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white-poppie · 2 years ago

Text

𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐲-𝐐𝐮𝐢𝐧𝐧 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐞

Characters: Rindou x Gn! DETECTIVE reader Genre: Reverse YANDERE, Mafia au (HALLOWEEN-special) Warnings: The reader is like Harley Quinn (Somewhat Histrionic personality disorder.), with power imbalance, gore, guns, and DRUGS!! A HUGE TWIST AT THE END (SFW OTHERWISE) Age Rating: PG-13 Writer: @white-poppie

A/N: I ABSOLUTELY DO NOT PROMOTE THIS KIND OF BEHAVIOUR. It is impractical scary and even gross. Violation of someone’s personal space/ life is not being romanticised in this post. Rather it is JUST A FICTIONAL TROUPE WITH FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.

NOTE THAT THIS IS A DARK ROMANCE AND IT IS NOT REAL OR BEING SUPPORTED!!!

Note that I have no knowledge of how drugs work except what I have studied in school/ done research, if there are any factual inaccuracies, please forgive me.

Don't do drugs, kids!

Tokyo Revengers (東京リベンジャーズ)

The dim fluorescent lights illuminated his face and made your heart flutter like crazy. There was this sour tang in your drink, probably the guilt. Your conscience revolted against your infatuation, calling you crazy.

But how could you not fall for him?

After investigating him and trailing after him for months. Knowing him from head to toe and despite his grey morals you found yourself falling into the abyssmal feeling of love.

It was sort of Stockholm-ish, without the kidnapping part though.

You found yourself delaying the investigation, knowing that at the end of it, either one of you would be dead--take a taste of the broth while its still warm, one could say.

It felt incredibly hazy now-- your legs were incredibly shaky and powerless. You gasped to pull yourself together, stumbling while getting outside the club. Through your tunnelling vision, you saw yourself being collided with something firm--and then it was all black.

A harsh headache thumped on your temples, making you hiss as you writhed in the restraints.

You squinted to look at the man in front of you. Three buttons unbuttoned, giving you the view of that black tattoo on his chiseled chest you had seen multiple times.

One leg resting atop another, his finger ran on the rim of the wine chalice, adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he indulged himself in the wine, as you sat kneeling a few feet away from him, hands tied to a pole of a club.

His half-lidded eyes drew towards you as he heard the sound of your clothes rustling against the rope. Your eyes widened in fear and you gulped harshly as his eyes undressed you.

“Tell me,” he spoke thickly, “who do you work for?”

You bit your lips and refused to answer, the metallic taste swirled in your mouth.

“For how long have you been stalking me?” his voice raised a little and you looked at him dead in the eye...how did he manage to look so good even when he was mad?

You gulped harshly as a shaky breath left your mouth. So pretty, he was so so so so pretty and he was all yours.

“Answer me!” he snapped, slamming the glass in his hand against a wall, you flinched at his booming voice, suddenly fearing for your life, more than your infatuation.

Rindou Haitani was intimidating—terrifying. One look at him brought you to a dreadful shudder, and it only became worse every time he so much as looked at you. You were paralysed; you had heard things about him that could turn a hitman's blood colder than ice. He was a dangerous cog in the machine and you were caught in the middle of it.

Your eyes flickered to his face for any reaction. It was stone-cold and unwavering, that’s hot.

“I-uhm,” you cringed as your voice betrayed you, “2 weeks.”

“Lies,” he huffed.

“Uhh- fine a month,” you lied again, the crooked look of anger on his face made you bite your tongue and utter the truth,”3 months.”

He looked at you with disgust, “why?”

Walking to your jacket, he searched for any proof of identification, shit, now he was gonna know that you were a detective and he would kill you before he even gets a chance.

“Wait!” you shouted, and his head snapped in your direction, "I know you will want to kill me as soon as you see my ID, yes I am a detective, but I gave up on the case because..." your throat felt dry and hoarse as you spoke the next words

“I-love you so much, Rindou.”

“The fuck?” he spat and you suddenly felt embarrassed.

"I am sorry, I just- I know it sounds unbelievable, but I had enough evidence to get you a jail of a lifetime, but I didn't, I couldn't get myself to. I am so in love with you that it hurts!" You shouted with tears sparkling your waterline.

Rindou stayed quiet for a few seconds, but those were enough to make bile churn through all the cells of your body, “how delusional do you have to be to say this shit?”

“No, no, no, I am not delusional, I have been watching you, loving you for so long; you deserve better, something so perfect, I’ll give you that; please just accept me,” you pleaded.

“Are you sick in your head or something,? he hissed with disgust.

You would rather bear his revulsion, his scrutiny, his spitefulness than be away from him. He was your god! Your saviour, he was your only point of existence!

"I don't care if you call me crazy," you laughed pitifully, “No matter what you do to me, I’ll worship the very ground you walk on. That's what it means to love someone.”

His eyes narrowed as he crouched to your position, sharp features scanning you like some sort of twisted game he has to solve.

His palm moved to your face to caress your cheek, and if it were possible for humans to instantaneously combust, you would've.

Your skin ignited with ache for him, blossoming from the pits of your gut, leaning onto his tender hand. The one of your saviour.

You know every single thing about him. You have memorized the routes he follows and kept information about the people close to him. Break into his house, and steal his belongings for your little collection. You have little photos of him, working, in Bonten, with his colleagues. But you have never gone as far as having inappropriate photos of him. At least you had that my much conscience.

Rindou smirked and moved a little away from you, you whined at the loss of contact, "give me a second, gotta make a call."

"A-Are you going to kill me?" you whimpered, "please don't kill me Rindou, I want to live with you forever!"

"Of course not, I am not going to kill you,doll, just let me make a call to arrange a place for you to stay, you are joining to be mine after all~."

'Doll' shit, you were you were going to burst into flames like a phoenix.' Guess your god, you so revere may not be as divine as you painted him out to be, he accepted you oh so willingly, without thinking you were eccentric.

"Holy shit, Aniki, it worked!" Rindou exclaimed in triumph in his car, "you are the greatest!"

"You know seeing a person's face everywhere, especially when you are supposed to hate them, really entices romance," Ran chuckled.

"But that's not all, you forgot the secret ingredient," Rindou smirked tapping his steering wheel.

"Of course, I didn't," Ran simpered, "seeing your face every day for the case plus the ecstasy we were sneaking in their food. Portraying you in the best light possible, obviously, was gonna work."

"Shit," Rindou leaned his head on the seat, "I finally have them Aniki! My Y/N, my dearest! They were meant to be mine!"

"She is with me, willingly," he hollered, "she is going to be with me forever--we're gon' be the next Harley Quinn and Joker!"

Who knew, dearest Y/N, The hunter you were hunting, that turned to your prey, was the hunter after all. You were the catch and he was the apex predator.

Did yall like my first psychological-thriller attempt??

Tags: @sakinotfound, @akumicchi, @innerpurple, @renster05, @futuristicallykawaiiturtle, @kristaline2dmensimp

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Tokyo Revengers (東京リベンジャーズ)

Part 2?

Check out:

- L'appel du vide

Synopsis: Your husband, Hanma Shuji is dead! You team up with Tachibana Naoto, Chifuyu Matsuno, Ryuguji Ken and Mitsuya Takashi, you go on a journey full of betrayals and twists. Can you find out what really happened to your husband?

279 notes · View notes

loversandantiheroes · 4 years ago

Note

Okay my whiskey fantasy. It’s a holiday, anniversary, I dunno. But he comes home. You’re in lingerie, teddy, the garter belt, the thigh high tights (I am having an absolute brain fart and can not remember the name), the high heels. you’re cooking him dinner in it. Somethin real texas for dinner. He wants to immediately fuck yiu, BUT NO he has to WAIT bc its dinner time and you worked hard. He’s waiting, and he’s watching you, you’re bending over at the stove, all that. Dinner is served, you —-

You lounge on the table to eat like a decadent and gorgeous pain in the ass, so he can see you’re whole body while he eats, forced to be patient. You’re being an absolute menace. He’s running his mouth the whole time OBVIOUSLY. Then he fucking wrecks you

No Candles Necessary

As I am a bonafide yeehonk foole (and I have the t-shirt to prove it), I could hardly resist this idea. Nonny, I hope like hell I did you proud.💗

Shameless Whiskey/F!Reader smut (18+ and yes that means you), 5.3k+ words (they just wouldn’t shut up), mildly beta’d and lightly edited.

Warnings: established relationship, unsafe food preparation practices, light foodplay (it only goes in appropriate places I swear), egregious dirty talk, improper use of a dining table, Switch!Whiskey returns, Switch!Reader by extension, fingering, oral sex (m receiving), deepthroating, PIV sex, unprotected sex (do as I say, not as I fictionalize), cream pie (bc I’m lazy quite frankly), actual pie (peach!), a little soft schmoop in between the smut just because I can.

Permatag: @missredherring @dovesnroses @astroboots @magpierhymes @alienprincesspoop @aasimarr @maythxthirstbxwithyou @recklesswit

Pedro Permatag: @ithinkhesgaybutwesavedmufasa (sorry bab, more yeehonk) @corvueros @thirstworldproblemss @littleferal @krissology @frannyzooey @forallthstarsinthesky @princess76179 @keeper0fthestars @venusandromedadjarin

Cooking your boyfriend a birthday dinner in lingerie is probably not the best idea you've ever had. The man isn’t even home yet to witness the trouble you’ve gone to, still wrapping up a day’s work at HQ after closing out another mission. So you didn’t jump right into cooking in your frillies. No, you did the bulk of the work in sweats and a t-shirt, only stopping to change once you were down to the last stretch and the steaks had come off to rest. You've got sense enough at least to put on an apron, not wanting to risk getting hot grease on the delicate fabric or the vast amounts of bare skin the thing doesn't cover, and while you've already donned the garter belt and stockings you've left your heels up against the island counter so you can slip them on quickly when you hear the door. Still you can't quite help but feel less sexy and more silly as you stand there carving up a pair of garlic butter basted steaks while your forehead prickles with sweat and your ass, covered by neither the teddy or the apron, feels ice cold.

The things I do for love of a goddamn cowboy, you think with a shake of your head. Your whole plan is honestly on the high end of ridiculous. But then Jack is a ridiculous man, and he always seems to drag you headlong into absurdity with him. Some days it's his only saving grace - the boyish playfulness that tempers his arrogance into something charming rather than infuriating. It seems only right to be a little ridiculous for the occasion.

Once the carving’s done you give yourself a second to go over the spread and make sure everything's ready to go. It's early yet, but you're expecting to hear Jack's key in the front door any minute. He's made no mention of returning home early, of course, but he is every bit the sort that would try to surprise you on his birthday, and you’ve developed an uncanny ability to anticipate his moves ahead of time.

As it turns out, you have just enough time to slip on your heels before you hear the front door open and Jack calls out your name. You allow yourself a moment of satisfaction - you do love being right when it comes to this sort of thing - and slip into your heels.

“In here, baby,” you call back, stepping out to lean against the door frame.

“Somethin’ smells like heaven,” Jack says, rounding the corner into the dining room. He stops dead when he gets a look at you, mouth falling open in surprise. He’s hung his hat at the door, his hair already flopping over in a revolt against the slicked-back way he styles it in the morning, his suit jacket still on and buttoned. “Looks like it, too,” he finishes, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin. “I feel overdressed all of a sudden.”

You can’t help but answer that grin. “Happy birthday, cowboy,” you tell him, beckoning him over.

He all but rushes across the room to slide up against you, hands curling around your hips and playing with the tie to the apron. “Sure as hell is now,” he mutters. His palms slide down, cupping your ass to pull you in close. You bite back a hiss at the warmth, and he gives a low approving hum at the expanse of cool, bare skin. “Looks like I don’t even need to unwrap my present.”

“Patience,” you insist, pushing his shoulders back and grazing your lips over the tip of his nose as you evade the kiss he tries to pull you into. “No dessert until after dinner.”

“Dinner can wait-”

“No it cannot. I did not just spend the afternoon trying to keep hot butter off my tits so you could get impatient and let your supper get cold.” He traces a finger across your cleavage as you talk, tugging at the top of the apron to get a better look at the skin underneath. You feel the quip coming before he even opens his mouth, so you take the opportunity to give him a little push and show him just what he’s in for tonight. You bring up your hand, fingers curling under his wrist, turning his hand away and using it to pull him flush to you, the line of your thigh landing against the covered denim crotch of his jeans with just enough force to make him jolt.

“Be a good boy, Jack,” you say against his open, breathless mouth, “or you won’t get any dessert at all.”

Whiskey pouts, but his eyes have that dark glint that says he knows he’s in for trouble and he is just as pleased as punch about it. “You mean to torture a man on his birthday, honeybee?”

The smirk you give him makes his heartbeat kick up a little faster - you can feel the quickening of it in the pulse point against your fingertips. “Absolutely.” You stretch up enough for one brief, warm kiss and then step back, jerking your chin towards the dining table where there’s already two glasses of wine poured at the ready. “Sit. I’ll bring out dinner.”

He nods, tongue rolling slowly against his bottom lip. “Yes ma’am.”

His gaze is a heavy weight on your body as you walk away, raking down across so much exposed skin. You hear him groan at the sight, low and appreciative. He’s always been fond of seeing you wrapped up in lingerie, even more fond of tearing up the expensive scraps just to get you bare for him. You’d chided him about it the first time - the bodysuit he’d ripped clean in half from gusset to tit hadn’t been cheap, even though that little display had thrilled you far more than you’d ever want to admit - but he always replaced what he ruined without fail.

When you come back, divested of the apron with plates in hand, Whiskey is sitting just as instructed, elbow on the table, chin resting on his knuckles. He tracks every move you make, every sway of your hips, a playful smile hiding the effort of his restraint as you set his dinner in front of him. He barely spares the food a glance when you elect to forego your own chair and simply hop up onto the table, setting your plate near his and dragging over your glass of wine.

“You’ve outdone yourself, honeybee,” Whiskey rumbles, sliding a hand up your knee to your thigh, and he could not be talking less about the food.

You only smile, taking an unhurried sip. “Somehow I thought you’d prefer this to a new tie. How old are you now, anyway?” you tease.

“Sweet sixteen,” he says dryly, hiking an eyebrow while he squeezes your thigh for your cheek.

You chuckle. “Uh-huh, and I’m Mother Theresa.” You lean in, spearing a slice of steak on his plate with your fork and holding it out for him. “Now, I worked very hard on this, and I am going to be very disappointed if you try to skip dinner on me just ‘cause you can’t quit eyeballing your dessert. Open.”

He tips you a wink before dutifully opening his mouth, letting you feed him. The soft, indulgent moan that leaves him as his eyes slip closed is too subdued to be anything but real. “Honeybee that is gorgeous. My compliments to the chef.”

“The chef is glad to hear it.” You swipe your thumb over his lip, collecting the sheen of juice and garlicky butter and bringing it to your own mouth, delicately sucking it off. “Could’ve used a bit more rosemary.”

Whiskey shakes his head. “Mm-mm. This is perfection on a plate, baby. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

The smile that earns him is genuine, and you bend to give him a quick kiss. He presses it, just a little, a swipe of his tongue that you open for just enough to nip at before pulling away. “Eat.” You gesture meaningfully at his plate.

All told, there isn’t actually much on it. Steak, roasted new potatoes, and asparagus with hollandaise sauce. You’ve only served up maybe half of what you’d usually set in front of him for dinner, opting for more reserved portions. It’s a favor to you both - his patience wouldn’t last through a full meal without the need for physical restraints. There’s more in the kitchen, of course, and an actual pie for dessert if you happen to get that far. You’re both bound to be hungry again after.

Whiskey tucks in, fork in his left hand while his right stays comfortably curled around your thigh, slowly creeping higher and higher until he’s playing with the lacy top of your stocking. You give him a warning tilt of your head, your own fork poised halfway to your mouth. All you get in return is those plaintive, innocent puppy dog eyes of his, but his hand doesn’t advance further.

All in all you’re rather proud of his restraint, at least until one spear of asparagus manages to drip hollandaise down onto your cleavage. Suddenly that quietly repressed hunger cracks and he’s surging up towards you, mouth half-open and tongue peaking out, ready to clean you up.

But that won’t do. Not yet. Your reflexes might not be as good as his, but they’re nothing to balk at, either. You brace yourself back on one hand, leaning away and planting one of your high heels against his shoulder to shove him back into his seat. The look on his face is priceless; mouth agape and pupils blown.

Slowly you shake your head. “You know better, Jack.”

His eyes track up the inside of your thigh to the crotch of your bodysuit - or rather, the lack thereof - and the split strips of lace that don’t cover your mound, but frame it prettily for him. “Fuck, honeybee,” he mutters breathlessly.

Dinner and a show was always the plan. So you take your time, dipping your finger and swiping up the stripe of creamy yellow and holding it out to him. Whiskey stares you down as he takes the tip of your finger into his mouth and sucks dutifully, his tongue plush and soft and working against the pad of your finger the same way he worries it over your clit. A rush of heat rockets through you, leaving your belly warm and a sweet tingle tripping down your spine in its wake.

Biting your lip hard to rein in the impulse to just slide into his lap, you drag your finger out of his mouth. It’s what he wants; to make you break first, to make you lose at your own game. And where’s the fun in that?

“It is your birthday, so I’m going to cut you a little bit of slack, but if you can’t mind your manners and do as you’re fucking told, you’re gonna get a lot worse than a birthday spanking, pretty boy. Now, I told you: no dessert until you finish your dinner.” There’s precious little left on his plate; a few scraps of steak, a couple potatoes, one lone spear of asparagus. You stab this last with your fork and hold it out to him. “Last chance, baby. You open your mouth for me and be a good boy, and you can have me any way you want.”

Whiskey looks dazed; seething and starved and love-struck all at once. You don’t even need to look down to know he’s hard. But he hesitates just for a moment, whether it’s deliberate or accidental you’re not really sure - sometimes the man just really wants to be punished - but in that space you see his body jerk, hunching slightly as his abdominal muscles contract involuntarily. You follow the movement with your eyes and sure enough, there he is. Full mast and straining hard against thick denim.

Smiling sweetly, you wave the fork at him. “Your choice, Jack.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he says, and the roughshod timbre of his voice says it’d be a fine way to go.

Whiskey opens his mouth and takes what you give him.

You’re slow about it. Careful. Admonishing him when he tries to chew a little too quickly. Whiskey stares you down with eyes like coal seconds away from ignition. He holds your gaze while you slip another bite of food into his mouth, then lets his eyes slip down until they fix firmly on your half-exposed and already glistening cunt, and you know the moment you give him an inch he’s going to wreck the hell out of you for this.

When the last bite passes his lips he curls his hand around your ankle, squeezing. Always pushing his luck, this man of yours. You set his plate aside, glancing away like it’s no effort at all as he very methodically wipes his mouth with his napkin.

“Now can I have my dessert?” Impatience roughens the low gravel of his voice into something dangerously sharp.

You smile, leaning back on one hand. “There’s peach pie in the kitchen.”

He presses forward, left hand sliding big and warm up the inside of your thigh. The motion presses the leg you’ve used to pin him to his chair back until your knee is nearly flush with your chest, opening you up wider, the rush of air between your legs now shockingly cold against the wetness that had gathered there.

“Woman, the only pie I want a piece of is the one sitting right in front of me.”

The stretch along the back of your thigh burns, so you shift, hooking your leg over his shoulder instead. “I haven’t finished my dinner yet,” you protest cooly, reaching down to snag a strip of steak off your still half-full plate and popping it into your mouth.

Whiskey’s hands slip higher, and this time you don’t stop him, too busy sucking the buttery juices off your fingers. When the very very tips of his fingers brush the spread lace at the crux of your thighs he freezes, waiting for the rebuke, for fingers around his neck or your other heel to plant square in his chest. You consider it, sure; it’s certainly not a prospect without its merits. A man that enjoys being under your thumb is satisfying in a way that few things in life ever fully measure up to.

But honestly, you’ve worked hard enough tonight. Time to let him put in a little effort.

A tilt of your head and a curl of your foot against his shoulder is permission enough; slipping off the leash by way of a gesture, and the low smolder in his eyes blooms to a full burn. Whiskey stands to his full height, looming close enough for you to feel the heat bake off him as he shrugs off his jacket and unbuttons the cuffs on his dress shirt, rolling them up with a few quick turns of his wrists.

“Can’t let my girl go hungry now,” he hums in a voice like burnt molasses. “Lemme give you a hand there, honeybee.”

Smirking, Whiskey wraps an arm around you, brushing the tip of his nose against yours as you wriggle against solid heat of his body. His left hand wanders out of sight on the table as his lips meet yours, teasing your mouth open with the barest brush of his tongue, while his right hand trails warm and slow around your side and down and down to cup your mound.

It’s hard to believe you ever felt cold. You’re burning up now, skin flushed hot as his mouth grazes yours and breathes out: “Open up for me.”

And just like magic, you do. No input needed on your behalf; your mouth simply drops open and your legs shift wider in accommodation for him. There’s a clink of silverware and then he’s waving a fork at you, a strip of steak speared on the end. Whiskey’s eyes glitter as he pushes it into your waiting mouth. Each bite he feeds you is accompanied by a teasing dip of his fingers into your core, feeding you with his left hand while he touches you with his right. Your slickened folds part smooth and easy as he pushes his fingers inside you, a welcome but all too brief intrusion, before they trail up again to stroke at your clit. Again and again you rock your hips up, trying to encourage him to slip into you deeper, to give you a taste of the fullness and pressure of his cock, but every time his touch retreats.

You whine; a strange mix of frustration and pleasure. “Tease.”

“Takes one to know one,” he coos, the hand between your legs working faster. Heat builds quickly under his fingertips, a friction far more appetizing than anything else you’ve set on the table tonight. “You made the rules, honeybee. No dessert until after you finish supper. You do want your dessert, don’t you?”

He brings the next bite up, holds it tantalizingly close. You stretch out and he draws it back, and suddenly his fingers are rubbing a firm, determined circle on your clit. Your whole body jolts, gasping air with a pitiful little whine. There’s nothing but mischief on his face as he watches you, tongue sweeping against his bottom lip. He slows his fingers, brings the fork down again, closer this time. The food brushes your bottom lip before he pulls it away, fingers quickening again.

“Jesus,” you all but squeak. “Jack, don’t be mean.”

Whiskey gives you a considering hum, leaning forward to suck the sheen of butter off your bottom lip. “Oh darlin’ I would never,” he insists, punctuating the sentiment with a kiss that’s tender enough to be very nearly sincere if it weren’t for the fact that the motion of his hand never slows. A sweet, bright heat begins to build under his fingertips. “How could I be mean to my girl when she worked so hard for me, hm? I’m just paying that back in kind is all. You wanna come on my fingers, baby, you can do that all you like. I’ll make you come ‘til those pretty little legs can’t do much more than shimmy. You know I can. But you ain’t gettin’ nothin’ else until you clean your plate like a good girl.”

“H-ha-ah, fuck-how much more?”

He grins devilishly. “Just this last bite.”

“Oh you f-fucking jackass!”

Whiskey laughs. “Guilty as charged. Open up, baby, take what I got for you.”

He pushes the last bite past your lips and immediately delves his fingers into your warm and waiting cunt. The breath shudders out of you, fingers digging into the tablecloth as you try to hang onto enough composure to remember to chew and swallow. He’s slow for a moment, pumping and curling his fingers gently while he watches you eat. There’s a clink of silverware as he discards the fork and puts his arm around you, pressing his lips against your forehead.

“Good girl,” he murmurs sweetly.

Mouth empty now, you nudge your nose against his chin, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Jack-”

And then his grip becomes determined. The fingers inside you flex, the heel of his hand pressing hard against your clit and all you can do is cry out against the soft skin of his neck and hang on for dear life while he works you up and over the edge with shocking speed.

Trembling, you lock your legs around him as you come down, dragging his collar aside to bite lazily into the place where his neck and shoulder meet.

“Fuck,” he groans, hips rutting up against the back of his hand between your legs. “How do you want me, honeybee?”

That earns him a breathless laugh, goosebumps raising along his neck. “It’s your birthday, Jack. What do you want?”

Whiskey’s eyes drop to your mouth and he makes a considering sound, pulling back to suck you delicately off his fingers. “I think I want your mouth. And then I think I want to fuck you right here on this table until that divinely sweet little pussy wrings me fucking dry. Sound good to you, honeybee?”

“That can be arranged.” His eyelids flutter as you reach down to his zipper, not even bothering with his belt before you reach inside his jeans and the button fly of his boxers to tug his cock free, cupping your fingers to draw his balls out, too.

You move to stand and he shakes his head, caging you in. “No. Not on your knees, baby. On the table. I wanna see you all spread out for me. My pretty little present.”

He helps you. Sweeps your hair back as you lie flat on the dining table, scooting back to let your head hang just a bit. It’s not exactly comfortable. The edge of the table digs into your neck a bit, and the way the blood rushes to your head is not entirely pleasant either. But you watch Whiskey pace around you to take his place in front of your waiting mouth, cock bobbing and just barely beginning to leak for you, and you feel a gorgeous rush of heat at the sight.

Whiskey slides his palm up your stomach to cup one barely-covered breast. “Gorgeous,” he mutters, squeezing. “Absolutely beautiful.”

“Jack.”

“I know, darlin’, I know. But my God you’re a picture.” He cups your cheek, absently brushes the corner of your mouth with his thumb before sliding his hand back to give your head a little support. “Open up for me, angel.”

And once again, you open up for what he gives you. The angle makes it strange, the topography of Jack’s body less familiar as he slips into your mouth, your tongue dragging wet and slow over foreign terrain. The taste of him, hot skin and the tang of bitter salt, that you know well enough. You close your eyes at it, bring your hands up to his hips to tug him slowly forward and listen to the way he moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers, breathless and a little awe-struck. “Jesus fucking Christ. You spoil me, baby. Sweet as fucking honey, my god.”

