#this woke something up in me that was dormant for a hot minute

[voloswag]

You're an angel, I'm a dog Or you're a dog and I'm your man You believed me like a God I destroy you like I am I'm sorry I'm the one you love No one will ever love me like you again So, when you leave me, I should die I deserve it, don't I?

I can feel it gettin' near Like flashlights comin' down the way One day you'll figure me out I'll meet judgment by the hounds People always gave me love Others were never to blame after all You believed me like a God I betray you like a man

[streetlamp-amber]

can we just stay in bed? (18+)

bruce wayne x femwife!reader

word count: 2.8k | divider by @cafekitsune | requests are open!

CW: smut (MDNI), p in v sex, oral (fem receiving), soft sex NOTES: i usually don’t write soft smut like this so i don’t really know if i’m 100% satisfied with this or not but i still wanted to share, let me know your thoughts :)

The joyful singing of the birds in the forest surrounding Wayne Manor could be heard from miles away as the sun was rising over the treetops, marking the beginning of a new day in Gotham. A lone ray of sunshine made its way through the gap between the two curtains hung over the window of you and Bruce's bedroom, illuminating the darkness with a soft golden glow.

Today was Saturday, meaning you didn't have work waiting for you or school to drive Dick and Jason to. The only plan on the schedule this morning was to sleep in, even for Alfred.

But your husband had other plans.

Bruce woke up on his own, his body was now used to being up early to make sure the boys had completed all of their homework before dropping them off at school. He was laying on his back with your head nestled in the crook of his neck, your hot breath fanning over his skin at a gentle rhythm while your arm and leg were hooked around him, keeping your body flushed against his. A grateful, satisfied smile formed on Bruce’s lips as he hugged you closer to him and pressed a kiss on the top of your head. He loved waking up with you in his arms, it was his favourite part of the day – when all his worries about Gotham were still dormant in the back of his mind, when he could bask in the peacefulness of the morning with your steady breathing reminding him how lucky he was that you were so much of a hothead, you had him pull over on the side of the road to reprimand his reckless driving when he almost rear ended your car. He remembered that day like it was yesterday, because your anger and your indifference to his celebrity status had already caught his heart right then and there, the fact that you were breathtakingly beautiful was only a plus. Six years had passed since then and Bruce had tried his best to remain on your good side in that time, but it happened sometimes that you let out your anger on him – like when he let Dick patrol with him for the first time. He found that he was still as captivated and enamoured with you as he was when the two of you first met, you’re just so hot when you’re angry, he can’t help it.

Overcome with the love he held for you, Bruce started peppering soft, barely-there kisses on your cheek, your nose, your jaw and your neck, moving you to lay on your back as he did so for him to have better access to your skin. His gentle touches pulled you out of your slumber and you stretched out your limbs, your husband never relenting with his affections.

“Good morning, my love,” Bruce whispered in between kisses on your throat.

You giggled, the softness of his lips tickling you. “Good morning,” you replied, wrapping your arms around his neck while his held you tight under your back. You turned your head to glance at the digital clock on your bedside table, noticing the time displayed in red light. “Isn’t it too early to be awake on a Saturday morning?”

“What time is it?” Bruce asked as he comfortably laid on you, his face now resting in the crook of your neck.

“Ten past seven,” you answered, your hands finding their way to your husband’s hair. Your fingers threaded through his soft waves and you felt him hum in satisfaction against you.

“I’m not sleepy anymore,” he weakly argued, eyes closing as your scent comforted him.

“Bruce, I can literally feel your breathing slowing down like it does when you fall asleep,” you chuckled.

“Then we should do something to stay awake and enjoy these minutes of peace we have that are oh so rare,” Bruce suggested with an impish tone.

“Mhm,” you hummed in agreement, “we haven't made blueberry waffles in quite some time.”

Bruce rolled his eyes and stood up above you, trapping you under his body with his elbows resting on both sides of your head. “Can we just stay in bed?” He asked, his crooked grin on his lips as he leaned down, brushing the tip of your nose with his.

“And do what?” You feigned innocence, but your husband knew you too well – he had known you for more than six years after all, he liked to think he knew you more than he knew himself – and the mischievousness in your eyes didn't go past him.

“I have a few ideas in mind,” Bruce said before claiming your lips with his. You breathed a sigh of relief that he absorbed and he placed himself in between your legs.

He stood up after a minute for the both of you to get some air and teasingly tugged at the hem of your shirt (which really was one of his old Princeton shirts from his university days). “I think it's not fair I’m the only one who's bare chest,” he said, raising the shirt just above your bellybutton.

“I think you make a compelling argument, Mr. Wayne,” you playfully agreed then removed said shirt, throwing it on the floor.

Bruce didn’t waste any second, immediately peppering your chest with kisses the moment your skin was freed from your clothes. You relaxed into your pillow, enjoying the attention your husband was giving to every inch of your body. He took his time to savour your taste and you let him. There was no rushing this morning, only the two of you in your bubble of love where time and the outside world didn’t exist.

He nipped his teeth all over your chest, leaving soft bite marks in his trail, and sucked on your nipples, his hand massaging your boob his mouth wasn’t currently attached to.

“Bruce…” You mewled after he spent five minutes on each of your breasts, only now beginning his slow descent down your stomach. Ten minutes of working you up had you now very impatient and wanting for more.

“Patience, my love,” Bruce said against your skin, getting closer to where you needed him most. “We’re taking it slow this morning, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

“Mmm, I know of two certain boys who will be knocking at our door in less than an hour to see if you’re awake so you can watch the morning cartoons with them,” you argued, raising up your hips when he started leaving kisses on the inside of your right thigh.

“That won’t be a problem,” your husband reassured you before claiming your clit in his mouth, making you squeal in surprise. “Good thing I had the walls of our bedroom soundproofed,” he paused his sucking on your bundle of nerves to tease you with a grin on his shiny lips.

You glared at him, unamused, which made him chuckle at your cute face and he quickly kissed your thigh before going back to his previous task. He lapped the slick in between your folds like a man who had spent fourteen days in the desert and was drinking water for the first time. His tongue teased your entrance before diving in, grunting in pleasure when your hips bucked up closer to him, making his nose brush against your clit. Bruce could never get tired of you, of your taste, of the sounds you made because of him. It spurred him on and for the time being, his only purpose in life was to satisfy you.

He couldn’t even begin to explain the control you had over him, the way you guided him through this life like a lighthouse in a storm. He was putty in your hands, has been ever since the two of you met, and he knew very well how lost he would be without you. Yeah, he would be financially secured thanks to his family, but in every other aspect of his life, even as Batman, he wouldn’t be who he was today without you. And Bruce, who had never really been good at vocally expressing his feelings, would let you know how thankful he was to have you in his life the way he knew best: by pleasuring you to completion like no other person ever has before because no one has taken the time to learn every single reaction of your body like he had.

“Bruce…” you whined as your hand tugged at his hair. You needed more, you needed more than just his tongue inside of you so you pulled him up by the head, bringing him to your level, and attached your lips to his, tasting yourself on him, while your legs wound around his waist. You felt his hard cock brushing against your center through the fabric of his boxers and jolted at the slight pressure applied on your clitoris.

The two of you slowly and messily made out, Bruce’s right hand holding your cheek and his left one clutching onto your hip. Your hands had found their way to the waistband of his boxers, trying to pull them down to get what you wanted. Bruce helped you, his left hand leaving your hip to remove the only item of clothing still on, his mouth never detaching from yours as he did so.

Once fully nude, Bruce retracted from you, standing on his knees before dipping his fingers between your folds to gather some of your wetness and rub it over his dick. You watched him with anticipation, the sight before you something you could never get tired of. Your husband was straight out of a dream and, still to this day, you’d pinch yourself sometimes to make sure you were awake, that this was your life.

That somehow, Bruce Wayne fell in love with you.

But he was also so different from how he presented himself to the media, to the public, that sometimes you forgot you married the Bruce Wayne, heir to the powerful Wayne family, prince of Gotham. To you, he was just your silly husband who was incredibly hot and put everybody else before him.

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Bruce brushed the tip of his cock against the lips of your pussy. “I hope I’m not too much of a bore, darling,” he said, a teasing undertone lacing his words.

“No, just admiring the view and how lucky I am that my husband is so damn hot,” you replied playfully though there were no lies to your answer.

“Clearly you haven’t looked at yourself in the mirror lately babe because I’m the lucky one,” Bruce told you, his eyes confidently holding yours to show how truthful he was. He lined himself with your entrance, his stare never leaving your face so that he could drink in your expressions when he sheathed himself to the hilt inside you.

The two of you groaned in pleasure and Bruce took a moment to bask in your warmth, his eyes roaming all over you.

“Especially when you look so goddamn gorgeous with my cock inside you,” he added onto his previous comment, making you roll your eyes at the machoness of his words.

“Shut up and start moving already,” you chuckled.

“As you wish, my darling,” he leaned down to kiss you again and started rolling his hips to a slow, steady pace.

You wrapped your legs around his waist again while your hands found their place at his nape, scratching his scalp and tugging his hair, making him moan in your mouth. Your tongues danced to the same rhythm as Bruce’s thrusts, the both of you drowning in the feeling of the other.

Sex with Bruce was usually more rapid, more frantic, more bruising, more fiery, and you loved it. You loved how he could make you forget about the gala happening right down the hallway and the handprints he’d unconsciously leave on your hips from his grip. But you also loved when sex with Bruce was languid with no hurry. When one made you forget everything, the other basked you in love and made you feel like you were in a dream.

Bruce’s mouth left yours to trail down your cheek, then your jaw, until it found its place in the crook of your neck. He deposited open mouthed kisses all over your skin, licking it and leaving small nips on it. He easily found the pulse point behind your ear and, knowing you could easily hide that spot, started sucking on it and doubled the pleasure building inside you.

It made your breath hitch and your nails dig in his back muscles, leaving small red crescents on his skin. You felt him smile against your skin, his pride always swelled up to the reactions he was able to pull out of you.

“Mph, you feel so good darling,” Bruce groaned in your ear and kissed it. “You always do.”

“And you make me feel so good baby,” you answered, squeezing your walls around him as you said so.

Bruce’s head appeared in your eyeline again, his famous grin on his lips as his eyes roamed over your face, full of love. “I love you,” he told you.

You were about to say ‘I love you’ back but he didn’t let you, claiming your mouth with his instead to drag you in another make out session. He changed the angle of his hips at the same time and the tip of his dick brushed your G-spot, making you mewl. Bruce’s left hand fell down to the back of your right thigh, gripping it tight as he held it a little higher. It allowed him to go about one more inch further, said spot now being hit with every thrust.

“Oh God, yes,” you freed your mouth from his as your head fell back, your eyes squeezing shut due to the pleasure gradually overtaking your senses.

“Look at me, darling,” Bruce asked you and you obeyed, struggling to keep your eyes open as the two of you held eye contact. “Are you close?”

He knew you were, he knew your body like the back of his hand, but he still asked you the question just to be sure.

You couldn’t answer him. Your mouth was in a permanent ‘o’ shape as breathy moans escaped your lips with every thrust and you were unable to focus for more than one second on how to speak. So you nodded your head yes.

Bruce’s hand that held your thigh let it go to instead dip between your legs, easily finding your clit and rubbing it in circles with just the right amount of pressure. He proudly watched as you unravelled beneath him, your orgasm hitting you with full force. As he helped you ride it out, he reached his own climax and fell over you, but still made sure to not put his entire weight on you, as the two of you caught your breath.

Your husband removed himself from inside you and rolled over to lay next to you on his side so he could face you. “I love you,” he said again, kissing your temple covered with a sheen of sweat.

You turned to face him, your hand reaching to hold his cheek as you replied, “I love you”. You kissed him on the lips, this time short and sweet, and Bruce laid on his back so you could snuggle up against him with your head on his chest.

“You know, we should wash up before the boys come knocking on our door,” you said after a few minutes of peace.

“Can we just stay in bed for another minute?” Bruce childishly whined, his fingers brushing up and down your bare bicep.

“You're such a big baby,” you teased him, chuckling.

“Well sorry I’m a little spent from our early morning activity,” he lightheartedly argued.

“Alright, I’ll make you a deal,” you said, rising on your elbows to look over him. “I’m going to the bathroom and I’ll bring back with me a wet cloth for you to wash yourself and then we can cuddle and maybe go back to sleep until Dick and Jason crash through the door to drag you downstairs and watch cartoons. Sounds like a deal?”

“Sounds like a really good deal to me,” Bruce answered, bringing you down to peck your lips before he rested his hands behind his head. “You should come down to the tower next time we’re looking to make a deal with another company.”

“Nah, I’m perfectly fine with leaving all that work to you,” you pecked his lips once again and stood up from the bed, not bothering to cover yourself up. “I’ll be right back,” you said behind your shoulder as you walked towards the bathroom connected to your room.

Bruce didn’t hear you, too preoccupied with staring at your ass to focus on anything else. God, I’m the luckiest man in all of Gotham, he thought to himself before you disappeared through the door frame.

[matchingbatbites]

“What, am I not allowed to look at you?”

For the prompts?

It's one of those rare mornings where they have nothing to do and nowhere to be. Steve woke up over twenty minutes ago, and where normally he would be up and about already, making coffee or throwing something together for breakfast, today he lounges.

Eddie is still asleep, stretched out on his stomach with his face turned towards Steve. He always looks so soft when he sleeps, all of his excitable energy laid dormant, his features smooth and careless.

Steve's been watching him for a while now, has raked his eyes over bare shoulders and traced the curve of Eddie's back, traced his lips and the way his lashes fan over his cheeks.

It's a rare opportunity he has, getting to observe his boyfriend without him bouncing off the walls, and he intends to spend as long as he can doing just that.

"You're starting to creep me out, Harrington."

Eddie's voice is rough from sleep, and Steve huffs a laugh as his boyfriend cracks an eye open.

"What, am I not allowed to look at you?"

"Watching people while they sleep tends to be reserved for stalkers and serial killers, babe."

Steve grins and moves closer, draping his arm across Eddie's shoulders and bumping their noses together gently.

"Oh? What about people who have super hot boyfriends?"

A soft hum.

"I guess we can make an exception, if this guy is as hot as you say he is."

"Oh, he definitely is. Even with morning breath."

Eddie grins before blowing air directly into Steve's face, and the younger rolls his eyes as he closes the distance between them to press a brief kiss to Eddie's mouth.

"Coffee?"

"Fuck yes."

Send me a prompt!

[daydreamed-snippets]

TW: Graves. Claustrophobia. Panic Attacks

The first thing the hero was aware of was the sound of their own breathing. 

Measured, shallow, slowly inhaling, and exhaling in the quiet. They breathed in, noting that they were on their stomach and that their ribs expanded unencumbered. Good. That meant there weren’t any ropes securing their arms to their body. That was a small victory in itself.

Still, sound was of little consequence to the hero if they couldn’t see anything. Their power depended on sight, on the ability to stare down a target, and the dilation of irises to push illusions into the target’s mind. With no light and no line of sight, the hero was effectively powerless. Left with a handful of acrobatic tricks, and the uncanny ability to run like hell when things got too hairy. 

Use what you got. 

They could almost hear their cousin’s voice in their head, berating them with that parental tone they carry. You call yourself a hero, for godssake, you can’t always rely on your powers. Improvise.

So the hero curled their fingers against the floor, fingernails scraping across the wood. Ok, maybe they were in a closet, or a crate, or box of some kind. The air was stale, unmoving, and humid. The darkness was oppressive not even the faintest sliver of light to be seen. Defiantly more of a crate than a closet, or else, they surmised, they would be able to see the seam of the door. And the air would be cleaner.

They guessed the supervillain didn’t think them a threat in total darkness, powerless and dazed. Not when the hero was stupid enough to underestimate them as they did. Sneaking into their compound, the hero assumed the element of surprise was on their side. All they had to do was find the server room, and plug in a drive that carried a virus strong enough to crash the supervillain’s whole system. Wiping out the computer’s memory completely. Just slip in and out without anyone knowing. Even if they were caught, they had reasoned arrogantly, all they needed to do was ensnare the supervillain’s gaze, trapping them in a hellish landscape.

They couldn’t realize it then but it was a stupid and reckless idea. They didn’t account for the level of security they encountered in the compound, nor how quickly and how many henchmen showed up when the alarm was tripped. They certainly hadn’t planned much of an exit strategy. The hero just saw red when it came to the supervillain. And when they became surrounded they knew it was impossible to hold everyone’s gaze. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. 

So the supervillain threw them in a box to rot… or to torture later. 

They tried not to let that crowd their mind as they moved on to other observations, letting out a long, sharp breath through their teeth, frustration evident. But they couldn’t shake the thought that this showed just how green they were to the field of heroics. Only a novice when you looked at the big picture, what an idiotic kid caught up in the…

That trail of thought stopped when they felt their breath blow back on their face like they were mere inches from something. Air caught in their throat. Suddenly they were keenly aware of a consistent rising and falling beneath them that they didn’t notice before. Something solid and soft and nice. They were on someone; their face planted in the crook of a neck. 

The person moved and the pleasantness of warm skin brushed against their nose. 

“Try not to move too much,” the person said, strong fingers tracing up their side in a tantalizing touch. 

A transient moment washed over the hero. Their body going instantly ridged like a deer caught in headlights. Flattening their palms on what they imagined was either side of the person’s head, the hero shot upwards rising several inches before they butted their head against a wooden ceiling. 

“What the hell?!”

“I did say try not to move too much,” the voice came again, the inflection rich, vibrant, and horrifyingly familiar. “Steady your breathing. In my estimation, we don’t have much oxygen left.”

No. 

Gods no. 

They remembered that voice all too well. It often called to them in the catacombs of the city’s slums, laughing when they stumbled over their own budding abilities. Teased when the hero was forced to retreat. Mocked them for shivering under the villain’s frigid powers, like a little whelp left out in the cold, they would say. 

The villain had said a lot of things to them amid battle in a voice as slick and as icy as their capabilities. 

“Wh-what is this? What’s going on?” Arms shaking, the hero forced themselves to perform an awkward plank, elbows bent, rising on their toes so that their body wasn’t touching the villain.

“Isn’t it obvious?” came the courtly reply, and the hero could imagine a sardonic smile play across the villain’s lips. “We’ve been buried alive together.”

Blood drained from their face at those words. No wonder the air felt stagnant and hot. No wonder their breath was shallow, quickly becoming labored. It felt like a weight slammed into their heart and their stomach flopped, threatening to overturn. 

“No. No,” they gasped, unable to catch their breath. “H-how do you know?”

“You’re a heavy sleeper, do you know that?” The villain asked it like it was the most curious thing at the moment. “I woke up shortly after they lowered this makeshift coffin into the ground. I could hear them toss dirt onto it. Luckily this wood is flimsy enough. I managed to put a small hole in the lid with my shoe before you roused.”

Oh.

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

They just bumped their head on the lid of the coffin they were buried in. 

The villain’s words soaked into their soul, stirring up an unknown and until now dormant phobia. They were buried alive with the villain with no way out, and only minutes of oxygen left. Seconds even. They could feel the CO2 building up, stifling their lungs. Walls pressing in on them. This coffin wasn’t meant for two people, it wasn’t big enough, there wasn’t enough room.

It can’t end like this. 

The hero had only taken the Covenant’s oath months ago. They weren’t really supposed to be an official hero yet. Their request to be recognized as one was a desperate attempt to stop the supervillain’s rampant crime spree in a part of the city the Commissioner didn’t give a shit about. Their training had been pushed off, their commencement a letter in the mail. They hadn’t even stepped foot on the top level of the city yet.

They need to get out. 

 “No, no, no, no, no, no. This can’t—” they rasped, choking.

“I did not say that to make you panic, little gorgon,” the villain said, taunting and saccharine and smooth. Why so smooth? They were going to die here too, didn’t they see that? “Pattern your breathing. You will use up more oxygen if you panic.”

How could the villain be so damn calm? Both of them were in over their heads. Literally. This was it. The hero would die here, in the arms of their enemy no less.

They couldn’t get a breath.

“What are you doing?” the villain asked, perceiving the hero’s rising panic as they dropped their head, forehead pressed against the villain’s chest.

“I can’t, I can’t breathe! It’s too—I can’t—”

“Yes you can, settle your nerves. You’re hyperventilating and that will use up all of our oxygen before we have a chance to think. Listen to the sound of my voice. Breathe when I do.”

No, they couldn’t. It was too hot. They were sweating. Burning up. They were in the pit of hell and there was no possible way they could force air into their lungs. They were going to vomit and suffocate, their descent into death was going to be painful. 

Their hands flew to their collar, pulling frantically at the material that hung around their neck. It was constricting. Tightening like a snake. Moving to strangle them. The hero’s elbows dug into the villain’s sides, earning a swift groan.

