#my wrists my back my dehydration my need to use the bathroom

[biblically-accurate-soup]

having adhd and being a fiber artist means that you can substitute bodily maintenance for 5 hours of The Project

but watch out

[sapphires-and-silver-linings]

The Betrayer | Chapter Five: New Normal

It wasn’t home, but it would do. You would make do.

Pairing: Albert Wesker/F!Reader, Chris Redfield/F!Reader

Tags: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Chapter 5 is now here! I know this is kinda slow going, but I really wanted to show off the world as I envision it and build more on the relationship that's developing between Chris and Lucky. They're my everything. I love them both so much. Wesker will be here soon, I swear. And once he arrives, he will fight tooth and nail to stay present cos it can't not be about him (he demands the attention lmao). I feel like Lucky and Chris deserve a little peace before the shitstorm that's about to hit, anyway. Let me know your thoughts! I'd love to hear your favorite parts, if you have any!

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Day 2; Survivors’ Camp

You awoke with a splitting headache as the dim light of day hit your face uncomfortably. You shifted, rubbing the crust that collected in your lashes. 

You turned to assess the bedside table, suddenly aware that you were not home and that there was no alarm clock to greet your narrowed, sleep-ridden eyes.

You looked at your wrist, groaning when you recalled that you hadn’t worn your watch in weeks, ever since your arm was broken. You could have just placed it on your dominant one, but it always felt so uncomfortable and like it got in the way. You glanced at your miraculously healed appendage warily, regretting that decision now.

You knew you should get up. You were hungry and dehydrated and had to use the bathroom; hopefully, even get the chance to bathe. Plus, a trial potentially awaited you around sundown. You needed to prepare.

But what Chris had told you the night before just looped over and over in your head.

My home is gone, you thought. So many people are dead.

I’m dead.

You felt a wave of nausea overtake you and you laid back, pulling in deep, shuddering breaths. Tears would’ve been pricking your eyes by now if you even had any left to cry. 

You weren’t sure how long you stayed awake after Chris left. You felt like you sobbed for hours, soaking your pillows and sheets in salt water and snot until you passed out face down, so exhausted that your brain just crashed completely.

Instead of getting up, you rolled back over and screwed your eyes shut. You weren’t even tired anymore; not in the way of needing sleep, at least. You just didn’t want to get out of bed and face the truth that you were trapped in, as you had called it yesterday, a “supernatural colosseum”. 

You weren’t reminded of gladiators clashing blades, though. That would be too fair. 

You thought of those thrown into the dirt with nothing but the clothes on their backs–if they were even allowed those–in front of some starving beast, like a hound or a bear or even a lion. 

And just like those poor sods, you too would be ripped apart and devoured.

How did any of the others manage? How could they get out of bed every day and keep moving, knowing they would endure–albeit brief–bouts of suffering come the evening? 

And to think, not even death was a reprieve. 

You always thought you were strong, that you were able to push through the horrors that life flung at you every so often, but you realized lying there that you were wrong.

You were so, so weak. And you dreaded the moment you would enter your first trial. 

You recounted how you were nearly caught the first night you arrived, both by that giant spider and one of the killers that lurked in the dark forest sprawling out endlessly beyond the walls of this camp. You struggled to survive those encounters, and you even had a gun and your combat knife to aid you! How would you fare without a weapon?

My gun, you thought, snaking your hand under the covers to the now-empty holster strapped to your waist. Great, it was lying in some dirty alleyway, god knows where. At least it was out of bullets. 

Still, it was part of a gift to you and your fellow S.T.A.R.S. members and had even been custom-made to your liking. It was one of your most prized possessions. You called it “The Dragon” for no other reason than you thought it sounded dope as hell. Joseph and Forest had laughed when you told them but agreed wholeheartedly. 

A pain shot through your chest.

You missed them.

You decided to curl in on yourself, staying in bed for as long as you possibly could, not knowing what time it was, but deciding you didn’t care. All of it was too much for you. 

You had almost fallen back asleep when a soft knock on your door startled you awake.

“Who is it?” you called groggily. 

“Chris. Can I come in?” 

You sighed, knowing it was time to pull your shit together.

“Go ahead. Door isn’t locked.” 

Not even half a second later, the large man had pushed open the door, bending over to pick something off the ground before making his way inside, using his foot to shut it behind him. 

“It’s just past noon,” he told you, setting what was in his arms down on the dresser across from you. “I figured I’d let you get as much rest as possible after… after our talk last night.” 

You finally sat up, your bones creaking in opposition as you stretched. “Thanks. I really needed it.”

He nodded before pointing to the objects beside him. “I brought you something to eat. And some water.”

You stood, grunting in pain as your ankle protested against the weight of your body. It was much better compared to yesterday, the swelling reduced significantly. That was good. 

Chris watched your momentary struggle before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a couple of loose pills. “Here, for the pain. Don’t tell anyone I gave you these, though. I had Rebecca steal them from the supply shed. We try to only use them in dire situations, but I think you deserve some slack.” 

You offered him a small, grateful smile as you stepped up to him. “Thank you.”

You took the medicine from his hand and turned to grab whatever receptacle of water he had brought you, finding a gallon jug. There was a tin mug like the one you had sipped from the night before, a ceramic bowl filled with what looked like oatmeal, and a large plastic container with a washcloth and bar of soap in it.

You turned to face him quizzically at the array of items.

“There’s no plumbing here, so we have to conserve water,” he explained. “We usually only get half a gallon a day, but you didn’t drink much last night. I was able to talk the others into bringing you more to catch up. Can’t have you dying of thirst before your first trial. I think you’d be embarrassed.”

You huffed a laugh. “I guess we live on rag baths, then.”

“Pretty much. The rule we decided on was that only those who survive the trials get to take an actual bath. The rest of us, well…” he gestured to the plastic container. 

“How efficient,” you muttered, pouring some of the water into the mug so you could take the painkillers. You drained it before quickly devouring the oatmeal. You would normally smother it in butter and brown sugar, so the plain oats were incredibly bland, but food was food. 

After you finished, you set down the bowl and turned to Chris. “Where’s the bathroom in this place?” 

“Depends on what you’re looking for. We have a couple of sheds where the bathtubs are and a few outhouses.”

You grimaced at the thought, but a girl had to go when she had to go. “Outhouse, unfortunately.”

“Right this way, then.” 

You followed him out of your room and into the camp, everyone bustling around and either doing various chores or hanging about and chatting. 

Everything was washed in the soft orange glow of the “sun”, but there was no warmth radiating from it. Just a chilly zephyr dancing through the trees. You wondered if the weather ever changed. 

You were greeted as you passed by, and you waved and smiled politely, though the expression didn’t quite reach your eyes. You hoped you would feel some semblance of normalcy soon enough. But at that moment, grief still had its claws buried into you. 

You knew Chris could tell you were hurting, but he didn’t say anything. You were thankful for it. 

Finally, Chris brought you to the very back of the encampment, where a group of six outhouses built on top of a short platform sat against the large stone wall. A few yards away were two sheds, also atop a platform, where you guessed the bathtubs resided. 

You pondered how it all worked, considering Chris told you there was no plumbing. “Where… Where does it all go?” 

He pulled a face. “There are tanks under the platforms that catch the water from the bath sheds and the… everything else… from the outhouses. A pipe down there leads under the camp wall into a big ditch dug out on the other side.”

“You’re kidding me. You built… a poop moat?” 

He laughed loudly at that, slapping his hand over his stomach. “I sure as hell didn’t. I lucked out that I showed up after that architect, Felix, did. Apparently, they were using buckets before he set this whole thing up.”

“Our hero.” 

“Hey, be snarky all you want, but I’d bet you prefer this than shitting in a bucket and tossing it in a corner.”

You scrunched your nose up at the idea and nodded. “No, you’re right about that.”

“I always am.” 

You gasped, realizing he had just mirrored what you said to him the day before. “Don’t throw my words back at me, Redfield. I’ve kicked your ass before and I’ll do it again.”  

He rolled his eyes. “It happened once, and only because you caught me off guard.”

You punched his arm lightly before heading towards one of the outhouses. “Alright, alright, shut it. I’m gonna go now, unless you want me to piss myself.”

“I’ll meet you back at the camp in a bit, then. Give you a tour of the place,” he chuckled as he backed away. 

You entered the small room, pleasantly surprised by how clean and well-stocked with toilet paper it was. There was even hand sanitizer sitting on the shelf beside the rolls. 

You deliberated how often the other survivors must go on supply runs, and–with disgust–what would happen if they emptied the reserves. 

Surely, the Entity was allowing them to restock everything, right? There could only be so many items in a world created and controlled by a single… being, whatever it was. And it’s not like there were factories full of workers to pump these things out. 

Perhaps it was incidental?

You thought about the haphazard buildings scattered around both the inside and outside of the camp, seemingly pulled from different places and sat down at random. The Entity must have actually been taking the structures from the worlds these people were from. It stood to reason that so did the supplies. 

The motivations of the Entity confused you, but what did the musings of meat matter to a butcher, anyway?

The thought made you squirm. 

After you had finished your business, you started to head back towards camp when Jill approached you, a metal bucket full of cleaning supplies in her hand. 

“Lucky, hey,” she greeted. “How are you holding up today?”

“I’ve been better, but I’m trying to keep it together,” you replied.

She looked at you and there was a sad gleam in her eyes. “Chris told me he… filled you in.”

“Yeah, I think I’m all caught up. Unless you got any more bad news for me?” You were trying to be lighthearted, but it fell flat.

“Listen, I’m… I’m sorry. For everything. I was in the city when it all happened and… I wish I could have gotten your family out. I spent the whole time just trying to survive. Couldn’t manage to do much else.”

Your heart ached as you looked at your friend, so full of guilt like Chris had been the night before. You grabbed her shoulder firmly. “Jill, I don’t blame you. For any of it. It’s not anyone’s fault.” 

“Except Umbrella’s,” she responded, venom laced in her voice.

“Yeah, except Umbrella’s,” you agreed. 

She patted your hand before you dropped it. “Well, the bathtubs aren’t gonna clean themselves. What are you doing for the rest of the day?”

“Chris told me he was gonna show me around the place, get me some clothes.” 

She gave you a secretive look that you didn’t understand. “You two have fun, then. See you later.”

“Uh, yeah. See you.”

You made your way back to the edge of camp, moving to stand beside Chris as he chatted with a woman nearby. Claudette, if you recalled correctly from the previous day. 

They turned to face you as you reached them and Chris spoke, “Lucky, this is Claudette. She’s the one who started the garden over there and is the best forager around. Without her, we’d be a lot hungrier.” 

Claudette blushed. “Oh, it’s really not that impressive. We’re all just doing what we can to make life here a little more comfortable.” 

“Well, I think it’s fantastic,” you told her. “My mother used to garden a lot before she passed. I always wished I had gotten into it. Maybe you could teach me?” 

The young woman beamed. “Of course! When we place you in the chore rotation, I’ll make sure we team up!”

“Chore rotation, huh? You guys really have it figured out, don’t you?” 

“It’s very well organized here, yeah,” Chris replied as he looked around the camp, sounding almost proud. “We maintain a tight enough ship to keep things moving but flexible enough in case someone’s hurt and can’t do their week’s chores. The more folks who show up, the less we all have to do individually. Though that means there are more mouths to feed.”

“And more people stuck in this hell world,” you muttered. “Double-edged sword.”

“Something like that.” 

 “Well,” Claudette said, trying to change the subject to something less grim, “if you’re interested, maybe I can show you what we have growing!” 

Chris, out of Claudette’s peripheral vision, gave you a warning look before slicing his hand in front of his neck, mouthing, “Don’t get her started.” 

You sucked in your lips to stop yourself from laughing as you faced Claudette. “Maybe tomorrow? Chris wanted to take me on a tour of the camp before the trial tonight.”

She looked a little disappointed, but smiled at you. “Yeah, of course!”

You and Chris bid her goodbye as she shuffled off, and you turned to him. “What was that about?”

“She’s smart as hell and good at what she does, but if you let her, she will talk about her plants for hours.” 

“Well, someone oughta indulge her. I imagine we don’t get to discuss our passions that often, considering we’re trying to survive day to day,” you admonished as Chris began leading you to the other side of camp. 

“Hey, if you want to die of boredom, be my guest. I let her talk my ear off when I first got here and I started passing out on my feet. Besides, Rebecca seems to be the only person who even knows what she’s saying and can actually carry a conversation with her about it, so it's not like she’s alone.” 

“Couple of nerds,” you joked. “Makes me wish I actually went to college instead of joining the force.”

“Do you ever regret it?” he questioned, his voice suddenly serious.

The tonal shift of the conversation nearly gave you whiplash as you snapped your eyes to his face. He wasn’t looking at you directly and just kept moving forward. 

You considered it for a moment before answering, “No. I don’t think I do. Got to know some of the best people I ever met, and we really did a lot of good work. Despite how it all went down… I was happy.” 

He hummed in response and you asked, “What about you?”

He sighed, his eyes shifting to meet your gaze. “I’ll be honest, there are days I wish I never joined S.T.A.R.S. Especially now, knowing the truth.”

“You don’t regret meeting me, though, do you?” you teased, bumping into him.

“Of course not,” he scoffed as if offended. “You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me, Lucky.”

He said it so casually, but the words made your face burn. Why did that affect you so badly?

You huffed out a laugh, trying to ease the tension. “That’s what they all say.” 

You could see a smile tugging on the corner of his lips, but he didn’t respond. 

You finally arrived at your destination. The barn stood in front of you, the shed sat off to your left, and the garden Claudette was so keen on laid behind you.

Chris pointed to the shed, which had a closed padlock on it. There were two survivors sitting on chairs by the door, on guard.

“That’s where we put a lot of the supplies. We always have eyes on it to stop people from just taking what they want. There’s even a sign-in sheet for when we pull things out or bring them back, just to keep note of what we have.” 

“Makes sense, I guess.” You thought about the pills he had Rebecca steal for you, wondering how the younger girl managed to nab them. She was a medic, after all. The other survivors probably didn’t think much of it.

Chris then strode towards the barn, opening one of the large doors. “And this is where we stock the water.”

When you entered the building after him, you were awestruck by what was before you.

There were a bunch of drums stacked against the side walls and what you realized was a DIY water filtration device built onto one of the support beams, which held up a high loft in the back. There were several turned-over milk jugs that spiraled down the joist, set on wire stands nailed firmly into the wood.

The jugs were connected by plastic tubing sticking from the main openings and holes cut into the sides, sealed with duct tape to prevent leakage. The ends of each tube were wrapped tightly with a piece of cloth, meant to strain the water through until it hit the empty drum that was placed below. 

There was a ladder to reach the loft, where a large pot–which you supposed was usually filled with boiled water–had been set on a crate right next to the top of the filtration system. The uppermost jug had its bottom completely cut off, turning it into more of a funnel. 

It was an impressive creation, but you wondered why they would go through all this trouble. Something must have been wrong with the water, considering how much of it was lost to evaporation. Not to mention how time-consuming boiling and filtering enough to fill even one of the drums must be. You voiced this much to Chris.

“Well, there’s this stream we get our water from, and before even I got here, the survivors just drank from it without a problem. But then, one day, everyone started to get sick with the blight.”

“The what?” 

He grimaced. “It’s a nasty sickness that comes from these flowers that only grow in the realm. There’s a killer here, completely made up of the stuff, and he likes to… experiment.”

“Did he poison the water?!” 

“Not quite. They went to resupply and found a dead buck upstream. It had been blighted and it was just… pouring out the stuff. We don’t know for sure how long the stream is, so the best way to prevent another blight poisoning is to boil and filter the water when we bring it back to camp. Besides, we don’t exactly have the luxury of checking to make sure there’s not a corpse in the stream every single supply run. If we spend too much time outside the walls, even in the daylight, we risk getting caught by a killer.” 

“How sick exactly were they?” 

“The blight kills us. And quickly, too. At least it isn’t contagious, as far as we know. There are other illnesses here, but we usually have a chance to survive those.” 

“Jesus. How come the killer is fine, then? if the stuff is that dangerous.”

“We don’t know. The killers are given an insane amount of strength and stamina here, while I argue us survivors are weakened.”

Every single thing you have learned so far about this world brought you closer to tearing out your own hair. “That’s so fucking unfair!” 

“I know. This place is rigged against us.” Chris sighed, his expression sympathetic before he changed the subject, “Why don’t we find you some new clothes and you can get cleaned up a little before the trial? It’s not a hot shower, but you might still feel better.” 

You nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. I must look as shitty as I feel right now.” 

He chuckled lightly. “I have to admit, you do look worse for wear. Remind me to find you a comb and a toothbrush too.” 

You pretended to take offense. “Are you saying my hair’s a mess and my breath stinks? Where’d you learn your manners, Redfield? A barn?”

He rolled his eyes as you gestured to the building you were standing in. “I grew up in the Midwest, Lucky, what do you think?”

You both broke out into laughter.

He made it easy to feel a little lighter in a place so dark when the two of you bantered like this. You didn’t know how you could ever express your gratitude for that, amongst everything else he’d done for you. 

You already owed him your life, what could you possibly give him in return that would ever be enough?

The laughter subsided and the pair of you trudged back to the facility, chatting the whole way. He led you to a storage closet, and when he opened the door to let you inside, you found the small room to be packed with clothes and accessories of all sorts. 

“Everyone has a few outfits they change into. These are the extras we keep around when new survivors show up. Feel free to pick whatever you want. You’ll probably want a couple pairs of pajamas and things to wear during the day. We only do a large group laundry washing once a week.”

You looked around you. “I don’t even know where to start.”

A familiar voice came through the open door, “I know everything in here. Let me help.”

You turned in shock to find Ada maneuvering easily past Chris’s large frame to stand in front of one of the racks, shuffling through the items hung there. Your eyes met with Chris’s, finding that he seemed equally confused by the offer. 

Ada threw a shirt and some pants at you. “These should fit. But try them on, just in case.” 

You caught the articles of clothing but didn’t move immediately to get dressed, dumbstruck. 

Ada faced Chris. “What are you standing there for? Are you going to watch her change?” 

He shook his head, bewildered. “No, of course not! I’ll… I’ll go get you some toiletries, Lucky. Meet me in your room.” 

You nodded and he left, closing the door behind him. 

Ada turned to you. “Well, hurry. Put them on.”

You quickly did as you were told as she faced away, creating a small pile of clothes on the table beside you to try on. To your shock, everything fit you near perfectly, even the shoes. How did she know your size?

“Chris told you what happened to Raccoon City, didn’t he?” she asked, ruffling through the jackets. 

You froze. “How’d you know? Did he tell you?”

She scoffed. “No, he didn’t. But for one, you look worse than you did yesterday–”

“Gee, thanks.”

“And the walls in here aren’t as thick as you think they are.”

Your face grew hot with embarrassment as you remembered she stayed in the room beside yours. She had heard you crying–no, wailing–all night. 

“Oh…” 

You put your old clothes on and she finally turned to face you. “I still don’t trust you. I won’t until you’re put in a trial and we know for sure you’re not a killer just playing with us.”

“That’s fair, I guess,” you replied, unsure of where this was going. 

Her gaze softened ever-so-slightly, though, when you met her eyes. “But for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. It’s bad enough being stuck here, but to find out you lost everything you left behind… I couldn’t imagine.”

With that, she strode past you and out of the door.

What the fuck was that?

You shook your head to clear it and left with the pile in your arms.

You found Chris in your room, exactly where he said he would be, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

He took in the perplexed look on your face and chuckled as you plopped your new wardrobe into the top drawer of the dresser. “What happened back there?”

“I’m not sure,” you replied, sitting next to him. “I think… I think Ada and I are cool now? I mean, she said she still doesn’t trust me until I’m in a trial, but she was… really nice at the same time?”

He smiled. “Look at you, already making friends with everybody.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you laughed. “I think I’m just something new and shiny. The novelty will fade eventually. Or the pity.” 

 Chris looked shocked by your self-deprecation. “Have you met yourself, Lucky? Everybody who knows you loves you. I doubt the people here will be any different.”

“Does that include you?” you weren’t sure why you asked. Curiosity, you supposed. 

You regretted it as soon as it left your mouth.

His eyes widened a bit. “Well, uh… As I said, everyone who knows you does.”

Neither of you knew what to say after that, sitting in silence and just staring at your own laps. 

Why were you being so weird about this? He was one of your best friends, after all. Of course he would say that.

When you turned to face him and apologize for making things awkward, he was already looking at you intently, that same expression from last night when you danced together alighting his face.

Was it just you, or did he drift closer?

“You find me a toothbrush?” you blurted, breaking the tension.

He looked like he snapped out of a haze and pulled back. “Oh, yeah. Got you a whole bunch of stuff. It’s right here.”

He pulled a cloth bag from the floor next to the bed and handed it over to you.

“Thanks,” you replied, taking it and jumping to your feet to put some distance between you. 

What the hell is wrong with me?!

“Well, I’ll let you get cleaned up, then. There’s a bathroom down the hall if you need a mirror. The sinks and toilets don’t work, obviously, so I’d drain the water you use outside,” he told you, standing up. “I guess when you’re ready, everyone will be at camp. Only a couple hours until the trial.” 

“Yeah, I’ll see you out there,” you said, giving him a smile and trying to act normal. 

He only nodded before he was out the door. 

As soon as it closed behind him, you let out a breath. 

What was that? Why did you get so nervous? Why was he looking at you like that?

You didn’t want to think about it anymore, the world around you confusing enough as it was. 

You poured the contents of the bag he gave you onto the bed. You were met with a comb that had a few teeth missing, a toothbrush, toothpaste from a brand you didn’t recognize, a stick of deodorant, and an old stained towel to dry yourself with. He also brought you an alcohol wipe and antibiotic ointment for your cut.

You put the items back in the bag before throwing a change of clothes and the plastic container on the dresser in there as well, grabbing the jug of water and heading out to search for the bathroom. 

It took you a moment to find it, as the medical facility was a bit of a labyrinth despite its relatively small size. You set the bag and jug on the counter and finally took a good look at yourself in the mirror.

“Fuck,” was all you could muster.

When Chris and Ada said you looked rough, they weren’t lying. 

Your hair was an absolute mess, pieces of it sticking in every direction out of the tight braid you had put it in the night you were taken by the fog. Both your skin and clothes were covered in dirt and blood, and you were unsure if the latter was yours or Ghost Face’s.

You took in the cut on your cheek, which traveled all the way from the corner of your eye to the side of your mouth. It was crusted over, the scab a nasty dark brown. You wondered idly if it would heal before you eventually died. The thought sent a spike of anxiety through you.

Well, time to get to work. 

You stripped yourself of your clothes and tossed them to the floor before filling the container from the jug. You weren’t sure how much water you should use, considering the whole conservation ordeal. You were thankful you got a full gallon just this once, as Chris had said everyone usually gets half of that a day for drinking and washing. 

God, the whole situation was fucked. 

You started with the soap, lathering it up in your hands and slowly and carefully applying it over your body. You then took the rag and wet it before ringing it and wiping off the thin layer of suds. 

You were gentle with the cut on your face–not wanting to peel off the scab and make it bleed everywhere–before you moved on to the rest of you, cleaning everything but your hair. 

Your hair… How would you wash it? Should you even try? You had no idea how long it would be until you were able to truly bathe again, as it completely hinged on whether or not you were placed in and survived the trials. 

You decided to make use of the extra water you were supplied and poured a good cup or two more into the soapy container. It was big enough to hold your head into, but you knew it could get messy if you weren’t careful. 

Before you could, though, you had to take your hair from its braid, gently pulling the strands apart with your fingers and then using the comb to break up the knots that formed there. Chris didn’t give you shampoo or conditioner, but any soap to scrub the last two days from your scalp was good enough for you right now.

You managed to wash your hair, but it was awkward and you made a bit of a puddle on the floor. You wrung your locks out over the container, the water turning a lovely shade of gray, which made your nose scrunch in disgust. 

You dried yourself with the towel before you brushed your teeth, pouring only a little bit of water from the jug over the toothbrush to wet it.

The bristles against your teeth were a welcome sensation, and you swished a bit of the water in your mouth before spitting into the container. 

And now your mouth was clean. You felt somewhat normal again. 

You cautiously rinsed the toothbrush and re-combed through your damp hair before turning to face the mirror, gasping as you took in the bruises that covered your naked form. 

You were less shocked by the ones on your arms and legs, recalling the number of times you fell to the ground that first night in the realm, though they had been mostly hidden by your clothes. What really caught your attention was the one on your throat, a blue and purple blotch decorating the front of it like some twisted necklace in the shape of a handprint. Your skin had been so saturated in blood and grime, you couldn’t even see it until now. 

You tried to shake the feeling of those gloved hands wrapped around you as you doctored your cut, rebandaged your ankle, and got dressed.

Just a shirt over a pair of jeans. Ada clearly knew what you’d like. She even seemed to know what underwear to put you in, which consisted of a sports bra and bikini-style panties. You peeled your socks and new pair of sneakers over your feet, then threw the slate-gray military jacket she gave you atop the ensemble. 

You faced the mirror again when you were finished, taking it all in. The outfit was simple and comfortable, while still looking good on you. You’d have to thank Ada later. 

You felt… better.

You were still sad and in pain and terrified out of your mind, but at least you were presentable. With this, you could fake it 'til you make it. That would have to be enough. 

You took a deep, steadying breath and gathered your things, dumping the filthy water you had used out of the bathroom window and making sure to cover the bruise along your throat with the collar of your jacket and your hair. You didn’t want the others, especially Chris, to see it and worry over you. They fussed enough about the ankle. 

You went back to your room and took a few minutes to organize things how you liked, hoping it would make it feel a little more comfortable. 

It wasn’t home, but it would do.

You would make do.

“Time to face the music,” you muttered to yourself before heading out to the center of camp. 

You were greeted by the other survivors as you sat down in front of the fire, feeling nice and cozy between the heat of the flames and the warmth of your new jacket. 

“There was a woman under all that filth?” Carlos teased you. Jill gave him a warning look and he chuckled. “You look better, is all I’m saying.” 

“I like the outfit,” Sheva added.

“Ada picked it out for me. She’s a real pro, it seems,” you replied, giving the aforementioned woman an appreciative nod. 

“Don’t mention it. Couldn’t have you wearing rags now, could I?” She acted like she didn’t care, but there was a knowing gleam in her brown eyes. 

“The cut looks like it’s healing well,” Rebecca said as she walked over and bent in front of you to check the wound. “How’s the ankle doing?”

“Better. It still hurts, but it’s manageable. I think I could run if I needed to.”

“Good. If you’re picked tonight, you probably will.”

