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glassrowboat · 6 months

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Daydream in a Nightmare

Authors note: I read a soulmate au where with dream sharing. Everytime you fall asleep you and your SM would meet in a world that would reflect your consciousness and who you were. So down below are the boys and what I think the places their dreams would depict.

Mondstadt

Diluc: The cathedral. His mom, back when she was alive, used to play during service and afterwards Diluc ran over greeting her with the biggest smile, asking her to play him one more song. She never failed to. Maybe that's why there's always a gentle melody playing whenever you see him as he rests his fingers over the same white tiles, simply trying to remember how to play.

Kaeya: The Dawn Winery. Or at least parts of it. Behind closed doors there's the scent of grass, of dirt, and the faintest smell of ash. He says it's simply the vineyard that in the real world would be right outside, but he knows well as he pulls your hand from the doorknob that it's ruins of a fallen nation haunting him right on the other side.

Albedo: Glass walls. A maze of mirrors and reflections. If you ever have stopped to bother to count between Albedo’s musings as he shares with you the secrets of the world, you'd notice that for some reason he always has more reflections in the walls around you than of your own figure. Like there's more of him than there is of you.

Venti: Old Mondstadt. Back before the revolution, back when there were people in the streets wishing their God weren't so unjust, but in his dreams that wall of spiraling wind is never there. A warped perception of a life he wished to have lived as he sits in your lap not as Venti the bard, but a wind sprite trying to bury into your clothes for warmth. Just don't call him pipsqueek or he'll try and bite your fingers. Playfully. You think.

Liyue

Zhongli: A place that no longer exists, one torn away by this world during the archon war. It's unlike him not to comment on a place, a trinket, an item, as you pick something up and fiddle with it, but this place he never goes into full detail on. However, he will tell you all about the artisanship of the table you two are sharing tea over.

Baizhu: His home back in Chenyu Vale, back before the illness hit his village, back before his parents passed away. Just a modest home that shows signs of being truly well lived in and loved. Mindlessly while you two talk he'll be cleaning the place, just the way he always does at the pharmacy. Though it does help give him something to fill the silence. It turns out he's a lot more used to Changsheng chiming in with comments than he thought. He just hopes you two get along when the time to meet in person finally comes about.

Ga ming: A festival. There's water kicking up at everyone's feet, up to everyones ankles as people with their face covered in all manner of masks walk you both by. Ga ming would pull you along from booth to booth, trying his best to win prizes despite the fact you both know they'll be gone by the time you wake.

Xiao: A Chinese pavilion in the sky. You walk among the clouds as you follow the path of the street, looking over the accents that seem somehow both rich in color and dull, muddied all at the same time. Something you've noticed from his dreams compared to yours, his always have a lingering black fog creeping in at the corner of your eyes. It makes you feel like someone else is in this world with you, like there's eyes waiting to do more than just watch.

Inazuma

Kazooha: A meadow. The wind passes you both by, stirring up pages of books you two sit reading in silence. You can't help but wonder if these are all books he's read before, especially the ones that wax poetry or something else. His thoughts, perhaps? Maybe Kazuha's very own writings? But that matters little as his head is resting on your shoulder as you try to catch words between the fluttering sheets of paper.

Itto: A kabuki play. It always ends up in you two hiding away in the back room where the performers would get ready before getting back out on stage for the next act. You would see the brightest of colors, richest of fabrics, and practiced movements so fine tuned that you can't understand why Itto is so focused on taking the makeup on the vanity in the back simply so he can paint your face with red marks just like his. To each their own you suppose, and who are you to complain when it means drawing hearts on his arm when Itto isn't paying attention?

Gorou: A tea house. It's a small place, simple, but certainly not lacking charm as Gorou pours you a cup. At first the fact you could actually taste the rich herbs on your tongue in this dreamscape threw you off, but now it's just another part of this odd reality. But saying that, the first time you spat out the drink he offered as soon as the bitter taste hit you. Apparently he never expected you to not already be used to green tea. The poor fella was apologizing for the rest of the night, ears laid flat on his head and tail tucked between his legs. It's okay though, you made it even by trying to give him dog treats. It was you having to beg for forgiveness then.

Thoma: It was different this time. No glowing blue flowers and a forest that you two would stroll through mindlessly while chatting for hours. No, this time Thoma was sitting on a wooden platform below a giant stone statue. Intriguing, yes, but mattered little compared to the rope burns around his wrist. He tried to tell you not to worry about it. That it was an accident. But that mattered little as your lips pressed to the red, irritated skin and he gave you a strained smile. You knew better than to ask about it more from there.

Ayato: It's ever changing. It's like he is constantly thinking of something whenever He falls asleep and it reflects in his dreams. Once it was a Japanese styled room the next it was some room in Fontaine's architecture. But it's always a bedroom. A place of relaxation as Ayato buries his head in your lap like it was a pillow. He'll whine about being overworked until you're tempted to pull on his hair just to make the man shut up for once, but last time you did that it led to the bed being used for a lot more than just rest. For now just pat his head and let him vent, the man needs it.

Sumeru

Kaveh: A sketch brought to life from his mothers blueprints. One he saw his mother sketching back when Kaveh was a boy and she would let him sit on her lap, let him comment on the drawings. She would always find some way to incorporate his addictions into the sketch. Nowadays he knows the building that was actually constructed in the end to be simpler, duller than the one his mother wanted, but in his dreams with you it stands tall and proud.

Al Haitham: An attic. It's dusty and it clearly had a hole in the roof that was covered over by some wooden planks and nails. A patch work job that needs to be fixed but if you ever take the time to bother with it while Al Haitham sits in an old rocking chair covered by a quilt reading the night away it will only be there the next dream cycle. It pisses you off. He pisses you off. All nonchalance and an apathetic look even as you plop yourself in his lap and take that book away. And what pisses you off even more? How he dares to call you needy as he holds you close. It's best to ignore the fact he started reading over your shoulder.

Tighnari: Pardis Dhyai. He'll sit on the walkway watching you kick the water of the ponds around, paying no mind to when you splash at him. Not anymore at least. He's learned quickly if he makes a snarky comment you'll give one back and it'll go on and on until somehow it ends in him getting dragged into the pond with you. Both dripping algae filled water as he wondered what gods made this numbskull his mate.

Cyno: Lambad's Tavern. Everytime he would come back from treks in the desert he would go there, get a drink, and play a round of cards with whoever was willing. It was a pattern. Work, work, rest, and more work. But now he didn't have to constantly be on work mode as he sat with you in the old booth shuffling cards as he tried to explain to you how TCG works. So far everytime you lose you've thrown those elemental dice and him, and with a smile he lets them hit him in the head despite being fully able to dodge them. His soulmate is such a sore loser.

Wanderer: Shakkei Pavilion. He hates it. Hates that this is the place his unconscious has chosen to sink onto so stubbornly. His wooden fingers would slide over the paintings depicting Scaramouche’s past that has now been severed from him in everyone's eyes but Nahida and the Traveler. If you knew, would you still hold his hand? Would you still trace the details of his joints and comment that you find his pretty face such a stark contrast to his sharp words? He's afraid to find out, the idea that you might be his fourth betrayal always lingering in the back of his mind.

Fontaine

Neuvillette: Under the water where the currents would carry stray bits of seaweed and fish swimming past. The first time you shared a dream with him here he had to calm you down as instinctively you held your breath, taking your hands in his and assuring you if he can talk like this, you can suck in air just as well. It took some time getting used to, but now he watches as you grab starfish off the ocean floor and bring them over to him like a prize to be presented. This is what humans must be like Neuvillette tells himself as you braid them into his hair.

Worcestershire sauce: A home. A nice one at that. Big, had decent furnishings, pictures of kids hung up on the wall. If you listened closely enough you could even hear children playing outside from the cracked open windows that showed the brightest sky outside. Wriothesly would walk behind you as you would watch the grass blowing in the wind, not saying a word as he rested his chin on top of your head. He never thought he'd be back here again. The very place made him feel sick to his stomach, but with you? It was bearable. Even as you tried to grab his handcuffs from him.

Snezhnaya

Childe: His childhood home. Back before the renovations he bought for the place with his money as a harbinger, back before the redecorating of rooms to fit more children, and back to what the house was like when he was just a boy yet to fall into the abyss. Back when everything was simpler. He would pick up toys that have gone missing, never to be seen again and stare in wonder how it all is exactly how he remembers it. It makes it so much easier to be Ajax with you, rather than Tartaglia.

Dottore: The hospital he was working in when trying to help Eleazar patients. For the life of him does he hate it, being back in the desert always having to tip his shoes out of sand that never seems to fully clear off. It doesn't help you try and pour sand down his shirt, but in a way he supposes it's better you two stay out here under that blistering sun than you going inside to be met with the smell of death. No, you don't need to know about that side of him just yet.

Pantalone: His office. It always makes it hard to tell at first if he's awake, not when the same scene greets him either way. You always joke about him being married to his work and you're the mistress in this relationship. At this point he counts on the comment as soon as his eyes flutter open and he's greeted with the sight of you sitting on the desk he's been using as a pillow. Still, he can never help the genuine smile at seeing you once again.

Captain: A flower field. The snowdrops peek out from under the fluffy blanket of white powder, crunching under every step he takes. Even in his dreams the cold of Snezhnaya is ever present, ever biting. It only makes sense you are shivering behind him even as he lets you steal his cloak that is more of a blanket on you than anything. This field, he knows it well, knows that what waters these flowers is more blood than anything else, but that matters little as he wraps his arms around you. Maybe he can find a way to dream you a proper jacket.

Pierro: A grand hall. It reminds you of the way ballrooms are described in romance stories as the couple depicted would dance the night away. Columns so high you have to tilt your head back just to see where they meet the ceiling covered in paintings you've never seen before. That is until Pierro steps into your view. He always offered his hand to you before you could ask, and as your fingers interlocked he would tell you about them. Always ready to answer your questions. It meant someone was curious about a part of his long lost nation. So, of course, he was always happy to share.

Scaramouche: A never ending fire. It's a small shack, engulfed by flames that never seem to dwindle or burn out the wood it feeds on. Like this place was stuck in time in his mind. He doesn't talk to you, not any more than a sharp shut up. The only time that glare he showed you disappeared is when you pulled your hand back from the curious fire with a hiss, not expecting it to actually hurt in this fake reality. For a moment you could have sworn he took a step towards you, but he never came any closer than that as he hissed at you to be careful. Dumb mortals should at least know not to burn themselves.

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luveline · 8 months

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Hi jade if you’re doing requests I’d love to see how prince Steve and his soulmate are doing after the wedding

prince!steve soulmate au —you’re sick from stress and Steve's adoring as always. fem, 1k

“Hello.”

You nod dazedly from your bed. “Hello, husband.”

Steve leans on the door, a bouquet against his chest. “Are you feeling any better? At all?”

“Yeah.” You’re lying, but it doesn’t matter —your hoarse voice betrays you. You sound as sick as you had yesterday and the day before. It is putting a real dampener on the honeymoon.

He puts his bouquet down on the dresser, the big white petals of its lilies drooping past the cellophane to kiss the drawers. You focus too much on that detail and startle when he sits on the bed.

“You had everything you needed while I was gone?” he asks, hair falling into his eyes.

You raise your hand, smiling softly as he leans forward, allowing you to fix it out of his eyes. He’s terrifying this close to you, absurdly pretty, absurdly yours, a golden ring on his finger and a furling white light turning pink braceleting his wrist. He’s very much the prince he was when you met, but now he is your prince, and that’s a strange thing to come to grips with, worse when you’re so achingly sick.

“Hey?” he prompts. “You have everything?”

“The serfs won’t leave me alone,” you complain worriedly. It hasn’t been nice to have them coming in and out all day. “I try to sleep and they wake me up coming inside. Sorry, I’m not– I’m complaining, I’m–” You rub your headache. “I should be grateful–”

“You’re allowed to complain about that!” he says, grinning. “God, I want you to! I’ll tell them to stop coming in, I just thought you’d probably die in your sleep while I was gone.”

You lean back into your pillows with a wince. “You sure?”

“Am I sure?” He holds your arm with both of his hands. “I’ve just sent the maids in to harass you for six hours when you’re sick as a dog and you’re asking if you’re allowed to be mad.” He rubs your arm with his thumbs. “I’m sorry. Do you want to sleep now? I won’t let anybody come in.”

“No, um,” —you clear your throat— “I did– I missed you. I want you to tell me about the meeting.”

“Yeah?” he asks softly.

You have the feeling you’re being doted on. “Did Robin go?”

“Let me just set us up and I’ll tell you. Okay?”

You nod your agreement. Steve kisses the back of your hand absentmindedly and stands.

He shuts the curtains to hide the sunshine, clears away the jargon of the holoscreen against the wall, and closes the door. The room is big and the mess you’ve made since you fell ill the night of your wedding is expansive, taking ages to clean. By the time he’s done all this, you’re dozing again with the blanket pulled up to your nose.

“Sweetheart,” he says, climbing into bed beside you. A kiss is placed on the edge of your eyelid. “You can sleep. We’ll talk about things when you’re feeling better.”

“No, please tell me about today,” you croak.

“Nothing really happened,” he says, up on one elbow, looking down at you lovingly. “They asked me when we’d begin our tour now we’re married.” His voice grows softer as he leans down, eyes on your lips. “I’ve asked for it to be pushed back. So they’ll wait until we’re ready.”

“Mm. And news from the west?”

“None.” He holds your face. “Sorry, you’re distractingly pretty today.”

“Stop it.”

“You are,” he says. He sounds playfully smug, or maybe he’s not playing at all. His tone is wry all the same, that slight fry that might make you pop a knee if you weren’t already wed. “I’m sorry you got so sick. I knew the wedding was going to be too much for you. I should’ve looked after you better.”

“You didn’t make me sick.”

“But the stress made it worse. I know it did.”

“You shouldn’t believe everything the head doctor says. She made you eat dandelions for depression.”

“I know, I was there,” he says, smiling down at you, eyes like dark dimes. “But she also recommended more fencing, and that did make me feel better.”

You turn your face to the side and curl a tentative arm around him. “Can I have a hug?” you ask, and then, when he’s given you an enthusiastic yes and pulled you onto his chest, “I can nearly forget I’m sick.”

“I can’t. You sound full of it, sweetheart.” Sweetheart said soft and quiet as a secret. Like he’s sorry and adoring at once.

“It’s in my face.”

“We’ll go to the sauna together later and clear you out.”

Together? In your skivvies? If the sickness doesn’t kill you, the sauna with Steve alone certainly will. “I can’t tell if you’re being mean to me on purpose.”

“Why would I do that? I like you. An embarrassing amount, I–” He clears his throat.

You’re not sure what he would have said, but you like him too; you dive in to save him. “You’re like that, Steven, you mess with me.”

“No, don’t start the Steven stuff again, I like it much more when you call me Steve. Remember when we first met, you’d only call me your prince? And you definitely wouldn’t have let me hold you.”

“Don’t say it like that,” you plead through a nervous laugh.

“Am I saying something wrong?”

He’s murmuring, nearly flirting —is it flirting if you’re married?— his arms threaded around you, his hair tickling your cheek as he leans down. “Not wrong…” Your eyes widen as he closes in.

“Would a kiss make you feel any better?”

“I’ll make you sick.”

“Shouldn’t you? I’ve vowed to be with you in anything, haven’t I? In sickness…”

You hold your breath as his fans over your lips.

“Just one?” he whispers.

“As many as you want,” you whisper back. “Just don’t get mad at me if you’re sick next week, Steve.”

“Never.”

#prince!steve au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things

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beautiful1sky · 1 month

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Some boyfriend-headcanons

Deku:

♡ Tells you 1,455,073 times a day how much he loves you, because else he feels like you could forget about it

♡ will introduce you to his mother and I can tell you, she broke down in tears of happiness when she recognised how you actually love him (not because she thinks he didn't deserve love, just because he got bullied back then and is pretty shy)

♡ when he's sad, he just runs to you, hugs you and buries his face in the crook of your neck, the world stops and he can just cry, let it all out, be weak for some minutes

♡ relatively little PDA in public, like no making out or something so extreme, but sometimes holding hands is a must

♡ Loves the feeling of waking up next to you (whether in a dormitory, at home or in hospital). He just feels so safe and loved with you

Bakugou:

♡ Always acts ' aloof ' and ' I don't care ' in public. But at home, or when you're alone, he shows you his gentle, vulnerable side and is also very affectionate

♡ will protect you always, everywhere and from everything and everyone, he knows that you mostly could protect yourself, but that doesn't matter for him

♡ was afraid at first that you might leave him because of his aggressive nature, maybe he isn't always the nicest person, but he really tries

♡ that's why, when you weren't together yet, he always acted nicer to you than usual (i.e. he didn't kiss everyone's arse, but he didn't start any fights) until you told him that you thought his true personality was much cooler

♡ didn't feel like introducing you to his mum at first, but she's loved you like her own daughter since the first time they met

Shoto:

♡ he never knew what real love was, but he is infinitely grateful to you for showing him this side of life

♡ before you stumbled into his life, he had no experience at all, and barely ever got hugs, and so on, so hes starving for touchl

♡ when he is sad or frustrated, he goes to you, takes you by the hand and pulls you to a place where you can be alone to talk to you about it

♡ he would kill for you, and you know that too, of course only if its necessary, but well

♡ As mentioned in the other parts, you train together very often and when Shoto gets injured, you always treat him

Kirishima:

♡ although he always tries to be manly, but when you're alone, he's not manly sometimes either, and he also fell in love with you, because you also love the weaker side he has

♡ when he's sad again, you can always give him a smile, and he's so glad for that

♡ he loves to lie in bed together and cuddle for a long time at weekends or on holiday, not having to stand up early, no school, no training, sometimes he barely leaves the bed then

♡ he gives you small gifts all the time, but never expects anything in return (except maybe cuddling, snogging and being loved)

♡ if you're not feeling well, he'll try to nurse you back to health, with cuddles and cooking soup for you, until you're both ill XD

Denki:

♡ if someone insults you, they'll definitely get electrocuted by him, if not worse

♡ sometimes he flirts with other girls, but mostly it's only out of joke, so you know that only you are his cutie

♡ every night you lie in bed together and talk about your worries and problems, because of your quirk and also in general

♡ he thinks it's super cute when you go on the bus together and you fall asleep on his shoulder, then he leans his head against yours, wraps his arms around you, and also falls asleep

♡ You think it's super funny when he ' overloads ' but you also think it's really cute, so he sometimes just 'overloads' himself to make you smile

Attention: The characters and the gif do not belong to me. All credits go to the actual owners. If you want anything to be changed or removed, please write to me.