“You need to listen to me,” the villain said, but they didn’t. They couldn’t. They needed to get some air, they needed to get their shirt off. They were going to die if they didn’t. They clawed at the fabric, ripping it. It was too hot. It was— 

“I’m going to touch you now.”

Deliciously cold hands skimmed over the base of their neck, pushing back their shirt so skin met skin. A gentle grip pulled the hero’s head up, exposing their throat, sending the hero’s hand skittering away tasked again with the job of holding themselves up. The villain blew out a brisk wind, and the temperature cooled in the coffin considerably. The hero no longer wanted to scratch at their uniform. 

“Lay your hand flat against my chest,” the villain commanded. “Put your weight on me.” 

“What? No…”

“Just do it,” their voice held a different kind of ice to it. The mocking tone is gone. “Trust me for once. Our lives depend on it.”

The hero complied. 

“Marvelous,” the villain murmured. “Now, inhale when you feel my chest rise. Exhale when I do.”

Beneath their palm, the hero could feel the quickened beats of the villain’s heart, contrary to their serene words. They were anxious too, but the villain still kept their breath steady. Their heartbeat being the only tell that anything was amiss. For some reason that made the hero feel better, and they relaxed a bit.

“Hearken to my voice. Breathe in through your nose, fill your lungs until you can’t inhale anymore. Hold it as I do,” the villain said, demonstrating. “Then let it out through parted lips.” 

The hero acquiesced. 

When the villain took a deep breath, the hero mimicked it. When the villain exhaled, the hero did the same. They attuned themselves to the villain, resonated with them. Pushing everything out of their mind except for their placement on the body beneath them. The villain might as well have been a beacon of light in the darkness of that coffin. It blinded the hero as if they could see, brows furrowing at the villain’s nearness, eyes tightly shut. Obeying their voice, focusing on them until there was nothing outside of that sole moment. They became too aware. The villain couldn’t move a muscle without the hero being painfully attentive to how broad their shoulders were, how their ribs flared out, and how their waist tapered to narrow hips. They smelled like sweat and dirt, and some strong earthy soap. Intoxicating. 

Slowly, they guided the hero’s head back to their neck. The two resting comfortably as they did before. “You’re doing lovely. That’s right. Nice even breaths,” they praised, hands leaving the hero’s neck to stroke long fingers through their hair, driving shivers down their spine with a gentle touch. “Can you talk now?”

The hero’s heart ricocheted. They fought once again to get it under control. They hesitantly said, “yes.”

“What were you doing in the supervillain’s compound?”

“How did you?” the hero swallowed, breathing quickening. A cool hand was at the nape of their neck again, calming them. “How did you know I was there?”

They felt them smile against their forehead. “I had my suspicions, unconfirmed as they were, but the way your breathing has changed just now is telling me everything I need to know. Maybe we should do this more often. Cuddle, I mean. I may just uncover all of your secrets this way.”

The hero was silent. They didn’t trust any reply they gave not to have a squeak in it.

“It was a joke,” the villain said, ambivalent, conveying anything but. “You’ll have to admit this brings new meaning to ‘lying with the enemy’.”

They licked their lips, voice horse. “It’s sleeping,” the hero said in a whisper earning a questioning hum from the villain. “It’s sleeping with the enemy.”

“Now there’s a thought.”

Hating the blush that crept up to their neck, the hero decided it was wise to go back to the question at hand. “I, uh, broke into the supervillain’s compound. I tried to upload a virus to their computer. It didn’t work. I was caught. I ended up here.” Duh, the last part was a no-brainer. Their mind stumbled on. “How, umm, why did the supervillain put you in here? I thought you worked together.”

“We did, but we disagreed on certain matters,” they said in a careful voice. This was the first time the hero was aware of it. They shift their head, wanting more. Obligingly, the villain continued. “I assume you found out that the supervillain has been experimenting on the people in the slums as I did. That part of the compound was hidden away from me. I had no idea how many bodies the supervillain had piled up back there. My discovery angered them, and I can only assume their best revenge was to bury me in here with you.” The villain shifted, getting comfortable. “Perchance they thought we’d kill each other in here. It would have been an effective torture.”

“Why didn’t you kill me? You said that you were awake before me. Why not strangle me in my sleep?”

“I needed you alive, little gorgon, not even I can escape this tomb alone.” The villain’s hands came back, stroking as they went. “And I wanted you to trust me. I know our past is...complex, but it doesn’t have to be like that. We can start anew if you want to do that.”

“Do I have a choice?”

“I imagine you want to live, no?” The light teasing in their voice was back. “Well then, we must move now.” The petting stopped, and the hero missed it, much to their chagrin. They shouldn’t get used to this. The villain was still the villain after all. Even though they did help them calm down, diverting a catastrophe. 

The hero could feel the villain tense beneath them as they reached up towards the coffin’s lid and pushed. “We are going to punch and kick our way through the top of the coffin. As I said, I couldn’t do much on my own with your body weighing me down, but if you work with me, we may be able to break the lid.”

“How?”

“You’ll turn around in a moment, and push your legs upward when I kick. We’ll both lift the lid once it starts separating from the rest of the coffin. That’s step two. Once the top of the coffin breaks, the soil will start pouring in. We will need to push the dirt down to our feet. More will pour in and we will do the same with it until this coffin is full and you can sit up. Since it’s a newly filled grave, the dirt hasn’t had time to settle and harden. It will be strenuous, hero, but feasible.” 

The villain paused. “I am going to unzip your outfit,” they said after a moment. Chilly gradually brushed down towards their chest fumbling with the location of the hero’s zipper. “Lift up for me.” The hero found that they obeyed almost immediately. They stopped themselves midway.

“Why?”

“This is step one. We will need to cover our faces with our clothing so we don’t suffocate while attempting to rise from this grave,” the villain explained, calmly, like it was a simple thing. Except the hero was wearing a jumpsuit. An onesie. Not Covenant issued, but something similar. Their cousin and some neighbors pulled their money together and had gotten the hero an upgrade when they had received the commencement letter. They were ecstatic at the time. Now they regretted it. Nevertheless, the villain’s fingers made deft work, drawing the uniform from the hero’s shoulders and shimming the one-piece down their legs, allowing the hero to kick out of it. 

“Now do the same to me.” 

Luckily the villain wore a simple jacket, with a side zipper and a light shirt underneath. The hero didn’t have to fumble much in the dark, though they did have to scoot down, back scrapping against the top as their chin rested on the villain’s stomach just to get the jacket off. With how cold the villain's hands were, it was a wonder they weren’t making comments about how hot the hero’s face was. The hero was sure they were entirely red by now.

Pushing that out of their mind the hero grabbed their abandoned uniform and placed it in the hands of the villain who wrapped it around the hero's face. The hero did the same with the jacket to the villain.

“You’re going to turn, and on the count of three we are going to kick,” the villain said loudly, voice muffled. The hero turned and braced their legs against the lid. Counting in their ear, the villain brought their legs up against the lid. Again and again and again until the wood split, and dirt tumbled in. The hero worked to push most of it down. They punched the lid, channeling their anxiety and their anger into their fists, hands breaking on the wood, blood flowing from cracked knuckles. Hands on their back pushed them, and the hero wrestled to sit up, fighting against the weight of the dirt. Fighting to cheat death. The claustrophobia was almost too much to bear, any moment feeling like they would succumb again.

They broke the surface. 

Clawing at the ground they lifted themselves out with the last of their strength, ripping their uniform from their face, collapsing on the ground mere feet from the grave. The villain followed soon after, comparable to a zombie from a crypt. For a long while neither budged, breathing deeply, staring at the morning sky. 

But soon somebody did move. They were always the first to move. This time, crawling over to the hero, wildly panting. The villain was covered in dirt, hair mused and blood dripping from cuts on their legs—but their eyes. Those eyes were iced, intense, dissecting the hero’s alive. 

With a fright, the hero realized that their mask was removed when they yanked off their uniform. They were exposed, identity laid bare, and in nothing but their undergarments no less. They turned their head, hiding their face in shadows cast by the dawn.

Tsking, the villain’s cold hand shot out, seizing their chin, maneuvering their head the way they please so that their face was turned towards dayspring. “None of that. Not when we’ve been so intimately acquainted,” they said, a honeyed inflection. “Now I get to see the face behind the mask.” They smiled, admiring how the hero’s eyes widened in fright. “I didn’t expect you to be so fetching for a vagrant playing the hero. You always did run away whenever our battles went poorly for you. I’ve never gotten a glimpse before.” 

Drawing themselves up to their knees, the villain loomed over them, bringing both hands to cup their face. Something in their eyes gave the hero chills, all instances of compassion and kindness gone. Replaced by a sick kind of affection. 

Improvise!

Defiantly, the hero raised their chin, staring bolding at the villain’s eyes, willing their powers to trap the bastard in a nightmare. To keep them from doing whatever it was that swept through their villainous mind. 

But nothing happened. They were too weak to call upon their power. Shaking, exhausted, both hands laid useless at their side, crippled. The pain of their knuckles screamed at them, needing attention, needing an outlet. The hero mewled feebly, a single tear streaking down their cheek as the villain’s hand wrapping around the hero’s nose and mouth. They clamped down cutting off the hero’s air supply.

“While I would love to say it’s nothing personal,” the villain said quelling the hero’s jolts and jerks as the latter’s eyes drifted closed after a violent struggle, body going lax in their hands. “That wouldn’t be the least bit true, would it?” 

Scooping the hero in a bridal style, mindful of their broken hands, the villain looked towards the skyline, chuckling. “I’ve had my eye on you since you started sniffing around into our little operation, gorgon. Though the method could have been different, it was nice of the supervillain to drop you in my lap so to speak. And I’m not one to waste this golden opportunity to take you to my lab and slice you up bit by bit. I will make sure to take detailed notes. I’ve never experimented on a hero before.”

[honeesucker]

Darling, Dearest | Part 3

Pairing: Shigaraki Tomura x F!Reader (READ ALL WARNINGS)

Word count: 4,307 (Ch. 3 of a multi-chapter fic)

Series Content Warnings: Non-Con / Dub-Con | Drug use | Depictions of violence | Dacryphilia | Unprotected sex | Depictions / mentions of blood | Kidnapping | D/s dynamics | Pet play | Degradation | Multiple partners | Stockholm Syndrome |

Part one ♡ 

Part two ♡

Divider designed by Firefly-Graphics ♡

‘Uhhnfhh!” My voice was hoarse from the constant screams being pulled from my throat so easily. I had since lost the ability to form coherent sentences using real words, my brain muddled from orgasms I long since lost count had resigned itself to baser sounds. My pussy was squelching so lewdly amidst the tireless ministrations of the man between my legs, which were draped over his shoulders. I was surprised my body could still produce any sort of substance after cumming so much but I was continually surprised by how the man brought out one more orgasm, pushing me over the edge again and again with each hungry stroke of the magic muscle currently devouring my sloppy, numb cunt like a starved animal. “Mmfmfhh, p-please! Stop s’too much!”

“Oh, come on now princess,” the deep rasp of a familiar voice sounded from between my legs. I peel my heavy eyelids open, sticky with tears from overstimulation as I glance down, my half-lidded gaze meeting deep carmine eyes shimmering up at me with a mischievous hunger. The soft baby blue waves framed his face unhidden by Father as he tilted his head like a curious puppy, despite his scars and rough patches of skin, he was beautiful.

So beautiful.

“P-please can’t take anymore, please don’t make me cum again,” I was a mewling mess of tears, saliva and heavy sobs wracking my whole body with trembling shakes but it only made Shigaraki glow and smirk, “Tomu p-please, n’more” I slurred as my eyelids fell shut.

“Okay my princess,” Shigaraki whispered, clambering up the length of my body to meet me in a sweet kiss. My eyes still shut but I felt him lean down and nuzzle against my neck gently, applying a soft peppering of kisses along the column of my neck and along my jaw, making me giggle. “I’ll give you some time to rest before the real fun starts,” I sighed contentedly while allowing the feeling of exhaustion to take over my body for a short rest, the elation of finally receiving a reprieve from Shigaraki’s insatiable needs halted by the feeling of my pussy being stretched wider than ever before, my body began to shake in the motions of being fucked at a brutal pace but when my eyes shot open Shigaraki was gone, and the soft pink dream world we shared was starting to bleed into deep hues of blackened blue. It felt like I had been holding my breath underwater for longer than I could, and wasn’t near the surface yet until finally I broke through with a sobbing gasp.

My eyes met almost total darkness aside from the dim glow of a gaming menu left to repeat on the screen of the wall mounted TV. The frantic thumping of my heart took over as mind tried to gather its bearings from being ripped out of a peaceful dream into reality in such a harsh way. I heard huffing and felt wet droplets fall onto my face. Blinking away the sleep in my eyes I watched in horror as Shigaraki, the real Shigaraki, was leaning over me while droplets of saliva from his tongue lolled out of the side of his mouth fell onto my face again. His cock was spearing in and out of me without abandon or care for my comfort, feeling like I was being torn apart. I tried to scream but found that there was a wadded-up piece of fabric shoved in my mouth, and secured with a silken gag tied around my head which only allowed a muffled cry to break through the sounds of Shigaraki’s labored breathing. His eyes finally snapped down to my awakening form with a wide smile.

“You did say you’d do anything, right Y/N?” Shigaraki mimicked the way I pleaded with him earlier, the embarrassment of being made fun of heating up my cheeks to a fiery pink. “Why don’t you keep being such a good, compliant cock-sleeve for me hm?” I tried to thrash my body but found that my wrists and ankles were bound to the bed and unable to move beyond an inch. The relentless slap of heavy balls against my ass added a strange sensation that sparked a fire straight into my core while the thrusts of the villain above me began to quicken and stutter before a few final pushes that had the head of his cock slamming up against my cervix over and over, sending full-body jolts throughout my nervous system that had the coil of an impending orgasm ready to snap.

“Come on little cock-sleeve, why don’t you cum for me? I feel you squeezing my cock, ready to milk me for all I have,” Shigaraki was laughing like a maniac above me as he finally let out a loud groan while he pinned his hips against mine, anchoring his cock as deep inside of me as it would go as it shot ropes of hot white cum against my womb, and the coil snapped as he was filling me up. My walls were clamping down around his cock, spasming and sucking him in deeper as my body thrashed against the bindings, my blood felt electric as I cried and drooled against my gag. Shigaraki fell fully on top of me, skin slick with sweat causing us to stick together like half-dried glue. He kept his cock seated fully in my cunt as he caught his breath, and once he did, he slowly pulled his length out of me simultaneously pulling a whimper from my throat with it as the ridges and veins caught every sensitive part inside of my abused hole on the way out.  

“You’re turning out to be more useful than I initially thought,” Shigaraki mused, more to himself out loud than to me. I was left shaking, sweaty and full of warm, sticky cum that was leaking out of my pussy and onto the mattress. Fat rolls of tears were still spilling from my eyes and down the sides of my face as I lay back on the pillow, my limbs ached and I wanted to badly to curl in on myself but my wrists and ankles were still tied to the bed without much give. “I have to go and meet someone about some prospective members for the League, you be a good toy and stay put,” and with that he was gone.

I wasn’t certain how long it had been since Shigaraki left. Ten minutes or two hours felt the same when my mind remained a hazy mess of pain and disgust at myself that I came on the cock that fucked me awake. I was in such a tormented state of mind that I didn’t realize that my quirk had activated and was working itself on my body, I didn’t take notice when the blue tendrils of energy healed the raw skin around my wrists and ankles where the ties dug in... didn’t realize I was pulling my knees to my chest and tucking arms against my stomach in as tight of a ball as I could get after the energy worked itself away at the material keeping me hostage.  

I fell asleep sobbing.

I woke up in a muddled haze of pain and confusion. My body ached like I’d been in the same position for days, and I stretched out and welcomed the sting that came with using the dormant muscles. I sat up and realized I was back in the room that had become ‘mine’ the one I initially woke up in when this whole mess started. I stretched and twisted my body until the ache dulled to a comfortable degree, and walked into the bathroom to shower; well-deserved as my skin felt filthy, sticky and wet with sweat. I turned the shower on and let the steam fill up the entire bathroom before stripping and stepping under the burning spray. I showered until the hot water turned tepid after over an hour of scrubbing, sudsing, conditioning and exfoliating every inch of my body – something in my head telling me to scrub. Scrub until it was gone.

Until what was gone?

I stepped out of the glass door and into the steamy room, enjoying the way the air quick-cooled my skin and left me feeling more refreshed than I had in a while since my arrival here. I was watching myself in the mirror as I brushed my teeth.

“You said you’d do anything, right Y/N?” Shigaraki’s voice came through the haze of my mind like a wasp sting to the psyche. I spit out my toothbrush and gagged on the memory, slipping to the floor as the night of horror came back to the forefront of my mind, something my restful state tried to protect me from but wasn’t strong enough to overtake.  

I swallowed the thick memory back down while resigning myself to the reality of what happened.

I did say I’d do anything, didn’t I?

Fucking coward.

After a glacial-paced week of sitting and watching Kurogiri take care of the bar with Shigaraki always watching some lesser-known Pro Hero on the TV complete an interview for the most recent villain attack that they thwarted, muttering to himself about the hypocrisy of it all. “Government mandated violence all in the name of the Greater Good... y’ugh,” he’d murmur angrily as his nail dug harshly into the column of his throat where new wounds and old scars comingled. With a sigh I’d stand up and walk over to where Shigaraki was sat, ruby eyes glued to the TV in silent rage as I slowly cupped his large, slender hands in my own as I pulled them down, replacing the scratch of his nails with the soft palms of my hands allowing the liquid glow of my quirk to cool and heal the raw wounds. He was resistant to me touching him in this way at first but it soon became a softened reluctance over an outright disgust.

Sometimes I almost felt him sigh and soften into my touch; and if I caught him on a particularly good day he would let me rub a moisturizing ointment on his neck, around his lips and eyes, and the scarred ridges of his forehead he seemed especially tender about. I’d always thank him for letting me into his personal space without killing me. The sarcastic quip always got me a slight tug at the corner of his lips, not a full smile but close enough in my book.

Being a reluctant (see compelled) member of the Leage of Villains as the go-to feel good girl wasn’t as awful as the first few weeks that compiled a list of horrors I was never exposed to in my day-to-day civilian life. I had a coming-to-self moment with all that had happened and recognized the pedestal I set my standards on didn’t apply here, not when I was doing whatever it took to survive each day as it came... be it an uppity thug with a colt .45 placed between my eyes (he was dusted before he thought about pulling the trigger) or Shigaraki and his hellishly huge cock - I’d take it on. I had to, had to mold myself to this uncertain lifestyle.  

The pain was starting to morph into something I derived a sick amount of pleasure from, body numb from overstimulation and pussy filled and leaking on an almost nightly basis whether back at the bar in Shigaraki’s room, or out somewhere in a filthy backway alley because his temper got out of control and he needed something grounding to reestablish his dominance over – and of course I wouldn’t let Shigaraki come an inch on to knowing I was getting more enjoyment than what reactions he forced from me with his brutal ministrations.  

I was walking shortly behind Shigaraki along the dimly lit street coming back from one of the many meetings with Giran that Shigaraki has been attending, hearing promises of new blood to come for the League of Villains – Giran was set to bring a few new bodies to the bar next week after a failed rendezvous earlier the previous week with Stain, the Hero Killer, hadn’t panned out the way Shigaraki had hoped it would; though he was completely unfazed by the failing of Stain’s recruitment and just moved on to bigger plans that included destroying him instead along the way. It was a miraculous turnaround after the failed recruitment of Stain and a meeting Shigaraki had mentioned with a student that was ‘surprisingly insightful’ - I wasn’t sure what it meant then but Shigaraki had slowly began to morph into a true leader of the League as opposed to the childish brat with an anger problem and disposable resources. He was still angry, still had all he could want short of the collapse of Hero Society at his fingertips... but his demeanor and reactions to certain things shifted and I admired the change in him.

I was pulled from my mindless day dreaming by someone quite literally pulling on me and shoving me hard against a wall behind a convenience store Shigaraki and I had been walking past, though his long legs had meant he was further ahead of me when I was grabbed. A meaty hand that smelt like cigarettes and filth was clamped over my mouth and I looked up to see the stocky form of some no-life thug in a grey wifebeater and jeans looking at me with blown pupils and a sick grin of uneven black and yellowed teeth. There was an indistinguishable press of a dulled knife in my stomach, not quite puncturing into me yet but I felt the tiniest amount of blood trickling down to my navel from the initial push. I glowered at the hunk of fat and ill-intent pinning me to the wall, struggling against the grip that while shaky, was still strong enough to overpower me. I had just gotten one of my legs loose from where his own were pinning them just enough to give a good kick straight up into his family jewels but just as my boot was meant to contact balls his body crumbled and disintegrated to comingle with the other debris and filth of the alleyway where he truly belonged.  