A light touch against your breast makes you shiver, goosebumps raising as it draws lightly over your skin. A single fingertip, sliding the lace of the bodysuit aside to bare your breasts to the chill of the room and the warmth of Whiskey’s hands.

He mutters sweet things as he begins to move; sweet, tender, unconscionably filthy things. All the things you do to him. Do for him. The rocking of his hips is gentle at first, feeding you his cock inch by cautious inch. When he hits the back of your throat he pulls back on reflex, but the light scrape of your teeth and the sudden tightness of your grip on the plush meat of his ass sends him forward again. The angle eases the motion, and you relax into the pressure as he pushes in and in and...oh.

You feel the resistance at the back of your throat give gently; strange, but not uncomfortable. Above you, Whiskey lets out a pained groan.

“Shit. Oh shit yes, honeybee. Take it. Ohhh s-shit. Take all of it. Every goddamn inch. Fuck.”

And then his hips are flush with your mouth, the soft skin of his balls pressed up against your nose. Panting, he wraps a hand around the stretched column of your throat, swearing breathlessly. He moves, a small, careful thrust, and you can feel the tremor that ripples through him at the feeling.

“Just a little more baby,” he mumbles, pulling back until just the head of his cock rests within the warmth of your mouth. You suckle at it, working it eagerly with your lips and tongue while you breathe raggedly through your nose. Your hips jut up into thin air on their own accord, just as eager for him as your mouth is.

“I got you, honeybee.” The hand at your neck slips down, skimming over skin and lace until he finds your clit. The first touch jolts you, your cry stifled on his cock as you shudder up against him. “Good girl. I got you, baby. Jack’s got you. Keep going. Just a little more. Just a little more and then I’ll fill you right on up. Fuck my sweet girl’s brains right out of her head. Prettiest fuckin’ thing I ever fuckin seen, baby, holy fuck.”

You moan something against him - pleasure, acquiescence, god only knows - but the sound of it is lost as his cock slides steadily back into your mouth. The pressure in your head is distracting, tears prickling your eyes when he pushes in deep, but the stroking of his fingers and the feel of him in your mouth, sliding hard and slick and effortlessly down your throat is far more consuming than the discomfort.

He rocks into you. Fucks into you. Moans and gasping praises falling thick and fast from his lips as he moves. You don’t need to feel the way his balls draw up tight to know how close he is, how tight he’s riding the line between what he wants to do and what his body wants to do. You’re lost in it all the same; his pleasure and the fraying thread of his restraint. Your own pleasure, building quick and low and locking down the muscles in your thighs until they tremble. You float in it, overwhelmed and dizzy, until, very suddenly, you break.

Whiskey curses, pulling back to listen to you cry out, to let you curl up and clutch at him as he pants above you, muttering broken, desperate please of: “yes god yes honeybee all of it, gimme all of it, every last bit.”

You’re a wreck in the aftermath; pliant and limp, face teary and slick with spit and precome. He draws you up, wiping your face with a clean napkin before pulling you into a kiss that steals away whatever remained of your breath. He gathers you up, turns you until you can wrap your still-tingling limbs around him. Nudges his hips against yours, his wet cock dragging against slick skin and fragile lace.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, trailing soft kisses over your face.

You have to clear your throat before you can respond, the sound of it harsh and ragged like an engine turning over. “Y-yeah. Yeah I’m good. Dizzy, but good.”

“You ain’t the only one, honeybee. Almost didn’t make it in time. Wanted to fill up that pretty mouth so bad. You just about did me in.”

He laughs and you join him, breathing ragged joy into each other’s lungs.

“Still want me to fuck you?” The question should be coarse, but somehow isn’t. Not with his sweat-slick forehead pressed to yours and his lips ghosting kisses against your mouth with every breath.

“So sweet,” you mutter, combing your hands through his hair.

“LIke hell,” he scoffs, holding you tight to his chest. “I ain’t and you know it.”

“You are to me,” you insist, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He smiles, softens everywhere but that place that throbs with impatient heat against you. “Now fuck me, pretty boy.”

A flash of a grin is the only warning you get before he’s hooking his arms under your knees and pulling you to the edge of the table. “Yes ma’am,” he says obligingly, planting a hand between your breasts to push you back against the table as he lines himself up, sliding into you with one smooth, achingly deep stroke.

You moan, knees drawing up as his hips meet yours and he fills the space inside you that’s been aching for him all day. Whiskey lets out a groaning sigh, leaning into you like he wants to bury himself whole inside you. He hoists one of your legs up against his chest, nuzzles the inside of your knee while he tries to find his breath again. The length of him inside you is rigid as steel and blindingly hot, still so close to his own end that he has to wait, worrying his teeth over your skin, until the urge to just rut against you like an animal until he comes finally passes.

And when it does, when he opens his eyes at last, he looks down at you with a dazed, hungry smile. He presses a kiss to the tip of his finger and brings it down to your lips.

“Love you, honeybee.”

Heavy-lidded and so wonderfully full, you kiss his finger and arch your back. “Love you, too, cowboy.”

And that’s the last intelligent thing you manage to say. Finally - finally! - Whiskey fucks you, each pounding swing of his hips making the china rattle like nervous teeth. Your arms strike out, curling and flailing, trying to find something to grab onto as he fucks you. The heel of your hand strikes one of the wine glasses and sends it tumbling to the floor where it shatters. The breath leaves your body in tiny bursts with each impact; little monosyllabic cries punctuating each one.

“Fuck, that’s my girl,” Whiskey murmurs. He cups your breasts, thumbing the pebbled sharpness of your nipples before his hands slide lower, finding the deep notch of the bodysuit between them. “Wrapped up so pretty for me.”

The lace tears away like it’s nothing, a clean rip down the center. Oh well. He’ll buy you another.

Whiskey folds over you, pulling you down closer so he can get an arm under your back, his hand grasping the back of your neck and pulling you up to meet his mouth. He’s still wearing his tie, the drape of fabric laying cool against your chest. Blessedly he’s not wearing his usual belt buckle. Foresight or oversight you’re not quite sure, but you’re grateful all the same as he grinds into you, a press of cold metal and leather against your belly.

He’s not going to last long, but it hardly matters. You’re too worked up, two orgasms down already, cunt so swollen and sensitive it’s hardly an effort to get you there again. But the feeling of him inside you turns that bright burn into something lower, deeper. Something that makes your muscles lock and tremble, straining up against him and gasping into his mouth.

“Jaaaack,” you whine, arms locked around his neck.

“Yes, baby,” he groans, voice quivering with every thrust. “Fuck yes I’m right there too, c’mon. Come with me, honeybee, come with me.”

His rhythm falters, grinding deeper and deeper, and all that strained tension in your body snaps like a rubberband. You sob, grabbing fistfuls of his dress shirt, twisting and jerking as you come apart under him.

All Whiskey can do is growl as you bear down on him, gritting a litany of “yes, yes, fuck yes, god yes, that’s my girl that’s my girl that’s my fucking girl.” And then he’s gone, too, driving into you with a sudden jolt and crying out against the side of your neck as he comes.

You’re holding him too tight, clutching him to you as you both lie there, panting and shuddering, a spreading stain of red wine pooling next to your head.

“Jesus,” he whispers, tries to shift up to find your mouth, but even that amount of drag on his oversensitive cock is enough to make him hiss and jerk. “Fuck.”

“Mm-hm,” you agreed dumbly.

Whiskey lets out a growling hum, smoothing your hair. “You good, honeybee?”

You trail kisses up to his ear, still breathless. “What do you think?”

He wheezes a laugh. “I think I gotta replace a lot more than your frillies this time.” The laugh turns giddy, and Whiskey presses his forehead against your temple. “And I think I’m hungry.”

“Pie in the kitchen,” you mumble, too drowsy to do much more than nuzzle into the damp tangle of Whiskey’s hair.

“What kind?”

“Peach.”

He hums, smiling drowsily. “My favorite.”

You give a slow nod. “I know. Happy birthday, Jack.”

He kisses you, slow and sweet. “Best I ever had,” he murmurs.

#Anonymous #agent whiskey #jack whiskey daniels #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fic #citrus variations

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equestrianwritingsstuff · 3 years ago

Note

I know everyone likes the "secretly good villain whumpee..." but what about when the villain was a rat- bastard with very few redeeming qualities... just being injured and sick and oh so broken. Just begging for mercy, even though they were so arrogant and vicious before.

I melt at those scenarios.

I agree with that. If the villain is secretly good, you might as well call him or her a hero- or at least a vigilante.

Vicious and Bloody

Warnings: gorey(?) description of injuries, maggots, blood, vomit, mention of people dying, pus, field medicine, bathing, vomit, sleep deprivation, pills (tylenol and ibuprofen), attempted murder, implied past torture, hallucinations, fever, delirium

There was no rational answer for the scene in front of her. Not even the greastest minds in history could comprehend it- figuratively speaking. It was just so peculiar, odd and out of place, that it was like from a different dimension.

The said scene would be absolutely mortifying to the squeamish soul. Between the blood and the vomit and the maggots, the sight was more than revolting.

But still, ignoring her instincts to gag and run, Civilian crouched down next to the poor man- not touching, of course, it would only irritate his injuries further and be disgusting on many levels.

"Should I call an ambulance?" Civilian asked the man softly, brushing back the part of his grimey hair that wasn't intoxicated by maggots or too much blood.

But in doing that, she realized that the man wasn't even conscious. Which, was not surprising and brought a small relief to the nervous civilian.

But it also revealed his identity. Even without the foreboding mask, his features unmistakably were those of the most feared and vile human of the city.

Villain.

"If you ever see Villain, call the heroes. If he so happens to be incapacitated, kill him or injure him further to limit his ability of escape or to destroy."

That mandatory lesson rang through Civilian's ears nearly as loud as semi's horn. It was every civilian's responsibility- whether they were a certified hero or not- to hand it or dispose of any being against the government.

Especially Villain.

Especially without any doubt Villain.

Civilian sighed and observed the injured man's face. It was her responsibility to do this, the city would thank her, applaud her.

She brought her hands to Villain's neck and squeezed. His breaths hitched, but he didn't wake, not even to the sensation of suffocation. Civilian squeezed her eyes shut, but it did nothing to rid her mind of the horrendous sight of his already crimson stained face growing even redder... his lips paling then morphing into a grayish blue...

Civilian gasped, drawing her hands away from his neck. The villain's eyes shot open as he tried to fill his lungs, but as he heaved and wheezed, they kept rolling up and sliding closed.

"Hey!" Civilian exclaimed, tapping his shoulder. Villain's eyes shot open and he looked at Civilian with an expression filled with the unthinkable.

Fear.

Villain's lip trembled as he tried his hardest to scoot away. He whimpered something unintelligently and weakly held up a hand as if to protect himself from futher harm- as if the shaking limb could do anything other than wave aimlessly in the air.

Upon coming to the conclusion that escape was impossible, the villain resumed a position of pointless mewling.

"Don't hurt me," he whined, tears streaming down his cheeks, making the small cuts sting and itch. "D-don't hurt me. I've been bad, please don't remind me. P-please." He shifted his head into his elbow and sobbed.

Civilian didn't know what to do with the scenario, so she just allowed him to cry until he was too exhausted to do anything other than whimper pained pleas.

When his eyes started to droop, Civilian wrapped her arms around his upper body and heaved him into a sitting position- somewhat shocked of how limp and pliable he was.

Then she stopped. What was she doing? Villain was the most notoriously evil person in the city, if not the universe. He killed hundreds, thousands even including men, women, and children. He was undeserving of any level of comfort, whether that be love, care, or compassion.

Yet someone had to be worse than him to put him in such a nasty condition.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, clinging to Civilian's shirt with all his might- as little as that was.

"I won't," Civilian promised, smiling down at the injured villain. The villain sighed and closed his eyes.

She had to help him now. It would be practically illegal to turn him in, or harm him even further. Well, metaphorically speaking.

Civilian dragged Villain into her house. Luckily, she owned a one-story, so bringing him to the bathroom was not too big of a deal- apart from the exertion on her slender arms, that was.

Immediately, Civilian stripped off the remains of his tattered clothing and sat him in the tub. Gingerly, she washed out the infection wounds, making sure all the maggots were gone.

After thirty minutes, she only finished the lower half of his body and his back and shoulders were much, much worse. It took another hour to get done with those.

Civilian took a second to catch her breath, she didn't realize how diligently she was working. The villain was completely clean, other than countless uneven holes that looked like someone grabbed his skin and pulled it out.

The next line of business was whether or not to give him stitches. Many of the remainding wounds were heavily infected and would benefit from being dried out.

Many of those infected wounds needed to be drained and removed.

Civilian sighed, thinking of her nursing classes. She had school tomorrow...

Someone was dying.

Someone with the name of Villain.

Civilian ran into the kitchen and grabbed a knife. She ran in through the sharpener a couple times before heating it on the stove to remove bacteria. Here goes...

Civilian cut into one of the infected abscesses and carefully drained the pus out. She sighed and wiped her hands on a papertowel. She should really be wearing gloves...

Villain jerked, suddenly awakening with a shriek. His eyes saw the knife and he froze, staring at it for a long time, before erupting into unstoppable sobs.

"Don't hurt me! P-p-please don't... knife," he wailed, trying to curl into himself.

"Stop it," Civilian tried to reason, clenching her teeth, as she pulled Villain away from himself. He started to rock, back and forth... back and forth... back and-

"Hurts," he whimpered.

"I know," Civilian whispered, rubbing the back of his head. "I'm trying to help."

"No. Pain."

"No pain?" Civilian repeated, trying to make sense of what Villain's intent of the statically said statement.

"No pain," he murmured, resting his head against the tub. "Take away."

"I don't have anything for the pain," Civilian told him softly. "Some nyquil, but I'd rather give you tylenol for the fever."

Villain looked up at her with pleading eyes. "Please," he begged..

"It's just gonna make you tired, not take away the full extent of the pain."

Villain let out a strained sob and kicked out with his feet. Pouting in the most pitiful way.

"Just," Civilian sighed. "Just. It's gonna hurt."

Civilian leveled the knife to another wound and drained it. Villain writhed in the beginning, but stopped when he realized his fate.

By the time each major abscess was drained, Villain was barely conscious, his head lolling groggily against the bath tub. Civilian gulped. She would have to disinfect the wounds now, but she didn't have anything for it...

Salt water, a saline solution.

Villain's screams did not leave Civilian's memory for a while, even when he was finally asleep on the couch. Civilian aimlessly rubbed his hand, whispering to him as he slept, but it all felt wrong. So, so wrong. All the people he hurt never got the same level of care that he was receiving- as if they had any at all.

But at the same time, it felt right. None of Villain's victim's injuries were as extreme as his- they either died or went to the hospital. Whoever tortured Villain wanted him to suffer, not that Villain wanted people to not suffer...

Crap, this was confusing herself.

Civilian cared for Villain throughout the night. The open textbook on her kitchen table did not even remind her of her class in the morning. Nothing could, especially when someone so sick seeked her hospitality.

Villain's fever raged and he was fed more and more tylenol. Eventually, she started to put ice packs around his neck and major arteries, but he was still so, so miserable.

He started to hallucinate. Sometimes whimpering about a bat flying around his head, or laughing giddily. But one of these episodes really stood out to Civilian.

"Curve, curve," he muttered as his cheek rested against the mattress- for some reason he kept flipping himself to his stomach. "Fall."

"Then cave." The delirious, but intense gaze the villain had made Civilian wonder if he was trying to tell her something in his fevered state.

"Man hurt."

Civilian shushed Villain and gave him a quick sip of water with an ibuprofen tablet. He sighed and closed his eyes.

"Don't hurt me," Villain whispered, scratching at the sheets. "Please."

"I won't, sleep."

Villain slowly, oh so slowly nodded as he allowed his eyes to slip closed.

Civilian took care of Villain as best as she could. She really needed to get supplies, but it was dangerous to leave the villain unattended as sick and injured as he was. Infection set in agai, fever rose...

Civilian groaned and rubbed her head. She had a horrible headache from stress and lack of sleep.

Maybe a short nap wouldn't hurt...

When Civilian woke up, seven hours later, she found Villain shivering on the ground with vomit all over him.

"Dangit," Civilian groaned and rubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

Just dangit.

#villain whumpee #feverish villain #heros and villains #writing #whump #villain x civilian #civilian caretaker #sleep deprivation #tw death mention #past torture #maggots #infection #delirious whumpee #feverish whumpee #sick villain #sick whumpee #injured villain

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nyaheum · 4 years ago

Text

My yearly list of Eurovision songs after the first impression (I mean, for like, half of them. I heard snippets of some songs.). Judged on music videos, because...if I only listen to the songs on Spotify, my eyes get bored. :’)

(oh, and don’t talk to me about iceland’s placement, I know this might be unpopular)

X. Belarus

Fuck Belarus, all my homies hate Belarus. Not even going to grace them with a rating.

Norway (TIX – Fallen Angel)

...no. :( And it’s not even because Keiino didn’t win, I just wholeheartetly hate this song. And I’m kinda sorry to TIX, because he seems like a cool dude and his stage outfit is absolutely hilarious, but oh my god do I hate this song with an absolute burning passion.

Poland (RAFAL – The Ride)

eye emoji mouth emoji eye emoji – well, this is a non-qualifier if I’ve ever seen one. Can we just...skip this?

Belgium (Hooverphonic – The Wrong Place)

Nap time! This song annoys me. I cannot explain it, but it gives me a headache and my whole body is revolting against this song. I am not kidding. Objectively, I don’t even hate it, but there’s just something about it...that makes me go...hnghgng…

North Macedonia (Vasil – Here I Stand)

eye emoji mouth emoji eye emoji ver. 2 – I am not trying to sound mean, but does North Macedonia do any music that is not dramatic power ballads? I’m serious. (And I don’t like it, sorry. :((...except for the high notes, I like them. When he can hit them live.)

Estonia (Uku Suviste – The Lucky One)

This (the music video)...is soft porn. I am slightly scared of Uku. I don’t know why. But, uh...this is better than last year’s song? Still, it wouldn’t qualify under my watch, whoops.

Georgia (Tornike Kipiani – You)

He stopped yelling angrily at the microphone. :((( Nah, but this isn’t my thing. It’s great that they are doing their own thing, it’s just not really my thing...it also reminds me of a song I know, damn.

Austria (Vincent Bueno - Amen)

He looks like a german youtuber. I don’t know hich one, but he looks like one. I also canot tell if he’s 18 or 38, lol. (For some reason he also reminds me of Alex Albon, which is even weirder.)...oh, uh, the song? Idk, I don’t care for I. It’s fine.

Spain (Blas Cantó – Voy A Querdarme)

Confession: I’m probably the only person who actually doesn’t like the sound of Spanish all that much. Whoops. Apart from that though, I’m not the biggest fan of this song. Can’t really say more about that. Meh.

The Netherlands (Jeangu Macrooy – Birth Of A New Age)

Listen: I really like the tone of this voice. It’s great. I am not a fan of the song. There’s something just very off about the loud percussions (?) in the background that make me go absolutely crazy when listening to this. My sensory-overload-prone ears hate it, and I’m sorry...the part before the last chorus on the other hand I love. The whole song could have sounded like that and I would have loved it. (...and I can’t unhear “You are my broccoli – You know my broccoli!” ;-;)

Azerbaijan (Efendi – Mata Hari) Whenever I see Efendi, my brain still goes “Cleopatrrrrra!”, oof. This song sounds like a song I know. Which...is super unprecice, but I genuinely don’t know which one. I do like that they kept the weird pre-chorus thing from Cleopatra (and reference the song later on), but I must say that I liked Cleopatra more...but it’s a party song, so I think it will be fun on stage!

Romania (ROXEN - Amnesia)

I didn’t like her song last year, I don’t enjoy this all too much and I’m kinda sorry but also...I don’t want to apologize for my taste in music, lmao. I want her hair though. Give me her hair.

Denkmark (Fyr & Flamme – Ove Os Pa Hinanden)

Ring ding ding, native language bonus. This is also way more fun than I thought it would be, hah. VERY retro, but I don’t hate that? :D (this and sweden really aren’t any different in terms of how much I like them)

Portugal (The Black Mama – Love Is On My Side)

I can appreciate this. I just wish it was in Portuguese, honestly. I don’t really know if I like the English for this song. That being said, I don’t know if you can make these very specific tones (you know what I mean) in portuguese without it sounding super off, so…

Ireland (Lesley Roy – Maps)

Okay, you do you Ireland. :D

Israel (Eden Alene – Set Me Free)

This exists. :D

Cyprus (Elena Tsagrinou – El Diablo)

Cyprus came to party, and I can’t be mad at that. I just don’t know why everybody in the YouTube comments loves this SO MUCH that they are sure that it will win if it gets the jury votes. I don’t think it’s as good as Fuego or She Got Me were, but maybe I just have no taste in party music. I don’t party. (Only if you got a 2000s playlist and some iced tea.)

France (Barbara Pravi – Voilà)

FRANCE sending a BALLAD? In MY Eurovision? It’s more likely than you think. It’s good, objectively. Personally, I don’t really care for it all that much and feel like I already know it.

United Kingdom (Embers – James Newman)

A good, modern song? In my british eurovision song? What happened on the Isles over quarantine? Are you guys okay? Did you find yourself? Have you taken your last breath (breath!) and looked at your past results? I’m impressed enough to put this relatively high, wow.

Serbia (Hurricane – LOCO LOCO)

*adore delano voice* party! Oh, and native language bonus...for a party song! I’m...impressed, actually. I cannot decide wheter I prefer this or Hasta La Vista, but I think it’s this one? The flows smoother, if that means literally anything.

Bulgaria (VICTORIA – Growing Up Is Getting Old)

*shrugs* I think a lot of people will like this. And I get that. I think I even understand it...yeah. I didn’t like her song last year either. It’s just personal preference, I think. I just want to have fun during Eurovision, hah.

Finland (Blind Channel – Dark Side)

Finland: FUCK YOU!!! Germany: Fuck you. <3

That’s all I’ll say, we know how the Finnish are, this is not surprising, lmao. (And I’m one of those children that grew up on Rammstein, so I legally cannot dislike this.)

Croatia (Albina - Tick-Tock)

Tick-tock, can you hear me go tick-tock? My heart is like a clock, I'm steady like a rock-...oh wait, wrong tick-tock! Still, really enjoy this song’s chorus – I actually enjoy it so much that it makes up for the utter loss of interest I experience once it’s over, chrm.

Sweden (Tusse – Voices)

I mean...let’s be honest, it’s a generic swedish pop song. It sounds like every other Swedish entry, and I think that bothers me. I know, that sounds kind of...weird, looking at my choices higher up in the list, but...meh. I think this will easily qualify for the Final and place high, and I am totally okay with that. It’s just not...what I wanted, I guess? :D (and i’m sorry but as a german-speaker I cannot get over the name “tusse”) (oh, and tusse seems to be super cool)

Albania (Anxhela Peristeri - Karma)

Oh, we’re going to war in 130 A.D.? Fine, let me just pack my spear and- oh, Albania has already sent a singer? Ah, well, might as well give up and just vibe.

Czech Republic (Benny Cristo - omaga)

This sounds fun. Not a winner or anything, but fun. I’ll probably still be on Twitter when he’s performing, whoops.

Slovenia (Ana Sklic - Amen)

Wait, there’s TWO songs called Amen? And why do I actually kinda like this? Oh well, might as well just accept it. (Her voice though...mhmmhmhm…yes please)

Iceland (Dadi og Gagnamagnid – 10 Years)

We just vibin’. I liked Think About Things more, but I’m very much biased here...because I’ve known that song for a year now. But this is still very good, and very on brand. (And I understand like...half of the lyrics, but I am okay with that.)

Australia (Montaigne - Technicolour)

not australia flexing at all of europe that they can hold big gatherings! D: oh, but I like this way more than last years song. I feel like Montaigne can show her GREAT voice way better in this song. (Even though her outfit and the sound of the song reminds me of the UK song that had...a dude run on the stage. I can’t think of the word for it right now.)

Malta (Destiny – Je Me Casse)

Destiny’s voice is just….wow. This is very different than All My Love, but it’s fun. The topic of the lyrics kinda remind me of Toy, and I like that…..I don’t really like the music video (especially the dancers in the colorful dresses? idk), but I’ll just ignore that.

Germany (I Don’t Feel Hate - Germany)

Confession time: I actually actively enjoy this song. Everybod is shitting on it, but it’s FUN and it has a good message, and Jendrik seems like the nicest dude ever and...it doesn’t deserve all the hate it’s getting? It’s completely self-produced and just fun. Stop being mean. :(

(...also someone on youtube said “pewdiepie” and I can’t unsee that now so fuck you >:((...no, no I don’t feel hate, just rethink your life choices)

Moldova (Natalia Gordienko - SUGAR)

What in the “Eis.de ist in der Kiste” is this music video? And I thought I would absolutely hate this song, but I actually don’t mind it all that much. It’s actually fun. Oh no, I’m splipping, someone catch me, aaaaaahhhhh….(and that poor cake dude. Is this song about cannibalism? Does she want to eat him?)

San Marino (Senhit – Adrenalina)

Catch me hum the chorus of this song at least once a day...but honestly, without any malicious intent: what the actual FUCK san marino? This is so much better than Freaky, and even though I do not believe for one second that this will win, the simple outragiousness of bringing Flo Rida to Eurovision deserves attention. (Bringing someone like Flo Rida to ESC sounds more like Scandinavia/Bulgaria, doesn’t it?)

Russia (Manizha – Russian Woman)

Not gonna lie, I miss Little Big, but at least they are sending something that’s at least as weird. I love that. Russian Rap is cool as fuck anyway, so I’m fully here for this...but I’m glas this song doesn’t have a music video, this just has to be a live performance. (Oh, and another strong woman!)