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patchiko · 8 months

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Arkham Knight Relationship HCS !! <3

( light nsfw, mostly SFW tho!! )

literally my wife ( i made this pic idc abt creds i just wanna talk abt it)

SFW !! <3

dying on this hill when i say basically any red hood would be soo yummy with a civilian or just someone who is extremely balanced.

im a red hood needs more fucking normalcy in his life TRUTHER.

relationship starts off slow, romantic and platonic, you need to be patient with him long enough for him to get over his mental dilemmas to feel ANY-TYPE of way towards you.

more then like 6 months lets be real yall

his way of bonding is quality time. ill die on this hill, especially at the start of the relationship. Nothing huge maybe just spending a couple extra minutes around you before leaving.

next is probably gift giving, esp with early relations, probably just gonna order you food or put fifty bucks on your countertop. you dont even notice until you realize you find a fifty around the last place he was standing. expect deliveries from R.H whenever he feels bad for something.

doesn't like being around for too long, feels like he's messing up something. ruining your day by keeping you up late (he was there for fifteen minutes), ruining your mood, (there was an awkward silence for like 30 seconds.)

not a overly conscious thought process though, he feels physically he isn’t supposed to be there. for whatever subconscious thing he picked up on, a awkward silence, or hes been there 15 minutes too long or something

well sometimes he'll mentally beat himself up.

he spirals a lot, needs someone to pull him out of that.

i think when he needs to be grounded, its not just comfort its making him feel alive in the present moment. he's never gonna truly forget about his traumas but maybe for just an hour or two; running around an arcade, walking around the city. just making him feel normal, yeah you BAGGED his ass quick.

he needs someone patient, really patient, someone whos very attentive and empathetic. (but not a complete push- over def needs someone to set him in line still)

i think if you move to quickly, he'll get super snappy and ghosting you,, ong put ur hands on him too early and he's left hooking you.

yeah you're waking up and the first thing your hearing is "Its been 12 years..."

second thing you hear is "you've been in a coma for.. 12 years."

third thing you're hearing is, " we think a bus hit you...”

obviously not touchy, even when he is settling down. hes just not sure how to .. or where to .. or why he wants too.

please his mental gymnastics get so crazy, just sit down with him and put on some silly ass movie so he stops

when he’s settled he cant pry himself off you though.

a lot of his expressions can definitely be told by his body language, naturally hes tense but theres certain habits he has when he's maybe thinking too much, or fustrated/irritated.

but he does all of the same for you, comfort, love, as much as he can he tries

Very attentive, has a mental list of 'shit you do when somethings wrong' or 'shit you like.'

doesn't consciously make any of these mental list, he just knows.

"didnt they say they liked this?" He pauses "shit ill just leave it at their window."

so he's like canonically smart as shit.

you have too much work from your boss or professor? hand it over its done in less then two hours.

literally buys you groceries and pays your bills (fucking lover boy.)

arkham knight finally figuring out how to ask for a hug (hes been dead silent for 5 minutes) (link) <— insta reel

HES A CHEM/HISTORY NERD FOR SURE

NSFW !! <3

probably- A FUCKING VIRGIN !! HES A NERD !! GETS AWKARD AS SHIT. WITH RAGING COMMITMENT AND TRUST ISSUES !! (will still die4you tho)

AGAIN, not in a "my soft squishe potato always been scared of sex" way but in a ‘oh my god hes so unsocialized’ way.

yall ever see a big ass dog just..standing.. literally him (hes dissociating)

genuinely dont believe that when he was arkham/training to be, he was sexually or romantically involved with anyone. the last thing that was on his mind was actually pursuing a sexual or romantic relationship.

along with his trauma, he just wasn’t comfortable with any of that.

ghosted so many people..

couldn’t flirt for more then five minutes, just stopped feeling it or got uncomfortable .

I AM ANTI ARKHAM KNIGHT BEING A SEX GOD

not that he’s horribly awkward, but he’s noticeably a bit more quiet for first times.

ofc this man has watched porn n’ shit but hes smart enough to know thats not what its really like.

he’ll still figure it, what makes you tic, what you love, what makes you most comfortable.

kinda shitty at dirty talk, just makes him buffer.

he gets better at it tho, too damn good

gets so snarky and confident about it too uuhgrr

late relationships hes smirking and chatting your ears off cause you know hes gettin you turnt.

he has a love-hate relationship with his scars. 95% they remind him of his past, but 5% hes alright with them because they’ve shown what hes been through.

deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, he knows hes fine as fuck. TRUST YALL.

again, super observant and attentive. really pays attention to what you enjoy.

I genuinely don’t believe hes into super hardcore/painful kinks or anything.

Sex for him is definitely a way of showing his trust and intimacy with someone!! Let him show you how much he loves you and how much he wants to make you feel good! Do the same to him !!

mmm tell him how good hes doing and hes a absolute mess!!

praise him! PRAISE HIM *im yelling from the hospital bed im strapped down on*

wouldn’t let you ride for awhile, but once he’s comfortable with it ,, he’s actually obsessed.

cant see him bottoming , just wouldn’t be comfortable with it

my brain is getting messy so im stopping here! feedback and comments would be cool if you wanna drop some!

#jason todd #jason peter todd #jason todd x reader #arkham knight x reader #arkham knight #arkham knight smut #jason todd smut #jason todd headcanon #arkham knight headcanon #jason todd hc #red hood x reader #red hood smut

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carolmunson · 1 year

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always something there to remind me (s.h.)

summary: ten years after the sealing of the upside-down, you and your fiance steve head to a cookout to unwind during memorial day weekend. with steve on edge after a rough half sleep full of night terrors, you hope the day can be salvaged by seeing the party and just relaxing, but a violent thunderstorm changes those plans for the worse. pairings: steve x reader, lumax, edancy. heavy on the steddie brotp tho.

tw: 18+ as always. this story deals with themes of mental illness and ptsd, it is only intended for mature audiences. descriptions of ptsd flashbacks, internal and external (please be advised they are dramatizations). partner violence (unintentional). drinking/smoking. discussions of mental illness. very moody steve but very soft steve. features some tense arguments. smut, like, very loving and passionate smut. this relationship is not perfect, it's also a depiction of a moment in time in 1997. the emotional load was very much a woman's job and i personally think steve would be 'too proud' to be 'too soft' about his stuff. so there are parts that seem kind of 'eh' but -- that's just how things were sorta. gif by @kingofscoops

His pill case sounded like a rattle when you took it from the medicine cabinet, taking it into the kitchen where he was shrugging on his freshly ironed polo. The ironing board and hot iron still set up by the counter. The black stone contrasted nicely against your cherry wood cabinets that he installed two summers ago. That was when you both thought he might be getting better: the night terrors were less and less frequent, the flashbacks far and few between, he was less tense, less irritable. Seeking you constantly for soft touches and kisses, any kind of affection he could pull from you he'd take willingly. Two years ago was your two year anniversary -- when he finally told you the real story. Why he had all those scars, why he can't sleep, why he wakes up in a cold sweat crying. Why you'd never been able to figure out which health care company was providing him with so much medication and therapy when he was working part time at the hospital -- it's because it was the FBI.

It was two years ago where they took you to an underground office where they told you everything. Steve sat next to you, gripping your hand so tightly you thought it might break. They reassured over and over that nothing was coming back, that everything was over, but that Steve and his friends will likely never recover emotionally and mentally from what they endured. Four years into things now, you were both his fiance and his nurse. You checked in monthly with his caseworking team, but in these last few months, they've had nothing but shaky reports. You wondered if maybe his mind just isn't as sharp as it used to be -- you both just entered your thirties, maybe things get knocked loose quicker when you've been to hell and back. "Here, honey," you say softly, putting his pill case on the table. He looks at them and sighs, amber eyes lingering on the 'Saturday' section of the pill box. "Let me get you some wa--" "You don't need to give me my pills every day," he says -- it's soft and sharp, "I know I have to take them. I've been takin' them for ten years."

You offer him a tight smile, "I know, Stevie..." You trail off. 'It's important that he feels in control of the situation, a lot of his role when he was in this situation was to protect others. Try not to baby him about it, he might be fragile, but he doesn't like to feel like he is.'

"It's just...I don't want a repeat of last year," you quietly remind him. He had gotten too sure of himself when he started to feel better -- missing days, stopping altogether, off and on.

He reaches for the pill case and pops open the Saturday square, tossing the main five pills into his palm and then into his mouth. Pain, anti-depressant, anti-anxiety, migraine, blood thinner. The heavy stuff sat in the cabinet above the fridge: Quaaludes, Oxycontin, Sumatriptan, Clozapine -- among others. Every day was a reminder to him that he didn't come out of this a stronger person. His dad let him know that at every visit, treating him like he had a son made of glass. "Don't," he says after he swallows, "Don't start with me."

Your eyes narrow in on the finger he puts up in warning and travels down to his big hand, a vein popping in his forearm and under the band of his watch. His bicep flexes against his polo, you follow it across the expanse of his chest and down the other arm, landing back on the pill case.

You knew last night what kind of day it would be this morning. Desperate reaches for you while he woke up from another nightmare, his damp chest up against yours while he hid his face in your neck. He hugs you so tightly to him so he doesn't float away, and you match his strength as best you can until he falls back asleep. Sometimes it takes hours of stroking his hair and soothing him before he feels safe enough to even close his eyes. In the years you've been together, he's been more and more embarrassed over these needier nights. 'It's just, baby -- I'm a man. I have to get over all this shit.'

"I'm not starting anyth--" "You are," he warns, eyes narrowing. He clenches his jaw, "Don't."

"M'sorry," you breath out. You take the pill case when he sets it back down and bring it back upstairs to the main bathroom. You refill the case before placing it back in the medicine cabinet with a sigh. When it closes you look at yourself in the mirror, no longer the fresh 26 year old he met at the hospital admin desk when he started his part time job as an assistant in the children's psych floor. Gaining hours towards getting his pediatric therapist licensure to help kids who were like him and his friends -- well, sort of. To some extent. You smooth over your button down dress, his favorite one in your closet -- navy blue with beige flowers littering the fabric. It flounces over you in dips and swoops, falling just under your knee. Another sigh and you grab your purse from the bedroom and slip on your sandals, clip clopping down the stairs where you hear him grab the keys. Another Saturday morning where the group gets together and just hangs out, even though Steve sees Eddie, Rob, and Dustin pretty often throughout the week. They've been doing it for years now, but the outside buzzed with the promise of summer, Memorial Day weekend making everyone feel more at ease. Everyone except Steve.

He slams the car door when he gets in the drivers seat, making you jump in the leather of his Lexus. He runs his hands over his jean clad thighs, having grown in size over the last six years with age and trips to the gym. 'I just wanna be in like, peak physical condition if anything tries to come back. I wanna be more ready than when I was a kid, y'know?' And while the muscle was certainly titilating, it made for a very wary you when things went left. "Don't be like that, Stevie," you say softly, your voice calm and gentle like it is with patients on the floor, "I promise I wasn't trying to get on your case. Do you -- I don't know, do you wanna just stay home?" "No," he snaps, looking ahead toward the road as he starts the car, "I didn't pack a cooler full of all the shit you made for this cook-out just the stay home." "Can you relax?" you ask a little harsher than you planned, "Are you even good to drive?" "I'm good. To drive," he says through gritted teeth, pulling down the street. "Are you sure? 'Cause -- Honey you -- you didn't sleep so good last night and I --" He hits the breaks hard, stopping short at a stop light turning to look at you, tilting his head a bit to glare at you down the slope of his straight nose.

"Drop it," he says, the tenseness in his voice sends a chill up your spine. "Stevie I'm not trying t --" "Drop. It." he warns again, "Don't make me raise my voice at you." "Don't talk to me like that," you say sharply while he pulls the car forward when the light turns green. "Then don't talk to me like I'm a fucking child," he snaps back. "Well maybe if you didn't have an attitude with me like one I wouldn't have to," you cross your arms over your seat belt and huff. He shakes his head slowly, tongue tight between his teeth. He thought he knew better than to fall in love with someone who had a tongue as sharp as his. "You're askin' for an argument when you say shit like that to me," he says lowly, the Lexus crunching over helicopter seeds while he navigates through the neighborhood. You see his shoulders rise and fall while he attempts to steady himself -- fuse lit and ready to blow. "I'm sorry," you follow up, a deep breath filling your chest. You uncross your arms to lean your elbow on the edge of the window, resting your cheek in your hand, "I didn't mean that." "You did," he responds, tight and frustrated, quiet. He hastily reaches into his back pocket with one hand, eyes still on the road. Steve pops a cigarette between his full lips and you sigh at the sound of the lighter flicking. “What’s wrong now, hm?” he asks while the cigarette dangles from the corner of his mouth, “What’s your problem?” “Nothing,” you say – it’s something. He takes a drag and blows the smoke out the open window, “It’s just that you bought that pack yesterday and it’s already half way gone. You always chain smoke when you –” “Give me a fucking break,” he snaps, voice raising with each word, “God, can you let me have fuckin’ anything?” “No Steve, I guess not. God forbid I look out for your heal–” you start sarcastically. “Look out for yourself, baby,” he says sharply into the rearview so you can see his glare, “I’m doin’ just fine without you on my back.” You bicker the rest of the way to Ed and Nancy’s house, he only raises his voice one more time.

Eddie and Nancy's wedding was one for the ages, something about the mixture of straight laced and all over the place that made sense when they tied the knot. The pair, you were told, seemed unlikely until Eddie was in recovery after being removed from the Upside Down. He was down there for six months, tested on for another six. The Party and the older kids would visit him every day, keeping him updated and fed and hydrated. They'd cheer him on when he made advances in his mobility -- but for the most part he just needed rest. Nancy was working a lot, throwing herself into journalism like she always wanted, so she'd come to the hospital late. She wasn't really one for small talk so instead, she'd just read. She'd read aloud while he was asleep, her voice slow and calm -- stoic. Keeping him lulled like still water, she didn't even know if he knew she was there. One night, she picked up where she left off on the first installment of Lord of the Rings, continuing in her soft stoic voice. She watched him lay there with his eyes closed, breath steady, the beeps of the hospital machines in quiet rhythm with him. She at frist felt silly before she started, but maybe in his dreams he could hear her, and maybe just maybe if she does something fun, he won't have nightmares tonight. So she tries it...she puts on a silly voice for Samwise, and she continues with her silly voices. Gruff and manly for Aragorn, gleeful for Sam, some weird form of Scottish for Gimli. She bites her lip, smiling as she tries each one, shaking her curly head at her ridiculousness and stops. Then she hears it...the low rumbling giggle from Eddie in his hospital bed. "Keep going, it's funny..." he said with a grin, eyes still closed. "You can hear me?" she asked, trying to stifle her giggle. "I can hear you every night," he said, eyes peering open slightly, "It's the best." "Do you want me to keep reading?" she asked with a blush. He nods, a soft grin pulling up on his lips while he eyes closes again, "Only if you do the voices."

When you park in the driveway it's clear that the rest of the group arrived before you, their cars already Tetris'd into their places. Steve lugs the cooler out of the back seat with a grunt, hoisting it to rest on his broad shoulder. You roll your eyes at his machismo, like someone is watching him at all times and he has something to prove. You both walk to the back, the sounds of music and conversation and laughter bubbling louder and louder as you get to the gate of the yard.