“Fuc-” I was cut off by Shigaraki’s annoyed expression, shaking his hand slightly as it dusting it off.

“You’re an incessant magnet for scum,” he growled, yanking me from my shocked position still on the wall and out back onto the sidewalk toward the bar. He had an iron-tight four fingered grip on my wrist that I knew was going to leave an angry looking mark once he let me go. With his pace set to a brutal haste, we were back inside the bar in no time. Walking quickly past Kurogiri who gave us a questioning look but didn’t push Shigaraki any further, knowing the man was furious and on a mission. We rounded a corner and down a hall to where I knew Shigaraki’s room was, and he opened the door and threw me inside, shutting it behind him and leaning against it with his slender arms crossed tightly across his chest, his gleaming red eyes glaring daggers down at me where I fell on his mattress, his right hand came up to his neck and scratched at it relentlessly, picking at the tender skin and causing pearls of blood to show.  

“May I ask what the hell this is?” I motioned to my bruised wrist and outwardly to the room around us in general. Shigaraki was taking in sharp, deep breaths like he was trying to calm himself down.

“Shut up,” is all he growled out.

“W-” I started and then decided to clamp my mouth shut, thinking better against speaking up like my need for the last word is fighting me to do. I just give a small nod and fold my hands in my lap, waiting; and I wasn’t kept waiting long before slender, pale fingers reached out in front of me and quickly decayed my sweatshirt and the joggers of Shigaraki’s I was still wearing. Knowing where this was going to head, I quickly kicked off the boots I was still wearing and waited, almost afraid to breathe as Shigaraki’s fingertips ghosted over the contours of my body, stopping to press a red mark into an especially soft spot with a pleased hum. He finally decided upon utilizing both his hands pointer finger and thumb to tug and roll my nipples harshly between his fingers with an unforgiving pressure, taking extra pleasure in the pathetic, pained mewls that left my throat when he tugged forward harshly.

“You belong to me,” he said evenly, his deadpan tone and calm demeanor scaring me more than I am during any of his previous outbursts. One hand let go of the abused nipple it was holding onto to rain down a slap that left the room echoing with a deafening silence. I bit into my bottom lip until it bled, holding back the cry as a few tears escapes my eyes. Shigaraki leaned forward and licked up along the curve of my cheek, taking my throat into his hand, leaving his middle finger up in the air as he pressed into my throat with force. “Say it,” he growled.

“Y-yours,” I choked out as best I could from the pressure on my throat, “I belong to you - I’m yours.”

“That’s right, you’re mine. Mine to do with as I please, mine to keep,” Shigaraki leant down and took a long breath in, leaning in further to place a kiss on the top of my head. “Then why do you keep letting the slums of the Earth put their hands on what’s mine? Once or twice might be a coincidence, but it’s happened what, princess, three or four times now? That’s a pattern...” Shigaraki’s tone was dangerous and my heart leapt up into my throat jack hammering like a rabbit caught beneath a wolf’s paw. “A pattern that needs to be broken,” he finishes and the tears are flowing in a silent river down my cheeks, landing on my bare chest and mixing with the remaining ash of my clothes in grey streaks.  

“S-Shigaraki, I don’t... I-I can’t control what others do to me,” I whisper nearly inaudible, “I don’t ask to be touched or threatened, or – or fucking whatever!” I didn’t realize I was shaking until Shigaraki placed his hands on my shoulders careful not to lay all fingers down as always, and pressed down on them until I was laying back on the bed underneath his weight. My body was still trembling beneath the hard crimson stare of the villain above me as he slowly leant down to draw a deep breath against the skin of my shoulder, sending a shiver up the length of my spine. “P-please I don’t mean to draw their attention, I don’t want it,” I was whining weakly as he kept up his slowly ghosting over my body, drawing deep inhales of my skin and hair, tracing a long wet line with his tongue up the column of my neck and the curve of my face... the way you’d imagine a dragon would play with a sheep before it devoured the poor creature. I stopped my pleading quickly when I realized it wasn’t changing his demeanor, or my inevitable fate, of what that was I wasn’t certain, but I had one last pleading question. “W-why am I being punished for someone else’s transgressions?” I wasn’t proud of the way my voice cracked and bubbled with fear, and lost the fight to the threat of tears almost spilling over my eyes.

“You’re not,” Shigaraki breathed, ghosting his against my neck before placing sweet kisses against the skin.  

“Then why-?” I was cut off by the press of his scarred lips to mine, and while it was always an odd feeling blooming in the pit of my stomach at the uncharacteristically intimate act, I allowed him to do as he pleased; and despite the side effects of his quirk affecting his skin, his lips were still warm and welcoming. Shigaraki pressed his body further against mine, lodging a knee between my thighs as he pressed the joint hard up against my pussy causing my cheeks to burn hot and pink with the embarrassment of how turned on I was by the simple action, my arousal evident in the hot pulsations of need aching where his knee pressed and rubbed just enough to frustrate me.

“Is being with me really such a punishment?” He asked, his tone even despite the personal sting the question would bring anyone asking that of themselves. He doesn’t wait for an answer though before his mouth is back on mine, slender fingers kneading harshly into the soft fat of my stomach and hips with a bruising force, dipping down to my thighs as he hiked them to curl up around his own hips. Shigaraki was rutting his clothed cock against my core, already shamefully hot and wet, soaking into the fabric of his pants as he grinded against the slick lips. He broke the kiss and pressed his forehead against mine, as my lips parted with puffing breaths from the growing arousal of his grinding, wanting more friction, more anything... more of him. “Don’t you see that someone so weak like you, someone so naive and alluring to such pathetic scum needs to be kept and looked after by someone who is able to protect them?” Shigaraki was punctuating his sentences with deep grinds against my bare pussy, the rough seams of his pants bringing me a mixture of pleasure from having just enough friction, and pain from how harsh the fabric was against the sensitive bud. I just nodded, dumb from the aching between my legs. I was always a magnet for trouble, big or small, and I noticed it more and more since having first been taken that night in the alley; it’s been one shitty situation after another with someone trying to take something from me. Shigaraki seemed to sense the change in my thoughts as he decayed his own clothing in a fit of frustrated rage at what was separating our bodies. His pale cock slapped up heavy against his stomach as the fabric fell from his body. The head was red, angry with need and leaking a bead of pearly precum. As if my body decided to move on its own, I was on my hands and knees on Shigaraki’s bed and leaning forward to grab at the delicious looking cock, lavishing the head with kitten licks swirling around the tip in a mess of saliva and precum. His long fingers were tangling in my hair, gentling scratching my scalp with the main four fingers, eliciting a hum from me as I leant into his palm like a cat. His fingers found purchase tangled in my hair on the back of my head as he gripped hard and gave a hard yank that had tears brimming my eyes as Shigaraki looked down at me with a charming smile stretching his lips and his ruby eyes narrowed down at me. “Answer me, princess,” Shigaraki purred and I only nodded along quickly.

“Y-yes I need protecting,” I whimpered out when his grip tightened, pulling at the roots of my hair painfully.  

“You need me,” he stated simply and I nodded fervently.

“Yes, I n-need you,” I let out a breath when Shigaraki released his Titan grip on my hair, plopping onto the bed and rubbing at the back of my head with a series of pitiful whines.  

“What do you need me for, princess?” Shigaraki asked with a wicked grin on his face.

“Mmfmmph n-need you to protect me,” I managed out between the small thrusts Shigaraki made of barely his cockhead in and out of my mouth, teasing me. “Need your coc-” a hard shove had his full length sheathed down my throat as I drooled and gagged around the fleshy member. Sputtering and trying to breathe through my nose until Shigaraki used his forefinger and thumb to pinch my nostrils affectively cutting off all my air which had me struggling against him.  

“That’s right,” Shigaraki stated above me, as cool and collected as ever as I thrashed and struggled for air beneath him, “you need me, my cock. I am the Master of your future, I can give you so much and take everything away,” he said giving one final thrust into my mouth after I calmed down from lack of oxygen and resignation to my fate, and pulled out letting me sputter and pull hungry breaths of air in as he looked on with a sick satisfaction etched across his soft, scarred features. I fell down on my stomach flat like a frog and just let the tears flow freely as my body shook with hiccups and fits of coughs as the ability to breathe came back to me fully.  

Shigaraki leant down until he was face to face with me, his hand reaching out to cut my tear-soaked cheek as he spoke, “You’re going to make such an exceptional player two when I’m done with you.”

I resigned myself to the comfort that came as he crawled into his bed with me, wrapping his frame around mine as I still shook a bit from the sobs that wracked my chest. I fell asleep coming down from the high of fear, sinking into the comfort of no longer being used for the time being having been pushed past a limit tonight.

I felt strong, slender arms grasp my waist tighter in my sleep as I drifted off into a black, dreamless sleep.

[misschinablue]

Awesome things I've learned in three days of having Bell's palsy:

On Monday my face felt twitchy and tingly all day. I put it down to work stress and brushed it off. Then on Tuesday I woke up to one side of my face not working properly. Kind of like when you have anaesthetic at the dentist except in that whole side of my face. A few hours of genuinely thinking I'd had a stroke/suddenly developed brain cancer overnight were kind of a trip but that doesn't matter now - I'm fine, thank god - and one hospital trip later I had a diagnosis of Bell's palsy (click here to learn about what this is but the tl;dr is that it's facial paralysis, usually on one side of your face, and temporary in the vast majority of cases), a 10 day course of steroids and an understanding that what brought me here was probably our good friend Stress, which has been linked to it. Some other suspected causes are dormant viruses (HSV-1 is considered a big culprit), flu, diabetes and Lyme disease, but the reality is no one seems to know exactly how it happens and everyone is totally different. In my case I'm almost 100% confident it was stress as I have no history of cold sores or any of the other conditions.

So right now one side of my face is partially paralysed. Thank god it's really not that bad - you can't even really tell when my face is neutral and there's no overt drooping really but I can't smile or laugh with one side of my face, eating and drinking without channelling my inner toddler is somewhat challenging and my affected eye does some awesome freaky shit when I try to blink. Some people experience slurred speech but luckily I can mostly talk okay, just gets harder at length and certain letters are hard to pronounce. I can't close my eye all the way on the affected side unless I squeeze it really hard (and I couldn't even do that yesterday so woo!) and I have to wear an eye patch intermittently in the day and all night (managed to find a leopard print one on amazon so I can stay sexy) and put drops in my eyes like every five minutes otherwise risk corneal damage at best and vision loss at worst. Did I mention how fun this is?

ANYWAY. I rarely post personal shit on this blog but I felt compelled to write something to process just over 48 hours of serious mental gymnastics, despair, anxiety, humour, hope, and actually more positive thoughts than I usually think. But first, in case anyone who happens to be reading this ever ends up with this little slice of hell of a condition, here is some helpful shit I have learned:

1. You need to catch Bell's palsy early. There's a crucial 72 hour window from when it starts where if you don't get it seen to and get medication (usually steroids but some doctors will also prescribe antivirals alongside it depending on your country) you potentially lessen your chances of a full recovery. Many people do recover anyway without any treatment, especially if it's mild, but early treatment heightens your chances enormously.

2. Vitamin B12 helps with nerve regeneration. Bell's palsy is a nerve problem - it happens when one of your cranial nerves is like "lol fuck this I'm tired" and stops working as it should. Take vitamin B12.

3. Actually, just take a shit ton of vitamins. Boost your immune system to help you fight this shit. No one needs Bell's palsy. Fuck it off.

4. REST. I know for me having to do this especially when I otherwise feel well is super frustrating but if you have this, you are sick, and you need to rest as much as if you had the flu or whatever.

5. Get emotional support, and get it from the right places. I've never felt so grateful for my good friends and family than I have over the last 48 hours.

6. Find a way to laugh about it. Seriously. It might be the last thing you feel like doing because it's fucking freaky when your face turns on you, but it really does help. Smile looks evil? Lol you're a mafia boss. Dribble all over yourself when you try to drink something? Laugh it off. Oh, and avoid hot drinks. Seriously. I learned this the hard and burny way.

7. A lot of places will advise you to drink with a straw. DON'T. Your nerve needs to rest. Drinking with a straw stretches your face too much and you will piss it off. The nerve already hates you. Don't poke the bear.

8. On that note, don't force your face to do shit it doesn't want to do. Same reason.

9. On that note again, don't try the facial exercises you might see online until there are obvious signs of recovery. Same reason. Keep that nerve happy. Leave the mean angry bear alone.

10. Lastly - DON'T PANIC. 85% of people recover in a couple of weeks to a month or so, the other 10% or so in a few months to a year and the final 5%, well, there's still hope - there are all sorts of alternative treatments that have been proven effective. Plus panicking will only stress you out and make things worse both physically and emotionally.

So this is the practical side if you ever find yourself with this - and if you're reading this I pray for you that you never have to experience it, or if you've found this post because you are experiencing it I hope what I have to say is at least somewhat helpful.

So, more general advice. At the risk of whining (although I only mention this to make my point), 2021 has been one of the worst years of my life. I won't get into it too much but I've had some seriously low moments this year starting with the death of a family member and spiralling from there. I had times where I really felt like giving up, and no matter how depressed my neurotic ass can get, that's not like me. And as I reflect on how stressed out I've been - and what I'm sure has led me here - well, no fucking wonder. Getting this has been a HUGE wake up call about taking better care of myself. Here is a list of little wisdoms I have been mulling over the last couple of days - I hope anyone reading this can take something away from it. Trust me, something like this changes your perspective on certain areas of your life quickly and A Lot.

1. Stop fucking worrying about how you look. I have dreadful self esteem and often avoid cameras because of it - there are many events with friends, family etc that there are no trace of me even being at because I hide whenever someone mentions taking a picture. When this is over - never again. I have a whole new appreciation for my face. You really don't know what you've got until you risk losing it.

2. Stop persisting with people who make you feel like shit. Seriously. I'm avoiding people who even stress me out a little bit while this goes on. It's not worth it.

3. Stop squashing your feelings. Stop apologising for your feelings and trying to hide them. You're human. Show it. The right people will respect you for it.

4. Your job is just a job. Don't make anything that's not your problem, your problem. Do your work, do your best, don't absorb it, go home and forget about it until you have to go back. Work to live. It's not worth it.

5. You don't have to have something going on every night of the week. Take some time to yourself and use it to rest. Just because you have time doesn't mean you have to use it. Don't give into the "unproductivity" jitters. You don't have to be making and contributing and socialising all. The. Time. It's not worth it.

6. Comparison is the thief of joy. It's not worth it.

7. Go to therapy if you need it and use it wisely. Don't touch stuff that you're not ready for. It's not worth it.

8. Will it matter in a week, 5 months, 5 years time? No? Then it's not worth it now.

9. You can't change the past and you can't control the future. It's cliche but it's true. Stop ruminating, and if you can't stop seek help. It's not worth it.

10. Avoid things that make you angry in an unproductive way. It's so, so, so not worth it.

If you're still with me hi and thank you for reading. I know this was a super long post but I felt compelled to share this experience for anyone who happens to see it and my thoughts/learning so far - my perspective has never shifted so dramatically and so positively in such a short space of time. There are really fucking hard moments with this but with early treatment, the right mindset and very small but definite signs of improvement already I'm confident I can beat this. I sincerely hope none of you ever find yourself in this position. And for anyone who I talk with semi regularly, sorry if I'm a bit quiet over the next couple of weeks - I'm using this time to do what I never do, focusing on resting and focusing on myself. Much love to you all xx

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 2

I am currently writting chapter 10, but for now, here is chapter 2 translated into english ;)

(Link for Chapter 3 here)

Chapter 2 : Everything is your fault

I woke up in a room that I knew all too well, especially since the last few days. The infirmary was perfectly silent and only the lapping of the water flowing in the room accompanied me. Staring into space, I put an arm over my face when a sly pain in the blank made me wince. I realized then that my clothes had been changed and that I was wearing a top that was unknown to me. Lifting it up, I realized that a red stained bandage was covering my stomach. The reason for my presence here came back to me then.

Lance...

I had started bleeding, for no reason, in Lance's presence!

Since waking up, I felt like I was losing my mind. Memory problems, dizziness, bleeding and other strange phenomena were accumulating in me and no one was able to explain it. At the same time, no one before Leiftan and I except the Oracle had lived in the crystal.

But yes, Leiftan, how was he? The latter woke up shortly after me and strangely, I had hardly ever seen him since. The aengel had refused to join the Sparkling and since then he seemed to be doing his best to escape any presence. But one thing was certain, it was that I never saw him in the infirmary, the lucky kid.

Snippets of voice slowly reached me and I listened to try to figure out who it was.

- I don't understand what she has ...

- .... had a link? ...

I narrowed my eyes, trying to decipher the conversation I overheard.

- .... don't know ... bring her back ...

Hearing muffled footsteps moving in my direction, I hurriedly closed my eyelids, pretending to be still asleep.

When they reached me, a warm and comforting hand rested on my forehead. Eweleïn's, I was beginning to know it by heart.

- She is stable and her fever has subsided, we will bring her back to her room, she will be more calm to rest. I'm counting on you to watch her.

- Very good.

My stomach contracted at the sound of that voice.

- Are you telling me she started bleeding for no reason? Are you sure you didn't hurt her, even without doing it on purpose?

A silence heavy with innuendo spread between the two interlocutors.

- I understand it's strange, but that's what happened, Eweleïn.

- Alright ... in that case, I'll let you bring her back.

When the dragon's arms encircled my body again in minute detail, I unwillingly tensed in fear and apprehension. Before lifting me up, he gently lowered the shirt over my wound, and when his fingers touched my skin as gently as a caress, I felt an electric current flow through me. Lance lifted me up without difficulty and without really knowing why, I resolutely kept my eyes closed, squeezing my eyelids a little too tight.

Without a word, he carried me like a lifeless rag doll, weak and silent, to my new room. With each of her steps, I could feel her calm, deep breaths against my neck. Why was it that I didn't come forward, exactly? I felt like I was paralyzed. He finally opened the door to my room and stepped silently into it. The pole closed behind us, cutting us off from the outside world. He suddenly stopped and began to sigh for a long time.

Lance seemed marked by fatigue and worry, which piqued my curiosity. Cautiously, I opened one eye and watched it in the wake of my lashes. His jaws, covered with a growing beard, were contracted and his expression, she, expressed the same weariness as her sigh. When he started to move again, I pretended to sleep again as he gently laid me down on the mattress. While withdrawing his hands, he crouched down very close to me and despite my resolutely closed eyelids, I felt his sad gaze pierce me. But it was the intonation of his voice, like torture, that upset me the most.

- I'm sorry, Andraste.

My hands clenched against my stoneware on the bed sheet. Keeping my eyes firmly closed, I couldn't help but answer, even lower than him.

- Everything is your fault.

- I know...

The dragon didn't seem surprised to hear me answer him. How long had he known I was awake?

Timidly, I forced myself to open my eyes. I thus discovered a Lance perfectly different from the one I had seen in the market. His gaze filled with infinite sadness, he looked at me as if I was the only person in the world able to cure his ailments.

- You're not trying to justify yourself? I asked him, intrigued not to hear his answer immediately.

- My actions are unjustifiable, I just try to live with it and redeem myself with each passing day. But you ... I dreaded for years when you were finally going to wake up. I don't know how to react in your presence when, on the contrary, I know more than anyone how much you must hate me. I won't try to redeem myself from you because I know it's impossible.

His words grabbed me. The tone of his voice, so calm and composed, totally hypnotized me. But I could not nevertheless keep my questions about him.

- So what are you doing here ?

I was sincerely curious as to why it was precisely he who had taken care of bringing me back to my room.

- Eweleïn asked me to watch you.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise, which brought a slight smile of amusement to his marble face.

- Sorry ?

- As you have surely noticed, your state is very unstable since you woke up.

- But what do you mean, she asked you to watch me ?

- Since you obviously start to bleed yourself for no reason, Eweleïn and Huang Hua have decided that you have to be watched closely. Plus, it's not yet clear how things will turn out now that people know the Oracle Chosen One is awake. The news has surely spread outside of HQ already and your safety has become a priority.

At these words, I straightened up quickly.

- You mean we could try to take it out on me?

Lance's gaze fell on mine for the first time since the start of our exchange.

- Nothing will happen to you.

- Anyway, why is ...

- Most people admire you for what you have done, but human nature being what it is, many are wary of what they do not know. You have accomplished something incredible and totally new, but like all admiration, there is always an element of mistrust that lies dormant in the unknown.

- But anyway, it's insane, nobody can decently think that I can be dangerous !

The young man was silent for a moment, letting me digest the information he had just taught me.

- Obviously, this is a simple security measure, mainly as long as your condition remains uncertain. When you get better, we will focus on teaching you how to defend yourself.

- I already know how to defend myself !

