choose. In the end, convenience took precedent.

A passerby stumbled into an alley, crumpling as he heaved whatever contents he had left inside his stomach to the previously soiled ground. Silently, Severen came up from behind, wanting to avoid the mess as much as possible. Encircling the back of the man’s neck with one hand he digs his fingers in, feeling the muscles tense beneath his grip. His victim now in full restraint, unable to break free and too discombobulated to make sense of how to escape, Severen slams him into the opposite wall; a delightfully sickening crunch as the man’s facial bones meet brick. The bewildered drunk vainly tries to move his arms up to defend himself, but there is no point in the act, with one hand still tightened around the skull, the other tears back the shirt collar, exposing the valley where neck met shoulder. Severen stretches his mouth wide and bites down— hard—teeth slipping in with ease. As he clenches his jaws they sink into the soft flesh up to his gums. Pulling back with a jerk, blood bursts into his mouth in hot flows. He guzzles it, excess pooling around his face as he drains his victim with abandon.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, Severen is only vaguely aware of the sound, too busy gorging, eager to have his fill and unlikely to stop till sated.

“Sir, do you need help? Hey! Let go of him!” The demands keep coming, the sound becoming distracting. An irritation begins to build, no less so because he can already feel the man becoming loose in his grip, nearly dry and his hunger still calls.

“I mean It! Step back and put your arms up!” Severen hears the order and decides to comply. Looping his arms under the dead man’s arms he lets him fall away from the wall as he takes one large step backward. In a slow, smooth fashion he lifts the man’s limp arms up to the sky.

“I surrender” he says with a gruesome grin, breaking out into a whooping laugh. The cop stares in confusion, in horror, unable to properly assess the situation, it certainly hadn’t been the reply he had expected.

“Release him and step away, hands where I can see them!” Severen accepts these orders as well, releasing the hold he has on the corpse and allowing him to collapse into a heap at his feet. He raises grime stained hands, palms showing outward to the officer, and wiggles his fingers.

“See ‘em? I hope so, I’ll have ‘em round your throat real soon”. He is eager to play, the feast just begun, and nothing quite satisfied like a meal that fought back.

“Is that a threat?” The officer angrily questions, doing his best to be intimidating. He lifts his gun from its place at his hip, up in front of his chest; level at Severen, the safety clicking off.

“Oh no sir, I guarantee it”. The bottom of the creature’s pale face and neck is coated in fresh blood, drooling from his mouth and staining the white shirt beneath his leather coat. He takes a step forward and an errant beam of light from the street ahead catches him and displays the terrifying visage to the cop. He pulls back the hammer on his pistol.

“Drop to your knees immediately or I will shoot!” Severen doesn’t see any identifiers signifying the man excels in marksmanship, nor will it matter in the end, but he does see one thing that intrigues him. Moving at a rate faster than the man can properly track— or one would assume by the three shots that whizz by Severen— he draws up close and wraps his fingers over each of the man’s wrists. Clenching tight, the trapped cop lets out a choked sound, the bones collapsing under the pressure of the Savage One’s grip. His tendons give out, the gun falling from his frozen hands. Severen shoves his shoulder into the man’s chest, using the force to lift him off his feet and bodily throw him to the ground over himself. The impact pushes all the air out of the officer’s lungs. He lays gasping, stunned, unsure of how everything escalated to this degree; and so quickly.

“Please” he whispers, forcing the words out, begging, “please”. Severen turns, walking over to stand astride the man, crouching down over him. His victim flinches, cowering, wincing as he reflexively moves his broken wrists to ward off the beast.

“I like this” Severen tells him, flicking his nail against the man’s police badge. “That’s real nice”. The officer doesn’t know what to say, scanning his surroundings for some form of escape, for a weapon to defend himself, for salvation of any kind. He comes up short.

“I want you to give it to me”, cruel bloody lips parting to show a crescent grin in the gloom.

“What?”

“Give me, your badge”. He doesn’t like having to repeat himself, the smile falls and he leans into the man’s face. The officer cowers, hoping he has found the answer to his prayer.

“Ya, ya, you can have it”.

“Pin it on me” Severen tells him, breath cold, the metallic smell pungent, nauseating. The cop gags, whimpers, and looks over at his badge, lifting his trembling, crippled hands up to Severen’s looming face, inches from his own.

“I-I can’t, m-my hands”

Severen growls, he grabs one of the fluttering things and curls his own sturdy digits around it, the man squeals in pain. He forces the fingers of the hand open and over the badge, then curls them around the object. The cop kicks and screams, writhing beneath him like a stubborn calf. In one quick motion Severen yanks the badge from the officer’s uniform shirt, it tears, the man shrieks, the badge clasped in his palm by force.

“Not so bad was it?” There are only whimpers in response. “I’m thinkin’, about here…” he makes the man hold it over the right side of his chest. “Ya, I think that looks real nice”, Severen says complimenting his decision. He brings the back of the badge to his face, unfastens the bar with his teeth and pulls the scrap of cloth off. Hovering it imprecisely in place he plunges the pointed bar through the leather and into his own chest.

“What d’ ya think buddy?” The answered moans are agonized. “I think so too”.

Severen closes the distance and bites deep into the front of the man’s neck, tearing out his throat with a toss of his head. He listens to the man drown in what he doesn’t gulp up fast enough, the sound of the crowd behind him a distant rumble. No others come to interrupt.

His carnage complete, the brutal creature wipes his dirtied hands off on the dead man’s uniform; using those same fingers to wipe up what he has missed and licking up what he can. Severen rises, observing his slaughter with disinterest now that the event is over. He yanks the pin out of his own skin and reattaches it properly in place. Staring down at the badge he gives a chuckle, then turns on heel, back out into the night.

He strolls back into the bar chipper and blood soaked, making a beeline for Lira so he can show off his prize. “Lookie here” he says laying an arm over her shoulders, leaning in so the badge can shine in the light. “Your man up and joined the force”, he laughs loudly, fingers smudging red over bronze. “I’m really startin’a like this city”.

[leogichidaa]

Any examples of Reg and Sirius’s partner just having a moan about Sirius. I apparently also live for brother in law Reg content. 😊♥️

😊 Family Reg is best Reg

Air Your Grievances

Regulus had been immensely relieved the first time he saw Ruth without a smile on her face. It was a full eight months after he had been properly introduced to her, and he was starting to get worried that perhaps she wasn’t even human. Wouldn’t that figure? Sirius went off and married and impregnated a non-human entity who didn’t feel human emotions. Of course he didn’t find it eerie and off-putting himself, seeing as he barely felt human emotions either.

That afternoon, Regulus had been permitted to take Bath to the park for a few hours so Ruth could take a nap while Sirius was at work pretending to be productive. Bath had certainly not inherited her mother’s inhibition towards expressing dismay--she wailed at the top of her lungs with the slightest provocation. When he returned, he found Ruth on the living room floor with a glass of wine and red, puffy eyes.

“Oh,” Ruth said dully, looking up at him as he walked in. “I didn’t sleep.”

“I see. Do you want me to put her down?”

“Please,” Ruth murmured.

“Come on, Bath,” Regulus said, walking her to the nursery. “I hope you do a better job napping than your mum.”

Bath cooed softly and giggled as he put her in her crib. Ruth, who was raised primarily by the muggle side of her family and, as a result, had a number of peculiar reservations about magic, objected to the use of magical intervention to help Bath sleep. Regulus happened to know that Sirius had no such compunctions, however, and in this instance it seemed in Ruth's best interest. He dropped a tiny droplet of sleeping potion on her tongue and her eyes fluttered shut.

“Don’t tell your mum on me,” Regulus whispered to her, leaning down to kiss her on the forehead. He walked back into the living room and took a seat on the sofa. He picked up the wine bottle on the table and examined it. “What are we drinking?”