Ukraine (Go_A – SHUM)

I’m SO glad Go_A are back. But, let me be completely honest: I know why they had to change the lyrics, but I still liked the first version better. BUT I feel like the new one will grow and me and it will climb one or two places, because the Instrumental just slaps SO HARD. (Makes me feel like putting on a Cybergoth outfit and start dancing at a German industrial park, lmao.)

Latvia (Samanta Tina – The Moon Is Rising)

Does this count as my guilty pleasure this year? I loved her song last year, and this sounds similar, so...I like this too. It sounds modern as fuck (well, for Europe, you know) and I can definitely...”vibe” with that. I genuinely really enjoy this, and I don’t know why. (Even though I prefer last years drop.) A lot of “strong, independent women”-songs this year, and I’m not complaining.

Switzerland (Gjon’s Tears – Tout l’Univers)

Just so we’re clear, this and Italy share the exact same spot. I just cannot compare them at all. Gjon’s voice just takes me hostage throughout this whole song and won’t let me go. And everything that isn’t english/is in the countries offical language immediately gets plus points from me. As if this song needed them anyway.

Lithuania (The Roop – Discoteque)

Aaaaaand...dance break! Good, I just love them so much, it’s not even funny anymore. And I’ve been singing this song randomly since it came out. I can’t stop. It has burned itself into my brain. Let’s dis-co-teque right at my home! *waves arms around with no sign of coordination*

(and does anyone else feel like he’s serhat, just with a different alignment? Like, they are both chaotic, but serhat is chaotic neutral and he’s either chaotic good or chaotic bad, it really depends on the way he looks at the camera)

Italy (Maneskin – Zitti E Buoni)

Italy delivers, as they do every year. Not only do I really like this song (it is very much my genre), THIS is an aesthetic I can get behind! Knowing Eurovision, I doubt it will win, but damn if it won’t be super fun! (I am so glad this won Sanremo, hah.)

#eurovision #esc #eurovision song contest #esc 2021 #eurovision 2021 #rotterdam 2021

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hold-me-sickfics · 4 years ago

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14 Days: Taehyung

Hi guys! I’m really happy to be able to post this (somehow my internet came back, and I decided to post while I have it). I hope this is alright, I had a hard time writing it because I’m back home for the weekend and it’s hard to find somewhere quiet lol. I hope you guys like it!

TW: Food, Emeto, Nightmares, Slight anxiety attacks, Bruises are mentioned, (If there are any more, let me know and I’ll add them in!)

Note: Also, I wanna give some major credit to @thatoneemokpop-02 for all their help with ideas and getting me started. I kid you not, I was entirely blank earlier and in a few texts with them, they had me ready to write! Please go check out their writing, because they’re so kind and amazing and not to mention, they have some of the most well-developed fics I have ever seen. Especially their “You’re my Yellow” fic. I love it!!! <3

Prompt: “What they don’t know, won’t hurt them.” That’s Taehyung’s thought process when it comes to the other members. For the past several weeks, Taehyung has been having relatively frequent nightmares. Only these nightmares aren’t just “bad dreams.” No, they have him waking up gasping for breath, tending to an anxious stomach, and really whatever else bad can happen with nightmares. At first, he had a nightmare every week, but now it’s gotten to the point of every other night. Lack of sleep is catching up with Taehyung, causing him to really need some extra love from the other members. The only thing is, he’s too embarrassed and afraid to talk about them. Luckily for Taehyung, one of the members happens to find out on their own…

“Ladies and gentlemen, BTS!” The host gestured to the boys who were currently walking on stage.

Once the crowd quieted, the host began talking about BTS’ most recent accomplishments and asking questions to each of the members. As usual, Namjoon translated for them… mostly. BigHit had made a huge deal over them learning English and at least answering one question without Namjoon having to translate. Something about boosting their American support? The boys thought this was rather strange, considering their fans didn’t seem to care whether they spoke in Korean or not, but they did what they were told.

Taehyung watched and listened as the other boys answered their questions in perfect English, and the crowd squealed after every word they spoke. Then, it was his turn.

“Taehyung, let’s talk a little about you. A lot of fans, including myself, were absolutely stunned at your Singularity performance. How did you feel about the song? Any favorite parts in the choreography?”

Taehyung couldn’t breathe. He knew he was supposed to answer in English, but he couldn’t remember the words. Not even the first one.

He said his answer in Korean, hoping Namjoon would cover for him. Namjoon just gave him a look, seemingly saying ��I’m not helping. Say what you’ve gotta say.”

Taehyung felt his blood run cold. Everyone was staring and starting to gasp… the cameraman looked worried as to whether or not to shut off the cameras and the members… they were looking at him… disappointed and somewhat angry…

Taehyung woke up unable to catch his breath. He was sweating all over, and not to mention trembling. His vision was blurry with tears.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. He’d had a nightmare every night since Saturday (which was when their manager told them they’d be doing an English interview soon), and it was Wednesday now. He’d thought about telling the others, but he turned the idea down. He felt too embarrassed about not knowing as much English as they did, and he also knew they were exhausted and he wanted to make sure they got sleep. Or at least, as much as they could get. The boys already weren’t getting home until 11:45 every night, so when Taehyung actually could come home and go to sleep, he’d usually wake up around 2:00 with the nightmare, and wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep after that. Part of this was because of his anxious stomach.

Speaking of which, Taehyung was now frantically pushing his covers off, and covering his mouth. He knew he had about 10 seconds before his late-night dinner would reappear. Luckily, he made it to the bathroom in time, and was able to kneel in front of the toilet. His knees had hit the tile hard, but he figured a couple bruises wouldn’t be as bad as having his dinner projected across the floor.

No sooner than his hands were gripping the sides of the bowl, was his dinner coming up and to the back of his throat. In one retch, he’d brought up a small stream. Followed by another, and another. Taehyung’s stomach was killing him, since he was so sore from having thrown up so much.

After what felt like an eternity, it was over. Taehyung rested his head on the rim of the toilet, and reached up with a sweaty hand to flush it.

Shakily, he stood up and looked himself in the mirror. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, then went back to his bed.

He walked slowly so he wouldn’t jostle his stomach.

Taehyung got into his bed, and pulled the covers up over himself. The warmth felt nice, being as his sweaty skin had felt like ice in the bathroom earlier. He decided to follow his normal routine after this kind of stuff happened…

“Siri, open LanguageGuru.” He whispered, his throat still sore from all the acid.

The app opened, and Taehyung spent the next two hours working on his English. Somehow, he’d gotten lucky, and at 4:30, he’d fallen back asleep. However, since they had to be up and out of the house by 6:00, he had to wake back up at 5:15.

When 5:15 came, he jolted awake, and went to the bathroom to puke again. It had just become part of the routine by now. He threw on a t-shirt and sweats, brushed his teeth, and combed his hair. Each action made his core hurt. Putting on deodorant was one of the worst parts, being as he had to put his arm up and then use his other one to put it on. Every motion felt like his insides had just been squeezed and beaten. By 5:30, he was able to head to the kitchen.

Jungkook just happened to come out of his room at the same time.

“Morning Taehyung!” Jungkook was awake… somehow.

“Morning Kook.” Taehyung’s voice was at a mere croak.

“Woah, hold on are you okay?” Jungkook gently took Taehyung’s wrist to get him to turn and look at him.

“I’m good. Just tired.” Taehyung hoped he’d believe it.

“Yeah, I don’t know about that. Tired is what Yoongi looks like right now… you look sick.” Despite popular belief, Jungkook was actually following in Jin’s footsteps as a lead caregiver for the group.

The maknae pressed the back of his hand to Taehyung’s cheek.

“You don’t have a fever… what else is wrong?”

“Nothing Kook, like I said, I’m just sorta out of it since I didn’t get much sleep.” Taehyung still allowed Jungkook to hold his wrist since for some reason, JK’s touch comforted him.

“I don’t think so.” Jungkook moved his hand from Taehyung’s wrist to Taehyung’s back. He rubbed up and down, and watched as Taehyung leaned into the touch.

“We’ve got dance practice this morning, but if you feel sick, tell me. I’ll get Namjoon hyung to let you come home. Alright?” The concern in JK’s eyes was shining.

“Thanks Kookie.” Taehyung smiled slightly, and then continued walking to the kitchen.

Jin was already rolling with cooking.

“Okay guys, we’ve got 20 minutes till we’ve gotta be in the car. I’ve made toast, and there’s bacon if you can get it away from Namjoon. Taehyung, Jungkook, what do you want to drink?” Jin was pouring “on the go” cups for each of the boys.

“Orange juice. Thanks Hyung.” Jungkook looked over at Taehyung.

“Coffee please.” Taehyung’s bags under his eyes seemed to be deeper and darker than everyone else’s.

Jungkook didn’t approve of Taehyung’s choice, being as coffee in the morning always upset his stomach, but he allowed it, hoping that it would at least make Taehyung feel less exhausted.

By the time everyone had eaten, it was time to load up and head to the studio.

The car ride was torture. Taehyung had developed a mean headache, and felt like he was gonna throw up at the first stop sign.

Jungkook had sat in the seat next to him, since he still wasn’t convinced that Taehyung was as “alright” as he said he was.

They were almost 15 minutes from BigHit when Taehyung’s stomach finally revolted. Before he even had a chance to ask for a bag, coffee and chewed up bacon and toast was spilling down his legs. Jungkook was quick to put a bag under his chin for the next round, but it didn’t come. That first one and a mean wave of post-vomiting nausea was enough for him.

Taehyung cried, and Jungkook just held him. Jungkook knew he was sick now, and he could prove it. Before he could even tell Namjoon, the leader had already stood up and looked back at them.

“Oh no,” the concern in his eyes was evident. “It’s okay Taehyung, we’ll be at BigHit in a minute and we can get you cleaned up. Jungkook, can you help him get to the showers?”

“Yeah Hyung, I’ve got him.” Jungkook was wiping the leftover vomit from Taehyung’s chin.

“Taehyung, bud, I’m sorry you feel bad.” Jin spoke up, as he came back from the front. He’d brought a water bottle out of the cooler and a paper towel.

Jungkook helped Taehyung sip the water, and Jin dabbed the sweat from the younger’s face.

“Hey, this is Namjoon…” he went on to tell their choreographer what had happened. (It was always a big deal when one of them threw up. That could mean they were catching a virus, and since their trainer worked with other groups as well, he had to be strict about that kind of thing. It was the same way a few months ago when Namjoon came down with the flu.)

A faint noise told Taehyung that they’d been given the rest of the day off, which they were all more happy about than anything.

Then, they got a second phone call.

“Oh hey um-“ Namjoon wasn’t even able to get a word in. Judging by his expression, whoever was on the other end was yelling- a lot.

“Alright. We’ll be there soon.” Namjoon hung up, and then turned to the group.

“That was the head choreographer.”

Jungkook was still holding Taehyung close. He never was one to let a little throw up bother him.

“He’s still bringing us in. Taehyung… I’m so sorry. He’s letting you take a half-hour to clean up but then you’re supposed to join us…” Namjoon knew they weren’t his own orders, but he still felt like the bad guy having to say it.

“I-I’m okay hyung.” Taehyung shivered mid-sentence. “It was just the c-coffee. My stomach didn’t like it. I’m okay.”

How he looked said otherwise, and Jungkook piped up to mention that.

“Hyung isn’t there anything we can do? We’re all exhausted but Taehyung looks like he’s gonna collapse the second he gets off.”

“I’m sorry guys… he sounded serious… I’d talk to him but it seems the only thing he’s gonna do is make practice worse if we keep bugging him.”

The car stopped, and all of the boys stood up. Hoseok had his earbuds in before, but now that he’d taken them out, Yoongi was quick to get him out of the car and explain to Hoseok what was happening before he saw it. Hoseok’s sympathy sickness was not gonna help the situation at all.

Jin and Namjoon got off as well, followed by Jimin who was headed inside to find some clothes for Taehyung to change into when he got out of the shower.

“Taehyungie, can you stand?” Jungkook sweetly placed his hand on Taehyung’s upper back.

“Yeah I’m alright.”

Taehyung stood up, and Jungkook came right behind him. Luckily, the showers were on the first floor to the left, so Jungkook and Taehyung got there quickly.

Taehyung undressed himself, and then stepped into the shower. The hot water helped to soothe his sore muscles. He used the time in the shower to calm down, and try to refocus on his main mission for the day. Staying awake.

“Hey Taehyung, I’ve got your towel out here and Jimin brought clothes and a toothbrush. I’m out here when you’re ready.”

Taehyung knew what that meant. They’d been called back, and Taehyung’s time for showering was over.

He stepped out of the shower, and Jungkook handed him the towel. He got dressed quickly, and he and JK went to the studio.

By the time they got to the studio, the choreographer had already left, and the rest of the boys were already being led by Hoseok in the routines.

“Woah woah, pause it.” Hoseok waved the music off, and everyone stopped for a moment.

“Feeling better Taehyung?” Hoseok asked, walking toward the two.

“Yeah. The coffee just got me a little. I’m alright now.”

“Okay but if you need to stop just tell me. Joon, can you hit play again?”

Namjoon hit “play” and they started practice up again. Jungkook kept a close eye on Taehyung throughout the day, wanting to make sure that he really was alright.

Rehearsal lasted until 8:30 p.m. When it was over, the boys loaded up and headed back to the apartment.

“I’m making supper for anyone that wants it.” Jin got the chicken nuggets out of the refrigerator, and started to put them in the fryer.

“I think I’m gonna go ahead and turn in.” Taehyung both dreaded sleep and longed for it. H knew he’d end up having a nightmare anyway, so he might as well get some sleep while he could.

“Alright, night Taehyungie.” All the boys said their goodnights, except Jungkook who went with him back there.

“You going to sleep early too Kookie?” Taehyung asked, his eyes already heavy.

“Yeah… hey um if you need me tonight, wake me up okay?” Jungkook gave Taehyung a tight hug.

“I will Kookie. Don’t worry. Just get some rest.”

The boys said goodnight, and Taehyung was asleep almost instantly.

---

2:00 rolled around quickly, and as usual, Taehyung woke up unable to catch his breath. He was crying, terrified once again of forgetting how to speak in their upcoming interview. He felt sweat coating his skin, and he was almost at the part where he pukes, then someone came in.

“Tae Tae, it’s okay. It’s alright. I’m here. Breathe.” Jungkook was at his side, holding him tightly. Taehyung didn’t know how he got there, but he was glad to see him.

“J-Jungkook?”

“It’s me. Taehyung, you’re shaking…” Jungkook’s eyes widened.

Taehyung felt the bile rise in his throat, and he quickly went around Jungkook and ran to the bathroom. Once again, he crashed down, and vomit spilled out of him.

Jungkook came up behind him, holding his middle.

“Just get it up Taehyung. It’s alright. I’m here with you.”

The vomiting part didn’t last as long as usual, and Taehyung attributed that to Jungkook being there. Soon, they were back in Taehyung’s room. Jungkook decided to sleep with Taehyung in case he had another nightmare, but they couldn’t sleep until Taehyung told Jungkook what had him so upset.

“It’s that interview on the 25th. I’m- I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak correctly… or at all.”

Jungkook’s eyes filled with compassion.

“How come you didn’t say anything?” Jungkook rubbed Taehyung’s arm.

“I felt embarrassed about not knowing as much as you guys, and I didn’t want anyone to be worried about me since none of us are getting any sleep anyway…”

Jungkook took Taehyung’s hand, and gently squeezed it.

“First of all, I’m so sorry you’ve been dealing with this by yourself. I know it must have been scary. But now you’ve got me and everyone else. The truth is, all of us have been nervous about the interview. Or at least, I know I have. But that’s a good thing because it means maybe we can help each other.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I’ve been studying pretty hard, and I know you have too… so maybe we can study together! Then if one of us has trouble in the interview, the other once can step in and help them out.” Jungkook smiled.

Taehyung liked the idea, and agreed.

“Good. We start tomorrow.”

After that, both boys went to sleep and thankfully, slept through the night.

For the next couple weeks, they worked hard together on learning English. Namjoon got them some extra time by firing their old choreographer and hiring one that gave them more time between rehearsals so they wouldn’t burn themselves out.

By the time the interview came, Taehyung and Jungkook both aced it. Including the part where Taehyung introduced himself.

“My name is V, and I’m good boy.”

#RPF #Emeto #Nightmares #14DayFics #Taehyung!Sickfics #Caretaker!JK #TW Food #Hoping to post JK tomorrow!#Slight Anxiety Attacks #Bruises mentioned

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rosegoldannie · 5 years ago

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Living a lie

A Rowaelin Angsty/fluffy Hollywood!Au fic with a happy ending.

Also I had an idea for a quarantine TOG or ACOTAR fic. Comment which couple I should write it about! Also on a side note, my birthday was a few days ago, and now I’m 16!

Masterlist

They were living a lie.

In public, they were loving, and affectionate, and the couple that absolutely everyone wanted to be. They would walk down the street, Rowan’s hand around her waist, and smile for the cameras. She would smile, kiss him, and gush over her husband, how he was everything she could ever want. How their life was a blissful paradise.

Home was a nightmare. A neverending nightmare. They fought constantly, never able to go more than a few hours, maybe a few days if they really, really tried, without some form of an argument. And that was exactly where Aelin found herself yet again, fighting back tears, on her birthday no less. Reaching for her favorite eyeshadow, she contemplated how she, a twenty-three year old, found herself near-sobbing at the thought of attending her first major movie premier. Near sobbing, and not with joy.

Her emerald gown was set across her bed. Yes, her bed. Recently, they had been fighting so much that she couldn’t stand sleeping in the same room as her husband, but had been totally unwilling to stay with a friend. Something about the finality of that set her stomach turning. As if it were announcing to the world - because one way or another, if she spent the night at a friend’s, the whole world would know - that their marriage was over.

As she finished up her makeup, a single tear slipped out, which she quickly swept away, not having the patience to touch up the ever so slightly smudged makeup. She stood, making her way over to the bed, where that damn dress lay waiting . The gown whispered cooly against her arms, sliding smoothly over her skin. She sighed, almost wanting to forgo the entire event, and spend the night with her dog, a pint of ice cream, and maybe, just maybe, her husband.

There was a slight knock, then- “Can I come in?”

Aelin sighed through her nose, some strange sense of dread settling further in her gut, and turning the roasted salmon she’d had for lunch to lead. “Yeah.”

Her husband slipped through the doorway, and her jaw nearly dropped. Those pine eyes which were almost always so very cold were warm,and gentle, and brimming with love. He was in sweats, and clutching a bouquet of sunflowers, a box of chocolate, and a small, velvet box. “Happy birthday, Ace.” He murmured. On any other day, Aelin would have sobbed, and thrown herself into his arms absolutely showering him with kisses and sweet murmurs, because by the gods, Rowan Ellys Whitethorn, who rarely remembered what day of the week it was, let alone the date, had remembered her birthday, and all of her favorite things. But this wasn’t any other day. And she didn’t jump into his arms.

“What the hell are you wearing?” She rasped through the tightness in her throat.

Rowan blinked, the warmth in those green eyes cooling ever so slightly, as mild panic filled them. “What? Were we going out tonight?”

A sense of panic washed over her. “Yes! My premier? We have to leave in twenty minutes!” Some small part of her roared that this was why they fought: He didn’t listen to her. Didn’t hear her. She had been raving about how excited she was for this for weeks. He knew how much this night meant to her, and yet… he still forgot.

His face visibly fell as he placed the gifts on her bedside table, and slipped from the room. All the while murmuring that he would be ready to go soon. She nodded, telling herself that she trusted him enough to pick out his own suit, which was most definitely not a way of avoiding having to see his tattoo, and everything it promised and implied. Even though she couldn’t avoid it totally, as it weaved and snaked its way up the side of his face. But still. The most painful part was hidden under his clothes. For her eyes only, he had murmured in her ears years prior, whilst they were intertwined between the sheets and so irrevocably in love. Oh, where had the passion gone? The heat? The love?

Twenty minutes later, they were in the throes of yet another screaming match.

“If you had told me before hand, maybe-”

“Don’t pull that shit with me, Rowan. You have all your shit organized. There’s no way you could fuck up this badly on accident.”

“And? Did you forget I’m colorblind?” She flinched, and he paused for a moment before continuing. “Did you forget because it isn’t something in your phone?” Again, she flinched. Because he was right; she had forgotten that he was colorblind and she was an awful person for it.

Regardless, those gold-ringed Ashryver eyes hardened. “There is absolutely no way this is an accident.” She held his gaze as she gestured to his black shirt, green tie and jacket, and black pants. While he’d definitely had worse red-carpet outfits, she was still upset. Partly because this was her first premier in which she was the sole star, and partly because of a word that had been whipping around in her mind for days.

“Alright, fine! I was trying to match your dress but I ran out of clean clothes.” He snapped. Something small cracked in his voice, and there was such desperation that she had to clench her eyes shut.

When she finally opened her eyes, she forged ahead and prayed. “Ro, we have to talk about it. This isn’t fair to either of us.” Rowan inhaled, and she waited for the barrage of pleas and promises, but they never came. He only sighed, clenched his jaw, and nodded. And something within her cracked, something ancient and primordial which had long lain dormant within her, roaring that he couldn’t just give up.

But they weren’t what everyone thought.

The entire world thought they were perfect.

The entirety of their families thought they were blissfully in love. Even Aedion.

But they were miserable.

She - truly - didn’t know who said it, only that during one of their fights a week prior, someone had screamed at the other that if things were truly so awful, then they should file for divorce. And for the last week, it had been the only thing on her mind. She was young, young enough to find love again-

Aelin damn near gagged at the thought, unable to even look at her husband for several long moments, even as a metallic, revolting taste remained in her mouth for a long while. “Are you happy? Like this?”

The driver of their limousine called back that they would be arriving soon, and they chorsed back their thanks.

He at last semi-met her gaze. “Am I happy?” He repeated, as if not totally processing the words. “I’m not unhappy.” He murmured, eyes trailing over her, over the shoulders exposed by her gown, to her lips painted a dark red, to her jewelry. His pine-green eyes trailed down to her hand, and the blood drained from his face. “Your ring….”

Confusion lanced through her, until she followed his gaze. To her empty ring finger, a band of pale skin where that silver and emerald wedding band always sat. To where she had forgotten to put it back on after her shower. Then the panic set in, a thousand different scenarios playing out in her mind. What actually occurred was so, so much worse.

Somehow, he paled even more, then clenched his eyes shut. A single tear slid down his cheek, which her fingers itched to wipe away, as their limousine pulled to a stop in front of a mob of flashing cameras and shouting reporters. Silently, she begged him to yell or scream, or beg her for another chance. Anything at all, any show of emotion. All he did was let out a soft, “Oh.”

Her panic rose, as she internally begged him to meet her eyes. “Ro, please.” She pleaded, her small voice cracking on the last word.

Those eyes snapped open, and her heart clenched at how utterly unable to read the boundless emotions swimming in them she was. “No.” He murmured, gently taking her hand, and pushing open the door. “We’ll talk about this at home. Tonight is your night.”

And so their masks slipped into place, even as her chest tightened to the point of pain. Together, they weaved through the crowds towards the red carpet. Arm in arm, ever the perfect couple. They even paused to pose for the paparazzi, Rowan wrapping an arm around her waist, and pressing a seemingly sweet kiss to her forehead. But she felt it for what it was: a goodbye, and an apology. Her heart began to crack.

Then they were pulled apart, and it could have been her imagination, but it seemed as if he seemed eager to be away from her. Nevertheless, she was whisked away by a reporter, who was shoving a microphone in her face, and a camera flashed brightly behind him. “Mrs. Whitethorn, how does it feel to be the star of your own movie?”

“Amazing,” She answered robotically, “it feels like a dream.”

“And are there any mini-Whitethorns on their way to us?” He teased, shoving that damn microphone further into her face.

And suddenly she was nineteen again, wrapped up in Rowan’s hoodie, curled up in his lap in their favorite armchair, back in their crappy, old apartment with the leaky faucets and drains that never really drained.

“What do you think of children?” He murmured, nestling his face into her neck.

Aelin pulled back, giving him a coy smile, even as her gut erupted in butterflies, and a warm feeling seeped through her every limb. “I absolutely detest the idea.”

Rowan pouted, eyes pleading with her teasingly. “Oh really, and why is that?”

Grinning devilishly, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his lips. “Because I already have a man-child of my own, whom I love very much.” She then pressed another kiss to his soft, precious lips, and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Groaning, he pulled her impossibly closer, and she adjusted her position so that she straddled him, and plunged her fingers into his hair. Rowan’s strong hands trailed up and down her thighs, exposed by her athletic shorts that she wore purly to torment him.

After a long while, he reluctantly pulled back, his eyes serious. “In all honesty, what do you think of having children? With me?”

Again, she grinned, and again she attacked his lips. “I’d love them.”

She was pulled out of her reverie by a gentle arm snaking around her middle from behind, a chiseled chin coming to rest on her shoulder. Almost instantly, tears welled in her eyes for a multitude of reasons. When was the last time she had even considered that day? And how so very much she wanted children, with no one but the man wrapped around her. Her face flushed. And she prayed that Rowan didn’t notice, or if he did, that he thought it was simply from the constantly flashing.

Rowan smiled deeply, but his eyes remained sad on a level only she could see. “No, I’m afraid not.

The reporter sighed, then proceeded to hammer them with more questions, until they finally made a respectful exit and rushed into the theatre. And now, curled up unceremoniously in the plush chairs in front of that giant screen, she felt as if she might be sick.

And then the movie began.