His slightly haughty raised eyebrow made my hair bristle with anger.

- Do not be offended, but from what I saw earlier, you seem to have lost a lot of energy since your stay in the crystal.

Touched . I decided to swallow my pride for now, I was too tired to argue with him again.

- So what's the plan ? I inquired.

- This is where I come in. I know you don't trust me, but strange as it sounds, I am the best person to keep you safe and your training.

A cold sneer escaped me, stretching the smile that had started to mark the dragon's face a moment earlier.

- So you're telling me that you and I have become inseparable?

- I'm sorry to tell you.

At least he had the decency to sound as thrilled with the news as I was.

I was lost. Completely. How could the Guard have thought it was a good idea to cram the two of us together? It was just insane!

I pinched the bridge of my nose, irritated by all this flood of information.

- Besides the fact that I'm not a fragile little thing, something the Guard seems to totally ignore, no one else can take on this role? Lance, it's simply impossible! I can't accept it, and you know it as well as I do!

Still squatting, one of his forearms resting on his lap, he let himself fall back against the wall behind him.

- Andraste, I'm not trying to brag about my merits, but if there's one thing I'm good at, it's fighting. I am the most qualified here to protect you in times of need and to teach you the best way to defend yourself.

Anger began to take hold of me again. Was he really serious ?

- But anyway, do you realize what you're saying ?!

- It is indisputable.

- And foolish! You tried to kill me, you used me, you manipulated me. How do you want me to accept this wisely? You're still blowing hot and cold! You apologize and then you give me orders !

- I'm only obeying those of the Sparkling.

A frank laugh escaped me this time.

- Seriously, are you saying that ?

A flash of defiance crossed his icy gaze. An ambient electricity hovered between us.

- You have to believe that I am ready to listen wisely to the orders to protect you.

He then straightened up and looked at me from his full height.

- Times have changed, you'll have to get used to it, he added. Being the chosen one of the Oracle is not going to be easy to take on, believe me. People are going to expect a lot from you, whether you feel like you can or not. Hope you are ready for this too.

Surprised, I remained silent. What shocked me the most was not this overwhelming truth that Lance had just confessed to me.

It was that he was the only one who had done it.

And that turned everything upside down. Who could I sincerely trust here? Can our enemies one day become our allies ?

He walked to the door and put a hand on the doorknob, before adding:

- Rest now. I won't be far, if you need to.

Then he rushed down the hall.

(Chapter 3)

[qvid-pro-qvo]

Whoops sorry with Hotch please!

“it’s okay, i couldn’t sleep anyway.”/”and even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – i’m always going to be here for you.”

aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader. @crazyshannonigans asked me to tag her, so this is also for you, my love. 

word count: 1568

rating: teen, for unrequited feelings that lay dormant as long as you force them to (tw: for mentioned hospitalization, mentions of canon-typical violence).

-

You sit across from him. It’s a spot you settle into often, one that almost seems to have your name on it. He’s not watching you, his eyes on his papers, but you find yourself watching him, lower lip caught in your teeth.

You touch your foot to his leg. A gentle nudge, and he looks up at you from the case files. The flight there, photos are strewn about, passed around from agent to agent to analyst to agent. Rides back each is in its proper place. You watch his finger trace along the edge of one of them, paperclipped to another job well done, and smile as he quirks his lips at you.  

“Take a break,” you say. It’s for naught, you know, but you always try. “We did good out there. Give your brain a rest.”

“When we land,” he assures you.

You nudge him again. Your shoes are off, at the base of your chair, so it’s a socked toe that pressing against his calf. “Hotch. A break. We deserve it.”

You deserve it, you think, watching as his finger traces the edge of papers again.

The rest of the plane is in various states of consciousness, focus. Reid and Blake are dozing, leaning against each other on the other side of the aisle. Rossi is across from them, and you can see he’s jotting down some notes – another book, perhaps on the horizon. JJ is on the phone with Garcia, and Morgan keeps letting out little chuckles as they talk.

It’s easy. Simple. When the cases end well, you have to savor these moments. You suppose, that’s what you’re urging Hotch to do. Enjoy the good, the wins, while he can. You want him to be able to lean back in his seat and realize what he does, what he always does, is so good and worthy of a little respite.  

He doesn’t say anything more. Just looks at you, measured. Lifts his chin a little, and takes his own moment to glance around the plane.

You don’t miss the way his eyes soften at the sound of gentle laughter. Of Rossi’s scribbling. Of Reid’s steady breathing, Blake minutely adjusting her head so it can rest on top of his.

“Maybe later,” he murmurs. And all you can do is nod. Relent.

Okay. Maybe later.

-

The complimentary coffee is acrid, burns your throat, but you keep sipping. What else can you do at 2:30 in the morning? The hotel lobby is barren, your only companion the night shift clerk behind the desk and the TV that’s playing on silent. Every so often your eyes meet, and he always nods, giving you a small smile that you return. And every so often, you sip your coffee, the vile taste washing away the night’s dreams that woke you up in the first place.

It’s decaf. You think it is, anyway.

You have a plan. Of course you do. You’ll linger for another hour or so, let the adrenaline settle before going back upstairs. You’ll attempt to sleep, but the blinds will stay open so that when the dawn comes you rise with it. You’ll kill time with a shower, another cup of shitty coffee, and come downstairs with bags under your eyes that no one will ask about. Because it’s the end of a week on this case, and they’re all feeling it, too.

Enter Aaron Hotchner.

Perhaps he has the same plan as you. The lobby as a place for refuge. You almost feel bad for getting there first, and when your eyes meet his you simply lift up your cup of coffee as a greeting.

At first you think he straightens. Pulls his shoulders back so he can look the perfect unit chief. But it’s you. And he knows that. So, when he sits across from you, the too big chairs with not enough cushion catching him, he lets the act fall. Just a little. Just enough.

You have a plan. You know you do. But seeing him across from you, a little defeated, a lot exhausted, as you reaching out with your toes. Nudging him.

One eye open, peeking at you. You manage a little smile before offering the cup of coffee over, the contents still ripping hot even in the Styrofoam.

“Want some?”

“Decaf?”

You nod, and he sits up, reaching for it. You spend a few minutes, just passing the cup back and forth, the both of managing to wince every time you taste it. It truly is bad coffee, but the company makes it better, the silence comfortable as you watch a basketball game from a decade ago play out.

Every so often you glance over at him. When the coffee’s gone and the game nears its finish. And he glances back, leaning back

“I had a plan,” you admit, as the two of you wander back toward the elevators. He looks up at you, raising a brow, and you’re quick to reassure him. “It’s okay. I couldn’t sleep anyway, so it wouldn’t have worked out. Just. Somehow I feel more rested now than I would if I had tried to sleep in the first place.”

That’s the moment you both have to pause, think about why three hours of sitting and sipping cooling coffee feels so… noteworthy. “So do I,” Hotch tells you. And he shoots you a little smile, ducking his head. “Goodnight.”  

“Night, Hotch.”

The moments in that hotel lobby leave your heart full. Leave you looking over your shoulder, watching him make his way to the end of the hall. But, the sun is almost up. The rest of the team will be waking, and these moments should be just for you.t

You think about calling out to him. Of – god, of saying something, anything. He meets your eyes. As he pulls out the key card to his room, pushes in.

It’s okay. Maybe later.

-

Aaron Hotchner collapses, and your heart hasn’t stopped pounding.

It seems to happen in slow motion. He hits the ground, can’t stop himself at all, and you’re rushing to his side with Morgan and Rossi and praying that he’s alive. You watch as they take him away, you watch as Rossi pushes you guys forward, and the whole time you can’t stop gripping the armrest of your chair on that damn flight to nowhere.

The case goes on. The case has to go on. You’re on a plane, however many miles away, and Hotch is bleeding internally in a hospital on the other side of the country.

The bastard.

You haven’t been able to unclench your jaw, and it doesn’t help that this case makes your soul ache. You watch a girl get caught in her father’s deterioration, watch JJ talk him down before he gets dragged away. It doesn’t end how it could, but you watch a young girl get pulled apart and wonder if she’ll ever get put back together.

And then you get the call.

“He’s awake,” Garcia tells you. Tells the team. There are collective sighs of relief, collective moments of peace.

And then it hits. You feel the urge. The need. To be there. To be beside him.

It claws at you, grabs at you, and you know you won’t mind the silence if he’s asleep. It clings to you, lingers in your mind, and all you can think about is reaching out to him. Urging him once more.

Take a break. Take a moment. A breather, god, please, Hotch.

But you can’t. You know you can’t. It’s the punishment, you guess. For not telling him at the hotel. It’s the feeling of sitting beside him while the rest of the team watches on, of looking at him look at all of you and meeting your eyes. Of quirking his lips and reaching for the water you offer him. You can’t press your toes to his leg, but you can rest your hand on his arm, squeeze it and smile and tell him to get better soon. That’s all it is, all it can be, and yet your eyes scan him and your heart urges you.

Say something.

But you can’t.

The team is there. Jess and Jack are there, Beth is coming and she’ll be there soon, and you just. You swallow down what you want to say because it’s easier. Simpler.

And at home, in your bed, when the team clears out so his family can be the ones beside him, you close your eyes. You imagine something better, something brighter, something braver.

Do you call him? Do you tell him? Do you put him on speaker with your nail caught between your teeth? Do you pour out your soul and tell him what he means to you?

“I see you and I think of quiet moments on the jet. I see you and I laugh at time spent in hotel lobbies. I think about the way you look at me, and I can’t help but wonder what it means. You collapse on the ground and my earth is off its axis. And even if you don’t feel the same, that’s okay – I’m always going to be here for you because those moments keep me going. Let me be there for you, Aaron.”

Your eyes open. You take a breath.

No. You don’t. Not now. Not yet.

Maybe later. 

(Maybe never.)

[super-secret-sick-fics]

hii i requested the last fic and i loved it very much! excited for pt 2 :D

OH and it wasn’t even out of character it felt like exactly how they would react! you write suna especially well aquarius twins

Thank you!! I’m so glad you liked it :) Here’s part 2!! I didn’t proofread this at all, so I apologize for any mistakes. 

I tried to make it so that they could each be read independently. Also I am bad at endings sorry lmao. 

Sick & Delirious: A SunaOsa fic (part 2 of Sick at School)

Pair: Sick Suna, Caretaker Osamu

Word Count: 3,028

Warnings: Vomit, panic attack, swearing & fluff 

Part 1 Here 

___________________________

“Rintaro, you poor, poor baby!” Osamu’s mother cried as soon as she showed up to the front office of the school.

Shortly after the nurse agreed to let Osamu go home too, Suna and Osamu were escorted (slowly and with a small bin in hand) to the front to await Miya-san. They sat down and Suna almost immediately curled into Osamu’s warmth. If he wasn’t so sick, he’d be utterly embarrassed at how clingy he was being. Their hands had been joined since they left the classroom and Suna squeezed Osamu’s every time a cramp rolled through his body.

Now Miya-san was there, her hands immediately cupping Suna’s face and brushing back his hair.

“Geez, Ma. Give him some space. Bet ya won’t be that nice to me and I know you’re not being that nice to Tsumu,” Osamu scoffed.

“Well of course not,” she deadpanned, “yer both idiots. Rintaro is much nicer to your poor mother than her ungrateful children.” Osamu scoffed again.

“Thank you for allowing me to stay with you, Miya-san,” Suna interjected, undeterred by the Miya’s usual show. She looked over at him again and smiled gently.

“Of course. I’ve spoken with yer ma and she’ll bring over some clothes for ya when she’s off work. Now let’s go boys.”

***

“Shit, Rin,” Osamu woke up from his nap when Suna started heaving beside him. He sat up and rubbed Suna’s back as he leaned over the bed and threw up in the bin beside it. The crinkling plastic and splattering sounds reverberated painfully in Suna’s ears.

“S-sorry,” he spluttered.

“Don’t be,” Osamu whispered.

This was the third time in the last two hours that Suna and Osamu were awoken by Suna’s stomach. When they got back to the Miya’s house, Suna was directed to the guest room. Osamu leant him some clothes so he could change out of his uniform and brought him some water, crackers, and a bin. When he was getting ready to leave, Suna grabbed his wrist and asked him to stay. He wasn’t good at being sick and felt much better knowing Osamu was around to help.

When the fit let up, he rolled back into bed and wrapped his arms around Osamu’s stomach. He was shaking again, but this time it wasn’t because of the fever.

Honestly, he wanted to cry. He was so exhausted and his stomach ached so badly. His migraine was relentless. His body didn’t know whether it was cold or hot and all he wanted was to sleep for more than 30 minutes at a time.

It didn’t help that Atsumu had set up camp for himself in the bathroom that was shared between the twins’ room and the guest room. He said that he didn’t mind the sleeping on the floor as long as it meant he could flush the vomit away immediately, instead of having it sit mocking him in the bin beside his bed.

The two of them seemed to be on opposite cycles. Every time Suna thought he could get some sleep, he could hear Atsumu start puking in the bathroom. Then every time Atsumu had quieted down for a bit, Suna’s stomach attacked him. He felt bad, knowing that Atsumu felt just as bad as he did and had to deal with the same things. Never in his life did he think that he would ever feel bad for stupid Atsumu. His fever must be pretty high.

“Rin,” Osamu sighed. Whenever they were both awake, Osamu’s hands were on Suna’s body somewhere, comforting him with little touches and gentle pats. Suna’s favorite thing was when one of his hands was in his hair, the other moving, ghosting his fingers up and down his back. Right now, one of his hands propped him up in the bed and the other was lying dormant on Suna’s head.

“Rin, are ya crying?”

Suna nodded. Osamu sighed again.

Slowly and carefully, as to not jostle Suna’s stomach he was sure, Osamu wiggled himself into lying down and repositioned Suna so he was laying on Osamu’s chest. Then he started ghosting his fingers up and down Suna’s back and caressing the back of his head. Suna wondered if Osamu knew that was his favorite.

“I’m sorry, Rin. I wish I could help ya,” he soothed and something inside Suna squeezed. He whimpered pathetically and curled further into Osamu’s chest.

With that, the dam broke loose. Hot tears started soaking Osamu’s shirt as Suna sobbed quietly.

“I-I don’t f-feel good,” he cried. His throat hurt, from the bile or being ill in general he wasn’t sure.

“I know, baby. I’m sorry,” Osamu comforted. If Suna were more cognizant, he probably would’ve blushed at the pet name.

He was sure that he liked Osamu and that Osamu liked him back, but they had never addressed it. They were both content to let things happened naturally, not minding the little more-than-friend’s touches here and there or the less-than-platonic-flirting they did at practice and in class. Being in this situation though and having Osamu being the one to take care of him really solidified how Suna felt.

Osamu let him cry for a while before Suna started hiccuping dangerously again.

“Rintaro, yer gonna make yer self sick again,” he exhaled. As if on cue, Suna gagged.

“N-no,” he moaned. Osamu sat up, taking Suna with him and reached down to pick up the bin beside the bed.

“Ya gotta let it happen, babe.” He put the bin on Suna’s lap. Suna glared at it half-heartedly before he felt his chest tighten uncomfortably and a gag forced its way out.

“How is there even anything left?” Osamu lamented. Suna answered with a painful heave. He also wondered the same thing.

Suna’s stomach felt hollow and yet nausea continued to plague him. The room spun as he heaved. His throat was scraped raw. At this point, he was barely aware of Osamu’s presence behind him. Through the fog, he knew he was there though, and that was reassuring enough.

A gurgle came from his stomach and he moaned. Within a few seconds, a wet, crackling, burp brought up the blue sports drink Osamu gave him to try and keep him hydrated. A few more painful heaves brought up more blue tinted vomit before his stomach seemed to allow him a break.

He collapsed into Osamu’s side, panting.

“My poor Rin,” Osamu cooed, but it was muffled, like he was talking to Suna through a pillow. He pulled Suna into his side and kissed the top of his head. The movements were happening in slow motion though, and Suna was, for the second time that day, thoroughly confused.

“‘Samu?” He tried, but his tongue was heavy in his mouth and he wasn’t sure that he made any sound.

“Yeah?” Osamu asked, rubbing up and down Suna’s arm. And wow….no. He didn’t like that. It set all of his nerves on edge. He tried to squirm away from the unwanted touch.

“Rin?”

Suddenly, everything was Too Much. He pushed on whatever was wrapped around him. The soft fabric beneath his hand itched painfully.

“Rin? What’s wrong?” A loud voice boomed in his ears and he flinched away.

“Le’ go...” he gasped, his chest felt like it was on fire. He weakly pushed again. Whatever was encasing him did not budge. His eyes burned and his surroundings swirled alarmingly.

“N-no,” he choked on something hot and sticky.

Then he was released from the bindings holding him and he felt the world tilt forward for just a second. His chest landed on something and it stopped. He was forced upright, and his field of vision changed. A blurry figure appeared in front of him. Maybe a person?

Something captured his face on either side and his eyes blew wide. Cold. No. Scratchy? No.

“Rinta...he...loo..me...whas…ong?” The voice exploded through his brain again and he whimpered. What was happening? Why was he so hot. It was so hot.

“Ho-t…”

Why was he alone? Wasn’t someone helping him before? Where did that person go? He needed help.

“Shit,” a voice cut through his haze. Osamu?

“It’s….I’ve go….”

Too quickly, he was moving. Whatever caged him before was back around him and he tried in vain to break free.

“‘Samu?” A new voice. He whined.

“Move,” too loud too loud too loud. He was released from the bindings again for just a second before being captured again. This time they were hot. And wet. And they torched his skin. He wriggled in yet another futile attempt to get free. What was that roaring sound?

“Whas...on?” The new voice again. Closer. It hurt his head.

“Hi….feve...high…”

Suna was in a new space. Things were different around him now and the sudden change made him dizzy. He coughed and then his mouth was full. He dropped his jaw heavily and his mouth was empty again.

“Fuck!” A screech and he moaned in response.

He was moving again and then his entire body was being pricked with icicles. It put his surroundings a little more in focus.

“Cold!” He shrieked. He tried to get away from the ice, but was held down.

“Tsumu….sorr...ease..” Another force held him down. It wasn’t as strong, but Suna couldn’t get away from it.

“No no no no…” he repeated, his entire face felt heavy. Was that possible? He writhed in pain. It hurt it hurt he wanted out.

“I’m sorry, Rintaro, I’m sorry,” the first voice shook. It was clearer now. It still pounded in his skull.

“Please please please please,” he said and it hurt his throat.

“Rin, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” It was Osamu. He thrashed harder.

“I’m sorry, Samu, I can’t—“ oh that was Atsumu. One of the heavy things holding him down was gone. He fought against the last one. He almost won. It was gone for a second before there was a splash and something behind him grabbed him around his waist and held him down.

“No please it hurts please.” He begged. Someone was crying.

“Rin, it’s okay. Please calm down.” Osamu was behind him now. Behind him. Oh he must be what’s holding him down. Okay okay. That was fine. But why was he torturing him like this?

“Samu no…” he tried to push away. He was really really tired though.

“Yeah, Rin it’s me. I’m trying to help. Please let me,” Osamu said. But his voice was wrong. It was shaking and tight. Was he upset? He was trying to help? Okay okay. He trusted Osamu. He relaxed into Osamu’s hold. It got tighter.

Suna wasn’t sure how much time went by. He tried really hard to trust Osamu, even though the ice prickled and burned at his skin. Eventually, the pain lessened.

There was a soft whimpering sound and he couldn’t figure out who it was for a while. Then he realized it was him. Next, he felt the tears on his face and his entire body shivering.

Slowly, his environment came into focus. He was in the bathroom, more specifically a bathtub.

Finally, the fog in his brain cleared and he put two and two together. Osamu put him in a cold bath to bring his fever down.

“Osamu,” he said through chattering teeth.

“I’m sorry, Rin, I’m sorry,” Osamu said. His face was buried in Suna’s shoulder, but even still, he could tell hear his voice shaking from the cold. More than that, he sounded desperate. Almost defeated.

Suna hated it. He brought a hand up behind him and placed it on Osamu’s head, letting his own collapse back onto his friend’s shoulder. Osamu stiffened before whipping his head up.

“Rin?” He choked and Suna nodded lethargically.

“Can we please get out?” he whispered. Osamu nodded quickly. He got out and wrapped himself in a towel before helping Suna up. It was then that he realized he was still wearing his clothes. They clung to him and he grimaced at the feel. Osamu enveloped Suna in a fluffy towel and hugged him tightly.

Suna relished in the warmth for a second.

“C’mon, let’s getcha outta these wet clothes,” Osamu murmured and let Suna go. He lead him back to the guest room and sat him down in the desk chair. Suna’s teeth chattered noisily.

Osamu left, only to return a minute later with new clothes.

“Do ya need help?” he asked. Still unnaturally soft. It was starting to unnerve Suna. He nodded in response.