Ruth buried her head in her knees and groaned. “Please try not to judge me too harshly, Regulus. It has been an exhausting week.”

“No judgement from me,”  Regulus said, choosing not to mention that it was only Monday. He summoned a wine glass and poured himself a drink. “I adore Bath, of course, but I cannot imagine how stressful it must be to care for her all day every day.”

“It’s not even her,” Ruth confessed. “It's just that I was only counting on caring for one infant.”

Regulus snorted in a very undignified way as he took a sip of wine.

“I’m so sorry,” Ruth said, shaking her head and attempting to regain composure. “I’m being awful. He’s your brother, I shouldn’t--”

“Don’t be absurd, Ruth,” Regulus said, wiping his mouth and grinning at her. “No one knows better than I what a toddler Sirius can be.”

Ruth shot him a grateful look and said, “He will literally pout when I ask him to cancel on James to help with the chores. He’ll do it, he’ll stay and help out, but he pouts. A grown man, a father, sulking because he can’t go on his playdate! It is ridiculous!”

“You know, during the war I called for him when I was hexed to oblivion and near dead, and he grumbled at me the whole time that he had been out at the pub with Potter and I had interrupted them. He brought Potter with him, too.”

“Oh Lord,” Ruth groaned. “Of course he did. That’s awful.” She sighed and took a healthy sip of wine. “It’s infuriating because I can’t even be properly mad at him. I almost wish he was enough of an arsehole to ditch me for James so I wouldn't feel silly for complaining.”

“I think you have every right to complain, Ruth,” Regulus said, fixing her with an earnest stare. “I think you really ought to complain more, actually. You are bearing the burden of raising Sirius far too graciously. It cannot be good for you. You have to let it out; air your grievances, so they no longer have power over you.”

A soft smile played at Ruth’s lip. “Very wise of you, Regulus.”

Regulus shrugged. “Well, that’s what my therapist told me.”

“I wouldn’t have expected you to go to therapy,” Ruth said, raising her eyebrows.

“Tsk, Sirius has poisoned your mind against me. I am actually very open-minded.” Ruth raised her eyebrows further. Regulus sighed. “Fine. I only went twice and it was absolutely dreadful. I rather think the therapist was glad when I didn’t show up after that.”

“Why did you go back a second time?”

“Sirius bet me 20 galleons I wouldn’t make it through more than one session. So I had to, of course.”

Ruth laughed. “Of course.”

“I feel we have gotten a bit off track here. You were telling me what a nuisance Sirius is?”

Ruth grinned her signature grin as she launched into another complaint, but it didn’t unsettle Regulus this time. Instead, he felt a strange warmth in his chest and a sense of familial belonging that he had not felt in a long time. It was probably an effect of the wine.

“--and I know that he sneaks sleeping potion to Bathsheba when I’m not around,” Ruth added indignantly. “Doesn’t even respect me enough to have a conversation about it.”

Regulus shook his head. “Unbelievable. What a prick.”

[stankycowboy]

005   ...   trophies 😈

A rough hand passes over fresh, new leather. It feels wrong. He would never complain about the gift she gave him (probably to relieve herself of the eyesore of his ravaged old coat), but the barren landscape of textured black bothers him. There was only one thing for it.

Severen had vacillated frequently about what his little collections should be of— what they should represent— making rules for himself, and breaking them when they served his own purposes. For a time he collected prizes from those he found worthy contenders, it slowly changed to him snatching up items that simply caught his eye; reminded him of his roots, good memories, the like. During the wars he’d been trying to complete a set, but it was hard to get whole pieces while dodging mortars and catching bullets. His old garment had become a tapestry of his life, from his own assemblage of memorabilia, to the doodles and designs of his clan members; all contributing to the vestment and making it a collection of them as a whole. He wasn’t sure what to establish his new jacket with, an affirmation of a life begun anew, and decided to leave the decision to exterior guidance— what was meant for display would come. Or something like that.

Outside on the main strip he could taste the liquor bathing the streets. Ever present music hummed along the cobblestones as the inebriated masses caroused. It was easy to blend in amongst them, even with a look of ostentatious hunger on his face. None were the wiser as to what traveled beside them, giving him all the time he wanted to choose. In the end, convenience took precedent.

A passerby stumbled into an alley, crumpling as he heaved whatever contents he had left inside his stomach to the previously soiled ground. Silently, Severen came up from behind, wanting to avoid the mess as much as possible. Encircling the back of the man’s neck with one hand he digs his fingers in, feeling the muscles tense beneath his grip. His victim now in full restraint, unable to break free and too discombobulated to make sense of how to escape, Severen slams him into the opposite wall; a delightfully sickening crunch as the man’s facial bones meet brick. The bewildered drunk vainly tries to move his arms up to defend himself, but there is no point in the act, with one hand still tightened around the skull, the other tears back the shirt collar, exposing the valley where neck met shoulder. Severen stretches his mouth wide and bites down— hard—teeth slipping in with ease. As he clenches his jaws they sink into the soft flesh up to his gums. Pulling back with a jerk, blood bursts into his mouth in hot flows. He guzzles it, excess pooling around his face as he drains his victim with abandon.

“Hey!” Someone shouts, Severen is only vaguely aware of the sound, too busy gorging, eager to have his fill and unlikely to stop till sated.

“Sir, do you need help? Hey! Let go of him!” The demands keep coming, the sound becoming distracting. An irritation begins to build, no less so because he can already feel the man becoming loose in his grip, nearly dry and his hunger still calls. 

“I mean It! Step back and put your arms up!” Severen hears the order and decides to comply. Looping his arms under the dead man’s arms he lets him fall away from the wall as he takes one large step backward. In a slow, smooth fashion he lifts the man’s limp arms up to the sky.

“I surrender” he says with a gruesome grin, breaking out into a whooping laugh. The cop stares in confusion, in horror, unable to properly assess the situation, it certainly hadn’t been the reply he had expected.

“Release him and step away, hands where I can see them!” Severen accepts these orders as well, releasing the hold he has on the corpse and allowing him to collapse into a heap at his feet. He raises grime stained hands, palms showing outward to the officer, and wiggles his fingers.

“See ‘em? I hope so, I’ll have ‘em round your throat real soon”. He is eager to play, the feast just begun, and nothing quite satisfied like a meal that fought back. 

“Is that a threat?” The officer angrily questions, doing his best to be intimidating. He lifts his gun from its place at his hip, up in front of his chest; level at Severen, the safety clicking off.

“Oh no sir, I guarantee it”. The bottom of the creature’s pale face and neck is coated in fresh blood, drooling from his mouth and staining the white shirt beneath his leather coat. He takes a step forward and an errant beam of light from the street ahead catches him and displays the terrifying visage to the cop. He pulls back the hammer on his pistol.

“Drop to your knees immediately or I will shoot!” Severen doesn’t see any identifiers signifying the man excels in marksmanship, nor will it matter in the end, but he does see one thing that intrigues him. Moving at a rate faster than the man can properly track— or one would assume by the three shots that whizz by Severen— he draws up close and wraps his fingers over each of the man’s wrists. Clenching tight, the trapped cop lets out a choked sound, the bones collapsing under the pressure of the Savage One’s grip. His tendons give out, the gun falling from his frozen hands. Severen shoves his shoulder into the man’s chest, using the force to lift him off his feet and bodily throw him to the ground over himself. The impact pushes all the air out of the officer’s lungs. He lays gasping, stunned, unsure of how everything escalated to this degree; and so quickly.

“Please” he whispers, forcing the words out, begging, “please”. Severen turns, walking over to stand astride the man, crouching down over him. His victim flinches, cowering, wincing as he reflexively moves his broken wrists to ward off the beast.

“I like this” Severen tells him, flicking his nail against the man’s police badge.  “That’s real nice”. The officer doesn’t know what to say, scanning his surroundings for some form of escape, for a weapon to defend himself, for salvation of any kind. He comes up short.