A symphony of 'Heeeyyy!' and 'There he is!' and 'Finally!' come from the group as he opens the gate and you follow in toe. Eddie comes over quickly to help with the cooler, his hair still as long as it was when he was 20 – the only real updates being his five o’clock shadow and the ring in his nose. A few more weary tired lines by his eyes. His home made Iron Maiden muscle tee had a small sweat mark by the neckline – they must’ve been out here getting ready all morning. “Hey man,” he grins when the cooler gets set down, pulling Steve in for a tight hug. “Hey,” Steve smiles, patting his back hard, savoring the hold. “You alright?” Eddie asks when he lets go, putting a hand to his face, “You feeling okay?” Steve smiles tightly and nods but Eddie only half buys it, returning his look before turning to you. He comes forward, kissing both your cheeks with his full lips, scruff scratching at your skin, “Hi, sweetheart.” “Hi Ed,” you grin, watching everyone else come up to say their hellos. “Where’s Nance?” Steve asks, but his question is answered when she waddles out of the sliding door of the kitchen with a pitcher of lemonade. From the back, you’d have no idea she was seven months pregnant, but from the side – let’s just say, it was gonna be a real big boy. “Honey, what did I say?” Eddie calls out, walking over to her and taking the pitcher. “It’s not even heavy,” she chides back with an exasperated eye roll. You giggle at their bickering, listening to their sweet back and forth with a gentle ache in your chest. You wonder if Steve will be the same way when you’re pregnant. You wonder if the back and forths will sound so sweet, so innocent, so soft. Your thoughts are interrupted by the sound of the cooler opening, turning to look and grab what you can to put in the fridge inside. Steve takes the meat out to put by the grill and a few appetizers that you put together last nice. You take the icebox cake and chocolate covered strawberries, hurrying with them through the sliding door into the kitchen. “I know, mommy just thinks she can do it all,” Eddie coos, resting his hands on Nancy’s stomach while she slices cheeseburger toppings on the counter, “She just won’t rest, are you gonna be like that too? You gonna run me ragged? You gonna be just like mommy?” Nancy laughs and it’s half airy, half from deep in her belly, “Look, it’s just better if I’m active so that I’m not surprised by it when he’s born.” “I know,” he says, kissing her cheek, “I know. You still love me, Wheeler?” “Love you always,” she grins, blushing when she sees you come in with desserts, “Oh! Oh my goodness, let me help you!” “I got it!” you say, “Just hope there’s room in the fridge!” When everything’s loaded up you give each other a hug, watching as Eddie and Steve have a mildly stern conversation about who is grilling what. ‘It’s my grill.’ ‘And? It’s my meat.’

“Do you think they should just kiss?” you ask while you watch them. “Honestly, I feel like they need to at this point," she laughs, "Go on outside, I’ll be out in a few,” Nancy encourages and you make your way back out into the very early summer heat – mugginess starting to soak the air around you. Before you know it, you’re already being pulled over to the picnic table to watch a game of Magic the Gathering between Lucas, Max, Dustin, Mike, and Will. El doesn’t come back to Hawkins very much,so you’ve been told – she’s the only person from the group you haven’t met. “So is this like D&D?” you ask, resting your cheek against your palm while you lean on the table. “Yes and no,” Max explains, looking at her options, “It’s like…” “Like poker but D&D,” Dustin says, making Mike, Will, and Lucas snort. “I think that’s the easiest way to explain it to you,” Mike says. “I trust that,” you laugh with them. You’ve been consistently hopeless with trying to learn the mechanics of Dungeons and Dragons but still enjoy watching, loving it more when Steve decides to join a campaign. He lets loose in ways you’ve never seen when he does, smiling and laughing, free like a child in the summertime. The sun beating on your back suddenly disappears when you hear Steve come up behind you with a hand on your shoulder, “Can I have my glasses, honey?” “They’re in the glove box,” you say, turning around, “Why do you need them?” “Oh, is Erica making you read her thesis outline?” Lucas asks, “Just tell her to buzz off. She already passed it in.” “Sinclair – don’t be an asshole,” Steve gives him a look that can only be described as ‘bitchy’, “She wants some assurance. We need another psychologist in the family, and she’s obviously the only one smart enough to get it done.” “Rude,” Max deadpans, flicking her eyes up at him. “You’re rude, twerp,” he says back, he turns back to you after sucking his teeth, "My glasses?"

“I just said, in the glovebox,” you repeat, a little sharper than you meant to. He lets out a huff through his nose, looking at you like he can’t believe you’d get snippy with him before stomping off toward the gate of the yard. “Is he alright?” Dustin asks quietly, “I saw him on Thursday he just…I don’t know, he seems a little tense.” “He had a bad night,” you explain, toying at a splinter in the wood, “He’ll be okay.” The sun disappears again but not from the expanse of your fiance’s shoulders and chest, but from a thick cloud moving slowly across the sky. The relief from the heat is almost welcomed until you feel the humidity raise a bit in the air – a little too tight, a little too suffocating for your taste.

The party is in full swing while Meredith Brooks’ ‘Bitch,’ blares from the boom box, Nancy and Max screaming the lyrics with abandon while the boys groan. You smile at how much fun they’re having, the afternoon going smoothly enough that you haven’t had time to notice how cloudy the sky had become. Your eyes linger on Steve, glasses on while looking at Erica’s thesis outline with her on the back porch. He had a pen in one hand and a cigarette in the other, the fifth one in the last hour and a half. "You got something here," he says to her, tapping his pen while continues reading, "Your argument's really strong -- especially about the rates of homelessness, it's almost always trauma related." "Well -- I am me," she says. He raises his brows and nods in agreement. "Can't spell America without Erica," he teases. You watch him, how gentle he is and how he taps through outline, asking her questions about how she feels about the finished thesis, where she got it bound, if the articles he sent over were helpful. They speak in words you don't understand, but it's okay -- he looks calmer, brows softened while they talk, so encouraging. "I'm a bitch, I'm a lover, I'm a child, I'm a mother, I'm a sinner, I'm a saint, I do not feel ashamed --"

Eddie's rasp pierces the groups singing and conversation as he belts the lyrics next to his wife. Everyone looks up to watch him go, laughing as he does. "We should cover this," he grins, "Me and the guys, we gotta cover this at the next show." "So you can get boo'd off the stage?" Mike laughs. "So I can make sure your ass doesn't get in the bar?" he asks back. Mike scowls while Dustin laughs at him -- it's always smarter to not try it with Eddie, he'd always get you back ten fold. With a jolt, you feel something cold hit your hand, looking down to see a water drop splat against your skin. Then another, and another, and another. After the fourth or fifth, the rain starts to come down -- and then it starts to pour. "Alright!" Nancy calls, "Everyone grab something and head inside." The Party rises, wincing as the rain pellets down on them while everyone grabs a foil tray or covered Pyrex filled with food. You follow suit, hurrying inside with the undressed cheeseburgers and buns, laying them safe on the counter in the kitchen. Everyone else starts to file in, Steve and Eddie turning off the grill while the sky starts to darken significantly. The first rumble of thunder sends everyone's face to a flat line -- you wished Robin wasn't spending the weekend in New York City so that you'd have someone on the front lines with you and Nancy to keep everyone at ease. Nancy and Robin definitely had their moments but had a much tighter grasp on the world around them now.

A few flashes of lightening crack followed by deep rumbles of thunder. Boom, crack! Boom, crack, crack! You notice everyone resettle themselves around the kitchen table -- jittery, quiet. You sit down across from Steve while he looks down, following the woodgrain with his finger. You keep your gaze on his chest, watching for a tell -- he swallows the frustration he feels from having your eyes on him. "It's alright guys, just a storm," Nancy reminds everyone gently while she brings in the last of the food from outside. Eddie gets her seated before opening things back on the counter, the kitchen smelling like barbecue while he opens the foils. The conversations start around you again while you sit across from Steve, the tension sitting like a weighted stone in your chest. Another flash of lightning and that's when you notice it, the twitch of his hand. The thunder rumbles and he reaches up to rub his eyes with his thumb and forefinger under his glasses. Shit. "You okay, honey?" you ask him softly. He swallows, jaw clenching, "Mhm." "Okay," you nod, trying not to bring attention to it just yet, just incase it passes. The thunder booms again and he lets out a breath through his nose, he takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes more agressively. You tap your foot under the table and he can hear it, he can hear everything in the room -- the scrapes of foil on foil. The separate conversations. Eddie's laugh while he talks to Nancy. The clinks of silverware. Ice in cups. The drumming of fingers. Your tap. Tap. Tap. Tapping. Under the fucking table could you just stop tapping your fucking foot -- The next crack of lightening is so intense it shakes the house and everyone gets quiet. 'Just a storm', Nancy reminds, but her voice sounds far away. Thunder rumbles again in the distance and he swears when the lightening flashes through the windows it's red. He rubs his eyes again, a short burst of breath coming through his nose. 'Honey?' he hears you but its like he has cotton in his ears. The thunder rumbles again, the slick squelching of vines starts to creep into the sound of it. Another crack of lighting and the lights in the kitchen flicker. But when they turn back on Steve isn't with the group anymore. He's not even in the kitchen. He's back at the Creel House. 'Baby? Steve?' your voice is distant -- does Vecna have you? Did he find you? Is he taking you away from him? Steve whimpers, getting out of the chair, pulling at the roots of his light brown locks -- desperate to pull himself out of the memory, "Help, please..."

"I'm here, Steve," you say rounding the table while the rest of the group stands back, getting ready to help. Max grabs a boom box and Lucas runs to his car to grab his tapes with everyone's favorite songs on it -- just in case. Dustin approaches him slowly, hands out in front of him while Steve shrinks to the floor, back against the cabinets. "Steve, it's me, it's Dustin," he says calmly and slowly, "You're in Eddie's kitchen, Steve." But Steve only hears Dustin saying his name -- Dustin must be in trouble. "I'm coming," Steve says, eyes shut tight, falling further away. You watch as sweat grows on his hair line and neck, muttering a fuck under you breath. This was gonna be a bad one. "Honey, honey," you continue, kneeling down in front of him to ease his hands off of his hair, "You're okay, you're safe. I'm with you." 'Honey.' He hears your voice in the distance, searching for you in the blue black haze of the Upside Down, the thick particles of dust in his eyes. The slither of vines covers the walls and the floors while he ascends the stairs -- where are Nancy and Robin? Weren't they with him? "Nance?" You watch him call out for Nancy and she goes to get up but Eddie puts his hand delicately on her shoulder. He shakes his head no at her, "Just talk to him," he says to her. 'I'm here, Steve, it's okay!' 'It's okay!' But it's not Nancy's voice, it gets more an more deep, more gravelly, more like him. Steve flinches in front of you, soft 'no, no, no's slipping from his mouth. 'Stevie...' Where are you? Does he have you? 'S̷T̴E̶V̴I̷E̵.'

The sound of Vecna's voice booms in his ears, the thunder rumbling, the red lighting flashing to light up the house. You were never here -- Vecna tricked him. He breathes hard, looking around while the vines snake around, searching for him. "Okay, okay baby," you say hurriedly, watching him while he starts to hyperventilate. You raise your voice to get through to him, "Honey you gotta take some deep breaths for me, okay? Can you hear me?" Max and Lucas come back, smacking the tape into the radio and fastforwarding until Marc Cohn's Walking In Memphis crackles through the speakers. They both heave breaths while the song plays, leaning over the table to settle down from running. "You hear the song, honey?" you ask, "Can you hear it? Talk to me, Steve." You reach your hands up, sliding slowly up his chest to rest your hands by his jaw in a soothing touch. But for Steve in the Creel House, the vines have found him, slithering up his chest and around his neck, tighter and tighter against the wall. He tenses, big hands coming up and grabbing your wrists with a grip so tight you whimper. "No, shit, shit, shit! Fuck! STOP! NO! I CAN'T!" he panics, gasping for breath while his nails dig into your forearms and drag painfully downward why he tries to pull you away. "Ow, ow baby, hey, you're hurting me," you yelp out. He doesn't stop, eyes switching from tightly closed to open and unfocused while he reaches up to your biceps, clawing at them in defense. You reach out a final time. "Honey, honey, please, it's me," you say, tears balancing on your lower lashes while he rises, taking you with him. He handles you real rough, grabbing you by the shoulders and throwing you to the ground with a loud thud. And god does it hurt.

"HEY!" Eddie's voice booms out, gruff and loud like the rumbles of thunder outside. He gets behind Steve, pulling his arms close to his chest while Steve struggles against him. Erica and Mike hurry toward you to help you slowly up off the floor. You reel at first, wanting to run back to him. "Stay in front of her Wheeler," Ed warns, "You all stay right there." You stand behind Mike with Erica who takes your hand tightly in hers. You feel the pulse of pain in your arms when you look down -- gouges and deep scrapes, the blood shines in the line of the kitchen. You shake your head out of it and watch on as Eddie and Dustin do what they can to help -- the song continues to play in the background. "No, no," Steve whimpers, twisting his wrists in Eddie's grasp to break free, but in this state Eddie is stronger. He pulls him close, Steve back to his chest while they sink back down against the cabinets. "Shh," Eddie soothes, still holding him tight, "We got you, just listen -- you're in my kitchen. You hear the song playing?" Steve grunts, thrashing while Eddie hugs him tighter to him. "Steve, listen, listen to the song," Dustin says, "Focus on me and Eddie's voice, listen." Steve struggles, less intense than before, "Shh, shh, it's okay Harrington," Eddie soothes, rocking him slowly back and forth. "They need me," Steve cries weakly, breaths slowing while he pulls again at Eddie's hold, "Gotta save 'em..." "Steve," Dustin says again, getting closer. He rubs his shoulder slowly, pressing his thumb into the joint, "We're safe, all the kids are safe." "Safe..." he repeats back. Eddie sighs a little in apprehensive relief, letting go of one wrist to run a hand over his head, turning Steve's face into his chest and holding him close. "That's right, Steve," Eddie says softly, "Safe." 'Saw the ghost of Elvis, on Union Avenue, Followed him up to the Gates of Graceland And they watched him walk right through...' Steve can hear the lyrics, warbled and tinny in the Upside Down. 'Safe, safe, safe.' Echoing through the walls -- it gets dimmer. 'Now security they did not see him, They just hovered round his tomb...' Dimmer and dimmer. 'Almost over buddy, I can tell, we're right here. You feel Henderson?' A soft warm rub on his shoulder, the lyrics to the song, Eddie's voice. The sound of vines fade away, he hears the rain, it fades to black. "Walkin' in Memphis..." Steve whispers, half confused, while his eyes open and focus -- squinting in the light of the kitchen. Overwhelmed he looks around while the room tilts on it's axis. He grips Eddie's leg tightly to steady himself, he's breaths picking up again. "It's okay buddy, it's just us," Eddie says again, "You with me?" Steve nods, face cracking while he lets out a broken sob. You can only watch while Eddie flicks his eyes up at you in another warning to not come closer yet. Dustin let's go while Eddie starts to hoist him up, wrapping Steve's arm around his shoulder while he helps him to the guest room down the hall. "C'mon big boy," he says gently, "Let's get you some rest."

Things feel a little quiet after Eddie comes back from the guest room, he's tense -- no longer having fun the way he was before. His eyes are dark while he heads outside into the rain to have a cigarette. Lucas turns off the stereo and The Party sits back down at the kitchen table for a moment to decompress. They silently take out of the Magic the Gathering cards and start to set up again, Erica joins them seamlessly. When things seems a semblance of stable, Nancy gets up and takes your hand and leads you to the bathroom, "Let's check you out, alright?"

You sit on the toilet seat cover while Nancy takes out a first aid kit from under the sink. You listen while she hums the climax of Whitney's 'I Have Nothing' quietly, searching the medicine cabinet for some Bactine for your cuts.

"Are you okay?" she asks, taking both of your hands to outstretch your arms, she turns them to see the damage -- she tries to hide her face of disappointment but it's clear.

"I'll be fine," you say softly while she wipes down the gouges and scrapes, "I can take care of it Nance."

"No, you just -- just let me," she says softly. The Bactine stings -- so does the way she looks at you -- pitifully. You hear Eddie's boots clomp down the hallway before he shows up at the door frame of the bathroom.

"You okay, sweetheart?" he asks -- you wish people would stop asking. They only ask when they see him lose control. You do this all the time, you take care of him all the time.

"I'm okay," you repeat, "A little banged up, but y'know. It's okay."

"Does he do that alot?" Eddie asks, his jaw clenching, "Does he hurt you a lot?"

"This is one of maybe...I don't know -- four times he's gotten physical with me during an episode," you explain, "And you all know about them."

"Does he hurt you when he's here?" Eddie asks, tapping at his temple.

"No, Ed, don't be ridiculous," you sigh, exasperated that he'd even ask.

"Steve's not like that, Eddie," Nancy says, "We've been over this." "Well, here's the thing Nance," he starts, tense, "We're ten years out of this shit and no matter how bad my shit got I've never put a hand on you like that. Ever." "Eddie --" "No, no, listen," he says, "I don't like that, and I especially don't like that happening in my house in front of my pregnant wife." "And what would you like me to do about it, Ed?" you snap, "I can't -- fuck -- I can't fucking fix him for you." "I'm not asking you to fix him," he says back, a pain deep in his chest coming through with his voice, "I'm asking you to be sure that you still want to be a part of this -- your wedding's what -- October? You really wanna be worrying about this?" "For better or for worse, right?" you ask back, choking on the lump in your throat, "That's the promise." Eddie tucks his lips in, his own eyes getting teary while he scans the gouges that Nancy carefully puts bandaids over. "Ice your hip and shoulder for the first couple days," he mutters, biting the edge of his them, "After a fall like that. Then heat." You nod, quietly murmuring a thank you. "S'what my mom used to do," he says under his breath. Eddie scans you slowly one more time, swallowing hard before pushing off the door frame and walking back down the hall. You hear their bedroom door click closed in the distance. "You know how he gets," Nancy says, "Stuff like that y'know -- that's hard for him." "I know." She takes a washcloth, running it under cold water before squeezing it out. Droplets fall on the fabric of her light purple maternity shirt, leaving dark people marks on the top of her belly. She hands it to you. "Here, for his head," she says softly, "In case he's not all the way back yet."