The voice startled you, as it didn’t belong to anyone you’ve been introduced to thus far. 

You looked over to the man who spoke. He was much older than you, though still in shape. He had a beard and wore a beret, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. 

You wondered how often the group even came across things like cigarettes. Must be difficult to keep up a smoking habit in a place like this. You had a sudden hankering.

“Bill,” he said, before noticing you staring at the cancer stick between his lips. He pulled a pack from his pocket and offered one to you, along with an old metal lighter. “Here, might settle your nerves.” 

You grabbed the cigarette and lit it, taking a deep puff.

That hits the spot.

“I thought you quit,” remarked Chris. He was standing by the campfire, away from you. 

He seemed to be keeping a bit of distance, and you thought about the awkward moment you had shared earlier, cringing internally.

“I did,” you replied, the smoke curling from your nose as you exhaled. “But considering where we’re at, can you really blame me for taking one? Besides, can’t exactly tar up my lungs when I’ll be dying left and right.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

“That I’ll die or tar up my lungs?” You knew exactly what he meant, but you couldn’t stop yourself from snarking.

Chris only grunted in response and turned toward the flames, his arms crossed. You felt a pang of guilt hit you for being so coarse.

Bill, however, seemed amused by the exchange. “Damn right, kid. Might as well take the small pleasures where we can.”

“How long have you been here?” you asked the older man, desperate to change the subject and avoid the discomfort you were feeling build up between you and Chris. 

He scratched his beard in thought. “Few years. Some folks here keep track, but it all blurs together after a while.”

You were shocked. So far, the longest you were aware people had been stuck here was a year, tops. “How do you manage? You think you’d just go insane after being here for so long.”

“Kid, let me tell you something,” he started, leaning in closer. “We manage cos we got no other choice. We don’t got the luxury of going off our rocker, cos what would that do? Show weakness and put more of a target on our backs. And then everybody else would have to deal with us, to boot. We got no room for weakness, or for burdens, you hear?”

You were taken aback by his harsh words, but knew he was right. Losing your shit wouldn’t do you–nor anybody else–any favors. 

You replied, “Loud and clear.”

He nodded once and pulled back, apparently done with the conversation. 

Deciding you couldn’t stand the weird rift that opened between you and Chris, you stood and made your way over to him. 

“Want a drag?” you offered, holding the lit cig towards him like some cancerous olive branch. 

His eyes shifted over to you and he took it from your hand, the roll of paper comically small between his large fingers. 

He inhaled the smoke deeply, and you were honestly surprised. “I thought you quit too?”

“Yeah, well that was before.” 

Your unease was getting to you. “Look, I’m sorry. I’m just–I just don’t know how to cope with all of this. I know I’m not usually this negative, but I really don’t see much of a silver lining here.” 

“There isn’t one,” he agreed, handing you back the cigarette. “But we make them as we go.” 

“Right.” You thought perhaps that was it, feeling a bit dejected, but he placed his hand on the back of your neck, squeezing gently.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but everything will be fine, Lucky. No matter what, I’ll be here for you. I want you to believe that,” he whispered, finally looking down at you. 

Your heart sputtered in your chest. Of course you believed him. You always would. When had he ever let you down?

You knew he thought he failed you when he couldn’t save you or your friends, or get your family to safety, but you wouldn’t hold that against him. He did the best he could in a situation he had no control over. He tried, and that was all that mattered to you. 

Without thinking, you threw the butt of the cigarette into the fire and burrowed yourself into his side. He stiffened at first, shocked by the sudden affection, but draped his arm around you to hold you tightly. 

“I do believe you,” you murmured into his vest.

He only pulled you closer.

The moment was disturbed, though, when another stranger cleared his throat beside you, speaking in a British accent, “Not to interrupt, but we best be getting supplies ready.”

Chris sighed and begrudgingly released you. “I’m going to the supply shed with David, here. There’s something I need to grab if you end up in the trial tonight, anyway. Be right back.”

You simply nodded as the two large men trudged off, resigned to staring at the flames before you until the trial began.

“So what exactly is the deal between you two?” You turned to face a short, full-figured woman approaching you, yet another unfamiliar face. “Jane Romero, by the way.” 

You raised a brow at her. “Hi. I’m not sure what you mean by that.” 

“Oh, I don’t know, you two just seem really close. I’m honestly jealous. He’s such a hunk.” There was a knowing sparkle in her gaze that confused you.

“I mean, he’s my best friend.” 

“Just a friend?”

“Why do you ask?” you interrogated, eyes narrowed.

“Curiosity, mostly. But I just wanted to know if he was still single.” 

You laughed, “Chris isn’t really the dating type. If you’re looking for love, I don’t think he’s the best option for you.”

“I never said I wanted anything exclusive,” she replied, smirking. 

For some reason, her insinuation made you angry. You weren’t sure why you even cared. Chris had had plenty of flings in the past, and you never paid his love life any mind beyond teasing him for being a bit of a manwhore.

Before you could respond, Chris and David had returned and Jane waved you goodbye as she sauntered off. She was gorgeous, that much you could admit. The two of them would probably hit it off if Chris wasn’t so… so tense in this place. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss the old him, the one who made all sorts of trouble with you. This Chris, this older Chris, had gone through hell and back. The version of him you knew died in that mansion, you supposed. 

But earlier that day, and even the one before, there had been moments when that lighthearted side of him shone through his stoic facade. Maybe you could bring it back. He deserved to be happy–to cut loose like he once did. 

“Hey,” he said as he stood beside you again, pulling you from your thoughts, “you ready for this?”

He was referring to the trial. You gulped.

“No, but I don’t have much of a choice.” 

He grabbed your shoulder and squeezed it, a reassuring smile on his face. “Remember what I said? Everything–”

“Everything will be fine,” you repeated his words with a roll of your eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”

That pain in your skull from yesterday suddenly resurfaced, and everyone shifted uncomfortably as they waited for the Entity’s verdict.

Unlike before, instead of the mental thread snapping, it felt like it had somehow tightened. Like your head would pop off your neck if it yanked just a little bit harder.

Dread seeped into you, knowing what that meant immediately. 

You were hoping so desperately you could avoid the trial another day. 

No dice.

You glanced around nervously to see who else was chosen and were relieved to find Chris, Jill, and Rebecca stepping forward to pick through the supplies. 

A silver lining, you thought. Maybe this won’t be so bad. 

 Your friends beckoned you over and you moved to stand beside them, unsure of what you should even take with you. 

“Here,” Jill said, handing you a rusted toolbox. “This will make working the gens easier.” 

“Thanks.” 

The group stood up, Rebecca and Jill each carrying a medkit while Chris sported a flashlight. 

The others crowded around the four of you and wished you luck. Claire gave you and Chris a hug. Carlos gripped Jill’s shoulder and leaned down to whisper something in her ear that made her smile before he turned and winked at you. The rest of them waved or nodded in solidarity.

After the exchange, you were preparing to enter the fog that started creeping toward you, but Chris held you back. “Wait, there’s something I gotta do first.” 

You looked at him quizzically as he pulled a piece of cloth from his vest pocket and threw it into the fire. He closed his eyes and mouthed something to himself. 

When he was done, he turned to face you again, explaining, “We can use certain items we find to make offerings to the Entity for favors. What I just threw in there is called a shroud, and it makes sure we all start the trial together.” 

“We usually don’t?” The idea that you could have been alone during your first trial somehow fried your nerves further.

He shook his head. “No, the Entity just plops us down at random, for the most part.”

“Anything else I should know?”

“We should really get going,” Jill interrupted. “We’ll handle the rest when we’re in there.”

You, Rebecca, and Chris nodded, the four of you edging closer to the fog. Right before you could enter it, though, Chris grabbed your hand. 

He looked down at you with a soft but determined gaze. “See you on the other side.”

And with that, you stepped forward into the dark.

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

Masterlist | Previous | Next

[write-like-you-mean-it]

Streets (Shalnark x Reader)

This is a commission piece from @pastelbear12. It is a part 2 to Pretty Little Psycho. If you would like to commission me, here's a link to my commission page. I hope this kills you Sophie.

Pairing: Teasing!Shalnark x female reader

Warning: Teasing Shalnark, bondage, public sex, choking, daddy calling, very dom Shalnark, this is pure smut.

Word Count: 2610

You let your head duck under the red rope as you held tightly to the blonde in front of you. His face lit up with a wild, untamed excitement. You felt a tight squeeze on your wrist which matched the same tight lipped grin. Shivers ran down your body at the choice you made.

“Hey Shal,” called one of the men still stuck in line. The taunt left his face as Shanark faced his peer. The taller and muscular blonde who’s name was Phink motioned towards the entrance of the club. “You know the boss’s mission.”

Shanark waved away the notion. “You have enough people. Tell the boss I’ll be back later.” His gaze flickers to your own. “I have a more important mission to attend to.”

The music bumped through the speakers as Shalnark dragged you across the floor towards the bar. Not much was different between the two places beyond the line to enter was much shorter and there was a lack of a friend by your side. If you’d not been caught up in his hazel eyes, the terror may have set in by now.

Heavy bass swam between dancing bodies, flirty conversations, and frat boys chugging beers. You could almost hear it over the steady beat of your own heart. Your breath was shaky from the walk over and getting caught looking too long at the blonde man.

“What do you want? He asks while leaning his back against the bar. His arms planted across the empty space of the bar. “Or would you rather I pick for you?”

“I would-” You didn't have a chance to respond as Shal caught you off guard. Although you were going to respond, you didn’t know what you were going to say. Would you allow him to choose for you or would you rather choose something for yourself.

“Or are you worried I’ll spike your drink?” His eyes flicked up and down your body as if he was taking in a beautiful view. “Don’t worry. I’d like you to remember who will leave bruises all over your body tomorrow.”

An involuntary whimper forced from deep within your core. His words made your choice for you. “You can choose.” You almost couldn’t recognize your own voice. It was hoarse as if your throat was starving for water and squeasy as if you needed to gasp for air.

Shalnark reaches over to bush his thumb over your burning cheek before lightly gripping your chin to look up at him. “Seems like you may need water more than anything else. Wouldn’t want you to be too dehydrated for me.” You squirm away from his touch only to have him hold your jaw tighter. “I didn’t say you can look away, did I?”

“No,” you whisper. Shal’s thumb moved to your lips. They part when his finger presses lightly on the bottom lip to wetten them with your own saliva.

He chuckles: “Good girl.”

The blonde stranger’s words catch the breath in your chest which causes you to inadvertently cough and squirm away. “I’m sorry,” you mumble as you try to find a safe hiding place for your eyes that’s not the burrowing gaze of the man in front of you.

“No need to be sorry, princess,” he says while motioning to the bartender. He orders two waters. Shalnark ignored the rolling eyes of the worker,

“You didn’t order anything for yourself?” you question.

“No. I want to be coherent too. Any drinks and you may squirm away from me too much.” Your weight shifted between your feet. Before the bartender could return, Shalnark leaned in right next to your ear and mumbled “not that you aren’t already squirming for me.”

Your lips part to respond as the bartender sets down two bottles of water. Shalnark picks up both and hands you the other one.

“Anything else for you two?”

“Not now. But keep an open tab. I’ll be back for more.” The bartender takes this as his cue to find other patrons who will pay more. Your partner uncapped the lid and drank the full bottle down with almost no stops.

“Trying to impress me?” you tease while upcapping your own bottle. You take a few sips to try and cool your heat-filled cheeks.

“No,” he says while looking disinterestedly at the plastic in his hand. “I’ll need an excuse to use the restroom later. It’ll look suspicious if I take you to the bathroom the moment we walk in.”

Your nose scrunches while putting the bottle back onto the counter. “Why would you..?”

“Don’t tell me you’re that oblivious, princess,” Shalnark says. His tongue reaches out to wet his lips. The blonde’s pupils were blown as he leaned over the bar and into your space; making sure there are no gaps between you. Fear sends a chill down your spine. “I’ll want to take that pretty dress off and do unspeakable things to you.” Your grip tightens on the plastic as some of the water splashes onto your dress. “Ah now you have to come with me. We have to dry off.”

Shanark’s hand rested once again in your trembling hand as the bottle was left on the bar. Part of you hoped you’d never see that bottle again.

The swinging door finally closing was the last barrier between the two of you. Shalnark roughly gripped the clothing that guarded your hips and pulled you into a rough kiss. His force knocked the wind out of your chest. His body cages you against the door; although, that’s not what you would call it. Your arms were wrapped tightly around his neck

For his stature, you weren’t expecting his hands to be forceful enough to pull you against his own. You could have sworn you heard a tear of fabric as Shalnark looked for the skin of your back or hips. You wouldn’t be one to look at it until much later. Instead, you focused on the warmth pressing on his lips and warm breath against your own.

“Shal,” you groan while hiking your legs higher. He took the cue and pushed his full weight into your to lift your body so that you can wrap your legs around his waist. Your dress shifts up to around your waist.

You whimper while feeling his cock pressing into your thigh. Thick enough to feel it was semi hard. Your hips inadvertently grinded against the man. Shalnark pulled away from your lips with only a string of saliva and a whine to replace the once filthy noises.

“Did I tell you to grind against my dick?” he asks. His grip tightens against the small of your back.

“No?” you question. Your mind is a little hazy and lustful.

“No…” Shalnark’s voice trails off with a commanding expectation.

“No, master?”

“Better. But I’m looking for a word that starts with d.”

You could feel yourself absentmindedly closing your legs to gain any friction on your already wet pussy. “No daddy. You didn’t say I can grind against you.”

“Good girl,” he whispers against the shell of your ear. He peppers soft kisses against your lobe before ripping the little piece of fabric against your cunt. You squirm to try and close as the cold air hits your unclothed pussy. “Now. Hands up.”

You cock your head but comply. Shalnark shifts to hold you up by pressing your weight into the door. Your hands dangle above only for him to use your ripped underwear to tie your hands together. He ties them tightly while crossed. “Better,” he grunts before letting you down from his waist.

Shalnark strips the thin shirt and places it on the door knob. Your body trembles from the cool of the room mixed with fear of what could happen. He places a chaste kiss on your lips which leaves your head spinning and wanting more.“Knees, kitten,” the blonde commands and you follow.

When your knees hit the floor, you felt the force of the inability to use your hands. No matter how hard you tug, you cannot get released. You realized how under control you were of this strange man. The realization made your thighs slicker with your own wetness.

“Good little slut. I’ll treat you so nice if you suck my cock well.” Shalnark reaches a hand into your hair and tug it enough to look up at him. He chuckles at your open lips and doe-eyed look. The spider uses his other hand to pull out his throbbing cock. His tip was angry, red and leaking.

You wet your lips before kitten licking his tip. Shalnark hissed at the sudden touch. Curses escaped his lips and the grip on your hair tightened. You take this as a cue to keep doing a few test licks.

The salty taste edged you on to do broad stokes at the underside of his head. Without warning, the man shoves his cock into your mouth. “I’m done with your teasing kitten,” he grunts. “Treat me right.”

Your cheeks hollow as he pulls out of your warm mouth. Your tongue keeps flat against your jaw as Shal sets the pace. At first he’s kind by not shoving his full length in your mouth; however, this kindness doesn’t last.

One push is a little too far and causes you to gag around his length. This pushes the spider to go a little deeper. Your gag reflex would be your betrayal. Shalnark grips the back of your head to guide you at the pace he wants while your hands dig into his thighs. You could feel the trembling of his cock before he pulled away from your lips. Saliva runs down your chin and neck. Soon enough you kept your mouth open and let him use you.

“Fuck you got me too close princess,” Shalnark grunts while helping you to your feet. “Let me treat you to the same.”

At first, you were excited. Then you realized he didn’t cum. You got him close but not enough. Your eyes widen as he kisses your burning lips. “No daddy. I want to cum.”

“Good use of your word kitten,” he mumbles while dragging you to the sink. “I’ll let you cum if you do good. I promise.” His eyes twinkle with some miscivious thoughts.

He uses the sink as a way to prop up your body. You pray that it will continue holding your weight as Shalnark lifts your right leg over his sanding shoulder. This position creates a throbbing pull on your muscles.

A single finger dips into your dripping cunt. He’s teasing the outside as you quake against his touch. You pull at your restraints in hopes of helping him give you something to clench your walls around. “P-please,” you whine.

“Please what, princess?” Shalnark questions.

“Please touch me, daddy,” you cry. Your hips buckle against his touch. Shal hums but compiles. He moves a finger inside your warm cunt which causes you to gasp. Your back arches before hitting the glass of the mirror behind you with your exposed back.

Shalnark curls his finger and touches the spot that sends stars around your eyes. His finger picks up speed while moving in and out of your pussy. Whimpers and whines fall from your lips with little regard for who could hear.

Another finger is added to the one. His pace picks up. “Princess, you’re not ready for me yet. You have to take three of my fingers before being able to handle my cock.”

You whine again. Two felt like enough. You were spread and drowning in your own pleasure; yet, he refused to touch the bundle of nerves. You clenched down on his fingers. “You do that princess and I’ll make it four,” Shalnark whispers. Your pussy made slapping noises with each thrust of his hand.

For all you new, you could be covering his hand with your juices. You wanted to complain but Shal spread you more with a third finger. You clench at the small pain even though he slowed down.

“Doing so well, kitten.” Tears pricked your eyes. Soon Shal could move his fingers without you tightening around them. He took this opportunity to pull out his fingers and lick off any of the remaining juice.

He tears the underwear that holds your wrists. You had no objections as the binding was starting to hurt your arms and wrists. An acceptable pain that would leave bruises for days to come.

Before you could gain composure, Shalnark flips you over to look at yourself in the mirror. Mascara ran down your face from the tears of pleasure and slight pain. Your pupils were blown and lips plump from the barrage of his thick cock. The once beautiful dress was pushed away so that your tits were hanging out. You looked like a sweaty whore; however, your partner only looked hotter. Sweat dripped down his face and wetted his hair. He was filled with determination.

Your once bound wrists were tied by one of his hands behind your back. He uses the other one to line up his cock at your entrance. He traces your lips with the tip of his cock before pushing in. “Fuck,” you grunt while pushing your face more into the mirror. Shalnark uses the momentum of pulling your wrists to bounce you further on his dick.

“Oh princess, you feel better than I imagined,” your partner grunted as he slid out only to push back in. The hand not bound to your wrist slaps your ass at the same time his cock slammed into you.

He did this a few more times until the stinging pain was replaced by Shalnark fucking into you faster. Your whimpers turn into soft screams. Lewd slapping of skin and a few of the spider’s grunts echoed in the small bathroom.

Shal reached up to twist your head to look at yourself in the mirror. “Look at you princess.” He sticks a finger into your open mouth. Drool pools on the end of the sink. “Look at how much of a whore my pretty princess is. Drooling for my cock.”

His hand slid from your mouth to your neck. Lifting you up so that your back is flush against his chest. The hand that was on your wrists was repositioned to your clit. He rubbed rough circles in hopes that the growing tension in your stomach would break.

“Fuck ‘m close,” Shalnark grunts. His hand at your neck tightens around your airway while making it hard to breathe. It was all too much. Your clit, Shalnark’s hand, his thick cock fucking into you.

For the moment after you came, you swore you saw stars. Shalnark pumped a few more times into your cunt until he squirts his cum inside. He bites down on your neck to keep him from moaning. It wasn’t until he was coming down that he finally allowed you to take in the precious oxygen you desperately needed.

Shalnark’s teeth were replaced with soft kisses to your sweat covered skin. He pulled out of you once he and you had come down from your collective highs. Your shaking legs were covered in a mixture of your own cum and his. You shiver from the loss of him filling you up.

“Can you walk, darling?” the blonde questions.

“Yes?”

“Good because we’re going to a hotel. I’m not letting you go.”

“What about our bar tab?” Your question felt hoarse and tired. You had no more fight in you.

“Fuck the bar tab,” Shalnark says while handing you his shirt. “I’m going to fuck you until you can’t walk tomorrow.”

Masterlist

[keilemlucent]

So I saw that your requests were open and was wondering if you could do some aftercare with Hawks? Like after a really intense scene and the reader is out of it for awhile so Hawks just patiently helps them come back into reality?

ugh anon, you got me on this one. i truly love a good aftercare fic, and i really love reading fics with bdsm elements!! i combined a bit into here <3 there may be some inaccuracies, but nonetheless, enjoy this little number!! 

word count: ~2.4k

warnings: bdsm scene, a bit of degradation, praise kink, aftercare, fluff, fluff, avian keigo (think ‘best nest’-verse)

scene & stop:

||||||||||||||||||||

Keigo had set a brutal pace long ago, as he usually did. Twisting, pulling and pushing you faster than you could fathom or keep track of. You’d stopped trying to make sense of it all when Keigo had hauled you up by your feather-bound wrist, arching your back into a painful curve and stuffing you full of his cock to the point where it was almost difficult to breathe.

You loved every moment of it. 

“Oh baby,” Each rhythmic slap of skin seared across your gooey mind. Keigo’s voice, sweet despite the force of his actions, washed over. “Look at you, always such a good cock sleeve for me when I ask, huh?”

You could only make yourself whine, any answer feeble and small in the back of your throat. Most of your conscious effort was going into bracing your thighs, keeping yourself upright and poised against Keigo’s grip and the feather nearly vibrating on your sore clit. 

His wings beat the air with each thrust, filth slipping from his lips, long-since saturating your psyche. It was nasty, undeniably, all of the words dripping over you in time with Keigo’s harsh breath and bites over your shoulders. 

“Come on, dove, use those pretty lips to tell me how good my cock feels,” Keigo growled against the shell of your ear. “I know they’re more useful when my cock is down your throat, but I guess I’ll settle.”

You swallowed, shuddering a particularly harsh thrust that hit your deepest insides, “I-It feels really good, sir, v-very good.”

“Oh, ‘sir’? How polite.” A laugh colored his tone, mocking and high. You whimpered, lost in the speed of sensations, almost drowning in it if not for Keigo’s constant touch and words. “You really are just a fucked-out, fuck toy, huh?”

His hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing the sides of your neck with just enough pressure to make you go nicely hazier. You were quickly shoved into the bed, back still arched, hands still bound, but this time with your face smushed against the sheets, whimpers and mewls muffled by the silks and satin. All the aches and pretty cruelties went right to your cunt, spent and dripping.

Keigo’s pace turned harsher, faster even still. You drank all of it in, feeling your whines break into cries and sobs as the sheets below you soaked with tears and spittle.

“Awwww, is my needy birdie crying?” Keigo sneered above you, a sharp slap coming down on the flesh of your ass. It stung, burned through you like a divine iron. “That’s cute. Too bad.”

He had warned you he was in a particularly nasty mood-- not that you minded too much. The pain and aches mixed with the hot pleasure over your body, stripping you down to just raw nerves.

You both loved it.

Keigo had to be getting close, the feather circling and lapping at your clit getting more erratic and shaky with the pace of Keigo’s hips. You vaguely recognized it through the fog, a new stream of tears dripping down your cheeks. The bruising of Keigo’s cockhead against your cervix was almost too much, but you held out.

It all ended abruptly.

Keigo dragged your weeping face from the duvet, almost contorting your body with the amount of pressure and strength he was exerting. With a few pointed thrusts, you shuddered and screamed through your last orgasm, a slow rolling thing after so many other ecstasies preceded it. Keigo came moments later, the shuddering of your gooey cunt around his girth undoubtedly pushing him over the edge.

While he’d been keeping your cumming and cumming and cumming for what had to have been hours, he’d been edging himself, saving his load for when you were completely rung out.

Oh, and you were.

You felt his absence more than you felt him inside you. As he pulled out of you, cooling cum dripped along your inner thighs.

And moments later, you were boneless.

You slipped down against the sheets, feathers and hands removed. You were spinning, high, light and floating. It felt a bit too high, consider you couldn’t feel or hear Keigo.

A new wave of sputtering cries got muffled into the sheets.

“Hey, hey, dove, I’m right here,” Keigo’s voice was so soft compared to the grating cruelty from just moments before. Arm loop around your waist, his face buried into the crook of your neck from behind. “I’ve got you, let me hold you.”

You slowly turned, just enough to bury your face in his chest, and nestle into him the best you could. Keigo linked your sticky legs together, pressing a few kisses to your hairline.

“Gimme some taps, dove,” Keigo urged, nosing into your hair and pulling a thin sheet over the two of you.

Your fingers twitched against his clammy back. 

One tap. Two tap. Three tap. Four taps.

Keigo hummed, “Got you, dove. Thank you for showing me. I’m so proud of you.”

The praise crashed over your melted mind like weighted, lavender-smelling blanket, something grounding and soft to safely hold onto.  

Keigo tended to get particularly tender during aftercare, no matter the scene. It soothed both of your mental aches.

“You did so good, dove,” He purred against your ear, all warm and solid like you needed. You squeezed him, a silent ‘thank you, you too’. 

Keigo blanketed you in sweet everythings, little kisses and the most gentle touches he could muster. You kept your face tucked into his chest, the aftershocks of it all making you shiver against him. It felt safest to keep your face hidden from view. 

Though, with each passing moment, you felt yourself floating less and less. 

Keigo, surprisingly, was patient, particularly in moments like these, with you, that required the mutual bearing-of-souls. 

You slowly peered him up him, hardly pulling away much. Despite how clammy and sticky you felt, being near Keigo meant you were safe and okay. 

“There’s my dove,” Keigo beamed down at you, giving you the sweetest, warmest type of smile. He peppered kisses across your face, kissing away the few stray tears that remained. “You’re beautiful, you know that? Especially when you’re all marked-up and sweet for me.”

You rolled your eyes, not ready for any sort of words yet, but you have just enough spunk to nose at his jaw, nipping near his stubble. He’s quick to rub his hands up and down your sides, trading your little teasing for a whole heap of kisses and squeezes.

“I love you, dove, god, you did so well,” Keigo crooned, nearly crushing you against him. “Can I help you out a bit, clean you up a little? We can take a bath after, use one of those bath bombs we got?”

You nodded, tucking into his neck again to speak, voice hoarse and dry, “Please.”

He squeezed you, giving a happy nod. 

Keigo’s feathers fluttered off, a tap running in the nearby bathroom. There was a water bottle, chilled, pressed into your hand, already opened.

You tipped it back, drinking down whatever your dehydrated body would take. Keigo’s hand stayed over your own, keeping the bottle to your lips and then pulling it away, “Little sips, love. Don’t want to hurt your tummy.”

True, your guts were more than rearranged, your insides definitely feeling a bit out of wack. You were sure they’d settle, especially after some more water, time, and a nice bath. Keigo would always treat you to your favorite delivery takeout when you were done with scenes. The thought set you smiling, nuzzling into the side of his neck to show what you felt, even if you couldn’t say it quite yet. 