A little while later, Suna and Osamu were both sitting on the bed, dressed in dry clothes. Osamu sat in front of him, rubbing a towel over his hair, trying to get as much of it dry as he could. He was quiet. Suna was content to let things settle before he asked what was wrong. He knew Osamu would either talk to him when he was ready or if Suna pried a little.

His hands stopped moving and Suna was about to ask if he could lay down when Osamu bent forward and buried his face in Suna’s neck again.

Suna was a little lost, but put a hand on Osamu’s still damp hair anyway.

“Still too warm,” Osamu mumbled. He nuzzled his face into Suna’s shoulder. He was starting to get really worried and really agitated at Osamu’s weird behavior.

“Samu,” he demanded softly, “what’s the deal?” Osamu tensed in his hold then he sat up so abruptly it made Suna a little woozy. When the vertigo passed, he was face to face with a furious Osamu.

“What’s the deal?” Osamu seethed. Suna looked at him with wide eyes.

“Rin, you were gone!” Osamu shouted, making Suna’s head pound. Osamu stood up ferociously and started pacing the room. Suna wasn’t quite sure what he meant.

“Osamu, please I don’t feel good. Can you just be straight with me?” Suna complained. Osamu turned on him. His face was contorted and Suna was taken aback when he saw tears rolling down flushed cheeks.

“Osamu, what—“

“Rin, ya were gone. Ya were here but ya just weren’t. Ya didn’t know who I was or who Tsumu was and ya didn’t know where you were and fuck. It was terrifyin’. Ya screamed when I put ya in the tub. Saying that I was torturing ya and that ya were caged and shit,” Osamu sobbed. Suna’s chest twinged.

This was not his Osamu. He brought this man to this state?

“I was so scared and I didn’t know what to do. Ya kept throwin’ up but it didn’t seem like ya even knew it was happenin’,” Osamu continued. He fell to his knees.

“Yer fever was so high and it happened so quickly. Tsumu tried to help, but he’s still sick. My mom left to go get more medicine and I felt so helpless,” he whimpered before devolving into a fit of heart wrenching sobs.

Suna stared at the boy before him, shell-shocked. He eased himself onto the ground and crawled over to Osamu and hugged him. It wasn’t long before Osamu’s arms were wrapped around his middle and he started crying into Suna’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry,” he soothed, “I don’t remember a lot of that. I remember being confused and cold and feeling like I was being held down, but I don’t remember anything else. I’m sorry, Osamu. I’m so sorry.” Osamu nodded, but kept crying and that was okay.

They stayed like that a little while longer, Suna shushing Osamu gently. Eventually, Osamu pulled back and wiped his face. Suna smiled softly at him and he chuckled sadly.

“Sorry,” he sniffled. Suna shook his head.

“I really need to lie down,” he said. He was starting to feel really heavy and nauseas again and it was getting difficult to keep his eyes open.

Osamu nodded and helped him back to the bed. He lay down and Osamu quickly followed, enveloping Suna into his chest. Suna nuzzled his face into the soft fabric of Osamu’s shirt. He felt Osamu place a kiss into the top of his head and give him a little squeeze.

“I’m sorry again,” he mumbled, half asleep already.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad yer alright. I’m sorry I freaked out on ya.” He stroked his hand up and down Suna’s back.

“‘S’okay. I’m just that important,” Suna yawned. Osamu chuckled and it warmed Suna’s heart and calmed his mind.

“Ya sure are. Go to sleep. I’m not goin’ anywhere,” Osamu said. With his blessing, Suna fell asleep.

***

Later that night, Atsumu would show them a picture of the two of them cuddled up and drooling on each other that he took when he mustered up the strength to come check on things. Osamu yelled at him but Suna asked him to send it to him. He may have set it as his phone’s home screen.

By the next morning, Suna woke up to the sound of Osamu heaving beside him. It was unpleasant and made his stomach turn. Before he realized what was happening, he was sprinting to the bathroom and pushing Atsumu out of the way and emptying his stomach into the toilet.

“Sunarin, please,” Atsumu choked before turning to the bath tub.

Miya-san ran into the room and surveyed the situation.

“My poor boys,” she sighed, “I’m gonna go set up the livin’ room so I can watch all three of ya.”

And so Suna spent the next few days camped out in the Miya’s living room. Soon enough, Atsumu was well enough to help out his mom here and there. And when Suna was feeling up to it, he returned the favor and rubbed Osamu’s back as he puked disgustingly.

“Ya can go home if ya want,” Osamu panted between rounds. Suna shook his head.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be than with you, stupid.”

Osamu smiled gratefully before his cheeks puffed out and he turned back to the bin. Suna laughed and kissed the back of his sweaty neck.

Maybe they didn’t define their relationship with labels, but Suna was pretty positive that he wanted to stick with Osamu for the rest of his life.

[eventid1ngs]

[ F e v e r . ]

A Post-Calamity Zelink Oneshot

Rating: T

Word count: 2500

Zelda blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks. She felt flushed and uncomfortable, and frankly, quite over the whole situation if she was being honest with herself. It hadn’t taken her long to decide that the Eldin Region, in its entirety, was her least favorite amongst the whole kingdom. At least the Gerudo’s persistent hot weather was of a drier character; the climate closer to Death Mountain was dreadfully humid and the princess was not enjoying it at all.

Quickly, she changed out of her travelling clothes and into more comfortable clothing suitable for sleeping. She did not have the energy to walk to the bathhouses to change, and Link had gone not too long ago to bathe, so Zelda took the liberty to change within the current privacy of their room at the Foothill Stable Inn.

Afterwards she lay on her side of the bed (Following a week or two of debilitating nightmares, Link had agreed to sleep nearer to her, for both her protection and her comfort. She hadn’t had a nightmare since), focusing on doing as little as possible so as to avoid using the energy she felt she didn’t have due to the heat. Rather idly, she scrolled through the Hyrule Compendium on the Sheikah slate, making mental notes of the missing entries.

Even breathing felt like a chore. Zelda missed the comforts of more temperate climates and looked forward to leaving the next morning now that her and the knight’s work there with the Gorons was complete.

A half hour or so passed before Link returned. Zelda jumped when the door opened, having been so absorbed in her reading material. Her eyes met the knight’s as he entered. He nodded to her and offered a small smile before closing the door behind him and motioning towards the mirror by the dresser. He wore a clean white shirt and short pants. His wild hair was wet from his bath.

Zelda continued to read as Link brushed his hair into a duly ponytail. He approached the bed.

“Will you be up for a while longer?” he asked.

“Yes, I would like to finish this book. I am almost at the end. It is quite fascinating! Did you know that…” But Link had stopped listening, not out of any disrespect but because of sheer exhaustion; that fight with the hinox brute earlier had left him more tired than he realized. As Zelda discussed the contents of her book, Link moved the candle from the nightstand on his side of the bed to the one on Zelda’s.

“...Amazing. There are so many things to learn about this Goddess-forsaken region.” The princess finally took a break from talking.

Her knight chuckled. “Goddess-forsaken?”

“I must admit to you, Link, that I have been most uncomfortable since our arrival here.” she explained, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Tease me if you must, but I am not at all accustomed to this climate and it does not suit me in the slightest.”

The other refrained from the teasing. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable, princess? I could fetch you a cooling elixir.”

Zelda wanted to accept the offer, but shook her head. “No, I will be alright. You need your rest. I will be quiet now.”

“Being of service to you is not a bother--”

“Thank you.”

“...Do you need anything else, princess?”

“No. Thank you, Link.”

He nodded and proceeded to lie down, on top of the covers. His left hand rested on his stomach and the other above his head on the pillow. His typical sleeping position.

“Goodnight, princess.” he muttered, his eyes already closed.

“Goodnight, Link.”

Sometime later, after Zelda had finished her book, she sat it down on the nightstand and lay down on her side, facing the candle. She watched the flickering flame for a long, long while.

It was too hot. Too humid. And for the life of her, the princess was unable to fall asleep. She turned over, facing her knight. A weird sense of desperation came over her that she would not sleep at all that night and that have a terrible day tomorrow, and she wanted to wake Link so he could go and acquire a sleep tonic for her. But she couldn’t. She wouldn't.

So she just stared at Link, half comforted by the sight of him sleeping so soundly, half incredibly envious of the fact that he had already been sleeping for two or three hours and she hadn’t slept a wink.

Then she felt awkward, watching him like that.

Was it proper that she and Link shared a bed, if only to sleep? It hadn’t even crossed her mind before. She had been so immensely relieved to be cured of her nightmares that she hadn’t considered anything else. Besides, most evenings, both Link and Zelda were too exhausted from the various activities of the day to let their minds wander where they, perhaps, should not be. Everything was mechanical. And if otherwise, the two merely went over the next day’s plan on the Sheikah slate until they were too tired to continue.

The princess shuddered at the thought of her father finding out about the bedsharing, although, surely he knew somehow, from his place in the afterlife. It was a somewhat harrowing thought that Zelda pushed from her mind immediately.

But tonight, on account of her sleeplessness, her thoughts went somewhere it had only dared to graze over before.

She watched the slow rise and fall of the knight’s chest as he breathed. He snored softly, which was followed by a sort of contented moan that caused something in Zelda’s insides to stir. She had no explanation for that strange feeling, at the time.

She sighed. He is enjoying his sleep. Blessed be the Goddesses.

Suddenly, Link woke, and stared at Zelda with a confused expression and sleep-smeared eyes.

“...Princess? Are you alright?”

Zelda hesitated.

“What is wrong?”

“The mere fact that I bathed just a few hours ago and I already feel that I need to bathe again.”

Link scratched at his hair. His cheeks were visibly flushed. “It is hot in here.” he agreed, “I’ll open a window. Maybe some air flow will help.” He got up and did so. Before returning he acquired a looser, short sleeve shirt from his pack to replace the one he was wearing. He quickly switched the shirts with his back facing Zelda. She hadn’t been looking until one of his shoulder blades glinted in the candlelight and she glanced over a mere second too late to see anything else.

Did she want to see anything else? The sudden notion puzzled her.

When he turned, the two locked eyes.

“I’m sorry that you’re so uncomfortable, princess.” he said, approaching again. “Are you sure there isn't anything else that I can do to help?” He couldn’t stop the yawn that followed his offer.

“I just can’t sleep. Perhaps I will just try again tomorrow night when we’re back in Necluda.” She meant for this to be a joke but it came out more bitter than she had intended.

Link stared at her for a moment, thinking, before sitting crossed-legged on the bed and reaching for the Sheikah slate. It had been resting against the footboard. The bed dipped as the knight sat down and the princess had to readjust her own sitting position.

“...What are you doing?” she asked, curiously.

“Making note of something I just thought of.” was his answer. Zelda didn’t feel like prodding him to tell her what that something was, so she laid back down instead, feeling no less irritated. Link typed on the slate for less than a minute before setting it back down where had been and then lying down. He finally noticed Zelda glaring at him.

“What?”

“...Nothing.”

He wasn’t convinced, and they didn’t break eye contact. Finally, the princess’ expression softened.

“I was just thinking, Link…” she said quietly. “...and, please, be honest with me--”

“I’m always honest with you, princess.”

She paused, taken aback that he had interrupted her. He had never done that before. “...Just for the sake of my curiosity… Have you ever thought about… I mean… Have you ever wondered what we… If we…”

“Yes.”

“I...what?”

“Of course I have, princess. I’m not dense.”

“I… I was not at all suggesting that you were! I’m just genuinely curious…” Zelda pressed her lips together. She hardly understood these words that were, frivolously, escaping her lips with her voice. And yet, somehow, Link understood? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Our questions will find their answers in due time, princess.”

“I know that. I have always been rather impatient, though, and I can’t help but wonder... But I apologize for this silly conversation. Please, go back to sleep. I have said too much.”

The moment of silence that followed, without any sort of closure from either party, proved to be far more uncomfortable than the hot weather.

The princess shut her eyes, feeling as if she had done something awful, and it took considerable effort on her part not to start crying. A line had been crossed and she wished that she could erase the past five minutes.

But Link moved beside her and before she had a chance to look at him and assess the situation, she felt his lips on hers.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Earnest.

Still, Zelda gasped from surprise. In doing so she opened her mouth slightly, which her knight took as an invitation.

Something was being set free. It was raw, unadulterated...wild. Something, perhaps, that had been waiting over a hundred years to come to the surface, having lay dormant all that time.

“Link, wait-- I-- There is so much more-- that I need to say--” But he was stealing away her breaths, and the words stopped materializing in her brain.

“Later.” he said. His lower lip dragged up her chin and briefly cupped hers before resuming the kiss.

“Oh-- I--”

He paused and they stared at each other for a few seconds. “...Do you want me to stop?”

“I… No--”

So he didn’t. Zelda sighed out the last bit of her resolve and allowed her mind to drift away amongst the sea of her inner consciousness.

His hands were on her; one on her hip and the other supporting her behind her back. She put her hands on either side of his face, daring to touch him for the first time. Their kisses became less tableau and more mindless; a feverish tangle of swollen lips and forceful breaths. They fell to the bed eventually and his mouth travelled from hers to along her jaw and then her ear.

She felt his warmth--impassionate and searing--seeping out from him, through his clothes and then through hers before entering her through the very pores of her skin.

...If she had been hot before, she was on fire now, having become one with the very pools of flame that flowed under the Great Eldin Bridge.

Link nuzzled against her neck, somehow finding new places to plant more kisses. Zelda felt that if this continued for much longer, she would surely implode.

“...We should stop…..” he said, his voice low near her ear. His breathing had syncopated with hers.

“Then stop...” was her response. It sounded like a dare.

“...Do you want me to stop, princess?”

The word princess made Zelda open her eyes. She stared at the textured beige ceiling above them as she tried to catch her breath. “...I’m afraid, Sir Link...that I simply don’t have the courage...to answer that question...as we are, now...”

At that, he retreated, removing his limbs from hers carefully. Zelda’s skin mourned the loss of his touch. She searched for his face but he refused to meet her eyes. She watched him swallow, hard. Her brain rebooted and had begun to replay what had just occurred over again in her mind like a slideshow. What...was happening? The princess tried to make logical sense of this new onset of feelings and emotions, but her body betrayed her with exhaustion and a yearning ache for more of his kisses.

“I’m sorry. That should not have happened.” Link said, finally, swallowing his breaths in vain attempt to calm himself down. “It is not my place to initiate such things. I’m ashamed of my behavior."

“But, Link--”

“I can’t share a bed with you anymore, princess. Please understand me. I… can’t.”

Zelda panicked, remembering the nightmares. “You can, and you must. Please! I need you to. You know this.”

He made no response. Instead, he got up with a vague gesture of distress.

“Wait--”

“I just need a few minutes to myself, princess. Please excuse me.”

Zelda nodded her permission and Link put on his cloak and boots before heading out into the night alone.

“It’s fine.” she reassured, a bit later, after he had returned.

“No. You barely opened a door and I shoved myself across the threshold. That is not fine, princess.”

“Maybe I wanted--” Zelda began, but she stilled her tongue.

Link stared, not realizing that he was holding his breath.

The princess swallowed her previous sentence. “...It’s my fault, then. For opening the door.” she said instead, feeling her heart sink, meanwhile.

That was not what her knight wanted to hear, either, and it was obvious in his expression.

“At any rate, I’m sorry...” he said, too late.

The princess was exasperated. The lack of sleep was making her eye sockets hurt. “Please don’t apologize for--”

“..For disturbing the peace between us.”

“--something that I started.” They had both spoken at the same time. There was a long, pregnant pause. It was then that they both realized that neither would be the same from that night on. Later that became a terrifying though exciting prospect; a new adventure to embark upon and a new world to explore but in that moment, it felt like both of them had lost something very precious and they felt its sudden absence very, very keenly, in their own ways.

“Link, let’s forget about this for right now. I am so very tired and I know that you are, too.” She patted his vacant spot on the bed. “Come and sleep.”

“I shouldn’t--”

“Come and sleep.” she repeated. It wasn’t a request.

He swallowed again. “Yes, princess.” He rejoined her on the bed, maintaining distance. They both lay down on their backs, both staring at the ceiling.

Zelda reached out and took Link’s hand. “I trust you, you understand that, right?” she said quietly. Her eyes were closed. “It is myself whom I do not trust just yet.”

“I understand.”

“Goodnight, Link.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

The night finally consumed the two--the Princess of Hyrule and her appointed knight--and they slept peacefully, long into the morning.

END.

[prurientpuddlejumper]

A Lipless Face That I Want to Marry, Ch. 2

<- Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 ->

Summary: Chilton is is a dark place.

1,641 words

Ten days. Four surgeries. Twenty grafts. Eleven blood transfusions. Third degree burns to ninety percent of his body. The hospital had never seen anything like it—though Chilton was personally doubling the number of times they’d said that.

He was in and out of the hyperbaric oxygen chamber, the hydrotherapy tub, and in and out of consciousness. His only constant was pain.

Unlike pain, you couldn’t stay with him every hour of the day. You came in early every morning to check on him, though he was usually sleeping, and then after work, sitting with him until he fell asleep again. Sometimes you would only get a few minutes of him awake, he was so exhausted from the surgeries, heavy pain meds, and healing.

You were barely sleeping, and he was barely not sleeping.

When he woke up in the middle of the night screaming, heart monitor throwing a fit, limbs jerking hard enough to tear his grafts, it was to a dark, empty room filled with pale ghosts of plastic flowers. You weren’t there to hold him. Not that you could have held him, anyway.

Oh, how he missed you when you were not there to fill the tedious waking hours. His few other visitors were people he hated.

Dr. Bloom had stopped by once, to see whether she felt any remorse for the part she played in his present agony. In those early days, the horror of his appearance had seemed like a tasteless joke to goad her with.

“Your face did not change at all when you first looked at me,” he rasped. “Shock in seeing me is usually… delayed.”

Look at me! he wanted to shout. Look at what Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter have done. Look what you did, Alana. Look at my face and be shocked, you fucking bastards.

He was shaking by the time she left.

But ten days, and his face was still a thing of nightmares. It made the joke less funny. This was not temporary, it began to sink in, and it was getting harder to maintain his pride. He became less and less comfortable being looked at by anyone. His teeth were bared, dozens of tubes snaked out of him, and he was swollen like a bloated corpse floating down the river.

Layers of cadaver skin were grafted all over his body. He felt like a cadaver. He wished…

When he was with the Dragon he had been so afraid that he was going to die, terrified for his own cowardly life. If he had known what torture surviving meant: protracted, cruel suffering without end…

His entire body was too hot all of the time, inflamed, red, and bleeding. He wasn’t producing enough red blood cells to replace the ones he was constantly losing. Between that and the bloody surgeries to remove dead skin, he had so many transfusions, most of the blood circulating through his veins was not his own.

And the nonstop surgeries were just to keep him alive another day, another hour—the nurses sighed with relief at the beginning of their shifts when they saw he hadn’t dropped dead.

As his skin healed, there would be more surgeries to prevent scar tissue from cutting off circulation to his extremities (he had already lost the tip of his remaining ear) and to allow his joints to move. Then, finally, the cosmetic surgery so he could one day walk about in public without hiding his face. Endless. Protracted. Cruel.

He wished he had died.

Being shot was a pleasure cruise by comparison. Even when his cheek was still tender and his head felt like it was about to split open, you could wrap your arms around his chest and stroke his back in calming circles. You would run your fingers through his hair and massage the tension in his scalp away. He missed his hair. And his scalp. He missed your touch the most.

Even your presence, when you were there, did not cheer him as much as he hoped. He longed for the day he could touch you again, but it was too far on the horizon to be worth much. It wasn’t enough. There was so much pain. He would never not be in pain for the rest of his wretched life. He wanted to die.

He hated everything he lost—everything that had been taken from him. It made him furious enough to keep the blood pumping through his veins when any well-adjusted mortal’s body would have slipped into a coma and let itself pass in peace.

Anger. Anger was the only thing keeping him alive.

 ***

Your voice was steady, soft, and persistent. Its musical cadence filled the darkness and surrounded him, embracing his dormant senses and sparking them to life with a warm electric hum that cut through the sleepy fog that had been nesting heavily there. He awoke.

“It was on a dreary night of November that I beheld the accomplishment of my toils. With an anxiety that almost amounted to agony, I collected the instruments of life around me, that I might infuse a spark of being into the lifeless thing that lay at my feet. It was already one in the morning; the rain pattered dismally against the panes, and my candle was nearly burnt out, when, by the glimmer of the half-extinguished light, I saw the dull yellow eye of the creature open; it breathed hard, and a convulsive motion agitated its limbs.”

He loved the soothing sound of your voice reading to him, but it make him feel like a child. Usually your presence comforted him, made everything better, but now it pulled him into the waking world where everything hurt. How can one find comfort when every inch of one’s skin is screaming? All his mind could focus on was the stab of annoyance at your patronizing tone.