You creep slowly into the guest room, seeing him laying on his stomach with half his face buried in the pillow. His sculpted arms tucked under it to give him something to hold. "Baby?" you ask quietly, "You awake?" He nods with his eyes closed and you look him over -- big hulking man who needs to be held. He hates it but you can't help but love him for knowing he needs it. You put the wet face cloth on the side table, sliding down next to him while he moves over to his side. In one swift motion you've replaced the pillow -- arms wrapping tight around your waist and up your back, one hand molding over your shoulder. He hides his face in your neck and you can feel his tears on his lashes and cheeks. His shoulders shake while he cries for a while, cold sweat damp on his shirt and the back of his neck. You never check how long he cries for – as long as he does. “I’m here,” you say softly, nails grazing his scalp in a steady swipe, “I’m right here.” You adjust a bit in his hold and you feel his grip tighten slightly, a soft whine of desperation leaking from his throat. “Don’t go, please,” he begs softly. “M’not going anywhere big guy,” you soothe, “This wedding’s already put us ten grand in the hole. Where would I even go, now?” You hear a soft ‘tsss’ come out of him, a tug of a smile against the skin of your neck where he hides.

“Oh, is that funny?” you joke, still coasting your fingers through his hair. He groans, letting his arms let go of you so he can sit up, you can see the tension in his body still. Steve looks down at you with tear stained cheeks and tired eyes, beckoning you forward with his fingers. You sit up for your thank you kiss, his warm palm cupping your cheek while he holds you gently in place. He kisses once slowly, then twice, three times – holding the last so you know he means it. When you break away he rests his forehead against yours, offering a few shallow breaths. You stand up off the bed while he sits off the edge of it, standing between his thighs.

"Did I hurt you?" he asks softly. He asks after every episode ever since he did hurt you back when you first started dating. A swift smack to the arm that stung for a solid twenty minutes afterward with the amount of power he put into it. It welted. He cried for hours. He wrote you love letters every day for a week.

You nod, showing him the scratches and bandages on your arms, "I think you thought I was a vine or something. You threw me. Like, to the ground. It was pretty hard."

His lower lip quivers, "No, no, no." “No, Steve,” you assure, trying to calm him, “It’s okay, you didn’t know. It’s alright, I’m alright. It was an accident.”

His face contorts while the tears start again, his big hands reach out to your waist, pulling you close to him, "It's not okay, it's not alright."

His voice raises an octave while he cries, "I'm sorry, baby."

"It's okay, Stevie, shh," you whisper to him, he pulls you in tighter, body shaking while pressing his nose against your cheek.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he cries, sniffling, "You know I didn't mean it."

"I know you didn't," you say back, your own cry getting caught in your throat. He sniffles again, leaning back to face you, both of his hands cupping your cheeks, his thumbs rubbing the apples.

"I love you," he says with a depth and intensity that makes the lump in your throat give way. You cry with him and it breaks his heart, "I love you so much honey, you know I’d never…"

You nod, trying to calm your cry the way he was able to calm his -- so used to swallowing it up even though you'd beg him not to.

"I – shit – I have to tell you something," he says softly, hands sliding from your cheeks back down to your waist and then your hips. He looks down at the small triangle of mattress between you and the apex of his thighs.

"What's up, Steve?" you ask, running your hands through his hair again soothingly, "What is it?"

He lifts his head up, eyes shutting at the comforting touch, but when he opens them he looks defeated -- guilty, "I haven't been taking my meds at night. I was -- was flushin’ them cause I just -- baby, I don't know. I can't keep depending on this shit."

"Steve."

"I know," he nods, "I know...That's why -- that's why my shit's getting worse."

"You're not just taking this stuff to take it," you say, cupping his cheeks, "It's to keep you here. It's to keep you with me."

"I know," he repeats, voice cracking again, "I'll call my shrink tomorrow I promise. I'll get back on track. Fuck -- I'm sorry -- and I'm -- I'm sorry I was so mean to you this morning."

"It's okay," you nod, pressing a kiss to his forehead. You drop your hands and rub his shoulder, "I think we should go home, alright? We can get on the couch for the night and just rest."

"Okay," he says quietly, nodding. He slowly gets up off the bed, a little dizzy, using you for support. You both slowly walk out of the bedroom, Nancy peeking around the end of the hall.

"Everything good?" she asks.

You smile at her, "Yeah, I think we're gonna head home."

She smiles tightly, heading into the kitchen where the rest of the group still sits, eating and talking. Their heads turn when you both come into view -- soft eyes and smiles.

"I'm okay, guys," Steve nods, barely able to meet their gazes, "It's fine."

Nancy approaches you with a few tupperwares filled with food and dessert, "We'll get the cooler back to you on Tuesday."

"Don't worry about it," you smile, gathering the tupperware in your arms. You watch as the group gets up one by one to give Steve a hug goodbye. Their movements are slow and controlled, warning touches on his shoulders beforehand to remind him ‘It’s just me, it’s just my arms, I’m hugging you’. Soft mumbled words of support, nothing too loud – don’t startle each other. Wraiths of the friendship they all shared earlier. Rehearsed reactions to all of their sensitive needs – if you’ve seen one episode, you’ve seen all of theirs. And you had, once or twice. “I’ll get a copy bound for you,” Erica says while she hugs him. “You make me so proud, Sinclair,” he smiles. Nancy walks you both to the door and you turn, “How’s Ed?” “He’ll call later,” she nods, a look behind her eyes that matches yours. You hug goodbye, share quick reminders about food for the baby shower and a few crafty decoration plans before heading to the car with a very tired Steve. The rain patters on the hood of the Lexus while you both sit in the leather interior, this time with you in the driver's seat. He rubs at his temples with his eyes closed while you rifle through your purse for a sandwich baggie of emergency migraine medicine. “Here,” you say, handing him the pill, “Before it starts to get bad.” “Hmm,” he grumbles in agreement, popping it in his dry mouth to suck it down. “We’ll be home soon, okay?” you say, hand coming down on his thigh reassuringly, “Just close your eyes for now.”

He takes the tupperwares when you get out of the car, fishing his keys out of his back pocket while he does. His strides are long while you hurry up behind him, following him into the house only to bump into his back while he’s stopped by the thermostat to turn on the air. “Sorry,” you say softly. “S’okay,” he replies back, barely above a whisper. He puts the food in the fridge while you head upstairs to start a shower, a ritual you’ve both come to learn well after days or nights like these. You take out the good soap, the shower oil, all the aroma therapy you can to get him to ease up. Anyone else watching you get things ready would assume it was about to be a very sexy time for you. On the same coin, these showers are probably the most intimate moments you have with each other. He comes in as the room starts to steam and you help him ease off his polo, you start on the buttons of your dress while he takes off his jeans and socks. He helps with your bra, both of you shedding your underwear at the same time before you step in. Steve soothes almost instantly, his muscles relaxing under the hot stream, sighing further while he gets soaped up. You don’t have to be in there with him, but you do. He needs you so close so he doesn’t float away. His favorite part comes near the end, sitting in the flow of the shower together while you wash his hair. His eyes flutter closed while your nails scratch and massage him – he swears his hair is even thicker than it was before with all the blood flow you encourage. You wash his hair twice, then deep condition, holding him to your chest while you wait the five minutes it takes to settle in. He leaves soft kisses on your collar bone, on all the marks he left on you in Nance and Eddie's kitchen. He holds your hand, so you can’t float away. You both end up on the couch afterward, the leather groaning beneath you both while you lay across the deep seat cushions, you lay on your back, he lays on his side against you. The heat of his bare chest warms you through your oversized sleep shirt. His soft sweat pants tangle up with your bare legs. You let whatever’s on TV play – reruns you guess, you’re thinking about too many other things. “How’s your head, baby?” you ask while his eyes shut, leaning on your shoulder. “S’fine, better,” he says, he lifts your hand and kisses your fingers before placing both his and your hand on your chest over your heart. The ba-dump, ba-dump, ba-dum lulling him to sleep. You half watch TV for however long until your own eyelids get heavy. You click off the TV and opt to turn the stereo on low, just so he doesn’t get lost while he sleeps.

You wake up to oldies, music your parents would listen to on records in the living room growing up – songs that came out a few years before you were born. Oldies. It's dark outside but you can still hear the rain. Steve’s already awake, just watching you while his hand smooths back and forth over your sternum. “You snored,” he says. “Good,” you reply quietly. You both snort out breathy laughs, feeling the warmth of his lips as they smoosh against your cheek. “How you feeling?” he asks, hand coming up to rest on your cheek, sliding down the side of your neck. “A little banged up,” you say, “Might bruise.” “M’sorry,” he says again, a tinge of guilty pink tinging his ears. “It’s okay,” you repeat for what feels like the thousandth time in the past six hours. “You looked really pretty today,” Steve says gently, almost sheepish, “I should’ve told you.” “You looked really handsome,” you say back, “But you were kind of being an asshole so I didn’t want to tell you.” “You should’ve told me, it probably would’ve cured my PTSD,” he says seriously but sarcastically, “Could’ve saved the entire afternoon if you just said how good I looked. Prob’ly wouldn’t have had an episode.” “You’re such an ass,” you laugh, smiling. He leans in to kiss you and it’s the kind that makes you too weak to stand. That kiss got him a second date, it proved that they said about old King Steve in highschool. On the stereo, Sherry Baby bleeds into Unchained Melody.

His hand reaches up under your neck to tilt you up toward him, tasting your tongue with his, guiding you with his kiss, “Angel…” he murmurs. He breathes through his nose while he keeps his lips pressed to yours, desperate to stay here in this moment, attached to you. “Steve,” you say softly, breaking away, “Stevie…” “Please,” he whispers, nuzzling your nose slowly, “Please.” “Lemme take care of you.” “I…” your thoughts trail off while he kisses your neck, sucking and nibbling gently at the spot just by the hinge of your jaw. He waits for your soft sigh, the tilt of your hips towards him – your allowance. He grins when he hears the air pass your lips, the realignment of your spine beneath him while he settles between your squishy thighs. His hands travel south, pushing up the hem of your big t-shirt to your waist, holding you there for a moment while his kiss takes over your mouth again. He tugs your cotton panties down, breaking the kiss while he sits up on the couch to slide them off your ankles. Steve looks down at you with an expression that makes your breath catch in your chest, serious – with supple lips, needy eyes. He leads himself back down again, big hands sliding down the sides of your thighs over your hips to your waist again. Instinctively, your legs spring up to wrap around him while his hips align with yours, feeling his strained cock in his sweats against you. “Jesus…” he whispers again, eyes fluttering closed. He buries his face in your neck while you rock slowly against him, the pressure and friction against the underside of his erection sending low volts through his body. “Mm-mm,” he grunts, shaking his head ‘no’ while mumbling, “It’s supposed to be about you.” “Well stop dangling it in front of me then,” you giggle quietly, he giggles too. The smile sends you reeling, his pretty teeth, the way his nose scrunches. He leans forward again to kiss, he just can’t stop kissing, can’t stop tasting your lips, feeling you against him. Steve’s hand reaches down to pull himself out of his sweats, pushing the waistband to the tops of his thighs while he uses the other to push one thigh out off the couch. “You ready f’me?” he asks huskily, tip dragging slowly from the pool of slick at your opening up in between your folds. He lets his thumb run in slow circles over your clit while he waits for your answer, your slow nod while you lean your head back on the arm rest gives him the okay. He eases himself in slow, the tip pushing past your opening with some resistance. “Open up a lil’, honey,” he mumbles quietly while he guides the tip in again, “Open up for me.”

Your little gasps float out of you and into the fuzzy part of his brain, gliding down his spine. You angle your hips upward, one thigh up against the couch cushions and the other dangling over the edge, spread as wide as you can. He holds himself above you with one arm, the other aiding in pushing himself further in, the tip finally breaching your core. He keeps guiding, slow back and forths while you ease open for him – taking him in, inch by inch. “Oh yes, mhm,” he groans to himself softly, “Thass–hmm-that’s it, angel.” He let’s go when he’s three fourths in, crowding over you, forearms on each side of your head while he strokes slowly to start – getting you used to him, accommodating his size. “That’s good?” he breathes. “Ye-yeah,” you breathe back to him. His mouth latches to yours again, feeling him guide your hands up beside your head, lacing fingers while he presses you deeper into the couch cushions. He keeps his strokes slow and deliberate, feeling every ridge of you inside, how you suck him in and hug him tight in place – but how he feels isn’t nearly as important. It’s the way your brows contort, the way you bite your lip, your whines into his mouth while he kisses you. Each slow thrust makes you coat him in a new flow of slickness. “C’mere,” he says into your jawline, letting go of one hand to sneak behind you at the waist, pulling you flush to him. The new angle makes you let out a whine while he hits a spot deep inside you, he grunts at the reaction, the feeling of you taking him in. His pace picks up the smallest tick, face centimeters from yours – your noses brush, lips barely touching while his amber eyes keep steady on yours. You let out short huffs, little whimpers every time the head of his cock pushes deeper with every roll of your hips. “S’nice, hm?” he asks, brows slanting, softening. “Mhm,” you squeak back, “S-so good, honey.” Your legs pull in again, socked heels resting on the top of his butt while he sighs at the change in pressure. “Thassperfect, god,” he hisses out, head dropping down to your chest, pressing sloppy kisses above your breasts while he gathers himself. He groans into your neck while wet warmth tightens over him, soft velvet walls coaxing him closer and closer to the edge.

Steve’s shoulders flex while he balances on his forearms above you again, your forgotten hand taken by his, fingers interlocked. His face inches from yours while he looks at you, the way your eyes flutter, the soft parting of your lips, the high pitched ‘Uhn, uhn, uhn, uhn,’s coming out of them — you’re so beautiful.

“So pretty,” he says to you, huffing a breath into a smile, “So pretty, baby.”

You kiss him a thank you. You see him swallow when he breaks away, his eyes getting glassy.

“S’gonna be okay,” he assures, nodding down at you, nose to nose, “We’re gonna be okay.” Slow thrusts between statements.

“Gonna get married,” he says, a groan flowing right down into your mouth while he kisses you, “Gonna be just like Ed and Nance, right?”

You nod while his thrusts get more passionate, deeper.

“Yeah? That’s nice?” he asks, “Marry you? Take you just like this after the wedding?”

“Yeah,” you gasp back, “Yes, Stevie.”

“Give you a baby?” he asks in a low whisper into your skin, lips pressing against your cheek, his strong nose dragging against your cheek bone, “Give you so many babies. You want that?”

“I want that,” you nod, face pinching while you feel yourself building up and up in a slow churn.

“You want that?” he asks again, coming back to hover over you — tears in his eyes, “You want that with me?”

You nod to each other while he embraces you in an old movie kiss, wrapping himself around you, pressing him to his chest while his thrusts get purposeful, controlled.

“I love you,” he pants into your ear, “I’m yours, m’all yours.”

“I love you, too,” you rasp back, free’d fingers interlocking in his hair. He gets leverage on his knees, the leather of the couch squeaking under him while he repositions. Soft smacks of skin between you echo in the living room against the backdrop of the low stereo. “Oh my god, Steve,” you moan out, “You’re – oh god you’re so deep.” “So deep, angel, Christ–” he huffs, trying to make a mental note of this position so he can remember it for October – really make it stick. His thought process stifled when your nails drag down his back, making his passionate thrusts quicken – a signature cocky smirk flick across his lips. “Mmm, that feels good honey?” he asks – he knows the answer. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, tears glazing over your eyes while he feels you pulse over him. Thank god the couch was leather. Watching you bathe in the afterglow of your orgasm he works you toward the second with ease, chasing his pleasure with each soaking thrust into you – so nice like this, so pliant – his little ragdoll. When he cums it’s deliberate, spilling inside you with your eyes on each other. You give one another breathless kisses, bodies interlocked, sticking to the couch in new found exhaustion. The phone rings. Neither of you get up to answer it. ‘BEEP. You’ve reached the Harrington residence – Did you forget my last name isn’t Harr– If you’re calling before October 1997 then it’s not just the Harrington residence yet but – whatever you know what I mean. Leave a message, we might call ya back.’

“Hey Harrington it’s Munson, um, just making sure you’re okay, man. Sorry I disappeared for a little bit there. Love you, call me back when you can. Bye.”

thanks for reading. <3

#steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fan fiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic

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actuallysaiyan · 11 months

Text

Kinktober Day 21: Squirting(It ain't a crime to be good to yourself...)

warnings/kinks: smut, squirting, kissing, post-war era, biting, mentions of smoking weed, unprotected sex word count: 0.9k pairings: Shikamaru Nara x Fem!Reader teaser: “Fuck, you’re so damn gorgeous,” Shikamaru comments, his large hands spreading your thighs. taglist: @beneathstarryskies @loki-love @witchofcustom @dreadsuitsamus @pyrofanatic

After the war, everyone started getting together. You and Shikamaru had always been really close, but things were different once you two began to grow up. Seeing all your friends hook up and get married made you both realize that maybe you should pair up and settle down. But it was different with the two of you. You had no real reason to want to get married so young, yet nobody could keep you away from Shikamaru.

Once the mental health clinic was established in Konoha, you began to work there as a favor to Sakura. She had saved your hide multiple times during the war, and you were a very empathetic and sweet person. So it just came naturally for you to want to work with the mentally ill. Your daily routine was simple, but it was during the night after your shift was over that you were able to get the release from the stress you needed.

It started off simply with going to visit Shikamaru and you both would sit on his bed, smoking joint after joint and talking about all kinds of things. You would often spend the night there, just keeping one another company. Soon, things took a turn to something more intimate.

One night, Shikamaru couldn’t keep his hands to himself. He had been fantasizing about you for so long. He knew he had a crush on you since you were younger, but damn, you had grown into such a beautiful woman. He had no idea how he got so lucky to have you even been somewhat interested in him, but he tried his best not to question that.

That night cemented everything for the both of you. You found yourselves falling even deeper in love with one another. And so began a routine that neither of you wanted to quit.

The night starts off with a hot shower for you when you arrive at Shika’s place. Then he feeds you a nice meal and then the two of you smoke joints like always. After the marijuana hits you, you feel so cuddly and want to kiss.