There was one scene - only one - that she could barely stomach watching. It was when her love interest, played by Dorian Havilliard, was brutally whipped, as her character screamed in the background. It was all too similar to the worst night of her life, where she had watched her best friend had been so brutally killed. How she had been locked in a small, lightless room for weeks, listening helplessly as Sam was-

It was as if he had sensed her distress, for she had never truly told him what had occurred those weeks she had been missing from school, that his warm, gentle hand came to cautiously rest over hers. And when she didn’t push him away, he slowly drew their intertwined hands into his lap, to fully enclose her small, nimble hand in both of his. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks. It had been so long, and yet he still remembered

Once it had passed, Aelin breathed a sigh of relief, as her favorite scene was coming up, in which she - as Liliana - got to leap off a cliff, and soar through the air after escaping her captors. That scene had been such fun to film. Smiling, she thought back to the day she had filmed that, and had returned home so happy and excited that she and Rowan had actually had a pleasant evening, in which she had told him all of the details of the film.

Slowly, she glanced over to Rowan under her lashes, and was surprised to see him staring awestruck at the screen, tears rolling freely down his tattooed face. And it was as if the fog which had been clouding her mind, her eyes for months…. It was if that fog had lifted, and she saw him. She truly saw him.

Pride, love and awe were abundant in his incredible eyes.

And she simply couldn’t help but to press a kiss to his hands.

Rowan jerked slightly, his head whirling towards her, his handsome features comically surprised and confused. Aelin cracked a smile, and snuggled into his side. Immediately, he wrapped his arms around her and it felt like coming home.

And as the movie carried on, she allowed her mind to wander, back to their most recent fights in which that wretched word had been flung.

“I never see you.” He spat, pinning her in place with a livid glare.

“I come home every night, I made sure that-”

“You stay here, but I never see you. It’s like you’re avoiding me.”

She crossed her arms and huffed.

Rowan pursed his lips. “So you are avoiding me, then.” He shook his head, eyes lingering on the fireplace behind her, rather than actually on her. “Can I ask why?”

Aelin shifted slightly. “Because I’m tired of fighting with you.”

“Really?” He scoffed, those chiseled features hardening. “Then why do you find fault with every damn thing I do?”

“I do not.”

“Yes you do.” He hissed. “When I went to pick you up from the set last week, you refused to come home.”

“Because I had a meeting.”

“That you didn’t tell me about. I had told you I wanted to spend the evening together.”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yes I did, Aelin. You were just on your phone.”

“And? I’m busy, Rowan.”

“Yeah.” Rowan huffed, crossing his arms. “Don’t I know it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“That you’re always on your phone! You don’t listen to me!”

Fury began to set her blood boiling. “Oh, I don’t listen to you?” She shouted, face growing redder with each passing second. “You don’t hear a thing I say! It’s like I’m married to a brick wall.”

“You’re really comparing me to a brick wall? Are you serious, Aelin? You downright refuse to even be in the same room as me. You refuse to communicate with me. Hell, half the time you refuse to even acknowledge that I exist! Let alone the fact that I’m your husband.” Hesitation shone in his eyes for a brief moment before dissipating. “Half the time I wonder if growing up in Terrassen really did turn your heart into ice.”

Aelin could barely school her face into neutrality. “If you really feel that way, then maybe you shouldn’t have proposed to me.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“No. You shouldn’t have.”

“So then you agree. We shouldn’t have gotten married.”

“No. No we shouldn’t have. It was a mistake.”

“Finally we agree on something.”

“Finally.”

Well. Since we both agree, I guess that means getting a divorce.”

“I guess it does.”

Suddenly she was blinking rapidly against the bright lights that now illuminated the luxurious theatre, as the credits began rolling across the screen. And the very first name upon that lengthy list was her own, scrawled in her cursive-printed combination handwriting that had so annoyed and upset her middle and high school teachers.

There was a loud, high-pitched squeal as a flurry of arms, legs, tulle, fluffy skirts and red-golden hair came flying at her, clambering down over the rows of velvety seats to wrap her thin arms around her and bury that scarred, adorable face in Aelin’s impeccably styled hair. And following close behind were several of Aelin’s close friends.

“Hello, Evangeline.” She chuckled, hugging the little girl back with equal fervor.

“You were amazing!” The girl squealed, beaming from ear to ear.

“Aww, thank you. You’re too sweet.”

“She’s right, Ace.” A deep voice murmured from behind.

Aelin whirled, after setting Evangeline safely down, to see Aedion. Clad in a crisp tuxedo, his hair brushed, and for once in something other than a hasty man-bun. “You made it!” She squeaked, throwing herself into her older brother’s arms.

Once they separated, he was grinning. “Of course! I couldn’t miss your first premier.” Then his grin turned positively sneaky. “And I brought friends.” Then out stepped Lysandra and Elide, and Aelin saw her friend’s boyfriend off conversing with Sartaq and Dorian.

The three women shrieked in joy, instantly wrapping themselves into a clustered hug. After only a second, Elide let out a squeak, as she didn’t even come up to either woman’s shoulder, and they leaned down to include her.

After they had at last pulled apart, Nesryn, Manon and Yrene came up to introduce themselves, followed by their respective partners. Once Aelin had introduced them to her childhood friends, and had established a flowing conversation, she looked around for her husband, the urge to speak with him nearly overwhelming.

Mild panic began to fill her when she didn’t see him anywhere in the theatre, so she excused herself and rushed as quickly as her stilettos and dress would allow. Bursting through the thick door, Aelin scanned the foyer for that telltale green suit jacket and white hair, but again, she didn’t see it anywhere. And again, she rushed as quickly as she could into the lobby of the theatre, once again scanning the crowds, but once again she didn’t find him.

That mild panic quickly rose and filled her, blurring her crappy vision - worsened by the fact that she had forgotten to put her contacts back in after her shower - and filled her eyes with tears. Quickly, she wiped them away and smudged her makeup, and rushed out of the lobby, into the cool night air, where hundreds of paparazzi instantly began snapping countless pictures of her.

Stumbling backwards, she rushed back into the lobby, and rushed for the back entrance, tumbling out towards the garbage cans. By now, her hair had come out of its beautiful waves and was now a messy, unkempt rats nest.

Any inhibitions she had gave way when she leaned against the slimy, brick wall and slid down to the ground, burying her face in her knees as the hot, hopeless tears began to freely slide down her cheeks. Her dress caught on a chip in the bricks, and ripped, exposing a portion of her scarred back. A new wave of tears began, and she tugged at her hair.

What had she done? How had she let him believe that she didn’t love him, that she truly wanted a divorce? And who could blame him, she had been a total bitch. She had yelled at him for his greatest insecurity, the one thing he was self conscious about. And all because he hadn’t worn what she wanted. And that was after he had brought her everything he knew she loved, because the man who would forget his own name had remembered her birthday, and had tried to make it special for her, because he loved her. And she had yelled at him.

So, really, was it so surprising that he had left? He had seen her empty ring finger, and thought that she was leaving him, that she truly did want a divorce. But…. she didn't though. Sure, things weren’t great, but… there was no one person responsible for it. At one point, they had simply stopped communicating, and simply expected the other to know or do things that they had no way of knowing.

She had stopped truly communicating with him, but Rowan had kept trying to reach her, and each time she had shut him down and berated him for it. And so, he had stopped trying.

Letting out a high whimper, Aelin wrapped her arms around herself as the chilly air soon seeped into her bones. Yet another wave of hot tears streamed down her face, but she again swiped them away, rubbing viciously at her eyes. When she pulled her hands back, she found that they were smeared with a mixture of eyeshadow, mascara and eyeliner, and Aelin knew that she most likely looked like a sleep deprived raccoon. Sighing, she used the hem of her dress as a tissue and again wiped at her eyes.

Overhead, the clouds rumbled ominously and rain began pelletting the ground around her. Again, Aelin sighed, and stood slowly, making to walk towards the street so she could order a taxi-

She froze. A taxi to where? Home? If Rowan was really leaving, he most likely was back at the house, packing her things. If she made it home, she could talk to him, convince him…. Convince him of what? That she deserved him? That she deserved a second chance? After everything that had happened, did she really even deserve a second chance? All she had done recently was find fault with every single thing he did, and make him unhappy. He deserved so much more than her.

But…. he had promised her. He had promised that no matter what happened, he would always love her. And he had meant it, because he had stayed by her side, failed audition after failed audition. Hell, he had even been the one to suggest that they move out to california once she had finally landed a role.

Sighing, Aelin hung her head as a painful revelation came over her: that she didn’t deserve a second chance. He deserved someone who wouldn’t close themselves off and leave him alone. He deserved someone who knew his insecurities and didn’t hold them against him when he made a mistake. He deserved someone else, someone better. Someone who wasn’t her.

The light drizzle became a full-fledged rainstorm, and she turned, making to go back to her corner, where she would be sheltered from the rain behind that rancid garbage can, but her stiletto gave a sharp crack, and she tripped into a puddle, soaking her dress.

She cursed, drawing her foot closer, to inspect the damage. The heel of her shoe had snapped clear off, her dress had begun to rip at the seam and was now soaked and stained with garbage, and her leg was now splattered with mud.

Cursing, Aelin stumbled back over to where she had spent the previous several hours: behind the dumpster.

No sooner had she resumed her earlier position, the door flew open, and she retreated further behind the dumpster, curling into a small ball. Whoever had come through that door stomped around for a good while, and then the door creaked open again.

Then she heard a sharp gasp, and her head jerked up.

Rowan, looking as dishevelled as she had ever seen him, was crouched before her, his tie completely undone and the top several buttons of his now wrinkled shirt unbuttoned. “Aelin,” He murmured, leaning forward to put his suit jacket around her. “What the hell-”

She interrupted him by throwing herself into his arms. “I’m sorry, Rowan.” She whimpered. “This is all my fault, I should never have shut you out, and I promise that if you choose to give me a second chance I’ll do better.”

“Whoa-whoa what?” He pulled back slightly, brushing the knotted hair from her face, and wiping away some dirt on her cheekbone. “What do you mean? This isn’t your fault, and why the hell are you out here?”

“I-I thought you had left, because… Fuck, Rowan we’ve been fighting so much, and…. And last week we all but said we were going to get a divorce, and all I’ve done for the last I don’t know how long is yell at you, and earlier when you saw I didn’t have my wedding ring on, I thought that you thought that was me saying that we’re done, but I promise that I don’t want that and if you’d only let me explain that I forgot to put it back on after my shower. But if you’ve already decided that we’re done, I promise that I’ll respect that and you’ll never have to see or hear from me again.”

Slowly, she watched him process what she had said, as he scanned her face. “Aelin… no. No, I don’t want this to be over, and of course I’ll give you another chance. That goes without saying. I know how busy you’ve been, and I’ve tried to be supportive, but I know that I’ve been distant. I had wanted to tell you that if you were willing to give me another chance, I’d be everything you’ve ever wanted.”

Silver began lining her eyes, and she pulled his jacket tighter around her to ward off the chill. “Rowan, I love you. You never have to ask for a second chance. You’ll always have it, no matter what.” Her cheeks reddened, and she found it hard to look at him. “Because, Ro, I…. you’re it for me.”

In less than a second, he had pulled her into a tight hug, wrapping himself around her. Hot tears began to dampen what little of her gown hadn’t already been soaked, but she didn’t care, because Rowan was here, and he still cared.

When he at last pulled back, his eyes were red and puffy. “You’re it for me too, Aelin. You’ve always been it for me.” With that, Rowan leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss to her cold lips. After only a few moments, he made to pull back, but she gripped his shirt, and pulled him back to her, and she pressed her lips to his.

And as his arms wrapped around her, she knew she was home. With his lips moving sweetly against hers, it was as if they were seventeen, and sharing a kiss behind the bleachers at a highschool dance.

Once they had finally parted, she couldn’t help the words that tumbled out of her mouth. “You still love me, right Ro?”

Confusion filled his gaze. “Of course.”

“But then….why did you leave me?”

“What? I would never leave you.”

“Yes, you did. After the movie, I was looking for you and you were gone. I looked everywhere.”

“After the…? Aelin,” He smiled sweetly, cupping her cheek, “after the movie I went to the bathroom. I never purposefully left you. I’d never do that.”

She blinked. “So you’re saying I’ve been out here for no reason?”

Rowan grinned, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “You always did have a dramatic flare. It’s part of why I love you.”

Humming, she leaned into him. “I missed you.”

Another kiss was pressed to the crown of her head. “I missed you too, love.”

It wasn’t easy, and it most definitely didn’t happen overnight, and their fight in the limousine wasn’t their last, but they rebuilt their relationship. It took a lot of counseling, a lot of tears, a lot of talking, and a lot of patience, but, well over a year later, they were once again happy and in love. Some days were better than others, and it was by no means perfect. But they were happy.

Balancing work and their personal life wasn’t easy, and there were still many times that one person accidentally began shutting down communication with the other, but they now made a point to spend time together, and to schedule weekends off so that they could relax. Another improvement was that Aelin was no longer sleeping in the guest room.

Only a few weeks after her premier, she and Rowan had decided to move into another house, as they both agreed that it would be too difficult to repair their marriage in the house that had some so close to destroying it.

Now in a new house in the suburbs, Aelin felt as if they had been gifted with a fresh start, and another chance together.

Several months later, nearly two years after her premier, as they were wrapped together under warm sheets and in each other's arms, buttery sunlight streaming in through the large windows, with her head tucked under his chin, she smiled a secret smile, her thoughts drifting to the growing secret within her belly, whose existence she would soon reveal to her husband. But for now, she roused him gently from his light slumber. “Ro. Ro, wake up. I want to tell you something.”

“Mnggh.”

She could simply grin, and attempt to rouse him again. “Please, it’s important.”

One green eye slipped open. “Wa’sit?” He slurred, pulling her closer.

Bracing her elbows on his bare chest, she traced his collarbone with her fingertip. “I’ve been thinking about something for a while, and...I’ve come to a decision.”

Now he was awake. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes with his free hand, he met her happy gaze. “What do you mean?” He murmured, fingers combing sweetly through her hair.

Resting her chin in her hands, she gazed into his eyes. “So….I’ve been thinking that even though we’ve talked about it, and you’re completely fine with my acting career…”

“Mmhmm…” He hummed, smiling slightly.

“I’ve decided that I’m going to retire early, and get a real job.”

His eyes widened comically. “What?! B-but you love acting! Why-what… I’d never want you…. Aelin, you can’t! You-this is your dream job.” He sputtered, holding her gaze, and searching.

She cupped his cheek and brushed his bottom lip with her thumb. Trying to convey just how much she loved him with that gesture. “It’s my decision, Rowan. I decided to retire because I don’t like the strain it puts on our relationship.” Her husband began to protest, but she quickly silenced him. “No one made me do this. And, yeah, I know we’ve worked out ways to work through the stress my job puts on us, but… I don’t like it. I hate how we almost have to put on a facade for the paparazzi, and how absolutely everything we do is criticized and judged, and…” She took a deep breath, leading his hand to press against her stomach. “I don’t want our kids to grow up in the spotlight, where they’ll have no privacy be constantly scrutinized. I just...that’s not the life I want for them.”

Slowly, realization dawned on him, and he broke into a joyful grin, tears filling his eyes as he pressed a second hand to her belly. “Aelin, sweetheart, are...are you?”

She grinned from ear to ear, nodding her head vigorously. Rowan immediately wrapped her into a tight, loving hug and kissed her until their lips were numb and their stomachs roared for breakfast.

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closetedcuriosity · 4 years ago

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lvsblnd:

If it wasn’t so sad to potentially die like this, Justice might have been more okay with the thought of getting killed for her cockiness for once. However, dying in angelic garb over a prank with a lesser angel accidentally bashing her head in was not the way for her to go. Not even she was that self-deprecating to think such a thing was a good way to go.

Justice hissed softly in pain, the world tilting to and fro made all the more nauseating from the pulsing buzz through her head leaving the world warping in her mind. It was so ungodly hard to make sense of anything when you’re forced to use sound and touch alone. Still, she could tell that it was at least Azazel that was currently tending to her. If she could stand, she’d have tried to play it off. However, the fact that the other steadying her up to keep her head from falling through the burning floor made her have to cover her mouth said that wasn’t an option.

“Nah, girl.. I deserved that one alright.” The High Demon admitted, rubbing her forehead as the fact that she felt pain was at least a good sign. If it didn’t hurt, that was when she knew she was in trouble. “I shouldn’t’ve riled ya up like that, sorry. I also should’ve been able to catch that blow anyways. Man, I’m way too rusty lately.”

Of course, Justice was going to try her best to get the point across that Azazel had nothing to apologize for. Since, truthfully, this entire problem was the High Demon’s fault anyways. In hindsight, this entire prank was idiotic at best. And, at worst… well, she was almost dead thanks to it. If Azazel had any more experience and used the sharp end, well, that wouldn’t have been a pretty sight. Not that anything in direct sight of her would’ve seen anything with all that holy essence spilling out.

“I’d say fetch me some bandages, but I doubt he’s got anything here that won’t immediately burn away. Maybe some liquids, though. Gotta replace all this ichor you spilled outta me, Azz. Damn, that stings.. Never seen an Angel with the hooplah to use their Halo before.” The image caused a laugh to escape her, only for her to cough more of said holy essence into her gloved hand. “Uuugh, now I gotta explain why I’m washing this outfit. Nobody’s gonna buy you’re an Archangel in disguise…”

... she opened her mouth to argue, as her naturally complacent nature wanted to tell her that she had no right to such a reaction, especially over a harmless stunt... but, she stopped herself. That... wasn’t harmless. That hurt. She wasn’t in Heaven and Justice, attire aside, was most certainly not her superior... so, she shouldn’t be making excuses for her. That was an unneeded habit.

Besides, she needed to save her energy for keeping the fallen angel conscious. The cloth was certainly helping, but she couldn’t just hold it there forever- Justice was right, bandaging or gauss would be necessary... but, like she said, their mortal host most definitely doesn’t have any unearthly supplies available.

And she doubted any of the demons here cared enough to prepare hellish first aid before leaving... except, maybe Lucifer? She usually seemed prepared for anything... but, that’d require Azazel telling her she’d nearly killed her former high prosecutor. Considering their past interactions... best not.

She was pondering it, looking down at her own ichor-splattered clothes... when the demon’s cough-broken comments gave her an idea.

“... I suppose after one blasphemous use of my halo, another wouldn’t hurt.” The angel thought aloud to herself, the familiar sound of unfurling feathers ringing out as one of her wings sprouted from her back and loosely wrapped around the other for support while she withdrew her hands. One returned to the ring above her head, pulling it down as her other gripped the hem of one of her pants legs.

Sure enough, the sharp golden edge of her halo glided rather smoothly through the heavenly fabric... further reinforcing her gratefulness for not bringing it down edgewise on the demon. Cutting out a sizable strip, leaving one of her legs now exposed up to the upper thigh, she gripped one end and pressed it atop of the handkerchief. “Remain as still as you can, please.” She said as she began to firmly wrap the fabric around the former prosecutor’s skull.

Heavenly cloth had a silky but tensile feeling to it, so in terms of makeshift bandaging... you could do worse. Not that they had many other options of angelic essence resistant material available to them.

“This should hopefully prevent your condition from worsening any further, for the time being... I’ll see if I can leverage some proper angelic medical supplies the next time I’m back in Heaven.” Even if they end up being unnecessary for this specific wound, with how potent even fallen archangel constitution should be, it’d still be nice to have them on hand in case of any future injuries.

Now, fluids. Something that should be much easier to acquire, as long as Modeus isn’t around to take notice of her now exposed thigh. “I can get you some water. You can start worrying about washing your clothes afterwards.” The lesser angel said, making sure Justice was away from any resulting burning holes in the floor before standing up and walking off to the kitchen.

#Absolutely revolting! Please‚ tell me more! // IC //

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lavenderboneswrites · 4 years ago

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Heart Over Ice

Durarara, Shizaya, AO3

***Please read the tags*** ***Trigger Warning***

Summary: Shizuo witnesses an incredible act of violence against his most hated enemy. Left to pick up the pieces, he finds himself experiencing unwanted side-effects, all while forced to deal with the very person he claims to hate.

Tags: Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Murder, Sexual Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Non-Consensual Drug Use, drug induced paralysis, Medical Procedures, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Discussion of Rape, Discussion of sexual assault, Discussion of Death, discussion of trauma, Triggers, discussion of triggers, Panic Attacks, explicit descriptions of panic attacks, Canon-Typical Violence, aka Shizuo typical violence, Protective Heiwajima Shizuo, Shizuo-centric, Binge Drinking, Angst with a Happy Ending, Minor Kishitani Shinra/Celty Sturluson, minor original characters, Minor Character Death, Eventual Smut, eventual consensual smut, Eventual Romance, Eventual Happy Ending, Pre-Relationship, First Aid, Mentions of Yakuza, Drug Dealing, Drugs, Thoughts of Self-harm, Self-Harm, Torture, Disassociation

Chapter 1 - Over Ice

When Shizuo decided to head to Shinjuku to beat up flea the last thing he expected to see when he kicked down the door was Izaya’s lifeless eyes staring back at him.

It had been surprisingly quiet the past couple of months, so much so that Shizuo had started to become suspicious. Like any rational person, Shizuo could only come the conclusion that his arch nemesis was up to no good. Which in turn had brought him here.

Shizuo stood frozen in the threshold.

Izaya was spread out on that ridiculously expensive sectional couch of his, head and feet only visible as another body covered his. Cold fear gripped Shizuo as he recognized the sound of grunting. The way the body atop of Izaya’s was rutting.

It was nauseating the way Izaya’s head moved with the motion, his body completely limp and weak against the force bearing down on it. Shizuo felt like he was experiencing second hand motion sickness just from watching but he couldn’t stop watching. Couldn’t tear his eyes away.

The man hadn’t even realised that he was no longer alone; his face pressed into Izaya’s neck, his hands down Izaya’s pants … too focused on chasing his own revolting pleasure.

“What the fuck are you doing!?”

Shizuo’s deafening bellow shook the entire apartment. The man leapt back from the flea like he had been electrocuted. Shizuo could barely breathe through the churning of his stomach, the feeling as if he had swallowed live snakes, to take in the fact that both Izaya and the man were still fully clothed.

No. All Shizuo could see was the fucking tent in this would-be rapist’s pants.

Shizuo shot forward with an inhuman roar. The man didn’t even have a chance to raise his arms and shield his head before Shizuo smashed in his face with a fist.

The man’s nose shattered, fragmenting and flattening as the momentum sent him flying. With the same force that had sent others into the sky, the man crashed against the bookshelves lining the wall behind him with a sickening crunch. His body seemed to suspend upright for a moment, pinned by the force of Shizuo’s fury, before it slid down and lay crumpled on the ground.

Killkillkillfuckkillwhatkillthefuck.

Shizuo’s rage was floundering among a sea of cold dread.

Fear gripped his heart. Pierced it.

He was by Izaya’s side in an instant, kneeling beside those stupid fucking plush couch cushions.

“Flea…”

Shaking fingers turned Izaya’s face towards him. Shizuo had always thought the louse was pale, but his skin was shock white now and he fully expected it to be cold to the touch. Shizuo was shocked to feel the warmth of life under his hands. A direct contradiction to the flea’s empty stare.

He looks dead.

Shizuo’s mind was splitting apart. It couldn’t catch up with what his body was seeing, not able to deal with the fear that was clawing up his throat and making him tremble. He struggled to gain control over the panic, he had to push it aside, had to do something.

Shizuo pulled out his phone, quickly calling one of his limited number of contacts.

Those few seconds waiting as his phone rang out were agony.

“Hello Shizuo-kun~!” Shinra’s bright voice chirped down the line. “To what do I owe-,”

“-The flea’s hurt.”

Shizuo doesn’t know if it was his words that cut Shinra off or the way his voice shook. There was silence for a second, and then, “where are you?”

‘What did you do’ was left unsaid, Shinra’s tone shifting from peppy to professional.

“Are you in danger?”

“No, but Shinra he’s not moving,” Shizuo’s panic manifested physically, he gripped the flea’s shoulder and shook him, as if it could somehow magically snap him out of the strange trance-like state he was in.

“Shizuo,” Shinra’s voice was low and serious, a far cry from his usual lilt. Shizuo held onto it like a lifeline. “I need you take a long, deep breath for me.”

“I-I can’t.”

“Yes you can, I’m going to talk you through it.”

Shizuo couldn’t feel his own body, couldn’t feel his chest, and if he couldn’t feel his chest then how was he supposed to make his lungs do something as simple and instinctual as breathing.

“One, two, three … a big breath in- yeah they’re you go,” Shizuo’s body followed Shinra’s words like gospel. It seemed it had gotten fed up with the absolute mess of Shizuo’s panicked mind and was going to seek the voice of common sense coming from his phone instead. “Hold it … that’s it, okay now let it go.”

Letting go and exhaling that one breathe was like flickering lights in Shizuo’s head finally stabilising. He repeated the process again: inhale, hold, exhale.

“Where are you?”

“Shinjuku.”

“At Izaya’s?”

Shizuo nodded, then realised Shinra couldn’t see it over the phone, “yeah.”

“I’m on my way,” Shizuo could hear the sound of Shinra moving around. “Stay on the line Shizuo.”

“…Yeah,” Shizuo seemed incapable of more than one-word answers. He didn’t think he could handle anything more complicated than Shinra’s short, direct questions either. It must be intentional on the doctor’s part.

“I need you tell me if Izaya has a pulse.”

Shizuo felt a strangled sound get caught in his throat. Fuck, a pulse, right. Why was it that all common sense had been pushed from his head?

Inhale.

Shizuo struggled to muster enough willpower to physically force his hand from Izaya’s shoulder, the muscles clenched painfully tight. Trying, and failing, to ignore brown eyes staring up at him lifelessly. Shizuo moved his hand to the flea’s neck, pushing two fingers in against his pulse point.

Hold.

For one terrifying second, one second that seemed to last a lifetime, Shizuo felt nothing. And then…

Exhale.