The water was taken away, placed on a bedside table. Keigo kissed the tip of your nose, “Just give me some taps if you want more.”

You nodded, leaning back into the comfort of his embrace.

Keigo took a soft looking towel from a returning feather, repositioning you to lay as he wanted. It was a bit too exposed, but you kept a solid hold on his shoulders. 

Gently, he wiped away the cum and slick that stickied your thighs. He cooed some praises as he idly talked through the scene as well, his own form of aftercare. You listened the best you could, humming and pressing harder against him to show you’d heard him. 

He knew you well enough to know that that was your best way to show love in such a state.

After cleaning you, Keigo paused, tossing the dirty towel into a hamper, “Would you like to take that bath still?”

You nodded, sitting up, though Keigo was quick to assist your, wings fluttering and settling, tucked into his back. It was clear why he did as you winced, muscles across you body burning hot with new, bright aches.

“Aw, dove, I’ll carry you, ” Keigo cooed in the back of his throat. Quickly sliding and scooping you into his arms. “Don’t strain yourself.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, tucking you against his chest and carrying you to the bathroom.

Setting you down, you lingered around his neck. Lacking that grounding physical was always scary after a scene, especially one that was so long and intense. 

Keigo, ever-observant, caught your hand to squeeze it, “Do you want a feather to hold onto while I set things up, love?”

You nodded, a feather quickly coming to rest on your bare lap. Your own nakedness, the awareness of it, surprised you. 

You looked to Keigo with glassy eyes. He flashed you a sympathetic look, squeezing your shoulders, “Just gotta grab the bath stuff, then you’ll be getting all the cuddling in the world, angel.”

You trust him.

He was as fast as possible, darting into a bathroom drawer, dubbed the ‘aftercare drawer, for a few supplies. As promised, a few colorful, fragrant bath bombs, a bottle of luxury bubblebath (somehow, you had no idea, fused with Keigo’s calming avian pheromones), a bar of warm-smelling, skin-softening soap, along with a few different bottles of massage oil (and, of course, Keigo’s bottle of wing oil if he was in that particularly mushy mood).

Carefully, he brought an armful of supplies back, feathers carrying the rest to the thick rim of the massive soaker tub. It was opulent, pretty marble that might as well have been the size of hot tub. It was made specifically to accommodate Keigo’s wings, long before you were in the picture. Still, the two of you fit well in it, snug together in your precious moments.

You chose one of the bath bombs from the stack, one that you spit rainbows across the bathwater as you unceremoniously plunked it into the tub.

Keigo snorted from the bathtubs edge, checking the temperature with his hand, “Nice toss.”

“Thank you,” Your voice was quiet again, but not as meek. You squeezed Keigo’s feather in between your hands. 

Keigo could, of course, do most of what he needed to with his feathers. But, with you, especially in these softer, slower moments, he wanted to do them on his own, with his own hands.

It was a sweet gesture, all for you.

Keigo dumped in a few healthy gulgs of a bubble bath, foam rising on the top of the water. You watched, mesmerized by the colors and textures. 

So mesmerized, you hardly noticed Keigo leave the room and return, kneeling down in front of you and offering the water-bottle once more.

You stared at for a moment, slowly taking it from his hand, softly speaking once more, “Little sips.”

“Perfect, dove, perfect,” Keigo shined you the sweetest smile as you took a few little sips, the feather from your lap darting to turn off the bathtub’s faucet. His wings were settled against back, desperately need a bit of preening, but still happily twitching and vibrating with Keigo in his own relaxed state.

You set the bottle down, Keigo kneeling in front of you to scan you down, “I don’t see any places where I broke skin, but once we get in, tell me if anything stings, okay?’

You nodded complacently. Keigo, ever-dutiful, cupped your cheeks and gave you a quick smattering of kisses before helping you into the frothy bathwater.

The water was hot, maybe a little too hot, but you didn’t mind. The heat rolled against your aching muscles, soothing you. 

Keigo slipped in the tub behind you, wings extended out and up to avoid the suds. It was the usual routine, Keigo immediately pulling you to his chest, toned thighs framing your own while his arms made their home around your mid section.

You leaned into him, all of you, mind, body and spirit. Cheek against the dew of his chest, you let your eyes go half-lidded, slowly but surely allowing the heat of Keigo’s touch and the comfort of the water around you bring you back to lucidity.

Sometime later, you weren’t sure how long, you finally spoke.

“Love you, Keigo, thank you,” Your voice was still scratchy, overused with tears. It was a bit endearing, apparently, based on the way Keigo chuckled and squeezed your waist.

“Anytime, dove,” Keigo hummed against your ear. He rocked you two slightly, little ripples hitting the sides of the tub. “Do you want a massage after this? I can imagine you’re a little bit sore, huh?”

“‘A little bit’?” You craned your neck to frown at him. “I dunno, Kei’, I think I can confidently say you’ve made good on your promise that I ‘won’t be walking straight for a month’?”

Of course, Keigo had his rougher moods that left you more than sexually wrecked, sore in new, deep places, but he had plenty of softer ones as well. He was adaptable and fickle, and you were happy to ride the waves of his preferences as he harmonized with your own. Sure, that meant that sometimes, you were wordless for an hour or so, needy and burning, but god, you fucking loved it.

Keigo squeezed you, burying his face into your neck, and whispering a few small words, “You okay?

You just had to reassure Keigo, as quietly insecure as he was.

“More than, it was really, really good,” You sighed against him, littering his stubbly jawline with kisses. “You just gotta carry me around a bit. A massage might be in order. I can preen your wings, if you’d like?”

The extended feathers shuddered in a wave as Keigo nodded, any of his own subtle shyness fading as he returned your affections.

You fell into each other, far differently from your recent hours of hot pleasure and pain, satisfied and safe in each others arms. Keigo cooed and hummed a simple melody as you let your pains begin to fade, lulled, safe, and sated.

[just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi]

Found - Rudy, Mason, and Clyde

The end! Of the arc! Whooo this has been fun! Thanks to all who read. (i'm not down with them as oc's but this arc is over.)

TW: whumper as caretaker, stressed whumper/caretaker, distant whumper/caretaker, drugging tw, implied changing of clothes, implied bathing,

[Masterlist] [Stalker Arc Tag]

Mason was sitting at his desk, vigorously typing an email to the support of every social media platform he could. They weren’t giving him anything, even though he knew that they had the information. They must - companies are always doing shit like that. Tracking. Monitoring. They knew who this creep was and they were protecting them.

At this point, he was ready to get his lawyer involved if he got yet another generic-reply email.

Clyde was curled under his desk. He hadn’t done that in years, not since he was new and very attached to his new Master. Mason trained it out of him a while ago, but something about the familiar place was safe for him right now. So, Mason allowed it.

His phone rang and he reached for it automatically. There had been a lot of calls over the last couple days, and he was nearly fed up with them.

“Hello?”

“Hello, is this Mason Driver?”

He took a deep breath and massaged the bridge of his nose. “It is, who is speaking?”

“Hi this is Amber from the Lakefield Pet Shelter? We have your pet here-”

Mason stood quickly, accidentally kicking Clyde in the process. “Ah, fuck, sorry bud. Is he okay? Who brought him in? Is he hurt? Where is Lakefield I want to come pick him up-”

“Sir, sir, please slow down. He’s okay, he’s got a sprained ankle and is a little roughed up in general, but he’s okay. You can come pick him up at any time, someone from the local department already came and spoke to him.”

A strange sense of anger swelled in him for a moment that someone questioned his pet without him there, but he shoved it away quickly. Other things to focus on, other things he had to do. The woman was still talking but Mason was distracted looking for his keys.

“Can I pick him up tonight? Now?”

There was a small pause. “Yes, Mr. Driver, you can come get him tonight.” After a couple other bits of information, Mason left the house to go get his pet.

Clyde crawled out from under the desk, rubbing his sore hand, a bit confused but hopeful he was understanding half the conversation correctly.

~~

The first thing Mason felt when he saw Rudy hobble out to meet him was relief. Relief that he was back, he was safe, that he was here. Then it was anger. Anger and resentment at the brace around the boy’s ankle, the wraps around his wrists and neck, the bandaids on his face. He had to force his face to remain happy and neutral when he saw the bruise on Rudy’s temple.

“Master!” he cried, nearly falling into the kneeling man’s arms. Mason held him close, arms wrapped around.

“Rudy, thank fucking god you’re okay. I was so worried, oh my god. When I find out who took you I’m gonna-”

“Y-you, you know him, Master,” came Rudy’s muffled voice and Mason pulled him away, held tight by his shoulders.

“What?! Who, who the hell would do that? Someone that I know?”

“It was C-Casey, Master.”

Mason’s face grew grave, clenching his teeth. He should have fucking known. Of course, of fucking course Casey would pull some shit like this. Obviously Mason had called out of work, didn’t care what was going on back at the office during the few days Rudy was gone.

Rudy whimpered and Mason released his right grip. “Oh, I’m sorry Sweetheart. God, that fucking snake. I’m going to ruin his whole goddamn life, just wait and see if I don’t completely blacklist him. He’ll never fucking work with pets again.”

“Sir,” hinted one of the workers, reminding Mason of the other people in the lobby. He didn’t care.

“Come on, let's get you out of here.”

The worker nodded and gestured for them to come up to the counter. “He’s ready to go, just need to go over some paperwork and at home care for the other injuries.”

Rudy pressed himself into Mason side as the man’s brow furrowed. “Other injuries? What happened?”

“He’s a little bit dehydrated, but that should go away in a day or two. The bandages around his wrists and neck are to keep him at scratching at the healing skin, so you’ll need to keep those and on use this ointment that’s listed here. Same for the welts on his back. His ankle is sprained but not too badly, so follow up with your regular provider for that. Other than that, you’re good to go.”

Mason swallowed and signed the forms without another word, not trusting himself to say something he’d regret. Besides, it wasn’t their fault.

On the way out, he was already calling his lawyer to get every medical expense taken out of Casey - money or blood.

~~

Clyde was at the door, bouncing at his heels as the key turned. He had been looking out the window, saw when they pulled up. Saw when Rudy got out of the car! He was limping but he was there. He was home.

The older pet nearly knocked him over as they came through the door. Mason had to grab him by the back of his collar to drag him off.

“Clyde! Back! You know better what the hell,” Mason muttered, setting him down on the ground a foot or two away. Clyde looked up at him, clearly wanting to go back to Rudy. Mason rubbed his temples, too tired and frustrated and betrayed to deal with this.

“Room.”

Both boys whimpered, Rudy tugging on the hem of Mason’s shirt to silently plead him not to. “Now, Clyde. He’s fine. Just go upstairs so you’re not underfoot.”

Clyde gave him such wide, hurt, miserable eyes that Mason nearly took it all back. He sighed, but held firm. He said what he said and Clyde needed to obey that. With another glance back at his friend. Clyde crept up the stairs. Rudy whined after him over Mason's shoulder as the man picked him up and carried him to the living room to set him on the couch.

The boy whimpered as Mason walked away, but quieted after a shush.

Mason stood in the kitchen, holding onto the counter and stared at the tile backsplash. Why was this so hard? Rudy was back, he was going to be fine, the police found Casey and his lawyer said his case was good over the phone. He shouldn’t feel so tense, so tight-wound and anxious. The boy was right out there - why couldn’t Mason accept it?

He rubbed a hand across his short stubble and grabbed a water bottle from the fridge, along with a drink for Rudy. He just needed time, he guessed. Needed to sleep, and probably eat something, and he’d calm down. Meandering back into the living room, he texted his boss that he was taking some personal time off.

Rudy was curled up on against the armrest, tears bright in his eyes. Mason regretted snapping at him, at both of them, but it would pass. They probably wouldn’t even remember tomorrow.

“Hey bud, drink up. How are you feeling, are you hurting?” He asked as he opened the lid for him.

The boy grabbed the bottle and took a sip, nodding slowly. “I, I’m okay.” His lip was quivering, breath shallow and shaky.

“I missed you,” he confessed as he broke, reaching up for Mason who immediately sat down with him. “I m-missed you s-so much, and Clyde, and h-home, I wanted to get away. I was so scared and c-confused and he was mean and hurt me and-”

Mason shushed him gently, pulling him close and petting his hair. “I know, I know Sweetheart. I’m so sorry that happened - I promise, it will never happen again.”

“He wrote on m-my, my scan-y thing,” Rudy said, itching at the side of his shirt. “And, and he took my collar and made me wear a muzzle that cut my mouth and I didn’t eat because- because I just couldn’t and-”

Mason shushed him again, and this time took his drink so he could really lay the boy down. Poor thing was spiraling, clearly over-stressed and exhausted too. “Shh, Rudy, you need to relax. You’re okay.”

“-he, he made me so confused, Master,” Rudy continued, seemingly unable to stop confessing everything that had happened. “I-I know I belonged to you, because, because of m-my collar and my chip but he made me wear his collar and I started to get confused and forget and uh, hng, I, I think I might have called him Master once and I’m sorry! He wasn’t always bad and one time he pet my hair and I tried to struggle but I didn’t that time and I’m sorry.”

“Okay, okay woah bud you need to slow down. You’re okay, you don’t have to talk about all this right now. I know, I know.” A pause as Mason thought. “Do I need to get something to calm you down?”

“I think I was bad?” Rudy started again, rubbing his eyes and hiccuping. He wasn’t listening to what Mason was saying, which was a kind of answer in itself. He was just more convinced of his choice as when he stood, the boy kept muttering confessions to himself. He’d have to re-visit some training in the next couple days, he reconned, just to correct some thoughts that asshole had implanted.

Rudy took the pill unusually well, words petering out until he was quiet. Mason rubbed his head just the way he knew the boy loved, listening to the unconscious hums of contentment.

“Lets get you to bed early tonight, hm? We’ll deal with all this in the morning.”

He seemed much heavier, now that he was out of it. Mason still got him upstairs, sat him on the bathroom counter to clean him up a little. It also gave him a better chance to see Rudy’s injuries without the boy wiggling and squirming everywhere.

It made his blood boil.

He had seen worse, he had definitely seen worse just walking down the street but that didn’t fucking matter. Rudy was his, and he had not given permission for someone to treat his pet like this. The muzzle had clearly been too tight, chafing and rubbing the sides of his face raw. Same for the collar, and the scratch marks from where Rudy had been clearly trying to get it off. Bruises on his hands and knees, what seemed like a bit of blood in his hair.

Mason cleaned him up the best he could, until the only proof left visible were the bandages and bandaids. He changed those, too, to some colorful ones he had for the boys. Rudy would like those better when he was awake.

After changing him into his pajamas, Mason carried him to his own bedroom and put him on the bed. He sighed and went to go get Clyde.

Clyde was in his room, standing in his pajamas right by the door. The boy had obviously been crying, gently cradling his bruised hand. Mason picked it up carefully, examining it.

“Shit, did I do that, Bugs?” he said, convicted. Clyde didn’t really answer him, eyes glancing from him to the door repeatedly. Mason sighed with a tired smile.

“Yeah, go see him.”

In a flash the boy was gone, down the hall to be with his friend. Mason turned the light off in their room before he went to join them.

Finally, back together. As they should be.

~

tag: @whumpingredroses @as-a-matter-of-whump @albino-whumpee @whumpeesblog @suspicious-whumping-egg

[siriusmydeer]

can you please do headcanons for young sirius black x reader fic where reader has really bad anixety attacks where sometimes she feels nauseous

breathe with me

sirius black x gender neutral!reader

summary: sirius helps you through an anxiety attack.

word count: 1.7k

warnings: MENTIONS OF VOMITING!!, mentions of gagging, anxiety/anxiety attack, over stress, mentions of digging nails into your palms (borderline indications), mentions of failing school/exams, migraines, mentions of pain killers, mentions of feeling gross, possible insecurity, sirius comforting reader

a/n: so i turned this into a fic rather than hc’s because i felt like i could portray it better through a fic. also dedicated to isa ( @acosmis-t ) my love bc i cant write so thank u baby for helping me !

“Argh.” You piercingly groaned with a hand lowered to your febrile forehead, a feverish burn arising to the skin. The day had steadily been cut close to the final bell. Your Transfiguration exam had finally been completed and not without weary, of course. The prior nights you had been found asleep with drool pooling down your tear-tainted cheek and your talons promptly sunken into your palms as a desperate endeavour to relieve your stress. (Although it had not been the best choice, and at some points rather painful)

The piling books glared fiercely at you in the library till Madam Pince undoubtedly had to beckon you away, so you could sufficiently rest. Indeed then, your unconscious mind was piled in dreadful dreams (More-so nightmares) regarding critical failure and your pleaded requests to Mcgonagall, so you could re-attempt your failed exams. 

Your polished nails had been essentially glued to your pearly teeth, chomping at the rarebit till there was nothing left to bite. The strums of your heart steadily increased as the last final students had cautiously worked on their assessments. You had patiently waited, subtly noticing your brawny throat becoming excessively dry as well as well as your diaphragm contracting by the minor second, an indistinguishable bile substance threatening to overtake the taste buds on your parched tongue.

A small, minuscule tap in the nape of your skull had increased to small needles swimming around your brain while the time ticked. 

Sirius had been sitting in Charms flipping away at ‘Quidditch Through the Ages’ anxiously as he had to withhold himself from darting nervously out of his class and inquire how you were feeling with a knowing sense of how the rest of the day would take place. He had been made quite aware of your particular issue in the Third Year when you had disgorged your lunch, Shepherd's Pie that you had previously eaten had been hurled onto his Oxford’s his noble family spent a pretty penny to purchase. 

At McGonagall's constructive dismissal, you had collected your materials and begun to walk cautiously through the corridors with your books clutched eagerly to your chest. 

A slight increase in your breaths began to inflate your lungs and the steadily increasing heart strums became an overwhelming palpitation deafening your ears. Your heart had battered in your chest; nearing closer, and closer to your dormitory. Your hands had begun to develop a slight tremor at the anxious vibrations poisoning your blood, whilst your vision began to mildly obscure. You needed a moment to recollect yourself, a minute to breathe.

You had murmured a small, ‘Fairy Lights’ to the portrait before trudging up the stairs and colliding into the dormitory. The hinges had creaked whilst you abruptly had shut the door, luckily nobody was present to allegedly witness your exertion. Your bedroom had frequently remained tidy, a typical symptom of your anxiety that had obsessively pursued you to attempt your very hardest, even better than your very hardest, at everything and anything. 

You had stood center in your room venturing for the hostile seizing in your bones to cease for at least a moment. Your chest had felt tight, like a tensed muscle that had been pulled after an unusually hard sport.

You had walked toward your window and back Window, and back. Window, and back. Again, Again and Again.

Your nails are placed between the mild edges of your teeth. The cavern of your mouth almost feeling obstructed by the bile mingling around with your parched throat. At the incessant pacing of your feet, there had been a remaining thud in your thick skull adding to your misery. 

The small gust of wind was the singular audible sound in the dormitory as one of your dorm mates had abandoned it open. Your brain had felt like it swelled beyond generating capacity now your mild dehydration was too obvious to ignore like you had planned to do. You had deliberated with your eyes closed and your face contorted into a frown, you would’ve had to trudge to the kitchens for a possible amount of comfort in your state. You had groaned again, your hand promptly placed over your face, as you traipsed across the room, attempting to comfort yourself, in a sense.

Perhaps some painkillers spewed on the bathroom counter that you had previously taken before your exam could help you. Your neck had begun to sear in heat the hair that was almost clung to your nape, you raised your heavy eyelids halfway only for them to fall shut a twinging pain beginning to naturally arise behind your optics. You huffed with a minuscule gag, too much effort it would take to stroll around the school in the huffing state you were currently in, a migraine still revelling in your mind. Maybe later, you thought with a creased brow. You had heard the hinges creak again, incorrectly assuming one of your dorm mates had been back. Except your dorm mates didn’t possess the baritone of a burly male.

“Y/n” He whispered tenderly, attempting not to disturb your pacing.  

“Not now.”

He had partaken notice to your mindful scratches against your neck, continuously pulling up the hair only for it to fall once more. You had paused for a moment with a tremor in your finger that was trapped between your teeth. A familiar distortion of torture wrapping around your throat like a snake that was threatening to suffocate you; your respires heavier and more frequent. He had begun speaking, a blubber of words escaping his trachea. Yet, all jumbled like alphabet soup in your brain between his dismembered sentences. 

You suspired heavily in frustration, “Just— Shut up! Please.” You begged in exasperation. Still prying your hair from your neck, you stood frozen, discontentment building in your system.

He had noticed the black hair tie absentmindedly clung to his wrist whenever you had asked for one. Steadily walking towards your paused figure he had gathered your hair in the tie, your neck feeling the refreshing air against it; a slight relief applied against your skin. You promptly initiated to remove your robe, there was a warm discerning grip on your body overheating your arms as well as your midriff due to the uniform.

With a violent tremor in your fingers, you started grasping at the buttons, a mild frustration initiating at the fact you couldn’t pop them open due to the recurrent quiver in your digits. Sirius had removed your hands from your robe, hastily unbuttoning it before you hurled it aside. 

“How 'bout we go to the bathroom, Hmm?” He cooed while beckoning you into the bathroom, noticing the tremor in your body as well as your fidgeting fingers that were twiddling between each other. He had turned the sink on, switching the handle left where a blue spot differentiated the colours. Delicately, he grasped your trembling wrists and ran them beneath the cooling water. “Just… Feel gross.”You murmured to yourself as he ran a few fingers under the downpour, placing his frigid fingers behind your neck. 

Your shoulders faintly shrugged at the sensation while he turned off the water and let your hands air dry, helping you not feel solidified by anything. During his movement, you had grasped onto his fingers where a few heirloom rings had fit snugly on his fingers, “Tell me about them.” This was a technique he had created in an effort of distraction at the uprising feelings of disgust for yourself bound to erupt at any moment. 

“There’s a B, I guess. Erm, engraving, swirls and stuff…” You trailed off while attempting to decipher the designs in the ring that was on his forefinger.“S’too much! Just wanna— Dunno, not feel like this anymore!”

He had partaken scrutiny to your physical tics as well as your body language, with a faint clutch on two of your fingers he had hauled you to the very center of your dormitory. Within a few inches of each other, he had mauled your hand over his sternum. You felt the heavy respires in his chest as well as the vibrations melding with your palm as he spoke, “Breathe with me.” 

You had stood there, minutes, maybe almost an hour, time was now pushed to the very nooks and crannies of your mind. The surges of perturbation still prominently surging through your veins to the density of your bones, the recurrent tremble still foremost notable but the buckling of your knees had calmed down as well as the faint chatter of your teeth. Still copying his sluggish breathing, you looked deep into his pear irises, his optics having a settling effect, a tingling reassurance reflecting in them. In the sunlight state that had remained in your room due to the unclosed curtains, there had been cerulean hues caught in that state.

Sirius’ eyes had been crafted like delicate feathers that were used for quills, not the albino kind of dove feathers, but the ones with a hue so softly grey that they could have been pencil-drawn rather than used by a quill with smeared stygian ink. They had that look of birds flying on sunlit days, the shine and quick movement, yet relaxed, purposeful, at ease.

“Can we sit?” You questioned quietly after removing your hand from his chest, hesitantly grabbing onto two of his fingers as he had previously done with you. “Anything you want.” He replied in a murmur, craning his head left, then right, trying to figure out where to beckon you into a seated position.

You had sat upon the wooden floor. The flooring designs similar to a chorus of browns; they sang together, an acapella of baritone hues that rose into vibrant soprano notes. It was a fitting place for a dormitory where laughter could normally be discerned, a place for those new sounds to soak right in and join the spirit that was already there when you had first entered the dormitory your first year.

“Here?”

“Mhm.” You nodded your head scarcely as he sat next to you. You sighed for a moment, placing a minimal amount of your temple against his shoulder, feeling the similar respires soothe you. “Here.”

taglist: @fific7 @wisedreamcatcher @kittykylax @ronbrokemyheart @aspiringsloth20 @georgeswh0re @amourtentiaa @msmb @fangouria @five-cups-of-coffee @dracofknmalfoy @emmaev @serenitywilderness @i-love-scott-mccall @artemis1orion @miss-starkov @siriusbarnesslut @inglourious-imagines @iamninaanna @livvysnaps @famdomhideout @hufflepogue @kirascottage @luvvninaz @miraclesoflove @black-like-my-soul @slytherclawbitch @90steaology

[sabrinathe20somethingwitch]

Don't know if you accept request for Daddy Dearest, but I keep imaging that Levi's friend（maybe Hanji or Farlan?）as an obstetrician, taking the test for Petra ,and shutting”I will become the Godfather/mother!!!!!!!” (Sorry for my poor English😳)

By the way, I love your fanfic so much. Petra and Levi are lovely and hot under your pen. Always made my day.🥰

thank you so much for your sweet words! 🥰 and thank you for being my FIRST anon! congratulations to you. 🥳✨ and your english is perfect.

I churned this out in an hour because as soon as I saw this prompt, it was BEGGING to be written, so kudos to you for the inspiration. I hope you like it!

Read below or read on Ao3

Please practice safe sex!

She didn’t think much of it when she had that dizzy spell last week. She’d been working herself to the brink, putting in as many hours as she could at her new job before she was going to take some time off for both the wedding and their honeymoon. So, she’d simply chalked up her fainting episode to just lack of sleep and probably dehydration. After all, she’d never been good at taking care of her basic needs when she’s under pressure. Then, she turned a blind eye to the fact that she was nearly two weeks late for her period. It’s just stress, she reasoned, it made complete sense to her. Besides, a missed period isn’t entirely uncommon, not for her. Her cycle had always been irregular, frustratingly so. But she should have realized when she went to pay Levi an unplanned visit at the hospital for a surprise lunch one afternoon and she’d promptly puked into the potted plant at the reception desk. It wasn’t until Hanji had spotted her — one of Levi’s friends, who was an obstetrician and had just finished with a successful delivery — that she knew that something might be wrong.

The doctor had seized her wrist and dragged her to the maternity ward, rattling off an endless stream of incredibly invasive questions — granting them strange looks from passing nurses — such as When was your last period? and Any other bouts of nausea? and, Petra’s personal favorite, Are you and Levi using protection? Truthfully, they weren’t. They had always tried their best to use a condom, but sometimes, they realized far too late that the box was empty and neither of them felt like running to the convenience store in the middle of foreplay. It was risky, they knew. Petra wasn’t on birth control and Levi wasn’t always the best at pulling out in time, but it was a risk they were both willing to take. They loved each other, they knew that they would get pregnant someday, but that tiny voice in the back of her head wondered if that someday was today.