“I want you to give it to me”, cruel bloody lips parting to show a crescent grin in the gloom.

“What?”

“Give me, your badge”. He doesn’t like having to repeat himself, the smile falls and he leans into the man’s face. The officer cowers, hoping he has found the answer to his prayer.

“Ya, ya, you can have it”.

“Pin it on me” Severen tells him, breath cold, the metallic smell pungent, nauseating. The cop gags, whimpers, and looks over at his badge, lifting his trembling, crippled hands up to Severen’s looming face, inches from his own.

“I-I can’t, m-my hands”

Severen growls, he grabs one of the fluttering things and curls his own sturdy digits around it, the man squeals in pain. He forces the fingers of the hand open and over the badge, then curls them around the object. The cop kicks and screams, writhing beneath him like a stubborn calf. In one quick motion Severen yanks the badge from the officer’s uniform shirt, it tears, the man shrieks, the badge clasped in his palm by force.

“Not so bad was it?” There are only whimpers in response. “I’m thinkin’, about here…” he makes the man hold it over the right side of his chest. “Ya, I think that looks real nice”, Severen says complimenting his decision. He brings the back of the badge to his face, unfastens the bar with his teeth and pulls the scrap of cloth off. Hovering it imprecisely in place he plunges the pointed bar through the leather and into his own chest.

“What d’ ya think buddy?” The answered moans are agonized. “I think so too”.

Severen closes the distance and bites deep into the front of the man’s neck, tearing out his throat with a toss of his head. He listens to the man drown in what he doesn’t gulp up fast enough, the sound of the crowd behind him a distant rumble. No others come to interrupt.

His carnage complete, the brutal creature wipes his dirtied hands off on the dead man’s uniform; using those same fingers to wipe up what he has missed and licking up what he can. Severen rises, observing his slaughter with disinterest now that the event is over. He yanks the pin out of his own skin and reattaches it properly in place. Staring down at the badge he gives a chuckle, then turns on heel, back out into the night.

He strolls back into the bar chipper and blood soaked, making a beeline for Lira so he can show off his prize. “Lookie here” he says laying an arm over her shoulders, leaning in so the badge can shine in the light. “Your man up and joined the force”, he laughs loudly, fingers smudging red over bronze. “I’m really startin’a like this city”.

[alycosworld]

Tainted

Scaramouche X Reader

WARNING: mentions of (nearly) sexual assault

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A/N: I seem to have more angst/comfort ideas for genshin but I'm not sure why...also, I'm on holiday in a foreign country! I have no work and I'll probably spend all my nights on Tumblr after exploring the city in the day, so please please please send in some requests! I'm bored and although they might take some time, they might help me get back into writing more regularly. I'm pretty sure this is gender neutral but if I made a mistake, feel free to tell me. This has NOT been checked for any errors (I'll get around to it at some point).

I'm not sure if Scaramouche is ooc, since he doesn't say anything that nice in the game or in any official works, but I definitely think he has the capacity for it. And I like soft Scar <3.

If at any point you feel uncomfortable, PLEASE DO NOT READ ON. I felt a little icky after writing the assault bit so do not force yourself to read any further or read at all. I do not want to make anyone reading this unhappy. Any victims of sexual assault or harassment, I hope you heal

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Keep walking. Just keep walking. Get home as fast as possible.

Avoid dark spots, avoid all people, avoid secluded areas. Just get home now.

That's what you told yourself after it happened. Archons, you didn't even know how you should feel. Ashamed? Angry? Disgusted? Upset? Confused? Afraid? The amalgamation of these emotions just made everything worse. You felt sick to your stomach. You wanted to cry and scream and vomit and disappear all at the same time.

You felt like you were covered in grime and you don't even know how you managed to get away. You should've done something, anything! But in the moment, you couldn't.

Your day had started normally. You went to the Adventurer's Guild in Inazuma, doing your commissions and taking up a few extra quests to help people out. Even though you were walking home later than normal, you didn't think much of it. Until somehow, you lost your way. In the dark, things became a little more vague and confusing, so you ended up taking a left and ending up in a dark alleyway between two dimly lit buildings.

You walked through, lost in your own thoughts, until you heard some chuckling and some incoherent remarks made by someone exiting one of the buildings out a back door and into the alleyway.

Glancing up, you saw that the person was a man - quite tall and well built with flushed cheeks: he was clearly not sober. You paid him no mind, staring at the ground as you continue to walk, determined to get home to see your boyfriend, Scaramouche. Though he wasn't one to worry, knowing that you could handle yourself, you did want to see him as soon as possible.

"Well, what do we have here?" The man asked, and you looked up at him again, tilting your head in confusion but staying silent.

"What's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone?" He asked, a suspicious smirk on his face.

"I'm going home." You said firmly, not wanting to give him any ideas.

"Oh? A handsome young thing like you, going home all by themselves? Let me walk you, I promise I don't bite." He continued, clearly not getting the hint.

"I'm alright, but thank you for the off--"

"Stop being such a fucking tease! Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it." He pinned you against the wall despite your attempt to politely refuse any moves he tried to make. He caught your arms above your head and harshly shoved one of his legs between yours.

"Don't like to me, hon, you know you want this." He whispered huskily. You had fought countless hilichurls, abyss mages and monsters far more intimidating and dangerous than that man that day, but you couldn't seem to move. All you could manage was a fearful 'please, don't do this'. Struggling was futile, for some reason you couldn't escape his grasp. You had fought beasts ten times this man's size but violating you like this? It made you break.

He gripped you harshly and even managed to kiss your neck a couple times, making the tears stream down your face uncontrollably, until he heard some voices. You recognised them immediately: members of the Adventurer's Guild. He must be known it too because he stopped as soon as he heard, offering you a sickening grin and scuttling away before you could react.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

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You didn't get any help from the Adventurer's Guild members who you heard, instead opting to rush home as soon as possible, trying to figure out what to do next.

The only solution in your mind was to crawl into your lover's arms and tell him what had happened. You didn't want anyone else to know - you know you could trust Scaramouche and you knew he would help you.

But he didn't.

You got home and wiped your tears before entering the house, hoping to look somewhat presentable despite having experienced such an impactful event. You dropped your belongings carelessly, not flinging at the loud sound they made as they hit the floor. You immediately made your way to the guest room Scaramouche had turned into an office of sorts, for him to work on Fatui business. The bedroom door was open and empty and he was nowhere to be found on the first floor, so that was the only other place he could've been. You were relieved to see him sitting at the desk, deep in thought with some maps and other sheets of paper laid out in front of him.

"Scar, I--"

"Not now, (Y/N), I'm busy." He said hot even bothering to look up at your frazzled and shattered state.

"I know but, please, Scar. While I was--"

"If you know that I'm busy, why enter in the first place? I'm working. Leave me alone." He said harshly. You didn't say anything, instead opting to nod silently and close the door. Since this was the first time you had experienced this pain and discomfort from being touched and defiled in such a way, you decided that maybe you should put it aside. After all, maybe it was something so jarring. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe Scaramouche's nonchalance was justified. In a twisted way, you blamed yourself for overreacting and decided to just forget about the incident. If it didn't mean enough for Scaramouche to even look at you, it clearly wasn't something worth fretting over. You were just exaggerating, right?

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You tried you absolute hardest not to let the incident bother you, but you unknowingly started changing your habits to prevent what had occurred from happening to you again.

"Wearing an outfit like that, you're begging for it..."

You started wearing less revealing clothing, going as far as wearing gloves at some point and covering your neck with collars and scarves through the hot weather.

"We'll finish this some other time, sweetheart. I promise."