Shizuo felt dizzy at the comforting thump-thump under his fingers. “Fuck,” a breathless laugh escaped him, “yes … yes he’s got a pulse.”

He didn’t have the mental capacity to analyse what exactly this all meant for him, all Shizuo could focus on was the absolute relief that flooded his veins. He felt jittery with it; like it was a drug injected directly into his bloodstream.

“Okay, good, that’s good … now I need you to check his breathing.”

Fuck.

Shizuo really should have known it was too early to celebrate. Emboldened by proof of life under his fingers, Shizuo quickly nodded to himself. He could do this. Just breathe.

“What do I do?”

Shizuo could hear the way Shinra’s voice evened out slightly, less sharp and stark, relief at Izaya’s survival and Shizuo’s gaining competence. “Look to see if his chest is rising and falling.”

Shizuo stared at the flea’s torso, afraid to blink in case he missed something. “It’s moving … I think?” It didn’t seem like very much to Shizuo, whose own chest had only moments ago been heaving. “Not very much though.”

“That’s okay,” Shinra’s soothed over the line, “now I want you to put your ear over his mouth and nose, you should be able to hear his breathing and feel it against your cheek.”

In any other situation, Shizuo would have visibly recoiled of just the thought of getting so close to the louse. Now however, he followed Shinra’s instructions to the letter, no sign of hesitation whatsoever.

“Can you feel it?”

“Yeah, but,” a small puff air, barely a caress against his cheek, “it’s so…”

“Short?”

“Yeah and,” Shizuo frowned, trying to think of the right words to describe the almost non-existent breath against his face. He had to lean in so close that he was almost touching Izaya’s face to even feel anything. “Shallow.”

“Okay,” it didn’t sound very okay to Shizuo. “Are you okay?”

No, Shizuo was not fucking okay, but that didn’t matter right now. “What should I do?”

“Monitor his breathing, if it stops you will need to preform CPR. Don’t worry, I’ll walk you through it.”

Trying to ignore the vision of crushing the flea’s torso under his palms if he even tried, Shizuo straightened up, eyes straining as they followed the feeble rise and fall of the flea’s chest.

“Can you tell me if he is hurt anywhere? Does he have any injuries?”

If not for his rumpled clothes or dead-eyed stare, Shizuo wouldn’t know anything was actually wrong with the flea. Shizuo couldn’t help but take in the way Izaya’s collar was stretched, as if someone had yanked it down to expose his skin. The plastic of his phone creaked under his hand as his gaze moved downwards; he couldn’t break his phone, he needed Shinra to keep talking to him or he would go insane.

Izaya’s pants were half undone and pulled low on his hips, belt split in two at the buckle. Shizuo snarled out loud at the dark stain on Izaya’s jeans at his upper thigh.

KillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillkillKILL.

“Shizuo are you still there? Are you okay?”

Why the fuck did Shinra keep asking if he was okay? He wasn’t, but it didn’t matter so shut the fuck up already.

“I-I …,” Shizuo was shaking with rage, desperate to not crush his phone, to not stand up and rip that piece of shit’s fucking head off. “I don’t think he’s injured.”

Not physically anyway.

“Okay. That’s good,” Shinra’s repetition was somehow comforting. He kept saying those words like a mantra. “You’re doing great Shizuo.”

“He isn’t moving Shinra, why isn’t he moving?” Shizuo spoke in a voice he didn’t even recognise. Weak and pathetic and shaking.

“It will be okay Shizuo, just breathe.”

“I don’t want to fucking breathe,” Shizuo growled down the phone, misplaced anger turning on the only available outlet. “I want to beat the fucking shit out of that son of a bitch.”

“Please do not do that,” Shinra no doubt thought Shizuo was talking about Izaya. “What happened? Did you two get into another fight?”

“What!?” Shizuo felt his body recoil at just the idea, “I would never-,”

“-Okay, okay,” Shinra cut over his ranting, “please just try and stay calm.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

“I’m almost there, just hang on.”

Shinra kept talking to him, kept asking how Izaya’s breathing was (no change), kept telling him to inhale, hold, exhale. Shizuo could only kneel by the flea’s side, small tremors going through his body as he struggled to follow Shinra’s instructions and just keep breathing.

At some point he had pulled up a blanket from the end of the couch and covered Izaya with it. Part of him was worried the flea might be cold, another just couldn’t stand looking at that dark stain on denim anymore. Shizuo thought maybe he should try and close Izaya’s pants, but his hands shook so much at just the thought of it that he quickly abandoned the idea.

Once he was covered Shizuo had nowhere left to look but his face. He could almost see his head bobbing with that earlier motion again.

Shizuo scrubbed a hand over his own face, clinging to the soothing words Shinra repeated by his ear. “It’s okay, you’re doing great. I’m almost there, you’re going to be alright.”

Shizuo was trapped in Izaya’s eyes. His pupils were blown wide, almost eclipsing all of the colour of his iris. It was funny, Shizuo had always described the flea’s brown eyes as red, like a demon’s. Looking now, at the thin sliver still visible, Shizuo thought they were almost an oaky whiskey colour.

Are you awake flea? Can you see me?

Shinra had asked Shizuo if he was conscious, to which Shizuo had replied with a meek ‘I don’t know.’ Izaya’s eyes were open, and no matter what Shizuo thought, he wasn’t staring at anything in particular. Though Shizuo felt as if those eyes were freezing him all the same.

It really did look like he was dead.

Shizuo had proved otherwise, but every few minutes he would check his pulse and breathing again just to make sure.

“Shizuo.”

It took him a moment to realise that Shinra had spoken from the doorway and not the phone. Shizuo stood up, his legs feeling numb beneath him as he pocketed the device.

Shinra waltzed into the apartment, white doctor’s coat flicking behind him with an almost righteous purpose.

Shizuo watched the way Shinra took in everything with clinical analysis. Shizuo, Izaya, the man passed out behind them. The doctor’s brow furrowed, but he gave no further indication he was perturbed.

With a particularly large exhale, Shizuo took a step away from the couch. Shinra knelt down almost exactly where Shizuo had been keeping watch, black medical bag beside him as he opened it and pulled out a stethoscope.

“Izaya can you hear me? Can you speak?” Shizuo didn’t know why Shinra even bothered asking, the flea silent in response. It was amazing how Shinra could sound so calm, as if he was only talking to a patient during a general check-up and not the flea’s petrified body. It helped ground Shizuo, just a little. “If you can hear me I want you to try and blink, okay?”

Izaya’s eyelids didn’t even flutter.

A growl came unbidden to his lips as Shinra ripped the blanket off Izaya with a cold detachment that seemed almost too severe to Shizuo. If he noticed the flea’s state of undress he didn’t mention it.

“Oi,” Shizuo warned as Shinra lifted Izaya’s black top up, exposing the pale white skin of his torso.

“I need to listen to his breathing.”

Fucking hell, Shizuo knew that. So why did his mind rebel so fiercely at the thought of hands on that unmoving body?

“Tell me what happened.”

Shizuo wanted a fucking cigarette so badly, but the flea would probably pissed as hell if he smoked in his apartment though.

If he lives.

“I don’t fucking know,” Shizuo snapped, glaring at the white of the dry wall. He couldn’t look anywhere else without feeling like he would fracture. “I came here to beat the crap out of him and-,”

-Shizuo cut himself off, not sure exactly how to put what he witnessed into actual words.

“What’s wrong with him anyway?”

Shinra sighed as he shined the light of a mini torch into the flea’s eyes. “I can only theorise, but I think he’s been drugged.”

There was a ringing in his ears that felt like a gun had gone off next to his head, unbalancing him.

Drugged.

“Motherfucker!” Shizuo swung himself around to face the bookshelves, eyes landing on the crumpled form of-,“that fucking piece of shit!”

Shinra yelled out as he leapt over the couch, a thud coming from his feet as they impacted violently with the hardwood floors. “Shizuo!”

“I’m going to fucking kill him!” Shizuo would crush every bone in that prick’s body, would rip his arms off, then his legs, then his head, and then he would crush the pieces to dust.

“Stop it!” Shinra’s voice snapped across his haze, more forceful than he ever heard. “I need him to tell us what he drugged Izaya with or-,”

-Shinra stopped himself from finishing that sentence and Shizuo was extremely grateful for it.

His whole body was trembling. Hard. He wasn’t sure it had ever stopped. Looking down on the bastard that had done this, it took every ounce of willpower to hold himself back. Only Shinra’s words and the man’s unconscious and already bloody face stopped him.

“Izaya,” Shizuo wanted to clench his eyes shut at the soft way Shinra spoke behind him. “Izaya, it’s Shinra.”

Why are you even bothering? It’s not like he’s awake. He’s not awake. Please don’t be awake.

“It’s going to be okay, Izaya.”

Shizuo’s jaw almost creaked at how hard he clenched his teeth.

Breathe.

In what seemed like a blur to Shizuo, but was in reality a slow and steady pace, Shinra was at Shizuo’s side. Silver scalpel in hand.

“I need to talk to him.” Gone was any of the softness his voice held when he spoke to Izaya, all that remained in its wake was ice.

Even Shizuo had to admit he felt a little apprehensive at the dark look in the doctor’s eyes. “Can you wake him up without killing him?”

“Can’t you?” Shizuo shot back without thinking.

Shinra let out a laugh that was like stone scraping against concrete, “no … no I don’t think I can.”

Inhale.

Shizuo kicked out none to gently at the man’s legs.

Hold.

Another kick, “wake the fuck up.”

Exhale.

Shizuo and Shinra listened to the low groan that came from the man. Hands went to his broken face, fingers feeling out the swollen and the bruised. “Fuck.”

His voice was high and weedy, grating on Shizuo’s already frayed nerves. Plain muddy brown eyes looked up, widening in fear at the sight of Shizuo.

“W-what the f-fuck are you doing here?”

“Ah, I think we’ll be asking the questions, don’t you?” Shinra replied in a saccharine sweet voice frozen with malice. He raised the scalpel in his hand, the blade glinting in the light.

The man however thought Shizuo was the bigger threat. Wire thin arms struggled to push himself up and away from the blonde, but he only managed to slump his back against the bookshelf behind him.

“You broke my fucking nose!” The man hissed as his hands went to his face again. “What the fuck dude!”

Shizuo didn’t trust himself to speak, hands clenched at his side, fingernails digging into his palms.

I should break more than that, you fucking deadshit.

If Shizuo opened his mouth it would open the floodgates and he would not be able to stop. He would tear this scum apart.

“What did you drug our friend with?” Ignoring the man’s pitiful complaints, Shinra squatted down in front of him. “I need to know the exact drug you used.”

“What does it fucking matter, shit…”

“It matters because the muscles around his lungs are paralysed, which in turn is affecting his breathing.”

“Hah,” the vermin spat out in amusement. “What a damn shame.”

Before Shizuo could make a move, before he could even let out an earth shattering roar, Shinra stabbed his scalpel down into the man’s foot.

Shizuo jumped at the ruthless action, the man howling as he kicked out at Shinra with his other leg. The blade had gone clean through the leather of his shoe, through skin and bone and blood, until it had come out the bottom of his foot and pinned him to the floor. Shinra had struck like a viper, no indication he was going to move until he was driving down viciously.

“It seems you don’t quite realise the gravity of your situation,” Shinra ripped the scalpel out of the man’s foot with what Shizuo could only describe as professionalism. “You’re in the apartment of one of the most powerful men in the city, a man you have just attempted to assault, and not only is there him but the Fortissimo of Ikebukuro … and then there’s me.”

Shinra gave Glasgow grin, so wide it was more of a gash across his face than anything resembling joy. “I’m a nobody really … but there is someone I love, and they would want me to help my friends. I can’t disappoint the one I love, you know?”

“I’m going to kill you four eyes! I’m going to fuck your scrawny little ass to death.”

Killkillkillcrushkillcrushcrushkill.

“Oh?” Shinra sounded intensely amused by that, yet none of that humour reached his eyes. “But if you attack me, who is there to hold him back?” The man looked fearfully back up at Shizuo as Shinra motioned over his shoulder.

“So why don’t you tell me what drugs you used, ne?” Shinra tilted his head, like a puppy almost. It didn’t match the sadistic and quite frankly, terrifying, expression on his face.

“Why should I? He’s just going to kill me!” The man spat at Shizuo’s feet.

“Perhaps,” Shinra replied thoughtfully, “but shouldn’t you be more worried about the time you have left alive?”

“What-,”

Shinra grabbed the man’s hand, scalpel coming to rest on the tip of his finger, just under the start of his nail. “Tell me. The drugs. You used.”

Shizuo couldn’t stop how his eyes closed as the screaming started. Even shut it was as he could see the way Shinra slowly pressed his scalpel in under the man’s nail against the back of his lids.

It was revolting.

It was righteous.

“Stop! Stop it!”

The screaming was clanging in his head like temple bell. It was almost worse with his eyes closed, the sound seeming all the more heavy.

“Why should I stop when you never have?”

Shizuo forced his eyes open as Shinra pulled back, the man held his arm to his chest and sobbed. “Please.”

“That was only one … you’ve got nine nails left, not to mention your toes.”

“Fuck … you fucking psycho!”

“What drugs did you use?”

“I don’t fucking know, okay!?” The man shouted at a thoroughly displeased looking Shinra. “I got them off some dealer.”

“It’s like you don’t even want your fingernails,” Shinra sounded he was a parent dealing with an extremely spoilt child and not the attempted rapist he was currently torturing. “Oh well...”

“No, wait!” The man’s uninjured hand dove into his pocket, scrabbling to pull out a small vial. “Here, take it!”

Shinra snatched the empty vial from the man’s hand, quickly standing up as he read the label. “Vecuronium bromide, this … this is a medical grade neuromuscular-blocker.”

“Is that bad?” Shizuo asked with worry.

“Not exactly, but,” the man cringed as Shinra snapped that murderous look back on him, “how much did you dose him with?”

“Ha, like I know … enough to keep him down and,” -the man gave a bloody grin, “pliant.”

Motherfucker.

“At what time?”

“I don’t even know what time it is now … he knocked my lights out.”

Shinra sighed, sounding weary of the man’s entire personality. Shizuo was also done with him, but he’d been done with him the moment he walked in the door.

“What is it?”

“This drug, when properly administered,” Shinra shot at the attacker accusingly, “should wear off in less than an hour or so.”

Fuck. How long had it been since Shizuo arrived? It seemed like years had passed since he first kicked down the door.

“It’s been around forty minutes since you called, so give or take twenty minutes,” Shinra calculated, rolling the empty vial between his hands thoughtfully. “He should be awake by now.”

Shizuo shot an uneasy look behind him, the flea was still unmoving and unseeing. “What does that mean?”

“It means this moron,” -Shinra kicked carelessly at the man’s wounded foot making him flinch, “gave him an overdose.”

“Ha,” that annoying, high pitched laugh came out pained and wheezing. The man obviously thought he had nothing left to lose, or was just incapable of shutting the fuck up. “What a fucking waste, ay? I didn’t even get to come inside-,”

-Shizuo delivered a swift punch to the man’s temple, knocking him out flat. “Shut up!”

“Shizuo come here.” Shinra was back at Izaya’s side, digging into his medical bag. “I need your help.”

Shinra’s word were the only thing that stopped Shizuo from beating the man further. He returned to Izaya’s side, no visible change to see. Still lifeless.

“Let’s move him to the table … I need room to do this.” Shizuo had no idea what ‘this’ was, but he quickly followed Shinra’s instructions and picked up the flea.

Can he feel this?

Izaya weighs nothing in his arms.

Shizuo couldn’t dwell on the thought, following Shinra to the dining table with his greatest enemy cradled against his chest. If Izaya was aware, no doubt he would be mortified.

“I have no idea how he got it,” Shinra said as he kicked away a few dining chairs and pushed the pile of placemats and one lonely pot-plant to the opposite side and onto the floor. “But apart from medical use, Vecuronium is also used on prisoners in the United States as a means of carrying out the death penalty.”

“What!?” Shizuo yelled aghast. The fucking death penalty? The flea was going to die!? “What the fuck Shinra!?”

“I know,” he dumped his bag down, and started pulling out several items that Shizuo could not even begin to identify. “An overdose of the drug is administrated to paralyse the prisoner and stop their breathing. They also administer a sedative and potassium chloride to stop their heart, so I guess we can be thankful it’s just the Vecuronium, ne?”

“How can you be so fucking calm right now?”

Shinra didn’t answer, instead instructing, “Put him here, with his head just at the edge.”

More gently than he had ever treated the flea, Shizuo placed him down. He backed off immediately, Shinra switching places with him at the flea’s side.

“Izaya,” Shinra’s voice was clipped and professional as he pulled on white latex gloves, “I can’t reverse the effects of the drug so I’m going to put you on ventilation until the Vecuronium leaves your system.”

Izaya’s dead eyed stare was his only answer. Shinra gave a wry grin, “Shizuo and I am here, we won’t let anything happen to you.”

Shizuo doesn’t know why Shinra thought Izaya would take comfort in his presence, but he couldn’t be bothered to contradict it. Part of him still refused to believe that Izaya is actually awake and listening.

Shizuo watched as Shinra tightened a strange colourful belt thing around Izaya’s arm, before moving two fingers to press into his inner elbow. “I’m going to give you a pain reliever which should also make you drowsy … so don’t panic if you feel yourself going to sleep.”

“Shinra…”

It’s like Shinra thinks Izaya can hear him.

Shizuo’s heart breaks.

Satisfied with whatever it is the doctor feels, Shinra wipes at the flea’s skin with an alcohol wipe, before adding like an afterthought to Shizuo “what I really need is Sugammadex but it’s not something I carry with me, but not knowing exactly how much he was dosed with, it might not be enough.” Shizuo felt as if the walls were crumbling around him, felt like his own breath was beginning to slow. “Shizuo.”

He snapped back to reality, eyes wild as he looked at Shinra. “Breathe Shizuo, one thing at a time, alright?”

Fuck. Of course. He had to get it together, he couldn’t have a breakdown right now. Later, maybe, but now he needed to get his fucking head in the game.

It was easier said than done. Easy to think it … but actually doing it was a struggle on a whole other level. Shizuo hadn’t ever been in such a high stakes situation before.

Izaya could die. Right in front of him. What in the fucking hell.

“I-I thought you said a sedative could make it worse.” Shizuo struggled to get the words out.

“The main issue is he is struggling to breathe on his own, the ventilator will do that for him.” Shinra explains as he pulls out a new glass vial and a syringe.

He sticks the needle into the rubber top of the little bottle, liquid clear as water sucking into the syringe as Shinra pulls back the plunger. “This is a pain reliever and a sedative which can be used with neuromuscular-blockers … Vecuronium doesn’t block pain after all.”

Shizuo didn’t want to unpack all that just yet, because if what Shinra was saying meant what he thought it meant…

Don’t even think it.

Shinra quickly injects the contents of the needle into Izaya’s arm, and then he is moving to the other objects he pulled out of his bag.

There is a strange metal contraption with three parts. Two long arms that were held parallel to each other by what looked like a handle, both ending with a scooped edge. It almost looked like some sort of kitchen implement; like tongs with an extra arm. Then there’s a long white tube, each end capped with a plastic valve. Last is a small blue rubber cylindrical thing, that almost looked like a squashed football to Shizuo.

Shinra moved behind Izaya’s head, hands tilting the flea’s chin so it pointed slightly upwards. He picked up that silver tong thing in one hand, the other holding onto Izaya’s chin as it forced his mouth to open. Shizuo watched, half terrified, half fascinated, as Shinra slipped the bottom curved edge of the tool between Izaya’s parted lips.

Shizuo almost turned away as the long metal prongs disappeared into Izaya’s mouth, no doubt reaching all the way down to the back of his throat. Shinra removed his hand from Izaya’s chin, picking up his small torch and shining it into the flea’s mouth. He positioned the metal contraption this way and that way, like trying to find the perfect spot, before finally pushing it even further in.

Putting down the torch, Shinra’s pulled the handle and the two prongs seemed to spread slightly, and Shizuo couldn’t help but wonder if this was some sort of perverted torture method.

“Oi…”

“This is what the sedative is for … it won’t hurt him,” Shinra replied as if he could read Shizuo thoughts, though he never took his eyes off the procedure in front of him.

Shinra grabbed for the white tubing, “I’m going to need your help with the next part.”

Shizuo stood up a little straighter, ready to jump in at a moments notice.

He could do this.

Shinra had threaded the white tubing in-between the two prongs. In a swift manoeuvrer, he pulled the metal contraction out of Izaya’s throat while keeping the tubing in at the same time. He did it so smoothly Shizuo almost didn’t believe his eyes.

“Your first time?” He joked. Humour was supposed to be a coping mechanism or something, right?

Shinra gave a breathless laugh, “it’s a standard procedure taught in medical school.”

Shizuo half rolled his eyes, “like you’ve been to medical school.”

The both laughed, Shizuo’s coming out much more shaky than Shinra’s. He felt as if some of the tension had broken, like he could breathe just a little easier.

Thank fuck.

“Alright come here,” Shinra said as he connected the end of the tube sticking out of Izaya’s mouth with squishy football-looking thing from earlier.

Shizuo walked over hesitantly, feeling out of his depth as Shinra held the football in one hand, “You need to hold it like this and pump.” Shizuo watched Shinra give a steady squeeze. “Nice and regular, here you try.”

Shizuo was not ready as Shinra placed the blue pump in his hands. He almost fumbled the dam thing, quickly trying to make up for it by giving one panicked squeeze.

Inhale.

“Careful!” Shinra snapped, not helping at all. “Don’t break it.”

Hold.

“Fuck you, I’m trying,” Shizuo growled through gritted teeth. He gave another squeeze, this time more even and gentle.

Exhale.

“Good, that’s good,” Shinra encouraged, “just like that, slow and steady.”

Shizuo frowned, feeling only slightly patronized. Shinra grabbed the stethoscope from his neck and went back to listening to Izaya’s breathing.

“Did it work?” Is he okay?

“Hmm,” Shinra hummed, not outright ignoring Shizuo but it was enough to piss him off. Slightly. The doctor did seem a little preoccupied. “I certainly hope so.”

Well that went without saying, right? Fucking shitty doctor. Shinra pulled back, tugging the stethoscope out of his ears and placing it back around his neck with a sigh. He pulled off his glasses, rubbing between his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“This is the most we can do for now.” That sounded like fucking bullshit, surely they should be doing more. “I have my own ventilation machine at home, I’ll ask Celty to bring it. I don’t want to move him any more than necessary.”

Shizuo could imagine trying to move the flea and him all the way to Ikebukuro would be a little logistically complicated at the moment. So he were stuck here until Celty could bring relief, Shizuo helping his enemy fucking breathe of all things.

Shinra slumped down in one of the still upright dining chairs. He looked exhausted. “What a day.”

You’re telling me.

Shinra looked up at him with a mischievous grin, hand still steadily supplying oxygen to the flea. “This sure is a sight though, I should take a picture so I can prove to Izaya that you actually helped save his life.”

Shizuo almost squashed the ventilator, air shooting out his nostrils in a violent huff.

“Hah hah,” he responded sarcastically. “You’re lucking I’m too busy saving his life to punch you.”

Shinra giggled, laying his arms down on the table next to Izaya. “You’re a funny man, Shizuo-kun.”

That annoying honorific was back, no doubt Shinra’s version of taking the kid gloves off. Did this mean Shizuo had finally gained some control of his panic … he certainly felt a bit calmer. Though a small, weak part of him just wanted to sit down and cry.

Shizuo watched as the doctor put his head in his arms, groaning once to himself before standing back up. “Now, for more unpleasant things.”

Like everything before had been a fucking enjoyable walk in the park.

Shizuo frowned, Shinra grabbed another vial and syringe from his bag. “What are you doing?” He called as the doctor made his way over the crumpled form of the man who had caused all this.

“Sedating him, unless you’d like him to wake up and starting talking again.”

No, Shizuo very much did not want that.

“What do we do with him?”

“I’m up for some dismemberment if you are,” Shinra only half sounded like he was joking. “I can think of a few body parts to start with.”

“I don’t want to watch you cut someone’s dick off.” No matter how much the filth deserved it.

“Ah, you’re right,” Shinra sighed dramatically. “I guess it’s only right to leave him to Izaya’s capable hands, ne? Some might call that a fate worse than death.”

Shizuo wasn’t sure how he felt about that idea. It was true that anything they could do would probably pale in comparison when compared to Izaya’s unique brand of vengeance. Shizuo was guessing there would be no shortage of psychological warfare before Izaya either forced the man take his own life or had him killed.

Shizuo didn’t want any of them to have anything to do with the filth now drooling onto the flea’s floor. Certainly not Izaya. He shouldn’t have to see that piece of shit ever again.

But that’s not how Izaya would see it, would he? No doubt he would want to deal with it himself like Shinra said. The thought had him more anxious than Shizuo was willing to admit.

Unbidden, Shinra’s earlier words came back to him.

“It’s going to be okay, Izaya.”

“Was he awake?”

His voice came out quiet, almost a whisper as he looked down at the now closed eyes of the flea … Shinra must’ve shut them at some point.

Shinra had spoken to him like he wasn’t stuck in some kind of stasis. Like he was awake and aware, could hear and feel, but was just still.

Shinra had come back, the blanket from earlier in hand as he chose not to answer at first. Shizuo watched as the doctor placed the blanket over Izaya, that same soft look in his face that Shizuo had heard in his voice earlier.

“In layman's terms, the drug blocks neuromuscular transmission, so the signals between the brain and muscles you could say.” Shizuo listened with a frown to Shinra’s medical mumbo-jumbo; not entirely sure he wanted to know. “It’s not known to affect any other neurons, and patients who have experience with the drug have reported still being able to feel pain and hear their surroundings. Which is why it’s almost always used in conjunction with a sedative and a pain reliever.”