“I’m amazed how you always come back to me,” Shikamaru comments as he puts out the joint.

You laugh, “You have no idea how much of a catch you are, do you?”

He smirks as he leans in closer, your lips only centimeters apart. “Mmm maybe I need to hear it from you,”

It doesn’t take long for you to be tangled in his sheets, his lips all over you. Shikamaru has such a fixation for kissing you wherever his lips can reach. As he undresses you, he loves to leave love bites in his wake.

“Fuck, you’re so damn gorgeous,” Shikamaru comments, his large hands spreading your thighs.

You’re already dripping wet at this point. He’d only have to do so little to make you cum. But Shikamaru isn’t a half-measures kind of man. He’s someone who will fuck you until you’re absolutely begging him to stop. His fingers spread your soft folds, and then he leans in to kiss you.

“What’ll it be, princess?” He asks, his fingers just teasing your aching bud. “Wanna get on all fours and be fucked like an animal? Or do you crave some intimacy and want the mating press?”

You were the one who had taught him all these positions names. You were quite a bit impressed to hear him using the correct terms. You take a moment to consider it as he uses his thumb to circle your throbbing clit.

“Wanna kiss you,” You say, your voice laced with lust. “Wanna be able to look into your eyes.”

This makes his heart melt. He knows that you’re in love with him, and he feels the same about you. Just the thought of commitment scares him a little. Still, he pushes those thoughts away as he folds you into the perfect mating press. Shikamaru decides to tease you even more, using the head of his thick cock to rub up and down your soaked folds.

It feels like hours as he continues his ministrations. You try to beg for him to stick it in already, but he’s having too much fun with this. The look on your face when he finally does slide into you is priceless. And the moan that erupts from you once he’s balls deep is just so perfect.

Nobody has ever fucked you quite like Shikamaru, and he knows exactly how to stimulate your body in the perfect way. He’s no stranger to using his Shadow jutsu to keep you held in this position while his hands go about stimulating other parts of you.

With one hand on your throat and the other circling that aching little bud, you know you won’t be able to last much longer. You whimper and whine, choking out the warnings that your orgasm is so close. Your thighs are shuddering as his cock keeps bullying that sweet spot.

“Gonna soak me?” He asks, a cocky smirk on his face. He stops only for a moment to grab the wand vibrator he bought specifically for you.

Your eyes widen and you cry out when he places it right on that spot that makes you cum so hard. Your breath comes out in heavy pants as your walls contract around him so hard. When your juices begin gushing out, you even push his cock out of your pussy due to the orgasm being so strong.

Shikamaru relishes in the sight of you coming undone so masterfully for him. He knows it’s all his doing that gets you going like this. Once you’ve come down a little, he leans in and kisses you.

“Let’s see if you can soak me a little more, princess.”

#bacon.writes #Shikamaru x you #Shikamaru x reader #shikamaru x y/n #Shikamaru smut #Shikamaru Nara x reader #Shikamaru Nara x you #Shikamaru x y/n #nara Shikamaru x reader #nara Shikamaru x you #Shikamaru Nara smut #naruto #Naruto shippuden #kinktober 2023

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crow2222 · 3 months

Note

Darry getting the TLC and hugs he deserves (which is a crap ton )

he deserves it all!

WC; 1,371 words

It wasn't a physical sickness he was feeling. Not at least to his knowledge. He'd checked his temperature multiple times, and heaved infront of the toilet, but nothing seemed to help treat the illness he felt plaguing his body.

That specific day was a Sunday, and fortunately, a day off both jobs. He took the spare time he planned to use to clean the house, to stay in bed as long as possible, all day even, if he could manage it.

His room had dirty clothes thrown carelessly all around, a muddy sock even held up by his bedside lamp, (he forgot to put on his shoes one morning, his ailment has been progressively gotten worse and worse until this point.) His small trash bin overfilled with old papers and wrappers from protein bars he'd scarf down before his stomach got too upset.

Dust could be seen floating around through the small crack in the blinds. Light shined in softly, telling Darry it was way past the hour he'd be up and at 'em already, but he didn't care.

Maybe if he stayed in bed long enough without a care in the world, his covers would just swallow him up whole, his feelings getting justified as it happens.

That thought reverberated in his head as everything went dark; his eyelids were too heavy to keep open.

...

"Pony? What're you doin' making the breakfast?"

"Darry's still asleep, I think. If I didn't do it, we'd starve."

Sodapop chuckled as he snuck up behind his brother, taking a peak of how he started the sunny-side up eggs alongside the bacon for Darry's sandwich. Soda had just gotten out of his bed, too afraid to check how bad his bed hair was, but none of the guys stayed over the night, which gave him a couple more minutes before he'd have to look presentable for an audience.

Ponyboy on the other hand, was already in a clean shirt and jeans, his hair nicely slicked back with grease. His hair was getting real long, to the point that Sodapop considered teasing him about it.

"Wake him up, would ya? He'd be all pissy if he let himself sleep so long.. that, and he wouldn't want to eat all this cold, now would he?"

With a shake of his head at his younger brother's colorful vocabulary, Sodapop followed his orders, and headed to Darry's room.

What hit him first was how dark it was in there, and when he flipped the switch on, Darry yelled at him to turn it off.

"Cripes! Why'd you have to go and do that for?" The older man whined, lazily pulling an arm over his eyes to block out the blinding light.

Another click went by without a word from Soda, and he neared Darry's bed. He had to step over random shirts and objects on the floor to avoid slipping and snapping his neck. Since when was his older brother so messy? He hadn't entered the room for a week, and it'd become a downright pigsty in that short amount of time!

Then, he was right above his brother, who by then had moved his arm off his face, and was staring off into space. Eerily similarly to Ponyboy, but it happened much quicker than his did.

"Darry.. do you feel alright?" His hands reached out to feel his forehead almost instantly, but pulled away once he noticed Darry had no fever of the sort, despite the sick look he had on his face. Eye-bags hung below his dull blue eyes, his hair was greasy from being unwashed, and his lips were chapped as if he was a dehydrated man stranded in the desert.

No response.

But what he didn't know, was that Darry could hear him, but it was all noise. Maybe he should've known what the words meant, he should've; but they didn't make a single lick of sense in his head. He made the conscious decision not to respond, how could he? His throat was scratchy and he doubted anything that would come out of his mouth would make sense.

Sensing it was a pointless game to try and get anything out of his older brother, Sodapop went back to the kitchen, quite frankly shocked. The silence following the footsteps scared Ponyboy, so he looked up, watching as Sodapop threw himself onto a chair by the table.

"What's the matter with you?"

"Darry."

The younger boy didn't push. Just waited, letting his older brother collect his thoughts and form them into words. (something Darry often didn't let him do)

"He's sick or somethin'. He's acting real funny Pony." He bit his tongue, refusing to let the "real funny like you" slip from in between his teeth.

Ponyboy let the words sink in as he assembled the sandwich for the very brother they were talking about. He wasn't going to let his efforts go to vain.

"Let's go pay him a visit then." He held up the plated breakfast, and strolled over to the closed room, his own food long forgotten. Sodapop was right behind him, thermometer in his hand, with a fear that he guessed wrong and he really did have a fever.

The handle creaked as Pony pressed it down, Darry refused to fix it, deeming his room as something he could leave to rot, but the rest of the house had to be squeaky clean. That was very evident as both of the brothers looked around the room, really taking in how dirty it all was. It wasn't a word that would be associated with Darry often.

A low sigh could be heard from the eldest Curtis and the other two came up to his bed, Sodapop sitting by his legs and Ponyboy standing towering above his face, plate in hand.

"The breads toasted!" He handed it over to his brother, but when he made no move to grab it, Ponyboy set it down on his nightstand, narrowly missing placing it on his watch.

"Darry, what's wrong?"

"Yeah, is there something up?"

Tears prickled at his eyes as his eyes darted from one brother to the other, as he suddenly felt overwhelmed. (It wasn't sudden, but he'd been able to ignore it before then.)

His brothers, both concerned, climbed up into the bed, squishing him in between them both. He felt cornered, choked, it was like brain went short circuit as he once again heard the noise, which he had to imagine was his brothers asking him what was wrong, once again.

"I don't know!" He garbled out, but to his amazement, his brothers understood. He wanted them off, to leave him, let him wallow in his misery.

But they didn't do any of that.

Instead, arms reached from both sides, one pair hugging his bicep, and another squeezed his entire body.

He wanted to tell them to knock it off, maybe knock their heads together too while he's at it, but he couldn't. Then, he noticed that the ache that had been persistent throughout his body for days now, seemed a little less.

His own arms brought free from the hold he was in, and wrapped them around the two bodies around him.

Warmth, coming to him when he thought he'd never have it again.

Brothers, who didn't have a single clue of how much this meant to him. (They knew. Of course they did.)

Tears spilled over, rolling down his face as he kept the last of his family in his arms. This action once being to keep them from harm, now kept him grounded. They were safe, that was his duty. Why is he trying to give it all up when they're still here, needing guidance and protection?

He could feel himself succumb to his exhaustion, but for the first time in months, he knew he'd wake up well rested.

Under his arms, he felt the rise of Darry's chest even out from his earlier erratic breathing, until it steady. He should've let go, and eat his breakfast that was waiting on the table, but he didn't. He had to stay, and Ponyboy seemed to think the exact same thing.

So they did just that,

falling asleep mere minutes after Darry.

#the outsiders #darry curtis #sodapop curtis #ponyboy curtis #the outsiders fanfiction #tumblr ask #tumblr asks #the outsiders writing #yayyy!!#darrel curtis #not beta reader or looked over so ignore any mistakes or weird wording <3 #the outsiders fanart #too ig

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aranock · 3 months

Text

I'm tired.

Just sort of in general I am exhausted. I know I put on a brave face a lot, but the hate does get to me. The constant unceasing hatred both offline and online gets to me. I'm human idk what to say. Been thinking a lot about the Bilbo quote, I might be paraphrasing, "I feel like too little butter spread across too much toast."

It's pride month, I should be feeling happy right? I convocated finally after a brutal long degree I should be feeling happy right? I like how my body looks for the first time in my life shouldn't I feel happy?

And I know that's not helpful, that feelings are not a should thing. And yet I feel it anyway :/. Not that I do not feel happy, I would say on average I am better than I have been at any other point in my life. But it does get to me.

I was invited to dinner with a former family member, a blood relative that breached every boundary I placed and even went so far as to accost me in a public space. It's hard watching someone lose all love for you the more you become yourself. Being told I'm an embarrassment to my parents by creeps online stings a lot more now that I had a blood relative say it to my face while aggressively yanking my jacket so I couldn't get away. I know its a lie, I know that this person saying that hurt my parents as much as it did me. Alas, anxiety rarely responds to facts or evidence.

Everytime it feels like I'm fine and over it; this person manages to weasel their way around boundaries to fuck up my mental health for a week. And the thing about chronic illnesses like mine is they flare up quite horrendously when you get stressed and anxious. Anxiety means waking up to acid burnt throat from reflux.

It makes my voice dysphoric all day.

I think deep down one of my greatest fears is that I am unlovable, that everyone around me secretly hates me and is just waiting for the excuse to finally be rid of interacting with me. I am terrified that I am a burden. Mortified by the false belief that I am broken.

Despite how horrific my childhood adolescence and some of my early adulthood were, my family was at least a safe place. I recognize that I was privileged to have that. With that said I think the reason this whole thing has rocked me so much is that it violated that one last place I felt safe. It has made me doubt the love of those I never thought I would.

Sometimes transphobia feels like drowning, and if you try to swim for air everyone decides to shove you further down cause actually it's proof you are faking needing breath.

I text someone anytime I go run errands, just to make sure someone knows. Had too many experiences of hate. I get anxious when I go to get groceries; will this be the time I get hit by a vehicle driven by a far right transphobe, am I going to get called a slur again, will the store staff get suspicious of me and search through all my groceries to make sure I actually paid for it. But please, tell me how I don't know what its like to be oppressed. When men sexually harass, catcall, creepily hit on, follow me around clearly I am not at all experiencing sexism. Obviously the real worst thing in the world is that women "cancel" people on the internet, and trans people exist. Did they think sending me hateful articles would suddenly make me go "oh yes clearly its all in my head, please genocide my community, I stand for nothing and have the moral backbone of a slug."

I don't really know why I'm writing this, I dont usually feel or desire to express something like this publicly. I will probably delete it later. Maybe I disappear into writing cause its easier to deal with the feelings that way. That at least then someone gets something out of my pain. That maybe it helps to condense emotional mountains to the mole hills of short strokes of a pen or presses of a key. To let them explode outward in a flurry of thoughts and words that others look at and say "I too have felt this, you are not alone, you are not wrong for feeling this way."

Anything to take the weight of it all off my chest for a second.

Because I am tired.

I'm exhausted really.

I don't want to be brave or strong or resilient. It's tiring to bear the weight of that and a billion projections. Atlas does not bear the heavens upon his shoulders because he is strong or brave. He bears it because he has no other choice. Because people put it on him.

I just want to exist; that is apparently too much to ask for as a trans woman.

If you are concerned, please don't worry I'll be fine, I was fine every other time after all. This too shall pass. But right now it hurts.

And I have had my fill of hurt for many lifetimes.

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spacexseven · 1 year

Note

tuna I have a mini yan concept that has been ITCHING my brain and I need to tell u now now now

yanderes who poison their darlings. not enough to kill, not even enough to notice: just enough to make you sick. they love you so much, they're so OBSESSED with you... but they also hate you. you're so independent, so stoic, so resistant when they try to get you to love them; to rely on them and submit to them. so, they decide to make you *weak.* they just wanna see you all pathetic and needy soooo bad, begging for them to take care of you </3 which of course, they will delight in.

just a few drops of this in your food and you'll be out of commission for the next week, and they'll have you all to themself <3

ggahshsghaaa just... having a yan that's soo obsessed with taking care of you <3 that wants to take a strong, independent darling and make them pathetic <3

I feel like this is a major dazai and fyodor thing. maybe jouno too.

- 🩹

cw: poisoning, yandere characters

it works perfectly when a yandere likes you for your stubbornness, for the bite in your words—it's who you are. but sometimes, it gets too much.

dazai for instance, as someone so desperate for you to reciprocate his affection and love, would hate how standoffish you can be. it was cute the first few weeks, but now, he just wants a moment where you're compliant and unable to stop him from coddling you and spending every waking moment by your side. it's not all that unusual to you, either, dazai has always been excited and happy to nurse you when you're sick, and this is just another one of those situations. sure, there's no real cause for your sudden bouts of weakness, but you're too tired to think about it too much, and dazai keeps you pretty occupied.

fyodor generally doesn't want you to be so rude and curt with him. he's doing you a favor, by protecting you from the ugly world, and now, he's helping you stay home and not risk your life outside with all those ability users running around. this also helps him hide his doa-related crimes from you if he wants since you're constantly bedridden and unable to do anything else. it is a funny thought to see fyodor caring for someone when he's already so sickly, but he comes in to check on you every few hours and he may even tell you that your weak state is a result of mingling too much with ability users (apart from him, since he's only using his to carry out god's will). you don't have to believe it, and you probably won't believe it now, but when it comes to the point that you're constantly ill and exhausted of how sick you are, you're willing to do anything to stop it. of course you know it's fyodor; you'd be a fool not to know, but if pretending that you agree with him stops him from poisoning you so often, you'll take it.

jouno resorts to this as a worst-case scenario. he doesn't want to hurt you, but you just don't listen! regardless of whether it's a civilian/villain/hunting dog darling, he only uses this if you really refuse to heed his warnings. jouno knows all about the dangers you're exposing yourself to on a daily by leaving his side, and since you won't take care of yourself, you leave him no choice. i think the poisoning thing is also a way for him to keep a handle on you. since all the hunting dogs are tied to the military by the monthly checkups that kill them otherwise, jouno decides to use a similar tactic on you. unlike the other yanderes here, jouno would make it clear he poisoned you. he even tells you that only he has the antidote, and if you want it, well...you'll just have to convince him that you deserve it, no? i can see him upping the dose for when you're particularly getting on his nerves, and so on ^-^

it makes things easier because you can't blame them for keeping you in either, since they're not stopping you themselves, right? even if you're convinced it's the yandere who's at fault, causing you harm, you have no evidence. they're exceptionally good at hiding it, (especially since we're talking about dazai/fyodor/jouno).

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gvnvks · 1 year

Text

zb1 giving you partner privileges … !

> pairings: non-idol!zb1 x fem!reader

> warnings: lowercase intended, not proofread

> song recommendation: mori by dawid podsiadlo (its in polish but u gotta listen to it fr)

> note: i started my exams today … two more to go !!

김 jiwoong.