“What is that drivel?” he scolded, crabby mood apparent.

You stopped reading, letting out a small gasp of surprise to find him conscious. You hesitated, moving your eyes avoidantly over the heart monitor, before cautiously answering, “…Frankenstein.”

It had seemed sort of clever when you started, but with his mood worsening all week, perhaps a story about a man who was made so hideous that all of society rejected and feared him was not a good idea.

“Funny.” he said. You winced.

You closed the book and set it in your lap. “How are you feeling?”

His chest rose and he let out a tired bark of laughter. “Wonderful.”

“Fred—”

“My skin is on fire,” he snapped. “My skin has been on fire since I was tortured and burned. Do not waste my time with brainless questions.”

“Sorry,” you murmured, even though it should have been him apologizing. A pang of guilt churned in his intestines. He wanted to take your hand, to pull you down onto the bed, crush your head to his chest, and weep into your hair so you would understand how he felt. But he could not do any of those things. His hands were swaddled in thick gauze mittens, and he had neither the strength nor flexibility to reach out to you—future surgeries would have to add flexibility to the stiff, contracted scar tissue around his joints. And you laying on his chest would not take his pain away like it did in his fantasy. It would be excruciating.

He could just say the words: Sorry for being an asshole. I am in pain, and I am scared, but you do not deserve to be treated poorly. But he didn’t want to, and he was stubborn. Weak.

Guilty silence filled the air between you. His words stung, and under normal circumstances when Frederick was being a dick, you would tell him where to shove it. But he wasn’t snapping at you over a tie he blamed you for losing. He was going through something unimaginable, and it wasn’t your place to get upset. So you threw the hurt into a little bag, and you closed the bag inside a box at the back of your mind. You were the one who spoke first, doing your best to sound cheerful.

“I thought you might be pleased to hear that Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter stabbed Francis Dolarhyde—the man who called himself the Red Dragon—to death. He’s gone.”

His heart monitor anxiously beeped with humiliating candor, but he spoke with cold calmness. “Shall I throw a parade in their honor?”

“I just thought you’d want to know, you don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Mr. Graham and Hannibal?” he asked pointedly.

You rubbed your arm, turning your head away. Maybe you shouldn’t have brought it up… but he was bound to hear about it anyway. “The FBI isn’t sure. They never found their bodies.”

“Hannibal Lecter is free?” he wheezed and nearly choked.

Reaching out toward the hospital bed, you placed a hand on Chilton’s bandaged arm that was meant to be calming, but it made him jump in his skin. Deep breaths hissed between his teeth as he tried to get his heart rate under control. When he relaxed a little, you assured him, “If he’s alive, he won’t be coming back here. He was with Will. They’ll be running away together.”

He made a show of grumbling with contemplative hostility. “Killing me would only relieve my suffering; they will be pleased to leave me as I am. We have nothing to fear from them.” He was afraid anyway, but he did not need to admit that. Pathetic. Weak. “But the Tooth Fairy is dead?” he added bitterly, emphasizing the killer’s hated sobriquet.

“The medical examiner said it was slow and painful.”

That drew a satisfied little noise from beneath the bandages. The torn edges of his mouth were smirking.

[dreamboatisland]

when i met you | j.w.

Summary: You weren’t supposed to meet Jeff in the middle of a random bar three days after your ex left you for someone else, but here you are.

Pairing: Jeff Wittek x reader

Word Count: 1534

Warnings: drinking, small mentions of cheating

A/N: Well, may I present to you my first piece of writing. I don’t know, it sounded good when I wrote it at 2am, but do let me know what you think!

The day you met Jeff, you were drunk, managed to spill an entire glass of vodka on him, and rant to him about how your boyfriend broke up with you to get back with his ex. Needless to say you didn’t leave his side that night. And the next morning, when you woke up on his couch in his hoodie, you left a thank you note underneath a camera on the coffee table.

This didn’t happen often. Or at all. Always perceived as the good girl of your friend group, you seldom went out at all. Instead preferring the company of some good old Netflix and popcorn. Whenever the girls went out and insisted you come with, they knew to expect some other plans to come up for you. And while they were not real most of the time, they were for a good reason. It wasn’t that you didn’t like your friends, it was just the social aspect you didn’t like. And they understood that. Sometimes.

That changed when you met him. You met Jonathan in the library looking for a book for Alison, your friend who wasn’t able to go because she got called into work early. And you offered to go for her and when you saw him, it felt like fate. Granted there was an immediate attraction, but that connection between you two grew over the course of several dates. After you thanked Alison for sending you to pick up her book about how to properly know your weeds from your flowers.

But you should have recognized the signs. Everything was perfect for the first six months. You were infatuated with him and he with you. Until he wasn’t. It started with forgetting dates scheduled beforehand. Then it moved to the petty small arguments he started over something insignificant. It eventually reached the point where your friends would tell you they were seeing him with other girls around town. It’s not like you didn’t believe them, you just refused to acknowledge it. That was until he told you he was dumping you. Really the signs were all there, but why you didn’t connect the dots was a mystery. And that’s why on the third night after the break-up you called up Alison and told her you wanted to go out and to let the others know.

You weren’t ready to meet Jeff that night. Not at all. He was just in the way of you coming from the bar to getting to your friends and the table you claimed. But with his long swooping locks and the piercing eyes, you couldn’t help, but get involved. If you were sober, it would have been different. You would have held your own. Apologized for spilling your drink and moved away from him. But he was a force to be reckoned with.

And after many drinks consumed by you and water by him, you were too intoxicated to even locate where you were.

He took it upon himself to look after you. You who had spilled alcohol all over his sweatshirt and grabbed the nearest napkin and began wiping it off all while apologizing profusely. He noticed the glossy look over your eyes. You were already drunk and who was he to blame. He was after all the one who bumped into you. And when you started going on a rant about how you were always messing things up and how you were a failure, he softened towards you. Before even knowing why you were here in this lousy excuse of a club, one that David had dragged them all to upon discovering the cheap alcohol prices which was as good as any excuse for content, he knew you were going through some things. He’s been there. Who hasn’t. Just wanting to forget. Forget the pain or the guilt or just any feelings at all. So later when you wouldn’t leave his side and continued to talk to him about mindless things, he was okay with that.

Eventually when you became too intoxicated to even stand, he found some of your friends you had pointed out while in conversation with him. Unluckily for him, they were all just as drunk as you or even worse. Without having any clue as to where you lived, he took the gamble. Rather you go home with him where he could keep an eye on you than with some creep out on the street who might’ve taken a liking to you.

Explaining to David that he was leaving, he brought you outside to wait for an uber. Leaning on him throughout the ride and explaining which was the better phone brand between iphones and androids, all he could do was smile at you. He hadn’t ever met anyone quite like you. LA was filled with a lot of fake people who would do anything to climb the social ladder. You were a breath of fresh air. If you were like this drunk, he would like to know what you were like sober.

Over the course of four hours, he managed to learn a lot about you. Things you only said to people you were close with, but of course those things came out when you were drunk. He knew that you preferred to sleep with a blanket but no bottoms. You felt more comfortable. You liked to have a hot cup of tea in the morning. A great way to start the day. You enjoyed taking long, hot showers. It helps your stress. So when he helped you into his apartment and sat you down on the couch, he left to get you some clothes to change from the dress that was undoubtedly uncomfortable and sticky due to the heat of the club. He checked his cabinets to see if he had any tea and medicine to help when you woke up with a hangover. He didn’t. Which he made a mental note of. Maybe to head to the grocery store before you woke up. He knew a shower was out of the question for you at this time, so he instead prepped it for when you woke up.

After some help with changing you into a pair of shorts, he didn’t want you to wake up bottomless in a strangers’ apartment, and a recently washed hoodie of his, he tried helping you walk to his bed, where he just changed the bedsheets. But you knew, deep down you understood that he was already too generous. Which led to you being adamant about sleeping on the couch. He realized after a few minutes of arguing that you weren’t going to budge, so he instead resorted to making you as comfortable as possible on the couch. He brought out plenty of blankets for you and some of the fluffiest pillows he could find. And once your head touched those pillows, you were out.

He didn’t understand why he felt the need to take care of you. Yeah you weren’t like other people he had met in this town, but it didn’t help pinpoint why he had decided to let you stick by him. If it had been any other person who had spilled their drink on him he was sure that he would have ended up in David’s new vlog for being in a fight. But he gazed into your eyes and they swayed him. Your eyes managed to render him speechless. There were so many emotions going through them. He wanted to know you. Wanted to understand those intense feelings behind those glossy covered eyes. Not only feeling pain, due to the talking you had with him about your ex, but other emotions there too. Almost as if they were lying dormant. And he knew without a doubt that he could uncover those emotions.

So that was why when he woke up earlier than you on purpose, he set out on going to buy some tea for you. As a foundation to try to get you to warm up to him. While you certainly opened up to him last night, he wanted to know sober you.

And when you woke up tangled between some blankets in a house that wasn’t yours, you panicked. Until the memories started to slowly resurface when you looked around. You didn’t hear any noise throughout the room, so you assumed he was sleeping in his room. Which is why that led to you leaving a thank you note for him. Although you understood he had done a lot for you last night, you didn’t think you had enough courage to face him. You weren’t acting like yourself last night. Granted, it was the you that you hoped to be, but didn’t have enough of the courage to actually be. After locating your clothes that you wore last night and your phone which was unsurprisingly dead, you decided to leave.

But what you didn’t expect was for him to be standing at the door when you opened it, keys in hand, bags in the other, and a smile on his face. And you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Do you maybe wanna stay for breakfast?”

“Yeah I’d like that very much.”

[kingkatara]

Girl Meets Waitress: Opening Up

Disclaimer: I don’t own Waitress. I don’t own Girl Meets World. This is a fanfiction written just funsies.

Looking around, seeing the same things every day brings

          Maya woke up to darkness every morning. Her eyes peeled open after a mere six hours of sleep and were met with nothing. For a split second, there was only darkness in front of her, around her, within her. It was then that she and the world had their daily battle of wills, the war over who would break the stillness first and stir the other into motion. And always it was Maya who surrendered. Her eyes would adjust to the low light and a hot puff of breath would warm her face, still partly under the covers to avoid that first shiver of a New York morning that was always chilly no matter the season. She sat up in bed and surveyed the smoking battlefield of her bedroom, taking in her losses from the night before and wondering which of them would show on her face for the rest of the day. Beside her, the world’s weapon lay dormant, harmless unless she were to challenge the demands for peace. If she came quietly as the world beckoned her, he would slumber on. She didn’t look at him as she swung her legs over the bed and tapped her toes against the smooth hardwood floor beneath her. Her white flag of surrender was the tug on the long curtains that shielded the sunlight from shining into the apartment through the wide window on her side of the bed. This was her cry out into the world that she would not fight. And then the day would begin.

           Wake up, use the toilet, brush the teeth, comb the hair. Put the hair up. Makeup over the dark circles and fading yellow-green lump above the eyebrow. Panties, bra, uniform. Socks, then shoes. Purse. Nametag out of the purse and on the uniform. Every day, the routine was the same. There was ease to it, but it would be a lie not to admit that it was also repetitive. She didn’t know what her life was supposed to be like, but she couldn’t help feeling that it wasn’t supposed to be like this. It was as though there was some missing ingredient that she had long ago forgotten to include in the recipe, which always left the dish edible, but unsatisfying. A ritual she had not shared with anyone in the six years of living in her Lower East Side apartment was that the last thing she did before giving in to the reality of her life was standing at her window and waiting for the first rays of light to peek over the buildings in her neighborhood. She never watched the sun fully rise up into the sky. She simply waited for it to appear and then raced it to work. She never won.

           The ride across town on the subway would have been daunting at best for a tourist, but for a born New Yorker like Maya, the odd little scenes playing out right before her eyes, even as early as six in the morning, were just as natural to the routine as tying her shoelaces. On the way to work, swaying gently along with the subway car, Maya would pull out her sketchbook (which wasn’t a sketchbook at all, but a pathetic server’s pad on which she took down her orders) and mimic the likeness of what she saw and sometimes, on her lowest days, what she felt. Today, there was a particularly amusing picture of an eccentric woman with some sort of hat, though Maya couldn’t quite bring herself to call it that. It was tall, a violent shade of purple, and topped with hot pink feathers. These feathers were of great interest to a small little girl, whose mother, wearing the scrubs of a nurse, was snoozing against the window of the subway car. The little girl was standing up on her seat, using the handrail for balance, and blowing on the feathers of the woman’s hat. The woman gave no indication of noticing this invasion of personal space and was instead muttering to herself about some sort of building with her name on it. The two of them were immediately transcribed into her notepad in short, quick lines of ink.

           From the subway, she made her way through the streets of the Lower East Side, weaving in and out of passerby with an expression that was as equally bored as it was underground. She didn’t look up at anyone and instead chose to keep her eyes down on her white sneakers. The less she looked open to communication or interest, the greater chance she had of making it to work having avoided any unwanted attention—because yes, some men really were in the mood before seven in the morning. Then finally, there was the diner. Where her life played out day by day, where the routine really began and always finished; the diner was more of a home to her than her own apartment, which, of course, wasn’t really hers at all. But the diner? It was the closest thing to belonging that she felt since being held in the arms of her mother so many years ago. She entered through the door in the back of the building that led to the kitchen.

           “Is it a woman thing?”

           “Excuse me?”

           “The being late. Every damn day. Is it a woman thing?”

           “Oh, shove it up your—”

           “Good morning! Who’s ready to start the day?”

           Of course, no home was complete without its inhabitants. Maya supposed she could have had it much worse when it came down to the universe selecting her partners for this life thing. She didn’t hate the people she worked with every day and she guessed that they didn’t hate her either. With that being said, however…These partners were no picnic either.

           There was Zay Babineaux, the cook. All Maya knew about him was that he was from a small town in Texas and he came to New York when he was a teenager. He still had a slight drawl to his snarky voice, the stubborn southern streak within him that refused to be beaten down by the hustle and bustle of the north. He never offered any detail into his personal life, like why he chose to be a cook or how he ended up at the diner, and Maya never asked. When he wasn’t flipping pancakes on the griddle, he could be found grumbling to anyone who would listen (and that was exactly no one) about how nothing in his life made sense and why women were the reason for that. Though he was technically her boss, he and Maya had an ongoing feud over who should be giving who orders within the unhallowed walls of their place of employment.

           Riley Lawrence was a young woman of thirty who was made up of sunshine and daisies. She married her high school sweetheart right on the heels of graduation and went to NYU for a degree in political science. A year into law school, she dropped out to start working at the diner in order to care for her husband, Charlie, who had suffered severe brain injuries in a freak bus accident. Though all of her dreams were now wasted, she still smiled like sunshine in the rain and danced like a daisy in the wind. It was for Riley’s sake that squabbles between Maya and Zay were quickly put to bed—neither of them had the gumption to disappoint a soul like Riley’s, who had endured so much already and never uttered a single complaint.

           “Me. Thirty minutes ago. Why are you women always late?”

           “Perhaps it’s because we know you can’t afford to fire us.” The newest addition to their band of misfits was Isadora, who for some reason allowed them all to address her by her ridiculous surname: Smackle. Even her nametag introduced her as such to the customers. She was a twenty-three year old grad student living the dream that Riley had once chased and for that reason, Maya and Zay tolerated her. It wasn’t that she wasn’t likable; she was nice enough. It was just that Maya had never met anyone who was more tightly wound. Smackle had a particular way of doing things and though the diner had never been cleaner, more organized, and more efficient than when Zay took her on, Maya simply didn’t appreciate changing her way of doing things just to fit Smackle’s compulsive need for order.

           “Actually, I can. I don’t own the place. I just run it. I wouldn’t lose anything but the weight of carrying this business if I had it my way and kicked you three to the—"

           “Business? It’s a diner. And it didn’t miss us for the fifteen minutes that we were late. But it will miss us for thirty if you keep us from actually doing our jobs with your whining.”

           “Alright, you know what? Get out of my kitchen. Get out.”

           Snickering, Maya led Riley and Smackle through the swinging door that led into the dining area. Though Riley sighed unhappily as they left Zay to his dramatics, the girls easily fell into their habitual duties for opening up. Riley got to work on the register, counting bills and setting up the front desk. Smackle wiped down each table and sorted the condiments in whatever order made sense to her otherworldly brain. Maya got to work on the pastry display case. The first thing she did every shift was rearrange it so she could display her creation of the day, which was dreamt up sometime before going to bed every night and arriving at work each morning. What made all the elbow grease she put into the job worthwhile was found underneath the diner in its basement: the bakery. Each dessert, particularly the pies, was made from the imagination of her mother. Every dressing coating its recipe, particularly the cakes, was designed from Maya’s. Serving the sacred combination to the diner’s patrons, who had no idea that they were seeing into the very essence of her being with every bite, was the most gratifying thing Maya got to experience in a montage of diner meals that left her secretly hungry for something more. In another life, perhaps Maya would have liked to be an artist. But she was living in this life and if she couldn’t be that, she supposed being a waitress that got to bake the cakes was the next best thing.

           “What’s the special today?”

           Maya’s fingers twitched towards her apron’s pocket where the sketch of her subway ride lived frozen in time between the pages of her server’s pad. She was planning on using it as inspiration for some kind of cake resembling that crazy old woman’s hat, but Riley’s hopeful expression was especially sweet this morning. Her brows lifted in the direction of her hairline ever so slightly, creating the barest traces of wrinkles that were not yet etched into the still youthful skin across her forehead. Her lips parted in a preciously premature smile of delight. Maya never wanted Riley to know the harsh truth that she did, that hope was for suckers, and so she never let Zay put Riley’s pie on the menu even though it was continuously requested by the regulars. As long as it wasn’t on the menu, Riley still got to hope every morning, for just a minute or two, that that would be the day that her pie was the special of the day.

         “Why, Aren’t You a Peach Polka-Dot Peach Pie, of course.” Maya painted on an indulgent smile and admired how Riley beamed sunlight at her.

         “Peaches, you shouldn’t!”

         “Too late, I already did. Today’s a good day to serve everyone a little Riley, I think. I know I could use a little of whatever it is you got.”

         “Well, I’m happy to share.”

         “Go check the stock downstairs and make sure we have enough kosher salt. We were running a little low the last I checked and I don’t think Zay is ordering new stock until tomorrow.” Riley abandoned the hostess station where she was organizing the trio’s sections as if they ever changed and raced downstairs into Maya’s sanctuary.

         “When am I going to get a pie made for me, Maya?” Smackle asked without accusation, just curiosity.

         “Maybe it’s not a pie. Maybe it’s a cake. Or a cookie.” The blonde answered thoughtfully, to which Smackle snorted and shot her a grin from across the room.

         “I am at least a brownie by now, thank you very much. How did Riley end up with a peach pie anyway? Because she calls you Peaches?”

         “Nah, she calls me peaches because that’s what the pie is.” Maya explained, “I don’t know, she’s just so nice. It kind of threw me off when we first met, being New Yorkers and all. When she learned about how I make the desserts and dress them up, a peach pie is the first thing I thought of when she asked me what kind of dessert she would be. The polka-dots came later when I thought about how she dresses out of uniform. That’s what makes it Riley.”

         Smackle hummed in understanding. “And what makes it yours, with that kind of personal touch. No one can bake like you can, huh?”

         “No one but my mother. I just try to do it like she would.” Maya answered with a casual shrug and brushed her hands against her apron as she finished up with the display case. Smackle was obviously done with the condiments as she had moved on to adjusting the number of napkins at each table. Maya regarded her for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to say so, but the spectacled girl had unwittingly stirred a feeling of warmth in her chest at the astute (and the very gracious, at that) compliment—the kind of warmth that spread slowly, like a pie crust in the heat of an oven. So she said nothing at all. Maya got through each day by watching the people she saw and jotting her notes down into her art, be it on the dish or on paper. She had never considered that Smackle might do the same. Dimly, she wondered where her coworker took her observations. Perhaps a scholarly notebook; that was presumably what a good NYU student like Smackle would use in her classes at school. Or maybe she just kept it all in that great big brain of hers. It probably was time for Smackle to get her own dessert by now, wasn’t it?

         Without Riley around to peer over her shoulder and ask questions, Maya pulled out the server’s pad from her pocket and flicked through its pages until she found her sketch from the subway ride. Some of her glimpses into inspiration never quite revealed their whole picture and without that, she couldn’t transcribe their stories into a cake. Maya had a gnawing ache deep in her gut that this lady and her crazy hat were one of those torturously brief peeks into something special that she would only ever wonder about for the rest of her life. Sighing, she walked over to the hostess stand, tore the sheet from the pad’s binding, and slid the sketch between the thick cardstock page of a menu and its plastic cover. This was the eulogy of all the subway sketches that never went on to become something more. The idea of one of the diner’s patrons finding it out of the blue and seeing what Maya saw, even if it was only for an instant, was exactly what Crazy Hat deserved. She deserved the chance to connect with a stranger who was not looking for her and make them wonder just like Maya did; if she was lucky, that stranger could do something to tell her story more truthfully than Maya ever could.