“Okay, Petra.” Hanji hands her a clear plastic cup. “Hope you drank enough water. It’s usually best to test first thing in the morning because the urine is more concentrated, but I think we’ll get an accurate result anyway.” She accepted the cup with a nod, trying her best to ignore the violent churning in her stomach as she shuffled down the hallway and into the bathroom. She cursed herself for not having any breakfast that morning before remembering that she did, she had just upended the contents of said meal into a potted monstera plant in the lobby.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her teeth. We’ll face this together, she repeated to herself, like a steady mantra. No matter the outcome.

After about ten minutes of the most agonizing and tedious chit-chat of her life — honestly, Petra really did enjoy Hanji, but being bombarded with questions about the minuscule details of their wedding grew tiresome very quickly, especially when she was waiting to discover if she was going to have a baby or not — a nurse cracked open the door and summoned Hanji into the hallway to talk about the results privately. They slipped out of the room quietly, only for the doctor to reappear two minutes later with a wide grin stretched across their face.

“Good news, Petra. I’m going to be a godparent!”

She blinked. “Wait, what—”

“You’re having a baby!”

A baby.

“Goddess, I can’t wait to spoil that kid rotten! What’re you hoping for: a boy or a girl?”

She was going to have a baby.

“I think it’d be great to have a mini Levi running around, but I just know that a little girl would have him absolutely wrapped around her tiny finger, it’d be adorable.”

She and Levi were going to have a baby.

“Oh shit, how are you going to tell him? You going to tell him right away? He’s in his office, I can go grab him. Or are you going to do some big and elaborate reveal, like in those viral YouTube videos?”

They were going to be a family.

“In my opinion, you can’t just buy him a mug that says, like, Best Dad Ever or something stupid like that, you’ve got to go all out, like a scavenger hunt! In the woods! At night! I can’t wait to see the look on his face.”

Neither can she.

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation struck her like lightning, sinking low into her stomach like a stack of brinks, and Petra abruptly blinked back to her senses, cutting through Hanji’s babbling. She was pregnant. “Hanji, you can’t tell Levi, not yet.” She tried her best to speak confidently and keep the tremor out of her voice, despite the dread that was steadily trickling into her veins.

Hanji offers her a teasing glance. “Well, yeah, it’s not my right to tell him, it’s yours. I’m just helping you plan the big surprise.”

She was pregnant and she had to tell Levi. She blurts out, “I don’t think I want to do a big surprise.”

They tilted their head, brows furrowed in confusion. “Why not? Isn’t this what you guys have always wanted?”

Petra stutters. “Well, y-yeah, but, uh, I didn’t think it would happen this soon, I mean, I don’t even know if I’m ready for... if he’s ready for...” She was pregnant and she was going to have a baby. She tries to bite her tongue against the bile that’s crawling into her throat, willing the vomit back into her stomach, but to no avail. “I-I have to go, thanks for the test, I’m glad it was you.”

“Petra, wait—”

She marched out of the maternity ward, practically sprinting through the hospital and into the parking lot, trying to dig out her car keys from the bottom of her purse with trembling fingers. Petra knew that she always wanted children. She was initially elated about the news, a giddy sort of schoolgirl excitement had warmed her heart from the inside out, before she wondered if her fiancé would feel the same way. What if he didn’t share the same sentiment as her? Maybe he thought that it was too soon, that they were too ill-prepared, despite the money that lined their bank account, despite their stable careers. No, Petra knew that couldn’t be it. What if he had changed his mind and just hadn’t told her yet? What if he thought he was too old for children? Petra certainly didn’t think so, she knew that he was suited for fatherhood, but that doubting voice in the back of her head grew louder and louder with every fleeting thought, conjuring up passing images in her mind that featured the worst possible scenarios. She imagined that, upon hearing the news, Levi would call off the wedding in a hurry, leaving her unwed and pregnant. She’d have to move back in with her parents, she’d have to raise their child as a single mother, she’d likely never see him again. She’d be utterly alone. Their child would never know who their father was and that thought made her—

She vomited into a nearby hydrangea bush, deciding that she’d simply tell him later. For now, she’d settle for finding something to eat that didn’t twist her stomach into knots.

I’m always taking requests y’all, so don’t be shy!

[anaveragebibliophile]

Impossible

Carlisle Cullen x OC

Summary: Carlisle and his mate Eloise receive some shocking news that they weren’t necessarily prepared to deal with regarding her health. Instead of seeing what’s right in front of him, Carlisle believes that his wife’s health issues are stemming from other avenues. It isn’t until his wife makes a discovery that he alters his course of action. 

Note: This is a deviation from what I normally post, but I hope that all of you will take the chance and give it a read. :) 

“I can’t even believe this is happening again. And with your wife of all people!” Jacob Black shouted as he walked into the Cullen family’s wide, contemporary kitchen. 

“Jacob, we’ve discussed this. Eloise isn’t like us. She isn’t a vampire, she’s a phoenix. As such, she’s capable of resurrecting the dead, the broken, the ill-equipped parts of us that are theoretically unsalvageable. And as things stand, we all know I’m infertile. Or that I was.” Carlisle explained. “Believe me, I’m just as overwhelmed as you are. Even more so because I’m still struggling to accept the fact that I helped someone--the woman I adore more than anything else on this earth--procreate.”

And it’s not like the couple had been trying either. Quite the opposite actually. Sure, both of them had done ample amounts of research--through legends and the like--to determine whether or not they would need to take precautions before having intercourse. From what little they could find, it appeared that exercising the freedom of caution was the best choice. Not only had pregnancies been reported, multiple births seemed to be a common occurrence. And even though Carlisle was reluctant to put his faith into these infinitesimal references, he still did what any self-respecting man would do: He made sure his strong, confident wife made the final decision about what she wanted to do. At the end of the day, her body would have been doing the brunt of the work had a pregnancy occurred. 

Eloise thought long and hard about this and would even go so far as to test herself. Did she want a child? Yes. Would she be a genuinely good mother? She hoped so. But the ultimate question remained: did she want a child with Carlisle? More than anything else in the world. However, it just didn’t seem like the right time. The pack was going through organizational disputes, the Volturi were still trying to find ways to get her and Alice to join their coven, and Bella and Edward were in the process of adopting a child. There was just too much happening around her for that to work out. Or so she thought at that moment. 

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

About two months later, she started feeling a bit off-kilter. She was suffering from myriad migraine headaches, her stomach always seemed to be queasy, and she was dealing with some intense bouts of insomnia (which she had never experienced as a child or even during her adult life). Her husband was increasingly worried about her. So much so that he would have her in his office every day for testing. At that point, he was looking for a dormant autoimmune disease, cancer, anything that would highlight these symptoms. What he wasn’t looking for was a pregnancy, a fertilized egg within his wife. 

One night, while the rest of the family was out hunting, Eloise and Carlisle were cuddling on the couch, her head in his lap. He was running his long, cool fingers through her hair and down her back, intermittently trying to coax her into eating a small piece of toast that he’d made for her. Yet every attempt didn’t do much. Regardless, he was hoping she would get her appetite back soon because her skin had started to take on a translucent pallor that he despised. 

“Come on, honey, just one bite. That’s all I’m asking for,” Carlisle said, putting the plate in front of her face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m just not hungry. The entire idea of food is revolting. Plus, I don’t really want to repeat what happened a few hours ago.” Carlisle hummed in understanding. While he knew that Eloise was being sincere, he wasn’t pleased that she was still feeling so fatigued and nauseated. 

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A few hours ago, as he was attending to a broken rib of Seth’s at the reservation, he received a call from Alice. ‘Eloise has been throwing up for the last forty minutes, Carlisle. She didn’t want to worry you,’ she’d started. ‘But you need to get back here now. I’ve been sitting with her, and I’m worried she’s getting dehydrated.’ Heart in his throat, he quickly finished his session with Seth, letting him know that he had an emergency that he needed to attend to. 

After parking the car, he ran into the house, heading straight for his and Eloise’s bedroom. And when he walking into the adjoining bathroom, he was shocked by what he saw: his wife, her cheek smashed against the toilet seat, breathing heavily in order to avoid another onset of nausea. In his peripheral, he saw Alice lightly rubbing Eloise’s back with her left hand and murmuring comforting words to her. 

Instinctively, Carlisle  moved towards his wife and took Alice’s place as the caretaker. “Hi, sweetheart. Alice called and said you weren’t feeling well. Can you tell me what’s been bothering you?” he asked, gently kneading the taut muscles in her lean back. 

Eloise slowly pulled her face away from the toilet bowl and looked at him blearily. “My stomach just isn’t feeling super fantastic at the moment. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to keep anything down. I haven’t been able to since about two o’clock this afternoon.”

“Well, you haven’t been at your best recently. Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. But I haven’t had this happen before. Yes, I’ve experienced nausea and some stomach cramping, but it never ended with me vomiting for hours on end.”

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

And that was what still puzzled Carlisle in this moment. Why was this happening to her when nothing was physically wrong? She didn’t have AGID nor was there any evidence of malignant tumor growth. She wasn’t running a fever nor was she displaying any signs of infection. So what could it be? He was determined to find out. 

He lightly ran the pad of his right thumb over Eloise’s cheek. “Sweet girl, I think it’s time that I do an ultrasound on your stomach. Maybe that will give us some answers. What do you say?” 

“Alright. You’ll probably have to carry me though. I haven’t been doing well vertically,” she said, slightly smiling. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

He proceeded to carefully--oh, so carefully--move her head off his lap and onto a pillow (as a replacement). Then, when he was completely erect, he swiftly leaned forward and placed his forearms underneath Eloise’s lumbar vertebrae and upper thighs. Once she was secured in his arms, he gently kissed her cheek and proceeded to move them into his office, the one room in the house both of them have grown to resent. 

Placing her on the exam table, he grazed his hand through her bangs in the hope of soothing the anxiety that was coursing through her. “It’ll be alright. You know I would never hurt you. Never.”

“I know. It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to be wrong. I want to be healthy,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. 

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it,” Carlisle responds as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

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

Eloise smiled wanly as her husband went through his check-up regimen: ears, eyes, nose, throat, body temperature, blood pressure, then reflexes. While she may complain every now and then about his overprotectiveness, she really does feel so grateful and lucky to be married to a man whose compassion and kindness are limitless. This man always makes her feel valued, appreciated, and heard, especially apart from the rest of the world. And these are things that will never go unnoticed by her. He will never go unnoticed by her. 

“How are things looking, Doctor Cullen?” she asked. “Am I passing inspection?”

Carlisle lightly laughed at her attempt at a joke. “So far things are looking good. I think we’re about ready to do the abdominal ultrasound and see what things are looking like down there.”

He moved over to his white, sterile metal cart that held the handheld ultrasound. The plan was for Carlisle to put the clear lubricant on her belly, place the ultrasound on it, and then wait for the image to connect to the screen to his right. From there, he’ll see if there are any obstructions or issues. 

“Are you ready, honey?” he asked. “If it’s too cold, just let me know.” 

Eloise held her two thumbs up. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

The exam began. For a period of time, the sound and echo waves were all they could hear. Eloise was holding her breath. Carlisle’s face was pinched, his eyes and ears hyper-focused on the task. Until the heartbeat-like echo struck back at them. 

His wife lifted her hand to stop him from continuing with the examination. “What was that?” she queried. 

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.” he said. “Let’s try again and see if we get the same feedback.”

He continued his inspection but still received the same results. The heartbeat was unlike any he heard before (besides his wife’s): strong, pure, yet calm in its essence. Before he could ponder any other reasonings behind this strange occurrence, Eloise interrupted him. “Carlisle, we both know that’s a heartbeat. You can question it and try to find other avenues to follow, but you know the truth. And a heartbeat can only mean one thing,” she smiled, so big that her dimples were more pronounced than ever before. “We’re pregnant. My magic enabled us to create a baby.”

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “We don’t know that.”

“But we do. Carlisle, all the signs have been pretty prevalent these last few weeks. I just never thought to associate them with pregnancy because we agreed we would wait to start trying. I guess the universe had other plans.” 

“Eloise, honey…”

“You know it’s true. I do because I can feel our child. Now, after all this time, he or she has decided to make their presence known. The energy I feel--the positivity and contentment I’m now carrying in this moment--is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” 

Carlisle looked at her, stunned. If she can feel their child, how could he dispute that? How could he challenge what she (and he) knew to be true in all its unlikelihood? It wasn’t like this was entirely impossible, especially after reading about other couples’ experiences. Couples like them. 

Eloise took his moment of consideration to move his hand to her tummy. “I know it’s hard to come to terms with right now because we weren’t sure how true the reports were, but I think it’s time we start believing in them. Carlisle, you’re going to be a father, and I’m going to be a mother. We’re going to finally have the opportunity to expand our family.” 

Hearing those words made Carlisle outright grin. They had been waiting for this moment for so long that he never believed it would ever actually happen. But now, he has everything he could ever want in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, it would appear that way,” he said, leaning over his wife to give her a heart-stopping kiss. “And I must add that I’m excruciatingly happy. Thank you, sweetheart.” 

[dokifluffs]

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Tendo, Himekawa, Miya Twins

Pairings: Tendo X Reader (gender neutral), Himekawa X Reader (gender neutral), Osamu X Reader X Atsumu (not romantically though) ((gender neutral)) 

Genre: v a m p i r e, fluffffff, fantasyyyy

Author’s Note: asdkakahd fantasyyyyy i love fantasy so much so i hope yiu all enjoy!! Happy reading!! 

Warnings: blood, passing out from loss of blood

Overfeeding and Aftercare | Kenma, Bokuto, Kuroo 

Tendo: 

The night sky was clear with not even a cloud floating in the sky, the crisp air flowing through your slightly open window, keeping your room cool throughout the night

You could hear the outside world so clearly- the crickets in the grass, the owls hooting in their trees, occasional sounds from other students’ in their own dorms

Testing season had fallen over university and it was time for everyone to spend this next month studying their eyes out, including you

You had been stuck in your room all day, leaving your seat at your desk as sparingly as possible to use the bathroom and to eat

Your stomach grumbled for the nth time tonight just thinking about dinner with your friends that you had to miss, instead stuck with a few granola bars you had left instead

There was absolutely no time to waste and you were on a clear schedule you made for yourself to get the most out of studying yet it meant sleeping and even eating less

Your single dorm was empty, simple and plain to your liking though you wished there were more pops of color to make it actually feel more enjoyable as you stayed in here

A small pile of clothes was formed in the corner of the room right outside your closet doors, your bed unmade from this morning when you woke

Your lamp light flickered from the old bulb that was near the end of its usable life

“No, no, no, not now,” your voice frantic, eyes heavy and body begging for sleep and sustenance as the light finally went out, a large gust of wind blowing through your window, making the pages of your notebook and textbooks flip

The pale moonlight shined in onto your desk as it peeked from beyond the tall oak tree that sat right outside your window

You groaned, your voice bouncing off the painted over concrete blocks of your dorm walls that matched everyone else’s as you leaned back in your chair

It was a weird feeling- your head spinning slowly, the burning sensation in your eyes as they watered when you finally shut them, pressing the palm of your hand over your eyes and forehead to relieve all the pressures you had pent up

“You’re up quite late…” You jumped in your seat, heart skipping a beat at the sudden silky voice of Tendo in your ears

His crimson eyes glowed in the dark, his two red orbs looking directly into your tired ones as you sat up in your seat, spinning to face him

He wore an oversized uni shirt that flowed with the breeze in the room, his hair down and the ends of his red locks obscuring his vision ever so slightly

“Don’t tell me you want to become nocturnal, now~” he teased playfully as he reached down, his icy hands taking yours in his, amused hearing the way you swallowed when he touched you

He tilted his head into your hand, his skin pleasantly cold against your worn, hot one from all the writing you did to review your notes and course

“I’m just studying, Satori. Are you hungry, again?” You asked, rubbing your thumb over his cheekbone

“Always,” he mumbled into your skin as he narrowed looking down to you, bending himself down ever so slightly as your arm was stretched upward in his grasp

He lowered his head, never breaking his gaze with you as he brought his lips across your flawless skin, his mouth already salivating at the faint feeling and sound of your blood pumping through your ulnar artery in your wrist

He closed his eyes as he closed his lips around your wrist, his teeth sinking in, humming in delight at the sensation of your blood over his tongue

You let out a wince at the pinching feeling

He removed himself from your wrist, the dark liquid slowly dripping from his teeth marks as he licked his lips

“You haven’t been eating properly, Y/N,” his voice dropped as your name rolled off his tongue. “You taste different,” he said almost disappointedly yet sounded completely different

You couldn’t tell if it was the darkness in the room with the moon shining behind the leaves and branches of the tree but it seemed his eyes were glowing even brighter

“I need to make sure you take care of yourself or else my meals won’t be as enjoyable anymore~” he cooed as he licked up the blood gliding down your arm, the corners of his lips curling in enjoyment when he felt your arm tense up as his tongue dragged up your arm

You bit your lip feeling his teeth sink back into the bite he made, taking in your blood to fill his hunger

The pads of his fingers holding your hand squeezed as he held your hand, stretching it

Your breaths grew longer and deeper, your vision clouding as your eyelids grew heavier and heavier

You let out a big yawn, your body letting go

Tendo caught you in his arms as you almost collapsed to the ground from your seat, never letting your body even touch the cold tiled floor

He lapped his tongue over his bite before he let go of your wrist once again, bringing you to your bed before laying you down, joining beside you

He licked your wrist until it stopped bleeding as you caught up on some much needed rest

“You should’ve taken care of yourself more,” he playfully poked your forehead, brushing your hair with his fingers, your body naturally curling and moving impossibly closer to his to reach the cool feel of his body in your sleep

Your nose was filled with the scent of tendo, his hand holding yours as you peeked open your tired eyes, tilting your head up on your pillow to meet his red eyes

“Good morning~” he chimed happily after being awake all night since he never needed sleep ever since he became immortal. “You really needed that,” he brushed his index finger down the bridge of your nose, smiling at the way your cheek was squished into your pillow

“Today, you’re taking a break and I’m going to make sure you eat and stay hydrated properly,” he leaned forward and kissed your forehead before you let out a small “mm” before closing your eyes again, bringing your forehead to his chest, his hand resting on your back draped over your side, legs intertwined on your bed

He hummed content holding you close, imprinting the feel and shape of your body close with his, relishing in your warmth, one he hadn’t felt in a while

It was a feeling he was determined to get used to for the rest of his immortal life

Himekawa: 

“Aoi, I’m here,” you shed off your raincoat and slipped out of your partially rained on shoes, calling into the darkened house, the curtains closed tightly to not let a single ounce of light in from anywhere. “Aoi?” You called into what seemed like an empty house

No movement or signs of anything or anyone

You walked carefully through the eerily dark house as rain showered over the house and entire neighborhood

“Aoi?” You knocked in his bedroom door standing ajar, creaking open with a haunting whine that made goosebumps rise over your arms

You shuffled in seeing the dark lump of his covers bundled up shift at the sound of your voice

“What’re you doing in there?” You peeked through a small opening that showed his face buried in the plush covers. “It’s time to feed, Aoi, it’s been too long.”

You tried to remove the blanket from him but was unable to budge

Ever since he changed, feeding became the thing he absolutely hated the most yet it was the one thing he needed to do

His eyes glowed bright red in the dark, no light natural or artificial could hold a candle to his eyes when they shined

He shook his head, one of the things he always did before he had to give in to feeding

He spent weeks after weeks, starving himself if it meant he didn’t have to feed on anyone or anything, most importantly, you but this also meant him gradually losing his strength

There were too many times in his early years where the hunger took over his humanity although no longer being one but what little he had left, even if he had to act like it, he wanted to keep it

This was a life he never asked for but he didn’t want a wooden stake through his heart or for his body to petrify- he didn’t want the bloodlust to consume him from the inside out again

“I know you don’t like this but you’re starving,” your voice was the calm in his storm that never went away as you brushed your fingers through his soft locks as they slid in between. “Please? I promise you won’t hurt me, you know I won’t let you.”

You could hear his quivering voice when he told you about his nightmares, seeing them so vividly at night, he could taste all the blood of those he had unintentionally drained, the horrors of what he was capable of, what he did to so many innocent people and the ones he loved most in the world

All he had left was you and he never wanted to lose you

He hesitantly sat up, the blankets falling off os his back and pooling all around his body, his fists clenched over his thighs, gaze avoiding yours

You pricked your index finger with a safety pin, bringing it to his lips

He gently took your hand in his, barely holding yours, his skin icy to the touch, it felt like as if he was standing outside during winter with nothing to keep him warm

He could feel his fangs protruding when his tongue made contact with the bead of your blood that formed on your fingertip and sucked

It was like an instant feeling when one drank water after being dehydrated for a day, however, in this case, it was hunger and thirst combined for weeks for Himekawa

Nothing had ever tasted so good in his lifetime

A shiver ran down your spine feeling his sharp teeth graze down the side of your finger, his lips ghosting over your palm before they found the soft spot in your palm, his teeth biting in and sinking into what felt like your radial artery

You winced at the pain but clamped your mouth shut, not wanting Aoi to stop because he surely would

It took a lot to get him to feed and almost nothing to get him to stop

He let the taste overcome him, all the fears he had was slowly dissipating as the black hole of hunger was taking over his mind

You blinked away, taking deep breaths as you kept yourself sitting upright, ignoring the sudden feeling of your body temperature dropping, the sudden rapid beating of your heart in your chest

You could feel your head drooping, swaying side to side as your vision blurred, the room beginning to spinning all around you

You bit into your knuckle, squeezing your eyes shut as you struggled to keep yourself conscious

He could feel all the energy and his strength returning with every ounce he consumed but fear pierced through his chest sharper than any stake when your body collapsed to the ground

His body froze seeing your unconscious body on the ground

You could hear soft whimpers in your ear, slowly becoming clearer and clearer as you slowly regained consciousness

“Y/N,” Aoi choked on his breaths with his eyes swelled and red from all the tears he cried and continued to drip off his chin. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, apologizing profusely as you woke, his hand automatically reaching for yours but instantly pulling back feeling the bandage he wrapped your hand in

He felt so heart broken, he wanted to disappear from existence the moment he realized you collapsed

It made him sick to his stomach despite ever being unable to feel sick

“I’m a monster,” he sunk back on his knees

“No, no, Aoi, you’re not,” you sat up, the damp towel he laid on your head falling onto his bed you laid on. “You are no monster to anyone,” you cupped his face, playfully squishing his wet cheeks, using your sleeves to wipe him dry

“You’ve been alive for centuries and who you are now is not the same person as centuries ago.” You pulled him close, peppering kisses to his forehead

“But I almost killed you.” He wanted to so badly to rip himself out of your hold so you wouldn’t have to touch him, touch someone who was supposed to love you yet almost ended your life

“But you didn’t and I’m still here and I will be til the end,” you reassured and hugged him close, pulling him to stand and making room beside you in his bed, your turn to dissipate his fears while more content that he actually fed compared to the past times

The Twins: 

Ravens cawed at you, perched on the branches of the oak trees in front of the house of your best friends, Osamu and Atsumu

As soon as you knocked on their front door, it felt as if life had fast forwarded itself now that you were suddenly upstairs

This always happened whenever you came over- it was feeding time

Your eyes were always squeezed shut and it felt like the breath was taken out of your lungs whenever either of them brought you inside to wherever they planned to feed on you

“You can open your eyes,” Osamu’s voice calm and light in your ear as your feet made contact with the plush rug over the cold wooden floors

He took your hand in his, his touch icy to your warm, living skin, as he led you toward one of the lounging chairs by the fireplace as the wooden logs crackled in the flame

“About time, I’m starvin’” Atsumu pushes himself off the couch and snatching your grasp out of Osamu’s, bringing you to the couch

But Osamu didn’t let go. He was much more gentle with you than Atsumu, the more hangry of them two

Your back was pressed into Osamu’s chest with your legs stretched out, Atsumu already advancing between your legs, preferring to feed from your thighs and Osamu your neck

You had been their feeder for what felt like sll your life at this point, but it always made you squeamish

“Stop squirmin’,” Atsumu grumbled hungrily as he firmly held down your legs as he spread them, his breath tickling you before he found his spot and sunk his teeth in

You let out a small yelp, adjusting to the feeling

Osamu’s body was cool to the feel even through yours and his clothes

Unlike his brother, he was a lot gentler with you

Looping his arm from behind around your head, he gently tilted it to the side with the guidance of his fingers loosely holding your jaw

“I won’t make it hurt as bad,” he whispered into your ear, making your heart race, you wondered if he could feel or even hear it

He ghosted his lips along your shoulder and neck until he found his spot, slowly bringing his teeth to your skin and pierced through your skin like needles

Atsumu repositioned his fangs, holding your leg up, digging his fingers into your thighs that would be sure to leave bruises, biting deeper into your flesh to taste as much as he could

Osamu held one of your hands from behind, the other moving from your jaw to your eyes, tilting your head back

It felt as if Osamu’s grasp on your hand was tightening as a wave of fatigue washed through your body

The crackling sound of the fire began to echo and drift around your darkened vision from Osamu’s hand covering your eyes, your heart beat gradually slowing down until your consciousness slipped away

Osamu’s eyes opened as he removed himself from your neck, his hunger satiated, his bite clean and pressed a gauze from his pocket to your neck when he felt your body go limp in his hold

“Atsumu, stop.” He kicked his brother off of your thigh, only for the blonde one to latch back on, biting into your other thigh with ease

“I said. Stop.” Osamu pulled you closer as your crimson liquid came out of Atsumu’s messy, numerous bites

Atsumu’s hunger was insatiable after having to wait a week every single time you fed them and this time, he was worse than the last

He glared at his brother, eyes glowing bright red even with the fireplace illuminating the entire room as Osamu held you close, your body curled up in his lap as his own eyes glowing at his twin

Your mind slowly began to wake as your eyes fluttered open

You could hear your heart beating slowly in your ears as if you were asleep- yet you were awake

Your hands felt about as you laid still in a dim bedroom with the curtains closed and a small lamp on a desk in the corner of the room

“Finally awake,” Atsumu huffed

Sitting up, your arms trembled weakly holding your body up

You didn’t even notice the twin until he moved in his seat beside the bed, your nose filling with the scent of Osamu but also the scent of Atsumu

“You’ve been out for the last three hours,” he sounded almost annoyed as you leaned back and rested into the pillows, half your face pressed into the bed you assumed was Osamu’s based on the smell

“Take it easy,” he pulled the blanket a bit higher over your body with a sigh

You were dressed in a big, dark red long sleeve you assumed was Atsumu’s

“Out.” You could hear Osamu’s voice as the door opened with a thud as it hit the wall. Atsumu grumbled beneath his breath as he got up from his seat, closing the door firmly behind him