THE PRIVILEGE IS REAL

im being so fr 😭

when literally anyone tries to take something from him, JUST BORROW FOR A SEC he immediately turns D:

except when its you

you could take (over) this mans whole life (you already did) and he wouldn’t even complain

hes THAT whipped

girl TRUST ☠️

“hey jiwoong, i wondered if i could borrow your charger for a sec, mine just stopped wor-“ rickys sentence got cut short by jiwoongs whine

HOMEBOY SNATCHED THAT CHARGER AWAY FROM HIM

“jiwoong, my sweet !! i thought i could use your laptop. i need to get some work done real quick”

jiwoong immediately gives u the laptop no hesitations

trust me if he could give you his all time life savings along with that laptop HE WOULD

(pls do i kinda need money 💯)

“can i use ur cologne jiwoong pls” “no”

BUT IF ITS YOU

“hey jiwoong!! i thought your cologne smelt really nice and wondered if i could spray a little on myself too!!”

shows u all colognes he has ever bought

EVEN THE EMPTY BOTTLES

“u can choose. the one i used today is this one :D”

later gives u like 2-3 of his STILL FULL colognes that you liked the smell of cause “i dont need that many anyways”

장 hao.

he’s serious about his sleeping

trust me.

he gets so mad when someone disturbs him in his slumber

and he’s also very difficult to wake up 😭

seriously

“hao u really should wake up…”

*snores*

“hao pls we have a schedule in 30 minutes”

*snores*

jiwoong you should just give up atp 🧍🏻‍♀️

“literally wake up what the fuck”

and let me tell y’all

when someone other than you miraculously manages to wake his ass up

he’ll just straight up yell at them

“SHUT UP” yes throw that pillow hao ‼️

but you

your voice has something that immediately wakes him up in his best mood

rainbows around his head and allat yk yk

every time when it’s you waking him up TRUST ME you’ll never see a morning pout on his face

you could literally beat his ass awake and he’d have nothing against it ☠️

he gets all soft and allat … yeah cute babe hao

his members r fucking confused cause what he so whipped for

can u see the what the fuck expression on jiwoongs face ??

HE JUST SIGHS

HE OFFICIALLY GAVE UP YALL

he’s in love like that

giving you privileges LIKE THAT …

also his morning i love yous … hi I need a bf quick

he’s a 10/10 boyfriend btw 💋

성 hanbin.

the amount of privilege you get as hanbins partner …

he literally pays for your every single thing

u saw that new pretty skirt while window shopping ??

“honey, want me to buy it for you?”

no matter your answer he in fact always does buy it

ur on a date in that cute new caffe ??

“hey, choose what you want. ill pay.”

SO HOT 💔

“hanbin !! this necklace is pretty, isn’t it ??”

“yeah, pretty neat” and the necklace is at your door 2 days later

basically your human wallet

of course its not like u demand from him to pay for you, he just does

and hanbin really enjoys buying you things and making you happy btw ‼️

cute

but when it’s his members 😭

oh hell naw he ain’t having it

“hanbin could you pls pay for me I forgot my wallet”

AND HE JUST GLARES

sighs

and sometimes SOMETIMES he does pay for his members but it’s like

once in a blue moon literally

“hanbin do you maybe want to buy me that new, cool game (whatever games he fucking plays) ??” GYUVIN BABE YOU KNOW THE ANSWER

“no” LMAOO

“oh no !! i ran out of money on apple pay …” you just wanted to buy keys on subway surfers 😕

hanbin IMMEDIATELY charges your apple pay with … a lot of money. you can buy a lot of keys now. are you happy.

GYUVIN SEES IT ALL AND IS OFFENDED ☠️

석 matthew.

i get a feeling that as long as matthew enjoys physical affection, he’s not that big on hair touching ?? like yk

he probably won’t let his members touch his hair very often

i dont know i just feel like he wouldn’t like it

“matthew, u got something on your hair” gunwook tries to pick whatever shit landed on his head

MATTHEW GRASPS HIS HAND HALFWAY 😭

GUNWOOK LITERALLY HISSES IN PAIN MATTHEW CHILL PLS PLs pLS

“i can do it myself” okay mr serious ?? gunwook literally didn’t ask

its not that serious, it was never that serious 💯

BUT WHEN YOURE IN THE PICTURE

you really like touching his hair

it’s so soft and allat

and sometimes you just randomly place ur hand on his head

he tenses up FOR A LITTLE SECOND and then softens up cause he realizes it’s you

SO CUTE 💔

lets you touch it for however long you want

matthew just doesn’t mind

ALSO

when you kiss his hair while ur hand is on his head he gets all shy and covered in blush 😭

kisses u back …

can u imagine what he’d do if instead of you it was one of the boys

HED THROW HANDS I CAN FUXKING TELL

honestly i dont see matthew as an aggressive (?) type of guy but when it comes to his hair ☠️

김 taerae.

we all know taeraes fashion sense is a bit … yeah.

basically it’s kinda bad

but that boy doesn’t let ANYONE literally anyone style him

“taerae i dont think these red pants fit well with that shirt …” hao just tried to give him some advice

and taerae just ignores his words 😭

“no taerae, don’t but these shoes, they won’t go with anything”

“stfu” BYE

but you ………

of course you love your precious bf but

sometimes you just can’t stand how off his outfits look 💔

”hm taerae… i dont think this shirt fits these cargos! maybe you could wear this white one?”

changes in the blink of an eye ‼️

“do i look better, sweetheart ??”

YES YES YOU DO

he’s so cute pls

he’s ready to change his whole outfit if you ask him to

“taerae i don’t think this outfit suits a date night…”

it’s not like you demand him to change, you just simply share your opinion

WHICH HE FUCKING RESPECTS

maybe even a little too much 😭

so whipped

guess who has head over heels for you

definitely not taerae

“taerae, my sweet !! these pants have too many bright colors, don’t you think they won’t suit anything you have ??”

“oh! maybe you’re right. thank you, sweetheart”

NAH BYW

리키 ricky.

he’s so in love that the amount of privileges he gives you is fucking enormous, im fr

but we’ll focus on one

ricky never lets ANYONE go through his phone 🙏🏼

he doesn’t hide anything or sth

he just doesn’t like when people go through his things, especially without his permission

“what the fuck are you doing with my phone, yujin” in a matter of 0.5 seconds rickys phone is not in yujins hands anymore

poor boy just wanted to check the weather 💔

“hey ricky, can i check something in your phone ?? mine just died”

WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE, HANBIN

“no” as simple as that 😭

“oh ricky … i also wanted to check my gmail real quick but its o-“

he doesn’t let you finish and just hands you his phone

HANBIN IS OFFENDED (who wouldn’t 😭 this looks like some kind of prejudice)

oh my god how things change when it comes to you …

basically you have more access to his phone than ricky himself

sometimes it even comes to you literally using his phone all day. literally whole 24 hours 💯

AND HE DOESNT COMPLAIN AT ALL ??

like literally no complaints whatsoever. zero. none. 0. FUXKING NULL.

his members r like what the fuck because like

WHATS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN YOU AND THEM

yall sometimes also like to switch phones for a day

the amount of pictures you take on his phone 😭

so whipped that he deletes NONE of them ‼️🙏🏼

김 gyuvin.

yes i do know i use this theme a lot while writing for gyuvin but i just cant help leave me alone pls

okay we all know gyuvin likes gaming

but he’s real serious about that …

if you’re not (y/n) don’t even think of disturbing him while he’s gaming 😭

HED LASH OUT TRUST

“gyuvin do you want som-“ taerae can’t even finish because gyuvin starts fucking throwing hands at him

“im kinda busy yk.” yes. yes we know.

HE DOESNT EVEN LET ANYONE TOUCH HIM ?? LIKE AT ALL ☠️

oh such a discord mod he is (im joking btw..)

but if it’s you …

oh girl i envy you this kind of boyfie 😕‼️

when you’re near him while he’s gaming he’d literally play with his headset only half on

yk in case you need something from him

so cute and so hot at the same time 🧍🏻‍♀️

he’d abandon his game for you

AND IM SERIOUS WHEN I SAY ABANDON

GIRL TRUST 💯

and ..

he lets you sit on his lap too ??

oh lawd have mercy 🙏🏼

when u sit on his lap he would literally play with one hand just to rub soothing circles on your back …

pls i need a therapist 💋

박 gunwook.

gunwook really doesn’t like when someone disturbs him while he’s focused on something

i mean its kinda obvious ??

probably no one does lmao 😭

he’s ready to throw hands even if it’s something way more important than the thing he’s focused on

IM SERIOUS ONG ‼️

“gunwook, can you stop what you’re doing for a while?” jiwoong asks with a pretty serious tone

“i can’t” WITHOUT EVEN LOOKING UP FROM HIS BOOK ?

not good … 💔

jiwoong im so sorry you’re probably so done by now

but if it’s you … !!!!!

“gunwook…” you whine, feeling kinda bored and alone today

AND HE IMMEDIATELY SHIFTS HIS WHOLE ASS ATTENTION TO YOU

god, teenager in love ‼️

he doesn’t really want to abandon what he’s doing rn as gyuvin does so he just

divides the attention 💯

…

sits you on his lap

OR SOMETIMES EVEN ON HIS DESK 😭

holds you by ur waist and just simply

plants kisses all over your cheeks

do I need to say his members r kinda disappointed ?? ☠️

hi i need a cute boyfie rn 💔

한 yujin.

okay so

there’s a lot of things yujin would let you do without you noticing it’s a “privilege”

because he wouldn’t complain if others did those things too ??

i mean like … its yujin so

but when YOU do these …

he encourages u so much 😭

ong…

im so serious … ‼️

“yujin can i try your food ?? it looks so good” ricky asked waving his chopsticks at yujins face

“oh… yeah go for it, i guess” WITH THE BLANKEST STARE EVER LMAOO

PLS TRY TO SEE IT WITH UR IMAGINSTION

“yujin! can i see your necklaces? it’s so cute!”

YUJIN IS SO SO XONFUSED

“oh… well… yeah”

now imagine you doing it 😭

“can i try some of your food, yujin ??”

HIS EYES IMMEDIATELY LIGHT UP ‼️

“yes! this here is rice with chicken and sour sauce and these ones there are some fried vegetables! eat as much as you want, cutie!”

okay yujin… 😭 not THAT serious babe

“yujin, my sweet! can i see your necklace?”

SO SO IN LOVE

“of course! i can help you put it on if you want to! you’d look so good in it!”

bae is so cute

#zb1 #zerobaseone #zb1 x reader #zb1 headcanons #zb1 reactions #zb1 misc #boys planet reactions #boys planet headcanons #boys planet x reader #zb1 imagines #kim jiwoong #zhang hao #sung hanbin #kim gyuvin #han yujin #kim taerae #park gunwook #ricky shen #boys planet

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abiiors · 6 months

Text

the spring curse - ross x reader ˖𓍢ִ໋🌷͙֒✧💌˚.⋆🌿

a/n: this is essentially a sickfic with so much yapping in there oh my god 🙄 yapping and yearning are the two things i operate on cw: brief suggestive content but no actual smut. being ill i suppose but it's very mild and fluffy. also pls we're going to suspend our disbelief here because i have no idea what being a florist entails. wc: 3.4k

they get together at the beginning of winter.

the last of the leaves are already a deep shade of orange, falling and falling everyday until the trees go barren and white snowflakes start fluttering all around. they’re already exclusive by the time the first proper snow of the season falls.

ross is a boyfriend. to the girl of his dreams. it makes him feel as giddy as a teenager every time he thinks about it; every time she gives him a sweet smile and an even sweeter kiss.

he always holds her hand just a little tighter, cuddles her closer just a little longer every time she has to go—he’s making up for the lost time, he thinks. all the time he’s wasted being stupid and a coward. and so whenever she stays over he stays near her, follows her around from room to room. she finds it infinitely amusing, so endearing that she can’t help but kiss him every two minutes for it.

a florist’s job is pretty slow in the winter. ross learns that quite early on in their relationship when he gets to take the slow days extra slow—cuddling on the sofa and dancing in the kitchen and every other cheesy thing he can think of.

he fucking adores the slow mornings after she stays over—loves waking up with her in his arms, loves the slow, lazy morning sex where she’s moaning and squirming and cumming on his cock barely awake, loves how she looks at him with sleepy eyes hooded with lust.

“‘s gonna be so awful when my job picks up again and the spring weddings start happening,” she says one morning while they’re in bed still, her head on his chest. ross hums. “you’ll be lucky if you see me two days in a row.”

he pouts. “it’s not that busy is it?”

“it is! so many new flowers coming into the shop and scott wants us to make sure each one of them is absolutely perfect. individually. fuck and the pollen—you’re not allergic to pollen are you? because i get so covered in it…”

ross racks his brain. maybe he does remember being a bit more sniffly in spring but nothing severe. it’s never been noteworthy. he shrugs and holds her tighter. “nah, don’t think so. it can’t be that bad though.”

she laughs mirthlessly. “you don’t know the half of it. my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much. like three months every year where i’d move back in with my parents because it was just that bad for him.”

he pretty much stops listening halfway through, stuck on the part where she had to stay away for three whole months. he can barely stay away half the week.

“don’t have to worry about that,” he strokes her hair, brushing off the silly unwanted thoughts.

and it turns out to be true—even when she stays in the shop longer, busy catering to new year’s parties and other events, ross hardly ever has a reaction to it. it’s blown out of proportion, he thinks. sure pollen allergies are real, but they must be incredibly rare.

what are the odds that he has it just as bad as her ex?

soon enough he forgets the conversation. everything is so blissful, so perfect that by the time valentine’s day rolls around, he’s already asked her to move in.

“are you serious?” she shrieks, giddy with excitement. it works great for them—for one, the floral shop she works at is so much closer to his house. and then just as an added bonus, he doesn’t have to compromise to seeing her only half the days of the week.

“yes. oh my god, yes! it’d be perfect…”

and he agrees. it would be perfect… until, well, it’s not.

spring arrives with a riot of colours—little weedy flowers grow in his backyard, daisies and buttercups cover grassy patches on the ground. even the dead trees start sprouting new leaves.

everything outside is cheery and pretty and colourful. in comparison, ross feels…weirdly tired. not that it’s an everyday thing but on days when he’s outside more, he’s way too fucking exhausted to do anything else. it’s only when the sneezing starts does the conversation come back to haunt him.

my ex was so allergic i had to stay away for all of spring pretty much…

ross shudders, thankful that it’s not that bad for him. it’s not! he’s certain about that. it’s only a scratchy throat and mildly itchy eyes that he could have gotten from eye strain too frankly, and maybe just a little case of the sniffles. it’s annoying, sure, but it’s not the end of the world. there’s no reason she needs to know about it and worry that she'll have to be away from him when she just moved in a week ago.

he can very easily chalk up all his symptoms to a plethora of other things.

and well, denial’s worked great for him—for one whole week, at least.

towards the end of her second week, ross feels more tired than usual. she’s been slightly more busy at work (there’s a big wedding coming up) and ross has taken it upon himself to do a deep clean of the house now that he has a bit more free time—spring cleaning, to get rid of the pollen that may or may not be there.

everytime there’s a persistent cough, he brushes it off. it’s dust—of course, that’s what’s making him cough and sneeze.

it’s all the cleaning—that’s why he’s so tired.

all of it melts away though when he hears the keys jingling and the door opening. there’s a bit of a shuffle, a door shutting softly and then he hears her.

“ross?”

he’s out the kitchen and walking towards her the next second, smiling huge. she looks like a fucking delight—hair a bit messy from the wind, surrounded by the smell of her perfume and a whole mix of flowers, plus something inexplicably green.

she grins when she sees him and almost tackles him into a hug.

“i love coming home to you…” the words are muffled by his t-shirt but his heart speeds up regardless. ross smiles and tucks his nose into her hair.

“hello, you. had a good day?”

she nods and stays exactly like she was. the bliss only lasts another second though. ross feels it only a second before it happens—the string of sneezes he lets out with only a split second’s warning from his body.

one, two, three, fifteen… until his eyes are watery and his throat stings from the effort. she looks at him with a bewildered expression on her face, slightly confused about…all of it.

he shakes his head. “shit, sorry! must have inhaled some pepper… i was just making dinner.”

which isn’t a lie. he was making dinner and yes he has got the pepper out on the table. she throws him one more skeptical look but doesn’t push it further.

ross takes her bag from her. “go wash up, i’ve got a movie picked out for us.”

she brightens instantly, and gives him a gorgeous smile, one that makes the tiny dimple by her lip appear. ross watches her nod and walk away from him, making her way to their bedroom. his smile is real for the most part until she finally shuts the door and he lets the cough he’s been holding in loose. he tries not to agitate his throat more, he tries to clear it so it would get rid of the itchy, sticky feeling.

pollen, the logical part of his brain tells him. there was a tonne of pollen in her hair. but ross stubbornly gulps a glass of water, sighing at the way it makes him feel better instantly. he splashes some water from the kitchen sink on his eyes to get rid of the stinging.

it’s only a bit of allergies, he’s not going to die from it. besides, once she showers, the pollen would be washed away…right?

the other delightful symptoms show up hours later when he’s in bed, tossing and turning, trying to get comfortable. his head feels fucking heavy, like there’s suddenly a dumbbell placed on there. the itchy eyes won’t let him get comfortable and the constant urge to sneeze has him almost on the verge of fucking tears from how uncomfortable he is.

ross curses silently, staying as far away from her without falling off the bed—for one he wants to try limiting his exposure to pollen. and if there’s a slight chance that he’s coming down with something then it’s better that he stay a bit away from her anyway.

that just makes him even more miserable. all he wants to do is cuddle and fall asleep and not wake up until it’s at least 8 am the next morning but apparently he’s not afforded this luxury.

sighing, ross gets up and checks his phone. 1:03 am.

then he makes his way to the kitchen. maybe some tea might help… at least out of the bedroom he can finally sneeze into the crook of his elbow without worrying about waking her up.

ross stumbles into the kitchen, his footsteps heavy with exhaustion and frustration. he flicks on the dim light above the stove, wincing as it illuminates the small space. his head throbs with each heartbeat, and he reaches up to massage his temples, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure.

he tries not to be miffed about it—the fact that being out of the room instantly feels a bit better. it must the the honey in the tea, or the warm water. whatever it is, he refuses to admit it to himself that it may be her. that he’s been cocky about it this whole time only for it to bite him in the ass.