Shinra paused, tucking the edges of the blanket under Izaya’s feet. The next time he spoke, his voice was so soft it almost trembled, “He most likely was aware.”

Shizuo felt numb.

What could that feel like? To be paralysed head to toe? While some bastard fucking forced-,

Snap!

“Ah, Shizuo-kun!” Shinra gave a yelp as the hand that had been gripping the edge of the table by Izaya’s head broke off a large chunk. “Izaya is going to be mad if you break his stuff.”

Izaya might have other fucking things on his damn mind than a stupid broken table.

“What the actual fuck Shinra!?” Shizuo’s tumultuous rage poured into his words. He couldn’t lose control off his body, not when he was busy keeping the fucking flea alive. “What the fuck happened today?”

Shinra only sighed in response, sounding as tired as Shizuo felt.

“We should kill that rapist piece of shit, or at least call the police or something.”

“We could, and then we could keep Izaya sedated indefinitely so he never finds out. Unless you want to deal with his wrath?”

Surely a normal person would want the person who drugged and assaulted them arrested and charged? For fuck sakes the man had almost killed him. Then again, the flea was far from normal.

“He’ll want to deal with this himself,” Shinra repeated once again.

“And what if he goes off the fucking deep-end trying to get revenge?” Shizuo argues. What if the flea got hurt again in some twisted quest for payback. What if killed someone. What if he got killed.

“It’s not up to us Shizuo.”

“Tch.”

“You almost sound like you care about what happens to him.” Shizuo snaps his gaze to meet Shinra’s with fury … who only looks mildly entertained. Bastard.

“Shut up Shinra.” Shizuo almost wanted to growl at how hard it was to stop his body from leaping over the table and punching the shitty doctor. He had to stay by Izaya’s side, had to keep breathing for him.

He wants to go home. Wants to sleep and forget this day had ever happened. Shizuo closed his eyes and tried to count to ten, tried to ignore the way Shinra’s words burrowed into his mind and took hold.

“Would it be such a bad thing if you did?”

#shizaya #orihara izaya #shizuo heiwajima #whump #whumptober2020 #whumptober #drrr #durarara #heart over ice #shizaya whumptober #orihara izaya x heiwajima shizuo #orihara izaya/heiwajima shizuo #my fic #fanfic #fic mention #writing mention

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closetedcuriosity · 2 years ago

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@royalreef replied: WHISTLE-TRILL. HI THERE PRETTY LADY-

“That’s me, yes.”

#Absolutely revolting! Please‚ tell me more! // IC //#Paved with good intentions. // Loremaster //#// she'll gladly take that immediate ego stroke thanks #// among other things-#royalreef

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thoughtfullyyoungduck · 5 years ago

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Just scared and confused

A/N: This was requested by @reddie-fangirl24 I hope you enjoy! please let me know what you think!

Summary: Since I love your fic where Eddie has a nightmare, could you write a fic where Richie has a nightmare. It is up to you if you would like to write a similar plot line, or make it different.

Warnings; curse words, and some internalised homophobia

When Richie opens his eyes, he sitting at their kitchen table. He doesn’t remember how he got there, or even what he did before sitting there, but he is.

He looks around in confusion, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. His hand are shaking though, so Richie places them firmly on the surface of the table, feeling the indents of woods under his touch.

Their kitchen table is made of wood. Eddie chose it, despite Richie’s claims that they could use his old table he used to eat on. Eddie had scoffed, in the way that Richie knew meant he had something stupid, before Eddie had said that he wanted a new table, because his table was old as shit and who knew what had happened on there.

As the two looked for a new house to move in together, they chucked out all old furniture and in place of those they went shopping. Eddie hated it, but Richie had never had so much fun in his life before. He drove Eddie crazy by plowing down into beds, pretending to eat on tables and stretching out over couches as if he already owned the damn thing.

‘I’m going to fucking leave you’, he had said after they were thrown out of another store. The fleeting feeling of absolute panic in Richie disappeared after he saw Eddie’s fond smirk, but the words stuck with him. After he and Eddie got together, Richie discovered that he was a teeny tiny bit touched starved. Alright a lot touch starved. He never would have expected Eddie to want to be with him, never even considered the possibility that all the emotions Richie was holding in, bright in their intensity, could be reciprocated by his childhood best friend.

Richie never even dared to look too much into the lingering touches they shared as kids, and then later as adults, terrified that if he examined and dissected the sensations he got after touching and being close to Eddie, other people would just know. Just like Henry Bowers did, just like Stan did. He never wanted to be put in a spot where he would have no choice but to come clean, to share his feeling with Eddie and make him uncomfortable, to make Eddie hate him.

When they became lovers as he had so jokingly called them, a flashback to the time where Eddie had broken his arm, but also a memory of times where Richie had to hide the core of his very being, Richie used every opportunity to touch him. Eddie selflessly allowed him, reciprocating with the same ferocity, and yet still Richie didn’t feel at ease.

Just like when he was a kid, he was scared that if he truly showed Eddie how deep he loved him, he would be disgusted, and see Richie just like he viewed himself, as disgusting.

As a result, he consistently felt anxiety, whether it was going on a date with Eddie or making love for the first time. The task of taken the lead had fallen on Richie, which he didn’t mind, but he was always stressed when he wanted to initiate something new into their relationship. He was scared Eddie would wake up one day and come to the conclusion that Richie isn’t enough for him.

To no one’s surprise, Richie kept those thoughts to himself, withering away with the weight to put upon him.

Because the table consisted of wood, Eddie demanded that they had placing mats on the table at all times, terrified of stains seeping into the new table. They’re a light green color, which fits in the room beautifully, at least that’s what Eddie’s been saying to him. Richie doesn’t mind them, but he wouldn’t care whether or not there were stains anywhere in the house. It a sign that there are living people in this house. Regardless, them being missing is what ticked Richie off that there was something wrong. They weren’t there anymore, and when he looks around, he doesn’t see them anywhere either.

Richie’s heartbeat picks up even though he wills it away again. He’s being stupid, he tells himself. Eddie probably just wanted to clean them and he didn’t notice, everything is fine.

Except that it’s not. He hears before sees Eddie come out of the room with a giant carton box in his hands. It looks heavy, and Eddie puffs with exhaustion before dumping the box next to the others.

Richie only now takes notices of all the box placed neatly upon each other, right in front of the door.

‘Eds’, Richie asks trailing off. He freezes, all his muscles tighten up and panic washes over him like ice cold water, as soon as Eddie looks at his direction.

It’s clear Eddie’s been crying, his eyes red while the rest of his face is an icy white. He looks sick to his stomach, his mouth trembling as if trying not to talk or cry anymore. He’s failing.

‘What are you doing’? He asks when Eddie doesn’t respond to Richie calling out his name. Even though Richie is panicked, he knows that there’s nothing he wouldn’t do to take Eddie’s pain away, they’ve been through so much, and Eddie deserves the whole galaxy as far as Richie was concerned.

He told him that once after they woke up in the same bed for the first time since they were adults. Their limbs were woven, Eddie’s head on Richie’s outstretched arm, while his arm was tracing random patrons into his skin. Richie had pressed a kiss to Eddie’s shoulder, while mumbling that all he ever wanted to do was make Eddie happy. It had been a serene moment, one that Richie would hold close, written in his heart.

Right now, he jumps up from his chair, rushing towards Eddie, but he stops dead in his tracks when Eddie flinches away from him. His chair makes a shrieking sounds as it drags across the floor, Richie whines, knowing Eddie absolutely hates that sound. He doesn’t respond though, and that worries Richie’s.

‘Don’t do this again Richie.’ He mumbles, and he sounds so tired, like he’s 80 years old. Just hearing the sound of that makes Richie want to cry. He pushes back against the burning feeling of tears forcing their way down his face, but he suspect that makes it even more obvious to Eddie that he’s going to start crying.

‘Don’t Richie’, he says, his voice hard like a jagged edge of a knife. It cuts through Richie, leaving him deflated and confused. He standing a few feet away from Eddie, contemplating whether or not he should touch Eddie.

‘We’ve already talked about this. I’m leaving. I’m going back to Myra and there’s nothing you can do about it.’

Richie world feels like it has been shattered. He takes a few stumbling steps backwards, falling back down unto the couch. ‘What’, he croaks out, and this time he’s helpless to stop the tears rushing like waterfalls from his cheeks.

Eddie rolls his eyes, not in a playful way like he usually does, but in a truly annoyed fashion, Richie’s heart crumbles further. It this what a panic attack feels like, Richie thinks delirious. He sits on the edge of their couch, having never felt so dejected before.

‘I’m moving back in,’ he pauses for a second, and Richie who was never good with silence, feels even more suffocate by this one. ‘Richie, this was a mistake. I thought I loved you, but I realized that I just missed you. You’re my best friend, but I don’t love you the way you love me. Quite frankly Richie, it’s really disgusting.

And Richie knows this, he fucking well knows. He spend most of his childhood trying to not be gay, trying to kiss girls and convince himself that he liked it, but the reality is that doesn’t. It’s who he is, and before coming out it was always like Richie was completely alone. Nobody, not a single soul knew who he really was, and the reason for that was that he kept such a huge part of himself hidden, And he was so vulnerable when Eddie woke up, that without thinking he just blurted it out.

Not that he was in love with Eddie, that had taken several months of therapy and adjusting the idea that Eddie wasn’t revolted just because he was gay, but he had confessed to Eddie that he likes men, and only men. And when Eddie had just accepted him, he had been shocked beyond believe. He could finally start to be open towards others and himself, And he was on this journey with Eddie where both of them were learning to love themselves along with each other, and maybe Richie had managed to make himself believe that he wasn’t disgusting.

But hearing Eddie say it right now made him realize that he very much was. All Richie suddenly wanted to do was lay in bed, cry and hide from the world, even from Eddie.

‘Eds, please.’ Richie tried. He was so fucking selfish, but he didn’t think he could live now that he had a taste of how life was like with Eddie. He didn’t think he would be able to spend his days in a house where he and Eddie had bought stuff, the place they made their home.

Richie had never had that before. He had houses, sure, but never a home. He wasn’t ready to loose that. He wasn’t ever ready to say goodbye to Eddie.

‘Don’t fucking call me that’, Eddie spat out, ‘I used to like it when you called me that but now that I know the intent behind it’, he shuddered in disgust. ‘Don’t call me that, in fact don’t call me anything at all. We’re done, I can’t be friends with, with someone like you.’

Something was off with Eddie, and if Richie wasn’t so busy channeling hysteria all through his body, he might have had the mind to pick it up. Eddie has never been this cruel. He has been straightforward and sometimes a little blunt, but only with an intent to help, never to harm. Eddie would never speak to Richie or anyone like that, regardless of what that person did.

Richie leaps of his seating place when Eddie opens the door. The panic Richie feels is all consuming, to the point where he’s not even sure what he’s doing, just that he wants Eddie to stay.

‘Please Eds, Eddie fuck. Please don’t go, please.’ He’s sobbing, not even aware of the embarrassing picture he must present.

‘Can’t we talk about this? I’m sorry for whatever it is I did that made you wanna leave, I can be more calm, I can talk less, I can do whatever it is that makes you happy, just please don’t leave me here by myself.’

He places his hands on Eddie’s shoulder, wanting to hug him close and kiss him, to just be close to him.

Eddie however recoils in horror, whipping at his shoulder at the exact place Richie’s hand had just been.

‘Iel, do you even know what you just did?’ Did you know the bacteria that I could have gotten from you? I don’t want to become you, so don’t you ever fucking touch me again.’ Eddie snaps, his eyes wild in rage, and nothing of his previous sadness is still visible.

‘It’s not about you talking too much. It’s about you being a pathetic excuse of a human being. I’m not fucking gay, Tozier. And even if I was, I would even consider you.’

Eddie reaches for the door knob, twisting it and opening it up despite of Richie’s please.

‘Please don’t leave me Eddie.’ Richie begs, one last attempt to get Eddie to stay.

Eddie doesn’t even give him a glance, picking up one of the boxes and storming out of the house as if it’s the last place on earth he ever wants to be. He does stop for a second to break the final pieces of Richie’s heart. ‘I wish you wouldn’t have asked again Richie, it made it that much harder for you.’ Then he trudges away to a car which is presumably driven by his wife.

Richie feels all the energy seeping out of him as he watches Eddie go. He doesn’t even try to stop him, knowing that it would be futile. Furthermore, nothing that Eddie said was a lie, he’s a fucking nobody, why would anyone as magnificent as Eddie ever want to be with him.

He laughs, like a lunatic, laugh and laughs until it actually hurts, and then he can’t breathe. He tries to take a deep breath in, but aside from a bit of a miserable stuttering piece of air, nothing reaches his longs. Then he panics. He can’t breathe, he can’t fucking breath, he can’t.

He wakes up to a hand slamming his shoulder.

‘Fuck Richie’, he hears a voice swear loudly, but he can’t focus beyond anything but the fact that still can’t breathe. His eyes are open, but it’s pitch black inside the room he’s in, not a sliver a light shinning through anywhere.

The hand is still on his shoulder, grounding him a bit, before he realizes that it’s Eddie’s hand. His hand traces the flesh of Richie’s skin until he slowly caresses his cheek, all the while Richie is still heaving in breaths.

When he sees it’s Eddie he jumps up in fright, accidently flinging himself off the bed. He lands harshly on the floor letting out a pained yelp as he does so. His back protests, but he doesn’t give himself much time to think about it or to even let it rest, instead his scrabbles up against the nightstand he knows is next to his bed.

‘Richie’, Eddie says worriedly, jumping out of bed to see if he’s okay. Richie’s head hurts. He recognizes he’s in his bedroom now, after his eyes have had some time to adjust to the darkness the room is coted in. It just doesn’t make any sense, he had just watched Eddie walk out of his life, without him being able to do anything about it, how did he end up in bed again with Eddie sleeping next to him.

He starts sobbing, bringing his hands up though his hair, pulling as hard as he can. ‘Richie stop, fucking stop doing that you idiot.’ Eddie reaches out to grab Richie’s hands, but all that does is cause Richie more panic. Richie slaps his hand away pushing himself as far away from Eddie as possible.

Eddie hisses and brings his hand back to his chest with a worried glance. ‘Rich, talk to me’, he begs, but Richie doesn’t do anything but shake his head.

Maybe Eddie decided to stay with him one more night, maybe he felt bad for Richie and decided to check up on him, and that’s why he’s here. No matter what the reason might be, Richie can’t handle it.

He whimpers when he tugs on his hair so hard that a bursts of pain radiates from his skull, almost like he was pulling out pieces of his hair, the hair which Eddie told him he liked so much. All lies.

He scrambles up from the floor, expertly dodging Eddie who tries to stop him. He rushes towards the bathroom locking it up as soon as the door closes behind him. He falls to his knees as soon as he does, having no energy left to do anything else.

Eddie bangs on the door in alarm. ‘Richie, Richie listen to me. Richie please open the door. It’s alright you just had a nightmare. Let me in baby.’

Richie hear him, but he doesn’t interpret the words. It’s like he’s trying to grasp water, but everytime he focusses on the meaning of one word, the other words escapes him.

While Eddie is still trying to open the door, Richie stretches as best as he can, trying to get the faucet running while he still’s seated. He’s hoping Eddie gets the memo and leaves him alone, but from the sounds of it, Eddie not planning on moving any time soon.

When Richie finally manages to get the water running, he grips the edge of the sink, gathering all his strength to pull himself up. His hands are tingling, having not much feeling in them, and he vaguely recalls that as a sign of an anxiety attack.

The water is ice cold, as it always is, and he cups his hands under the stream, splashing it in his face in an effort to calm down. It helps, albeit slightly, and he drops his head against the edge of the sink. ‘Deep breaths’, he mumbles, and then when Eddie is still trying to talk to him he adds, ‘please shut up’. He feels guilty as soon as he says it, mostly because Eddie doesn’t deserve it, but also because he has never been so rude to him before.

He tries to remember the techniques his psychologist taught him, but it’s hard when everything was still so hazy. He knows he’s supposed to place a hand on his chest and stomach though, taking a deep breath in and feeling his chest expand with it, and then exhaling while feeling his other hand move with his belly.

He opens his eyes, not sure when he had closed him, seeing Eddie’s toothbrush, and Eddie’s bathrobe, and Eddie’s favorite towel, and Eddie’s perfume and everything Eddie, and he chokes again. He can’t be here, he can’t be in a place that has so many memories of Eddie present. He looks towards the door. The banging of Eddie’s fist have stopped, but his voice is still slipping under the door. Richie wants the voice to stop, but he also doesn’t.

He wants to be close to Eddie, but he also can’t, because if he’s given that, if he’s allowed to hold him, than he might not ever be able to physically let him go. Emotionally he already knows that he’ll never be able to get over this heartbreak, but hopes that he can get past his own selfishness, Eddie shouldn’t have to suffer for Richie’s mistakes.

His hands shake when he reaches for the doorknob, so it takes him a lot longer to fumble the door open than it usually does. When he does manages to open it, Eddie is still standing in front of it. He might be small and compact, but with the way he’s positioned, he’s blocking the entire door entrance.

If he had any breath left, Richie would ask him to move out of the way, but he doesn’t even have to try, for Eddie already rushes to the side. Richie sees him grab a glass of water he must have gotten while he was in the bathroom, but he doesn’t take it.

Instead he slips past him, speed walking towards their front door while he searches for a jacket he’s sure he threw around here somewhere. Eddie drops the glass on their bedside table swiftly, following Richie as close as he can.

‘Richie, what are you doing? Rich?’ He asks, reaching for any part of Richie that he can touch.

‘I need to go’, Richie answers him, ducking to the ground when he finally finds his coat, pulling it on in a hurry.

‘Richie, stop. I don’t know what you’ve dreamed about but whatever it is, it was just that, a dream.’

He tries to snatch a shoe away when Richie pulling one on, but Richie anticipates this and holds it just out of his reach.

When he glances up at Eddie, he sees that he’s near tears, looking frightened out of his mind. Richie struggles to understand why he hasn’t left again or yet, he’s not sure. ‘Eds, Eddie’, he correct himself again. Eddie looks like he was punched by the correction. ‘I can’t see you leave again, please, don’t wait until I get back to leave.’

‘Richie It was just a dream, get back inside’, he hears Eddie calling out to him, but he’s already out the door and rushing down the street. ‘Richie’, Eddie yells out one last time, then Richie is too far to hear anything he says.

He walks around his neighborhood for a while, inhaling the fresh air that the cool winter night brings forth. He’s absolutely freezing, but it’s only when he looks down that he notices that he’s still wearing his pajamas.

He shrugs it off, there’s nothing he can do about it now anyway. He keeps up a fast pace until he can see the small park that Richie had discovered when they were house hunting. Only then does he feel like he can breath again. His anxiety attack has passed, but his sadness has not.

He can’t believe he’s fallen back to the scared little boy he was when he was growing up. Repulsed by himself, back to yearning for Eddie but not being able to come to close to him.

He chooses a bunch that’s slightly covered by trees, a sort of hidden spot. He likes it, and he’s been there a few times when Eddie was at work and he felt lonely, or sad. Like when he had gotten a very negative comment after a standup show, or when his aunt had opened her mouth about him being gay again. There was something about that spot that made Richie feel like everything would be okay again.

When he sits down, he cries. He weeps for so long and so hard he forgets all about how cold he feels, or that it must look ridiculous to people who were passing him. An adult man, a celebrity no less, crying in his stupid flannel pajamas at god knows what hour.

When the tears dry out and his head clears up, he conflicted about what to think. He was sure he had seen Eddie leave, but Eddie was also there when he had woken up. He can’t separate reality from imagination. He mulls everything over in his head, but the fogginess remains. This is his worst nightmare coming through, Eddie leaving him, and for him to go back to his shitty wife.

Richie had met Myra only once, and he absolutely hated everything about her. He hated her even more than Sonia, and that was saying something. Richie sniffled determinately. If Eddie was leaving him, Richie was going to make damn well sure he wasn’t getting back together with his shitty ex.

Suddenly, a rustling sound came from the trail leading up to the bench. Beverly’s face peaked out from behind a few branches?

‘Oh’, Beverly lets out a sigh of relief when she spots him. ‘Richie, thank god.’ She runs up to him, opening her arms and bringing him in a warm and gentle embrace. Richie allows her.

‘Oh thank god Richie, do you have any idea how worried we all were?’

Richie shakes his head, feeling guilt already building up inside him. ‘Richie, honey, I’m going to take you home alright?’

Richie shakes his head resolutely. He wants everything but to go home. Ideally, he would stay here on the bench for a little while longer, but now that his minds is no longer occupied by crying, he notices how cold he really is.

‘Can’t be there when Eddie leaves,’ he mumbles as quietly as he can. Beverly caresses his hair, tucking a piece of hair behind his ear.

‘Oh no Rich, he’s not leaving. He loves you honey. Just trust me alright, let’s go home.’

She holds his hand all the way until they get to her car, before she buckles him in the car as if he’s a child who can’t do it for himself.

When she gets into the drives seat, she takes out her cellphone out of her pocket. ‘I found it,’ Beverly tells the person on the other side of the phone call. Richie can just make out that she’s talking to Eddie, but he can’t hear what Eddie says.

He suddenly feels dead tired. He squeezes his eyes shut, leaning his head against the window. It’s not long before they start driving home. ‘how did you know where I went?’ He asks when they’re nearly at the beginning of the street he lives in. It takes a while for the car to get there, but Richie can’t remember having walked so far.

‘Eddie called in a panic,’ Beverly answers his question. ‘He was all panicked saying that you had a nightmare and you had run off, and that he needed help to find you.’ She places her delicate, soft hand on his arm. ‘He was so worried Richie. If he was planning on leaving you, he wouldn’t have gone through this much trouble. He loves you so much.’

And yeah, maybe she’s right, Richie thinks when the car comes to a stop. Maybe he was panicked and couldn’t think straight, but he had been so sure that Eddie was leaving him, and a little doubt stayed in his mind regardless.

Eddie’s already waiting on the porch when Richie staggers out of the car, meeting him halfway. He’s been crying, just like he did when he told Richie he was leaving, or in his dream, Richie’s still not sure. He still looks so beautiful, no matter what the circumstances are.

He stops a step away from Richie, looking like he would want nothing more but to hug Richie, but he expects that it probably won’t be accepted from him right now. He’s wrong, Richie wants a hug from Eddie so bad that can’t manage to think of anything else.

‘I’m sorry,’ Richie blurted, before circling his arms around Eddie, who reciprocated immediately.

Eddie swipes his hand over Richie’s back, all the way up to the nap of his neck, where he caresses the strands of his hair as lovingly as he can. It a far mile from the Eddie he usually is, energetic and intense. Now he’s slow and doing everything softly.

‘It’s okay Rich. But you need to know that I would never, ever leave you okay? You’re never getting rid of me.’ He chuckles reassuring.

When Richie shivers Eddie pulls back, but keeping his arms still around his middle. ‘Let’s get inside okay?’ He waits for Richie permission before they both step inside. Eddie stands op his tiptoes to press a kiss to Richie’s forehead. ‘Go to the bathroom okay? I just need a second to talk to Bev and Ben and the other losers on the phone, and then I’ll be right there.’

The sick feeling of guilt crawls through Richie’s body again. He made all his friends so worried, and all of them were awake in the middle of the night because of him.

He drags himself up the stairs, now that he’s back into his home, he’s feeling exhaustion pulling at his bones. He want to take a bath so he can warm up, but mostly he just really want to spend some time with Eddie, to help calm down his racing heart. So he gets into the shower and washes himself off in record time, until Eddie is coming to the bathroom, and he brought along a new set of shirt and a comfortable sweatpants. He lays them out on the counter, waiting until Richie pulls them on before grabbing a brash and carefully combing his curls.

They do this often, an effective way of calming them down. It works this time too, and by the time Eddie is done gently brushing his hair, Richie is half-asleep on his feet. Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, one time, then a second and a third, before Eddie is grabbing his hands and guiding him to their bed.

Eddie thumbs sweeps over the back of Richie’s hand. He pulls back the covers, both of them shuffling to the middle with their hands still clasped together tightly. It’s dark again in the room, but Richie can still perfectly make out the shape of Eddie’s face.

He is still looking worried, but he smiles when Richie looks at him. ‘I’m sorry’, Richie repeats again, meaning it more everytime he says it.

Eddie shushes him. ‘It’s okay Rich, we’ll talk about it in the morning. Another kiss is pressed to his forehead. ‘Just get some sleep,’ Eddie mouths against Richie’s skin.

Then he pulls back, tugging at Richie until he gets the memo and places his head on Eddie’s chest. The scar that Pennywise gives him creating a rift in an otherwise perfect skin, and though Eddie hates it, Richie loves it. It’s a sign that Eddie is still alive, still here.

Richie places a hand on the scar to feel it. He can hear Eddie’s heartbeat under his ear, lulling him towards sleep. Just before he get pulled under, he can make out Eddie voice, nearly inaudible humming along to a song Richie’s too tired to make out.

‘I love you, and only you Richie, don’t you ever forget it. You’re the only one that has ever made me feel completely happy and complete. There’s not a bone in my body, that would ever even think about leaving you. Now go to sleep so I can make fun of you in the morning.’ Eddie says playfully.

‘I love you too’, Richie manages to slur out, and the last thing he takes notice of, before he is pulled under, is the laughing that radiates from Eddie. Richie beams with it, the knowledge that he can make Eddie laugh. When Richie wakes up the next morning, Eddie is still there, just like he’ll be for the rest of their lives.

Not even an a day after the horrific night Richie’s had, Eddie proves to him he’s in it for life. He proposes on the same bench Richie had sat when he cried. He cries again, but this time, it’s from happiness.