Initially, you just avoided dark or secluded places, even when you were with other people, but eventually, you were too scared to leave home at all. You didn't leave the confines of your small garden and if someone passed by, you would quickly hide yourself away. When Scaramouche had unknown guests and colleagues over, you would hide in your bedroom and make him promise not to mention you or acknowledge your existence in the slightest.

You even started taking longer showers and refused to bathe with Scaramouche, confusing him since you used to enjoy it so much. But you wouldn't let him see you in such a vulnerable state now that you were contaminated. You didn't want him to know that you had been tarnished in such a vulgar way, and you spent long moments scrubbing at the parts the stranger had touched. You were worried that Scaramouche would blame you for being assaulted - because in a sick way you thought it was your fault, despite having been nothing wrong. You had twisted the story in your mind to make it seem like you were responsible for the crime committed against you.

Eventually, Childe had to visit for business purposes, but you had become good friends with the eleventh Fatui Harbinger since he was friends with-- well, he and Scaramouche had a relationship, to say the least.

"So where's (Y/N)? Normally they're all over you and making you as embarrassed at possible." Childs grinned, and Scaramouche just frowned and narrowed his eyes.

"They're in our room. They don't really want to see anyone right now." Scaramouche said. Even though you told him not to mention you anymore, since you were so hellbent on avoiding all human interaction, he thought it would be okay to tell Childe. He was your friend too, after all.

"Is something wrong? What happened?" Childe asked, concern in his eyes.

"I don't know. They've been avoiding everyone, including me. They barely talk to me and insist on sleeping downstairs." Scaramouche confessed.

"Let me talk to them."

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Childe exited your room after hearing what to had to say, and he was disturbed and sympathetic, at the very least. Scaramouche saw his wide-eyed, grim expression when he exited the room and immediately had questions.

"What?" Scaramouche asked.

"I'll come back tomorrow to continue our work." Childs said, referring to the business he originally came for.

"But we have to--"

"Scar?" Scaramouche stopped all his trains of thought and turned to the sound of your voice. It was hoarse but still as beautiful as ever. He knew you had been crying from your puffy eyes and tear-stained cheeks.

"I think you have other matters to take care of." Childe winked, before giving Scaramouche an informal two-fingered salute and showing himself out.

As soon as the door closed, Scaramouche turned his attention to you, not coming too close in case you didn't want to be near him.

"Yes, Love?" He asked, more concerned than you had ever seen him.

"Can I talk to you? If you're busy, that's okay, it's not that impor--"

"I'm not busy." He shook his head, and you offered him a sad and grateful smile before sitting on the edge of the bed while he took a seat on a nearby chair.

"So, uhm, a couple of days ago I was walking home and I kind of got lost...so I tried taking this alleyway and--" You stopped yourself, meeting Scaramouche's attentive gaze before continuing.

"There was a guy. And he-- he t-touched me. I-- I didn't know what to do. I could've easily fought back but I just got scared and froze up because that's never happened to me before and he kept saying that I wanted him-- but I didn't! I swear, I didn't. I know it sounds bad since I didn't stop him but I really tried, I just couldn't. And he started k-kissing me...here," You gestured to the spots on your neck that you could still feel being violated.

"And I felt so horrible and he didn't go any further because some people were coming, so I ran home. I-I...I didn't know what to do but I felt like I should tell you because I thought you would help me, but you said you were busy so I just-- It-tried to brush it off but I just couldn't get it out of my head! And before I got away, he told me that he'd come back and finish me off and so I didn't want to go outside anymore in case I ran into him. And I started to cover up since he said I was asking for it because of what I was wearing and then I just got scared and I felt dirty. I tried so hard to forget and clean myself but it kept coming back-- I can still feel him on me! I hated it, I still hated it! You have to believe me, I wasn't trying to get him to notice me, I just..." You broke down after finishing what you had to say. You had already been crying since you told Childe, but now you were choking out sobs and your face was drenched. Scaramouche stood up from his chair and sat next to you on the bed, a safe distance away just in case you still weren't comfortable with being touched.

"I believe you. I know you're not like that." Scarsmocuhe started calmly. In all honesty, he wanted to interrupt you as soon as you said that this man approached you. His blood was boiling and he was ready to murder this man for you but kept himself in check because you didn't need senseless violence or revenge right now, you needed comfort. What hurt him the most was that you were blaming yourself because he didn't bother listening to what you had to say on what was probably the worst day of your life.

"It's not your fault you were touched like that. You are not to blame, at all. I-- I should've listened to you when you came to me - as soon as I turned you say I thought something was wrong but I didn't bother asking about it. That's entirely my fault." He admitted, which surprised you. It took Scaramouche a lot to admit his mistakes, but for you? He didn't care. You constantly put up with his sour attitude, he can definitely listen to you and admit he was wrong.

"You sure? Because I still--"

"I'm sure." He said simply.

"But why did you start avoiding me?" He asked, wanting to understand the situation entirely.

"Well, because..." You started, unsure if he would get angry if you told him. While you were contemplating, he offered you an encouraging expression. It wasn't a smile, but it was more than enough to put you at ease.

"I didn't want you to think I was tainted. Of course, you wouldn't want to be near me after that had happened." You sighed, wiping up the last of your tears.

"You really are an idiot, you know?" He said, but after seeing the clueless and almost hurt look on your face, he immediately wanted to take it back. He didn't mean to be insensitive, he just...well, he often explained positive emotions with his very wide negative vocabulary.

"No, I didn't-- uhm..." He mentally cursed himself for not knowing what to say, but you didn't interrupt him and made a small gesture for him to keep going.

"What I mean to say was, I don't think that you're tainted or anything like that. And I still...want to be...near you-- eugh!" He pretended to be grossed out at his own words in true Scaramouche fashion, but he knew you knew he didn't really mean it and was beyond delighted when he saw you giggle at his facial expression.

He sighed and acted angry as he opened his arms ever so slightly. You noticed the movement and quirked an eyebrow when he hesitated.

"Is it okay if I come closer?" Scaramouche asked, unsure if you wanted to be touched after the incident.

Your heart swelled at his care and then you slowly watched as he stiffly wrapped his arms around you comfortingly. Although you had hugged and cuddled on countless occasions, he still wouldn't stop being so robotic unless you did something. It made you laugh and he pulled away slightly to glare at you, so you decided to just pull him back in and hug back.

And when you relished in the touch of another human being, the touch of the person you love, you began to cry. The last time anyone willingly touched you was in that alleyway, and so to have someone be so gentle with you and have no bad intentions, you were overwhelmed with emotion.

Scaramouche must've felt your tears staining his clothing and skin, and quickly pulled away with poorly hidden concern in his eyes.

"Are you okay?" He asked, but you just continued to sob and nod.

"I love you!" You choked out. He sighed and gently patted your back.

"I...love you too." He said, before making another expression of mock disgust. He slowly moved to hold both your wrists in his hand and kiss down to your neck, pulling you into his lap with your legs straddling one of his.

You soon realised that he was covering up the placed the stranger had touched you with his own ministrations, effectively replacing the grime you felt you gained after the incident. After you came to that conclusion and Scaramouche was done, he didn't meet your eye, blushing profusely. It was justified since he didn't usually initiate any kind of affection acts, but you just cupped his jaw and kissed his cheek, smiiling at him with purity and a newfound confidence in the both of you.

"Thank you, Scar."

[yanderechuu]

Shower Thoughts

yandere!Class 1A x fem!reader

[3.2K]

Summary: Momo wasn’t as trustable as you had presumed.

Warning: Larceny, nonconsensual touching, masturbation

│

You used to spend roughly ten minutes in the shower, only ever needing to soak your body in the water, apply shampoo and body wash before rinsing all the foam of products from your skin and scalp. Shower thoughts simply consisted of the day’s agenda or any special occurrence that had happened the past week, never really drifting off to existential questions and dark notions that would keep you from leaving the bathroom later than usual. You neither necessarily liked taking a shower nor did you dread it, as to you it was only ever a mandatory routine of the day which you handled with a neutral mind.