“ross?” he startles and whirls around.

despite the painful headache, his heart melts. she looks sleepy and soft—hair half out of the braid, his giant t-shirt drowning her a little, sliding off her shoulder. she squints her eyes against the light and rubs the sleep out of them.

“what are you doing, it’s—” she has to wait till the yawn passes “—so late. you alright?”

he nods, maybe a bit too quickly and fails to stifle a wince. the movement makes a twinge of pain slice through his head and her eyes train on him.

“you’re being weird… are you unwell?”

“‘m not being weird,” he tries to reassure her. ross walks up to her, placing a hand on her waist so he could gently steer her back to their bedroom. “i’m fine, love. my throat feels a bit dry so i thought tea would help.”

“your eyes are all red.”

“yeah, babe. i just woke up.” lie, lie, lie. “come on, you’ve got to be up early. go back to bed, i’ll join you in a sec.”

the skepticism on her face remains. “ross, if you’re ill—”

“i’m not ill, come on. would i do this if i were ill?” and then he kisses her. for a good thirty seconds.

predictably (and to his delight) she goes all loose in his arms, clinging to him as if the kiss is the only thing that matters. that convinces her though and once they break apart, she hmphs.

“fine, don’t be long.” and then she drags her feet back to the bedroom.

ross stays in the kitchen for a bit longers, massaging his aching temples and hoping the tea works as some magical cure. he even manages to convince himself a little that it’s working, and maybe it is!

finally, fifteen minutes later he gives up. he just wants to be in bed at this point. he’ll figure out the rest tomorrow.

ross wakes up alone to warm sunlight streaming in from the window, perhaps a bit too warm for an early spring day. everything feels weird and uncomfortable and stuffy, almost like he can barely breathe. exhaustion coats every cell in his body.

what the fuck…

he just woke up too, how is it possible to be this tired, this early in the morning. he stretches a little, trying to shake off the ickiness, until his eyes land on a post it stuck on the nightstand.

i don’t know if you remember me telling you i was leaving for work early so i thought i’d leave a note. you looked really tired and uncomfy :( call me if you need me xx

her neat handwriting stands stark against the paper. how did he miss her leaving for work? he has absolutely no memory of being even half-awake and he never sleeps in until this late. ross frowns and checks himself for a fever but his skin feels cool to the touch, normal.

allergies. a voice chimes in again. allergies to pollen and spring and. allergies to your girlfriend.

it’s incredibly childish to think of it that way, he knows it. but he also knows that if she knew her job was causing him this much discomfort, she’d be quite sad about it. so ross just shrugs it away and sends her a text

awake and feeling a lot better :)

thirty seconds later, his phone pings.

good, because i took half the day off to spend it with you ♡

despite himself, ross beams, feeling giddy like a teenager. it takes him some effort to get out of bed and shake off the fatigue. he should probably clean the room a bit before she comes back. his thoughts wander back to the last time—to him uncontrollably sneezing and coughing because of the pollen in her hair.

ross groans and tries to clear his throat again.

somehow he manages to pass the time, doing little things here and there, getting on his playstation to see if any of his friends are free for a game (the are, but only for a bit). he makes himself a lazy lunch, quick and easy tin ravioli that she would 100% wrinkle her nose at (“pasta should be fresh though!”) and then he waits, scrolling on his phone to pass the time.

he wakes up to an onslaught of kisses and a huge bouquet of daisies.

for a second ross wonders when he fell asleep. he didn’t even mean to fall asleep, the tiredness just dragged him under…

“there you are,” she grins at him and places another kiss on his nose. ross tries not to blush like a high school girl. instead, he pulls her into a quick kiss.

“i got you flowers!” the bouquet of daisies is thrust into his hands. the flowers are beautiful, each about the same size, white and fresh and pretty and she beams at him proudly. “made that one for you.”

“you are perfect…” he kisses her again and cradles the flowers closer. “any special occasion though?”

“nah, just thought you were a bit unwell and thought i’d get you flowers.”

ross brightens. he loves how thoughtful she is, loves that she made sure to get him flowers because she suspected he was sick.

all of it comes crashing the moment he feels the familiar itchy feeling build at the back of his throat, feels his eyes starting to water. he tries not to throw the flowers away as if they were made of fire but he has twist his body away from hers when he breaks out into a coughing fit. hacking and trying to get the flowers away from him.

“shit, you okay?” she sounds alarmed and rubs her hand up and down his back. it barely registers while ross struggles to breathe.

quickly she runs to the kitchen to get him some water. it takes him a bit to breathe and stop coughing so he can get some water down.

“i didn’t know you were this sick!”

“i’m not,” his voice sounds strained but she ignores him entirely and places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“no fever,” she frowns. “but you looked so run down before…”

“i haven’t caught a bug i promise!”

she opens her mouth again to argue, about to say something but stops halfway through the sentence, her eyes widening and ross watches in real time as the realisation dawns on her. the room goes drop dead silent.

“fuck…” she murmurs, “it’s hay fever, isn’t it.”

ross wants to deny it so desperately but all he can do is sit there and pout miserably. there’s nothing he can say that will undo it now.

“how long?”

“how long what?”

“how long have you been feeling it? itchy eyes, the sneezing, coughing. you know what i’m talking about.”

he does but he doesn’t want to admit it. quietly, she move the flowers as far away as possible. ross palms the back of his neck, sheepish. “two weeks.”

“you’ve been miserable for what–two weeks? because of me! and you didn’t even tell me.” her face falls more and more with each word and ross wants to point out that this is exactly why he didn’t tell her, and now she’s upset anyway. convincing herself that she’s the reason he’s been feeling so horrible.

“why didn’t you tell me?”

sheepishly, he spills everything—how he remembers the conversation about her ex, how he doesn’t want her to feel like she’s the one making him sick.

“and i didn’t want you moving away for three months! you just moved in”

he sounds so petulant and childish to his own ears, he sounds like a seven year old, not a fully grown man.

for a moment she says absolutely nothing. she only looks at him, bewildered and speechless.

“did–do—” then she has to pause to take a deep breath. “did you take any antihistamines?”

and that’s when it dawns on him. ross opens his mouth and closes it again, like a fish. antihistamines. allergy medicine. a miracle of modern science easily available to him over the counter. something he didn’t even bother thinking about.

“did you?”

“no.”

he hangs his head in shame, embarrassed that he didn’t think about it sooner until peals of her laughter jolt him back. she looks like she’s ready to collapse on the sofa, completely fucking floored by the giggles she can’t seem to suppress.

“you are so dramatic!” she shrieks, manages to even get the whole sentence out between gasps and giggles. “you’d think you caught the black death or something.”

“oi!” ross flicks her her on the nose but joins in on the laughter too. he has been a fucking idiot, of course he has. “you said you had to move away every spring! because your ex had it that bad!”

“yeah because he had asthma, you idiot.”

with every new piece of information she reveals, ross feels his face warm up more and more. okay yeah… he really has been fucking dramatic about all this.

“you really are an idiot, you know that?,” she catches her breath with a bit of effort and moves a bit closer to him. ross pretends to grumble but pulls her on his lap and holds her close.

“your idiot?”

“don’t try to be cute, you’re not living this down.” she sounds stern for about two seconds before bursting into another fit of giggles and burying her face in his shoulder.

“i’m not moving out the house just because you’re allergic to me, you know?” she teases once she’s sobered up enough. “you’ll be fine with some pills.”

he would be, now all he wants to do is make a mad dash to the pharmacy and buy whatever otc medication they have. it’s been hell as is, he just wants this feeling to go away.

i’m not moving out the house…

his heart leaps up to his throat and relief floods his body. ross feels like he can finally breathe again (figuratively, at least).

“i’m not allergic to you,” he counters, “i’m obsessed with you if anything.”

“flirting will not get you out of this!” but ross doesn’t miss the way her smile widens and she struggles to meet his eyes. if only he could stay like this forever…

he would have even, if not for another round of sneezes building up again. ross cringes, turning to the side.

“shit shit! still, radioactive, sorry.”

ross snorts, silently begging for the sneezes to go away.

“let me make a pharmacy run for you,” she declares, putting her shoes back on and shushing him with a look before he can even protest. it’s fine though, he thinks, it's only twenty minutes. she’s coming back home to him anyway.

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#spring fics #seasons #the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you

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secretobsessionstuff · 2 months

Note

Okay - here's a Riley request! Is he still emetophobic? I know he's been trying to overcome it, at least with respect to being able to take care of Madix, and I'd love to see Madix motion sick or something similar where the illness is temporary and not contagious, and Riley deciding that he really wants to sit with him through the entire episode, taking care of him. And he's just holding it together and holding down his anxiety until the end, and he's both proud of himself but also emotionally drained from keeping his emotions in check for so long. So hopefully this works with where they are right now - thank you!

Thank you Lis! This was totally inspiring! It did take me a long time to get the motivation to post it though lol. I wrote this like a day after you sent the idea!

--------------------

“Do you think we’ll see a real polar bear on this trip?” Riley asked excitedly as he boarded the train with a misleading name. Madix chuckled and followed along behind his giddy boyfriend, shaking his head.

The Polar Bear Express—though unlikely to show passengers a glimpse of the white-furred animal—was still a wonder to experience especially during Christmas time. The evergreens sparkled with frost and the sky wore the colours of crystals. Unfortunately, Christmas was also the busiest time, meaning their tickets placed them in one of the last train cars. In hindsight, Riley should have known that the train ride through Northern Ontario held the risk of upsetting his boyfriend’s delicate constitution when it came to travel.

Madix had successfully gotten sick from cars, planes, and boats; why not add a fourth mode of transportation. Neither he nor Riley thought to consider the consequences. They heard about a romantic Christmas train ride and jumped on board.

Riley squeezed past other passengers to get to their seats. “I call the window seat!” He planted himself happily in the blue velvet-lined chair. The interior of the car was simple and spacious. It dared not distract from the beauty of nature. “Maybe we can switch on the way back.”

The train began with a lurch, reminding the boys of the coffee they drank to wake themselves up that morning. Beginning at 8am, the ride took them past mountains and frozen waterfalls, ending where they began at 8pm that night.

“We’ll probably see moose,” Madix remarked, taking the pamphlet from the pocket of the seat in front of him. There was plenty of leg room, though he still chose to press his knee against Riley’s thigh. All morning, Riley had not let go of his hand. They were stuck together like packing snow.

The boys shrugged off their jackets and settled in. For the first two hours, they were content to look out the large window. The landscape was crisp and sharp, that was until everything began to blur together. The icy blues melted into a monotone white as the locomotive sped by.

Their bodies swayed lightly from the movement. Riley found the train relaxing. He liked its gentle hum, the faint clicking sounds of the wheels on the track, and the soft rocking as they traversed the snowy area. They still hadn’t seen a moose, but he kept his eyes locked on the outdoors.

Madix could not say he felt the same. The train’s friendly interior lulled him into a false sense of safety. But soon he had no trouble remembering that he was inside a giant, chugging, metal box. Perhaps a moose or a beaver did in fact wave to them, but he would never know. Everything became a blur. His eyes could not keep up with the speeding sights. He swallowed a bout of nausea and closed his eyes.

Riley perked up when they came upon a flowing river. The water looked frigid, but pleasant enough apparently for the black bear that stood with all four paws in the stream. It wasn’t white, but it was still a freakin bear! He tapped Madix’s arm. “Babe, look, look! A bear! Did you see it?” He looked back at Madix with a massive smile.

Madix jumped out of his queasy daze. He peeled his eyes open, squinting from the light that bounced off the snow. “Mmh?” he mumbled. He was startled just fast enough to see a micro expression of disappointment on Riley’s face.

“A bear…it’s gone now.” Riley pouted. “Were you sleeping?”

Madix sat up straighter and blinked hard. “No, I just had to close my eyes for a second.” The lump in his throat told him that he wasn’t going to be able to hide this. His palms were clammy, and his head ached. The breakfast he’d eaten hours ago churned in his belly. “I’m feeling a bit nauseous.”

“Oh.” Riley took his hand off his boyfriend’s arm and pressed himself up against the window.

Madix swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, honey.”

“N—No, no don’t be,” Riley stuttered. He brushed a strand of Madix’s hair behind his ear. “You’re pale. What can I do?”

“Nothing. I’ll probably go find an empty chair and wait it out.”

Riley hated that answer. Nothing. There was nothing he could do? And Madix’s plan was to weather out the nausea alone? He couldn’t let this happen again. After all he had done for Madix in his time of need, this was easy, right?

He grabbed Madix’s hand before he could leave their seats. “No, stay. Please. It’ll be okay. I want to help.”

“Are you sure?” Madix scanned Riley’s expression, looking for cracks. “Because that was bullshit about waiting it out.” He exhaled shakily. “I really think I’m gonna be sick.”

As if to test Riley’s resolve, Madix burped into his hand. He let out a groan and folded in on himself. He swore he could feel the wind rocking the train car, threatening to push it off the tracks. He squeezed his eyes shut and didn’t even open them when he felt Riley’s hand on his back.

“I’m staying right here.”

Madix hiccupped, causing his shoulders to jolt. “Ugh…you don’t have to, love.”

“Hush now,” Riley said firmly. He reached into the seat pocket to grab a bag. “Look, they even provided a barf bag for just such an occasion.”

Madix chuckled and took the bag from his boyfriend. He opened it, making the loudest crinkling noises that let all the other passengers know he was sick. “This is not the scenic trip you were hoping to have.”

“Maybe not, but at least I’m by your side.”

“Is your plan to be so cheesy that I throw up immediately and get this over with?”

“Is it working?” Riley regretted his reply when Madix belched wetly into the bag. Strings of saliva dripped from his open mouth. “Shit, baby.”

“I’m okay.” Madix did not look up from the depths of the hellish barf bag. “Just keep talking. I think it’ll help us both.”

Riley’s heart chugged in his chest, like a train struggling up a mountain side. “Oh gosh, Mads. I don’t know what to say,” he whispered. “This is like when you ask me to talk dirty and I say something stupid about underwear.”

Madix would have laughed at the specific memory that Riley was referring to, but his tongue was flooded with bile. He gagged and filled the bag with stringy ropes of vomit. The train car spun in his peripheral vision, but Riley’s voice remained constant and strong.

“Oh dear, babe.” Riley rubbed his boyfriend’s back, unaware of the bite force he exerted on his teeth or the bouncing of his leg. “Deer! I hope we see some of those on this trip. Once you stop puking, of course. I can’t believe you missed the fucking bear. Isn’t your family from the east coast? You’re supposed to have fishermen blood in your veins. What is this motion sickness nonsense? I think you’re faking it.”

A gush of sour vomit surged past Madix’s lips. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Riley could be a comedian. He could almost enjoy the senseless drabble if it wasn’t for the gut churning sensation in his belly.

“Speaking of underwear!” Riley said, still in his hushed whisper. This wasn’t so bad, he thought. Madix was looking better with every heave. “I wore the ones with otters on them today. Seemed like the closest thing to polar bears. Except, they’re wearing astronaut suits because, you know, otter space.”

Finally, Madix could give him a real laugh. The vomiting tapered off. He sniffled and chuckled at the same time, forcing him to clear his throat and wipe the tears from his eyes. “God, Ry. I needed that.”

“Yeah, that was a lot of puke. Good job.”

“No, I mean you.” Madix crumpled the top of the bag in his hands to keep the contents inside. “Thanks for making me feel better. You did a good job as well.”

One of the train workers came by with a garbage bin for Madix to toss the used bag. They gave him water and tissues. His eyes were teary from vomiting, but he looked much better than before.

Riley was only just coming down from the adrenaline rush. His hands were shaking, and a cold sweat was drying beneath his shirt. He slumped back in the chair and let out a wavering exhale. “I think it’s my turn to close my eyes for a second.”

“Yes, honey, rest,” Madix said softly. “You did good.”

They fell asleep with their bodies falling onto one another. Madix’s head found the spot between Riley’s ear and collar bone, and Riley’s head came to rest on top.

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magicbystarlight · 17 days

Text

Venomous - Part Fourteen

Masterlist, Part One

Summary: A wife. A mother. A witch with someone else's name. That’s the life you didn’t want. So Tom offered you more.

Word Count: 3.8K

Warnings: 18+, injuries, blood, PTSD, victim blaming, shitty men. Minors DNI.

The Hospital Wing was too loud. You sat up and the stiff movement had you groaning. The curtain shifted. Annette Figgleworm smiled at you. She was an Auror, relatively new considering she’d finished school only the year before. A good friend of Robert Bones. Theseus must have thought a familiar face would be better for you to wake up to.

“Didn’t think you’d be up for a few more hours,” she said. “How are you feeling?”

Grimacing, you shifted your legs over the edge of the bed. Maybe they’d let you return to your dorm. “Like shit.”

“Sounds about right. Want me to grab Urquart?”

You shook your head. “How’s Dumbledore?”

She hesitated. “Better,” she finally said, taking a seat in the chair by your bed. “Woke up for a bit before they moved him to St. Mungo’s.”

“They moved him?”

“Got a tad crowded.” She gestured to the curtain. “Half the school suddenly fell ill when word got out you were in here. Worse than exam week.”

Gawkers waiting to see the caged animal. It had you abandoning the idea of leaving. They wouldn’t get another show from you. Not today You laid down again, hating the burn of action. “Surprised they’re not charging admission.”

She laughed. “I’m sure someone’s conning the First Years into it.”

Madam Urquart came through the curtain. “You should still be asleep.” Exasperated, she opened the cabinet by your bed and pulled out a potion. She shoved it into your hands, told you to drink, and left.

“Her bedside manner’s still as charming as ever, eh?”

“A real doll.”