#reddie #reddie imagine #richie tozier #richie tozier imagine #My writing #eddie kaspbrack #eddie imagine #it chapter 2

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nowimthevillain · 6 years ago

Text

Super long and fucked up dream but honestly it played out like an awesome movie (in my head)

For some reason I was having a retirement party? I’m not that old? But still this badass black chief of police guy came to my party we must have been friends or colleagues or something and he wished me a good party and a good thereafter... anyway...

So I was at like a school a couple of my work friends and for some reason Sam and dean from supernatural attended with me and we were just going to classes and stuff normal school til one day I heard rumours that people were disappearing without a trace but no one seemed bothered about it.

One day I heard a struggle in a broom closet and I went in to find someone in a human sized bag filled with transparent red liquid on a gourney he looked like he was drowning in the liquid so my instinct was too try and get him out but someone came and pushed me aside and shouted he’s fine and wheeled him away when I stood back up and looked for the person he was gone

I was in a class later that day and dean came to me and told me he couldn’t find Sam and that he thinks he had been kidnapped and I told him about the bag of red liquid, dean decided that he would get himself caught so he could find out what was going on from the inside, I told him he was insane and the last guy I saw looked like he was drowning and he told me he had to for Sam so we snooped around and found one of these bags, dean fell asleep first and then we activated the bag and it filled with the liquid, it didn’t look like he was drowning though which put me at ease somewhat.

The guy that came to pick up the first bag arrived me and another friend stopped him we asked him where they were going and why and who was doing all this he said he couldn’t say and he looked scared we sat and talked to him about other things to try and make friends with him but eventually he got up and took the bag with dean and another one away we tried to follow him but he ran

We ran down the corridors trying to follow, again no one else seemed to care or even notice we got to a stairwell that me and my one friend stopped in time but another (not noticing there was no railings) fell off the edge and fell down a floor or two and screamed in pain, we ran down the stairs to go help her I asked if she was ok and she said she was fine but her ankle was fucked up so I carried her to a nearby bench in what would have been a school playground type place we were sitting talking about what can we do people are being snatched and no one knows why or cares there were 3 celebritiy singers sat behind us on another bench for some reason (yeah this bit was weird) and they were just providing backing vocals for our conversation we we started singing with them a little bit for fun...

Anyway back to the story... I left my friend resting on the bench she said she would catch up when her ankle felt better I know I needed to find the guy that kidnaps the people! I searched for ages until I find him and talk to him a little I ask him don’t you think this is wrong why are you doing this and he ran from me again, I caught him and I said please I’m scared for these people even if you think this is just 10% wrong please I beg you you have to tell me what’s going on, the fear drained from his eyes and he looked determined, keeping eye contact with me he pulled the fire alarm and took me to the science department.

By this point I knew I needed information and the science department it were it would be, as I walked through the halls and classrooms students were getting leery throwing papers flipping desks one even smashed a fish tank, I walked into a specific class room, must have been where the guy left the kidnapped people some students had set a few small fires and trashed the room I walked through and felt like a complete bad bitch, somehow me walking with intent had drawn a crowd ready to help me deal with whatever was going on, I found some information in the back room of the classroom about a secret facility right here in the school I collected some heavy things like wrenches and other tools in a bag incase it got ugly and so we marched up to the front door

It was pure white to look at from the outside with a glass panel to see the inside of the lab but really all you could see was some machinery and blue and red lights, the sliding door was locked and next to several panels, there was an option for new recruits I had to press a button to get a pill that had instructions on how to insert a tracker under my skin I some how managed to avoid doing that but there was more to it there was another capsule that had a code in that I had to input on a screen but the screen was really slow and the numbers kept fucking up when I put them in, luckily it eventually accepted it I had to give my finger prints to the screen too and put in yet another code and answer some questions, a memeber of my crowd decided to give me a bro so we could play the “we are cleaners” role a notion that slightly confused and amused me, I however decided I would be scholarly and ask questions as to what was going on before getting down to business, when the door finally opened I had to step through into a disinfectant chamber but I held the door which allowed the rest of my group to enter behind me and brute force through the other door, they all split off in different directions as to let me do my thing, the scientist on the way in looked taken aback to see so many people but not concerned she put out her hand to take my bag stating they don’t allow them inside but I just continued to walk with intent and ignored her...

This is where is starts to get fucked up and gory so if you don’t like that stuff maybe stop reading

As I furthered Into the room I saw vats of a translucent brown/green liquid that had red dancing on the top in most cases there was surgical equipment and medical machines surrounding them, I walked to the first one and to my horror I saw what appeared to be some type of wild boars inside only they looked very much in pain, bits of flesh skin and muscle exposed tusks removed, I asked the scientist near by might you tell me what’s going on here? She told me that they were improving that animal, that this species was endangered and they were changing it to make it better but also to remove the poison glands it had, apparently this species of boar was capable of spitting acid and in knowing humans, the wretched things looked barely conscious there was one sitting on the floor that looked more ill than had ever seen any creature in my life, it squealed and lurched for me as I walked by, it scared me a fair bit but I moved on to the next tank.

A giraffe! A whole giraffe in a tank again it looked tranquilised and still in a lot of pain, flesh on its long neck exposed and weeping it almost made me cry how anyone could do such a thing to such a creature, I asked the scientist next to this tank what was going on but I was too numb to hear what she had said... that is until I notice what’s next, body parts

Human body parts in a giant iced cooling rack organs still pumping and convulsing but other things eyes, hands, feet even penis’

A short Indian woman approached me she appeared to be the head of the facility, “it’s quite an amazing collection wouldn’t you say” I told her it’s absolutely sick and vile she claimed there was no price to high for science, I look to the other side of the room and see people suspended in red liquid not unlike in the matrix, there are also dozens more tanks and pieces of human anatomy on show I see some human heads the the head scientist claims are models but I’m not so sure, I take a look at the other scientists in the room the vast majority are students at the school, I address the head scientist first followed by everyone else in the room, “how could you do this aren’t you disgusted by what you’ve done?” No one seemed particularly phased but I asked these people are your family and friends someone piped up to tell me the people they were experimenting on were nobodies, they didn’t know what the head scientist had orchestrated my group threw back a curtain and revealed the people they had stolen from the school some where shocked that they were in fact friends and family, as I was looking around to see the shocked and not so shocked faces I saw a large machine, it was throwing animals into it alive I asked what it was and o was told it was a harvester, the other side of the machine on a conveyer hearts, lungs, livers etc were being produced from the machine, I asked so you experement on animals then harvest them? I was told no the harvested animals are fresh and untampered with they then use the organs on the experimented animals to keep them alive, I was furious they were killing other animals to keep theirs experiments alive and in pain, I told the head she had to pay

She whipped out an extending stick and launched herself at Me I moved out the way and quickly collected a wrench from my bag, I kicked the bag over to my brother that had joined my group earlier so he could retreave a weapon, the other people in my group started to revolt and smash the lab up and some of the scientists fought back! The other scientists huddled around the edges of the room. Me and the head scientist got a few hits in on each other before I finally got her to the ground I used the wrench to hold her to the floor by her neck threatening to choke her to death if she tried anything I asked her questions how and why etc (I can’t actually remember what she said but I think it basically boiled down to money) and science is the greater good and there has to be sacrifices to advance, she somehow got free from me and was about to attack me again when the lights for the whole place went out and someone burst through the door and screamed get down in the ground! The silhouetted person was carrying a huge machete type blade, everyone hit the floor including me and the head scientist, though I heard my brother climb into a clean tank of water behind us, the head scientist was right infront of me, the silhouette shouted if anyone moves there are going to die, it shortly walked past me and I saw my chance, I kicked the head scientist Into the path of the silhouette and he struck her across the top of the head, the silhouetted man when to flip the switch on the breaker and turn the lights back on, when they came back on the head scientist was gone and the silhouetted man revealed to be the police chief guy from the bringing of the story he gave me his hand and pulled me up from the floor and asked it I was ok and told me they never would have found the place without my help

Some people were being arrested and some comforted, a lot of the scientists resented me because they were now out of a job but I just kept thinking how could the resent me for stopping this when they have been comiting such heinous deeds, the police chief called me over to the clean tank as my brother popped up and said is this an experiment should I put him out fo his misery and he aimed a gun and him and I said nooo wait that’s my brother the chief said fine and he got out shortly after another figure rose from the water! It was the head scientist bleeding profusely from the head wound, the chief said what about this one to which I said yeah out that one out of its misery to which she had half a second to say “no wait I-“ before the officer shot his gun, it was a regular hand gun but the bullet seem to transform into a large harpoon in the air and absolutely decimated the head scientists head which smashed into hundreds of pieces, I smirked and some bad ass music started playing and credits rolled like the end of a movie

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Defo one of the more strange and in-depth dreams I’ve had, no idea where that came from but it was both weird scary and awesome, I just wish I could have painted a better picture of the visuals of the dream if I was an artist I would storyboard the shit out of this lmao but yeah it was interesting and if you read this and think I’m a freak it’s because I am one

#dreamlog #dreams #creppy #gore #CW #fucked up mind #me #personal

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dammitadolfnomorecake · 6 years ago

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COTW - 13 full draft

Christmas had come and gone leaving Eren feeling like a beached whale. His stomach has popped after his dance wind up, looking as if it had doubled in size between then and Levi's fortieth birthday. The growing pains over the last few weeks sucked, as had the spotting of blood. He'd just been feeling flat and yuck since, all he wanted to do was sleep all the time. Something not happening with a three year old toddler that seemed to be a constant sugar high. It was the only way he could explain how Viren had so much energy... even Titan seemed to have more energy. With Hanji, Erwin, Mike and Levi all working Christmas Day, they'd had a party for the kids on the 23rd, during which he'd fallen asleep. Then he and Levi had celebrated his alpha's birthday on the night of the 24th, and early hours of the 25th. They'd eaten cake in bed because of his fatigue, while watching movies on Levi's laptop until Levi had to go. Working an extended shift, his mate had left the house at a little after 4am, working right through to Boxing Day. It'd really fucking sucked. He loved December 25th. Still, even if Levi couldn't be home, he hadn't been alone. He'd had another small party with the kids on the Christmas Day, eating way too much as they watched Christmas movies, cuddled up on the sofa with the two children. Anna was completely fascinated by the swell of his stomach. The little girl couldn't believe he had two pups growing in there. Viren on the other hand didn't seem too impressed, even smacking him in the stomach when he couldn't get comfortable thanks to curve of his swell. His son did not want a sister. At all. Where as Anna wanted them both to be girls. Marco and Jean were leaving the second week of January, leaving Anna without her two little friends. It wasn't fair to her that it was right before her birthday party, but Anna was a tough kid. The little miss finally actually turning 4, instead of just having her age rounded up because of how smart she was. * Cuddled up under the beautiful blanket Levi had gifted him, Eren felt revolting. He really loved the blanket, it was so soft, and sparkly, and the colours of the sea were everything he could want. His sneaky alpha had snuck it on their bed while he'd slept, waking later on Christmas Day to find it there. Slightly enthused, he'd yelled into the phone as he rushed to thank Levi for it. That seemed like months ago, rather than days. Outside the door of his old bedroom, he could hear Viren playing with Titan, but felt too weak to even move, running hot and cold simultaneously, while his between his legs ached. He knew he had to get up, but he was so tired... "Mum! Mummy! Muuuuuuuum!" Pulling his blanket over his head, Eren whimpered at the sound of his son's voice. Managing to get the door handle undone, Viren came bounding onto his bed, jumping up and down right next to him... this was not going to end well... "Viren, stop" "Wake up, mum!" The rocking wasn't appreciated by his stomach, miserably, he only just managed to get his head free from the covers before throwing up down the side of the bed, Viren still jumping on the bed as he did, though not quite as enthusiastic "Mummy?" Falling to his knees, Viren landed on his hip. Eren whimpering from the unneeded pressure on his stomach and the sudden shock "Baby, can you get mummy's phone for him?" "Mum?" "Baby, please. Mummy is ok. Just get my phone for me" His phone was all the way back in the living room, not the safest of places, but he was only supposed to be taking a nap while Viren did. Now there was no way he could get out of bed. "Mummy!" Dropping his phone in his face, Eren was jolted back to consciousness. The light of the device blinding as he clumsily unlocked the device. He didn't need Hanji's mothering... and he didn't want to worry Levi. This time of year was awful for him. Finding Mike's name, he barely hit call before his phone slipped from his hold "Mummy?!" "I'm... sorry baby..." He couldn't hear Mike repeating his name, Viren throwing his arms around him. He hadn't felt like this when Levi had left. He'd been exhausted, but over the last few days, it'd gotten worse. Now, two days short of the New Years, he felt like death had come for him. "Eren?" Tapping his face, Eren whimpered away from Mike. He didn't remember passing out, but he must have if the alpha was now there "M-Mike... something's wrong" Mike was blurry as he swam in and out of focus. With his hands against Eren's face, Eren could smell the man's worry "You're going to be ok. Can you move?" "No..." "Alright. Up we go" Lifting him, Eren shivered as if his body had been plunged into an ice bath "Why didn't you call Levi?" "He's... stressed" Was Mike always this loud? Shivering, he was moved from his bed to the sofa, the light coming through the windows blinding. Flinching as he tried to open his eyes, he quick gave up "Headache?" Nodding only made him more nauseous "Vomiting and Fever? Abdominal pain?" Humming hurt but worked "How far along are you?" Shouldn't Mike just know this shit? This was why he wanted him instead of Hanji, because Mike didn't usually ask him a trillion questions. Couldn't he see how tired he was? "Eren, keep talking to me. How far along are you?" "18 weeks" Letting his head loll back, his eyes slid closed. Mike tapping his face "Fuck off... hurts" "If you can swear at me, you can stay awake for me" "Sleepy" "Sorry, Eren, but you need to stay awake" Mike has zero chance of that happening. * Called by Mike, Levi was confused as he headed through the main doors of Shinganshima hospital. Mike hadn't told him what was going on, only asking him to come meet him. Erwin had said Mike wasn't working, and the fact he wasn't meeting him in the emergency department had lead him to believe it may be related to Mike's health, and whatever was causing the rift between him and Erwin. Mike looked grim as Levi approached, the man sitting at one of the small tables near the hospital's auxiliary shops "Levi" "Mike" "Are you going to tell me what you're doing here?" "Come with me, I need to have a talk with you" That didn't sound ominous... "Mike, is everything alright?" "We should have a talk" Lead through the hospital, Mike was prepared. Entering a small consulting office, Mike took a seat in the rolling chair, gesturing to the narrow visitors chair beside the desk "Mike, this better be good" "I had a call from Eren today" Ok... That was unusual, but not completely out of the normal... There was no need for his heart to start racing. Opening the Manila folder on the desk, Mike passed him over a series of ultrasound prints "What am I looking at?" "Sacrococcygeal teratoma. Type one from the looks of it" "And..." "Eren has developed an infection in his right breast, he called me this morning disoriented and vomiting. He'd also had a small bleed, so I sent him for an ultrasound. The growth you see is four weeks, as you can see, there's been a rapid increase in mass" Wait. What. He hadn't even looked at the name in the corner of the prints, blindsided by his own deduction that this was about Mike. His brain kicking into overdrive "What?" "I'm sorry Levi, we'll monitor this carefully, but if the rate of growth continues like this, the pup will need to be aborted. As you can see, the foetus is significantly smaller than the other" "Hang on. Just. Why the fuck didn't you call me?" "My first priority was getting Eren emergency care. His fever was dangerously high, and the bleed had stained his sweat pants. He was in and out of consciousness. He's stabilised now, and resting" "He's been tired lately, but he wasn't feverish, or vomiting. He was fine when I left this morning" This couldn't be happening. Not after the loss of the pup... And Eren really had been fine. He'd been tired, but Levi assumed that was more to do with the fact it was the end of the year, and the rainy weather... and... "Does he know?" "No. He said something was wrong, but he was too out of it to know what. I'm so sorry, Levi" "You're talking as if they're already dead!" He didn't mean to snap, unable to take his eyes off the scan. SCT's weren't uncommon, but they did pose a risk of growing rapidly between the 18th and 26th week. The pup to the left seemed happy and healthy, but their twin... Eren was going to fall apart over it... "Where is he?" "He's on the ward. Viren's with him" "So he's awake?" "He's in and out, his fever is being managed. He didn't know he had an infection. He understands he's in hospital again" "I bet he's loving that" "He's told me to "fuck off", more than once" A cranky pouty Eren could be quite cute, as he usually apologised immediately, then sought cuddles. Provided he wasn't the one who'd upset him... and now he had to tell his mate there was something wrong with one of their pups "Levi?" "How the fuck... why the fuck? Eren hasn't done anything wrong. He doesn't... Why?" "His body has been through trauma after trauma. You both deserve a break" "A break?" They deserved a whole lot more than a break "I'm fucking done, Mike" "With Eren?" "No. Not with Eren. With everything but Eren. I'm sick of it. We've worked years to get to where we are. I'm sick of leaving him at home. Of missing time with Viren, and time Eren. All I want is quality time with my family before..." "Levi. You could live your whole life without that bullet shifting" "With our fucking luck, that's a gamble I'm not sure I want to take. Eren told me to think through what I want, and I'm done. He's going to be devastated. This pregnancy has hardly been smooth sailing. Eren's depression. Coming off his mediation, thinking I wanted to leave him. He was going to abort them because that's what he thought I wanted. The only good news was that they both seemed ok... and now... I'm done, Mike" Running his fingers through his hair with his right hand, Levi shook his head "This is going break him. He already thinks he's a bad mother, and that's when he's doing absolutely everything for Viren" "Levi, have you talked to someone about all of this?" "Yeah. We had a couples counselling appointment with Krista, and we've talked about it a fair bit. He hates it. You know he hates feeling weak. Since coming off his medication, his PTS has... It's hard to leave him. He's scared that he's going to hurt Viren, or have a panic attack so bad he passes out and Viren is hurt. I'm done with him feeling like that. Especially after all he went through with his first pregnancy and that piece of shit father of his" "And Eren will be ok with you quitting?" "He'll be worried. He'll be more worried about those attending call outs that involve omegas, but he said he'd support me" "He's the one who's going to need a lot of support over the next months. But I really would recommend talking your options over with Eren. If the growth slows, the recommendation would be an emergency caesarean..." "Provided it does" "Yeah. Pretty much. I'm not his attending, but he'll be in good hands, and I thought I should be the one to tell you" "I appreciate that Mike. I really do. Thank you for being there for him today" "You should thank Viren too. Eren passed out just after he called me, Viren picked his phone up. Told me "mummy wasn't waking up". He's a strong kid" "He and Eren have been getting so much closer..." "He did good" "He's a good kid. I never thought I'd be a father to begin with, but I would do anything for him and Eren" A small flicker of pain crossed Mike's face, before disappearing like it was never there "I'll take you through to Eren. Do you need to call work?" He'd forgotten all about work... "I will after I see Eren" Eren had a nasal cannula in place, Viren sleeping against his side as he snored loudly. A saline IV running into his right arm "We've given him a dose of antibiotics. He was dehydrated from his fever. His blood work was all over the place, everything he had, has been going to the pups" "He's been keeping up with the vitamin shakes and pills..." Eren's blood work shouldn't have been that bad. He ate. He was eating... "They're going to keep him in for the few days, at least" "He's going to love that" "I have a few calls to make. I'll check in with you both later" "Thanks, Mike" Walking over to Eren, he sank down on the side of the bed to kiss Eren's forehead. Sighing at him, Eren wriggled beneath him, all happening within the space of a broken snore. Pursing his lips, Levi kissed him "We have to stop meeting like this" "I thought you were sleeping" "Who says I'm not?" "You dream about me?" "You are the dream. An upset Viren is the reality. He was awake..." It must have been a while ago given how out of it the pair of them had been "You look upset, what's wrong?" He couldn't just tell Eren, not after he woke up "You're in hospital again" "Oh. Right... I suppose there is that... they gave me drugs" Eren gave him a smile, before explaining "Had a headache" "How do you feel now?" "Just sleepy" "Why didn't you call me?" "Thought it was just fatigue. I didn't think I'd end up here. You're supposed to be working" "I wanted to check in with you" "I'm ok... I think... I don't know. I'm sleepy" "Then get some sleep" "Can you take Viren?" "I'll organise it" "And I threw up at home" "Don't worry, I'll take care of it all" "'love you, Lee" "I love you too" Levi didn't know if it was a blessing or a curse that Eren didn't ask about the pups. His fiancée soon falling back to sleep, leaving him to sigh to himself. He was actually going to quit. After a decade and bit, he was actually going to give up the life he'd known... Fuck. Now he wished Eren had been alert enough to have that conversation. He didn't know how to be anyone but himself, and he'd been doing a pretty piss poor of that as he'd staggered through life. He'd believed he'd be doing his job until the day he died... and now, because of Eren, his job was coming to an end and what did that make him? They'd talked about finding a new job, but at his age, he didn't know what he wanted to do. Seeing pointless crash after crash, and death after death, he was tired of it. But when he did quit, that meant saying goodbye to everyone around him. No more calls through the radio from Petra. No more glares from Olou, or chats with Nanaba. No more complaining about shifts with Eld and Gunther. No more being stuck with Erwin and his overbearing concerns. No more running into Mike and Hanji in the Emergency Department. He'd be leaving all of them behind. And then what? They drifted? Because strangers on the streets? People always promise to keep in touch, but how often did that really happen? What was he without them? An alpha. A father. A piss poor fiancée, with omega so heartbroken he won't even let him try to plan their wedding? It was... a lot. No more waking up to crap shifts. No more cleaning ambulances because the shitty idiots before them couldn't do their shitty jobs. No more being screamed at abused for doing his job. No more being called out to mass fatalities and accidents... What was he supposed to do? What could he even do? He wasn't built for customer service. He didn't have the patience for pretty much anyone other than Viren or Anna. He didn't have a whole lot of skills other than cleaning, and he wasn't about to waste his time on people who didn't appreciate it. He'd just turned 40. He'd never planned to... well, live this long or fall in love. In his pocket, his phone began to vibrate. Sliding off Eren's bed, he pulled the device out to find it was his boss. What was he supposed to tell her? I know I've left you in the lurch before, but now I'm going to quit. He had obligations... but he had even bigger ones to his mate. Could he even be the alpha that Eren needed to get him through this? Eren had told him about his need for space, but his chronic fatigue had left his omega quite docile and cuddly... once they got him back on his feet, Would Eren feel smothered again? He was far too independent for his own dependant good. What if being home all the time lead to them fighting again? What if Eren actually wanted to walk on him when he realised there really wasn't that much substance to him. The buzzing of his phone stopped, only to start again immediately. Levi's voice trembling as he raised the device to his ear and stuttered out "hello". Despite her usual understanding attitude, the end of year stress had gotten to all of them. The woman not happy that he'd run off without telling anyone where he was going on or why... especially when he was supposed to be working. He didn't want to leave Eren. He didn't want to have some nurse scaring the fuck out of him by telling him what was going on with their pup, without explaining everything thoroughly. Yet. Back to work he was forced. He had to call Mike to ask him to take Viren. Hanji was working, and he assumed that maybe Anna was with Marco? He'd asked her not to drop the little girl off to Eren, because he knew Eren was tired... Tired. Not sick. He'd personally had a good feel of Eren's breasts, yet hadn't felt anything there... How the fuck was he supposed to take care of his omega if he missed something like that? It was as if every concern of the last 5 years of knowing Eren, swept in and swamped him all at once. His age. His job. His relationship. His relationships around him. He didn't have clear answers for any of it. He was supposed to know. Yet he didn't have a single clue. He needed Eren to wake up and tell him what the hell he was supposed to do. Eren was his hope. The reason everything around him had changed so drastically. The omega had rounded off his rough edges, and smoothed out the parts of his lacking personality. He'd taught him that the way he saw the world, wasn't the only way to see it. And that the world was so much bigger than he'd ever thought it could be... Maybe things could be ok, if Eren was there... and Viren... Eren would mad if he didn't mention Titan in their family. To a lot of people, that would be a pathetic reason to give up everything, but for those tw-three he'd... Yeah. It was time. Despite his desires to get back to Eren, Levi forced himself to seek out his boss. Erwin had huffed when he'd explained Mike had taken Eren to hospital, and Levi was done with him on the spot. The remainder of his shift spent exchanging the bear minimum to get things done, he didn't even bother to clean the ambulance through once they were done restocking. Finding the woman in her office, he tried to hold his temper back. She had a job to do, and it wasn't her fault that she needed things to run as they should. With an apology that was lacking, yet had all the actual words there and all the feelings he could muster for it, he finally told her he was resigning permanently. Initially she didn't want to take no, until he was forced to bring up Eren and the complication with their pup. She couldn't process the resignation immediately, due to the fact they both had obligations and she had a replacement to find, but promised that by the end of January everything would be settled, and that if he wished to return, there would always be a space open for him. Walking from the depot, there was definitely a bounce in his step that hadn't been there for a long time. A month was a fucking eternity when you had a sick omega that may need to abort a pup, and life that didn't seem to want to settle, but at least his leaving this time wouldn't be the same mess it was the last time he'd quit. Eren had told him to talk it through with everyone around them, yet for the first time in a long time, he felt free of their unwanted, even if well meant, advice. He'd chosen for himself, and at his age, it shouldn't have left him feeling quite as giddy as it did. He hadn't even left for good, and he felt a weight off his shoulders that pushed away his earlier spiralling maelstrom of thoughts. Now to get back to Eren. * Sitting on his bed, Eren had both hands on his stomach as he stared blankly towards the window. They'd had to give him some kind of sedative, which had left him feeling empty. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream or do something. Instead, he was disconnected from his emotions and his omega. He could feel it nudging at the back of his mind, trying to reconnect with no success. Having dozed off and on, he hadn't been sure that Levi had really been there until he'd woken that evening, realising that Viren was no longer by his side. The pain in his head and stomach had eased, as had the nausea. His skin still felt revolting from how much he'd sweated with fever, he'd asked one of the nurses if it was possible to shower, the man replying that "his doctor didn't want him out of bed just yet. Not until they'd assess the growth on the pup". Demanding to know what that had meant, the man hadn't appreciated his snarl, which lead to being sedated as no one wanted to tell him what hell was going on with his own children. The looks of pity shot in his direction sent his stomach rolling, as he realised everyone was acting skittish and secretive around him. He didn't even jump at the light knock on his doorway. Turning toward his alpha with blank eyes. Finally. Finally something close to a tear welled in his eye. Whining softly for his mate, Levi strode to his side, gathering him up against him "Eren" Buried in his lover's scent, he rasped out "Is this my fault?" Levi stiffened against him, before moving to sit on the edge of the bed beside him "No. No, it's not. No one quite knows what causes it" "They... let it slip that there was a growth. Is this because I was on medication? Or because I couldn't eat? Or because there's something wrong with me?" Levi knew. Levi knew what was going on. It was him that didn't. He was the one they didn't trust with the truth "Did they tell you anything?" "Mike did. You were too exhausted to talk earlier. How do you feel now?" "I'm not allowed to get out of bed to shower. I feel gross... Levi, why did this have to happen?" "I've been asking myself the same thing since Mike showed me" "Can you tell me? No one will tell me. They dosed me instead" Levi let out a small growl, causing Eren to whimper. His alpha turning angry in a fraction of second, leaving his soothing scent turning bitter and flooding his mixed up senses with fear "I'm sorry. I'm not mad at you. I wanted to be the one to tell you, so I could explain it all properly. Has Mike been in?" "I don't know. I've been sleeping then drugged" "Alright, here, lay back down and I'll take my boots and jacket off" He didn't want to lay back down, he'd been stuck there all damn day. The blankets felt wrong against his skin. Too itchy and like they were trying to rub his skin off. When he'd thrown up on them, he was brought more of the same. He wanted his blankets. His bed. Stupid Mike "The bed feels gross. I sweated a lot" "Let me pull the sheets back. Let some air in their to help dry things out" "I'm not allowed out of bed" "They probably mean they don't want you walking around. Wait here" Yes. Because he fully intended on doing a runner. The moment Levi release his hold, he felt just as lost and disconnected as he had before his mate had arrived. Levi stripped his bed back, before finding a chair for them to use. Sitting on his alpha's lap, Levi was content with having his arms wrapped around him "Sacrococcygeal teratoma. That's what it's called. Essentially it's a tumour at the base of the spine that causes "abnormal" growth. They don't know what exactly causes it, but it's thought it's from when we were evolving from monkeys. There's a few different types, Mike hazarded a guess that it was type one, which is probably the best type to have..." "But" "SCT's are known to go through a period of rapid growth between the 18th and 26th weeks. Mike showed me the scans. They're not great..." "But it... I didn't see anything on the last one. He didn't see anything on the last one" "I know. And I know Mike feels bad" "He said everything was ok!" "Shhh... shhh, I know" "What... what happens now?" "Mike is going to make some calls" "And then what?" Levi paused, he didn't like the pause "Levi? What happens next? What happens with our pups?!" "Shhh, calm down for me. I know you're freaking out. Our pups are fraternal. Two seperate little lives growing together" "I know that" "Well, it means that... if things don't improve, that... the pup will have to be aborted" Aborted. That word had been in his life way too often in the past months. If he'd just gone ahead and aborted, they never would known it was three pups, and their little pup wouldn't be hurting like this... "I..." "Don't even say it. Ok. No. I'm happy you're pregnant. I'm happy it's twins and we'll work this out" "How?" "The same way you should be doing everything, and that's together" "It's just... it's not fair... Hanji's first round of IVF didn't take... and I had three pups... and..." "No. Don't go there. Ok. This dirty old alpha loves you" Levi was trying to make him feel better, even though he knew how much this was hurting his alpha. Fuck. He had to stop crying in front of him. Levi was just as precious as Viren. He didn't want them seeing him like this anymore. He was too miserable and tired for jokes, still, we weakly forced out the words "You forgot "Perverted"" "There's that. You feel cold. Why didn't you tell me you were feeling so sick?" "I was tired. I didn't even know about the infection until... after I was brought in... Fuck. I need to apologise to Mike" "Eren, you don't have to change the topic" "I... I don't want to cry right now. Do you have your phone?" "Why?" "I want to look it up... I hate the way they look at me Levi. They all know and I don't" "I don't know if that's a good idea" "It's my pup too!" Yelling at his mate, he regretted it immediately. Sliding from Levi's lap, he moved to crawl back on to his unmade bed "Eren" "No. It's fine. I'm a dumb omega after all. Why would they tell me anything?" "Don't be like that" "They all think I'm too stupid to make my own choices or understand. I mean, why else wouldn't they tell me anything" "Because you're sick. You have an infection that neither of us picked up. You've been in and out of consciousness. You had a fever. You've been vomiting and dehydrated. You even had a bleed. I can think of a hundred reasons why they would have wanted to control you fever and stabilise you before talking about it!" Biting his lip, Eren knew he deserved it "I need to see because I can't understand. I need to know what is happening to the pup. To your pup" "Our pup. Eren, I'm really..." "So you don't want me to know either" "I didn't say that" "You didn't have to! I get it! Keep the stupid incubator out of the loop!" "You know that's not it at all. This is why I wanted to tell you, myself. If you hadn't snapped at me, what I was going to say was I'm not sure you want to sit up there. It's still drying" "Oh..." "Are you going to come back down here?" "If you're here, can I go to the bathroom?" "You need the bathroom?" Yelling wasn't great for his bladder, neither had been moving" "Yeah... then can you show me, what's happening to the pup?" "I'll have to call a nurse to disconnect your IV" "Can't you? I don't want to see anyone..." "Eren..." "Please. I'll be good?" "You haven't been bad to begin with..." "And maybe I can shower" "You can pee" "I smell" "I'll talk to them about letting you shower, and if you can, I'll help you shower. For now, just stay still" Levi swore at the IV colourfully, as he disconnected and capped it, and his cannula. Eren was sooo close to being able to walk... it was like 2 metres, it wasn't going to do any harm. But noooo... Levi carried him into the bathroom, sitting him down on the toilet, before staring down at him "I'm not peeing with you watching" "Seriously?" "I'm not you. I don't randomly walk in while someone's showering to pee" "We've both seen every inch of each other's body. We've both exchanged every bodily fluid possible" "And I don't want to pee in front of you" Levi rolled his eyes "Lee, please just let me pee alone. You can even flush the toilet if you have to" "I just don't want you walking around" "I am peeing. Not walking" "Fine. I'll be right outside" Peeing was a beautiful thing, his bladder appreciative. He couldn't stomach looking at his stomach. He couldn't bare the guilt. He hadn't known anything was wrong with his pups... he'd thought things were fine... he'd thought his growing pains and spotting were fine... he'd had them with Viren... Things had been looking up. Especially after his dance wind up. Levi was possessive, but understanding. He'd finally understood why dancing the way he had, and why it'd been important to him all along... He'd thought his fatigue was just because of two little lives growing. Even Levi had thought it was normal... neither of them had thought anything wrong with his swelling breasts, both were tender... Mike must have found the small lump... Hanji's shift must have started after he'd already been transferred up to the ward... He really hated that people were touching his body without his permission while he was unconscious. Carried back out to the visitors chair, he was hooked back up to the stupid IV. He was ready for bed all over again, but had to know what was happening "I know you don't like it" "You're right. Can you show me?" "I looked it up at work..." "Show me" "Alright. Just know, we don't know for sure it's going to be as bad as what's in the photos" "You're terrible at hiding your feelings" Levi moved behind him, resting his head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around him. His mate had already loaded the google images, while Eren's lip quivered. He hated to think of the pups suffering. Pups that hadn't done anything wrong... and even worse, pups that hadn't survived... He'd seen this before, he just hadn't know what it was called. His father had had so many books and files... He probably had to be ready for anything... "L-Lee..." "I know. We won't know anything more until more tests are run" "They... they killed a pup and mum" "What do you mean?" "G-Grisha had... a child like this. I mean... delivered. The mum died during birth" Levi locked his phone, throwing it on their bed, to hold him properly "No. Eren. No. This isn't anything like that place. You're here, in hospital. You're in better hands than his. You're not alone through this, and there a things that can be done" "Yeah. An abortion" "We don't know it'll get that far..." "Levi, if Mike's saying it, then he thinks it will. What the fuck is wrong with me?" "Nothing. Nothing at all, Eren. We should get the nurses in to change your bed for you. You're feeling warm again" Levi wanted to go. Of course he did. He'd been working and Eren had taken up his time. He probably just wanted to go home to Viren. The one child he'd gotten right... "Y-you should go home" "I'm not going home" "You have work, and Viren. Where is he?" "With Mike. I waited all day to see you again" "I don't want to mess with your shifts" He was giving Levi an out, that he could take and not feel guilty over... So why wasn't he taking it "I'm staying with you. Let me get those nurses" Something for his infection and returning fever was run through his IV line, while Levi laid next to him. It was nice to know it wasn't just him who thought the hospital blankets were awful, but he was filled with dread when Levi promised to bring his blankets in tomorrow. Levi wouldn't be bringing in blankets if he wasn't going to be trapped here for a while. He probably would have been able to get more out of Levi, if he hadn't kept dozing off. He didn't even know he did, not until he woke to find Hanji forcing food on Levi. It stunk. Spicy Thai still wasn't his most favourite food in the world, and had way too memories associated to it "Eren! Why didn't you tell me you were here? I have food, can you eat? Are you allowed to eat? Where's your chart?" Pinching his nose, the awful cannula had been shoved back up it. Groaning, he wanted them both to fuck off "You're upsetting him" "Your face is upsetting him. You should have called me, I would have come right over" "He called Mike. Probably so he didn't have to see your shitty face" "Levi, you wound me" Now Hanji knew what was going on... She had to if she was here. She knew... Couldn't he just have time to process this? Closing his eyes, he tried to ignore the bickering pair "Eren, you ok?" "I'm hoping you're both going to be gone when I open my eyes" Levi laughed, while Hanji gasped "I bring food and this is all the love I get! I'm hurt!" "You had it coming" Maybe if he kept his eyes closed, they really would disappear "I really should go find your chart..." He didn't want that "Hanji. He has an infection. He's going to be fine. They're only keeping him in because he's pregnant" "You two are hiding something from me" "Hanji..." So she didn't know? She just knew he was here... Levi's voice was gentle growl "What? I'm worried about my boy and my two little pups. Infections can cause all kinds of complications, and this pregnancy had a rough start" "Hanji, drop it" "I knew there was something going on. Talk to me. I am a doctor after all" "Hanji, he's had a long day. Let him rest" "I'll just have to..." "Leave it alone" "I want to help" "He needs rest" "He can rest, while you tell me" "Look, just let him rest. He just woke up" "Why won't you tell me?" "Mike has things under control" The joking had faded, Hanji sounded slightly hurt and offended. Levi still trying to defend him, but Eren was too tired for this shit. Everyone seemed to think he couldn't process and cope, or understand things. He didn't understand and he wasn't coping, but he and Levi deserved some kind of privacy... or not "Seriously? What is going on with you two? Why did you call Mike? Eren, you know I would have come right away... You know you can talk to me about things" Levi sighed, his alpha taking a deep breath "Because..." "Because?" Parroting Levi's start of whatever his reply was going to be, Hanji got on his last nerve. Eren snapped "Because I need to have a fucking abortion. Ok. I'm stupid and I have to have an abortion!... I have to have an abortion, and I stupidly thought that we could have some privacy, but I guess I'm too stupid for that. Now. Can you please go? I want to be alone, in a room that doesn't stink" "An abortion?" "Hanji, this isn't a good time" "Why didn't you tell me sooner? What's going on? I'm sure..." Grabbing his pillow from under his head, he threw it as hard as possible "Go away!" Levi's wonderfully cool palm came to his forehead, he wanted to nuzzle up against it. He wanted his alpha's touch... but right now, it was too much "Eren. I told you..." "Levi. You said that I could ask for space" "I don't think you should be alone right now" "I want to be alone" To sleep. With no smelly food that reminded him of Zeke and no guilt over Levi being stuck here "Eren" "Please Lee, just go... I want to sleep" Kissing his lips, Levi sighed softly "I love you. I'll be in tomorrow. I know it's scary, but we'll get through this" "I..." He couldn't bring himself to tell Levi he loved him back. He didn't want to tie his mate down "I know you love me. I'll bring your phone in before work tomorrow. You can text me anything. Any questions and you can tell me what's going on. I love you" I love you. But he said nothing about the pups inside of him... Did this mean Levi didn't want them anymore? He didn't understand anything. Leaving, Levi took Hanji with him. Despite how exhausted he was, sleep was slow coming in its return as he chewed his lip bloody with guilt.