But now, ten minutes were already a slow thirty, and majority of the time you bothered not to move your arms to make work of your hair, or lather your skin with soap as you normally would do had it not been for the questions plaguing your mind like how your classmates would terrorize your time and space.

Right, your classmates - who would spend every hour of the day with you as if they didn’t have anything better to do. As if you were an important subject of matter next to hero training. You never appreciated it, because from the start, you did not want to have anything do to with them. They smothered and coddled you as if air wasn’t that important to you, disregarding the way you felt about personal space, how it was very significant to you. Rare were the moments of peace as a few of them were always by your side, ‘ensuring your safety’ as they would like to quote it. Why ensure your safety? You had not been a prominent figure in the sports festival, neither did you have a quirk that could be of great utility for the villains unlike Bakugou or Tokoyami. You weren’t a problem child, either. Their justification of following you around like you were some sort of high-maintenance prisoner made no sturdy sense to you.

“There’s this new package of green tea my mother had sent me this week! Would you like to try it, (y/n)?”

“Sure.”

But if you had to choose among your classmates one whom you would tolerate for the following years you’d be in U.A., that would be Yaoyorozu Momo. She was kind and considerate, often determining your feelings before you could voice it out (not that you really had the courage to, most of the time). She was organized and pristine and never had you met someone more befitting for the definition of ‘mom friend’ than her. She was perfect in nearly every way, and even though you’d have the occasional pang of jealousy at some times her perfectionism was displayed (gender envy, isn’t it, (y/n)?), she never seemed to bear mal intent, so you would let the emotions slide. You’d see the galaxy in her eyes if you would stare long enough. Her tea was best substitute for coffee, too.

You never considered her more than a very great friend, though, and to her, that was a problem.

As you sauntered your way over to your dorm with her, you shuffled your bag to take your room key buried in the side pockets. “I’ll go down in a while, but you better make sure you’re in the common room before me.”

You wouldn’t allow your classmates to take advantage of your lone self simply because Momo wasn’t there to fend them off.

“Mhm! Lemon green tea as usual, correct?”

“Yeah. Thanks again, YaoMomo.”

Your use of sotto voce tone on her nickname gave a pleasant shiver down her spine; her eyes almost rolled to the back of her head had she not restrained herself. Having been always kept to yourself, you never felt the need to adjust your volume for others to hear properly, so oftentimes your voice came out in a whisper - not that she minded, of course. You sounded more sensual that way.

“Are you going to take a while or will I have to brew tea right away?”

“Training was more strenuous than usual, and my muscles can’t seem to relax,” you explained, “so I’m going to take a quick shower.”

From your peripheral vision as you were focused on your bag to fish out the key, you saw Momo’s jaw slack upon hearing your plan to take a bath. It was odd, but you didn’t give particular attention to it when you finally took out your desired item. You failed to notice the way she abruptly settled her gaze on the key, inspecting it as if she was deliberating its shape, form, and material, and installing it to memory.

“Oh- oh!” She exclaimed. “I do remember having some body wash that help soothe muscle strains and body aches. I can hand them to you if you want.”

You shook your head, smiling lightly. “You’re too kind, YaoMomo. But I think just hot water will do for me.”

She watched as you opened the door to your room, giving her one more smile before disappearing inside and locking the door with a distinct click. As soon as you did so, she pulled the sleeve of her wrist up, developing with her body lipids a key the exact copy of the one you had held.

You certainly lied when you had said you were going to take a ‘quick’ shower. Already ten minutes into it did you only decide to sleek yourself with liquid body soap, initially absentmindedly rubbing it on your body, before you gradually got rougher with your movements and soon you found yourself scuffing your own flesh with vehement motion.

They were excessively touchy again, your classmates. Denki got too close to your face while delivering a pick-up line that made you wish you didn’t exist in order to hear it, and upon nearing you did Bakugou pull you away from him, cursing at him to buzz off. He took his time feeling up your waist - the part he used to grab you - while at it. During lunch, as you were once again coerced into joining his group to the cafeteria, Izuku refused to let go of your hand as you walked, and Uraraka as adamant with hugging you by the hips with one arm. It was what girlfriends did, she said, and you were not entirely sure whether or not she referred to that word romantically.

And if not, then did girlfriends also normally touch the parts of which you did not want to be touched on? You felt, clear as day, a bare hand resting on your thigh when you sat on your usual spot, dangerously close to lifting your skirt for everyone to see, and when you gave Hagakure’s faceless face a questioning look, she asked you what was wrong. Her uniform sleeve was literally floating on top of your lap, and still she had the gall to pretend as if she was not touching you with lacking consent. 

 You were not safe from Shoto, either, when he offered to readjust your uniform tie and you were in no place to decline (you had the right to, but they just stripped you off of it), his breath hitching in ecstasy as his fingers brushed your chest; he was, audaciously enough, not hiding his bliss. Then he rubbed your shoulders to ‘warm you up,’ when all he really intended to do was motivate his own fantasy that you were his and he was simply scenting you like some fucking alpha to his omega.

You turned no blind eye to their gesticulations. You never once found it endearing, and wished they would stop with whatever the hell this was called, because you were quite sure this was past the border of molestation and could already be rendered a form of bullying.

But not once did you consider the possibility of having a class obsessed with your quaint self.

So you supposed that until you’d find a way to deduce their idiosyncratic actions and tendencies then you would have to make do with your own bathroom as your safe space. Momo was the only classmate you could confide to, so at least she was there.

Unfortunately, you had yet to see the other side of her coin.

Because as she was just right outside your bathroom door, obsessively taking in every bit of item you owned inside your dorm room like a madman, you were left with the impression that she was all you could ever ask for in a friend. You didn’t know how she was not any better than the rest of your classmates, adoring your very existence to the extent of insanity; how she’d crave for you so often and so terribly that she’d feel herself clench when you do so much as merely spare her a glance. And you had done that a lot today - she would have to relieve herself for it.

She spotted the heap of clothes right by your bed; it became apparent that you had stripped yourself off of it before entering the bathroom and taking a shower. Walking towards it, a portion of your seamless underwear came to view, and she resisted the urge to render into a mound of horniness in order to pick it up and inspect it closely.

It was a lighter color of (s/c). A plain, simple, modest undergarment item, still it evoked a particular feeling on the bottom center of Momo’s hips. The heat came rushing along her midriff and instigated the muscle of her legs to falter, and as soon as she felt it, a hand of hers drifted past her skirt, feeling up the slick accumulated on the fabric of her own panties only with the knowledge that your panties were currently in her possession. She needed release, but you were nearly finished with your bath, and she was still inside your room.

You walked out of the shower the moment she shut the door of your bedroom. You saw it closed, but you didn’t catch the culprit.

This unnerved you to no end. Undoubtedly, you thought, this had to be one of your classmates. Who else was it supposed to be? Aizawa-sensei (...)? You had yet to know their ultimatum, but you were sure this occurrence was another one of their schemes. You had assumed that all their weird, unappreciated antics were just to get you to socialize with them, but now you didn’t understand why it had gotten to the point of entering your room without permission.

You couldn’t keep this to yourself.

So you planned to bring it up to Momo, a representative of your class and someone whom you deemed trustable enough to share it with. Quickly, you dressed into your casual indoor attire, and rushed outside your room to head to the kitchen, where you presumed she’d be in the process of making your tea. But she wasn’t there.

Instead, she was in her own room, your panties muzzled right into her face and her own fingers buried deeply inside her cunt.

“Oh- oh, god- Ah! (Y/n)!”