Annette uncorked the bottle, the task too difficult for you. “Sleep well,” she said as you drifted off again.

—

A sightless dream permeated the blackness.

A gentle caress of your hair. A soft kiss on your forehead. A lullaby you hadn’t heard in so long it might only have ever been a figment of your imagination.

The north wind doth blow

And here comes the snow

And what will the eagle do then?

Poor thing

She’ll sit in the rafters

And keep herself warm

And hide her head beneath her wing

Poor thing

The lullaby faded. Footsteps and rustling fabric. “I’m sorry to intrude.” You tried to move, but not even your lashes offered a flutter. “I wanted to ensure this was returned.”

A heavy sigh. “I’ll be sure she gets it. Thank you.” Something clinked. A silent moment. “They say she looks worse than she is. That she only needs a few days to recover.”

“I’m sure whoever did this to her is worse off.”

Your finger flexed infinitesimally.

Another soft touch brushed across your forehead. “It seems she held her own, but it’s a miracle she managed to survive. She was very lucky.”

Something creaked.

“However she survived it had nothing to do with luck or miracles.” More rustling fabric, fading footsteps. The lullaby resumed.

The north wind doth blow

And here comes the snow

And what will the snake do then?

Poor thing

He’ll coil up tightly

And keep himself warm

Until the first budding of spring

Poor thing

—

Theseus’s promise had fallen short. Keeping your family at bay was easy, but the rest of the Ministry was a different beast. You were given enough time between waking and your first interrogation to eat and bathe, but only just.

A meal of toast, beans, and a fried egg devoured before you were helped to the small washroom. As much as you craved a bath, a shower was all it offered. You worked to clean the grime and flecks of blood under the pelting water. You faced your reflection after. Thin, jagged lines littered your face. Half-healed scars of what had been open wounds the day before. A bruise on its final, ugly stage splayed across your neck and shoulder that matched the ones scattered across the rest of your body. Skin across your arm that had been singed now new and raw. The shadow of days worth of sleep deprivation lingered under your eyes. Frizz and knots had taken hold of your hair. Unseen was the ache that slowed your movements.

The gown you were given barely felt different than being bare. The material too thin, the length too short, the neckline too wide.

Several Ministry officials were waiting around your cleaned bed when you limped out. Neither Theseus nor Annette were there. Anger welled in your eyes at the witnesses, most you’d known since you were a toddler, to your humiliation. What would have been the difference if they’d waited outside? Edmund Bones, an aide to the Minister, asked if you needed Urquart for the pain.

“No,” you had hissed as you slid into the bed. “Just get this over with.”

Their questions went on for hours. Every part of your story nitpicked and debated. Did you actually need a new wand? Were you really in London? How many people had actually been there? How did Dumbledore get Splinched on such a short distance? Why didn’t you Apparate? How did an eagle find you but not dozens of trained trackers? Why surrender at all when you’d seemingly escaped? Their condescension irritated the scrapes they’d already left on your ego.

Neither you nor them were satisfied by time lunch rolled around, but Urquart had demanded a break. Cottage pie had never tasted so good. It wasn’t nearly as good when it came back up. “You’ve got to take it slow,” the Healer cautioned after she’d cleaned the mess. You asked if you’d get another potion soon. She shook her head. “Your body needs time to recover from the last round or it'll be overwhelmed. Best to wait a couple days.” She helped adjust the pillows behind you until you were as comfortable as you could be. She left only when they returned, warning she’d be in her office if you needed anything.

It had you half grateful, half mortified. How bad off were you that Urquart had taken pity on you?

The questions repeated until candles replaced the light of the sun. Then they ventured before the day of the attack. The strain you’d been under in the weeks since such a disturbing display of violence from your brother. The stress of planning a wedding while still in school. How difficult it must be in a very publicized relationship.

“I can handle it just fine. And I don’t see how any of that has to do with what happened to me."

It was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Filmore Flint, who responded. “The timing of your attack was…highly convenient. You needing a new wand and convincing Dumbledore to take a stroll through Muggle London at the exact same moment these supposed followers of Grindelwald were there? Almost improbable.”

“Almost,” you agreed spittingly, “and yet it happened. You have a dozen Aurors who can attest to that.”

“What I have is a dozen Aurors who can say they saw you surrounded by a group of witches and wizards in a random forest after suddenly being able to find you despite failing for days. Which again is very convenient timing.”

“What are you implying, Flint? That I made it all up? Set it up?”

“I’m not implying anything. I’m saying it was very convenient how everything came together.”

A near hysteric laugh broke from your throat. “Convenient? What was convenient? Seeing a man lose half his head. Nearly watching Dumbledore die? Being freezing and hungry and terrified? I thought I was never going to see my friends again. Or my brother. And in the end I was going to trade my freedom for my country’s because I thought that was the right thing to do. Was that convenient? Now every part of me aches and all I want is to be back in my dorm, in my bed, in my clothes with my friends who saved my life. But I can’t because I am here talking to a bunch of beauracrates who’d rather point fingers at a teenager than face the truth. None of it is fucking convenient for me. But I suppose it is for you. Makes your job easier when you don't actually have to do it, huh?”

There were a few very half-assed assurances that of course it wasn’t convenient and that the questions were only raised out of procedure, but no apology came from Flint himself. They left you half an hour later more exhausted and exasperated than you'd been the day before.

Theseus and Annette returned to your sour mood. Neither surprised they’d been cruel in their questioning. “Your disappearance caused quite the stir,” Theseus said. “Your friends weren’t as quiet as the Ministry would’ve liked and the Daily Prophet couldn’t resist.” He pulled several folded papers from his briefcase, offering them to you.

DUMBLEDORE REPORTED MISSING ALONGSIDE WELL-KNOWN STUDENT

SEARCH UNDERWAY FOR MISSING HOGWARTS STUDENT AND PROFESSOR: FRIENDS' CLAIM GRINDELWALD IS TO BLAME

DUMBLEDORE AND SELWYN FOUND BATTERED & BRUISED BUT BREATHING

GRINDELWALD IN LONDON? WHAT WE KNOW SO FAR

The one that connected your disappearance to Grindelwald would have come out the morning before they attacked in the woods. Was it how they knew he was still injured? Confirmed that you were still there waiting for rescue? Had it prompted them to act sooner? “Well at least something good came out of this,” you murmured, flipping through the pages of the latest issue. Articles that focused on the Muggle war and ones about Grindelwald’s known associates—including Vinda Rosier. The picture was old, but you’d recognize her face anywhere.

“We’ve been trying for months to get them to print anything related to Grindelwald and they refused. But the moment the future Mrs. Malfoy went missing,” Annette tisked with frustrated amusement, “suddenly they can write about him.”

You flipped another page to more pictures. “Don’t call me that.” You thought you might have recognized a couple.

Theseus cut in. “You’re right. This,” he nodded to the paper, “is good. We warned the Ministry this could happen. People should have been prepared for this. If it had been anyone else this had happened to, I can’t imagine I’d be having a conversation with them.”

“Well no one else has Abby and Issa,” you agreed, setting the paper aside. You’d been sitting in the same position too long and it was beginning to grow sore. You tried to move some of the pillows yourself, but your face gave away the stinging discomfort. Annette helped you lay on your side. “Speaking of, do you think I could see them before dinner?”

—

It only took ten minutes between your request and their appearance in the Hospital Wing. Annette shushed Theseus when he tried to protest you getting out of bed. You limped down the empty room, intending to meet them in the middle but instead you only made it a few feet before they’re wrapping their arms tightly around you.

“Thank you.” You heard their sniffles and held them tighter. “Thank you.”

—

“Ten more minutes?” Larissa pleaded.

Urquart, her usual brusqueness returned, sighed. “Five.” And she was gone.

You were seated crossed legged on the bed with Larissa behind you working on the final braid in your hair. Abigail was curled in the chair. They’d stayed for hours, well past dinner and curfew. Listening. Admiring your wand. Telling you the chaos after your letter. Now they shared their own encounter with Flint and his unabashed desire to keep Grindelwald’s name out of it all. “Only managed to get in the paper cause Azar knew that reporter,” Larissa said.

Abigail let her chin rest on top of her knee. “And bribed the editor to run the story. Plus helping us sneak out of the castle to do the interview.”

“Wait, what?” Abigail shushed you, but you continued in a whisper. “Bribes and sneaking out? What the fuck?”

“Flint told us we needed to keep it quiet,” she said softly. “That your claim about Grindelwald was unsubstantiated and there was no reason to cause a panic.”

“So of course we told everybody.” Larissa leaned over to grab the nightcap at the very edge of the bedside table, nearly knocking over the hair potion she’d brought along. “Ralph had the idea to take it a step further with the paper by sending a letter, but all we got was the story about your disappearance in there. He was so upset. Next thing we know, he’s gone to Azar and they’ve got a plan to get us face to face with a reporter.”

The information had your mind reeling. Ralph? Azar? Together?

Abigail peeked over her shoulder before speaking. “They wouldn’t tell us everything, only that your uncle knew the reporter and a little bribe got the editor to ensure he’d run the story front page. The two of them snuck us out through this passage in the middle of the night that took us to Hogsmeade and got us into this back room at the Hog’s Head. It was,” she shook her head, “so weird.”

“Kind of felt like being in a spy novel.” Larissa’s arms slid around your waist and her head rested on your shoulder. “I think I’ll stick to romances.”

You tried to smile as you gripped her arm, but it didn't stick. “I’m not sure that’s much of an option anymore.”

“He’s really coming?” There was a tremble in Abigail’s voice.

“Yeah,” you nod, “he’s coming.”

—

Sleep did not come easily without a Draught. Every thought too distracting. You laid in the dark, tossing and turning unable to find comfort. The image of a half gone head spilling into the snow filled the void when you closed your eyes.

When sleep did come, it was restless. Disjointed. Your name repeated with promises of freedom and power. Chess pieces, black and life-sized, with swords raised. Bloodied, fragmented mirrors reflecting brown eyes then blue. A twisted hand grasping at your throat. Alone. Back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. Trees passed in a blur. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. Crimson snow crunched under your feet. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. The rabbit, white fur rotted, bounded beside you. But you’re back at the pond. He’s coming. Run. You stared at your reflection in the water. Tom stared back over your shoulder. “Run.”

—

“You look awful,” Hestia Malfoy said, nose wrinkled as she and her husband stood over you. When you’d said family could come, you hadn’t realized how loose the term would be interpreted.

“Mother, please.” Abraxas took the place at your side, grasping your hand as if you’d float away. “You look beautiful.”

“You do look awful,” your mother said, less disdainfully than you expected. Too softly. Too motherly. “They should have taken you to St. Mungo’s. The Healers there know what they’re doing.”

“We should have you come to the Manor. Have our own Healer take care of you.”

You recalled their choice in Healer. “I’ll be back to normal in a few days.”

Abraxas rubbed his thumb across the back of your hand. “None of this should have happened. I could have bought you a new wand.”

“And going into the Muggle side? You were asking for trouble.” Sixtus gave a disgusted snort.

His wife agreed. “You’re lucky it was wizards who attacked you and not those sort. Have you heard the vile things they do to each other?”

“No, but I’ve heard the things Grindelwald has done to them.”

Hestia’s mouth stretched into a thin line. “It’s more humane than the way they have been killing each other.”

“And what of the things he’s done to wizards? What his followers did to me?”

Sixtus laughed. “You’re the one who shot the first spell.”

Iron coated your tongue as your mother veered the conversation back to your appearance.

—

Sounds of wandering students wafted through the cracked door. The remains of lunch sat on the nightstand growing cold. The papers Theseus had left were scattered across the bed, the morning’s in your hands. Crime of Passion? Minster Claims Recent Attack Was Personal. It was ridiculous. All your words had been twisted. Yes, it was personal, but it wasn’t some petty vindictive crime. It was an act of war. It had been written by a different reporter than the others. A Claudius Rookwood. If you remembered correctly, his mother had been a Flint.

You tossed it aside, leaned back, and tried to rub out the pounding in your head. It wasn’t fair. All that to not even have the truth out there? If only that reporter your friends had spoken to had come along. But if it had taken some elaborate plan to sneak out of the castle to speak to them, you can imagine they weren’t welcome in the castle for one reason or another.

You sat up.

You could sneak out. Not alone, not when it was a struggle to walk. But if Azar could get four people out without being caught, he could get you out.

—

Dinner came and went. There was no response to the note you’d sent. You felt stupid for ever thinking he’d help.

—

More hours of disjointed sleep. Dreams weaved between blinks. Snow. Curtains. Rabbits. Curtains. Blood. Curtains. Rings. Curtains. Water. Eyes. Eyes?

You blinked again. Eyes. Not quite blue, not quite green, but somewhere in between. Golden hairs specked through his brown eyebrows. Despite the dreary winter months, his skin still looked kissed by the sun.

Kneeled beside the bed, his expression was much the same as it had been that day you’d woken to it in the alley. Softer, less intense, but you recognized it now as his eyes flicked from scar to scar. Concern.

“Ralph?”

A half smile curled the side of his face at your groggy recognition. “Sorry to wake you, but we’ve got to get going.”

“Going?”

It was Azar who responded, his face hovering behind McLaggen’s. “To see a reporter about an interview.” His forehead creased. “If you’re still up to it.”

You sat up quickly. Too quickly. You ignored the wobble in your vision and threw off the blanket. McLaggen averted his gaze from your mostly bare legs, standing and shrugging off his robe. He handed it over. “It’s gonna be cold.”

It wasn’t cold. Days in the snow let the chill seep into your bones unnoticed. Yet you clutched the robe tighter as you followed McLaggen behind the mirror on the fourth floor into the dark, frigid passage. Somehow this was the place you’d come closest to dying.

The tip of McLaggen’s wand illuminated the space. A crack ran along one of the walls. It was a mostly silent walk through the tunnel. It curved every so often, widened to a space large enough to fit half the Great Hall, and narrowed again, and finally came to end at a stone wall. Azar stepped forward and pressed his wand into a small hole you could barely see and turned it once, then twice, and continued until it had been done seven times. Like the wall that separated Diagon Alley and The Leaky Cauldron, the ceiling began to part. Azar stepped back several paces and the wall began to pull out into stairs.

It was magical.

“What sorts of enchantments do you think they used to make this?”

Azar shushed you, keeping his eyes on the opening above. When satisfied with the quiet he motioned for you and McLaggen to follow. It took a moment to recognize the village, your attention only pulled from the entrance once it closed. It was odd at night. Still and silent.

The Hog’s Head was close. Azar led you to the back, up a set of rickety steps along the outside, and knocked thrice. It opened a moment later to a young woman you didn’t recognize. Her black brows raised,she shook her head, and stood aside. “You’re late.”

Fabula Auctor. Either a fictitious name or her parents paid a Name Seer who actually had the Sight. The former was more likely.

Her questioning was nothing like the others you’d endured. She was emphatic, but never complimentary. She asked for clarification, not to dismiss. And it didn’t end with the arrival of the Aurors. The days after. The relief, the pain, the joy, the anger, the comfort, the fear.

“What’s been the hardest part of being back?”

“Sleep.”

“Why is that?”

You hesitated, crossing your arms in front of you, one hand rubbing at your neck. She prompted again, patient but insistent. But nothing came out of your mouth. The nightmares were not something you wanted to share.

“Move on,” Azar said.

And she did. She scribbled a bit more and finally set her quill aside. “That’s all the questions I have. Last thing I need is a picture.”

“Is that the best idea?” McLaggen asked. “They’ll know she isn’t in the Hospital Wing.”

Fabula smiled. “They won’t have a clue.”

The walk back was like wading through water. Twice you stumbled over the too long robe still draped around your shoulders. The first time you’d caught yourself. The second McLaggen had caught and steadied you. You took his offered arm, leaning heavily against him.

“Thank you,” you said. You should have said more. Told him how grateful you were for everything he’d done. The kindness in the alley, the effort to ensure your story was told—both now and before. Apologize your mother’s letter. Ask him about the child he’d have soon. You said nothing else.

The back of the mirror appeared several minutes later. Azar checked his watch. “You should head up to your dorm. Rounds start in half an hour,” he told McLaggen. “I’ve got her,” he added, holding up his own arm for you to take.

The stairs were the worst, moving as you were midstep. But you made it down and back into the Hospital Wing unnoticed. Azar helped ease you back into the bed, McLaggen’s robe slung over his arm after a promise to return it. When he’d pulled the blanket back over you and said a good night, you reached for his hand.

“Thank you for Drein. And for coming tonight.”

He squeezed your hand. “Least I could do.” He tried to release your hand.

But you held firm. You had not forgotten. “Why did you write the note?”

His shoulders sagged. His voice low, lower than it had been before in the quiet. “He said he wanted to apologize. We were supposed to meet at the library. All three of us so we could talk in a place you’d feel safe. I didn’t want you two alone again.” He scoffed at himself. If you had the energy, you would have too. “When neither of you showed up I spent hours trying to find you. But you were nowhere and neither was he. Not even at dinner. And when he finally showed in the middle of the night, he was different.” He paused, searching for a better word. “Somber. Never seen him like that. Like he was in mourning. When you weren’t anywhere Sunday and the paper said you and Dumbledore were missing, I thought he had…” He swallowed and didn’t finish. “It wasn’t until McLaggen went asking for help I knew you were alive.”

“You thought he had killed me,” you whispered, “and you said nothing.”

His head bobbed. “And I said nothing.”

“Is that why you did all this? Guilt?”

“Tom asked me too," he breathed.

Exhaustion smothered whatever reaction you'd have had. Your hand thumped against the bed. You closed your eyes and let the nothingness sleep offered consume you.

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