         Riley had returned from the bakery downstairs. “I think we should have enough to get through the day!” She announced joyously, waving a carton of the last of the kosher salt they had left over her head just to show them she was sure.

         “Great, but why did you bring it up here?” Maya chuckled, sliding the menu back into the stacks that would be passed around to the customers throughout the day. Riley’s smile faltered for just a second as realization came to her. As quickly as it left, her smile sprung back into place as if it was never gone, albeit the accompaniment of sheepish awkwardness was an endearing new factor in Riley’s sunshine.

         “I…I just…I’ll go put this back.”

         “No need.” Maya offered her a gentle look of reassurance, the expression well-rehearsed for the times that Riley, feeling especially Riley, looked to her for permission to go on exactly as she was. She did this as though Maya would ever want her to change. “I should probably get started anyway before the morning rush gets in. There’s some crust defrosting in the fridge, but I’ll have to make the filling from scratch. I’ll just bring it back down myself.”

         “Well, then get to it! I want my pie!” Riley pitched her the kosher salt that was not even in the same vicinity as her direction, which Maya had to scramble to catch in an almost cat-like maneuver. Smackle made a move to shoo her away in jest, but she was already hurrying along down the narrow spaces between tables to get a move on. She skipped the stairwell leading to the bakery and headed straight for the single bathroom in the back of the building.

         She couldn’t get the door open fast enough and she still had to find the dexterity in fingers that were not so nimble as they were when baking to lock it. The kosher salt was forgotten, carelessly thrown to the floor and forced open upon impact with the ground. Hard flakes of it dug into her bare knees as she dropped and flung her head into the waiting toilet bowl. It was the fourth time this week that Maya had emptied her insides at work. She didn’t think that anyone had noticed this theatrical display of her stomach’s hysterics, but if it went on, it would be impossible to keep hidden. She didn’t want to deal with that intervention, because that’s exactly what it would be with those two goofballs for coworkers, and she certainly didn’t want to have to deal with Zay. She didn’t want to deal with any of this, not at all. She didn’t know how. All she knew was the diner, the customers, the girls and the cook. The desserts. All she knew was being a waitress. If Maya added anything more to her plate, it would not be a matter of whether she would break, but when.

[lia-jones]

Growing Together - Chapter Eight - Aftermath

Author’s note: This chapter has graphic descriptions of violence, as Andrea remembers a very specific episode of her abuse. If you sensitive to this kind of things, avoid the third part in italic.

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes were hers. They were red and puffy, almost unable to stay open. It was obvious that she had been crying for days. I tried to call for her, but only a raspy sound came out.

“Don’t try to talk just yet.” I heard her instruct. “Your vocal cords must be sore from the tube.”

“She woke up?” I heard my father ask. “Andy, can you hear us?” He bolted to my mother’s side, allowing me to see his face.

“Andy, do you remember what happened to you?” My mother’s eyes shone again with tears.

I lied, shaking my head. I knew exactly what had happened. I wished that I didn’t.

“Do you need a blanket?” I felt Victor’s hand touching my shoulder. I turned my gaze from the jet window to face him, seeing concern in his eyes.

“I’m ok.” I quipped, turning to the window again. I could feel Victor watching me, but he didn’t speak another word.

“The pilot wants to let you know that we will be arriving in Loveland at 3 pm, local time.” We were informed by the flight attendant. “The duration of flight is estimated to be 11 hours. Should I prepare the bed?”

“Maybe for later.” Victor answered. “Put on some extra pillows for my wife as well.”

We sat in silence for a moment, as the flight attendant walked back to the booth.

“You have been very quiet since we left the clinic.” He held my hand. “Are you in pain? I’ll ask for a bottle of water so you can take an analgesic.” Victor motioned to press the CALL button.

“I’m fine, I’m just tired.” I rubbed my forehead. Victor lovingly took my hand, lowering it to my lap.

“That doesn’t mean tired.” He quipped softly. “But maybe you should take a nap. You’ll be more comfortable in bed.”

I laid down beside my husband, letting him wrap a protective arm around me. His hand took mine, drawing soft lines on my skin.

“Are you comfortable?” I heard him whisper.

“Yes.” I closed my eyes, trying to end the conversation.

“Do you need another pillow?”

“I’m sleepy.”

I felt his lips touch my hair.

“Good night.”

I got the pen and paper from my mother’s hand and placed it on my lap, writing furiously on it.

“The baby?” I wrote.

My mother sighed heavily, and took my hand.

“Andy…” She trailed off. I slapped the paper hard with my hand. Why couldn’t she tell me already? I knew he was dead, no embryo would survive that beating. But I needed to hear it.

“It’s incredibly rare, but it can happen to a woman to have a false positive pregnancy test.” My mother explained. “There was no baby. You weren’t pregnant.”

That was simply ridiculous. There was a baby, I was sure there was a baby. I had symptoms, my breasts were swollen, I was late, there was a positive test…

“I have something to tell you, Andrea.” My mother warned me, with tears in her eyes. “But you have to promise me you’ll be strong.”

I nodded, without knowing exactly what I was agreeing to, or what kind of strength would I need.

“You had severe uterine bleeding.”  She held my hand tightly. “They had to perform a hysterectomy.”

I woke up, enjoying the soft sun and the earthy colors of our bedroom for the first time in a week. We were back in Loveland. I had left in Switzerland the dream of giving Victor a biological child.

What exactly does one do when one’s dream is gone? Until our trip to Switzerland, my infertility was a reality, but with the help of science, it could still be overcome. The dream was dormant, but still alive. Now, not even all the fighting in the world could make me have a child of my own. The dream was dead. The only thing left to do was to bury it, and move on.

Without much thought, I got up from bed and did what I did every morning, on a normal day: I went to the kitchen. And predictably enough, Victor was finishing cooking, the scrambled eggs and toast already on the table, a mug with coffee placed by my usual seat.

“Good morning.” He announced, as he added to the table some sliced fruit. “How are you feeling? Any pain?”

“The cramps seem to be gone.” I declared, making an effort to look perky. “ Will you give me a ride today? I need to go to LCG today, see how the remodeling is going. Any interesting news?”

My husband didn’t seem interested in the news, though.

“You’re going to work?” He frowned at me. “You had a procedure two days ago.”

I gently placed my forkful of eggs on my plate, my appetite suddenly gone. I didn’t want to think about Switzerland or my procedure. I just wanted to move on.

“Three days ago.” I corrected. “There’s a time difference. Besides, I’m fine, I’m just going to see the remodel, I’m not going to break any walls myself.”

I needed to sound as normal and healthy as possible if I was going to convince my husband.  But the truth was, I was not only trying to convince Victor, I was also trying to convince myself. Except my body wasn’t in on my lie. I felt a painful cramp in my lower abdomen that almost made me double over, suppressing a whimper.

“I have to find my phone.” I got up from my seat carefully, before Victor could be any wiser. “I must have a hundred emails to return.”

Victor and I didn’t reveal what we were doing in Switzerland, just stating we had meetings with new clients there and would be extremely busy, so we kept communications to a bare minimum. When I went to the clinic for the procedure I turned off my phone, and because of all that happened after, I never remembered to turn it on again. The moment my device came to life, it started beeping non-stop.

I started skimming through the messages, already categorizing the most urgent ones to reply as soon as I got to my computer. My eyes lingered on one sent by Diane.

Aunty Andrea, I have arrived! I was born on August 19th, at 7 pm, weighing 6 pounds. I am a healthy and happy baby and I can’t wait to meet you. Mommy and Daddy say hi! Lots of love, Penny.

Below there was a picture of a sweet baby wrapped in a pink soft blanket, sleeping peacefully. I heard Victor speaking from behind me, leaning against the door frame.

“I was going to tell you after breakfast.”

I took a deep breath, afraid I might start to cry. Clearing my throat, I turned to him, trying to act as perky as possible.

“It’s ok, now I know.” I moved past him to the walking closet. “Penny looks absolutely precious.” I picked a shirt to wear. “I need to call Diane to know when it’s the most convenient to visit. They’re probably too tired to see people right now.”

“Just stop it already.” Victor scolded, making me start to get jittery. “I know you are unwell, you shouldn’t be going to work. You need time to recover.”

“No, what I need is a shower and to get back to my life. I can’t do that staying at home and moping.” I was desperate to get steaming water on my abdomen to ease the pain I was feeling. “Give me 20 minutes and we can leave.”

My wish to pretend everything was ok soon fell apart, as the dull pain I was feeling sharpened and made my knees buckle. The only reason I didn’t fall was Victor’s watchful stance, as he promptly gathered me in his arms.

“You’re not going to work today. Neither am I.” He sat me on the bed. “I’ll help you shower and change into more comfortable clothes, but no one is leaving the house today. You just had surgery, and you are still in pain.”

Despite my protests, Victor undressed me and took me to the bathroom, allowing me to shower by myself under the condition that he would sit outside the stall, waiting for me. I let the hot water dissolve the knots in my body, my mind reeling with thoughts of the recent events.

For the past two years, I had worked hard to get rid of all the marks Daniel left in me. I got my self-esteem back, fell in love, made a career for myself. But I couldn’t erase the mark that hurt me the most, my infertility. I had told everyone that I couldn’t remember what had happened, convincing them that my head injury or maybe shock had erased it from my mind. However, I was trying to spare their feelings. The truth was too cruel, I needed to keep it to myself, so it wouldn’t hurt anyone else. That day at the hospital, I swore to myself that what happened that night would die with me.

First, the memory came in flashes. I did my best to keep it hidden in the dark corner of my mind, but to no avail. It was overpowering me, to the point that I forgot where I was, and simply closed my eyes, finding myself on the cold floor of my old kitchen again.

“Did you really think it would be that easy?” Daniel circled me as I sat on the floor, wiping the blood from my nose. “Did you really think I would just let you walk away?”

He removed the belt from his pants and wrapped it around my neck, tightening it as he kneeled behind me.

“Listen carefully, my love. You don’t get a say about your life. You don’t get a say about that baby’s life. You don’t even get to decide where you go.” I fumbled uselessly to get the belt off my neck, almost passing out with the lack of oxygen. I was startled with his mouth whispering in my ear. “I’m the one who decides who stays and who goes, and I decide who gets to live. Let me tell you what I have decided.”

He grabbed a fistful of my hair and suddenly smashed my head against the tile. After that, I couldn’t get up. The pain was so unbearable I was paralyzed and temporarily blind, my ears ringing loudly. The only thing I could feel was the blood pouring from my forehead and pooling on my hair and ears, and his voice, far away, like I was under water.

“I will let you live your pathetic miserable life.” He spoke with disdain. “But you will not have that child, or any other child.”

The first kick made the air suddenly leave my lungs, and I couldn’t breathe in anymore, before another kick followed. And another. And another. I couldn’t move, I couldn’t cry, I was helpless. The only thing I could do was hope he was wrong, and death would take me anyway.

The sound of the shower door opening startled me, my mind still somewhat fuzzy, stuck between memory and reality. The water stopped, I felt a towel wrapping around me, arms lifting me from the wet floor.

When I fully came to my senses, I was in Victor’s arms, his face close to mine, whispering. It was then that I realized I was gasping for air.

“Deep breaths.” I heard his voice in my ear, while he rocked me back and forth. “Take deep breaths, Andy.”

I couldn’t stop the sobs that followed, making me shake violently. Victor held on tight to me, and I grabbed the fabric of his shirt like my life depended on it, wanting to escape the memory.

After seeing I was more relaxed, he helped me dress and laid me in bed.

“Talk to me.” He urged, as he pulled the comforter over me. “Tell me how I can help.”

“I just want to sleep.” My voice was weak as raspy, barely audible.

His hand rested on my back and lingered, as he seemed to ponder on what to do. After a moment, I felt the mattress rise as his weight left it, and I heard the sound of the door closing softly behind him. He came to the room numerous times, checking up on me. I pretended to be asleep in every single one of them, until he eventually grew tired of it and woke me up, stroking my curls.

“Your mother is on the phone, she wants to talk to you.” I opened my eyes, and his phone came into my line of sight.

“Tell her I’m sleeping.” I covered my head with the comforter.

“You need to talk to someone.” Victor’s voice had lost all his softness. “If not me, your mother. Take the phone.” He almost ordered.

“I said I don’t want to talk to her.” I turned my back. “Stop pressuring me.”

Victor unmuted his phone, bringing it to his ear.

“I’m sorry, Mariana, she’s asleep. I’ll tell her to call you later.”

I closed my eyes again, waiting for him to leave.

“You’re avoiding your mother now?” He scolded me.

“I’m not avoiding anyone, I just want to be left alone. Is that so difficult to understand?” I buried myself under the comforter.

“Yes, you are. You are avoiding your mother and you are avoiding me. Don’t think I don’t know you were pretending to be asleep every time I came to the room. You can’t deal with this all by yourself Andy, you need to speak up.”

I got up from the bed, running to the door, trying to avoid a discussion. I didn’t have it in me to fight. I was too weak. But before I could reach it, Victor pushed my back against the wall, resting his hands on it, blocking any exit for me. I was trapped.

“Victor, please, just let me go!” I begged, tears already forming in my eyes.

“I will not.” He spoke assertively. “Not until you talk to me.”

I looked down, avoiding his gaze. His forehead pressed on mine.

“Don’t hide from me, Andrea. Please.”

I felt the bad blood rising fast, and I couldn’t hold it in anymore. All the frustration and the anguish of the past days came full force in one single wave, and before I could help it, it was spilling all over.

“What do you want me to tell you, Victor?” I felt so enraged I just wanted to scream at his face. “That I’m a horrible person that can’t even be happy for her friend? That I’m consumed by bitterness and jealousy? Or that I feel guilty for having let that piece of shit into my life, and take everything I held dear? Can you possibly understand what that’s like? He won, Victor. You are already paying the price for my bad decisions, I can’t let you pick up the pieces too.”

Victor grabbed my face with his hands, looking at me with piercing eyes.

“You are not a terrible person and you are not responsible for what happened to you. I understand this can be hard for you, but don’t avoid the people that love you. Talk to me.”

“I don’t need to talk!” I yelled, frustrated. “I need normalcy, I need to feel like I’m not about to break, and I need space! I’ll figure it out by myself. Just let me figure it out by myself.”

Victor looked down, seemingly trying to hold himself back. After a moment, he let me go, walking away in frustration.

“What am I supposed to do then, sit idly as I watch you crumble to pieces? Pretend I don’t hear you cry? I will not see you like this and do nothing!“ He lifted his left hand, showing me his wedding ring. “I made a vow I have every intention to keep. In the good times and the bad, remember? It’s my duty as a husband to be at your side at all times, why won’t you let me?” He paused, looking down again. “Am I not good enough?”

His question felt like a bucket of ice dropping on me, freezing me to the core. In my mind’s eye, I could remember all the times I urged him to open up to me, worried about him. I could remember how I felt unwanted every time he pushed me back. Now, I was doing the same. I broke down sobbing, and immediately I felt my husband's arms around me, steadying me. Like they always did.

“I don’t know what I’m doing anymore!” I pulled him tightly to me, taking the strength he was offering me. “You are more than enough, please don’t think otherwise. You are the man that I love, I need you.” I nudged his chest, letting all my anguish finally out, unrestrained. “I’m so sorry, Victor, please forgive me.”

“I’m here, my light, don’t cry.” He whispered softly in my ear, one hand holding the back of my head, the other running soothingly in my back. “All will be well, I promise. You are safe in my arms.”

[sillylittlelouie]

If This House Could Talk - Raizel’s House - Part 2

Raizel sat with his back against the closed door, staring at the ruins of his brother's study. Caul's grandfather clock stared back at him, forlorn and disgrace etched into its roman numerals. Its hands, which must have stopped weeks ago, hung in as perilous a frown a clock could wear. It, much like the room below, was dead.

Just like his brother.

His breath caught in his chest, but no tears came. He'd cried an impossible amount earlier, when he'd finally seen what remained of his brother's beloved space, in the aftermath of the hurricane of time.

Books had been torn from their shelves and strewn across the floors, while the shelves themselves lay in pieces. Beneath it all, the moldy scraps of a once lavish carpeting peered through, like a body beneath the rubble. 

The crystal chandelier, his brother's pride and joy, was in pieces barely large enough to be called shards. And his brother's desk.

Raizel wasn't certain that some of the pieces of wood on the floor weren't part of what was once the desk.

Caul would be furious, if he saw the state of disrepair that the room had fallen into.

A grim chuckle slipped past his lips. Then another, followed by yet another. Soon, he was laughing uncontrollably, till tears began to slip down his cheeks. He laughed and cried, until there were only tears, and he was back to sobbing uncontrollably again.

As he knelt there, pounding his bruised fists against the filthy, moldy carpets, Raizel found that he had something else to laugh at.

His brother, the worst tyrant that he had ever known - the only tyrant that he knew - was dead. The only family that he'd had was gone, and the only tears that he had shed so far were tears of relief. Where was his grief? His lamentation, his bereavement, his tears of sorrow?

When their parents had died, Caul had laughed, and Raizel had thought him a monster for it. As he got older, he understood through his studies that it took a particular level of sociopathy to be able to inflict such pain, while never feeling it for oneself. 

He had noted that his brother had most certainly carried that level of sociopathy.  

Of psychopathy. 

And now here he was, laughing and just being happy that his brother was gone. He was a monster, just like his brother. Just like Caul had always told him he was.

Now Caul was gone, and with him, the only monster that would put up with him.

A single tear rolled down his cheek and Raizel gasped. His chest, overworked from his hysterical laughter, ached terribly. But, despite himself, despite his desire to shed tears, he didn't want to cry. 

Or did he? It was all so confusing and just-

"I'm losing my mind." His voice warbled, teetering on the edge of what he imagined insanity sounded like. "That's all there is to it." He pressed his back up against the door and propped his left arm atop his raised knee. His right hand wormed its way into his hair and he tugged, relishing the pain in a way that only few could appreciate. "That's all there is to it."

"The word 'grieving' seems a more appropriate description to me."

At the sound of the voice, Raizel gave a start, scrabbling to his feet, even as his shoes slicked and slid in the mold. Then he was falling backwards, sliding against the shredded surface of the door. He landed on his rear, legs splayed in front of him.

It may have been a disgraceful display, but...

Raizel somehow managed to swallow past the lump of terror in his throat without choking.

The floating pair of red eyes simply bored into him, the only solid thing in the mass of black that encroached on his vision.

When Raizel woke next, he found himself in his bed, with no memory of taking himself there. He slipped out of bed, taking note of his pajamas, and vowed to never again watch movies with Muzaka.

Walking barefooted down the corridors, he most certainly did not even glance at the study door.

  Raizel kept his back to his room as he closed his bedroom door. He leaned his head against the mahogany paneling and resolutely refused to turn around. There was a monster, an honest-to-goodness, straight-out-of-the-movies monster standing behind him, in the center of his room. 

"Raizel," the monster growled, "we need to talk." 

He shook his head slowly. 

"You've been breaking one of my rules, every single day, for this past week." The monster shifted, somewhere behind him. Raizel could almost feel its hot breath, going down the back of his neck. "You've never been one to break the rules before, boy."

That was before he'd become aware that he'd traded the devil that he'd known, for a different one.

"There's a reason I gave you those rules, Raizel." 

"Aren't they there because you're trying to lure me into a false sense of security?" he blurted, unable to hold his tongue.

"Lure you into a false sense of security for what?" The monster was right behind him now, hands raised, poised to deliver a killing blow.

"Aren't you a monster?" Raizel sunk his teeth into his tongue as soon as the words were past his lips, lest it betray him any further and upset the creature behind him. 

An oppressive silence fell over the room. It hung so heavy, so cloying that his shoulders were weighed down by the magnanimity of it. His lungs were filled to capacity and just about ready to burst.

Raizel's lips parted of their own accord and a raspy breath escaped him. That single action seemed to be some sort of trigger, because the room got brighter, and Raizel could breathe easier.

"Don't be late again, Raizel," the monster growled, its voice strangely faint. "I won't be able to guarantee your safety if you are." Then, with the sound of heavy drapes being whipped about in a storm, the creature was gone, out the window that Raizel knew he hadn't opened. The window that he could never recall opening, but always closed when he got up in the morning.

Wordlessly, he turned around, walked over to the heavy window and slammed it shut. His fingers trembled as he fought against the stubbornness of the ancient, neglected latch. They were a painful sort of numb by the time he'd managed to achieve his goal, but it was worth it.

    The window was open again, the next morning. 