Osamu came into vision as he brought the tray with something hot sitting upon it, steam rising from it but whatever it was, it smelled delicious

He peeked his head to you as he sat in the seat Atsumu sat in moments ago, pulling the seat closer

“I’m sorry for my brother... you know how ‘tsumtsum gets when he’s hungry,” he sighed. “How do you feel?” He asked, moving the blanket down from your face ever so slightly to see more of you

“Tired like I could sleep... forever,” you yawned, the tear rolling from your eye, over the bridge of your nose to the pillows

“You need to eat, I made some soup.” Osamu helped sit you up, careful with his strength before he poured you a bowl of soup, insisting on spoor feeding you when he felt how weak you really were

The hot liquid went down your throat, the savory taste lingering on your tastebuds and fed a hunger in your stomach you weren’t even aware of until now

For the rest of the night, Osamu and Atsumu took turns looking over you, mostly Osamu, though so he could change your gauzes, making sure their bites weren’t causing injections

Though it never really seemed like it, Atsumu was grateful having you in his and his brother’s life, feeding them, continuing to come back even after all the times he over fed from you

He peeked beneath the gauze to make sure he didn’t actually hurt you as you slept, bidding the two of them farewell till next week

~~~~~ Thanks for reading! Masterlist for more! Please do not repost anywhere else!

Tags (let me know if you wanna be tagged for all my haikyuu posts): @yams046  @mazey-chan  @sunboikyo00  @kara-grayson04​  @fortheloveofbakugo​ @tsumtsumsemi​ @osamuonigiri @1-800-wholesome @yamagucci​ @realityisoftendisapointing@plantisnotplant @k-eijiakaashi​ @pink-panda-pancakes​ @differentballooncollection​ @osamusamusamu@therainroguefanfiction​ @euphorihan@turquoiselace​ @macaronnv  @oxmaddy​​ @mrkoala4prsdnt​​ @curiouslilbeast​ @plantisnotplant@therestless101​ @abcdaichi​ @oyasenpai​ @kaaidalupita​ @lovinnoya​

[thoughtsonhurtandcomfort]

Safe Haven, part 1

(this is the continuation of 12C!)

12C: Part 1 |  Part 2 |  Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 |  Part 6 |   Part 7 |   Part 8 |   Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 |

Tag List: @deluxewhump @whumpinggrounds @yet-another-heathen   @its-mysweetlittlesecret-blog  @killtheprotagonist @kixngiggles

Content Warnings:  immortal whumpee, lady whumpee, references to captivity and lab whump, malnutrition, dehydration, exhaustion, escape, caretaking, implied trauma, implied nudity

Author’s Notes: I really really hope you guys enjoy this one...I hope it’s as cathartic to read as it was to write. :)

I decided to start this next bit under a new title. The parts for the last one were getting excessive, and also this way even if my plans for the rest of it don’t work out, 12C is a complete thought.

As for the ‘escape plan’, I had more details of it in my mind but as I was writing it they felt...boring? So I cut the crap and kept it simple. Just trust that there was a plan and I’m just not a good enough writer to make it interesting. Besides, I wanted to get to the cute shit. :))

----

“You’re sure you know the plan?”

“Yes.”

“And...you’re sure you’re strong enough?”

“...I have to be.”

“That isn’t a yes.”

A huff lacking any real frustration. “Yes, Liv.”

“Okay. Two nights from now. Hang in there.”

----

The wheels of Liv’s cart are loud as they roll down the empty hallway, muffling out her sneakered footsteps. The sound also muffles her half-full water bottle falling from one of the shelves with a smack, and even if it weren’t for the cart, she’s got her headphones on, music turned up loud.

Liv comes to a stop at the door to the storage room. It’s unlocked, like always. She holds the door open with one hand and pushes her cart in halfway with the other. It’s then that she ‘notices’ her bottle down the hall, several yards away. Frustrated, she leaves the cart where it is and trudges to go pick it up.

When she returns, she only spends a couple of minutes in the storage room, restocking a few cleaning supplies so she won’t have to tomorrow. As she leaves the room and continues down the hall, she gives no indication that her cart has suddenly become heavier.

She gets into the elevator and heads upstairs to finish her final tasks of the night. This includes disposing of the garbage and hazardous waste she’s gathered throughout the night, putting utensils in a machine to be sanitized, and dumping linens from a hamper down a chute into a laundry room.

“Curl up tight,” she whispers as she tips the hamper. There’s a soft thud as more than just sheets and towels slide down the chute.

Liv finishes putting her things away, puts the papers from her clipboard in a file folder outside her manager’s door, uses the bathroom, and finally clocks out and heads to the parking garage. Calm, collected, seemingly lost in her music.

Heart pounding. Thoughts racing. Hopeful and terrified.

Her old but beloved little car sits alone on this floor of the dimly lit concrete garage. She throws her things into the passenger side before sitting heavily with a sigh in the driver’s seat. After a moment she turns on the car and begins the winding path up towards the exit.

As she rounds a bend she slows down a little...and remains slow for several moments until she hears her back door open and shut and a rustling as someone lies across the seat and burrows under a waiting blanket. She picks up her speed again, rolling down her window so she can swipe her ID card to get out.

Liv drives into the dark of night. It’s just past two in the morning, the roads empty, the traffic lights in town all blinking yellow. From the back seat she can hear weak, muffled breaths. When she looks at her rearview mirror, she can just make out the bundled heap trembling by the light of street lamps.

She waits until she’s a couple miles beyond the facility’s property before speaking, her voice hoarse from how dry her throat is.

“You okay back there?”

“...not sure,” comes Emmeline’s answer, fear and exhaustion palpable in her voice. “Do you think they saw anything?”

“If we did everything right, no...but I guess we’ll find out.”

Liv puts on an air of confident nonchalance that is so far from how she feels, but it’s for Emmeline’s sake. The risks have become so much more than a slap on the wrist. If they’re caught Liv will be fired and almost certainly arrested for theft of company ‘property’. But Emmeline...not only will she have to go back there, but she’ll be kept under such tight lock and key that any second chance of escape would be impossible, and Liv would no longer be there to even try.

This was their one shot, and all Liv can do is try to keep her panic at bay and hope they didn’t screw it up.

And take care of Emmeline, she thinks, glancing again at the mirror.

The drive home takes its predictable twenty minutes, give or take a few. Liv pulls into her spot beside a nondescript brick apartment building and shuts off her car. She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment to breathe and pull her thoughts together.

It’s quiet from the back.

“Are you awake?”

“Mmhmm…”

That translates to barely.

“Not much further...then you can rest…”

The weight of that statement is too much for Liv’s tired mind to truly process, but it still briefly occurs to her just how big it is, just what it means. For the first time in months, Emmeline can finally, truly rest.

She goes to the back seat and helps Emmeline to her feet. Emmeline remains resolutely wrapped from neck to ankles in the blanket. Despite it being the old, scratchy one Liv keeps in her car in case of emergency, to Emmeline it’s so much more than she’s been allowed.

Standing there barefoot in the parking lot, Emmeline slowly looks up at Liv, strands of limp, messy hair hanging around her face. The single light on the side of the building illuminates her drawn face and although she’s weak, malnourished, exhausted...there is a grateful reverence in her eyes that no matter what happens, Liv will never forget.

Liv swallows and pushes down the lump in her throat. “Come on,” she whispers, putting her arm around Emmeline’s blanket-clad shoulders and guiding her towards the door.

----

Her apartment is tidier than usual; Liv made sure of that, even though she’s pretty sure Emmeline won’t care. Considering where she has spent the last several months, a jail cell would seem like an upgrade. But if Liv is anything, she’s self-conscious.

Emmeline looks around, blinking blearily after having barely made it up the single flight of stairs. She’s swaying on her feet and Liv ushers her to sit on the couch before she passes out right there in the middle of the living room.

Liv is running on adrenaline and fumes at this point. It’s all too surreal, like an out of body experience. Even after long hours spent thinking and planning, she never expected to get this far. But now Emmeline is here, in her apartment, sitting on her couch. Existing outside of the lab, real and tangible.

And she needs you. Get it together.

“I know you probably want to sleep,” Liv begins. Emmeline is still looking around the room like she can’t quite believe it either. “But you haven’t eaten, so...I want to get something in you first, if that’s okay?”

“Okay,” Emmeline whispers.

Liv moves slowly to the kitchen and busies herself with preparing something light and easy: canned soup, crackers, a mug of herbal tea with honey. Like in the car, she allows herself a moment to take a few deep breaths and will her hands to stop shaking before she picks up the plastic tray and carries the food back into the living room.

Emmeline hasn’t moved an inch, not even to relax back against the couch cushions. It isn’t quite what Liv expected...but then, what did she expect? For everything to be better the moment they got here? It isn’t all going to be okay overnight, she realizes. Give her time.

“Here…” Liv sets the tray on the coffee table and sits at the edge of the couch, leaving a few inches between them, not wanting to crowd Emmeline. “Um - chicken noodle soup. Saltines. Chamomile vanilla tea.”

Emmeline blinks slowly at the items before her. “I’m not dreaming. Right?”

“I hope not. Eating canned soup in my apartment isn’t a very exciting dream.”

A faint smile appears on Emmeline’s face. “To me it is…”

Liv holds the bowl of soup while Emmeline eats small spoonfuls of it and nibbles on crackers. She only eats about half before moving on to the tea, cupping the warm mug in her hands and humming with pleasure when she takes the first sip.

“Could I - “ Emmeline begins, but stops abruptly, ducking her head and taking another sip.

“Could you…?”

“Take a shower?” she asks almost inaudibly.

“Of course you can,” Liv answers automatically. “You can have whatever you need.”

Emmeline hesitates, still so frail and uncertain. “Just that is enough...thank you…”

Strengthened by her meal, Emmeline is able to make her own way to the bathroom. Beneath the blanket she is wearing a pair of nurse’s scrubs, stolen from the laundry room at the lab just in case a glimpse of her was caught on camera, though Liv meticulously designed their plan to avoid that. She sheds the clothes and Liv bundles them and the blanket into a plastic bag to discard tomorrow.

Emmeline disappears into the bathroom and a minute later the water comes on.

Liv is left sitting on the couch, finally alone with her fears and doubts.

I can’t believe I did that…

If we get caught we’re so fucked…

Does she even want to be here?

What the hell do I do now?

She grabs the tray of dishes and hurries to the kitchen, where she actually washes them instead of pushing it off to tomorrow, just to distract herself. When that task is done too soon, she goes to change into pajamas and find something for Emmeline to wear.

She’s unfolding and refolding the clothes for the third time when the water shuts off. Just as Liv is standing to bring her the clothes, the sound of the shower curtain moving aside is followed by a cry and a loud thud.

Liv darts to the bathroom, everything else forgotten. She enters without knocking, her heart in her throat.

Emmeline is sprawled on her side on the floor, grimacing. One leg is hooked over the edge of the tub and it quickly becomes apparent that she slipped.

Not attacked. Not passed out or dead. She just fell. It’s okay. It’s okay.

At the sound of Liv entering the room, she rolls onto her back with a groan, revealing a bruise on her hip that slowly starts to heal as soon as the pressure is removed from it.

“Ow…”

“Shit...I forgot to put the bath mat in,” Liv mutters, embarrassed. No wonder Emmeline slipped. She crouches beside her and offers her arms for Emmeline to hold onto.

“Not your fault,” Emmeline answers quietly as she slowly gets to her feet. “I got dizzy…”

The moment Emmeline is standing she sways into Liv, leaning heavily against her before her legs can give out again. Liv freezes, acutely aware of the pressure of Emmeline’s body draped against hers, soft and clean, so weary, so in need of comfort.

All of those evenings Liv spent watching her suffer, wishing she could hold her, touch her gently, stroke her hair...now she has the chance, not a camera or another soul in sight, and she can’t move, can barely think. Not when Emmeline has her head tucked against Liv’s shoulder, breathing soft breaths against her neck.

Liv reaches blindly to her side until she finds a towel hanging on a hook beside the shower. She puts enough space between them to wrap it around Emmeline’s shivering form but remains close enough to steady her. By now Emmeline looks like she might fall asleep where she stands.

“Sorry,” Emmeline whispers, her drooping gaze fixed on Liv’s shirt. “I got you wet…”

“Shh. Don’t worry about it,” Liv answers quietly. “Come on…”

She guides her the final few feet into the bedroom and helps her into soft cotton pajama pants and a t-shirt. Then she pulls back the covers - freshly washed sheets on a freshly made bed, another thing she made sure of - and motions for Emmeline to get in.

“A bed?” Emmeline breathes. She runs her fingers over the sheet with a look of wonder.

“Mmhmm,” Liv affirms, lips pressed together. She’s afraid if she opens her mouth to speak she might cry from the sudden well of emotion at finally being able to give this to Emmeline, this comfort and safety she so deserves.

Emmeline slowly lies down on the bed, letting out a long sigh of relief when her head comes to rest on the plush pillow. Liv pulls the covers over her and tucks them around her snugly. She barely resists planting a soft kiss to Emmeline’s damp hair. Barely.

“Goodnight,” she whispers.

Emmeline is already fast asleep.

[celticcrossanon]

Wow CC, how do you survive being in 35-40+ degree weather without aircon, nonetheless?! I already complained a lot if the degree goes over 30 haha…

Hi lacrimaomnis,

I can understand complaining if the weather goes over any temperature that you consider hot, and that will vary depending on your current climate and how adapted you are to that climate. Being hot is no fun at all.

My survival tips:

1. We have thermal curtains on every window. They stay closed during the day. The light can still come in - enough to see and work by - and the curtains help keep the heat out. If you have blinds, they work the same way. Keep them closed if at all possible to keep the heat out.

2. Keep your windows closed if at all possible during the day. Open windows let in more heat than closed windows. Put blinds or curtains on the windows inside the house, and/or outside blinds/awnings on your windows - you want to keep the sun off those windows and out of the house. Of course, if you have a strong breeze, you can open the windows to catch the breeze, but we rarely have enough breeze to make this worth the extra heat.

3. If you have rooms that face West, and catch the afternoon sun, if they are not living areas then shut the doors between those rooms and the rest of the house. This traps any heat in those rooms and prevents it spreading to the rest of the house. My bathrooms face West. They are sweatboxes in summer with the doors shut, but the rest of the house stays cool. I realise that this is only possible if the rooms are not in use all the time.

4. The temperature drops here at night, down to 25-20 degrees Celsius. I open the house at night, when it is cool, and keep the windows open for as long as I can. This lets the hot air in the house out and the cooler outside air in. Once the house has cooled down (this takes a few hours), I shut the windows again to keep the cooler air in and the hot air out.

5. During the day, the house will start off cool (due to my night time efforts) and heat up over the day. Once it is uncomfortably warm, I put the pedestal fan on. If you have ceiling fans, put them on. The fans won't cool the air, but having the air moving over your skin will help keep you cool, especially if you are sweating.

6. Sleep with a fan on. It helps so much.

7. If you have the room, hang your laundry up in your living areas. As the laundry dries, the water evaporating from the clothes will suck heat from the air around it, and the overall room temperature will drop. I leave the laundry up overnight and I can feel the difference when I walk into the living room the next day. Watch for mould on the ceiling if you do this.

8. Make a coolgardie cooler. Put a mat on the floor, place two chairs either side of the mat, drape a sheet over them like a tent (you can do this with a broomstick over a cot if you have to), wet the sheet (you want it very damp but not dripping), and let the sheet dry. The evaporation will cool the area under the sheet by several degrees. Lie on the mat and enjoy the coolness.

If you have a fan, turn it on to the sheet or have it oscillate around the room, and that will make it colder.

You have to keep rewetting the sheet as it dries, but this definitely works. It is how I get babies to sleep and how I saved my flatmate from heat exhaustion. If you have spare baking pans, fill them with water and put them on the floor with the ends of the sheets in the pans. The sheets will suck up water from the pan and stay wet. Otherwise, a spray bottle works well to keep the sheet damp (I rewet it using a spray bottle once every hour or so).

9. Eat little and often. Eating will pull the blood from your limbs and concentrate it on your digestion, so you feel cooler. Make sure you eat enough salt! I eat every 2-3 hours, so 6 small meals instead of three large ones, and I prefer spiced food from hot climates, as the spices tempt my appetite. Whatever you prefer to eat, little and often is better than 3 big meals. You may have to increase your salt intake to balance the extra sweat - potato chips/crisps are good for that.

10. Make sure you drink enough. Water, flavoured water, milkshakes, cold tea, iced coffee - I do not care what it is, just get that liquid into you. I drink one cup of liquid every hour, more if I am thirsty. Sweet drinks are good for rehydrating you. I know sugar and salt are the current bad guys of diet, but my experience is that both of them are necessary to survive hot days, in higher amounts than normal. I drink water that has been flavoured with those cold water tea bags (fruit infusions) or with cordial, sweet cold tea, and flavoured cold milk drinks. You can have hot drinks if you can cope with the extra heat in your body. If you can drink plain water, do so - I can't (more than one or two cups and I throw up). For me, milk and yoghurt drinks (lassi) are the best. YMMV.

11. Ice cream, granitas, popsicles, paddle pops, frozen yoghurt - frozen liquid of any sort can help cool you down. Some people like iced water from the fridge, or adding ice to their drinks. Tap water usually works for me, unless the sun has been on the pipes and heated the water, but if you need to put jugs of water in the fridge to drink, do so. If you need to make ice cubes in the freezer, do so (or buy ice and keep it in the freezer). We have a jug of flavoured water on the bench for me and one in the fridge for my flatmate, plus a container of ice cubes in the freezer for my flatmate (she feels the heat more than I do).

11. Frozen washers/flannels and/or cold gel packs, or an equivalent. Put them on your head, neck, elbows, wrists/hands, crotch, back of knees, ankles/feet. They help. Keep two sets on hand and swap them over as one becomes warm. Sticking your feet in a bucket of cold water will also cool you down quickly.

12. Dress for the weather. Loose, comfortable, and cotton clothing (or linen). No synthetic fibres (they just make you hotter). Loose is cooler than form-fitting. Go sleeveless indoors, but cover your shoulders if you have to go out, and your cleavage, and your upper legs (sunburn hurts - a lot).

13. Use sunscreen if you go outside. Use more than you think you will need. Reapply regularly. Cover your body, shoulders and upper legs with clothes (the minimum). Wear sunglasses. Wear a broad brimmed hat. Seek shade where-ever possible. Sunburn is no joke. It is painful and will make you hotter. Carry water with you and sip regularly. Put sunscreen on your feet if you are wearing sandals/thongs/flipflops. Sunburnt feet HURT. If possible, only go outside when the sun is low in the sky (i.e. not the middle of the day).

14. If you are able to, and if it makes you cooler, go naked at home. Wear the bare minimum of clothing that you can, and have something handy to slip on if you need to answer the door. I've spent hot days around the house in a swimsuit in the past. I'm also big on not wearing underwear in the heat unless it is necessary/makes you cooler/makes you more comfortable. I wear a calf length sleeveless floaty cotton dress around the house. Go for whatever makes you comfortable and won't upset the people you are living with. Comfort and coolness win over fashion (and social conditioning if possible and preferred).

15. Move slowly. Be lazy. It is better to take longer to do things than to get overheated and have to cool yourself down. Take breaks if necessary to cool yourself down/stop yourself from getting hot.

16. Know the signs of heat exhaustion and take steps before it becomes heat stroke. Do a pinch test for dehydration and drink if you have to. Ask your doctor how your medications will affect you in the heat and what you can do to combat that (if anything).

17. Heat rises. If you have a double storey (or more) house, stay in the lowest level. It will be cooler.

That is all I can think of right now. I hope this helps.

[dastardlydandelion]

Billy having the bust appendix episode?

so i combined these into one thingy??

also the latter, uh, it's. like?? i played w ur prompt, dude, chose to focus more on the concept of "not lasting" w susan and max tho bc if i write neil for too long it'll inevitably turn into another murder fic.

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced/discussed abuse, brief suicidal ideation

“Day four of fever, fella. That’s no fun.” Susan sets the thermometer aside with a frown and brushes the back of her hand over his cheek.

Billy blinks slowly at the touch. It wasn’t that long ago that he would’ve pushed her away. He hasn’t exactly enjoyed having the Stomach Flu From Hell for the better half of the week, but he supposes if there was ever a time to get sick, it’s now. Because these past few days have been the last few days he’s ever going to get with Susan and Max. He can use being sick as an excuse to let them get close like this. He can let himself let them close without feeling defensive or embarrassed because after tonight, he’ll never see them again.

“I feel better,” he mumbles as she brushes his fringe back, pad of her thumb gingerly lingering over the nick in his brow. “Really, Sue, s’not as bad today.”

And it’s not. Today’s Wednesday and he’s been feeling shitty since Sunday night, sluggish and nauseous with a nagging stomachache. He managed not to puke up Sunday dinner until Monday morning, although he didn’t actually make it to the bathroom. Susan scrubbed it out of his bedroom carpet even though Billy told her to leave it. Max stayed home from school to keep him company, which really…genuinely meant a lot to Billy, considering skipping school meant sacrificing some of the little time remaining with her friends. And she did it to just to hang out with his sweaty, grouchy, probably contagious and definitely less sociable self.

His stomachache got worse throughout the day but he hadn’t said anything about it to anyone. Didn’t say anything on Tuesday either, even though by evening it hurt so fucking bad it was like there was an invisible knife carving into his guts, blade twisting so terribly the only thing that helped at all was curling into a fetal position. Billy was almost frightened, actually. He doesn’t believe he’s ever felt worse than the torture he went through Tuesday, not even at his father’s hands.

But he couldn’t say anything. Not with everything going on. He wouldn’t do anything to possibly compromise the plan. Couldn’t let himself do anything that could delay their escape. So he sucked it up and kept his mouth screwed shut, endured in silence.

The relentless agony of nonexistent knives twisting through his guts kept him up all night. Then very early this morning, just as the sunrise’s first rays began to lighten the sky, the pain subsided. Billy still feels uncomfortable and he’d probably hurl again if he got a whiff of goat cheese or canned sardines, but it doesn’t compare to the misery of last night.

“How about I put the kettle on? Ginger tea is good for stomach bugs.”

“Nah.”

“What about chamomile?”

“No.”

“Peppermint?”

“Stop, Sue. I don’t want tea.”

“Please. You’ve barely kept anything down all week and you’re sweating like a turkey at Christmas. You’ll feel even worse if you get dehydrated, Billy.”

Susan retracts her hand with a fretful noise in her throat and turns to the door. With a sudden spike of panic that she’s— she’s leaving —he frees an arm from the blanket and grabs her wrist. Susan jumps as though she’s touched a hot stove. Billy immediately lets go. He wasn’t thinking.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Susan, I just…”

Chewing her lip, she nods down at him. She carefully sits on the edge of his bed, one leg folding on the mattress, opposite foot still on the floor. She takes his face in her chilly hands and Billy heaves out a sigh.

“I wish things were different,” she murmurs. “If the, uh…if the p-place Max and I are going accepted boys your age, you’d be coming with us. I promise I’d take you with us if I could.”

The shelter doesn’t allow male children over age twelve, Susan had informed Billy the night she told him they were leaving. She’d said it apologetically, eyes sorrowful like the look she’s giving him right now. She’s said it like it scraped her throat on the way out, tragic and grave as though she were reading him his own obituary.

It was the oddest thing Billy couldn’t begin to comprehend. He wouldn’t go with them even if going with them was an option. And never had he ever expected it to be an option. He doesn’t understand why Susan is looking at him like that.

“I just grabbed you. I shouldn’t have grabbed you.”

Susan’s face twitches like he’s the one being weird, like it isn’t she who’s looking at him with all these things he never wanted from her.

“You didn’t hurt me, Billy, just startled me a bit. I’m as skittish as a doe and of course today is…it’s a big day.”

“…what time?”

Susan spares a glance to his door. Still shut. Neil’s getting ready for work and he wouldn’t dare enter Billy’s room right now anyway. Wouldn’t risk catching whatever Billy has. He’d sent Susan in the bathroom Monday after Billy had barely stumbled out, wan from the latest round of purging, in drill sergeant mode and demanding that Susan bleach every contaminated tile.

“Noon. I want to drive in the daylight. Max is staying home from school. I told your father she caught your bug.”

Billy raises a brow.

“She didn’t,” Susan clarifies. “But he didn’t question the excuse. She’s sleeping in, I think it’s best to let her sleep in. It’s a big day.”

“Big day,” Billy repeats quietly.

Susan’s hands are still on his face, gentle and cool. Billy feels hot. The past few days he’s felt too cold or too hot, no in between. He’s either burrowing under the blankets to ward off the icy chills or laying on the bathroom tile to ease the sensation of roasting in his skin.

“I’m going to make you some tea, okay? You don’t have to drink it, but I’d appreciate it if you did. Fluids are important, Billy.”

Susan slides her hands off and Billy wonders if perhaps that’s the last time she’ll ever touch him. She leaves his room. Quietly closes the door behind her. Billy rolls onto his side and wraps his arm around his stomach, wondering if he should’ve let her closer before. If he should’ve let Max closer too.

Maybe it’s better he didn’t. Maybe losing them would hurt more if he did. And it does hurt. Even when the minutes tick down to the time they will exchange their final goodbyes, he’ll never say it out loud, but it hurts. It’s going to gut him when they go.

But it’s good that they’re going. And it’s good that he’s not. Billy ensured early on that Susan knew never to act like his mother. And Susan never seemed particularly passionate about trying, maybe there was even some relief for her that Billy had shut down every feeble attempt, that she never had to claim him. Billy never asked for Max either. The responsibility of a little sister. The pressure of having to set a good example for her, more reasons for Neil to be pissed at him whenever he inexorably failed. Max thought he was cool when they were younger, then there was that really rough patch after the move, and now things are better.

Things are probably the best they’ve ever been between him and Susan, between him and Max, and he’s going to miss them. Billy wants them to leave. Billy wants to be left. But the separation, the severing, the knowledge that he will never see them again pounds his heart like brass knuckles. He’s never going to watch Susan take another spider outside in a tissue, humming her weird little singsong. He’s never going to have to groan and roll his eyes over being Max’s designated chauffeur to the arcade, the park, the monster movie matinee.

He’s going to be alone with Neil.

Susan brings Billy a ceramic mug of steaming tea. She feels his forehead and probes at the sides of his neck, humming in concern. He would never let her fawn over him without a fight on a normal day. He’s only receptive now because he knows they aren’t going to be in each other’s lives anymore. He doesn’t know what to do with the fact that he kind of likes the fawning, but maybe he wouldn’t— maybe he wouldn’t like it at all if she wasn’t leaving, maybe the leaving makes it special. Or maybe it’s easier to think of it that way than to wonder if it would’ve been better to have this kind of relationship all along.

Billy watches the steam rise from the mug. He doesn’t touch the tea. He’s exhausted and he finds himself drifting, dozing off…

When Billy blinks his eyes back open, he’s dismayed to find his stomach hurting again. It might actually be the stomachache that wakes him up. Either the stomachache or Max in the doorway, hand on the knob.

“Are you awake?”

“I am now.” Billy begins to push himself up on his elbows, pauses when his gut lurches.

So much for that plan.