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standbyyourmantis · 6 years ago

Text

Bottle Episode -- Chapter 1/2

Summary: I'm back with a new romcom. Belle French and Jonah Gold never really thought much of each other, until a drunken encounter leads to them being snowed in with nowhere to avoid each other. Is it possible there's more between them than they thought? Thanks to @spottytonguedog for finding this plot for me.

On AO3

The Storybrooke Chamber of Commerce’s annual Christmas party was a notoriously weird affair. The combination of a full bar with a bunch of stodgy business owners and any local public servants with an interest in the historic downtown could result in the sorts of events that made up small town gossip for the whole rest of the year. Two years previously, the mayor had been caught in a broom closet with the local sheriff. This year, though, the gossip was going to be the librarian Belle French and Eli Gold who owned an antique shop right across the street from the library.

She’d never really paid much attention to Mr. Gold, to be honest. Her apartment was provided by the city, so she'd never had many dealings with him outside of the library.The general consensus around the town was that he was cold and calculating, and she'd never had any reason to question it as they had never spoken beyond simple pleasantries. At least, not before tonight. Maybe it was the many, many, many drinks she'd had, but he was extremely witty! He had a sharp sense of humor that she found she really liked, and he was so charming, too. Or at least he'd bought the last few rounds, which at this point was basically the same thing. And she should definitely tell him that.

“You're so funny,” she said, brushing her hair back off her face. “I didn't know you'd be this funny! I really, really like that in a guy.”

“You're too kind,” he replied a little unsteadily. “But I knew that because that's what everyone says. 'Belle is very sweet,’ did you know that? You're pretty, too.”

She giggled and tapped his shoulder lightly. God, he was so funny!

“I'm gonna get us more drinks!” She wobbled on her feet as she got out of her chair and teetered off towards the bar. Shoes had been a mistake tonight, and she should probably take them off after she ordered.

“I need another rum and Coke and a whiskey with water,” she said to the bartender as she leaned on the bar. “Please.”

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said. “I'm afraid I have to cut you off.”

“No, I'm fine,” she said, forcing her eyes to focus through sheer force of will. “I am fine. I'm totally fine. And one of them is for Mr. Gold, you know.”

“He's cut off, too,” the man said. “You have both had enough.”

“Is there a problem?” She heard Mr. Gold ask from behind her.

“Sheriff Swan and Mayor Mills have both told me to stop serving you two,” the bartender said. “You can have water or soda but that's it.”

She was so disappointed. She'd been having such a good time and she wanted to keep going.

Eli was arguing with the bartender which was just ruining her good mood when suddenly a thought occurred to her.

“Wine!” She exclaimed. “I have wine at home! Do you want wine?”

“Yes, perfect!” He replied, turning towards the bartender. “We will leave and have wine.”

She was still regretting her choice of dress shoes as she giggled her way out the door clinging to his arm, especially when the valet couldn't give them his keys (which she actually did understand because they'd had quite a lot to drink) so they were going to be walking the three blocks to her apartment and then the stairs up to the single bedroom apartment above the library the city had set aside for her use.

They never actually got to the wine. She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but she was on him as soon as they were through her front door. Maybe it was just that she hadn’t had sex since she moved to town over a year ago, or maybe it was just the liquor doing her thinking for her. Either way, he was right there and apparently just as eager for it as she was. They barely made it into her bedroom, shedding clothes all along the way.

Consciousness hit Eli Gold like a freight train the following morning, followed shortly by the reality of the situation. It hadn’t been a weird dream, he’d actually gone home with the librarian. The same librarian who was still out like a light in the bed next to him. This was not a good idea in the slightest. Setting aside that he only had the vaguest of memories of the previous evening, mostly vague images of a pretty brunette and long legs.

Belle French was certainly pretty enough, but a pretty face couldn’t do much to alleviate a dull personality, and he hadn’t ever seen much evidence that she had much more to her than the love of books he would expect from anyone who made a career out of them. Or, at least, he hadn’t before last night when she had proved that at the very least she was quite adept at holding her liquor, which was certainly...something.

He wasn’t much for one night stands, but he was fairly sure that sneaking out before she woke up would be fairly uncouth, and anyway the choice ended up being taken from him when she suddenly roused herself with a bit of a start.

“Mr. Gold?” she blurted out, staring at him with something akin to disbelief on her face. So she evidently didn’t remember much more about the previous evening either, then.

“Good morning,” he said for lack of anything else to say. He was no happier about any of this than she apparently was, which did at least give them something in common.

“How much did we drink last night?” she asked, and he knew it was a rhetorical question but he felt compelled to answer it anyway.

“Too much, I’m afraid. It’s been quite a long time since I indulged like that, and hopefully I won’t be doing it again anytime soon.”

“I haven’t had that much to drink since college,” she replied before sitting up with a groan. He joined her in being upright, forcing himself to go slow as his stomach revolted at the idea of movement – and he would not vomit in a stranger’s apartment, he would do it in the privacy of his own home, or at least in an alley outside.

By the time his body had adjusted to its new, vertical lifestyle she had already pulled on a light blue robe with pink roses over it and made a go of standing and he was suddenly very aware that he was the only naked one. Luckily, his boxers were easily located on the floor near her bed where he suddenly remembered having thrown them the night before in his haste to be inside of her. He cringed at the memory, he’d been far too absorbed with the idea of having sex for the first time in a depressing number of years, and he had a suspicion that he hadn’t exactly covered himself in glory after getting his clothes off.

“I can make breakfast if you want,” she said from the other side of the bed and he had to admire her willingness to put a good face on for him.

“No, thank you,” he replied. “My son is home from college and I should probably be heading back before he gets worried.”

“I didn’t know you had a son,” she said, sounding more shocked than anything else.

“Just the one,” he said as he gathered her clothes and trying really hard not to wonder exactly how long it had been since she was in college. It did finally occur to him that the son part of that may not have been her biggest cause for concern. “No wife,” he continued. “Not anymore, anyway. She lives in Fort Lauderdale.”

She visibly relaxed at this little bit of biography and he mentally kicked himself for climbing into bed with her prior to providing it.

“Oh. Well, I hope you have a good visit.”

They almost certainly would not, Bailey would have preferred being almost anywhere else but his dorm was closed and he needed to do his laundry, so he kept coming back.

“Thank you.”

She shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other as he dressed before she finally turned and walked through a door that presumably went back into the living room. He got his pants and shirt on as fast as he could, though his shoes and jacket had apparently been dropped out in the living room which required him to follow her out. His socks may just be a lost cause, and as much as he hated to go out without them he would also very much like to just get home and get this awkward encounter over with.

“Did you find your stuff?” she asked him once he’d gotten his jacket on and he nodded, feeling in his pockets to ensure his phone, keys, and wallet were at least still there.

“Thank you for…” He trailed off, unsure of what he was thanking her for, just not knowing how else to get the hell out.

“Yeah, sure. Well, it was nice to meet you.”

“You too.”

And then he was out the door to the hallway and breathing a sigh of relief. Sweet, sweet freedom. It was far and away the most awkward encounter he’d ever had with a woman, and his ex-wife had attended their son’s high school graduation with a new live-in boyfriend who worked as a sailing instructor.

He found the stairs down easily enough and let himself out through a door just outside the library into a damn blizzard. The snow was easily up to the middle of his thighs and still coming down heavily. Mailboxes and cars were simply larger piles of snow, and Eli had no idea what on earth to do. He’d known there was snow on the forecast but he had not realized that there was apparently another ice age on the horizon though. There was no way he was going to make his way home, even if he walked down to the Civic Center that the party had been in and managed to dig himself into his car, the streets were completely covered in snow still and anyway, he wasn’t really dressed for the weather. He briefly considered trying to make his way to the antique shop down the block, but aside from the cot he kept in the back room he didn’t have any real provisions or anything. He briefly thought about dialing 911 and faking a medical emergency, but even that would probably be a crapshoot as to whether or not he’d freeze to death before the one ambulance in town made it to him.

There was absolutely nothing for it, he was going to have to go back upstairs and impose himself on her hospitality. Again. But first, he had to throw up in her alley.

Belle breathed a sigh of relief as soon as she had the door latched. She had never done anything like that at all. She hadn’t known he had a kid or that he’d been divorced, and honestly she wasn’t entirely certain she remembered his first name correctly. Elliot? Eli? Something like that. She was just relieved it was over and she could hopefully pretend like it had never happened.

She picked her dress up off the floor before it got too much more wrinkled and it had been such a pretty one with the illusion netting on the halter top and the full skirt with a tighter fitting layer beneath it. Maybe she’d get another few uses out of it, if she ever went anywhere nice. The rest of her clothes could just stay there until she felt less like crawling into a nearby hole and dying. Step one would be to take a shower and clean herself up, step two would be eating something, step three would probably be taking a nap. But first, her shower.

There was a knock on the door before she even managed to get the hairbrush off her vanity, and she had a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach. There was really only one person who might need to knock on her door right now. Her fears were confirmed when she checked the peephole and found Mr. Gold on the other side of the door. looking just as awkward as she felt. And she couldn’t even pretend like she wasn’t home, because where would she have even gone? She braced herself and opened the door.

“Is everything okay?” she asked before he could say anything.

“Yeah, there’s just...there’s a blizzard outside. I can’t get out.”

She had to let him back in. She couldn’t just leave him outside to freeze, so that meant she had to let him stay in her apartment. While she was there.

“Come in.” She stepped back to let him in and returned to her living room, digging her phone out of her purse so she could check the weather report for him. “Oh, damn. It’s supposed to be snowing the rest of the day.”

“Do you have a television? I’ll check the report.”

“I actually don’t. But I do have an emergency radio.”

She went to the closet where she kept her flashlights, batteries, and the little radio that she had for natural disasters and power outages. She flipped to a local station but it was just playing music, so they’d have to wait for a DJ to get on and let them know when snow plows would be out and what the plan for them was. The city wasn’t extremely big, and Belle knew her street usually wasn’t a high priority since it was mostly businesses and government offices rather than emergency services and residential areas. She was basically the only person who lived within four or five blocks. It was basically the worst place to be snowed in.

“I can go ahead and make eggs or something if you’re hungry,” she offered. She could postpone the shower to be polite. And maybe they’d get an answer about when he’d be able to leave.

“No, no, I’ll cook,” he replied, looking at her robe and then quickly away. “It’s the least I can do for imposing.

“It’s not an imposition,” she said, realizing all at once she was still largely naked. “Anyway, it’ll be easier to do it myself than tell you where everything is.”

He looked a little reluctant, but seemed to accept her reasoning.

“You’re right. I need to call Bailey anyway and let him know where I am – or ah, at least that I’m safe.”

“Good idea. Let me know if you need anything?”

He retreated across the room and dialed while she went to the kitchen to contemplate breakfast. Coffee was an easy first step. She also had bread and eggs, but no bacon or anything which pretty much meant French toast. Good enough, it only took a few minutes to make mediocre French toast and hopefully he’d be out of her hair soon enough. After a few minutes of him being too quiet for her to effectively eavesdrop he finally hung up the phone and returned, sitting on one of the two dining chairs she had.

“How is everything at home?”

“He’s fine,” Gold replied. “He asked that I not ever tell him where I am, but said he’d be fine.”

“Well, you said he’s in college. As long as he has electricity and food I’m sure he can take care of himself.”

“I know, but still. I worry.”

“You sound like my dad,” she blurted out before instantly regretting it. Wrong thing to say on either side of a one night stand. “I just mean, he likes to call me to check up.”

She finished her cooking quickly, setting it on the table before pulling down a pair of mugs from the cabinet.

“How do you like your coffee?” she asked.

“Black is fine.”

He’d taken his coat off again and rolled his sleeves up a little bit, which helped her feel a little bit more comfortable sitting across from him in her robe. She filled his mug and then hers, finishing hers off with a splash of milk and some sugar before bringing both to the table and joining him for breakfast. He thanked her, but they ate in silence after that. This was so awkward she could hardly stand it.

Finally, the emergency alert noise came on the radio and both of them turned to face it as one.

“The Storybrooke emergency services are asking all non-essential travel be postponed during the blizzard. Snow is anticipated to fall throughout the day and crews will begin clearing the streets this evening once it’s slowed. No power outages are expected, though residents are advised to fill water jugs they have available with water just in case. We will be updating throughout the day as the situation progresses…”

“Oh dammit,” she said under her breath.

“My sentiments exactly.”

She didn’t have enough alcohol to get through this. He’d been hilarious when she’d been drunk, and now they were trapped together in her too-small apartment while they waited for the apocalypse to finish up outside.

“I think I’m going to take a shower,” she said at last, pushing away from the table.

He nodded and she turned quickly and retreated to her bathroom, making sure to lock the door after her. Not that she thought anything bad was going to happen, but still. She didn’t know much about him at all besides his name and where he worked, and that he had a kid. And that he was, for lack of a better word, handsy. Very, very handsy in a very, very good way. God, she really needed to check if there was a used condom someplace in her bedroom. She really hoped there was.

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic #mantis fic #bottle episode

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