Oh god, your panties. Oh god, your panties. The object most intimate to your parts of intimacy, soaking every bit of womanly secretion from your genitalia. Of all the masturbation sessions she had done to the thought of you, this was the hottest. She wasn’t quite sure whether to imagine your cunt on her lips in a position of mutual cunnilingus or your fingers thrusting into her in place of hers. She wanted both.

A whine slipped past her lips. To think that moments ago, she was in the same space as you were nude. Oh, to join you in the bathroom, doing inenarrable things to each other with the use of the showerhead. To touch your skin selfishly rather than only watch as she would do during class hours.

She came with a squeal, falling face-down to bite the duvet of her large bed. Gone in her hazy mind was her promise to you of lemon green tea, and as she still basked in the pathological euphoria of getting off, you were in the common room, anxiously waiting for her return.

But just as you had expected, someone was bound to spot you alone and take this as an opportunity to be with you, and they just so happened to be-

Oh. Aoyama.

He offered you a slice of cheese with his usual grin before settling down a few feet beside you, enough to leave you be in your personal bubble. You gave him occasional glances, unwrapping the cheese from its casing and he just sat there, eating his. He was alright, you guessed - another tolerable classmate of yours next to Momo. Perhaps it was because you used to always be alone in the classroom with him during break time that you were at ease with his presence. Or maybe he just seemed so gay and that, for some reason, comforted you. One gay presence could comfort another lol.

“It’s delicious.” Your comment came out inadvertently.

“Oui. Only the best quality for the best person.” He flaunted.

You weren’t exactly sure whether he was referring to you or to himself, but you paid little attention to that as the cheese was certainly delicious; you were not lying.

“It’s odd how your chose to take a bath at this time of the day.” He spoke.

You stopped chewing.

He meant to refer to your damp hair, but having just suspected your class of breaking and entering your room, you thought otherwise.

“I-” You choked on the cheese, ending up needing to gulp it like liquid content instead of breaking it down to fit your throat. 

Immediately, he sprang up in concern, stepping over to you to gently thump you on the back. “Are you alright?”

“No- I mean- I just-!” You wheezed, occasionally having to clear your throat. You swatted his hand away from you; you hadn’t meant to appear rude, but you did. You stood up in a rush. “L-look, I have to go.”

“Don’t you want to drink water?”

“I’m- fine,”

With your words, you took off from the common room area and headed back to your room. There were two sets of emotions that mixed to form the bile in your throat. One was wrath and humiliation upon the discovery of Aoyama’s actions. The other was betrayal and confusion from Momo’s absence when she had said she’d be brewing tea for you, and it wasn’t the tea that disheartened you. She knew of your issue with the class, and if she were busy, couldn’t she have texted you a heads-up?

She shouldn’t be surprised when at the next time she saw you, you interacted with her less. Your intention to distance yourself from her was most prominent, and it didn’t help that your classmates took notice of this, because now they were taking advantage of the situation, tagging you along with them in spite of your futile attempts to decline now that Momo was nowhere to tell them off. When she’d talk to you, you would answer, though your voice was back to speaking to her like she was a stranger. 

Resentment was stronger than ruing the lack of intimacy between you two. It was as if she had received your panties in exchange for the time she’d be spending with you, oddly enough. After much deliberation, she came to realize that this was your little ‘tantrum’ after not being able to meet with her the other day. 

It was pretty cute, she thought, that you’d try and make her acknowledge the fault on her part by ignoring her.

You didn’t walk with her back to dorms as per usual that dismissal. Instead, just like what you had used to do before finding consolation in her, you walked alone, accomplishing being able to avoid your classmates as you did. By the time she reached the dorms, you were in the kitchen, fetching a glass of water to satiate your throat. She took a hold of your wrist before you went back to your room.

“(Y/n),” she pleaded, “tell me what’s wrong.”

You looked at her with a reluctant expression. Perhaps you should. After the short while that you had been hanging out with her, her presence turned into something you came to miss. You wanted her back, but not in the way she wanted you.

“I-it’s just,” you stammered out, “y-you know how I feel being alone in the common room without you. I... I’m not comfortable with our classmates when you’re not around.” She took pride in this. “I don’t take it lightly how you left me alone the other day...”

Your voice faltered out the longer you spoke.

So she was correct; you were certainly having your little ‘tantrum.’ With a guilty smile, she left your wrist to hold your hand tenderly, and suddenly it dawned upon you the feeling of whenever Bakugou held your waist, Shoto nuzzled his face on your neck or Izuku invaded your personal space.

Fear and apprehension.

Before you could preach your objection to whatever she had planned ahead for you, she dragged you along with her and you both reached her dorm room before you could comprehend where she was taking you. 

“I’ll make it up to you.” She said, making you sit on her large bed.

Then she proceeded to make you tea, boiling water with an electric kettle situated on top of her study desk; there also laid a tea set next to her three books, which you assumed were those of which would aid her in the utility of her quirk, like encyclopedias. Beside those was a piece of cloth, unfolded, unkept - a (s/c)-colored silk fabric.

Your face drained of color.

She pushed the books towards the cloth, completely obscuring it from your view and leaving the table disorganized. You knew Momo, neat and orderly as much as possible; she wouldn’t do that without reason.

Now that you thought about it, the same day someone had barged in your room, your underwear had been missing from your set of laundry garments. You spent the next whole day actively avoiding Aoyama, thinking he was the culprit to this felony. At the present moment you were reconsidering your allegation.

“U-um, Momo, I need to go-”

“Here!”

She yelled it so giddily, so uncharacteristically, as she pushed the cup of tea towards your way. How she did so was very quick that you had not the time to take it properly, and steaming liquid fell to your décolletage, past the cotton of your uniform and streaming down the valley of your breasts. It was a moist mess. She loved every bit of it.

“Oh! Oh, my bad. I’ll- I’ll clean you up!” She exclaimed, all flushed and excited.

You didn’t find it in you to push her back when she began to do exactly what she had said, taking your blazer off, loosening your school tie and unbuttoning the dress shirt underneath, only ever being able to stare at her with eyes that evinced betrayal, because it slowly occurred to you that she was satiating her own selfish obsession with you all under the ruse of maintaining a decent friendship. 

“(Y/n),” She breathed out, “I adore you.”

She was no different than the rest of your classmates, and you were a fool to think otherwise.

[wearywinchester]

Tender

Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: When hiding an injury from Dean doesn’t go to plan, he’s there to give you the comfort you need.

Requested by @latenight-daythoughts: “Hey! I have a request for a Dean one shot please, could you do one where she gets hurt on a hunt and tired to play it off until they get back to the bunker and when dean patches her up it hurts more then she thought, so she starts crying and Dean comforts her and is all cute and sweet? I love your writing btw!!”

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: angst, injury, blood, fluff, comfort, kissing

Hurt. You got hurt on that hunt and you weren’t quite sure how you talked yourself out of it with Dean. Maybe you actually did, but a part of you told you that was more than likely impossible. Not with the look he gave you or the glance he spared down at your leg. But he seemingly took your word for it at that very moment.

Your eyes squeezed shut for a moment as you took a breath, trying your hardest to make it to the Impala sitting just a few feet away. Every ounce of pressure on your leg made it ache all the more as you walked, walked like you insisted you could do to a persistent Dean the moment he saw the look on your face. But you told him you were fine, staving his worries with a smile and a witty counter that had a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

It was fine, so long as you kept your weight off of it as much as possible until you could clean yourself up, it’d be fine. At least that’s what you’d told yourself.

You were relieved once you’d slipped in the front seat after Dean suggested you sit up there with him, Sam in the back, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you slumped back against the leather seat. The fabric of your jeans over the wound on your thigh had been frayed on the brink of being ripped, but not enough to draw your eye should you be anyone but yourself or Dean Winchester. Stains of crimson hadn’t been visible on the dark denim material, but you were sure it’d be obvious the moment they came off.