He settles back, and rolls onto his side, tucking his knees up to his chest under the blanket. Some of the pain abates. This position is still the winner.

“Are you okay?” Max rests her hand on the mattress, cocking her head to the side. “Do you need the trash can again?”

“Nah.”

“Okay…My mom’s loading up the car.”

“Yeah?” Billy really hopes she isn’t here to ask him to help. If she does, he will, but just the idea of rolling out of bed sounds like a grandiose effort.

“Yeah. Can I hang out for a little bit?”

Something thick rises in his throat. “Sure thing, shitbird.”

Max climbs onto the bed and over Billy, jostling him enough to make him queasy. She sits at his back. He can’t see her but he feels her hand settle on his shoulder.

“Your room smells like gym socks and barf,” she remarks, scowl audible in her voice.

“When you catch this from me, your room’s gonna smell the same way,” he mutters. Only after the words have left his lips, does Billy really realize what he’s said.

Max’s bedroom here on Cherry Lane isn’t really her bedroom anymore. Susan’s putting her belongings in the car. The next time Max gets sick, maybe it won’t be in a bedroom of her own at all. Or it will be her bedroom in a house far away from here. It’ll be a room Billy will never go in and he’ll never have the opportunity to tease her.

“I’m kinda nervous about the shelter, Billy,” she admits, voice quiet and unsure. “I was nervous when we first moved to Hawkins too. But this is a different kind of nervous.”

“Don’t be nervous,” Billy mutters. “You’re gonna be safer there than you are here.”

“Supposedly,” Max huffs. “You know Neil’s going to be pissed when he finds out. What if he comes after us?”

“I won’t let him,” Billy declares, meaning every word.

“Could you really stop him?”

Billy curls a little tighter in an effort to ease the pain spreading through his stomach. It’s beginning to be more than a nuisance but he’s doing his best not to be distracted. Max needs him right now. This is the last time he’ll ever be an older brother. That’s more important, that’s the thing he needs to devote his attention to. He never asked for the job and he hasn’t been exceptional at it, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try to soothe his soon to be ex-sister’s worries with her small hand shaking ever so slightly on his shoulder.

He cranes his neck back to meet her eye and flashes a winning grin he hopes looks less forced than it feels.

”Let’s put it this way, he’d have to kill me to get to you.”

Instead of being reassured, Max looks spooked.

“I really thought he was going to, you know. That night.”

Ah, that night. Billy knows which. He was feeling pretty ballsy, feeling strong and bold after a good workout and a couple of beers. When Neil got in his shit that night, for the very first time, Billy threw a punch.

He remembers thinking that things would go in his favor if he could just get Neil to the ground. That’s the last thing he remembers, actually. Thinking that. And maybe it really would’ve gone in his favor if he’d gotten Neil down. But he didn’t.

Billy doesn’t actually remember what happened. But it definitely wasn’t that.

“He wouldn’t really go that far, Max. Neil talks a big game, but I’m all he’s got and he knows it.”

Max doesn’t seem convinced in the least.

“I think that’s what made Mom decide we had to go,” she says quietly. “That night.”

“It wasn’t that bad,” Billy says, tone sharp.

Max glowers, clearly disagreeing. Billy matches her stare.

“…I wonder if there will be other kids my age,” Max murmurs eventually, changing the subject.

Evidently neither of them want to argue their remaining time together away.

If there are kids her age, they’ll be girls, like Neil always wanted. No boys over twelve permitted stay. Billy shifts his head back, eyes sliding from Max and off to the wall. He’s starting to feel Tuesday night’s painful sort of nausea. Like his guts are going through a meat grinder.

“It’ll suck if I’m just surrounded by adults the whole time. However long that’s gonna be…Mom wouldn’t say.”

“Maybe she doesn’t know yet, Max.”

“Maybe not. She’s trying to keep her cool but I can tell she’s nervous. Even more than me and I can’t let on that I’m nervous at all, not to Mom, because then she’ll really flip her lid. She tried so hard to convince me everything will be okay at the shelter. She’ll feel like a failure if she knows I’m scared and Neil’s already made her feel a failure over and over. I won’t do it too.”

This is the last conversation they’re ever going to have. This is the last time they’re ever going to talk to each other. Max is on the precipice of another massive move to somewhere new. All the secrecy and uncertainties surrounding it make it all the more of a transition and Billy’s last job as her older brother is this conversation. He’s trying to focus on it, on her, but the pain in his stomach is growing more insistent.

“Billy?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we’ll ever see each other again?”

Billy curls his fingers in the bedsheets and silently begs for it not to get any worse. Not now. Max is leaving, Susan is leaving, fuck it— his fucking family is leaving and he can’t do this right now.

“…uh…yeah. I’m gonna get out of this Hawkins dump as soon as I can. And I bet you and your mom will find somewhere for yourselves better than this dump too, without Neil steering the wheel…how about, five years from now, we meet up in Cali? At least you and me, Sue can come too if she wants.”

Billy doesn’t think she would. Things have been better between him and his stepmother, yeah, but. He knows what he is. And Max— Max too, really. She thinks she’ll want to see him again now. Things have been better and maybe there’s even a part of her that still thinks of him as her cool big brother, but when she gets some distance, she’ll get some perspective and neither of them will want anything to do with him anymore. By then he’ll just be one more ugly part of an ugly life, the wayward offspring of the enemy.

By then he’ll be nothing but a reminder and no one wants reminders.

Max hums thoughtfully. “Yeah. We could do that, right? I always wanted to go back to San Diego…”

She squeezes his shoulder and Billy shuts his eyes. It’s getting harder to ignore how awful he feels. His whole body sagging with the overall illness laying him low. The torrent of nausea washing over him even though he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have anything left to puke up. The vengeful reprisal of the invisible knife, carving into his guts with a silent wrath.

“…does that sound good? …Billy?”

“What?” He blinks rapidly.

“The zoo, sick brain.” She huffs a little and gives his shoulder another squeeze. “In five years, let’s meet up at the zoo. In the gift shop where you stole the lion keychain.”

“Hey, you remember that.”

“You stole a gag giraffe toy for me too, the squishy one. When you squeeze it, the eyes pop out.”

“Pfft, yeah…I said, ‘look, it’s your mom’ and slipped it in your backpack.”

“I still have that giraffe, Billy,” she continues, voice determined. “I’m bringing it with me. I’ll look at it every day so I don’t forget our meeting place.”

Billy doesn’t really feel like talking anymore. He just wants to shove his head under the pillow and sleep it off, sleep it out. Wake up when his stomach isn’t being stabbed and his heart isn’t being strangled.

It’s a shining fantasy, that’s all. A fuzzy, glowing thing that will never happen. He’s just playing along for Max’s sake.

“What day, Max?”

“I was thinking the Fourth of July. You dad always made sure the fourth was the biggest Hargrove household holiday.” Billy can hear her roll her eyes. “Neither of us will ever forget that date, not even in five years.”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Sounds good. We’ll meet again at the San Diego Zoo gift shop in five years, on the fourth.”

“Pinky swear?”

Moving makes the pain worse. Any movements, even small ones.

“Nah. My hands are all sweaty and contagious, you don’t wanna touch ‘em.”

“It’s fine.”

“I’m not getting you sick, Max,” Billy states firmly. “You’ve got enough going on.”

There is a pregnant pause.

“I really do,” she says eventually, her tone wary. “I hate Neil. But leaving him means leaving you and my friends, and going somewhere with a bunch of total strangers who have their own Neils who might come after us.”

“That’s not gonna happen.”

“It could! Stranger things have happened! Stranger things happen all the time!”

Max smacks her hands together and does something with her arms that shifts her weight and in turn, shifts the mattress. The minute movement multiplies the knives and the stabs, and Billy agonizes, grinding his molars against a hiss as those knives in his gut twist so hard he’s already seeing fireworks.

“What’s wrong?”

It hurts so bad. This isn’t the flu. Billy doesn’t know what it is, but it’s definitely not the flu.

“Billy?”

Christ, is he dying?

“Hey.” The back of Max’s hand rests against his cheek, smaller and warmer than her mother’s was, fabric bandaid under her knuckles now protecting that scab she wouldn’t stop picking at. “Geez, you’re burning up. Are you dying?”

He’d gibe back at her if he wasn’t seriously evaluating this possibility. He momentarily considers telling her that he is, that it’s so fucking bad it’s like knives. Then he blinks and Susan’s here, half-in-half-out, one foot over the threshold of his bedroom, the other still in the hallway.

“Time to go, Max.”

Max inhales sharply above his ear. Billy composes himself. He clears his throat and does his best to keep his voice steady.

“You heard her,” he mutters. “Get your ass outta here, lemme sleep this off.”

Abruptly, Max’s weight flops over his torso, arms squeezing. She’s hugging him. She’s hugging him and the pain is so bad it’s blinding. Billy traps a scream between his teeth, burns with shame as the tears spring to his eyes. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to push her off. He can’t bring himself to uncurl enough to hug her back.

“Germs,” he manages to grate out, hoping it’s enough.

Max’s arms unlatch and she climbs down from his bed. Billy’s head spins with reeling pain and nausea as she trots across his floor for the final time. She stands at her mother’s side, no longer his responsibility.

“Bye, Billy.” Max’s lips twitch in a sad smile, her hand raised in a halfhearted wave.

Susan steps aside to let her through and lingers for a heartbeat, frowning at him.

“I hope you feel better, Billy…”

“Your tea was bitter,” he gripes even though he hasn’t taken a single sip.

Susan’s eyes sharpen. She sees something, Billy isn’t sure what. Her lips part but he speaks first.

“Please get out.”

So he can cry. So he can scream. It hurts, he hurts. His stomach, his heart. It’s horrible, he’s horrible.

Susan bobs her head and obliges, making herself scarce. Billy hangs onto the sound of steps getting further away. He doesn’t let the tears fall until he hears the door close and then he’s smashing his face into his pillow to smother his sobs in cotton stuffing. Forces himself to stop because crying’s making it worse, much worse, his shoulders are hitching and moving is anguish.

Something is so very wrong.

Billy can’t even think around its wrongness. Last night the pain was sharpest in his side but right now it feels like his whole stomach is burning. He shifts even slightly and his stomach burns with white-hot pain but he’s so cold everywhere else.

Billy lies still and curled and quiet, impatiently waiting for it to get better. If he doesn’t move, it should get better. Curling like this helped last night and then this morning, the pain went away.

Will it go away again if he just keeps waiting?

He’s already waited so long.

Will it come back even worse?

Could it get worse?

That’s a stupid question, everything can get worse. If there is anything Billy has learned in his life, it’s that there’s no real rock bottom. It can always get worse.

That shove will turn into a slap. That slap will turn into a punch. That punch will multiply into many punches. The opposite arm will lock around your throat so those punches can keep pummeling the breath right out of you and the night you think you’re gonna punch back—

No such thing as bad as bad gets, no limits, maybe if he really is dying, it’s for the best. Maybe dying is the best goddamn thing that can happen to you in a world where invisible knives slicing into you and screams shriveling like dead leaves—

(everyone leaves, doesn’t matter if it’s autumn)

—behind your chattering teeth could very well be the least of your suffering. It hurts so bad he can barely breathe.

Billy forces himself out of bed anyway. He always gets up even when he doesn’t want to, but today he’s outstandingly bad at it. His organs must be pureed from all the silent stabs and his legs buckle under him. His hands fly out when he falters, ceramic mug knocked off his nightstand.

When the tea spills on him, it’s cold and Billy’s confused because it’s supposed to be hot tea. Then he’s confused at his own confusion because no fucking shit it’s cold now, it’s been out for hours.

How many hours?

When did Susan put the kettle on?

How long has Susan been gone, Max in tow?

It feels like an eternity but Neil isn’t home yet, so Billy knows that’s not true. He has no idea what time it is, but he knows he’d know if Neil was home. Neil makes his presence known. Neil doesn’t set foot in this house without immediately staking claim to everyone’s attention.

Everyone?

There is no everyone anymore. Just Billy and Neil now. Billy got out of bed with the intention of finding his keys. Driving himself to the hospital. Because it’s been hours, how many he isn’t sure, but enough of them to mean he needs to go to the hospital. Go to the zoo?

No, he— he can’t go to the hospital.

He could make himself get up. Demons slice their claws through his stomach with every chill that wracks his frame and garble their guttural taunts right into his ears but he could get up. He could but he won’t, he knows better.

If Billy goes to the hospital, they’re going to call Neil. It’s a small town. Someone will know who he is even if he pretends to be too out of it to say. Someone will know he belongs to Neil and then Neil will be called. Then Neil will find out even sooner that he’s been left, and he’ll get mad, and Billy doesn’t know what he’ll do with the anger but it won’t be good.

Max and Sue need as much time as they can get, as much distance between him and his dad as possible before he finds out. He’s going to find out but they got a head-start and Billy won’t sabotage that. It’s better for him too, in case Neil decides to turn the rage his way. Neil takes responsibility for jack shit, he might even decide it’s Billy’s fault they're gone, because he got left behind to blame.

Billy could make himself get up but he won’t. He just pulls the comforter off the bed and over himself on the floor. It’s so bad he could writhe but that too, would make it worse. He’s waiting to watch a demon claw its way out of his stomach, like that scene in that one movie he watched with Max.

It wasn’t the last movie he watched with Max. Billy doesn’t remember the last movie he watched with Max, the last movie he’ll ever watch with Max. He’s never going to see her again. If he dies here on the carpet, he supposes he’ll never see anyone again.

Crying about it won’t help. Crying doesn’t solve anything.

Something is making a horrible yowling sound. There’s a stray cat in the neighborhood, it must be right outside his bedroom window. Or else it got inside somehow, it sounds so close. Its cries sound so wretchedly human.

Billy isn’t a brother anymore, he has demons twisting their pitchforks in his stomach, he’s too cold to catch his breath, and his cheeks are very wet. He doesn’t have any time or energy to chase around a stray cat, to stop it from making a mess.

Billy does not die on the floor. When his father comes home at first his yells are angry and then his yells are fearful. He calls an ambulance and cradles Billy close until it comes.

Billy loses himself in the whirlwind of activity that follows. He gets poked and prodded and jabbed, and someone blessedly takes his pain away but Billy doesn’t know who because everyone’s faces blur until they all look the same. He has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration.

Dehydration, that’s deja vu. But it’s not Susan talking about dehydration this time even though he wishes it was. He wishes it was?

Yes. No. She needed to get out. Max needed to get out. Billy has too many white blood cells and not enough hydration, and his fever’s so high they might as well bake cookies on him and— and if his mother were here, she would like that one, yeah, he definitely got his dry wit from her. Sardonic snark is right up Mom’s alley. But she had to get out too, everyone has to get out.

Except Billy. He’s fine. Well, he’s not fine, apparently he needs surgery, but he doesn’t need to escape. One day he will, but he doesn’t need to. It’s not a necessity. No matter what Max saw That Night he doesn’t remember, Neil would never kill him.

Neil would never, ever kill him. Billy is his only legacy. Piss poor legacy from Neil’s standpoint, sure, he’ll never let him forget it. But nonetheless, it’s the only one he’s got. Billy may blow his brains out when he gets bored of his twenties (if he even makes it that far) just to spite the bastard because he doesn’t want to be his good-for-nothing piece of shit legacy, he never asked for that.

But now is not the time to begrudge all he didn’t ask for, now is the time to count backwards.

“Dad?” Billy calls into the quiet nighttime of the room, blinking fuzzily at the figure slumped in the chair beside his bed. His throat feels like sandpaper, he swallows with an effort and tries again. “Dad?”

Neil stirs this time, eyes brightening, alert on Billy. “I’m here. Do you need something?”

Billy pauses. “M’sick, right?”

“Sure as shit you’re sick,” Neil huffs, eyes narrowing. “Almost lost all three of you in the same day.”

The words bounce around Billy’s skull.

“Susan left me,” Neil continues slowly, anger shimmering like hot coals underneath the veil of weariness. “All her stuff is gone, she took Max too. I don’t expect you knew anything about that?”

“No, sir,” Billy denies. “I thought they went shopping.”

“No. They certainly didn’t go shopping. They cleared out and left us behind. No explanation, no letter, not even a note.”

So it’s ‘us’ now, huh?

Billy widens his eyes, does his best to seem surprised as he attempts to sit up. Then he really is surprised, first at how awful of an idea that is, and then at realizing the blanket covering his hospital bed is one from home. One of Neil’s, fleecy and worn.

“Grabbed a few things from home. Needed something to do to keep my mind busy. You were on the operating table twice as long as they told me you were gonna be, Bill. Scared the hell out of me.”

“…why?”

“I’m told your appendix ruptured before they opened you up and that complicated things…you’re gonna be here for a little while, bud.” Neil gently rubs his shoulder. “Why didn’t you say anything earlier?”

He answered the wrong question. Billy wasn’t asking why it took longer, he was asking why Neil was scared. But he doesn’t correct him. He swallows and hopes Max and Susan are safe. He wonders just what time they got to wherever they were going. Susan never shared the location or ever alluded to the distance from Hawkins. He hopes there were no mishaps along the way, no flat tires or fender-benders, or murderous traffic in backed up lanes.

“Not a baby,” he mutters. “Not gonna bitch about a stupid stomachache.”

At that, his father raises a brow. He gives a shake of the head and his hand leaves Billy’s shoulder. He makes a low noise in his throat that almost sounds like approval and covers Billy’s forehead with his hand. The heel of his palm is calloused and Billy knows he’s been hitting the bottle when the unmistakable scent of warm beer wafts over his nostrils.

“Well, it’s just us now, tough guy. You need to speak up if something’s really wrong, capeesh?”

He said it again. Us. They’re an us once more. Billy tiredly lifts his hand, bracing his elbow on the mattress to give his father’s forearm a squeeze.

“Yes, sir.”

[a-pretty-nerd]

Rebellion

Tomura Shigaraki x AllMight!Daughter!Reader

Chapter 1

Premise:

When The League of Villians discovers that AllMight has a daughter, they are quick to snatch you up and hold you hostage. Shigaraki had a careful and thought out plan, but that was before you got there. Now you're in the mood for some not-so-healthy rebellion.

Word Count: 2551

Warnings: Themes of depression, emotional abuse, and violence.

A/N: I'm kinda obsessed with Shigaraki.

I think he's just a wonderfully well written character that not even I can get my head around 100%. He's like Kylo Ren...but way better and with actual values, not good values, but values. Anyways, I'm super excited to be writing this because the last series I wrote was also a villiany character thing but it was less work to work out the characters because one was an actualy psychopath were as Shigaraki isn't even a sociopath, he's just a survivor of truama and grooming and his own hate so I'm really excited to play with it! DON'T FORGET! I have a Patreon acc if you wanna support me there, you can make requests and vote for new content and join my discord! Thanks for reading!💕

Support Me On Patreon! 

Prologue Chapter 2 

"So, how do you like teaching?"

You asked as you played with the small bowl of Udon in your hand. All Might looked up from his bowl. The past month had been uneventful and lousy. There were little opportunities to spend time together and when you did, it was awkward and hopeless. It was hard to open up, apart of you just couldn’t bring yourself to get personal with him. You still had a little time left, you were hoping it would just a slow and gradual change, but a change none-the-less. 

“I enjoy it more than I thought I would.” 

“You miss hero work?” 

“It’s more frustrating than anything. Not being able to really do anything anymore. I was used to be the symbol of peace and now I’m just...” 

“Normal?” You asked. The insinuation clearly made him uncomfortable, his shoulders relaxed and let out a sad sigh. 

“As normal as a retired hero can be.” You felt bad for his, really, he looked so sad and defeated. 

“What is it they say back home? Teachers are the real heroes. They define and build the future by teaching future generations. Right? So really, you’re still a hero. Just in a different way, right?” He looked up at you with a small twinkle in his eyes. His lips slowly curled into a reluctant smile. 

“I guess you’re right.” The apartment fell silent again as you ate your meal. Finally, he broke it again. “So, two majors. That must have been a lot of work, what made you get two?” 

“The deal was if I could get scholarships for both, I could study what I wanted. Just as long as I got a law degree too. As a , quote, ‘backup’.” 

“A backup? I though forensic science is a pretty stable thing anyways.” 

“Forensic psychology, and yeah, it is. She told me she wouldn’t support me if I didn’t get the law degree.” 

“Wouldn’t support you? That’s a little harsh, but I thought you got a lot of scholarships to pay for it all.” You sighed at his ignorance. Apart of you had forgotten how little he really knew about you. It stung to even think about. 

“Well, I had a bit of an incident freshmen year and I lost them.” 

“An incident?” 

“Yeah. I had a bit of a breakdown. I’m fine now. I just lost everything and I had to take a lot of makeup courses so I could graduate on time.” You tried to avoid eye contact by looking out the window and onto the city at night. 

“Why didn’t you call me? I could have helped. Money’s no object, you could have-” 

“It’s fine. It’s not like she couldn’t afford it. Besides, it’s all done now and I have more opportunities. I have a job lined up as soon as I get home anyways. Everything’s fine now.” You brushed it off. 

“You can come to me for things, y’ know. I know I wasn’t around much when you were a kid but I’m here now. I was hoping this trip would help us reconnect.” 

“Yeah, me too.” 

“How is your mom doing, by the way?” 

“Oh, she’s fine. She got married again recently. Nice gal.” 

“Oh yeah? What happened to the last wife?” You shrugged. 

“I don’t know, it’s always something with her. Sucks, I really liked Sandra.” 

“Yeah, they seemed really good together. Do you at least keep in contact with Sandra? You guys were close, right?” 

“Yeah, she was there at my graduation. I miss her a lot.” 

“Do you not like the new girl?” 

“I don’t know her enough to know really. I didn’t even know mom was dating someone. She’s not much older than me though.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, y’ know people expect this kind of thing from a Dad but I guess Mom’s always been the type to break stereotypes. I don’t get what you ever saw in her.” All Might chuckled as she scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

“It was a long time ago, we were different people back then.” 

“Yeah, I know.” The conversation fizzled out from there. “Are you done?” You asked him as you finished your bowl. He looked down at the empty thing. 

“Oh, yeah.” 

“I got it.” You took it from his hand and got up to toss the little bowls of takeout away. He stood and cleaned up the rest of the table before dropping dishes in the sink and walking over to the couch. 

“What do you want to watch tonight?” He asked as he sat down and turned on the TV. 

“Um, I was gonna go to the gym for a little if that’s okay.” You said as you shuffled your coat over your shoulders and adjusted it. He looked up at you, a little surprised, or was that disappointment? 

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll see you later.” 

“See you.” You waved as you threw your backpack over your shoulder and headed out the door. You locked the door behind you with the spare key and shoved it into your bag before going on your way. Usually, the gym would be empty at this time of night. You were a little disappointed to find you weren’t alone. Another man was running on a treadmill across the gym. You continued with your routine regardless. Pretty soon you were left alone to go about your business. 

You didn’t love to workout, it wasn’t the physical aspect that you enjoyed so much. You just liked the peace, being left alone to your own devices, and having people respect your privacy. You could plug in with your headphones and zone out for a while in the name of exercise. Sure, the strong body you’d acquired was nice and all, but you didn’t work out for appearances, not anymore. 

Sometimes you pushed yourself a little too hard, it was easy to. It was easy to ignore yourself at this rate. Easy to brush yourself aside, your wants, your needs, your desires, it was too easy to push aside and give in. It was so ingrained in your being to ignore yourself, that you barely even noticed how badly you were hurting. The constriction of your chest, the struggle to breathe properly was normal now. You hardly even noticed how dehydrated you were until your vision began to darken and your body started to crumble. You came out of your train of thought panting and sweating profusely. You reached for your water bottle and began to huff as you drank desperately from it. 

You gave yourself a long moment before the heavy feeling overcame you and you shuffled helplessly to the bathroom before hunching over, and spilling your guts in the toilet. You cursed at yourself, scolding yourself for working yourself sick. You stood in the cold shower for longer than you probably should have, your body shaking under the water as it ran smoothly over your form. You closed your eyes and tried to relax the best you could. 

Then you heard footsteps. What time was it? There usually isn’t anyone there at this hour. You turned off the shower to dry yourself off and to listen to the sound. The footsteps came around the corner to the showers before stopping abruptly. Weird. This is a little too weird. The silence felt wrong, felt suspicious. Then you heard the breathing, louder and louder until you knew it was right outside your shower stall. Your heart pounded rapidly in your chest and you began to panic. Normally, you could manage in a fight, but you had overworked yourself now. Your stomach was empty, your muscle ached, and your head was pounding. You felt sick. 

The silence was broken with the harsh sound of the shower curtain flying open. On the other side, a girl with a big bright, twisted smile lunged at you. She held a knife over her head and swung. You threw yourself to the shower wall, missing the blade as it came down. You pushed yourself out of the small space, clinging to your towel to cover yourself. You ran to the bathroom door, only to find a man standing in your way. The man lurking in the gym before. Your stomach dropped with fear as you gawked up at him. Now you could see him, a scar carved into his forehead. You watched him as you back away from his advancements, he pulled a mask over his head to complete his costume before he spoke. 

“Hold still now-Sorry about this!” He shouted at you before reaching out to grab ahold of you. 

“I got her!” The girl declared as she came from behind and grabbed ahold of you by your arm. She held the knife to your throat and tucked her chin in between your neck and shoulder. 

“Let me go!” You struggled against her, unable to push her off, unable to think of what to do. Unable to lift a finger at this rate. Your body cried out in defiance of your movements, the sick feeling rushed through your body and into your vision. Everything went blurry, and then everything went black. 

When you opened your eyes again, you found yourself clothed. Everything was still black, you realized there was a blindfold over your eyes and bindings on your wrists and ankles. You took deep breathes as you tried to make sense of your surroundings. Pressure, you felt pressure on either side of you. You were sitting. 

“She’s waking up.” The girl’s voice came from your right side. 

“Man, she really took a tumble!” The man’s voice came from your left. 

“I didn’t think it’d be that easy to grab her. You’d think the daughter of the number 1 hero would be a better fight.” The girl. 

“Doesn’t look like she has a quirk either, otherwise she would have used it, right?” Another man’s voice spoke from farther away. A car, you were in a car. It was moving, taking left and right turns. The voice now must be the driver. 

“She looks sick-She looks fine!” The man’s voice to your left spoke. 

“We’re close.” The driver spoke. The car turned another corner and pulled into a secluded garage before parking. 

“Come on, girly. He’ll be so happy to see you!” The girl giggled as she pulled you by the elbow out of the car. You still felt sick, hardly able to walk, especially with the ropes around your ankles. 

“Up ya go!” The man’s voice came from behind before you felt large hands grab ahold of you. They picked you up and held you like a baby as the man’s torso leaned back to properly carry you. He walked with you in his arms through a door and into a building. It was much warmed inside. 

“That the kid?” Another man spoke. 

“You wouldn’t believe how easy it was to nab her!” The girl cheered as she followed. You heard a lot of shuffling before he finally sat you down into a chair. From there, you were restrained further. 