The window was open, and the dresser that Raizel had shoved and tugged and pushed until it sat in front of his door last night hadn't been moved an inch.

Taking a deep breath, Raizel grabbed his book bag and an armful of clothes.

    Muzaka raised a bushy brow when he saw Raizel sitting on the doorstep of his side of the duplex, in the dim light of the pre-dawn.

"People usually hold sleepovers at night, y'know," the brash boy yawned. Still, he bent at the waist and picked up Raizel's luggage. "If you come in now, I can  convince my old man that I snuck ya in last night."

That gave him pause. 

It was ludicrous, to think that Muzaka did not have parents. But, he had never heard him mention his parents.

Had he left behind one beast, only to run afoul of another? 

But, he left now, where would he go? Who else would be able to bear his presence long enough to shelter him from the demon in his home?

Who else would be able to shelter him?

Raizel raised his eyes and let them focus on Muzaka's increasingly worried, searching face.

Moreover, was he putting his only friend at risk of the wrath of a monster?

Caul's voice, which had made itself known as Raizel had forced himself through his bedroom window, had mercilessly taunted him as he picked his bruised body off the grass after he had fallen from the roof of the porch below his window. It had grown in intensity as he made his escape across town towards Muzaka's home. Now, after having fallen dormant for a blessed few minutes, Caul returned to life.

He stroked Raizel's cheeks, chuckling in that wretched sadistic tone, voice dripping with malice and poison. 

"Oh, my sweet little brother, you brought this on yourself." His hands quit their mockery of a caress, turning instead to reaching for Muzaka. To drawing him closer. "You went and had me killed by your new protector, and now you seek a new dog to do your bidding."

Muzaka stepped forward, brows furrowed, but not a trace of anger in his face. "Y'kay Raizel?"

Caul gave a full, throaty laugh at that, curling an arm around Muzaka's shoulders. "Yes, little brother, are you 'okay' with the thought that you'll be leading death to your new friend's doorstep?

His brother was correct. 

Caul was correct, and Raizel was a fool for believing that this was possibly a good idea.

He looked away from his brother's form, and focused on Muzaka.

There was anger in Muzaka's face now. It roiled just beneath the surface, turning his friend's face red.  

The same red that was usually the precursor to one of Caul's violent acts. Raizel swallowed, muscles tensing as he readied himself for the feel of a blow. 

"Only because you deserve it, my dear, sweet Raizel."

One, two - he began to count the seconds as they ticked away.

One, two, three, four.

 Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Tick.

Tock.

Click.

"If I ever see whoever it was that has ya shaken up like this, I'm gonna put my fist in their face." Muzaka's voice, despite brimming with anger, held no water in the face of his gentle grip on Raizel's arm. He pulled him forward, holding him as if he were porcelain. 

Caul, who'd begun chuckling in his cold, calculated manner, fell silent.

Raizel blinked, but the stinging in his eyes refused to lessen. He blinked again, and his vision blurred.

"Wait, Raizel, y-you're crying." Muzaka's grip tightened slightly as his voice rose an octave. "Shit, no, I...I didn't mean it! I won't punch 'em, I swear on my old man's grave!"

"Boy, what did I tell you about killing me before my time!"

Muzaka cupped Raizel's cheek with one hand, using his thumb to wipe the tears from one of his eyes. Now, Raizel could see the fond grimace on his friend's face. "Your time came when the dinosaurs died, ya ancient relic!" 

"You're not too big for me to turn you over my knee, Muzaka S. Carr!"

Raizel froze when Muzaka snorted in amusement. To do that in the face of one of Caul's tirades would have earned him a smarting cheek, at the very least. He would have had to grovel, at this point.

But Muzaka was staring at him now, and-

"Made ya laugh," he chuckled, using his other hand to wipe the rest of Raizel's tears. Then he brought their foreheads together. "Now quit crying before my dad sees ya and thinks I made it happen."

Oh? Raizel touched part of his cheek that wasn't completely covered by Muzaka's rough palm, and felt the slight bunching of muscle. The laughter had been his.

He'd almost forgotten that he knew how.

"Yeah, ya dingus," Muzaka insulted him, smiling.  

It didn't go through him, like one of Caul's insults would have, burning red and hot as it stabbed through his heart. Instead, it settled, soft and warm, keeping the chill of the early morning out.

"You laughed. Now let's go inside."

"He won't be this friendly forever, little brother."

    Muzaka lay back on the floor, staring up at his ceiling, long after his window had been eased open. 

The neighbours were fighting again, but that was an everyday occurrence. Shadowy masses from hell dragging themselves out from under his bed to swear undying loyalty to the person lying on his bed, on the other hand, was not.

That was something straight out of a movie.

He eased himself into a sitting position and glanced over at Raizel. The poor guy had hardly even slept last night.

He probably wouldn't have slept tonight either, if his dad hadn't slipped a bit of whiskey into that cup of tea that he'd given to Raizel. 

Yeah...

Raizel was going to have a bitch of a headache, come morning.

Still...

He eased himself onto his knees and crawled forward, rising to rest his elbows on the bed. He poked his friend's cheek. Yep, he was still fast asleep.

Muzaka bit his lip.

Raizel was still thrown off by whatever it was that had made him decide to spend a few days. He didn't need  to know that there was some sort of monster underneath Muzaka's bed, making it its business to ensure that both of them caught a cold because of that open window.

A cricket sounded, closer to his ear than any of them had been before, and Muzaka scowled.

That was why civilized people in this neighborhood kept their windows closed at night. 

"Damned monster better start paying rent, if it's gonna be leaving windows open," he grumbled, forcing his tired legs to lift him from his crouch and over to the window. "Leaving the window open like that. Does it help chase the fricking bugs out after it lets 'em in? Does it help to pay for the heating in this crapshot place? Must've been raised on a farm..."

[mithranqueersmusings]

Here, There and Everywhere III

Chapter: 3/?

Rating: U

Summary:  You're a regular to The Cavern and you've always loved watching The Beatles play, even if you do have to deal with sweaty crowds, screaming girls and pervy guys. One day under rather unfortunate circumstances, you finally get to meet them which eventually, and oddly, leads to them living with you.

Tags: Domestic fluff, slow burn, eventual smut/romance

Pairings: George Harrison/Reader

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

You and George continued joking back and forth with one another for a long time until you heard the clock strike four; the sound of the grandfather clock chimed through the otherwise empty house and silenced both you and George who looked out towards the door.

"Geez, it's already that late?" George said, he was lying fully on his back with his hands behind his head while you leaned up on your elbow.

"I suppose so." You replied, now feeling like you had to whisper "Do you guys have any plans for tomorrow?"

"Nah." George yawned "We don't really get up to much in the day, just play whenever we can then work in the night." He paused "But if you want to kick us out nice and early we won't hold it against you."

"No, I wasn't-" You started and George smiled up at you, revealing that enticing canine once more.

"I'd say we'll cook you breakfast to say thanks but I don't think any of us know how to even go about it." George chuckled, and you realised why all the boys must be so skinny with their unhealthy living situation.

"I can cook breakfast. I used to make it for my family every Sunday, proper full English." You smiled proudly.

"I don't think you quite get how this whole repayment thing works. You were supposed to owe us, but we're gonna be well into debt to you before we even leave the bleeding house." George's eyes started looking heavy "But I still won't turn down a nice cooked brekky."

You lowered yourself into the bed further, finally lying on your back beside George, who turned to look at you with a soft expression. You gave him a small smile as you made yourself comfortable, unsure what the best sleeping position would be for this strange situation. You settled on lying facing towards George, who continued to lie on his back.

"I suppose this is good night." George joked and you could feel his hot breath on your face, smell the brandy on his breath, and you felt your face reddening; maybe you needed to rethink your position.

"Good night, George." You sounded dazed and couldn't bring yourself to turn around and just continued to look at him.

"Correct me if I'm wrong but I think this is the part where you close your eyes." He was speaking in barely a whisper now, his eyes seemed darker and heavier.

You giggled but couldn't think of anything to say and just kept looking into his eyes. They were such a dark, chocolate brown and his low brow made it look like he was smouldering, always so serious, but after spending this time with him you realised that wasn't the case at all. Even though John was the more obvious joker of the group, after spending this day with them you realised that they were all comical in their own ways, and you couldn't believe your luck that you had this opportunity to get closer to them. Part of you couldn't stand the thought of going to sleep, because in the morning all this would be over, and you'd go back to your day-to-day routine, always coming back home to an empty house. It made your chest feel heavy and you broke your eye-contact with George, looking away to the side as you tried to fight the oncoming sadness.

"You alright?" George whispered, he placed a hand on your arm lightly to reassure you. The contact made you blush, it felt so different now as you lay beside one another in bed under the covers.

"Yeah." You breathed, managing to look at him once more and forcing a small smile "Just been a wild night."

George chuckled and it only made you tenser "Sure has. We'll be out of your hair in the morning, don't worry."

"Not too quick... I hope." You were speaking so quietly now you wondered if George could even hear you, but his reaction rejected this suspicion.

"Oh yeah?" His hand was still on your arm, it felt heavier now and you could feel his slim fingers.

"Yeah..." You spoke before a heavy silence enveloped the room, both you and George looking at each other as his hand rested on your bare skin, feeling so hot now.

You lay there for a few minutes, neither of you speaking until George finally broke the silence "We should probably get some sleep."

He removed his hand slowly, it sent a shiver down your spine as you felt his fingers rub on your skin. You simply nodded, feeling unable to speak during this tense moment, and turned around so that your back was facing George as you knew if you faced him that you'd keep staring at him all night. You felt George shifting behind you and let out a heavy sigh, it sounded so loud in the silence of the room. After a few moments you finally closed your eyes, your body still felt tense and every time you began to relax you'd suddenly seize up again whenever George would make the slightest movement. At one moment George's leg brushed against yours while he attempted to get comfortable and you couldn't help letting out a quiet gasp, praying that he couldn't hear it. Eventually you were fairly certain he'd fallen asleep as he remained still, and you were finally able to relax and get some sleep yourself. Before you drifted off you made a mental note that the breakfast you made tomorrow had to be really fantastic, because maybe it would convince them to stay a little while longer.

The sunlight crept through your thin bedroom curtains and gently woke you, your eyes fluttering open slowly before you were fully conscious. It took you a few moments to fully remember the night before, you weren't sure at first whether it had been a dream or not, but when you looked beside you and saw George sleeping peacefully you were confronted with reality. It was difficult to tear your eyes off of him, especially when there was no chance of him catching you staring. He looked beautiful like this, with his dark hair spilling onto the pillow beneath him, his long and dark eyelashes contrasting his pale skin. You didn't think you'd ever met someone with such a chiselled face before, with George's sharp cheekbones and thin face. The longer you looked you noticed small hairs in between both of his eyebrows, it was only subtle and you'd never noticed it before, and you couldn't help thinking how much cuter it made him look. You felt privileged enough to even be able to look at him like this, there were armies of girls (and guys) who frequented The Cavern who would kill to get this close to George, and here you were sharing a bed with him. You weren't sure how long you looked at him this way, but eventually you shook yourself out of it and climbed carefully out of bed. There was a headache creeping in the back of your skull, you hoped it would remain dormant at least until you'd finished making breakfast.

Walking down the stairs, the house was as quiet as it always had been this past year, but it was a different kind of silence now; where every noise you made sounded so much louder than usual because you were trying to not wake anybody up. The knowledge of walking past a bedroom door and knowing somebody was in there sleeping, maybe even hearing the faint sounds of their gentle breathing, rather than the sad realisation that it was empty. It made you smile as you made your way into the kitchen, it was still pretty dark in the low light of the morning so you flicked on the light switch. It had been a while since you'd made such a grand breakfast, normally you just had a plain bowl of cereal before you sulked off to work in the morning, and you had to think for a few moments about what you actually had to prepare. Luckily you had been planning on having a fry-up for dinner in the next few days so you had everything you needed, you made a mental note of every ingredient as you put it onto the counter in front of you. You pulled out a large frying pan and laid out five plates on the table when a figure in the door gave you a start, you let out a sudden scream against your will only to realise it was a very sleepy looking Ringo.

"Sorry, love." He chuckled, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes "Didn't mean to give you a fright like that."

You chuckled clutching your chest "Jesus! Scared the bloody life out of me. Really not used to having people here in the morning." You turned back around to continue with your preparation.

"What you cookin'?" Ringo asked as he came to stand beside you, he looked even tinier in your dad's large clothes.

"Well I just wanted to cook a proper breakfast for you lot, as a proper thank you for last night." You smiled at Ringo sheepishly who beamed back at you.

"That's well sweet of you. Want any help? I'm no chef by any means but I know my way around a full English." Ringo looked at you expectantly.

"Sure, if you want to." There was something about Ringo that really put you at ease "How about you do the eggs and the beans, think you can handle that?"

Ringo nudged you playfully "I'll try my best."

You heard the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs then as you and Ringo started cooking the breakfast, John and Paul shuffled into the kitchen yawning and stretching.

"G'morning." Paul still sounded half-asleep whereas John didn't even speak, just collapsed into a chair at the kitchen table.

"Oh God, did you two not sleep very well?" You knitted your brows together in worry but Paul just laughed.

"Too well, I think. Had to drag this one out of bed," he gestured his head at John "otherwise I don't think he ever would've gotten up."

"That's a relief to hear." You smiled and continued with your cooking.

"Is George not up yet?" Ringo asked, more to you than anyone else, not taking his eyes off of the food.

"Not sure. He was pretty fast asleep when I got up." You mumbled, trying your best not to think about what had happened last night.

"And how was your dreaded sleeping arrangement?" John piped up, it seemed like it didn't take very long for him to wake up and begin his usual habits.

You blushed and froze slightly, feeling unable to turn around and meet John's gaze which you were sure was fixed on you "Fine, yeah..."

"Nothing un-Christian going on in the dark, then?" You could hear the smirk that was growing on his face, followed by Paul hitting him lightly to shut him up.

"You caught me, John. We fucked all night until the sun came up." You dead-panned, but the expression vanished from your face when a voice in the doorway spoke.

"Did we? I must've missed the memo." George was leaning on the door-frame, somehow managing to still look gorgeous first thing in the morning.

"Come on lads, keep acting like this and I'm personally gonna spit in your breakfast." Ringo chuckled and gave you a reassuring glance.

You and Ringo continued cooking, you didn't say another word and focused solely on the food. The boys exchanged slow and sluggish words, nobody was feeling 100% after all the drinking last night. Every so often Ringo would turn around to make a quip and the room was filling with laughter; even though you weren't involved in the jokes you felt happy just to be in their presence. Around ten minutes later and the breakfast was cooked, Ringo insisted on serving and that you took a seat and you happily obliged. You sat next to George somewhat sheepishly, shuffling in your seat to get comfortable as Ringo passed around the full plates.

"Smells delish." Paul smiled, accepting his plate gratefully and passing you a glance.

"Can't remember the last time I had a proper breakfast." John said, fighting the urge to tuck in before everyone else had been served.

"Yeah, thanks guys." George's gaze lingered on you longer than wished it had because you felt your cheeks heating up.

"It's nothing really. I just wanted to do something proper to say thanks." You tried to fight the nervousness.

"And letting us all sleep in your house isn't 'something proper'"? Ringo laughed, finally sitting down with his plate and beginning to eat.

"Well... sharing a bed with a strange guitarist you met in a club isn't exactly proper." John snickered which earned a glare from Paul, threatening another hit.

"And what exactly were you and Macca getting up to last night, John?" George's voice was low, and even though you knew he was only joking it made you feel a little strange, nervous almost.

"Hey now, I never said me and Paul were proper." John spoke with his mouth half-full, Paul just chuckled and ate in silence.

This was another one of those moments where you couldn't tell whether the boys were joking or not; they seemed to have this unspoken language with each other that you couldn't quite understand. Your first impression was that it was a joke, but when you thought back on how you'd seen Paul and John interacting you realised there might be some truth behind it. No, surely not... But then again, the way Paul had paired himself off with John when sorting out the sleeping arrangements had been very matter-of-fact, as if there was no chance they'd be sharing with anyone else. It was probably best not to think too much about it, you wouldn't have been surprised if this was just a long running joke between them all.

Bit by bit everyone cleared their plates, nobody left even the smallest amount which made you feel very satisfied. Everyone said their thanks in turn as you collected their plates and ran them under the tap before piling them up for them to be dealt with later. When you turned back around the boys were all looking at you expectantly which made you nervous.

"Well, we best be off..." Paul began "We've intruded your home long enough, I think. You've been a very gracious host, really, thanks so much for all this." Even though he was smiling at you, you couldn't help but frown as they all started getting up from the table.

"There's no rush, honestly. I don't have work today, you can really stay as long as you like." You spoke quicker than you had intended to, but you felt just as you had felt last night when they had started to leave, and the fear of being alone in the house again gripped you tightly.

"That's very kind, but we really need to get back to our very, very, very homely cupboard." John winked, and you winced thinking about that dreaded place.

There was a pause.

"I really can't stand the thought of you guys all holed up there." Your words were escaping quicker than you could think "Why don't you... Why don't you just stay here for a few days? Until you find a proper place? I really, really wouldn't mind... Only if you guys want to, of course." Your voice trailed off, your hands were gripping the edge of the counter behind you.

There was another pause.

"Someone better get God on the phone." John broke the silence in his typically animated way "Cause I think heaven's missing an angel."

George groaned at his cheesy remark "Really John?"

"You're sure about this?" Ringo asked, looking at you with his gentle eyes "It really isn't that bad there, we've probably exaggerated it a fair bit."

"Well, no, it is that bad there, but that doesn't mean you have to feel obliged to let us stay. We'd probably be a right nightmare to live with." Paul was standing behind his chair now.

You let a sigh "You'd be the ones doing me a favour, honestly. I hate being alone in this damn house, and it's been really nice having some proper company for once."

"Well if you put it like that." John started sitting back down again now, looking very smug.

"You'd have to let us know the minute you wanted us out, and we'll be off soon as." Paul sounded more serious "And we can't really offer you that much money, unfortunately, but we could give you something at least."

"This is all getting a bit official." George mumbled.

"Too official maybe." You chuckled "Let's just see how things go. If you all end up being a right pain in the arse then I'll throw you out on the street, that sound good?"

"Sounds perfect." Ringo grinned at you.

You really hadn't planned on any of this, but subconsciously maybe you had been. There was something about being around these four that just made you feel so at home, so unafraid and relaxed, and that wasn't something you wanted to let go easy. If they left now, sure you'd be able to see them at The Cavern and maybe you could hang out a couple of times, but you'd never get this again and the thought of that made you feel so empty.

"We'd best get our things then." Ringo said, looking at the other boys for approval who nodded in turn.

"Can I come?" You asked, drawing a smile from George.

"I dunno... Might cramp our style being seen with our landlady." John joked and you cringed at the word.

"It's quite a walk, but we'll take Ringo's car back." Paul said, glazing over John's joke.

"That's fine, would be nice to get out the house for anything other than work and shopping." You smiled and the boys began leaving the kitchen.

George glanced at himself as he passed the mirror "I cannot be arsed to get dressed." He mumbled, making Ringo chuckle.

"It's a good look, George. Very 'spare any change?'" Ringo stood next to him in the mirror, sizing himself up.

"Piss off." George chuckled, shoving Ringo lightly "We should probably get changed, though."

All in agreement, the boys headed back to fetch their clothes and hurriedly got dressed. You waited outside your bedroom door for George to finish so that you get changed yourself, when he came out of your room he was startled to see you there but then made way for you to get into your room. You mumbled a thanks as you brushed past him and shut the door behind you.

"I'll try not to walk in on you this time." George chuckled as the door shut.

"Try?" You called from the other side, rustling around the piles of clothes on the floor to find something decent.

He didn't respond, only chuckled, then you heard him heading downstairs to join the other boys. You really had to put a wash on, you were running out of clothes that didn't have a stench to them. As you pulled on a turtleneck and some loose-fitting trousers, you made a mental note to wash some clothes when you got back. You headed downstairs to find them all waiting for you, all managing to look fairly sharp in their suits despite wearing yesterday's clothes. You pulled on your shoes and a coat and gave them all a smile to signal that you were ready to go.

"Alrighty, to the cupboard we go!" John announced, opening the door and stepping out into the morning.

George waited for the rest to leave once again so that he could walk with you, the first time he'd done that it had made you feel completely at ease, but now it put you on edge somewhat. You wish you could get rid of this feeling, to just relax and be with George like you would any other friend, but there was something stopping you from doing that. He held the door open for you and you bowed your head in thanks, fiddling with your keys as you went. When the door shut behind you both, he hurried down the steps with his hands in his pockets and watched you as you locked the front door. Then he pulled out a cigarette and lit it, your eyes honing in on his slender fingers and the smoke pouring out from his lips.

God he was beautiful.