As you sat, you felt that ache on your leg begin to lighten some, that pain shooting down it dissipating now that you hadn’t been standing on it.

It shouldn’t be that bad, not really, you’d snagged it along the edge of something sharp when that demon had thrown you with so much as a flick of her hand. You were sore overall, something a hot bath might help with when you make it back to the bunker. But you’d yet to see your leg, to see just what damage lay beneath your jeans.

“You sure you’re okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked, pulling your attention from your thoughts.

You looked to your left, Dean’s gaze shifting from the road to look at you for a moment or two before looking ahead.

“‘M fine, De,” you murmur, that aching burn on your thigh threatening to spill over your emotions and give you away in an instant.

He looks at you again in a lingering glance, his lips pursed in disbelief, brows furrowing at the way you looked down at your leg with a frown, or the way you brushed your thumb over that very spot you said was nothing. He saw how your lips twitched downward in a deeper frown for only a mere second, quickly brushing it off with a sigh and a bite to the inside of your cheek before he looked forward once more.

You knew, by the light tension in his jaw and the crease between his brows, you knew he could see there was more to it than that.

After a moment or two you scooted a little closer to him, your hand grabbing his own. He felt the way you brushed your thumb along his knuckles in an absentminded habit, your gaze fixed out the window in an attempt to set your attention on anything other than the burning feeling that simmered on your skin.

It was okay. You were fine.

Your hand hadn’t left Dean’s nearly the entirety of the trip, something he noticed and something he didn’t mind, something that had him smiling softly at the mere thought of it. But something that was just as quick to steal that smile was the very look on your face each and every time he glanced over at you, a slight frown on your lips that you weren’t even aware you had, and that crease between your brows very much there.

You sighed when he parked in the bunker’s garage that night, getting out before he could come and help you do it. The look on his face was evident that he wasn’t happy with that, those dimples appearing by the corners of his mouth as he looked at you over the roof of the car.

“I’m fine, Dean,” you say, meeting him and Sam at the trunk where you’d grabbed your bags.

“You say that every time, sweetheart,” he counters.

“Maybe this time you’ll take my word for it,” you say, brows raised as you put your bag over your shoulder.

He chuckles then, head shaking as he closes the trunk. You tried your best to be convincing, and so far he hadn’t pried, but that very same feeling was back now that you were up and walking around, pressure back on your leg seemingly worse than before.

You found yourself grateful that Dean had chosen to walk ahead, Sam beside you, making it just a little easier to hide the change in the way you walked. Just enough to get you to your shared room without being terribly obvious. But it hurt, it hurt more and it was becoming increasingly more apparent to you.

You were home, and that’s what made things a bit better for you. You weren’t in some motel anymore, weren’t in the Impala anymore, you were home in the comfort of your familiar place with your room, your bed, and Dean. Despite the nagging pain wearing away at you with every movement of your leg, you tried not to think about it that much, and tried not to think about how it’d feel upon taking your jeans off. How it’d look given that you haven’t even seen it yet.

Dean dimmed the lights in the hall and bid Sam a goodnight like he always did, twisting the knob to your shared room and pushing the door open. Everything was as you’d left it just three days prior, the bed still made and ready to climb in and Dean’s slippers still tucked halfway under the bed, his pajama pants still slung over the back to the small desk chair.

“There’s no place like home,” Dean chuckles, sighing as he drops his duffel bag on the floor at the foot of the bed right next to yours.

You watched as he untied his boots and stepped out of them, unease settling over you as you took your own boots off, fighting the urge to scrunch up your face at the way your jeans pressed into your leg as you bent down.

You couldn’t hide this from him forever, you don’t think that’s possible when you really think about it. But you still weren’t willing to give it up, you could see the look on his face already if he knew. So, you bit the inside of your cheek and shrugged off your jacket, eyeing him with a soft sigh.

“I’m gonna go shower before bed,” you say, smiling when he turns to face you.

He simply hums, dipping down to kiss you.

“Don’t be too long,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back with a grin.

“Is it ‘cause you’ll miss me too much, Winchester?” You ask, brow raising in amusement.

You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards, a laugh leaving his lips as he nods to himself, tugging back the blankets on the bed. It very much was the reason and he knew it, no matter how much Sam picks on him for it all in good fun, he just can’t help it.

“That’s exactly why,” he says, tossing a clean flannel of his your way along with a pair of boxers because he knows just how much you love to wear them to bed. Doesn’t even need you to tell him that very fact because he sees you snag a pair from his drawer every night without a care that he’ll see you stealing them either.

You stand there for a moment more as you look at him, your smile soft and fond as you hold the clothes in your hands. After that moment, you find it in yourself to turn on your heel and step into the hall, heading towards the bathroom. Your heart was bursting with the very thought of him sharing his clothes with you, of the very idea that he’d been so thoughtful, but the wound on your leg was making it awfully difficult to think about anything other than that.

You switched the light on and closed the door behind you, setting the clothes down on the counter. You turned the faucet on and stuck your hands under the tap, the water cold as it splashed across your face. It was a little more refreshing than you felt before it, soothing the fatigue that’d been settling over you only temporarily.

Dread simmered in the pit of your stomach at the thought of having to take off your jeans, but it wasn’t doing you any good to keep them on.

You exhaled a sigh, eyes squeezing shut as you hooked your fingers in your belt loops. It was fine until you got about halfway, and you found yourself fighting the urge to let out the cry that’s been sitting in the back of your throat, the feel of the rough material scraping over your thigh making it all the more difficult to stifle it.

It was then that you saw it, the blood smudged over your leg and the scrape that ran across your skin, angry and red as it tapered just above your knee. You ran your hands down your face at the sight of it, having been less than ideal but you knew it couldn’t have been good.

You kicked the dirtied jeans to the side in frustration, sighing as you opened the cabinet below the sink. You snagged the first aid kit and the bottle of peroxide just next to it, grabbing a clean wash rag.

This could have been avoided, maybe, but at that moment you were struggling to figure out just how it could have been. Demons were unpredictable, able to sense a trick with ease, able to tell when someone’s lurking with the intent to leave one less demon in the world. They give ample opportunities to be outsmarted, though, but this didn’t seem to be one of those times. There was no match for a human against the powers they hold save for the weapons that served you no use that day. You were thrown clear across the room without a beat of hesitation, something done with ease.

So maybe, just maybe it wasn’t avoidable this time.

You knew Dean saw it, he had to. It was more than obvious that there’d be repercussions to being thrown a good seven feet into a less than unforgiving cabinet. He knew you better than to believe that you were as fine as you say you were. He knows you like the back of his hand, can see your stubbornness from a mile away because he’s the very same.

You wet the wash rag at the sink, taking a seat on the bench by the showers. You began to blot away the blood, nose scrunching and eyes squinting as the burn of the jagged scrape worsened from it.

It was then that there was a knock on the door, a more than familiar voice on the other side.

“Sweetheart? ‘M coming in, I forgot to—”

Your eyes widen as the door opens, gaze meeting green eyes before his stare shifts downwards to the rag in your hand, splotches of a pale crimson staining it. They bounce to the source, to the irritated and red scrape dragging along the outside of your thigh, nearly classifying as a cut but not quite.

“Y/n.”

“Dean, it’s not—”

“What, ‘it’s not a big deal’?” He says, anger seeping into his tone. Not at you, never. It was when he thought back to that hunt that has him angry.

“Dean,” you sigh.

He’s quick to cross the tiled floor, kneeling in front of you. He nudges your knee with his hand gently, the tips of his fingers brushing along your skin. You saw the crease between his brows deepen, lips parted as his eyes bounced over the entirety of the wound on your leg. You can see the way his jaw tenses, tight and unwavering and if it were possible, steam would be coming out of his ears at that moment.