“Not what I expected.” A raspy voice spoke from far away in the room. The blindfold was finally removed and light-flooded your view. It took you a second to make out figures, then the details of those figures, then the details of the room. It appeared to be the living space for an abandoned home. 

“You sure you got the right kid? I thought they’d be younger.” A man from the back of the room spoke. He held his arms tightly across his chest. His patchwork face starring you down in distaste. 

“100%!-Not sure!” 

“It’s All Might’s own flesh and blood alright! We’ve been watching them for weeks!” You shook in your seat as you looked up at the girl who boasted. A man with a face covered by a single hand stood from his seat across the room. He lurked closer and closer until he loomed over you. One red eye stared down at you as you stared back at it. 

“Are you really All Might’s daughter?” The raspy voice asked. You watched him for a moment before responding. 

“What do you want?” You croaked. He paused and stood up straight before looking back at the others. 

“Why is her hair wet?” He asked the girl. 

“We caught her off guard! Got her in the shower. She just passed out too, poor thing. Her body just gave out. Had to dress her myself.” Your face went hot with embarrassment and fear. 

“What’s her quirk?” 

“Doesn’t look like she has one.” The lizard-man spoke as he entered the room from the back door you came through. Red-eye looked back down at you. 

“What do you want?” You repeated. 

“You look pale. You sick or something?” He ignored you and changed the subject. 

“No. What do you want?” You insisted. 

“She looks sick, get her some water or something.” He groaned before walking away and sitting back down on a couch nearby. 

“What do you want with me?” 

“Should we tell her?” Patchwork asked Red-eye. 

“What? That’ll ruin the surprise!” The girl said with a face of glee. 

“I don’t know anything about the Heroes if you’re looking for information.” You spat helplessly. 

“Oh, we don’t need information.” Patchwork lulled. 

“Your accent, it’s American, isn’t it?” The girl smiled at you. 

“She’s American?” 

“That’s right, she flew in ‘bout a month ago to visit Daddy. And judging by her Japanese, she doesn’t visit much.” 

“She doesn’t know who we are, does she?” Patchwork spoke as he approached your chair. You stared up at him before he leaned over. 

“I don’t know names, but I have a pretty good idea who I’m dealing with.” You spoke softly. 

“And who do you think we are?” He purred. 

“The League of Villians.” Suddenly a sharp, raspy laugh rattled the room. Red-eye was hunched over giggling to himself on the couch before he stood and walked back over to you. He shoed patchwork away and knelt down to look up at you. He looked you in the eyes. 

“Bingo.” He smiled under the hand that covered his face. 

“What do you want with me? Clearly you know where All Might lives, why not hit him there? I can’t give you any information about UA either.” 

“I’m no low-life murderer, Y/L/N. I have bigger plans for you.” 

“You’re not trying to recruit me, are you?” He let out another chuckle at you. 

“No. You see, it would be easy to take All Might out now that he’s retired, that’s not the point. The symbol of peace is done for, people know that. What they can’t seem to understand is that its not just All Might that’s done for. It’s all heroes. They’ll see that when not even the world’s best heroes can get you back.” 

“So you’re going to kill me.” You murmured. He reached up and removed the hand from his face. He scared face peeking out from behind his shaggy hair. 

“Why would I kill my most valuable player? We’re not going to hurt you, we’re just going to keep you for as long as we need until the show is over.” He stood up finally and looked down at you once again. His face was almost, handsome.

Taglist:

@craftybean13 @babayaga67 @imjustverable 

[sylvie-writes]

Darling

a/n: So this was originally gonna be part of a series on wattpad, but I can’t log into my account (ahhhh) anyway I had some writing in the drafts (I’ve lost all of them now), but the only one I could get was this b/c I wrote this on Docs. Sorry for rambling about my personal problems, anyhoo enjoy!

Warnings: Ransom being Ransom, Sickness, any grammar mistakes and repetitious wording.

It was around 11:00 AM. Harlan had been working diligently to finish a few chapters. He let you leave to go help Ransom, after all it was part of your job. Harlan worked on writing while making small conversation with Marta. Although you were his assistant and typist, Marta was the one who took care of him while you took care of his things. You bid goodbye to Harlan and Marta before leaving the huge estate.

Pulling into Ransom's driveway you knew he was there, only guessing what hell he'd put you through today. The spoiled brat sat at the island counter, waiting for you.

"You’re late." He stated matter of factly.

You scoffed, he didn't own you. "I was working with Harlan if you couldn't remember." Walking towards the island you grabbed one of the many pans and cracked a few eggs into a bowl. It was your job to be at his beck and call basically. Ransom just sat there watching, being of no help, like usual.

"Omelette?" You looked up into his tired blue eyes. Ransom just shook his head.

The pan was on the stovetop, heating up, as the eggs were being scrambled by you. Harlan had treated you and Marta to an early breakfast this morning at a nearby brunch restaurant. The pancakes were amazing and by far the best ones you had ever eaten.

Once the pan was properly heated, you poured in the eggs along with some herbs, shaking the pan till the eggs set. When the omelette was finally cooked, you set it on a plate, folding it. You had assumed Ransom would want cheese, so you dropped some shredded cheese on top. Turning around, you grabbed a glass from the cabinet, then walked to the fridge to pour Ransom a glass of some fresh orange juice you bought the other day. You and Marta had gone to a local farmer's market to get some things for Harlan when you saw the orange juice and remembered how much Ransom had whined for it. Pushing the plate towards him, you walked around the island and stood behind his chair, placing the glass in front of him.

"It's cold and dry." He opened his mouth, but not to thank you. So many times you had gone out of your way for him and always thought about him, yet he never once thanked you. Treating you like you were the help. No you weren't, you were a person with feelings that obviously weren't respected.

This morning had been a bad one. You woke up a little stuffy and had a huge headache. Not wanting to worry, you just brushed it off as allergies. Harlan had noticed you weren't feeling like yourself, because as you typed, you struggled to focus, impending headache making it impossible. Harlan, being a considerate boss, told you to stop and take it easy, but you were stubborn, insisting you were fine.

You could normally take Ransom's shit but this was the last straw.

"Could you ever just thank me once?" The headache that was growing was not helping the situation. He just looked up at you. At this point you were crying from the pain in your body and his bullshit. Your arms were flying around as you talked.

"You know Ransom, could you ever be nice to me? Just once! Maybe even appreciate all the things I do for you? I'm trying to help you even when I feel like shit!" Now you stormed out, going up stairs to clean his room. Another one of your chores.

Ransom's bedroom was a mess. Clothes strewn everywhere, between his sweaters and the random feminine clothing laid on the floor, his room was a pigsty. In his closet was a laundry hamper that he seemed to miss every time. You grabbed the hamper and rolled it out of the closet. Lifting the lid, you threw all the clothes inside, including the ones that were once laid around the basket. It was infuriating that this 30 year old man's room was messier than a five year old's. While throwing the clothes in, you were so lost in your thoughts and the growing headache, that you didn't even notice Ransom staring at you from the doorway.

For once he wasn't smirking, but instead his face showed... concern and remorse? You stripped the bed of its sheets and he walked over, his brows furrowed, looking down on you. For a split second, you stopped working and looked back up at him, it looked as if there were two of him, things kinda blurry. You hadn't noticed before, but it seemed to be getting hotter in the room. Just shrugging it off, you continued working, Ransom still standing there. The sheets and comforter were on the floor and you were now throwing the pillowcases in the hamper. As you did so, the lid slammed on your hand. "Shit!" Some would call it reflex but he'd call it instinct, Ransom grabbed your hand and gently kissed the back of it. "Darling, you need to sit down. Your cheeks are flushed and you look weak." In his voice there were no ill intentions. Hugh Ransom Drysdale being kind, to you? Yeah, you were definitely sick.

When you didn't sit down, Ransom then pressed his wrist to your forehead. "You are burning up." You were still in shock. He had never been this nice to someone. Just minutes ago he was a complete jerk, just for his own entertainment. You didn't budge, at all. Maybe this was all a sick joke, maybe he was going to be an ass and leave you there for dead, but instead Ransom swooped you up, earning a slight gasp from yourself. He set you down in the chair beside the bed, putting up his finger, signaling you to stay put. He rushed out and into the hallway. Minutes later he came back with new sheets, and you expected that he was going to make you do it, but nope. It was a sight, Ransom Drysdale actually making his bed. He set up the pillows and pulled down the covers. You tried your best to focus on what he was doing, but the raging fever didn't really allow you too. Before you knew it, Ransom was standing in front of you, hands out. You placed your hands in his and he helped you up, putting you in his bed. Fevers are the worst, for one, never in a thousand years would you let Ransom Drysdale put you in his bed, let alone take care of you. In other circumstances you would have gone home, but you were way too sick to drive.

'I must have died and this is heaven.' The statement almost felt true. You were just laying there, in Ransom's bed. Sick, and helpless.

Ransom had gone to the bathroom to grab a thermometer. A few months ago you had bought a mercury thermometer for his house after a visit from a little thing called bronchitis. The dumb ass had gone that night to the country club with his snobby and condescending friends. Later he came home with some giggly blonde. As they made out, the girl quickly pulled away from his lips and coughed madly, but then resumed, reassuring him it was just a slight cough. A total lie, because that slight cough, was more than just a cough. Yeah, it was a frickin' infection, and guess who got it too? Ransom. And guess who had to care for him? You.

Your fever-induced daydreaming was over. Ransom came back with the small stick in hand. You willingly opened your mouth, attempting to keep your heavy eyelids open. Setting a fifteen minute timer on his phone, leaving it beside you on the nightstand.

"(y/n), darling, you are dehydrated. I'll be right back."

This was so weird. Ransom had always called you 'Darling'. At first it was to irritate you, then it gradually changed to an occasional pet name, but now, now he used it with no ill intentions.

Your voice was raspy, words barely able to be understood. "Ran, it's very hot in here." The heat was your body trying to fight off the fever. Barely minutes ago you complained about being cold, but now you were a sweating mess. "Here, try this." Ransom got up out of the chair and went into his closet. In the corner you had stacked the folded clothes of the many one night standees. He's never going to see any of those girls again, so you just left them there as a reminder of his recklessness. Ransom grabbed the pair of blush colored dolphin shorts and the white camisole that had lace on the top and bottom of it. The rest of the clothes weren't made for lounging at all. It looked like it would fit you and he walked out of the closet, sitting back down beside you.

"I hope these work for you." Ransom gently laid down the clothes in your lap. All you wanted to do was sleep, and that was what you had been doing for the time being. Earlier, you could tell Ransom was uncomfortable in his chair, but he didn't want to leave you. It was...

It was sweet. It was endearing. It made Ransom genuinely charming...

Upon waking up from your mini nap, you saw the clothes laid in your lap. With all your might, you pushed your arms, trying to sit up. The fever had made you so weak, it felt like your whole body was aching.

Ransom noticed your struggling and came over to help you sit up.

"Thank you, Ransom, these will fit fine." You tried your best to give him a smile, after all this wasn't the usual Ransom Drysdale. He returned the gesture, now sitting on the edge of the bed.

"You don't care about this sicky thing?"

In all honesty, you weren't sure if the words had properly come out of your mouth. After all, it sounded correct in your mind, but your brain was all flustered from the new found debility, messing up your speech. What you were really trying to say was, "You aren't scared of catching this thing from me?" Ransom just sweetly smiled. He knew you were trying so hard to fight the sickness, but your words still dragged on. Each one lacing over the next. Luckily, he knew what you were trying to say.

"Of course not, you were here for me, now it's my turn to care for you, darling."

There he goes again, 'darling', gets you every time.

"I think we have a problem."

His eyes shot wide, with more concern.

"Too weak." You pointed towards the clothes, your eyes drooping slightly. Ransom got off the side of the bed and wrapped his arms around your waist. He gently pulled you up. Once you were standing, he held you by the waist, your legs feeling like jelly, wobbling slightly. Ransom had one hand on your waist to keep you stable as the other one grabbed the clothes.

"May I?" It was almost sheepishly. Hugh Ransom Drysdale, nervously asked if he could remove a girl's clothing. Normally the smug son of a bitch would just rip it off any other woman, but he had an ounce of respect for you in his body, surprising.

If you were in the right state of mind, you'd never let him, but it was hot and you were tired of your jeans and your wool top. Combined with the heat your body was emitting, it was like someone had turned the thermostat to the setting of hell. It was either the heat or your dignity, and at this point you'd rather not be any more miserable than you are.

"Please." Ransom nodded at your agreement and helped you remove your wool top. He tried to keep your modesty intact, looking at your face as he changed your top instead of staring at your chest. It did tempt him, but he wanted to treat you right. He may not have a good track record with women, but he wanted to change that with you. The same with your pants. He made you sit on the bed as he pulled down your jeans, still trying to be considerate. He too knew very well that if you weren't sick you'd never agree to this.

Finally your shorts and top were on. But your cheeks were still flushed, sweat still on your skin. Ransom had brought up another Gatorade not too long ago, trying to keep you hydrated.

"I'm still hot." You laid on top of the cool sheets now, the ceiling fan running too. Your words weren't meant to be demanding, more of, asking for help.

If this were just anybody, Ransom would be pissed for such a great deal of complaining, but he understood that you were sick and you just wanted relief. Believe it or not, but Ransom hated to see you suffer. Yeah, I know, hard to believe.

You had a hair tie on your wrist and Ransom lightly picked up your hand to grab it. He brushed the sweaty hairs off of your forehead and tenderly moved your heavy limbs. His warm hands rested on your bare shoulders as he turned you ever the slightest.

Ransom then pulled your hair into a ponytail, placing a delicate kiss on the top of your head. He didn't want to overstep and instead went with the sweet and tender kiss, not one full of lust and passion. After all, you were sick, and he didn't want to take advantage of you. Again, surprising.

Well, it was only surprising because the man was such a player. If one were to look up the man on any news website. His name would be right there in bold, probably beside a picture of him and some random girl. Maybe it was possible for Hugh Ransom Drysdale to have a change of heart and attitude.

You weren't sure if you were hallucinating or just feeling things, but you did feel something on your head, and it felt like a kiss. It would be a lie to say you didn't find Ransom attractive. You may have been harboring a small crush, before, even when he was an asshole to you, however, after today when he showed his soft side, your crush grew three times larger. Like the Grinch's heart. Come to think of it, Ransom was basically the grinch. His heart had grown in size, in a matter of hours. Just hours ago he was being a complete pain in the ass to you.

It was getting darker now. From all the naps you had taken, one might've thought it was the next day if it were not for the date on your cell phone. Apparently sleep when you are sick feels like hours when it was only minutes.

Your phone had gone off, a special ringtone you knew all too well. It was Harlan, he needed your help finishing typing up the chapter he had just completed.

"Could you please get that?" You threw your arm, weakly pointing to the phone. Ransom checked and it was Harlan, setting the phone back down.

"Please call him." At this point you couldn't talk anymore, barely able to think of the next word to leave your mouth. Ransom was smart and put the pieces together. He called Harlan and gave him your notice. Harlan in return wishing you a fast recovery. Surprisingly, Harlan wasn’t shocked when Ransom answered the phone. He always wanted you two to be together anyway. You were the girl Ransom needed.

By now, it was 6:00 PM. You had been in bed for over a little more than four hours. Ransom had been in that same chair for the last four hours, occasionally readjusting, clear discomfort on his face. He'd leave every so often to get you a drink or some Ibuprofen to keep your fever down. Your body still hadn't really adjusted and it was still hotter than you would have liked, although the cold drinks and cooler outfit did help.

Sometimes when you'd come over to help Ransom, you'd make him dinner, if not he'd go eat out with his friends at the country club. Just to be a pain in the ass, he would drag you along at times. Tonight was different, Ransom knew you'd weren't that hungry, another effect of the fever, so he cooked you some good old fashioned chicken soup. The same one you had cooked when he was sick. He wasn't sure at the time if it was the illness-induced delirium or not, but that soup seemed to make him feel better.

At the time, you had left the recipe on a small stick note, your beautiful handwriting as you had inscribed the recipe. It was another well kept secret that Ransom Drysdale could cook.

He came back up around 6:30 with a cold glass of your favorite soda and the soup on a wooden serving tray that could sit in the bed. He lightly tapped you, waking you from your 50th nap. Lifting your head off the pillow, you sat up, glancing down at the delicious food in front. It was like he knew. You weren't starving nor were you full, this seemed to be in between and perfect. He sat back down in the chair, after turning the ceiling fan up a notch, knowing the soup would warm you up again. It pained him seeing your frail hand shaking as you fed yourself. The glass was so heavy for your aching hand that Ransom kindly picked it up for you, allowing you to drink from the straw he had included.

After he put away your food once you had finished, he came back up. This time you were awake. As you slept before, he had been on his phone, texting friends and cancelling plans for the night, but now he had nothing to do. You were awake and had noticed his discomfort once again.

"Ransom this is your bed too." With all the strength you had left, you patted his side of the bed and he slowly walked over, as if you were going to change your mind. With nothing to do, Ransom asked if you wanted to watch a movie and you both agreed on a classic movie. Another terrible thing to come out of your sickness, was that your ears were clogged. You could still hear but not as well and when you laughed it made your head rattle. Ransom was glad to see you finally smile amidst your rough day. He would love to see you like that all the time.

The movie was halfway finished and you had fallen asleep. Your body trying to catch up on rest from working to fight the invading illness. At some point you had fallen asleep on his chest, his steady heart beat lulling you to sleep and he slowly ran his fingers through your somewhat damp hair. He too fell asleep. His hand softly laid on your head since he had fallen asleep while stroking your hair.

At the ungodly hour of 2:00 AM you woke up. It was hot once again, you were now sweating. Ransom had been giving you the proper dosage of ibuprofen, making sure to not miss a single time slot. It had helped relieve the fever because now you were sweating and starting to break your fever. Ransom felt you stirring and woke up.

"What is wrong?" He turned on the lamp so he could look at you.

"The fever. It's breaking." The second time you had smiled today and it made Ransom's world.

Ransom removed the sheet not wanting to make you hot and he sat up, as did you. After some cold sweats you felt your body return to a somewhat normal temperature. Ransom leaned across you to get the thermometer he had laid on the nightstand and stuck it in your mouth after shaking up the mercury. He set the timer for fifteen minutes and you leaned back on his chest and he once again kissed your head. This time you knew you weren't delusional.

The quiet timer had gone off and Ransom removed the thermometer from your mouth. He leaned towards the night lamp trying to read the small numbers. 98.4, close enough. He placed it back down and turned off the night lamp.

"It's great, darling, your fever broke." He wrapped his arm around your shoulders as you once again leaned on his broad chest. You smiled, not only because your fever was gone, but because Ransom could be so caring.

"We should get some more rest." You nodded and he slowly ran his large hand up and down your arm. The both of you scooted out of your sitting positions and into sleeping ones. You were on your side when you felt Ransom's arm drape across your waist. He knew you'd push it off if you didn't want it. Hell, you wouldn't even be in his bed still if you didn't feel the same way. He had no clue that he could care about you so much, and honestly neither could you.

"Just give him a chance." You thought to yourself.

The next morning you woke up around 10:00 AM. You weren't sure if Harlan was expecting you, so you rushed to get up, Ransom's arms stopping you.

"He said you didn't have to meet him till the afternoon of the day you were ready to go back." Ransom's face was laid into the pillow as he mumbled the sentence out. He had every right to be tired, after all, he cared for you over a matter of at least six hours straight. Also something he hadn't done before.

"Well I will surprise him and meet him today." You jokingly replied to the man. Ransom didn't argue, he knew very well that you were devoted to your job.

You didn't have any clothes over at his house and your ones from last night were covered in your germs and sweat. Thank goodness for the ones from Ransom's one night stands. You went into the same corner he had grabbed your sleepwear from. Luckily some undergarments and a pair of black leggings along with a peach chiffon top some girl or girls had left behind. When you first met Harlan, you wore office attire, now Harlan didn't care as long as you showed up. He knew you were dedicated to your job and trusted you with his everything.

Ransom's shower was huge. His toiletries lined up on the tile shelf inside the shower. In the closet, fresh, fluffy, cotton towels, two of which you grabbed. One for your hair and one for your body. Under the sink, you found a few travel size bottles of vanilla shampoo and conditioner. Not sure who is once belonged to, you still used it, Ransom wouldn't care. The only body wash was his and it smelt like mint. A smell that was so intoxicating. The relaxing shower felt as if you had washed away all the germs, stepping out a new person. You continued getting ready for your day and walked out of the bathroom to find no Ransom. He still played that little game and left the bed unmade, which you pulled off the sheets and put with the other dirty ones when you noticed they were gone. Instead they sat neatly folded and cleaned on the chair where he was once sitting. Ransom Drysdale had done his own laundry? What else did he have up his sleeves?

As you walked down the steps and through the sitting room, you could smell food being cooked. There was Ransom pulling a breakfast casserole out of the oven. The laundry basket you had in your hands, was set down on the floor as you walked closer to him. He heard you put down the basket and turned around smiling.

"Darling, you didn't have to do that. I was gonna get it." He pointed to the laundry basket. 'Oh so he wasn't playing a game with you?'

"I made a breakfast casserole, I thought I'd try something new. I hope you like it." And boy did you like it.

Ransom Drysdale had cooked an amazing breakfast.

"Who are you and where did you take Ransom Drysdale?" Ransom simply laughed and took away your dishes. He was doing dishes too?!!? At this point he was basically doing all the daily things Harlan had hired you to do. He was actually capable of living! You checked your watch and it was 12:15.

Ransom had set down the dishes momentarily and walked you to the door.

"See you later?" He almost sounded worried like you'd run away. You just smiled up at him, nodding, and hoping this would never end.

"Thank you." It was all real. Ransom Drysdale had a change of attitude in a short span of a couple of days. He even had a heart, one that cared for you. After finishing your sentence, you stood on your tippy toes, kissing his cheek, sweetly and slowly. Turning on your heel to leave and go meet Harlan.

Oh if only you saw the effect you had on Ransom and how flustered he was...

[jadewritings]

Fractured Mind

Pairing: Sam and Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2.8k+

Warning(s): Angst, Fluff, Sadness, Mental Torture

Author’s Note: This may seemed rushed and i wont lie, it is lol. It’s been sitting in my drafts for a while but I don't wanna waste the idea so... it is what it is. This was forced too. Words forced to be written cause i so badly wanna get back into writing.

Summary: Everything was perfect, you got the guys, the kids, the white picket fence life. You were happy, until you weren’t.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look how high I’m going!” Your six year old son shouted at you from the swing. You smiled and sent a thumbs up his way.

“Make sure you be careful not to go too high, daddy.” You shouted at Dean who only laughed evilly.

You sighed and looked over to your left at Sam, who bounced your 2 year old daughter on his lap, making her giggle. It was contagious, making you both laugh.

“You two really make great fathers.” You told him, kissing his cheek lovingly.

“And you make a wonderful mother.” He smiled at you and pressed his lips to yours while one hand rested on your bump.

“Nah, I’m just a surrogate at this point. Mira and junior don’t even look my way anymore.” Sighing, you picked up your water and drank it.

“Y/N, tell me you don’t really believe that?” He asked.

“Sam, we’ve had two kids, working on our third and god knows how many more. They haven’t clung to me like they do you guys.” Mira blew a raspberry, and slapped her hands on Sam’s cheeks, effectively squishing them. “See?”

“Honey, they love you just as much as they do us. You carried them for nine months, you feed them, love them, hold them. They know you’re their mother.”

Mira turned her big y/e/c eyes toward you and squee’d in baby talk, stretching her arms out for you to hold her. You laughed, and being as hormonal as you can be for being five months pregnant, began to tear up.

You couldn’t help kissing all over her face and listening to her squeal and laugh. “You guys have no idea how much I love you.”

Sam turned your face to his and kissed you. Not just a peck, but a deep, full of love, passionate kiss.

“Whoa now, kids around.” Dean joked as he walked over to the table with junior. “Mommy! Did you see how high daddy pushed me!”

You sniffled and laughed, “You bet your butt I did! You were practically soaring through the sky bud!” Junior sat on your lap and drank his soda from McDonald’s.

Dean sat across from y’all, picking Mira from your lap and playing with her. Your heart swelled with love and pride, having two wonderful partners and two wonderful children. It was like nothing bad in the world could touch you, it was just you guys, happy and healthy.

Dean started to say something but when you looked at his mouth, no sound came out.

“What?” Dean repeated what he said but it sounded almost glitched.

“It’s... almost.. time.”

“Time? Time for what?” You looked over at Sam but it was as if Dean hadn’t said anything, he continued to eat his food.

“Guys, what’s going on?” The world started to lose its color, fading to black.

“No, no, no! Sam! Dean!”

It felt as if you were falling and your family was fading out of existence. When you opened your eyes, the room was dark and it reeked of death. Your shoulder ached and your body felt heavy. You looked around. There was no Dean, no Sam, no kids. They were gone.

You tried to struggle but the chains holding you up and the heaviness outweighed your will. You groaned, only just hearing the footsteps getting closer.

“Aw, somebody’s awake. Have a good dream?”

The man you saw when you looked up didn’t look human. His skin was pale, tribal tattoos covered every inch of his body. His eyes started to glow blue.

“Dream?” Your voice cracked from dehydration. You looked around, a needle stuck in your arm as you hung from chains connected to the ceiling. Then the flashes came. The happiness, the love, the pride, the feeling that nothing could go wrong. One big happy family. Tears threatened to overflow.

“It wasn’t real...”

“Oh honey, nothing that perfect could ever be real. Did you really think it was?”

Your face hardened, “You son of a bitch! I’m gonna kill you!” You struggled against the chains to charge forward but it was useless. Along with the dream, your strength was gone. The sight made the djinn laugh.

“Aaahh, I do love when they struggle. But, it’s time for you to sleep again and give me that sweet, sweet blood of yours.” He smiled and his eyes began to glow again, his tattoos seemingly moving down. You felt tired and went to sleep again.

“Mommy! Mommy! Look how high I’m going!”

3 DAYS EARLIER

“Dean, Y/N.” Sam called his brother, “Got a case.”

The case was in Houston Texas, almost a days worth drive. Sam had a theory as to what it was because they had seen their type before. This guy was leaving bodies in the wide open, blue handprints left on their stomachs. An easy giveaway, as Sam called it.

After setting up in the motel, Sam and Dean left you to your own devices while they went and talked to the relatives of one of the deceased. the case seemed like it was gonna be an easy kill and go home but when the brothers returned, they didn’t have any luck. 

Dean sighed and fell to the bed. He smoothed a hand down his face, he seemed quite tired.

“Dean why don't you just get some sleep? You too, Sam. I can do some research for now.” you smiled at both of them.

Sam, who reached into the small fridge on the dresser behind you to grab a water, put his hand to your shoulder. “Thanks, Y/N. That would be appreciated.”

He gulped some water and flopped onto the other bed in the room. Both of the boys were out in minutes. 

After a few hours you found that Djinns tend to live in ruins, usually – the bigger, the better. With that in mind, you looked up places like that and bingo bango, you had your target.

You started to open your mouth to wake up Sam and Dean but with the way Dean was snoring and Sam looking so comfortable under his covers, you couldn't bring yourself to do it. sleep was something they were long over due for. So, you grabbed your gun and knife and headed out, hot wiring a rusty old pickup truck in fear of Dean’s wrath if he saw you took Baby.

The only way to kill one was a silver blade dipped in lambs blood so you had to make a pit stop for that before reaching your destination.

It was pitch black outside, no doubt most people would be asleep. But nope, not you. Had to slice and dice before hitting that pillow oh so nice. You took a deep breath as you stood in front of a half burnt asylum. Best known because a patient who was getting abused here set it aflame. What better ruin to hide in?

“Better now than later, Y/N.” you surmised to yourself. If you could handle this on your own maybe Sam and Dean, the two big doofs would finally look your way. You feel in love with Dean first, the flirty of the two. You met him first on a ghost hunt. He almost stole it but you ended up working together on it. 

The next time you saw him was with his brother, when they needed backup for a case. One you were willing to provide, anything to see Dean again. Then Sam came swooping in making you fall for him too. His intelligence blew you away. The way he cared for those around him and would do anything for anyone who needed it. You’d been stuck to them every since that case.

The Winchester brother got you, hook line and sinker. There was no way around it, your thoughts filled with them. But you couldn’t confess that to them. Why would they even like you like that. At least you thought so.

You quietly stepped into the asylum, checking each room as you went by.

Sam groaned as he turned onto his left side, slowly blinking his eyes awake. He noticed the light of his laptop still on. He sat up, wiping away any sleep left behind.

“Y/N?” he looked over to his right, the bed empty. Then he looked at Dean’s, so was his except his brother. He got up and walked to the bathroom to see if she was in there but the light was off. He started to panic internally. 

Sam raced to the laptop to check what she had looked at. All of Y/N’s research was right there and even where she thought the Djinn was.

“Dean!” Sam grabbed his coat since he had fallen asleep in his shirt and jeans.

His brother jumped, “Huh- wha?”

“Y/N went after the Djinn by herself.” that snapped Dean awake.

“What?!” Sam tossed him his jacket and the keys, Dean slipping his gun in the back of his jeans and both of them rushing out to the impala.

The ride to the asylum was silent with tension in the air. Both brothers were worried of course, Dean angry at himself for not keeping an eye on her. She’d been with them for a while now. She was useful to them, not only that but they both came to care for her.

“She’ll be okay, Dean. She’s tough.” Sam cut through the tension. 

Dean didn’t want to say much, his thoughts going a million miles in his head thinking if she was safe or even alive, so he opted for, “Yeah.” His grip on the steering wheel tightened, something that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his brother.

Sam pulled out his phone, bringing up Y/N’s contact. If she was in trouble, they had to get to her fast.

You’d been walking around for a little bit now, but still no sign of the Djinn. Maybe you’d gotten the place wrong? Maybe there was another ruin the monster preferred. But this one was just too perfect to pass up, it had to be this one.

You walked further down a corridor, the walls had soot all over them, parts of it burned down to the dry wall. You turned when you heard something move in the distance. Your eyes narrowed when you saw nothing there. You faced the way you were walking again only to see the Djinn right in front of you, smirking. 

“Well, well, what do we have here.” You reacted immediately and jabbed the knife towards him, but he was quicker. He’d grabbed your wrist and twisted it so you’d drop your weapon. You groaned but that was the only thing you’d give him. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you in pain.

He sniffed up you neck and into your hair, making you flinch away. “You smell... delectable.” With his last word, you saw a faint glow behind you and his hand come up to cover your eyes. After that, you were out.

*

Dean and Sam had just arrived at the location you had saved on Sam’s computer. They both agreed it was definitely the place the Djinn would be. They got their guns and knives ready, putting the knife in their waistbands and keeping their guns glued to in front of them.

They entered the same way you had but one brother went left and the other went right, splitting up to hopefully find you quicker. The hallways smelled old and a scent of burnt wood still lingered in the air. However long it had been since the fire, the reminders of it were still there. 

Dean couldn’t lie, the place had an eerie feel to it. He checked around every corner, in every room, and so far, no sign of you.

Sam did the same, checking carefully, making sure to stay quiet so he could have an advantage. He entered a larger room than the others he had passed. It almost looked like the nave of a church, benches lined up in rows with space in the middle to walk until you hit a few steps to climb. At the center of the steps, you hung from chains.

“Y/N!” Sam whispered trying to get your attention as he quickly made his way to you. You gave no response. You didn’t move at all and that worried Sam. He tapped your face a few times and held it up, whispering your name again. Nothing.

The doors flew open and Sam looked over from you. Dean’s body flew a few feet before he landed with a grunt.

“Dean!” Sam shouted to his brother. Dean grunted, “Heya, Sammy.” sarcastically. The Djinn walked in behind him.

“Is it Thanksgiving because it seems like I’m gonna have a big meal I’m thankful for.” Sam’s jaw clenched and Dean stood up from the ground.

“Get her out of here Sam, I got this.”

*

“Mommy! Mommy! Did you see how high I was going?” Junior shouted as he raced towards you. You smiled brightly, “Yes I did, Bug. Did you have fun?” he jumped up on your lap, nodding and breathing heavily. Dean walked up behind him and leaned down to give you a kiss. It was something you savored. You looked across the table at Sam who had your daughter in his hands, squealing at him as he attacked her face with kisses. But something in your gut told you this was too good to be true. You were kind of having Deja vu.

Then you heard it. Your name was being called. 

“Sam?” you asked. The Sam across from you looked up and frowned.

“What’s the matter?” he questioned.

Again. You’re name. But this time, you definitely knew it didn’t come from him. Something wasn’t right, you felt it. This world, it wasn’t real. Flashes of memory made you realize, you were a hunter. Hunters didn’t get to live like this. They either died from a monster or by the end of a barrel. They didn’t get the white picket fence happiness.

You set Junior down on the ground, slowly getting up.

“Y/N? Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Dean grabbed your arm, his face twisted with concern.

“This isn’t real. None of this is real.” you whispered.

“Not real? Baby, this is as real as it gets.” Dean answered back.

“No. No no no. I have to get out of here.” The despair and sadness you suddenly felt tore your heart to pieces. You wanted so bad for it to be real. To be with the two men you so dearly loved, to have a family with them. But you knew it wasn’t your reality.

You reached into your purse, grabbing the keys and taking off in the impala. Your heart raced, you didn’t really know where you were going. At this point you just wanted it all to end. So, you pushed harder on the gas pedal and crashed into a metal pole.

You gasped awake, heart struggling to clam. The feeling of the crash still lingering. You currently sat in the back of the impala, the familiar rumble helped to sooth you.

“Hey, sweetheart. How are you feeling?” You looked up and saw Dean smiling at you behind the wheel.

“What happened? Where’s the Djinn?” you asked. Sam turned so he could face you, a gentle smile crossing his features.

“He’s gone. You don’t have to worry about him.” You nodded and the car fell into a silence. Dean glanced back at you through the rearview mirror and you had a feeling you knew the question he was itching to ask.

“We were married.” you spoke, the boys turning their attention to you.

Sam looked at his brother before clearing his throat, “W-What?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, “We had kids and I was pregnant.” You laughed and sniffled, “We had a white picket fence life. Junior, was Dean and I’s son, Mira was Sam and I’s daughter. We loved each other- I... loved both of you. I still do.”

“Y/N-” Sam was speechless.

“No- I, please, Sam. Just... don’t. I know we can never have that. You and Dean probably wouldn’t even go for that, let alone have feelings for me.” The tears spilled onto your cheeks and once again, the car was silent.

After a minute, the impala slowed and pulled off to the side of the road. You sniffed and looked up, Dean turning around in his seat.

“You don’t get to say that. You don’t get to say what I do and don’t feel because I know what I want. When Sam told me you’d gone off on your own, it scared the hell outta me. I didn’t know if we’d reach you in time or if I’d have to see you dead in some ruin. I know how I feel, Y/N, how we feel.” You followed his gaze to his brother. Sam smiled and nodded.

“We love you too, Y/N.”

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[onyourzeus]

all alone | kyh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: all alone pairing: kang younghyun (youngk of day6) & you  genre: heavy angst, fictional universe words: 3.7k

inspired by: 50 proof by eaJ (give it a listen if you please, here)  author’s note: this is my first fic in years, feedback appreciated.

content warning: alcohol use, swearing, description of anxiety and loneliness

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

It’s not a matter of when, but of how you’re going to stop yourself. They keep saying it heals with time, but no one ever tells you how much time you need to feel completely fine again. 

So, instead of waiting for that moment, you take it upon yourself to numb the pain inside. It’s easier to keep it bottled up, then pretend to wash it away with age-old whiskey taken from a nearly empty cabinet. 

Your friend reminded you to buy anything other than 50 proof alcohol, but that’s what’s left on your grocery list nowadays. 

She’d come by to keep you company, but there’s always an excuse. An emergency meeting, a family gathering, a blind date across town. 

It’s okay, you text her repeatedly. At this point, you’d rather she focus on herself than judge you for decisions affecting your life. 

The moment they get angry at you, it is time to push them away. 

You’re not about to be the reason for another falling out; another heartbreak; another memory turned sour and hard to swallow. 

A big gulp of fiery hot liquid comes into contact with your throat, and you exhale with a wince. Ah, just the way you think you like it. 

But no one’s stopping you, so why not keep going? You haven’t reached your limit yet, even though you’re not sure what that would look like. It’s no matter, though, it’s your apartment— your bathroom floor, your money, and your own fate decided. 

Once the tears trail down your cheek, you have a moment of self-awareness. What are you doing? Glancing at your slippers, sweaty oversized shirt, and frizzy strands of hair sticking out of your head— when exactly did you start looking like this and decided, “Yeah, I feel comfortable in my own skin.”?

You dart your tongue out slightly, tasting salt on the corner of your mouth. It’s wet as the tears keep coming. Tonight’s one of those nights, you laugh sarcastically. 

You’re probably going to play russian roulette with your medicine cabinet tomorrow; you’ll either be lucky and find a couple of painkillers lying around or be reminded of the emptiness that surrounds you. Usually it’s the latter, but maybe you’ll be lucky this time?

You scoff loudly at the idea. Another gulp of alcohol, and it stops the tears momentarily. Just so you can indulge in the sound of your heavy breathing, vision blurring the sight of your kitchen. 

Your phone lights up on the couch, buzzing and emitting a soft light that disturbs the dimness of the room. It can’t be your friend, it was a double date night with her co-worker, or some shit you don’t really care for. Although you remember pieces of memories that include you being in the same exact situation a few months prior;  it’s a bit hazy now, probably due to the alcohol. 

But also because you use what coordinated strength you have to approach the ringing sound. You can’t make up the caller ID which should be the first red flag that you shouldn’t answer the phone. 

You never do when you’re like this, but something inside you just doesn’t care anymore. 

You slide your finger across the screen, fumble through the circles you can make out until a static hum goes off louder than usual. Finally on speaker mode, you put the phone back on the couch as your body drops down on the floor. 

Resting the bottle on your side, you cradle your heavy head against the palm of your hand and exhale a long drawn out, “Heyyyyyyy, who’s this?”

God, you sound horrible. 

You hear nothing but static, and wonder if there never was a call at all. “Is anyone there? Hello? Hello?” You’re starting to get annoyed, grabbing hold of the bottle’s neck and taking a short swig. It causes you to cough, your fist pounding helplessly against your chest.

“What are you doing?” He sounds sad, disappointed, and concerned on the other end. You don’t know who it is, but the knots in his voice deem familiar to you, somehow. 

“Who is this? I’m gonna call the cops on you,” you drawl out, not understanding your own logic. “Why are you calling me at—” you try and check for a watch on your wrist to no avail, so you leave the question at that. 

Hiccuping, you blurt out, “I don’t know who you are.”

“It’s Younghyun. Leehi keeps calling me, asking to check up on you. Did you receive her messages?” 

Frankly, you understood at least two words with his reply. Leehi and messages, immediately you seethe with anger once again. Your friend on the double date texted you? With droopy eyes, you check your notifications, and the caller is telling the truth. 

10 text messages left unread, and none of those words she sent mean shit. 

“Tell her to fuck off.”

“I won’t do that. Where are you? At the bar or in your apartment?” He keeps asking all these questions he doesn’t have the right to in the first place. You feel your face scrunch up in frustration, figuring out who’s so concerned at your well-being so randomly on a Thursday night. 

“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you! Please stop bothering me, sir,” your voice cracks in the end, a semblance of fear creeping up onto you. This is why you never answer calls with alcohol controlling your system. 

“It sounds quiet in there, so you’re in your apartment,” he continues, ignoring your nonsensical pleas. “I’m nearby, can you please stay put for another 20 minutes or so? I’m coming to check up on you.” 

“I told you I’m calling the police if you even come near my doorstep!” Your frantic tone causes your body to shiver, welled up tears leaving eyes that start to sting.

 No one has been at your apartment for months; it’s not that they don’t ask. You don’t want them to come in. You don’t want anyone to see how you’ve been when you’re all alone. 

He calls your name on the other end, and again, and again he whispers it like a gentle reminder. A song to soothe your anxious mind, and it works. For a moment, you remember the feeling of comfort and security in the form of arms wrapped around you, and this very same voice to calm you down. 

“It’s Younghyun, okay? Please take deep breaths, you’re okay. You’ll be okay. I’m on my way very soon,” Younghyun instructs. His hushed voice contrasts your shaking whimpers, yet you follow what he says with relative ease. It’s so familiar, fragments of flashbacks filling your mind one after the other. 

“Please unlock the door soon so I can come inside. I don’t have a spare key anymore,” he continues. That’s weird, he always had it to access your apartment whenever he wanted. You were the one to insist on that, too, since he basically lived with you for… a while. 

Reality tries to get in the way of the memories, you block it off for just a little bit more with the last drop of alcohol. It should last you throughout the night. 

In a daze, you do what Younghyun told you: unlock the door, and take deep breaths. You don’t want to be completely sober, so you refrain from drinking water even if your throat has been begging you to. 

A lucky soju bottle hides itself from an empty carton of milk inside the fridge, so you grab it hastily. No shot glasses needed, you go straight for it.

Younghyun didn’t tell you to stop, so why should you? But something in your stomach suggests you do. It’s a wincing pain you’ve had before, but this time it digs deeper than that. A liver concern, dehydration, or perhaps guilt? 

You couldn’t think any longer as you heard a soft knock against the front door. Followed by Younghyun coming in quietly, his steps barely audible. As if he’s never set foot in your apartment before. Or at least, maybe it feels different this time. 

As if you haven’t seen him and remember his presence anymore. 

“Hey,” he greets you quietly, and his voice is so much better in person. “It’s dark in here.” 

You’re not sure how to move forward from here. You’re back on the floor, head laying weirdly on the couch that your neck has started to hurt. Your hands hold tight onto the soju bottle as if it’s about to be taken away from you. It’s the one tangible thing keeping you grounded. Your mind begins to float away again upon seeing Younghyun’s face. 

He has that effect on you, but you didn’t consider it ever happening in months. 

You think you’re sleepy, but really you become hyper aware of his every move. It’s just hard to see with droopy eyes, and the silent steps he takes on the hardwood floor. 

He turns the light on the hallway to the bathroom, and even with its faintness you squint at the source of any kind of brightness in the room. 

“Sorry, I just didn’t want to step on anything,” Younghyun apologizes. He places a plastic bag on the kitchen counter and takes out what looks to be a bottle. 

Definitely not alcohol, you frown.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you,” you tell him first, the croak of your voice so heavily dissimilar to the friendliness of his. Yours sound guarded, unsure of yourself. “I have this,” you add as you sway the soju bottle in the air. The liquid spills on top of your head, and Younghyun is quick to take it away from you. 

“H-hey—” you argue, but the cold bottle of water has now replaced your source of alcohol, and your lips continue to curl downard. Younghyun shortly laughs at your reaction, but you don’t find it funny. 

“That was mine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Give it back.”

“I’ll think about it.” 

“Prick,” you mutter under your breath. “Don’t let it go to waste, then, drink.” 

Younghyun sighs, shaking his head while meeting your figure on the floor. The soju bottle remains on the counter, out of your reach. His slanted eyes point towards the neglected bottle around your grasp. 

You find yourself staring mindlessly, his face showing smooth textures and a hint of base make up doning his features. You’re in awe, just like before, of the beauty in front of you. So close to touch, just the tip of your fingertips to graze against his skin. 

If only you didn’t feel so guilty and looked like shit. 

“Staring at me won’t make you sober up any sooner,” he chastises you, sitting with his legs crossed. He looks dapper, a fine suit without a tie and two buttons opened up. Was he at a photoshoot? A company dinner? A date? 

That last thought shoots a strange numbing sensation on your chest. 

“Why are you here?” 

Younghyun looks taken aback at your bluntness. It doesn’t seem like you’re drinking that water anytime soon as your focus shifts at his presence in your apartment. He lets it go this time, then, entertains your question for the sake of your satisfaction. 

“I told you. Leehi called me. She’s been worried about you recently.”

“Oh, has she?” You sass him just for the sake of it. 

“Yes,” Younghyun doesn’t give in to your bluff, his voice suddenly firm and unnerving. “She cares about you a lot, and I understand if she hasn’t had the time to come see you very often anymore, but she works long hours and—”

“Why are you defending her? Did you just come here to lecture me like a little kid? I know how the world works, Younghyun. I know people can be busy, and that they have their own fucking problems to deal with. I know, okay? Fuck, I know that!” 

The words just leave your mouth like poison, it was ready to spill out of your guts all of a sudden. It just needed an opportunity to. 

You didn’t expect it to come tonight— in front of Younghyun, out of everyone. 

Maybe that would slap him cold and hard with what’s going on. Maybe that’s the final straw with you, not the uninviting welcome to your apartment, not the refusal to drink the water he’s bought you, but the words you have spoken. It’s always been the most hurtful. 

You avoid his gaze, suddenly feeling small and even more guilty of how you’re acting. You know you’re not supposed to lash out like this, you hate angry confrontations that can be avoided. But this is why you drink alone, cry alone, and fall asleep when the sun goes up— alone.

Younghyun was never supposed to be here witnessing this. 

Just like how you predicted, you see him stand up and walk away. It’s what you deserve, right? No one ever wanted to stay. 

But you don’t hear the door slam shut following his departure. You don’t hear his footsteps trudge their way out of the door, out of your life once again.  

Younghyun approaches the corner of the living room where the heater is, and turns it on.

“I don’t know how you do it, but I won’t be able to stand the cold like this,” he says with the same gentle, knowing tone of his. “I hope you don’t mind me turning the heat on a little bit. Are you warm, though?” 

You don’t understand what’s going on. 

Yes, it’s been a chilly autumn season but not that you cared. The alcohol hits you from within, igniting unfound frustration, anger, and desperation in every corner of your soul then almost instantly numbs it all for you. 

With parted, dry lips you manage a meek shake of the head. The sweat on your shirt dried up, and your shorts aren’t doing any better making you feel cozy either. You compensate by hugging yourself, the condensation of the bottled water touching the goosebumps on your skin. 

“You should probably drink that before it gets lukewarm,” Younghyun suggests, walking three steps forward to sit next to your figure. He gives you space, almost like a shield in between your bodies in which either of you are afraid of breaking. 

Finally, you relent to his wish and chug the water in seconds. It cools your throat along with your state of mind. A bit more stable now, with the way you see things, and process your surroundings. Your conscious eyes land on Younghyun’s worried gaze, and you struggle not to fall back into them. 

“I’m… not really mad at Leehi, I hope she knows that,” you quip quietly. The haziness drifts away from your consciousness and floats midair. It clings to the barrier in between you and Younghyun, frosting up unseen glass as Younghyun studies your features carefully. And he waits for more of what you have to say. 

You don’t follow through anymore, so he adds to the conversation. “I’m sure she knows. She’s just concerned about you.”

You reply with a subtle nod, wishing you had more water to drink. 

“I’m worried about you, too.” 

And he says the magic words that start the first broken piece of glass stopping you from seeing him eye to eye. You turn your figure away from his sitting one, knowing that the more you attempt to find the answers in his eyes the harsher the tears will come from your own. 

“You shouldn’t be. I’m fine.” What a massive fucking lie, you think bitterly. It’s not like you to lie out loud, You say what’s on your mind when needed. And if it isn’t, then you know best not to bother others and keep it to yourself. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s not true,” Younghyun disagrees— in the most polite way he can that it hurts. It hurts to hear him pander to your childish behavior right now, to have him tiptoe his way around your insecurities. 

This is what you didn’t want to happen, and yet in the end you meet your own demise this way. 

“How can I help?” He urges on.

He can’t.

“I want you to feel better.”

You won’t. 

“Please tell me how.” 

You don’t even know the answer to that. 

He sighs, but he tries hard not to let it bother you. Younghyun’s always been like that, so perfect and so accommodating. Wasn’t that supposed to be a sweet gesture from a lover? To know your needs, and meet you in the middle. You basically met a match made in heaven with him years ago. 

What went wrong?

“I can’t believe you still have that shirt,” Younghyun points out. He pulls his knees up to his chest, hugging them tight. He’s trying to look so small, innocent. 

It’s funny, you think, and recall the nights he convinces you to be the big spoon for once. His sturdy frame was difficult for your arms to gather in one warm embrace, but whenever you tried he never complained. And it was nice. 

You try to regain focus, and look down at the shirt you’re wearing. The print has faded so much that anyone who didn’t know its history wouldn’t have guessed what words were imprinted on it originally. But you do, and for a moment you thought you had forgotten— or at least, actively erased from your mind.

But this shirt has always made you feel like you have a sense of connection to this world, to a person you once held in your arms. 

“I can’t believe we had Dowoon design that logo before. Nobody really told us how it really looked,” Younghyun chuckles in the night air, temperature going up a few degrees. 

It wasn’t hot, you weren’t bothered, it was just… right. 

And suddenly, you remember what he’s talking about. Because you were there, and you were this close to dropping the truth onto them that yes, it’s hideous, no one will buy your merch, but the grin on their faces and the spark of excitement in the room was too huge to disrupt. You then convinced yourself that yes, their fans won’t mind, they love you for your music. They love you for you.

You were supposed to love Younghyun for who he is. 

“I liked it— eventually,” you admit and Younghyun raises an eyebrow. Defending yourself before he gets a say, you add, “It’s a sort of charm you and the others had. Up and coming in the scene, innocent boys singing their hearts out because you have nothing better to do.” 

“Hey now, I was in college with you. I had midterms literally the day after our first official gig,” Younghyun corrects you lightly, and you do remember that. You’re starting to remember it all, like a kaleidoscope of days, weeks, and years through Younghyun’s starry eyes.

You don’t realize the barrier has begun to shatter until you feel the heat of his hands hovering over yours. 

“What is it? Tell me, please. Tell me what’s on your mind,” you hear him say repeatedly. He has even moved so much closer to you, his hands grasping yours the way you held the bottle of whisky for nights on end. 

He holds you like he cares, like he doesn’t want for you to disappear. For a second time. 

“I let you go. I let you go, and now I’m left with nothing but haunted memories of you. Of us,” you sob into him, the sturdiness of his body keeping you from shaking terribly. 

Younghyun wraps his arms around you, the way he would when you fell asleep waiting for him late at night on the weekends. Younghyun cradles your fragile figure within his tight embrace, the same way he’d tuck you in bed when fatigue overcomes your system. Even when he’s tired himself, even when he’s on a tightrope of his own priorities— he made you his first. 

But you didn’t want that, you knew that wasn’t good for him, his career. The peak of his fame alongside friends he’s known as family for so long would be right around the time you decided to move to a different city and pursue your own passion. 

There was no way it’d work. You’d be too far away from their studio, his and his bandmates’ apartment, the company building, everything. Everything Younghyun built from the ground up with his talent, his opportunistic mind, his own purpose in life. 

The visits happened less often, the calls coming in at hours you couldn’t accommodate for anymore. People flock to him, and it’s the sort of crowd you flinch at, disassociate yourself with, it’s not who you want to be. 

But it was Younghyun’s, and you loved him so much to take that away from him. 

And yet, in the place you’ve buried yourself deep; hours away from where you once lived with Younghyun, months after the dreaded decision you falsely stood your ground for. He’s here, with you. 

Does he still love you now?

“Don’t think too much right now, okay? You worry your pretty face with all your troubled thoughts like that,” Younghyun reassures you softly. If you had the strength to react to his superfluous words, you’d do so just like before. But exhaustion overcomes you— from the drinking, the sobbing, and the weight of your guilt draping over Younghyun’s shoulders as he embraces you even further. 

You don’t deserve such warmth, such tender love, you hurt him. He can’t love you after that. 

“I’m sorry—”

“No,” Younghyun shakes his head, ruffling your hair next to his face. He lets you go for half a second, and before you know it his hands are secured around your waist again. You don’t protest, but your eyes seem mesmerized by the way his demand you to see him. 

“I’m sorry,” he shares your words, “for not coming sooner.” 

The next sunrise doesn’t sting you in the eyes this time. This time, you fall asleep without nightmares accompanying you in bed. And this time, you wake up to what seems like a beloved past of yours. But it’s not, it’s the next day, and Younghyun stayed. 

You let him.