“Damn it, Y/n,” he says quietly, a frustrated huff leaving his lips. “You didn’t tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out,” you reason, brows furrowing as you tilt your head to the side slightly.

His gaze narrows up at you in disapproval, your reasoning something that was near laughable to him, you even knew it was ridiculous too the moment the words fell from your lips.

“You can bet I’ll freak out,” he says, his chuckle humorless as he runs his hand down his face. “This is exactly why I didn’t want us to split up.”

“Well, we did.”

He bit the inside of his cheek as he looked at you, breathing out a huff through his nose. He was upset more than anything, with himself you could tell, could see the frown on his lips as he grabbed the wash cloth from your hand and picked up where you left off.

He was gentle as he wiped away the dirt and blood smeared around it, more so than you despite the white-knuckled grip he’s got on the tattered cloth. You tried to keep your attention on anything else, anything other than the way your leg had been so sensitive even the most mild of touches as hurt. You tried to keep your gaze on him, distract yourself with the abundance of freckles speckled across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks.

They were easy to distract yourself with on any given occasion, on times where you didn’t need to be distracted, when you shouldn’t be. But for the life of you, you couldn’t bring yourself to get lost in counting them this time, not with the numbing pain serving as a painful way of keeping you fixated on just that.

“You should have told me,” he says quietly, residual anger still wrapped around his tone with the softness of his words. But he was more concerned than angry.

You puffed out a humorless laugh through your nose, your grip on the bench you sat on tightening some. “I’m not exactly jumping at the idea of running to my boyfriend every time I get hurt on a hunt.”

Your tone is frustrated, embarrassment simmering in the pit of your stomach over the current situation you were in, not to mention the way it happened. You’d never get taken seriously if you ran and cried to Dean each and every time you got hurt. You barely felt like an adequate hunter as it is, you didn’t want to add to it. You would have been fine if he hadn’t seen it.

“Y/n, this isn’t some puny little paper cut, okay? This is way different than just slapping a bandaid on it and kissin’ it better.”

“I said I’m fine, Dean,” you say, jaw tensing as you look away.

You hated the way your voice was beginning to falter, swallowing thickly in hopes to push down the persistent lump in your throat. Now was not the time to cry, not in front of him. That would only make matters worse and you don’t think you could handle that.

“It doesn’t make you weak to ask for help, not even a little bit. You don’t have to play the tough guy act all the time.”

You stay quiet as you continue to look away from him, the pressure building behind your eyes. When you glance down you see he’s got that dreaded bottle in his hand, popping the cap open with his thumb. He’s hesitant as he tips the bottle, the clear peroxide having poured steadily over every inch of the wound on your leg, bubbling and stinging the moment it touches the damaged skin.

You felt your lip begin to quiver, near uncontrollable as it throbbed and burned, the pain worse than you thought as you bit down on your lip. It was almost unbearable, a numbing kind of pain that brought heat to your cheeks and quickened your heart. That pressure behind your eyes increased then until you just couldn’t handle it, lip free from your teeth as you hid your cry in your shoulder.

But it turns out, you’re not that good at hiding, not from Dean Winchester. Not that it was very hard to notice either.

He stopped immediately, gaze flickering to you, cheeks wet with hot tears and lip quivering in a way that tugged at his heart. His hand settled on your cheek, a gentle nudge to get you to look at him.

“Sweetheart,” he starts, the fond nickname something that makes you cry all the more in that moment.

You wrap your arms around him and he settles back a bit as he holds you closer, brows furrowed and jaw tense because seeing you so upset is one thing he can’t handle. Seeing you cry is something that tears him to shreds every time.

His grip on you is tight, his stubble pressing into the side of your neck. He’s cautious of bumping your leg, his throat clearing to try and stave off that pressure constricting around his throat from that very same lump forming as it did you. You could feel the kiss he pressed to your cheek, one to your temple, lingering and sweet. Dean Winchester could be the gruffest man anyone’s ever seen, but he’s got the softest heart, and if there’s one thing he can do without fail it’s comfort.

He finds himself pulling back when you loosen your grip, lip still wobbly as ever as you look at him with glossy eyes. You wipe your cheeks with the back of your hand, cheeks that burn with embarrassment for crying even though he didn’t mind it in the slightest. He didn’t mind the tears on his shirt, didn’t mind the snot to go with it. That’s the least of his concerns, they all pale in comparison to you.

“It hurts,” you whisper, your gaze shifting to his at the feel of his hand on your cheek, calloused and warm.

“I know it does, baby. Hell, I couldn’t even imagine what that feels like,” he says, smiling softly. “But ‘m almost finished and the ugly part is over, I can promise you that. You just gotta let me take care of you, okay?”

You nod, the patience in his words having set you at ease as you sniff, wiping your tears once more when his hand falls from your face in favor of sorting through bandages. He comes up with a few cotton pads, laying them over the length of the freshly cleaned wound as you sit there, still sniffling from having cried.

He’s more than careful as he takes the roll of gauze and wraps it around your thigh, securing the bandages completely with care to not make it too tight before he tucks in the loose end.

“You’re good as new, sweetheart,” he says, looking up at you.

You flash him a look, biting the inside of your cheek as you laugh softly, not quite humorous. “I’d hardly call it that.”

You’re grumbling, but he takes that hint of a smile as a good thing, standing halfway to press a kiss on your cheek and one to your lips, another to your forehead as his hand brushes over your cheek before he stands fully and swipes the clean clothes from the counter.

You stand with a look of unease, trying your best to keep the pressure on your good leg before that dreadful pain can jolt up your other. You shrug off your shirt in favor of his flannel, the soft material hanging loosely from your shoulders in a heap of warm and fabric softener and a hint of his cologne. It’s a simple thing that amounts to more comfort than you can express, the mere feeling of it putting you at ease.

He helps you with your pajama bottoms, trying not to fuss over you as you did it yourself, instead offering his arm for your balance that you found yourself needing more than you thought.

Your bed was more comfortable than you’d imagined coming home to, leaps and bounds better than that motel mattress. The sheets were soft and they too smelled like Dean, the blankets warm and hefty as they rested over top of you.

Dean brought you close enough to nearly share a pillow, the events transpiring earlier that day on the hunt having sunken deep in the pit of his stomach and simmered there, bringing with it that anger that hadn’t quite left. It made his stomach twist and churn each and every time you got hurt, the blame he put on himself having picked at him every single time without fail. Especially when it brings you to tears, especially when it’s got you so bothered it’s got you crying into his shoulder.

He hates it, he hates that part of hunting.

But regardless, those kind green eyes meet your gaze as he looks at you with a soft smile, his fingertips brushing along your cheek. He’s got that look on his face, one that’s telling of something humorous sitting on the tip of his tongue just waiting to be spoken.

“What, De?” You sigh, feeling the residual tension of your tears beginning to dissolve just a little more.

He chuckles, looking down for a moment as he shakes his head. “If I were you, ‘think I might’ve cried way sooner than you did.”

You roll your eyes then, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “Dean, that’s a lie and you know it.”

“Is not,” he insists, lips pursed to stifle his smile.

You look at him, tired and amused as you make no effort to hide your smile. He’s got that smile, that one that makes your cheeks burn and your heart flutter every time he looks at you like that.

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you sigh, leaning up and pressing a kiss to his lips.

You find yourself lying atop his chest as he turns the tv up a little bit more, his chuckle rumbling against you. He tossed the remote down, the very tip of your finger tracing over his chest. Your legs tangle with his own, your injured one on top as you turn a bit more on your side. He’s got reruns of your favorite show on because he knows you’re too tired to watch the new ones, knows you like to have it on when you fall asleep.

“Goodnight, De,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his chin before sinking back down on his chest.

He smiles in that moment, soft and sweet as his thumb brushes back and forth over your shoulder lightly.

“Night, sweetheart.”

You’re fine. You’ve got him and you’re okay.

—

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